#his DEATH mattered his life mattered the space he held in their lives mattered

[nanaslutt]

omg i NEEDDDD you to write a fic based on that sukuna drabble u posted 🙏🙏 i know a good fight would get him oh so worked up

it’s short but i wanted to expand a little…

contains: death, blood, blood as lube (accidental), masturbation, masochism dare i say, multiple orgasms, fantasizing

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Sukuna held his hand over his cheek where his opponent had landed a hit on him. One hand gripped around his cock, one hand on his face. His eyes were squeezed shut as he groaned shamelessly into the space of his innate domain. He tried to put himself back in the fight in his head, trying to recreate the feeling of how he felt when he actually felt the slash of his opponent's weapon cutting through his skin. The sheer adrenaline, the shock, it was rare that Sukuna crossed paths with a worthy opponent.

Most of the beings he fought were like squashing a bug. He could step on the rat's tail and let it try to run away under his foot, poke it with his claws, and watch it scream and whine for their life for his own enjoyment, and sure that brought him joy, but this--this was something else. This was a carnal, deep feeling of something so pure and so primal. He could recall how his heart sped up in his chest when he felt the sting, the brief moment of relaxation on his features before a grin spread across his face, his cheeks heating up at the realization that this was going to be more interesting than he initially thought.

The being had only hit him once, just once, barely hard enough to cut through the skin, but it was more than enough to set Sukuna's veins on fire. The rest of the fight had been a steady back and forth, Sukuna having to be on both the offense and defense at times with how well his partner fought. In the end though, of course, he had emerged victorious. He stood in front of the body of his deceased opponent, staring down at them with bloodshot eyes, heaving breaths wracking his chest; not from exhaustion, but from arousal.

Sukuna kept his eyes on the blood-soaked body, watching the once-living being twitch and bleed out under him, a pool of crimson liquid reaching his feet, sliding under his shoes through the cracks in the earth. He was hard, throbbing in his pants, his cock threatening to burst through the slacks at any moment.

He always got worked up like this when someone was able to match him. Sukuna hated nothing more than weak people, so when someone was able to stand toe to toe, and actually land a hit on the curse? He had to fight through his malicious laughs to keep his groans at bay.

He would stand there and stare at the body of his deceased, but worthy opponent all day if he could, but when the throbbing proved to be too much for the old sorcerer, he crawled away back inside Yuuji's head, letting the pink-haired boy deal with the aftermath of his messy fight, he had an urgent matter to attend to.

"Fuck fuck fuck- Yes-" Sukuna growled, planted on his knees on the floor of his domain as he fucked into his fist, his hand meeting his rough thrusts as he kept his eyes screwed tight, repeating the exact moment he had gotten attacked in his mind.

He kept his hand over his cheek, nails digging into the skin as he tried to mimic the sensation he felt, never quite getting there but close enough to make him spill his seed on the ground in front of him with a loud groan, his body jerking and spasming as he released a large load, some of the white liquid coating his fingers.

His hand slowed for maybe a second as he cracked his eyes open, looking down at the seed he released before his face heated up again, his cock still hard and throbbing in his large palm. Blood had begun dripping down his cheek, slowly teasing the skin of his neck as it dripped down, over the veins under the skin as he picked up his jerking again.

"Again.. again- again- again- Fuck- Hit me again- Cmon' you can do it-" He groaned under his breath, speaking to his opponent in his head as he replayed the fight for the nth time in his head. He knew they had only hit him once but the thrill of thinking he might've hit them again made his balls tighten with the need for release.

Sometimes though, the self-inflicted pain he knew was coming from his own hand digging into his cheek wouldn't be enough. He craved the adrenaline of when the unexpected impact had first happened. He would sit back on his feet, abandoning his blood-covered hand on his cheek and wrapping it around his cock, joining the other one as he used two massive hands to squeeze and jerk his length, rapidly stroking as he tried to fuck this feeling out of his body.

He felt so out of control, he felt like this was something he needed to do or he would die. Heavy breaths wracked his chest as he stared down at his hands enveloping his leaky dick, his face scrunched in pleasure with a slacked jaw to match. "nnngh-" The king groaned, clenching his teeth together when he spilled once more over the ground in front of him.

His body fell forward, his hands catching himself on the cum-stained floor, cock twitching freely in the air below him as he tried to catch his breath. He felt slightly more relaxed than he felt after the first orgasm, but he still felt like he needed to come again, and again, and again, until all the adrenaline had released through his heavy balls.

#feral sukuna ngh #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna ryoumen smut #sukuna scenarios #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna ryomen #ryoumen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna ryoumen x you #sukuna rp #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #geto x you #geto smut #getou suguru x reader

[beybaldes]

i swam a lake of fire, I’d have walked across the floor of any sea

masterlist

Sejanus plinth x gn!reader

summary: While you don’t enjoy being in the arena, you’d spend the rest of your life there if it meant you were there with him.

warnings: okay I wrote a second part lol but can definitely be read as a stand-alone fic, loosely accurate but not like word for word scene for scene or anything, I typed Coriolanus about 7000 times for this and it doesn’t feel like a real word anymore, slightly angsty once again but fluff I promise! title is hozier unreal/nth

an: dear all my Ted lasso mutuals that may be seeing this, the gods have struck me with inspiration but for this man and this man only, Roy Kent will one day renter my heart and when I do you will get 10 million fics, I love you all dearly

Only hours ago you were sat on the steps of the academy, not an inch of space between you and Sejanus, him alive and breathing and right in front of you. And now, Dr Gaul was on the other end of the phone line, telling you that Mrs Plinth and Coriolanus Snow were on their way to pick you up, and that the three of you were to go to the arena and get Sejanus the hell out of there.

If you knew him any less, you’d say you didn’t know what got into him, but this was exactly who Sejanus was. You had no doubt in your mind that he had snuck his way in there for Marcus, for something that only he could understand; it’s why you hung up the phone without another word and practically ran down to the street, waiting for Mrs Plinths car to come for you.

Within a minute of you getting to the curb, a long, sleek, black car pulled up in front of you, and Coriolanus Snow came out of it, holding the door open for you and gesturing for you to get inside. You’d never seen him so gentlemanly. Sure, he was always polite, especially to others at the academy, but it always held a limit. A condition.

“Thank you, Coryo.” Coriolanus was startled by the three little words. You’d never called him Coryo before. Maybe it was a slip of the tongue, or maybe Sejanus’s use of it over the years was starting to wear you down and warm you up to the blond.

As you entered the car, you moved to sit directly next to Sejanus’s ‘Ma’ reaching and taking her hand in your own. “It’s going to be okay Mrs Plinth. We’ll get him out of there.” Her grip on your hand tightened with each second you got closer to the arena, just like Sejanus’s had hour earlier when the two of you were sat side by side in the safety of the academy. He definitely had his mothers smile and tenderness, and ability to ease your worrying soul just by being in her presence.

The rest of the car ride went in tense silence, no one daring to say a word until you had seen that Sejanus was alive and well, and out of the arena. Gaul and the peacekeepers had no problem all but shoving you and Coriolanus into the arena upon your arrival, the two of you gripping onto each other in mutual fear as you walked yourself into what could be your deaths.

Silence filled the arena, and it seemed as though all of the tributes had gone into hiding for the night. For all you knew Sejanus, kneeled in the middle of the room beside Marcus’s body, was the only living thing here.

As the two of you neared him, Coriolanus’s foot hit a stone, making just enough noise to startle Sejanus, who jumped as he turned around, thinking this might finally be his end. Upon seeing you and Coryo, he turned back to Marcus, letting out a breath of relief. “I thought they’d send in my Ma.”

“She’s outside, waiting for you.” You stepped forward before Coriolanus could say a word, not allowing his nerves of being in the arena to let him speak to Sejanus in a harsh tone. Sure, coming into the arena was stupid, of course it was, but that thought didn’t dare cross your mind right now. All that mattered was him. “Sejanus, what are you doing here?”

“I’m making sure Marcus has enough food to get to the afterlife with.” Sejanus explained softly, his head hung low and eyes unmoving from Marcus’s still body. “It’s a tradition, in district two, to make sure they don’t go hungry. I can’t let him go hungry.”

A clang could be heard in the distance, the children from the districts slowly beginning to stir around the amphitheatre after the noise made by you and Coriolanus emerging through the barricades. You knelt by Sejanus’s side, taking his hands briefly in your own.

“That’s beautiful, you’re beautiful, but we need to leave.” Your hands were once again against Sejanus’s face, cradling his cheek and frantically pushing his curls out of his eyes. His brow creased, confused with the whole situation before him; he thought you knew how important this would be to him, that you’d let him stay, stay with him even.

“But you were right.” Oh God. What had you said to make Sejanus think that this was a good idea, an idea at all? If Sejanus was to die in here you’d never forgive yourself. “I have to go where the cameras are. I have to do this.”

“Sejanus, no.” Tears threatened to pool at your waterline, knowing that what you’d said only hours ago could’ve led Sejanus to his death if he hadn’t been spotted sooner. “Not like this. Please.”

He went to fight against it, knowing that if he wanted to make change his best chance was from here, at the heart of the problem, but he never got the chance, you cutting him off before he could even begin to speak. “Gaul has cut the cameras, if you die in here she will just pretend that you died of the flu. There are better ways to make change, and I know you can and you will.” Closing what distance there was left between the two of you, you rested your forehead against his. Would anything be enough to get him to leave with you now? “You will be the change you want to see in this cruel world, Sejanus, but not in here, not like this.”

Despite the loud clanging of metal against the concrete floors of the arena, you kept your head pressed firmly against his, running your thumb across the apple of his cheek in hopes he’d leave the arena with you now, before things had the chance to get worse. As the clanging of metal got louder, and Lamina, the girl from 7, began to rise from her slumber above you, Coriolanus stepped closer to the two of you, moving away from where he had been keeping watch.

“Sejanus please, we need to go.” No sooner than Coriolanus had got the words out, Bobbin, the boy from 8, came charging at the three of you from the darkness, a large, machete-like blade in hand. Coriolanus reached out for your hand as you reached out for Sejanus’s, the three of you breaking into a sprint in hopes to escape the tribute before he could hurt any of you. The whole run he was hot on your feet, swinging his sword carelessly in hopes he’d land a hit on one of you. And as you jumped over the barriers, ready to rush for the gate, you thought you’d gotten away scrape and scratch free, however, Sejanus’s knee caught against the turnstile, sending him crashing to the floor while you and Coriolanus landed on your feet.

“Sejanus!” Without hesitation you turned back for him, coming to his side and reaching to help him up, but before you could lay a hand on him, Bobbin swung for you, slashing your arm from shoulder to elbow over the barricade. “Fuck.”

Coriolanus had grabbed a plank from the rubbled floor, swinging at Bobbin in an attempt to get him to back away from the three of you. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Your arm, your arm.” Sejanus gasped, his hand flat over the wound as if he could heal it with his touch. “This is my fault, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m okay.” You repeated, pulling Sejanus to his feet and slinging his arm over your shoulder while you wrapped your arm around his waist. As you turned to see if Coriolanus was still alive, you were met with the sight of him pummelling the tribute to death, blood coating the concrete floor. You don’t think you’re ever going to forget the sight of Coriolanus snow heaving in breaths as he stared down at the dead child. The child he’d killed. Though right now you didn’t have time to dwell on it, Coral and her gang running directly towards you, weapons in hand and ready to slice. Coriolanus jumped across the barrier in one swift movement, coming to Sejanus’s other side to help practically drag him through the tunnel and out of the gate. “Open the gate! Open the gate!”

“Open the gate!” Coriolanus yelled, the gate opening just enough that the three of you could get out to the other side, and closing immediately after, Coral and her team trapped on the other side of the gate as the three of you fell to the floor.

As Coriolanus stood, staring down Coral as she spat insults and threats at him, you turned to Sejanus, throwing an arm around his neck and crushing him in a tight embrace. “You’re okay, I’m okay, we’re okay.” Taking a second to breathe, you pulled yourself away from his touch, only enough that you could see his face and make sure he actually was okay. Sejanus leaned into the soft touch of your palm to his cheek, pressing a dazed kiss so delicately to the inside of your wrist. A smile curled on your lips. “We’re okay.”

“Your arm.” Sejanus started blubbering apologies, both to you and Coriolanus, not only for having to come into the arena to get him, but for the injuries you’d sustained in doing so. “I’m so sorry.”

Coriolanus just walked away from the scene, nodding at Mr and Mrs Plinth as he went to get his bloodied shoulder attended to and speak with Gaul, but you stayed with Sejanus, paying absolutely no mind to the searing burn that emitted from your shoulder as you helped him up. It could wait. You once again held him up by his waist, allowing him to put his arm around your shoulders despite the pain that seared through them at his touch, and helped him walk over to his Ma, who’s arms he fell into almost immediately.

“I’m sorry, Ma. I had to do it, I had to do it.” Mrs Plinth just ran her hand over his back, soothing his worry with each gentle touch.

“You need to get your arm bandaged up.”

“I’m fine, Coryo.” The blond had appeared beside you, shirt in his hands as he’d just been covered in bandages and gauze. His whole body appeared stiff and you weren’t sure if it was due to the fight he’d just won or the consequence of it.

“You’re not, you’re bleeding.” He stated, poking you at the breach of your wound as if to make a point. “See, that must hurt.”

“I’m fine, Coryo, seriously.” You folded your arms across your chest, stealing the expression on your face and taking in a long deep breath as though it would ease the pain and stop you from showing just how much it hurt. “Sejanus will need his knee looking at, I will get my shoulder looked at after.”

Coriolanus only scoffed, his sympathy for you extremely limited now. If you wanted to bleed to death to make sure Sejanus, who nearly gotten all three of you killed, was okay, then who was he to stop you? “Suit yourself. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Only you and Sejanus made it to the capitals hospital, his father insisting that if he was grown enough to go into the arena by himself, then he was grown enough to go to the hospital by himself. And though his Ma had insisted she come with, Strabo had made it clear she would not. While the damage to his knee hadn’t been terribly bad, it was still likely that Sejanus would feel sore and walk with a limp for a while. You hadn’t thought about the cut along your arm once the whole time, but Sejanus clearly had, distracting himself while the nurse put his knee in some kind of splint by tracing his finger along the jagged edge of your uniform, split open by the curve of Bobbins knife. The second the nurse announced she was done with sorting his knee, he made his move. “Can you look at their shoulder? It’s still bleeding.”

The nurse took one look over you, noticing the torn material of your red blazer and the deeper red of the blood that coated it, then ordered you to take off your clothes except for your undershirt, so she could tend to it. “Oh sweetheart, this looks nasty. Why didn’t you say anything sooner.”

“It’s not that bad.” However, your lie almost immediately fell through as she poured some kind of transparent, white liquid on the wound, you gasping as it made contact with your skin. Sejanus immediately reached for your hand, squeezing it and offering a channel for your pain, his other hand coming to rest against your temple, his fingers brushing back though your hair, much like you had done to him earlier in the day.

“You’re okay.” Sejanus soothed his thumb running across your cheek. “You’re okay.”

You were okay, but not because your shoulder was finally being tended to. Sejanus was safe. Alive and safe. And you didn’t plan on letting him out of your sight for as long as you possibly could. When the nurse had finished cleaning up the wound, she excused herself to go and find some gauze and a big enough roll of bandages, promising to be right back.

“Did you mean what you said?” Sejanus asked, his eyes not quite meeting yours, instead focusing on where his thumb met the skin of your cheek, it running over the slightly grazed skin. You must have scratched it against the floor when you fell. “Before? Outside the academy?” When it was clear to him that you weren’t sure of which thing you’d said that he was talking about, he let out a short laugh, rolling his eyes at you lovingly. “That you’ve… grown fond of me?”

“Sejanus…”

You didn’t get to chance to give your obvious answer - you’d only ever been honest with Sejanus, and you weren’t about to change that now - he started talking again. “Is that the reason you came to get me out of the arena?“

Slowly, as he continued to stream out endless questions in your direction, you leaned over from your seat in front of him, placing your hands either side of where he sat on the cot and placing your lips softly against his. Sejanus froze under your soft touch, entirely unsure of himself; he’d never kissed anyone before, and he’d thought so often about kissing you that it didn’t feel real. At least for a second, anyway, as when you tried to pull away at his unresponsiveness, he pushed his lips against your own, not too rushed and not too firm, one of his hands coming to rest against the small of your back.

“I have grown so much more than just fond of you, Sejanus plinth.” You pulled your lips away, smiling to yourself as he chased after your kiss. Less then an inch separated the two of you from locking lips again, and the only thing seeming to restrain Sejanus from kissing you again and again right then and there was the fact he wanted to hear what you had to say. He always did. “I’d follow you anywhere across Panem, from across the districts to the arena itself. They haven’t invented a word for what it is I feel for you yet.”

Sejanus seemed to be in a daze, his mind not quite up to speed with the rest of his body. One of his hands moved to cup your neck, and his eyes kept scanning over your face and repeatedly landed on your lips no matter how hard he tried to look elsewhere. Now that he’d kissed you, he worried the only thing that would be able to come out of his mouth would be the fact that he’d kissed you, at least until he had the fortune of kissing you again. Almost breathless and with a slightly shaky hold on you, Sejanus knew what he had to do.

“Will you kiss me again?”

an: mwah!!! Thank you for reading guys and for all the love on my other Sejanus fic/part one!! Potential third part set in the districts when Sejanus becomes a peacekeeper what do we think??

part 3: of the goodness, love, that I still carry for you out now!!

#beybaldes wrote a fic!! #sejanus plinth oneshot #sejanus plinth imagine #sejanus plinth x reader #tbosbas x reader

[another-lost-mc]

You don't realize what you have until it's gone.

Too Late Now | Lucifer x gn!Reader

Content Warnings: Major character death (Reader), Angst with No Happy Ending. Unrequited love, memory flashbacks and a dream sequence, brief mentions of blood/fatal injuries (cause unspecified).

Word Count: 2.7k words

Lucifer will never forget your last night in the Devildom. He knew long before that moment that you wanted a pact with him. You reminded him often with your not-so-subtle comments about how it felt like something was missing, that you wished the two of you could be even closer.

Unlike Solomon, Lucifer considered your request seriously, debating giving part of himself to you the way his brothers had. But he was proud, and he wanted to make absolutely sure you were worthy of having a pact with him. He resisted you to the very end, even though your persistence was charming, at times.

Lucifer was sitting at the dining room table reading the morning’s paper when you shuffled in, still wearing your sleep clothes like you just crawled out of bed.

When you realized he was there, you yawned and stretched your arms up high above your head. The cropped shirt you wore rode up your belly and he could see some of his brothers’ pact marks etched into your skin. He averted his gaze before he was tempted to stare.

“Good morning, Lucifer!” you said cheerfully, trailing off into another quiet yawn.

You pat your stomach and rested your hand over Beel’s pact mark. “I was just thinking that I have room for another pact mark somewhere, maaaaybe right-” you paused, patting the space above your heart, “here. What do you think? Know any demons interested in making a pact with a ‘lil human like me?”

He scoffed and flicked his wrist, turning the page and barely sparing you another glance. “I’m sure you can find several willing demons if you parade yourself down the street like that,” he suggested dryly.

“Aww, Luci, you’re no fun.” You pouted your lips and he refused to smile, no matter how cute you looked.

Realizing your attempt to seduce him - badly - into a pact had failed, you gave up the ruse and headed towards the kitchen. “I’ll make us some coffee!”

You faced each other that last night in his private study, the cursed TSL album played softly in the background while the fireplace crackled next to you. Both of you were bathed in shadow and flame. He finally gave into temptation to bind you to him and he made you his, his mark etched into your skin forever, but you still looked dissatisfied. 

Lucifer realized there were emotions swirling in your gaze that you always tried to hide from him - hope, longing, desire. He knew what else you wanted from him, but he couldn’t bring himself to close the rift between you. It was his last line of defense, the only thing keeping him from becoming yours completely. You were going home, and whatever relationship you wanted with him was about to come to an end. He thought it would be easier this way.

“Lucifer, I–” you started to say, but he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you to him. Whatever you tried to say next was muffled against his chest. He looked down at you and pretended the tears pooling in your eyes didn’t hurt him.

“Don’t,” he warned you quietly. “You have your own life to live, and I promise you that your friendship is more than enough.” He held you like that while you cried quietly against his chest. When he finally convinced you to go to your room to sleep, he stayed up drinking in front of the fireplace and wondered if he made the right choice.

The next morning, it was like nothing happened. You still greeted him in that sickeningly sweet and cheerful voice of yours, and his brothers hovered around you for your attention while they said their goodbyes.

When you promised Lucifer you’d see him again soon, eyes fiery with determination, he believed you would find a way to make it happen. He wondered if things might turn out differently the next time you meet; he wasn’t sure he had the power to resist you a second time.

During the first two weeks after your return to the human world, Lucifer tells himself it’s not bitter regret that swirls uncomfortably at the pit of his stomach and makes his heart ache. His brothers aren’t handling your departure very well, and he refuses to let himself be made a fool by his emotions. He has to be strong and set an example for the rest of them. He can’t let one mere human ruin him. He’s determined to carry on as normal, as though you were never there to begin with.

He will not visit your old room until your scent fades away.

He will not trace the outline of his pact mark with you and wonder if you can feel his fingertips on your skin when he does it.

He will not miss you.

Lucifer doesn’t dream often. Sometimes he does, and he dreams of white feathers burning around him while he falls into a dark abyss. Other times, he dreams of random memories of his brothers, or his long lost sister. In the three months since he last saw you, he’s dreamt of you, too.

But the dream he has tonight is different from the others. You’re both trapped in a grey void. He wants to go to you, but Lucifer can’t move no matter how hard he tries. You’re so close, just out of his reach. There’s something unsettling about your expression - your small, bittersweet smile lacks the mischievous humor he’s so fond of. Your eyes are serious and sad; he thinks you look defeated. 

“I’m sorry,” you say weakly, like you’re talking to him from the opposite end of a tunnel even though he’s only a few feet away from you. The words echo in the empty space around him even though you’ve grown silent.

He doesn’t understand what’s going on, and he wants to ask you what you mean, but he’s unable to speak. You flicker before his eyes, fading in and out of focus like a projection. It’s eerie at first, and he realizes he’s looking at different versions of you because you keep changing.

In one moment, you look like you did the last time he saw you. Then suddenly, your image becomes distorted. All he sees is that one of your eyes is swollen shut and blood drips down the side of your face, a gnarly gash split across your temple. Your teeth are bloody when you open your mouth to speak again, but there’s a roar building in his ears, and suddenly you’re gone and he can’t see you anymore–

Lucifer wakes up with a gasp. There’s searing pain behind his eyes and he groans while he holds his face in his hands. He’s trembling, and he feels cold and empty, and he wants to forget the haunting image of your broken face. Eventually the sleepy fog lifts from his mind, and he realizes someone is pounding on his bedroom door. His brothers shout his name outside his room, and he thinks he can hear someone crying.

It’s only then that he glances down at his bare chest and realizes that his pact mark with you is gone.

Lucifer was working on his third stack of documents to review and sign when there’s a quiet knock on his door. He glanced at the clock - 9:48pm. He thought he told his brothers he was busy this evening and he didn’t want to be disturbed.

He was prepared to string up whoever had the nerve to interrupt him, but he froze when he pulled the door open and found you instead. Your hand was raised like you were just about to knock again, and you dropped it hastily and grinned at him.

“Hi Luci,” you said in that cutesy sing-song voice of yours, “I brought you something.”

He realized that you were holding a large bowl out to him. He sniffed the air and couldn’t contain his surprise. “Shadow hog stew?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Beel said it was your favourite. I made it earlier, but you never showed up for dinner. Your phone must be broken, by the way. I only tried calling and texting you like, a million times to tell you to come eat with us.”

Lucifer put his phone on do-not-disturb for a reason: you and your incessant nagging.

“I’m busy,” he said irritably, and he glared when you just smiled and shoved the bowl at him anyway.

“Well, you’re pretty clever. I’m sure you can figure out a way to eat a bit of food while you finish your work.” You headed back towards the stairs leading to the main floor. “There’s more in the kitchen if you want some!” You called to him over your shoulder, waving him goodnight before you disappeared from view.

Lucifer sat at his desk and stared at the bowl before he picked up the spoon. He decided that wasting something as decadent as shadow hog stew might not be proper form, and he tried a hesitant mouthful. And then another. And another after that.

He waited until he was sure you were in your room and fast asleep before taking the empty bowl to the kitchen for seconds.

The familiar scent of shadow hog stew catches Lucifer’s attention and he leaves his office to visit the kitchen. It’s a rich, hearty dish that was normally reserved for special occasions. He is very picky with how it’s prepared, and most of his brother’s don’t have the patience to make it properly. He hasn’t had it since you–well, he hasn’t had it in a long time.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asks Satan, who is stirring the large pot of stew on the stove.

“I - I mean, we - thought you might like to try having something different tonight,” Satan says carefully, glancing at his older brother from the corner of his eye. “There’s some concern that you’re not eating enough.”

Lucifer opens his mouth to argue, because he is not some child that needs to be coddled, but he looks closer at the open recipe book on the counter. There are notes scribbled in the page margins where ingredients and measurements are crossed out and re-written. There’s also a pink sticky note on the side of the page, and he can still make out the familiar writing:

☆ one of Luci’s favs! ☆

It feels like there’s a heavy stone in his stomach, and Lucifer turns around and storms away from the kitchen before the feeling makes him nauseous.

“Where are you going? This is almost ready!” Satan calls to him.

“I’m not hungry,” Lucifer snarls, heading to his study and slamming the door behind him.

Lucifer startled when you dangled a paper bag in front of his face. “Can’t you see that I’m working?”

You sat in the chair across from him at his desk. “Yes, yes. All that important paperwork, I know. But I think it’s time to take a break, don’t you?”

He took the bag you offered him and pulled out the black…whatever the item is supposed to be. He held it up with his fingers. “Am I supposed to know what this is?”

You clapped your hands excitedly. “It’s a bath bomb!”

Lucifer gave you a deadpan stare. “It’s a what?”

“A baaaath boooomb,” you exaggerated the pronunciation slowly for his benefit. “It’s like fancy bubbles. You drop it into the water and it makes baths 500% more fun. You should try it.”

Lucifer sniffed at the black, strangely shaped item in his hand. “It smells like roses.”

You nodded. “Yep, and citrus, too. You’ll smell amazing afterwards, don’t you think?”

He glanced at it warily. “It has glitter in it. And this dark colour can’t be good for the porcelain tub. Don’t you think this will stain it? Who do you expect to clean up after this?”

You waved away his concerns with a grin. “Okay, so maybe glitter’s not your jam, and the cleanup might be a pain, but I promise it’s worth trying. I’ll even help you scrub the mess after.”

He put the bath product back into its paper bag and tossed it to you. You weren’t expecting it, and you just managed to catch it before it fell to the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces. “I’m not interested in childish nonsense. Give it to Asmo instead.”

You stood up from your chair with a resigned sigh. “Fine, you win this round. But for what it’s worth, I do think you’re working too much these days. You should take a break. A bit of relaxation won’t kill you.”

Lucifer knocks on Asmo’s door. When his brother answers, Lucifer pushes a basket into his hands. “These were in the bathroom. I assume you can find some use for them, since no one else will.”

Asmo opens the basket and smiles at the small collection of colourful bath bombs you purchased during your stay in the Devildom. “I forgot they bought these. Did you know that they gave Solomon money to buy them in the human world? You can’t even buy these on Akuzon.”

Lucifer can’t imagine why you’d go to that much trouble for something so trivial. “I didn’t know they liked baths enough to spend their hard-earned money on such ridiculous frivolities.”

Asmo glanced at his brother and hesitated before speaking. “Well, they didn’t like baths. They bought these for…someone else to use.” Asmo reached into the basket and picked up a black rose-shaped bath bomb and held it out to his brother. “I think you should keep this one.”

There was something knowing in Asmo’s gaze, and something inside him cracked. He shook his head and walked away before he said - or did - something stupid.

Lucifer’s still not sure how he ended up outside your old bedroom door. He felt numb and he wasn’t paying attention to where his feet were taking him. When you left the Devildom, he resisted the temptation to visit your old room. Since your death, he pretended the room didn’t exist.

The door hinges are creaky from lack of use, and he opens the door just enough so he can slip inside before closing it behind him. Judging by the dust in the air, he doesn’t think his brothers have visited your room since your passing either. The room has grown cold and desolate in your absence. He has the urge to board it up and lock it away so that no one else can ever use it.

Lucifer’s not sure what he expects to find when he examines your empty shelves and starts opening random drawers in your vanity. Maybe you left something behind, something he can keep to remember you by; it’ll remind him years from now that you’re the reason why the hole in his heart exists.

There’s a blue sticky note inside one of the drawers. He nearly glances over it, except he notices that the writing is still legible, not yet faded by time. He assumes it’s an old reminder to yourself about homework you had to do, or maybe a shopping list on a night when it was your turn to cook.

He wonders what kind of note you would write today if you could see him now. You were always leaving notes all over the house for him and his brothers to find. He used to hate the ones you left in his office that reminded him to take breaks and to drink something other than coffee. 

He misses those notes now. He misses you.

He swallows around the lump in his throat, and the note shakes in his hands when he summons the courage to read it:

Are you rummaging through my old room because you miss me? I’ll be thinking about you from the human world. Love you! ♡

Something inside him finally breaks. He can’t stop himself when he finally confesses his feelings for you in a hushed whisper, heard by no one else except the memory of you that haunts him.

Read more: Lucifer Masterlist | Obey Me Masterlist

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #obey me x reader #obey me angst #x reader #gn!reader #tw character death

[disillusioneddanny]

Forget Me Not

Tim/Danny

TW:MCD

He found himself sitting in Tim’s old bedroom, photographs and cameras scattered around him as he desperately tried to figure out what happened to his baby brother. Figure out what he had done to his baby brother.

Tim was gone.

And everything felt wrong. Dick knew it was his fault. Knew that he had been there to watch as Tim slowly slipped away, leaving him with nothing but the memories that Dick now held tight. Two of his brothers had died now. And now he was stuck in a house full of memories, of nothing but haunted whispers and glimpses of a brother who was gone.

He had thought that no matter how far Tim went, Dick would be able to follow. He thought that if he had given Tim space, let him grieve in this weird, and horrible way he was choosing that he would eventually get his brother back. That one day, Tim would wake up and he would realize that Bruce was dead and he would come home and he would be the partner that Dick needed, that they would grieve their father’s death together.

Instead, he had been found in his safe house with his throat slit.

And he had gone somewhere that Dick would never be able to follow.

He had left Dick to grieve yet another family member.

The vigilante wiped a stray tear away as he stared down at the pictures, pictures of Batman, of Dick as Robin, of Jason as Robin. Pictures of Nightwing. Pictures of Batgirl, of Spoiler, of Orphan. Pictures of Damian.

Not a single picture of Tim.

Of the bright-eyed, intelligent boy that Dick loved more than life.

Of the brightest, most caring, cunning boy. Of a boy who loved with his entire heart, despite the fact that the world around them continued to shatter it, over and over.

Dick took a steadying breath as the door opened and a ten-year-old boy carefully stepped inside. He said nothing as Damian carefully sat beside him, his head pillowed on Dick’s shoulder as they stared down at the pictures together.

Tim had gone to a place where they would not be able to follow. But Dick had to hope that he had finally found Bruce, that he was happy wherever he was. He was going to let Tim rest in peace, and had refused to even entertain Damian’s idea of taking his brother’s broken and defeated body to Ra’s to bring him back. He was going to let Tim rest in peace, but he wasn’t going to forget him.

His face would one day blur in Dick’s memories, just as his parents had, just as Bruce was starting to do. There weren’t nearly enough photos of the seventeen-year-old. He had taken them of everyone else, but never himself.

Dick wrapped his arms around Damian’s shoulders as the younger boy shook with held-back tears of his own. He wished that he could have helped Tim carry this burden, took the time to just humor the kid. Maybe if he had, Tim would still be here. Maybe then, Dick would have been able to help Tim come back home.

But instead, he had to let Tim rest in peace. And make sure that his legacy would live with Dick until they saw each other again one day. Until their next hello.

———

Danny Fenton sat at the top of Wayne Enterprises and stared down at the city below. The entire town was in mourning, which was understandable. They hadn’t just lost a good one, they had lost the best one.

There was a melancholy weight that seemed to weigh on everyone in Gotham, he could see it in the ways that people seemed to just walk down the sidewalk. Each of the Gotham vigilantes had a different crowd that seemed to flock to them.

Nightwing was the one that the older ladies and the children trusted.

Red Hood was the one that the kids and the street workers called for when they needed help.

Spoiler was especially popular with teenagers, especially the runaways and street kids who seemed to run the streets like their own little empires.

Batman and Robin made everyone safe and comfortable, everyone knew to call for them for safety and help.

But then there was Red Robin.

And the people who Red Robin called for were the vulnerable, the depressed, the ones thinking about ending it all. He was the one for the kids who were ignored or overlooked by their parents. The vigilante who was there for the ones who felt invisible or unseen. He was the hero for the underdog.

He was Danny’s hero.

Danny rubbed at the stray tear that fell down his cheek and let out a breath. He was gone now and everything felt wrong. He knew that there was a reason behind it, knew that he needed to do what he did. But it still hurt, still made it hard for him to even breathe as the days went by. It was necessary, though, it was.

It was the only thing they could have done, but it didn’t make it hurt any less, didn’t make it feel like his lungs were shriveling up in his chest or like his heart was cracking into multiple pieces.

He was the one who had to watch as Tim slowly slipped away, as he carefully tied up each and every loose end in his life without anyone but Danny ever knowing or ever seeing what it was that he was doing. It was hard, it was painful and he found himself fighting over the feelings that seemed to war inside of him as the days went by.

It had been a week.

A week and Danny was still filled with regret, filled with what ifs and questions.

What if they had been able to do it a different way? What if there had been a different solution than the one that they had found? What if there was a way to do this without leaving every person in Gotham feeling like they were now missing a part of themselves?

He saw it in the ways they all looked towards Wayne Enterprises, where Red Robin once stood confidently with his arms crossed over his chest as he stared out over the cityscape. How he heard the other bats start to call for him only to falter in their steps.

He saw it in the way that Bruce would stand over Tim’s grave, silent and sturdy and unable to actually look at the headstone.

Logically, Danny knew it was the only way. Knew that he was going to have to end things like this. He knew every time that he looked at Tim that it was the right decision to make. But it didn’t seem to take the guilt away.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it.

Saw the way that he sliced the knife across Tim’s throat, saw the blood spray out onto the carpet, and felt his heart break as he saw the light fade out of the man’s eyes for just a moment.

His mental state was in a stalemate as he tried to move on from what had happened, to come to terms with the part that he played in everything. Red Robin was gone and it felt wrong, it was a robbery to the people of Gotham City, and he knew that the walls of Wayne Manor likely felt hollow. Because of Danny, because of what he did.

Red Robin was a hero for the unseen, the ones who needed saving from themselves, the ones who were barely keeping their head above water.

He was a hero for people like Danny. Which made sense as to why he would show up now.

“What are you doing out here?” A voice asked and Danny turned to find Tim standing behind him, his bright eyes curious as ever.

Danny turned back to the city and let out a deep, heavy sigh as he looked out over the city once again. “I feel like a piece of shit,” he said mirthlessly. “I know that what we did was necessary, was the only way to keep you safe from Ra’s and I know that you’re okay. You’re a halfa, you’re like me. But every time I close my eyes, all I see is me killing you,” he whispered. “I look at my hands and I see your blood on them. It’s like it’s seared into my memories forever.”

Tim let out a breath of his own as he sat down beside Danny and twinned their fingers together as he stared out at the city. “It was horrible of me to ask you to kill me,” he admitted, tilting his head to the side in that curious way he did when his mind was going in about thirty different directions and he was planning at least five steps ahead of what was going on.

“It was necessary,” Danny breathed out. “It had to be me so that I could transfer ectoplasm to you.”

“Yes, and I’m grateful Danny, you have no idea,” Tim said quietly as he squeezed Danny’s hand, holding it in his lap as he let his feet dangle over the side of the building. “It hurts,” he said quietly.

Danny hummed in response. “I know,” he said simply. “Dying sucks ass.”

Tim shook his head. “No, I mean it hurts knowing that they think I’m dead. They’re all grieving me. That was the hardest part,” he whispered, still staring out at the city, his eyes glazed over and unseeing. “Being turned into a halfa was whatever. I’ve had my throat slit before by Hood. I’ve had so many near-death experiences that dying was actually easier,” he said with a humorless laugh.

The newly created halfa sucked in a breath and closed his eyes as he tipped his head back, his nose now pointed towards the sky. He let out the breath slowly, his thumb rubbed against the back of Danny’s hand. The new death scar that marred Tim’s neck shone against the bright lights of Wayne Tower.

“What hurts is knowing that Dick is down there grieving both me and Bruce. Knowing that the only way I could ever save Bruce was by dying myself was fine. Knowing that Dick, and Jason, and Barbara, and Alfred and hell, even Damian are all down there grieving? That hurts worse than any of it. Knowing that my heartbeat is forever different so not even Kon can track him down now that he’s alive once more. It’s. It’s hard, and it hurts Danny. It hurts knowing that they’re all down there grieving me, thinking that I’m dead. And it hurts knowing that I’m probably never going to get to go back to the life I had. That even after I save Bruce, I’m never going to go home.”

Danny hummed in response. “I still don’t understand why I couldn’t have been the one to go and get Bruce for you. Or to be the one to kill Ra’s,” he said but Tim was already shaking his head.

“We’ve been over this, Danny,” Tim said, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Even if you were the one to kill Ra’s for me and bring Bruce back, I would never be able to stop running. Talia would be after me, the Council of Spiders is still after me, the Justice League thinks I’m batshit, and I’m pretty sure I would never feel safe again. Being a halfa, being this, it makes it easier. I can survive whatever is thrown at me. Not only that, but I’m with you,” he said quietly and finally opened his eyes to look at Danny, a small smile graced his beautiful face.

Tim let out a shaky breath and shook his head. “Who would have thought that my mission would take me to the sleepy town of Amity Park? And that I’d meet you, the answer to all of my questions,” he said before he leaned over and gave Danny a soft kiss.

Danny just smiled against his boyfriend’s lips for a moment. “Well, it didn’t lead you straight to me. I mean you put your nose into a lot of places it didn’t belong and I was already investigating the whole Batman timestream thing in Gotham when it happened,” he said with a chuckle.

Tim just snorted and pulled his head back, shaking his head in amusement as he did. Danny just smiled and stared back out into the city.

When he had met Tim, he was in Gotham trying to figure out how the hell Bruce Wayne had been catapulted into the timestream when Valerie had called him demanding he come back to Amity and talk to the weirdo who was trying to break into the local museum. He had gone back to find a haggard Red Robin trying to find his own clues to figure out what happened. They had compared notes, and started investigating together. Danny had been ordered by Clockwork to collect all of the bat-themed artifacts that were spread out in the world, and Tim was desperately trying to collect evidence to get Bruce back.

Along the way, they had developed feelings for one another. Danny figured it had to do with the fact that they were trauma bonding as they went about their mission. They had managed to evade Ra’s who was actively hunting Tim down, evade the Council of Spiders who was also hunting Tim down, and evade the bats who were trying to drag Tim back to Gotham to shove him into Arkham for being batshit insane.

It was what led Tim to decide that he needed to die to get them all to leave him alone. They still had thirty more artifacts to find before Clockwork would allow them to hop into the timestream and pull Bruce back. Something about righting all of the wrongs that Bruce had caused before getting him back to the present. Danny wasn’t even going to pretend to understand why they couldn’t just drag Bruce back and then hunt down the rest of the artifacts. But as his mentor always liked to remind him, it wasn’t for him to question. So the seventeen-year-old simply accepted what the ghost of time told him and went along for the ride.

Faking Tim’s death had been hard, though.

They had to make it perfect, they had to actually kill him to pull it off. Danny had slit Tim’s throat efficiently and carefully. Had watched as his blood sprayed his clothes and the room, and the light died in Tim’s eyes. He had forced the ectoplasm into Tim who became a halfa almost instantaneously, just as Clockwork told him he would.

From there, he had receded into his core and allowed his human body to stay there. Damian and Dick had been the ones who found Tim. They had done all the tests showing that it was actually Tim’s body.

Danny didn’t stay to see how the funeral went. He had hidden out in the Infinite Realms like a coward until the agreed-upon time to get Tim back. After a week, he had gone to the fresh grave and pulled Tim out of it, leaving behind an identical duplicate of his boyfriend. And somehow the two had now found themselves sitting on top of Wayne Tower, watching the city below them mourn the death of one of their most beloved vigilantes.

From what they had gathered, it had been whispered in the streets that Red Robin had died in the field, none of the others able to bear the thought of replacing his mantle. A Red Robin suit hung in the Batcave beside an old Robin suit. There wasn’t a plaque for it yet.

“It’s worth it,” Tim said, his nose scrunched. “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but it is. Once all of this is over, we can go anywhere. You don’t live in Amity anymore, not after everything with your parents. We’re seventeen, we can go anywhere we want in the world, do anything.”

“Maybe one day we can come back to Gotham. You wouldn’t be the first bat who came back to life,” Danny said gently, still holding Tim’s hand in his.

Tim gave him a grim smile. “Maybe,” he said, although, it didn’t sound like he believed it. And maybe he didn’t. From what he told Danny, too many lines had been crossed. Bridges had been burned and from what it sounded like, Tim wasn’t convinced they could ever be mended. The freshly created halfa stood up and wiped his pants before a bright ring of light surrounded him, showing his new ghost form. “For now, we have work to do.”

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dis writes #dis dreams #batman #danny fenton #dc x dp crossover #major character death #whump #angst #hurt/comfort

[urdepressedslut]

You're Mine, Sunshine ❝part ten❞

♡ Pairing: Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Someone comes knocking at your door in the morning. Bucky answers and is surprised with who he finds. Are they going to help them or hurt them?

♡ Warnings: language, heavy angst, mentions of parent death, murder, violence, mentions of stalking, death threats, fluff, sexual tension, major cliffhanger don’t hate me i love you hehe

Series Masterlist

Trope ⇢ Grumpy x Sunshine | Mob!Au Bodyguard!Au

"What are you thinking sir?" A nervous voice asked hesitantly from across the room, keeping his distance as he watched his boss pace the space.

Pierce was seething— seeing red with anger as he recalled every moment from your house. He had never held so much hatred for someone in his entire life. With impulsiveness— Pierce grabbed an expensive looking liquor bottle and threw it against he office wall. Shattering on impact as all the men jumped slightly from shock. The liquid burned down the wall, the amber leaking onto the nicely polished floor.

"I need to make a phone call." Pierce spoke lowly, his eyes glaring dagger at the man who had asked the question.

Bucky was not going to live— not after he had spoken to Pierce like that. Pierce was a man of power, respect— and Bucky had no right to speak to him— treat him as such. It was only common sense that everyone was below Pierce. Bucky had clearly misunderstood the rules. Pierce decided it was time to give the man a test, really show him who had full control.

~

Bucky had lost track of time, losing himself in the feeling of your hair in between his fingers. He had started carding his fingers in your strands to comfort you at first, but now he found himself lost in the action— the sensation soothing his own anxieties.

You had fallen asleep in his arms, and despite the voice in the back of his head to not let you get close— he hugged you tightly to his chest.

Could he really do that though? Push you away?

He had learned quickly who you really were behind the picture your Father had painted for you. What Bucky found underneath all the lies, was someone that he really liked. He liked who you were, and he wanted to learn more about you. Every tic, every quirk— he needed to know. You filled a void within him, one that he didn’t know needed to be filled. It was unexpected, he he appreciated the lightness you brought to his life. He wasn’t used to it, but he wanted to be.

The doorbell suddenly sounded and Bucky was instinctively hugging you tighter to his chest. You mumbled incoherently, but otherwise didn’t wake up. Bucky was as gentle as ever, laying you down in the couch in the library. He felt uncomfortable leaving you here, but knew he needed to see who it was.

His mind immediately went to Pierce— and Bucky discovered he had no plan. No course of action if that was the big boss at the door. The idea of trying to be civil was thrown out the window. As soon as he had laid a hand on you— Bucky was seeing red. There was no coming back from that— Bucky would rather lost his job than see you hurt.

The silhouette from the frosty glass was large, stocky— and Bucky knew it couldn’t of been Pierce. Not risking a chance, Bucky peeked out the window from the stairs. He was relived to find the driveway empty. Surely if it was Pierce, the driveway would be filled with cars.

Unlocking the door, he swung it open to reveal— Steve.

Bucky kept his face emotionless, the only thing stirring in his mind was the last conversation they had. The judgment, the venom that came from him about you. Bucky wouldn’t take that anymore, he’d shut Steve up before he even tried— no matter if they’re best buds.

“What’re you doing here?” Bucky grumbled, squinting his eyes.

Steve held his hands up in surrender, but otherwise looked very apologetic. His face was slightly pained, his body sagging differently. If Bucky weren’t too busy being angry with him— he’d be concerned.

“I know I don’t have any right to be here, not after my last visit.” He started and Bucky’s jaw clenched at the mention. “But this is important— can I come in?”

Bucky wanted to say no, but things were at an all time low right now. He didn’t know what Steve had to say, but he had a feeling it wasn’t good. He was still his best bud— despite him being a fucking idiot.

“Fine.” Bucky said finally, stepping aside to let him in.

Steve walked in quickly, having some pep to his step. As soon as he entered Bucky was closing the door, locking up the many latch’s.

Bucky followed behind Steve as he made his way to the living room, plopping down onto the same couch that the whole incident happened on. Just stepping into the room had him feeling uneasy— wishing he could turn back time, making sure that moment never happened in the first place.

Bucky sat forward, hands folded together. He sat with his back straight, his eyes still squinting. He was trying to get a read on Steve.

Meanwhile Steve could sense the uneasiness from across the way— noting the way Bucky was sitting versus his usual laid back, legs crossed— comfortable position.

“Like I said— I know things ended on a sour note—”

“You better keep your mouth shut if it’s about her. She doesn’t need your bullshit.” Bucky snapped, his metal fist whirring.

Steve nodded in fairness.

“Listen, I’m sorry for what I said about her— I was completely wrong. You were right— I don’t know a thing about her! I get that now, okay?” Steve apologized, making Bucky furrow his brows in confusion.

“That’s what you came for? To apologize?” He wondered.

“No, not exactly.” Steve breathed out, running a hand through his hair. “I came to warn you— about Pierce.”

Just the name alone was enough to send chills down his body. He had swore he wasn’t afraid of the man— but with everything that happened, he was more afraid of what was going to be done. So no— he wasn’t afraid of him— just what was coming.

“Is this a test?” Bucky scoffed, not believing that Steve would switch sides all of a sudden.

Steve shook his head frantically, his face becoming more stressed.

“Buck— you gotta listen to me man. Whatever you did, whatever happened— he did not take lightly. He’s sending a hit man after you— multiple!” Steve warned him.

Bucky stiffened in his seat, he knew Pierce was angry— but fuck. It was one thing to have a good idea about a situation, it was a whole other feeling when the idea became reality. Still, he didn’t fear for his life— only yours. He only wanted to stay alive so he could protect you, and that wasn’t just because he was your bodyguard.

“Why are you telling me this? Aren’t you his little puppy.” Bucky was still wondering why the sudden switch.

Steve tried to hide the hurt from those words, but he knew he wasn’t in the position to argue. He deserved that.

“There’s another thing I should tell you.” Steve said firstly, Bucky motioned for him to continue. “Pierce has been working with Rumlow.”

Bucky nearly had his eyes bulging from his head, his body as stiff as a board. He didn’t know whether to feel angry or disturbed. The name alone was bringing up horrid memories he fought hard to forget— but nothing was ever that easy.

“Are you fucking with me?” Bucky asked lowly.

“No— Buck this is real.” Steve confirmed. “I knew there was something off about the way things were going, with the whole stalker thing that seemed to show up out of nowhere. It just didn’t make sense— I didn’t understand… but I heard him.”

Bucky perked up at the mention of the stalker, gladly focusing on this rather than the flashbacks that were approaching.

“What do you mean? Heard what?” He pushed, and didn’t like the face Steve gave him.

“I heard Pierce talking with Rumlow one day… I shouldn’t of listened in but… It’s Rumlow— he’s the stalker.” Steve told him.

Bucky should’ve been shocked, but he knew who Rumlow was— what he was capable of. Hell— he was the reason why his family was such a sensitive topic. Just the sliver of the thought had Bucky’s chest tightening. His metal arm whirring in anger— the things he’d do to Rumlow if he ever got the chance.

Now he was after you?

It sparked a completely different fire up within him, and he could physically feel himself hot with rage. Rumlow had taken enough— he was not going to take you too.

Bucky took an extra second to let the thoughts stir, immediately he felt sick to his stomach for a whole different reason. He felt sick for you.

“Wait… did he— did he kill (Y/n)’s Mother?” Bucky asked hesitantly.

Steve dropped his head, avoiding Bucky’s eyes and didn’t say a word. But he didn’t need to— his reaction was enough to let Bucky know. She had been murdered.

“Fuck.” Bucky hissed under his breath, still trying to be careful not to wake you.

You were going to be so heartbroken. More than you already were. Bucky’s heart already hurt for you. He almost started begging to the air for someone, something to take you pain away. You didn’t deserve this life— you didn’t deserve the life you were given. You deserved something far better than this hell hole.

“Buck… Pierce knows— hell when I over heard them talking they started laughing about it. About the notes about the Mother— about it all.” Steve told him. “Pierce was laughing about tormenting his daughter— fucking laughing!”

Bucky clenched his fists so incredibly tight, he suddenly couldn’t feel his flesh hand, the blood being cut off due to his tenseness.

“Do you think Pierce hired Rumlow to kill her?” Bucky wondered out loud.

“I guarantee it. With the way Pierce has been plotting— orchestrating this whole act… he’s trying to do the same with (Y/n).” Steve answered.

The threat to your life had Bucky standing up, pushing the seat back with intensity. He couldn’t stand to hear such things, it made him want to bolt to you right now. Hug you tight and never let you see the horrors of the outside world again. Fuck— he wish he could.

“His own fucking daughter? Why?”

“I don’t know Buck, that’s all the information I have.” Steve told him shamefully.

Bucky walked over and dropped a hand on Steve’s shoulder— trying to comfort him.

“Hey— I appreciate you man. I’m still pissed you disrespected (Y/n)— but if you stop listening to Pierce’s orders… maybe I’ll forgive ya.” Bucky tried to joke, seeing how distraught Steve was.

“I’m not going back to him. After I saw him enjoying the whole stalker situation I— I just couldn’t stay.” Steve swallowed. “I can’t even imagine having a Father that wanted to kill me.”

Bucky swallowed his own fear at those words, and took a couple steps back from Steve. Needing some space to take some deep breaths.

“My Father wants to what?” You spoke up from the doorway.

Both Steve and Bucky snapped their gaze to you, your form shaking and your eyes wide— full of fear.

“Doll… how much did you hear?” Bucky asked, walking over to your quickly, stopping when he was close enough to reach his hands out and place them on your shoulders.

You stared at him, your eyes welling with tears and just slightly he could still see the sleep in your features. He felt horrible, what a horrible way to wake up. First, you had heard something you shouldn’t of heard. Two, he wasn’t there with you when you woke.

“My Father wants to… he wants to kill me?” You whispered in horror.

“No, no— (Y/n), we don’t know that for sure. There’s just a lot happening right now.” Bucky tried to calm you down, rubbing your arms comfortingly.

You still held a pained expression, but walked closer to Bucky, letting him wrap his arms around you protectively. You didn’t know what to say, or think— or do… you just needed to feel safe right now.

Steve watched from his seat, furrowing his brows at first at this soft side coming from Bucky. It was completely strange and Steve wanted to tease him about it. But the more he stared at the two, he couldn’t help but let out a small smile— the two of you looking so… perfect together. Steve was happy for him, even if he wasn’t sure what you two were. Whatever happened, he hoped his pal was happy by the end.

Bucky felt Steve staring and glanced his way. He ignored the smile Steve sported and pulled you away from him slightly to look you in the eyes.

“(Y/n), this is Steve. He’s someone who used to work for your Father.” Bucky introduced you.

You looked from Steve back to Bucky, unsure about him at first.

“Used to?” You questioned.

“He doesn’t work for him anymore, you’re safe with us.” Bucky calmed you, noticing the fear that lingered behind your eyes.

You didn’t trust anyone that worked with your Father— besides Bucky of course. You didn’t trust that some of his men would come by and steal Bucky away from you, steal you away. Especially after what you had heard, despite your doubts and the spiraling thoughts— you were afraid of your Father. You were terrified he’d hurt you again— or worse.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you (Y/n).” Steve greeted you politely, standing up from his seat.

You couldn’t help the small smile that erupted, Steve’s gentle aura making you feel comfortable. Allowing you to relax your muscles that had previously been tensed up.

“Nice to meet you Steve. Thank you for… sticking by me.” You voiced quietly.

Steve sent a nod back, as Bucky grabbed your attention— his fingers gripping your chin.

“How are you’re feeling?” He whispered, and you shrugged.

You didn’t know how to feel. You were surprisingly calm for hearing such news this morning— for everything that had happened leading up to this moment. It felt wrong to feel so relaxed. You couldn’t help it— you felt like you could relax with Bucky around. You trusted him to protect you— keep you safe. That wasn’t just because he was assigned to be your bodyguard. You just trusted him.

“I don’t know James.” You answered truthfully, you didn’t know what you felt.

He nodded in understanding, knowing what it was like not to be able to comprehend emotions. With everything you had been through, everything you had heard— he didn’t blame you for not having an answer. He expected you to disoriented, wounded from everything for awhile. That didn’t mean you were going to deal with it alone— Bucky was gonna be there for you the whole time. Every step, he’d take with you. Every low, he’d go down with you.

His walls were almost completely crumbled, you to blame for that. That wasn’t the scariest part— it was the fact he was so okay with it.

“I just want you to know that it’s okay, to not be okay. You’ve been through a lot.” He started, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, the sensation giving you goosebumps. “It’s okay to not be so strong all the time.”

Your eyes watered at his words. The validation of your feelings, your distress— every single doubt and worry had you melting for him. You had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in your life. He made you feel so special, so cared about— so important. Instead of following through with your thought, you nodded.

“I hate to break this up…” Steve interrupted awkwardly, “But I gotta meet with my men, let them know what’s going on. They’re gonna wonder where I went— I’ll need to come up with something.”

Bucky nodded in agreement but otherwise held a concerned expression.

“You gonna be alright?” He asked him.

Steve chuckled lightly, slapping a hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder.

“Don’t go soft on me now— I’ll be fine.” Steve jabbed, he couldn’t help himself. He had wanted to say something the second he saw some kind of mama bear side come out.

Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face.

Steve gave you another nod and left without another word— swiftly exiting through the front door. Leaving just you and Bucky in the house.

Bucky moved his eyes from the door to your face— taking a deep breath in at the deep look in your eyes. The same look he had seen before, the one that had him having to say something before you could come any closer.

You darted your eyes to his lips, watching his bottom one get sucked into his mouth— before you shot yours back up to his eyes.

“(Y/n)…” He warned.

You almost pouted at his warning, there he was again— stopping you before you had moved an inch. Every time he’d stop you, every doubt, every tainted thought came swirling into your mind— the ones that convinced you he didn’t feel the same way. Despite all the stolen touches, all the longing looks— your mind still shouted at you that he didn’t feel the same way.

“Why do you do that?” You whispered, your fingers playing with the material of his shirt.

��Do what?” He asked, though he knew exactly what you were referring to.

You lowered your eyes to his chest, focusing on your fingers fiddling with his shirt.

“Stop me.” You told him.

You felt him take a deep breath in, his chest rising into you. He kept watching you fidget with his shirt, keeping his eyes ready for when you lifted your face back up to his.

“Because we shouldn’t.” He spoke lowly, his voice getting gravely— the tension making his breathing pick up.

You slowly lifted your gaze back up to his, and you had to hold back the gasp at the way he was gazing down at you. It had you feeling warm, tingly with desire.

“Are you sure it’s not because you don’t want me?” You whispered out, so quiet he barely heard it. But he did.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you tighter against him and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you this time. You stared up at him, watching his pupils slightly dilate— his warm breath fanning down in your face.

“No… it’s not that.” He breathed out, his self control hanging on by a thread.

He so badly wanted to devour you, the mere thought of your lips had blood rushing down to his nether regions. He cursed himself internally hoping you couldn’t tell.

“You sure?” You asked him, and you praises yourself for holding back your true emotions.

Although the tension was thick, and you kept slightly edging him on— you still had doubts pounding at your skull. You just needed to know the truth, you need him to fight against all the doubts— get rid of them.

“Trust me— I want you.” He admitted finally.

Your heart sped up at the admission, and you couldn’t control the way you bit your lip— you desire causing your panties to dampen slightly. It had been so long since someone affected you like this— physically making your body crave someone so badly. You wanted him, needed him, and because you both didn’t know what was in store tomorrow, even the next couple of hours— you didn’t want to waste another second.

“Prove it.” You breathed out, and you swore you saw his eyes turn almost completely black with lust.

Before you could start to overthink, his lips were crashing against yours and you swore time had stopped.

🤍 taglist is officially closed for this series 🤍

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[chaosfae-writes]

𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

premise: the lioness gnaws on her favored maiden.

pairing: yandere!cersei lannister x poc!reader

warnings: abuse of power, gender identity issues (slight, but this is cersei), wlw, dead dove smut.

ao3

a/n: although I love show cersei, she was watered down a bit. I wanted to see more of her delulu side, and exploration of her gender issues. Sansa Stark cameo! Sansa is just a baby that needs protecting! <3 anyways, enjoy! <3 do not repost my works!

Cersei Lannister doesn’t have companions.

An unruly child grew into a woman with a crude tongue. Where she lacks empathy with a blackened heart, she makes up for her beauty and charm—- that only extends so far.

Golden locks, and fair skin—- with a temper of a lion. Deludes herself that she has been deprived of her inheritance to Casterly Rock, and is the true queen majesty of all seven kingdoms.

Everything belongs to her.

Her kingdom, her brother, her children —- even you.

A possessive creature. Her love only extends to what she craves, and what she sees in herself. And whenever she senses a threat upon her possessions, that anyone could snatch away her toys —- the lioness becomes irate.

A small council, and a small flock of handmaidens. Only a handful of maids are entrusted in the queen’s space, but only one to bear witness the queen at her rawest.

You are punished by her unsought favor.

To clean her, to dress her, a vessel for her to unburden herself on you. Mistakenly you offered sympathies as a woman one day —- perhaps, too kindly.

Prior, you were just a handmaiden blending in within the palace.

The late king had struck Cersei, you catered to her. Cleaning her split lip, all you spoke was that a queen should be respected, no matter what she has uttered.

All you did was to perform your duty as the queen’s servant … no ill will. Perhaps it’s your shyness, or your taught obedience that caught Cersei’s meticulous eye.

Eventually, she demanded more of you. Requesting your presence for everything, and eventually more demanding—- more touchy.

Dressing you in her house’s colors—- gold and deep red. Adorning you with luxurious fabrics, and discreetly pinning a lion brotchee upon your shoulder. It brought a wave of embarrassment, for such clothing is above your station.

Showering you with such gifts as a king does so to his paramour. It became abhorrent at times to nearby eyes—- more than once, you caught her father’s cold glare.

Conversing with you—- or rather at you, rambling on about her fits of rage upon her father’s lack of respect, how she isn’t respected as queen, how the small folk should be kissing her feet—- or how her little brother should’ve died at the birthing bed.

Delusions of greed and arrogance woven with the silk of self-wallowing, and pity.

Always touching.

Grazing your skin by the fingertips, her breath upon the slope of your neck, gripping your mound tightly as if she possesses any ownership. Sending Bernadette —- against the maid’s growing irate —- to fetch for you almost every fortnight.

To the point where you don’t even sleep in your own chambers anymore.

-

The traitorous wolf is dead.

Long love the youthful stag.

A feast, a celebration held by the newly crowned king. As he cheers over the death of one of the noblest men to live. A cruel boy who immulates his mother’s strife. A feast of dancing, and platters of luxurious food, merry music and jesters.

Seated beside Cersei, as well as her other maidens Bernadette and Senelle. Carefully, your eyes float a peek at the little dove seated beside Joffrey. Sansa is now a shell of the young girl she once was. Pity dwells within you, a somber child, who’s eyes never leave her lap.

You were once that child, once hopeful, only for life to beat you as if you were nothing. Life doesn’t spare the young, age has no limits.

You’re picking at the fruits and meats on your plate, rather bored at the royal nonsense. Gossip among ladies, and redundant chatter of politics among the lords —- it doesn’t pertain to you.

Never has, never will.

As a young girl, it bothered you. How unfair it was that the town folks suffer, as the noble float above the clouds with fine clothing, unending platters of food, and spoiled beyond their dreams.

Now, it doesn’t matter. The bitterness doesn’t matter. Grief to spite, to then an achromatic sense of life. You learned that you are no different than these flocks —- we all are born, then we die all the same, buried in the same soil we go.

But fantasies of escaping to the East, to the land of your ancestors —- to start anew keeps you hopeful. Meet someone, have a babe or two. Live on a farm fruitful of crops.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t sense a presence looming nearby, ever so watching, gawking at its prey.

“May I have this dance?” A voice soaked in sultry warmth, beckoning and confident. Startling you to jump just a bit, turning over your shoulder, standing above you, is Jaime Lannister. Gold yellow hair, smooth and silky, and a confident smirk to match.

“Lord Commander.” You speak in a gasp, bowing your head respectfully. Jaime’s smile twitches, growing wider—- Lord Commander —- not many address him as such. It’s always Kingslayer , never an ounce to respect.

“May I have the pleasure of a dance?” Jaime’s tone is more smoother, his canines flashing as if he’s ready to bite.

Cersei’s eyes narrow, “Jaime, let her be.” She tries to keep her voice low. Jaime scuffs playfully, “ And why? All these squawking hens must be such a bore.” He turns to you with a boyish grin, making you laugh softly.

All it does is make Cersei more annoyed. She has been upset all evening—- rather all day. Cersei found you earlier in the morning tending to Sansa. The little girl was bruised and broken by the mongrel of Cersei’s beastly son.

Tending to Sansa felt wholesome, it filled a void inside you. Reminded you of how it felt to be a mother again.

It irritated something in Cersei, to see you so kind to another.

“Thank you, Ser,” You cautiously say, you can feel Cersei’s tension. Doe eyes flutter back to Jaime, “But there are more gracious ladies who are more suited for your hand.”

Jaime tsks at your rejection. “ Nonsense. These birds are not to my taste.” He out-stretches his hand, not taking no for an answer.

Hesitantly, you take his hand, his fingers curl around, no space for escape. Jaime guides you by the feet, feeling the heat of anxiety flood your flesh, as if you felt the thousands of gazes in your direction.

But—- the daggers lodging themselves in your back were from a pair of greens.

A clunky sway between four feet, it’s quite difficult to catch up to Jaime’s step. Unaware at first to steady yourself; Jaime takes this to his advantage, slithering his palm to the nape of your tailbone, luring you into him.

Muttering low, “Follow my lead.” Jaime whispers. Slowing his footfalls, you follow his pace. Clenching your jaw, rather upsetting to be in this position, in the hands of a noble —— in such a vulnerable display.

“I am afraid I won’t be much of a dancer,” Your eyes glued to your feet, a little flumpily. “I haven’t had lessons.” Not daring to glance upward at his intense eyes.

“And weren’t taught lessons on manners.” Jaime jests, earning your head to snap up swiftly, now eye to eye, with a frightened stare of a doe. “Have I offended you, Ser?” Your eyes wearily gaze down.

Jaime chuckles, “There it is again,” his finger curls under your chin, making you look at him in the eye. “Most of the dance, you have not addressed me with so much as a glance.”

You hum, eyes downcasted to the flooring. “My apologies, I am accustomed to not stare too long at the noble.” Swapping harshly, your throat clenching a little.

“Mousey little creature, you are.”

You breathe a titter, bowing your head still, “The bored lion plays with the mouse.” Shyly staring at your feet, careful not to step on his toes.

“Bored isn’t the word.” Jaime whispers, tilts his head closer, attempting to catch your eyes. He leans in your space, you can feel his warmth beat against your face. His nose is just inches from yours.

“Merely curious.” Jaime teases. “My sister has had many maidens, but never any has been beautiful.” He has always snuck glances.

Your eyes slowly gaze up, fully taking in his golden hue.

A natural skin of rich brown —- not many folk in the West possess such color, he can tell you are not of Andal birth. Your flesh shines as sun brown, and curly tresses brushed back to a gold thin lined headdress.

You hum low, not intrigued in his antics, your mind is too preoccupied by another twin —- one who is more meaner.

“You hide yourself in plain cloth, dare to deprive a man?” He chuckles, but his eyes are heavy with need. A simple dress of royal blue—- not the colors of the house you serve, it doesn’t shape your bodice, nor do you seek for it to.

“There is nothing beneath to be desired.” You snip softly. A ripple of fear shivers your flesh, sneaking glances over Jaime’s shoulders. Barely a glimpse at the royal table, a flash of angry green eyes burns you.

“I beg to differ.” His voice pulls you back, eye to eye now. Jaime swirls your bodice around, his open palm tight on your tailbone. Sending a shiver upon the curve of your spine, never been touched by a man.

“My sister has kept you all to herself, I’m envious.” Jaime holds you to his chest, heavy breathing collides. “You tend to her hand and foot—- is there any way you can tend to my needs?” A smirk curls on Jaime’s mouth, ready to sink his teeth.

“When I am cold in my grave.”

“A knight and a handmaiden,” Jaime’s shrugs his head, “A sight all too common.” Gesturing to this as it could be a casual affair. He enjoys your bite, so used to the familiarity of women throwing themselves at him, such easy prey to play with, but he rejects them all.

This is new, a fun game.

You admittedly enjoy his touch, Jaime is breath-taking. Golden honey hair, a strong beautiful sculpted nose, and beautiful green hues.

“I must behold my reputation.” You said in a hush, “I am a lady in your sister’s circle, it would be improper to entertain her brother—- a Lord Commander no less.” You hum low, a small twitch of a smile.

Before Jaime could speak, you catch a glimpse of an ornery glare from a distance, burning with fury. The boldness fades on your lips, but confidence still lingers.

“Doesn’t your oath forbid you of any intimacy?” You jest with him, but your mind is still wondering for Cersei, as well as making sure your feet are coordinated.

You’re nearly breathless, and frightened.

Jaime feigns shock. “My oath won’t be burdened nor broken, if it is kept a secret.” He twirls you again among the sea of dancing lords and ladies. “Secrets can be delicious.” He whispers a wisp into the shell of your ear.

“Even poison can be enticing.” You tilted your chin at him, Jaime smiles, his hands circle your waist even closer to himself. His thumb stroking against your waist.

The environment blurs for a moment, it feels nice. To be treated with kindness, and gracious banter. To not be touched so harshly. But simultaneously, it’s all too much. As if a foreigner in unknown land, touch such as this is—- new.

“How could anyone deny themselves pleasure? Even if it’s —- dangerous?”

You gasp, mouth agape, for once, you didn’t have a snip to his flirtations. Jaime hums a chuckle, “Why, has the mouse lost her tongue?”

“I—”

“The Queen is ready to retire for the evening.” Bernadette’s voice floats behind you, and you thank the Gods above for her —- for just a moment. To be freed from this burning grasp.

“A thousand apologies, Ser. I must tend to—”

“My sister… yes. ” There is a mirth to his tone, mischievous. His eyes stare as if he knows something, toying with it his tongue.

“Yes…” You nod with a timid smile. You bow your head to him, grabbing the skirt of your dress, “I am grateful for the honor of a dance, Commander.” Jaime’s mouth is agape, and genuinely it spreads to a wanton smile.

“ Jaime.”

You gasp a breath, eyes taken back. Jaime grabs your hand into his, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

“Please call me Jaime.” His eyes are pleading, almost glassy. You blink, a simper of appreciation. A royal has never been so amiable with you. Always ‘my lord’ this, and ‘my lady’ that.

“Thank you, Jaime.” You say, a human sensation of appreciation is twinkling like feathers in your belly. It feels nice.

A cough emits behind you. You close your eyes —- it’s time. Lashes blink back, “I must go.” Feet backpedals, hands slowly slip from the warmth of his fingers.

“Yes, you must go.” Jaime says coyly.

Oval nails slip back to your stitching, you twirl around to walk behind Bernadette. Duckling footfalls in line, as Bernadette walks with a hast stride, slinking through the dancing bodies.

“Our majesty is very impatient.” Bernadette’s voice is snarky, as if she chastises a child.

When has she ever not been?

All you can do is strum in agreement.

As you both reach the king’s high table, you catch Cersei’s eyes. Envy as green as her hues, mouth wrinkled. Immediately she stands from her chair, bidding her son a good evening —- all he does is give her a wave and a cantankerous smile, too busy boasting with low lords.

You immediately follow behind Cersei’s trail, biting your tongue, the edge of your jaw clenching in unbridled anger.

Bernadette is not far behind, trying to level at Cersei’s shoulders, but Cersei snappily dismisses her with a flick of her wrist.

Bernadette is sent away to her own rooms, much to her dismay.

-

The lioness is prowling.

Foaming at the maw.

Cersei walked with a firm gait. Her hands clasped over each other, her lips twitching; her brocade fabric sways against the flooring. Her brother —- her lover, and her maiden in such a display.

The walk back to her chambers is eerily quiet. Anxiously your fingers fiddle with your rings, as your belly is churning as slippery eels.

Hastily, you grasp the large oak brown door handles, opening it wide for her—- hopefully pleasantries can ease the tension.

Without a look at you, Cersei immediately walks into her chambers. Harsh fingers tugs at her dress collar, Cersei’s back to you. Routine is often instructed to undress her, but she isn’t thrilled to be touched yet.

“Prepare my bath.” She demands, without even looking at you. “Yes, your Majesty.” You speak in a strain. Rolling your sleeves up to the joints of your elbows.

In the washroom, you fill the tub with warm water that has been on flame for awhile. Carefully, you begin to pour in scented oils, put her bar of soaps on the dish tray, and a rag over your forearm.

Cersei strides to the room, only in a crimson robe, with golden threads. Her face is cold, frozen in disgust.

Ungraciously Cersei drops her robe, it glides down her arms. She steps out of the bundle of fabric, and into the steamy bath. The routine commences—- you have it ingrained on what she likes.

As you kneel, Cersei untangles your headdress uncouthly, letting it fling to the floor, your hair flows down your shoulders. You resume your duty, as if nothing happened.

You unclasp her hair from the gold clips, softly caressing her skull. Untangling her swirls, and unclipping her jewelry. Tenderly, you knead the nape of her neck, to the slope of her throat, to her collarbones.

Cersei moans, closes her eyes in content, but she won’t be manipulated by your touch.

Her eyes flicker open.

“Bring me wine.” Curt and sharp. A dismissive wave of her hand. You stand up from your knees, grabbing the wine jug, pouring the dry sweet Arbor wine into her cuppee.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Cersei asks, if possible, the heat of her jealousy can boil the bath. Hesitant, you cautiously say, “Yes, the Lord Commander is a gracious dancer.” You offer her the goblet.

“Formalities,” Cersei chuckles, her head bobs tipsily, “ Ser… Lord… ” Her laugh dies, with a frown, “—with how you were fondling him, might as well refer to him by his name.” Her voice is sharp. She snatches the cuppee from your hand.

“I wouldn’t dare to speak to him so formally.” You say, sinking into yourself more and more. You resume cleaning her, trying to get through the night.

“Is it men you seek for?” Cersei asks, twisting the cuppee between her fingertips. You shake your head, “No, your grace.”

“No?” Cersei’s voice rises in pitch, almost mockingly.

“I do not seek companionship.” You peek through your lashes, trying to keep your composure. As a fawn caught by the hands of a hunter.

A thread snaps in Cersei’s mind at those words.

“If I bore a cock, perhaps you would be enticed.” Cersei hissed, her milky fingers clenching her gold cuppee. Her voice slithers into an incoherent mumble, ‘If I was born a son, we would be wedded.’

Her drunken vulnerability turns sour once more.

An empty malicious thought plagues Cersei.

“The Mountain has a taste for sweet gentle creatures—-” Cersei whispers, fiddling with your sleeve. “He would eat you alive.” An airy laugh escapes her, head reclines. She’s rambling poison, trying to hurt you, as if you have pained her in return.

“Perhaps then your whorish behavior would then be satisfied.” Cersei growls into her drink.

You remain mute, not daring to speak in your defense. It’s better fitted to let her ramble in her delusions. Cersei’s eyes spark again, feline eyes stare at you.

“Remember what he did to our late Princess Elia Martell? That was just sport for him.” Her face morphed to a devilish grin, hazy eyes sharply baring into your wet doe ones. The threat is clear, but you don’t catch the bait.

“All of the realm recalls the tragedy.”

Cersei’s face falls a bit, her smile morphs to a frown, her eyes narrow spitefully. She hoists her slender leg up, splashing her bath water everywhere, even drizzling your fabric, and face; earning a flinch. Your eyes scrunches shut, from the swash.

“Scrub.”

Gently you resume washing Cersei. The wash cloth soaps her skin, avoiding her lower regions, not daring to touch her —- it will only spark her. You save that task for last.

Cersei gulped down her wine, the warm twang floods her blood, and her mean strike.

Cersei calms for a moment, her eyes staring yards away. Finally, her body is cleaned, and you cautiously dove your hand into the soapy water, scrubbing her mound. You can feel her pubic hair through the rag. Out of instinct, Cersei bucks her hips against your palm.

Cersei moans happily.

“My brother desires you.” Cersei slurs, just a little. Staring into her wine, her fingernail scraping against the gold engraving. She speaks in a manner as if she talks to herself. You ignore her, swallowing harshly. Cersei is bristling, you prepare yourself —- for the outburst.

Her wet hand reaches for your hair, waves of midnight brown. Her fingers fiddle with the tresses, coiling into a makeshift fist.

“Pretty little thing…” Cersei deadpans, her pink mouth purses. She tugs downward, causing you to wince. And without any hesitation, her back hand swacks your cheek, sending you to crash into the flooring.

That was Cersei at her gentlest.

Cersei stands from her tub, her tuft of hair in view, nose down at your pitiful state. Crumpled onto the floor, cheek swelling, wet moon eyes —- fragile and broken, just how Cersei likes it.

“My husband wasn’t so kind.” Cersei spits, “He didn’t grant me such mercy.” Cersei’s bare foot grazes against your belly, slightly pushing. Towering over you as if you were a mere worm.

The late king was a brute, harshly thrusting his drunken rage onto Cersei. His swollen belly crushed her, and to add salt to the wound, after violating her body, he would whisper Lyanna in her ear.

“Undress.” Cersei seethes.

Shakily, you untie your dress, one shoulder at a time. “If you dare lay with Jaime—- or with any man, I will cut that tongue out of your little head.” Cersei clicks her tongue, “But oh, that tongue of yours is too delicious. It would be a waste.”

You slip out of your dress, with only a simple white cotton undergarment. Cersei snags your cloth, tearing it to thin ripped shreds, ‘as so a man would’ , Cersei thinks.

Cersei kicks the cotton against the floor by her foot, as you stand shivering under her watchful gaze.

“Kneel.”

As you kneel onto the chilled flooring, Cersei waltz to the bedding, leaning onto her spine, her legs spreading as if she’s presenting a feast.

Crawling on all fours as a dog, head bowing, nose flaring to maintain a steady pace of breath. Closer and closer now, you can feel the heat from her thighs, a natural essence emits from her mound, damp and fresh with herbal water.

Cersei’s fingers sought through your hair, fondling your scalp; guiding you further into her.

Your nose goes against her pelvic bone, her blonde tuft of hair envelopes your entire mouth, tickling your skin. Cersei’s fingers interwoven with your curls, tugging against your scalp sharply now, tight at the roots.

You catch yourself voluntarily suckingly her clit into the cave of your mouth. Sloppily nibbling and licking her folds.

Suckling her mound, mouth latched onto her as if savoring a succulent fruit. Your nose pinned against her hair, all that can be heard is the echo of your tongue lapping. Cersei’s grip is woven tight, it feels like pricking needles against your skull.

Cersei hisses through her teeth, legs spreading wider, hips thrusting against your mouth. Completely at her mercy, her palms holding your head, struggling to breathe, as her cunt is spilt and soppy against your mouth.

Hair not as dark as Robert’s but thick as his once was in his youth, it stirs something in Cersei. As a pot boiling at the rim, she snaps.

“If I was born a son,” Cersei shouts, nearly at her peak, thrashing you off of her. Wiping your mouth by the back of your hand, it glistens with Cersei’s slick.

“Perhaps then, I would have my way with you, not in such a secret!” How dare Jaime try to sway you in his bed, although Cersei warms it herself.

“Fuck you on the hill of Casterly Rock!”

Cersei isn’t always this cruel. Sometimes, she can be kind, and gracious —- as much as she can. Find the humor and joys in her privileged life. When she isn’t drunk, when she can hold a conversation—- she is tolerable.

That Cersei is ‘sweet’ , and in those sparse moments, you can forget that you are merely a servant, and she is the Queen.

“On the bed.” Barking orders as if she is a commander on the battlefield. As you crawl onto the mattress on all fours, Cersei serves herself a handful of your ass, fingers digging.

A pregnant pause.

“Do you desire my brother?” Do you desire a man?

Your face wrinkles in a silent sob, shaking your head, “No, your grace.” Bowing your head down in-between your arms.

“Do you not find him attractive?” Cersei goads, her finger tracing between your cheeks. “No—” a whack against your backside, causing you to wince in pain.

“As children, many couldn’t tell Jaime and I apart.” Cersei says, as she relishes in the blooming heat of your ass. “We mirror each other in so many ways.”

Even both acquire the same appetites.

“You insult him, you insult me.”

“What do you most yearn for in this life?” Cersei asks, tracing your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I have no ambitions.” You tiredly say. Sucking in your lips into your mouth, tasting your tears. Blindly blinking with damp lashes. Cersei ignores it, humming low in her throat.

“Every little girl has dreams,” Cersei goades, hovering over your spine, her mouth edging near the shell of your ear. In a warm whisper, “to seek for a prince to whisk them away. Surely I did. ” Her pink tongue slithers, and kitten licks your ear, the warmth jolting a shiver to your mound.

Cersei’s mouth trails down from your cheek, to the slope of your neck, leaving behind open kisses. Scraping the skin of your shoulder with her teeth, nipping here and there —- as if an animalistic urge to tear you apart has overtaken her.

“To be Lady of Casterly Rock, is that what you want?” Cersei says, sitting up again, smacking your back, she hums at your whence.

“I do not yearn for a title,” You wail, speaking through choked tears. “I serve only you.” Wrinkling the satin sheets, bunched between your fingers. Strands of hair cling to your tear stained cheeks.

Cersei plunges her fingers into your cunt, making you cry out. “Does this cunt serve me as well?” Tight walls sucking her fingers in, velvety cave explored.

Intrusive thoughts plague her mind. Images of Jaime crawling and ravishing your body; kissing, biting, and licking. It drives her mad—- with lust. She yearns for it to be three of you.

He is hers, and you are hers.

But what if you two convalude with each other? To leave her behind? To have a life together? An intimacy she has no space to shoulder herself in.

“You plot against me—” Cersei yells, her chin wobbles. Any inkling of logical reason is dwindling now. “Where do you go at night?” She interrogates, nose flaring.

“You slip through the walls, parade yourself for the guards?” She spoke through the cage of her teeth.

“I do not conspire against you, Cersei.” You shrivel, trying to inch further into the bed. “I do not want a life as such with Jaime, I desire to stay here …” you swallow a sob, “in the Red Keep with you.”

That is not enough.

You are Robert, and she wants to hurt you—- sex is electric, or it can be painful. She will fuck you as Robert —- this is what men do. Powerful men take what they want, this is what her father would do —- take, take, take, take ! Power, fear! Take all that she desires, take what she loves—

Love?

Affection isn’t a foreign concept to Cersei, but it isn’t something she gives freely. Only threads of herself can feel her love.

Cersei exhales deeply, trying to organize her thoughts.

Her eyes open blankly, one closes lazily after the other.

“I can see it now,” Her voice is hushed. “A Lannister wedding. Lavish as it can be. Gold it shall be.” Cersei’s head glances down, with an unhinged smile.

“I take Jaime as my husband, and you as my paramour.” Her head is swimming, the wine has sunk her even deeper. “Or perhaps, you as my bride. Oh —- how my father would throw a fit.” Cersei slurs and chuckles as a child.

“If only I was a man,” Cersei leans her body down, engulfing your body into hers. “We would live here, as a man would not be questioned on how many mistresses he possesses.” Her slender fingers creepily slip near your ass.

Guiding the slope of your under thigh between her legs, resting her cunt on your kneecap. The soft tuft of blond hair tickles your bare skin, grinding herself.

Soft wet slick sounds fill your ears, as her fingers grip and tug on the meat of your ass. Her hips are thrashing a bit more harsher now.

Her milky hands slither up the hill of your navel, cupping the weight of your under breast; twirling your brown nipple between her fingertips, twisting.

You hiss at the sting, as she relishes in your distress. Cersei bows her head into your chest, swallowing your breast into her mouth. Her tongue lapping at your nipple, her ivories nibbling and tugging harshly against the skin.

Violently suckling your tit, as you twitch and gasp; worried she might bite it off by the teeth. Despite the astringent offense upon your body, the wave of pleasure cascades you.

Skin breaks into bruises, as you twitch. Sensations of pain and pleasure blur, confusion and ecstasy. Without thought, your fingers caress Cersei’s hair.

Cersei’s mouth releases your breast with a wet pop. A tint of burgundy against the brown of your skin, a reddish ring encircling your nipple. Her puss leaves your knee.

The tip of Cersei’s tongue glides down the path of your belly, down to your navel, to finally your pubic bone. Her warm breaths tickle you.

Raspy moans escape from Cersei, as she slowly licks your mound. Plump, and soft. Flickering with her pink tongue, teasing you.

Her green eyes watch you, as her tongue slips through your folds, tasting you. Delving deep, to your puckering hole. Fucking you with her tongue, no matter how much you fight yourself, the sensation of her mouth on you always sends sparks.

Wetness echoes, as her cheeks puff up against your mound. You move your hips down, fucking yourself on Cersei’s mouth. Slamming your hand against your bedding, gripping the sheets between your roving fingers, as undignified grunts leave your lips.

Cersei admires your heaving bare breasts.

The lioness is selfish—- her mouth leaves you. You whine, stiffly leaning back. Her mouth is damp with your essence. With a harsh slap on your cunt, and another. Cersei finds her enjoyment in your misery, as you mutter for more.

“Pathetic little mercies.” She taunts you.

Silently, Cersei kneels once more, twirling her legs. Lifting your knee upward, over her shoulder, along with your other leg underneath her.

Both of your puss connect, dripping with want. Panting, and sweating, only grunts are in conversation. Your hair is messy, damp baby hairs cling to your forehead.

Cersei’s milky fingers hold the flesh of your thigh, as she rides your cunt with hers. Spilt wet clits, dancing together. Electric sensation that pulls the silky moans from you, as Cersei rides you fast.

Your fingers daringly hold her jiggling ass, fondling her asshole. Toying with it. Cersei squeals at the intrusive touch. A primal surge takes hold of you, placing your fingers into the cave of your mouth, soaking in your saliva.

Your hand cups Cersei between her ass, fiddling the bridge between her asshole to her gaping pussy hole. Her head falls back, as you plunge your fingers inside of cunt.

Her golden hair is loose and disarrayed. Cascading down her face, a lion reduced to a whimpering kitten. Your leg twitches against her chest, Cersei bites at your calf dully.

Your toes curl and flex, as the pit of your belly is unfurling. A choppy high-pitched moan spews from you, your head digging back into the pillows.

Cersei shrills a yes , as her climax reaches itself to the heavens. Bruising your thigh under her fingers. Cumming together, Cersei grinds herself onto you, connecting together, with no space of separation.

Clits throbbing against each other, stinging pleasure. Riding your highs, gently thrashing her clit against yours, earning airy moans. The tuft of her pubic hair against yours fuels the sensation.

Cersei moans delightfully, satisfied with herself. Her body towers over yours, crawling into your heaving arms; not caring of the dewy sheen of sweat that covers your body.

Legs interlocking together, as she pulls you into her arms fully. Turning herself onto her side, her knuckles stroking your hip.

These are the sparse moments you enjoy with Cersei. When she is human, when she relishes in touch, rather than harshness.

“Jaime should not be burdened with duties of the King’s Guard.” Cersei whispers. “He needs a bride. Father is aging, and one day, Castlery Rock will be in need of a lord.” She is mumbling now, mostly to herself.

“That disease of my little brother will defile us with his whores.” Hate spills from her naturally, as it always does.

Her voice trails into silence, her fingers snagging onto your flesh, pulling you closer to her.

Sleep takes Cersei, sinking into the mattress. Paralyzed in her hold until slumber overtook you as well.

The morning sun shone through the windows, baring its light onto your eyes. Rubbing your eyes by the heels of your palms, sinking deeper into the blanket furs.

The hinges of the chamber doors creak, jolting you further into reality, eyes heavily leaning to shut closed. Clicks of heels follow, and a hum.

“It seems the morrow has escaped us.” Her voice is light, cheery even. Not an inch of maligne in her infliction. It’s eerie how the mask can slip on and off—- a performance.

Cersei leans, invading your space, seating upon the mattress. Her eyes lower, and darken. How easily eerie her charm and spite can transmute to one entity.

“If I were to find you in the arms of another,” Cersei says, her voice on edge, taking one step closer, her lips stretch into a gritted wolfish grin. “I will gladly brand your cunt with the sigil of my house.” Her green eyes unflinching, her lips smirking devilishly.

Silence prevails, your hair cascaded against your face. Barely hiding your shame, you subtly nod; submitting to her demanding presence.

Cersei smirks, “Good.” The lioness prowls around her chambers, licking your blood off her paws. A victorious slaughter, a fragile doe locked in her cave, with broken limbs—- and a broken spirit.

-

Peace and quiet.

You inhale a deep breath, as it floods your cavity. Solitude has finally granted itself upon you, away from the yaws of the lioness.

Flexed fingers stroke against the wall, basking in the brisk air. The balcony’s view is marvelous. Unclipping your cleavage, so the breeze can grace your breasts, and sweep against your scalp.

Cersei had taken her leave for a meeting with the king’s council. And surely, no mere maid is allowed in such a space.

Away from her suffocating touch, you can relax in your own skin. A thought comes to you, there are a handful of empty rooms to explore. Your feet carry you down the corridors.

Without thought, searching for an empty chamber, you find one. With the tug of the knobs, you walk freely inside—- only to be greeted with whisking reddish hair.

A gasp catches itself in your mouth, holding your stomach, kneeling legs curtsying in respect.

“Lady Sansa.” You bow your head dutifully. “A thousand apologies, I didn’t intend to intrude.” As your feet backpedal to the entrance, a soft whisper calls.

“Please stay.”

And just like that, her sweet child voice sweeps you.

“Oh, little wolf.” You pinch the fabric of your dress, lifting as you walk with haste. The instinct to hold Sansa over took you. Sitting on her mattress, engulfing her in your arms, quickly her red hair melts against the sapphire threading of your dress.

Sansa’s head is tucked in the crook of your shoulder. Quietly sobbing, her delicate fingers grip against the base of your back, as would a cub cling to its mother’s teat.

Caressing her hair, you shush her softly, rocking her back and forth. “I’m scared.” Sansa’s words are muffled, vibrating against you. “I want to go home.” She wails, mewling.

“My sweet girl, how I long for you to be safe.” You whisper, “I’m so sorry for what has happened.” You kiss her head, muttering apologies into her hair, hoping your kindness weaves itself into her hair, and stays for a rest.

The morrow stretches into noon, as you watch over Sansa. Comforting her in placid silence, brushing her hair. Humming a melody, as your fingers thread intricate braids within her auburn flaming hair.

This feels like home again.

Outside of these walls, both are prisoners within a castle. But here, in this moment, is a woman, and a child. Reliving memories past, as a mother, and as a daughter—- through each other.

To heal these wounds, as mother and daughter.

Just for a moment.

#chaosfae writes #yandere cersei lannister x reader #wlw #yandere game of thrones #a longish drabble #I got ahead of myself though #can this even be considered a drabble anymore???😭 #this is not drabble anymore💀 #I just kept adding and adding omg #enjoy!<3

[steviewashere]

I Am the Kiwi

Rating: General CW: None Apply! Tags: Post-Canon, Post Season 4, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Insecure Eddie Munson, Negative Self Talk, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Calls Eddie Munson Pet Names, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson

🥝—————🥝

Maybe he shouldn’t bother their tentative relationship by asking insecure questions.

But that’s not how Eddie’s mind works. He’s never known peace unless there’s been an answer. If he senses the beginning of a question like the itchy fur of a kiwi on his tongue, he has to spit it out. And only then, even if the answer is bleak and even if the answer is negative, he’s at peace with it. He’ll just remember to cut the skin off later, taste the fruit for what it is, find something else about it to savor. Because not everything is sweet. And most of the world is bitter like the skin of that kiwi.

He peels the skin off, hair and all, offering it out to Steve to ponder. In the quiet space of his living room, surrounded by warm love in the shape of Wayne’s mug and hat collection, the five year old instruction manuals for appliances they don’t even have anymore, and amber lightbulbs stained with the broken limbs and melted corpses of stink bugs. Maybe he is an unfortunate bug, drawn to Steve’s light. Maybe he is willing to give himself, all of himself, the ugly parts and disgusting parts to something warm and savoring and bright inside Steve. He knows he is. He always has been.

In the quiet, Steve hot under his arm, droopy with fatigue, chuckling low at the sitcom on the television set, Eddie prickles with unanswered unease. He drags his rough palm down Steve’s soft right arm, fingernails dully scratching from mole to mole, pressing into his loose muscles. Eddie leans his head down, cheek laid atop Steve’s voluminous hair, and he breathes him in. Fruity sweetness, floral undertones, some sort of professional salon shampoo. He kisses tender.

“Why do you love somebody like me?” He breathes. And in the quiet, he startles himself, no matter how much that question begged to break free. Steve tenses in his hold, but Eddie can only force him in tighter. Fingers pressing harsh into his fatty parts. Nails mean and sharp and jagged. He buries himself farther into Steve’s beautiful hair.

His boyfriend is gorgeous. And he’s self-sufficient. Kind in a way Eddie seems to have forgotten to be. How can somebody like Steve love him?

Steve doesn’t answer right away. His breaths falter in the room. Like he’s trying to catch his breath after being scared in a haunted house. Maybe, if Eddie allows himself to marinate in it, maybe it’s exactly like that. There’s something rippling, haunted, venturing lonely and howling under Eddie’s skin. He thinks it started with his mom’s death, percolated when his dad went to prison, came full bloom like a crumpled flower on Wayne’s doorstep so many years ago. In a way, Steve is scared. Not scared of Eddie. Or the truth. But this third thing, of answering the question. Of finding the right words, to which Eddie knows he struggles with—so in all aspects, asking something partially insecure and partially selfish is demeaning. It’s, if Eddie thinks about it, challenging Steve’s love. 

There is no response, not yet. But what does fill between them is the live studio audience laughter. The laughter of people who probably didn’t find the joke particularly funny or even clever. They’re just there to laugh. To see behind the scenes of some TV show. To be recognized among the crowd.

Sitcom laughter. And Eddie refuses to let Steve see him.

He hears Steve take a tentative deep breath. The back of his hand touched by the softness of Steve’s palm. And he’s reminded, even in the simplest interactions such as this, that they come from two different worlds. Of all those biases he held onto for years. Unable to get over himself or get with the program. Steve is nothing of what Eddie thought. He’s a jock, sure. And he’s got the better life in some ways; nothing to really label him as other and a status that seems to override him, but it’s not negative. He isn’t a bully. He’s soft and kind and sweet and loving, not a douchebag. A good person. Where, sometimes, Eddie feels as though he lacks all the qualities that Steve seems to be plentiful in.

“Eddie—“

“No, sorry,” he apologizes immediately. His voice small and childlike. “Sorry, that’s not okay to ask. You love me and that needs to be enough.”

Then, Steve shifts. Pulling himself away, sitting on the edge of the cushion, turning to be face to face. And Eddie’s ashamed. He’s mad at himself, too. If the heartbreaking soft sadness in Steve’s eyes is anything. His little frown, pulling down his pretty lips and furrowing his eyebrows and making him wrinkle in all the bad ways. He tilts his head and peers at Eddie.

“I love you because I just do,” he murmurs, “I don’t know how to explain why I do. You’re unlike anybody I’ve ever loved.”

Eddie swallows, takes a breath, and asks, “In a good way or a bad way?”

Steve’s gaze softens. The sadness still lingering, but replaced by determination, even the lightest form of it. “Always in a good way,” he whispers. He reaches out, takes Eddie’s right hand in his left and squeezes. He’s so soft. “You know who you are. And you’re loud about it. I admire that about you.” He closes his eyes, thinking. When he’s gathered, his voice is enamored and murmuring, “And, baby, you’re gentle even if you don’t realize it. You know how and when to take care of the people around you. I’ve never—I’ve always been the one to do that in relationships. You make me feel…Complete.”

Eyes back on him, Eddie swallows most of this insecurity. “Really? You think I complete you?” He questions meekly.

Then, Steve nods, not even taking a moment to consider. Because he just knows. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I know we just started this whole…thing—“ he swings their tangled hands back and forth between them. Eddie chuckles, earning him the most earnest smile he’s probably ever seen. “But, I have a feeling that we’ve got something special. Plus, we’ve got all the free time in the world, y’know, now that it’s not ending. We’ll be okay. I love loving you.”

“I love loving you, too,” Eddie murmurs in turn. He brings his free hand up and brushes some stray strands of Steve’s hair back. Thumb tickling down his temple, swiping under his eye where it’s heavy and blue. “I’m sorry for doubting your love.”

“Honey,” Steve sighs. “It’s really okay. I get it, you know? Everybody has their insecurities. Hell, I have some deeply awful ones.” He leans into Eddie. His warmth radiating once more. Breath ghosting over his cheek, words soft, “I will always reassure you. Because I know you’d do the same for me.” And then, Steve presses a tacky, sweet kiss to his cheek. The tip of his nose crumpling with the soft plunge he gives into Eddie’s skin. He is cracked open raw and for once, instead of being turned away or shunned, somebody is there to enjoy him. Steve is there to savor. “You’re special,” he whispers, “my special one.”

Eddie can only melt in his hands. He’s content with this answer. Fulfilled.

This relationship may be new, but Eddie knows it’ll soon be something sacred. Like the sticky, sugary green insides of a ripe kiwi.

🥝—————🥝 Fun fact, I'm allergic to kiwis. Found this out after my tongue got itchy from the skin of a kiwi. That was a scarring thing to discover in the middle of my kindergarten snack time, tell you that much. Haven't had one since.

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #hurt/comfort

[ghostandsoap]

The Sound of Silence

Captain John Price x Fem! "Peach" Reader Tags: Angst. Anxiety. Panic attack. Mentions of death (a lot of it). Word Count: 5.2k "I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight."

There were a lot of risks when it came to this job.

The physical demands were intense, the mental strain was immense, and the emotional toll was heavy. Not to mention the biggest one.

Danger was a guarantee. Survival was not.

Despite these challenges, for those who chose this career, it was a type of calling that was felt deep within their souls.

The training was hard, pushing their bodies to the limit and beyond. They learned to work as a team, trusting their team with their lives. They faced danger head-on, knowing that every mission could be their last.

This was something that Price and Peach had talked about before. It was a bit difficult not to address this possibility.

When it was only discussed, it was a hypothetical scenario. Neither of them went into any kind of mission with the expectation of dying...they understood it was a possibility, but it wasn't something they counted on.

They had listed and discussed just about every possible way to die on a mission. Getting shot, blown up, stabbed, drowned, poisoned, beaten, etc. You name it, and they had talked about it.

To an outsider, this was freaky weird. Who in their right mind would actively talk to their significant other about dying in awfully traumatic ways? For them, it was more of a preparation thing.

Of course neither of them ever wanted to see the day where one of those scenarios became true for the other. As a matter of fact, they actively did everything they could to not meet any one of these fates.

But the truth was that it was a very real possibility. And even though they never, ever wanted to have it happen...it was something they both needed to be prepared for.

To avoid having this come up all the time though, they talked about their futures in a way that didn't have anything to do with dying.

For example, Price had his life with Peach all planned out.

There was a rumor that Price had bought an engagement ring when they were six months in, and he held on to it everywhere he went for when the moment was right.

According to this rumor, John actively took the ring in and out of the box. When he was on the go and needed extra pocket space, he took the ring out of the box. When he didn't need the space, he put it back in the box and took the whole thing.

Peach didn't really believe it, because she could hardly imagine John Price walking around with an engagement ring in his pocket, fiddling with it when he felt an inkling that it was time to propose.

Price did seriously want to marry Peach, though. He wanted to have kids with her (two specifically, a boy and a girl). He wanted to buy a house out in the middle of the country with no neighbors, but close enough to civilization to where they weren't cut off.

All of these things he had mentioned to her, and they talked about it in decent detail. It was hard to get too in depth with it though, because it seemed that work always got in the way.

And the thing was, they could never walk away from this job. None of Force 141 could.

Each of them had specific skills and talents that made them the perfect team. A family even.

They worked well together. Every mission with them together was almost always a guaranteed success.

But this mission had been different.

It was extremely rare for a mission like this to come up. It wasn't really the mission that was the problem, it was the execution plan.

Price didn't like splitting up. He never liked any of his team going out alone. He liked his team to have backup at all times, someone there for support when things went wrong.

However, this mission was special in the sense that there was no other way to complete it without having everybody be on their own for the majority of the night.

This mission had all kinds of moving parts, and for the sake of time and efficiency, it was best for everyone (despite Price's reservations) to go solo and reconvene at the end for extraction.

They were going to a place that was only accessible by water, meaning that there was only one way on and off the island. It was no tropical vacation by any means, and there was a lot at stake.

In theory, the plan was simple. Everyone was to split up, complete their tasks without getting compromised, and meet back up at the docks. There was a boat set to go for them when they were ready, and assuming all went well, this mission was supposed to be a piece of cake.

Supposed to be.

The mission almost went without a hitch. Everybody was able to successfully complete their job without detection. Gaz returned to the docks first, followed by Soap and then Ghost. Peach rolled up fourth, adrenaline running and satisfaction flowing.

The docks were well hidden, which was intentional. The air was thick and warm with the smell of salt and fish, and the only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the wooden piers.

The sky was just getting dark now, little specks of stars dotting the canvas above.

She was relieved to see Ghost, Gaz, and Soap unscathed and well. Not that she minded having to stitch them up or anything, but it did make her job easier when she didn't have to.

She immediately noticed that Price wasn't there, and she turned to Ghost.

"Price isn't back yet?" She asked, brows furrowed.

"No," Ghost shook his head. "Should be here any minute."

Price was known to take longer than expected. He did things the right way every time, and if that meant adding some time to his estimate, then so be it.

No one worried yet. Price could handle himself. They started packing up the boat, making sure everything was in place so that they could leave as soon as Price showed up.

Once the boat was packed, the four of them took a load off. They sat in a semicircle, really just chatting more than anything.

Of course, Soap did most of the talking.

"Hey, Peaches..." Soap said, and he went on when she looked at him. "Remember I was trying t'come up with a nickname for you n' Price?"

She stifled a laugh. Soap had thrown out some crazy suggestions in the last few weeks -- Peachy Price, PP (Price strongly disliked this one), P&P...just to name a few.

She couldn't even imagine what he had come up with this time.

"Let's hear it." She said.

"Get ready," He beamed. "P squared."

There was a beat of quiet, and then Gaz spoke.

"What?" He asked.

"Price n' Peach...both start with P. Two names, both starting with P," Soap explained. "P Squared!"

"Johnny, that sucks." Ghost was honest, and Soap's jaw dropped a little.

"It's clever," Soap corrected. "It's a layered joke."

Peach laughed.

"P squared..." She repeated, pondering on it. "I actually don't hate that. I can't promise the same for Price though."

"He's gonna love it!" Soap laughed, which earned chuckles and head shakes from Gaz and Ghost.

The playful banter went on for a while...too long, as a matter of fact. The sky was fully dark now, a testament as to how much time had passed. There had been no sign of or word from Price.

Peach's intuition was firing off. She knew something was wrong with Price. She began to fidget with her hands, her mind going through all the possible scenarios.

Now she was starting to worry.

"Where's Price?" Peach asked, the beginning of a pit of dread opening up in her gut as she stood to her feet. "He should've been back by now."

He knew the plan. Price wouldn't stray from a plan like this...not intentionally anyway. The rest of them got to their feet as well, beginning to prepare to go looking for him.

"How long has it been?" Gaz asked, and Soap looked at his watch.

"Hour n' a half."

That was way too long. This wasn't just Price getting caught up doing something. Something was telling her that he was in trouble.

Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Peach all shared a look -- and the first drop of panic pooled in her stomach. She reached for her radio, trying to keep her composure.

"Price, what's your status?" She asked, hoping that he could hear her from wherever he was.

There was only a few seconds of silence before she got a response.

"Got a bit of a situation here." Price said, and his voice had that sharp edge to it that showed up whenever he was in survival mode.

There was the sound of movement in the background. Her heart skipped a couple of beats. "A situation" could mean anything.

"What kind of situation?" She stared at the lapping water underneath the dock she was standing on.

She was already planning on going after him. If she went to his last known location, she could track him and figure out where he was.

"Got some unexpected company," He said, and you could hear the sound of his heavy footsteps hitting the ground and his gear getting tossed around. He was running. "I've been compromised."

That definitely meant that he was in trouble.

"What's your location?" She asked, her heart beginning to thud in her chest.

"I"m by the warehouse, northwest of the-"

His transmission was abruptly cut off. A mixture of sounds emitted from Price's end -- rapid gunfire, an ear-splitting explosion, and then silence.

The only sound now was crackling static of an open line, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just ensued.

Peach's eyes were wide. Her stomach frozen and her brain beginning to fog.

This couldn't mean...he wasn't...

"Captain Price, this is Peach...do you copy?" She asked, a tingling sensation beginning to appear in her fingers and hands.

But there was no response. Only the haunting echo of the unanswered call lingered in the air. The only noises that graced her ears were radio static and the sound of her thumping heart.

"Captain, how copy?" She tried again, the tingling in her hands turning into trembling as she gripped her radio harder.

Her vision was beginning to tunnel, and her breathing was getting shallow and short. A surge of panic rushed through her, causing a certain numbness in her extremities.

"John, can you hear me?" She asked desperately, her voice quavering with each word.

The seconds that passed felt like hours. The feeling of helplessness suffocated her, the knowledge of not being able to do a single thing bringing a horrible sense of doom to her body.

Her eyes were glued to the sky as if she was trying to memorize every star pattern that was visible to her. But instead, she was wishing on every single one that this wasn't happening and that this wasn't real.

He couldn't be gone. Fate hadn't been very kind to Peach in her lifetime, but John...

John had been her biggest blessing. Her solace, her energy, her comfort, her love. There was no way that he was gone just like that. He couldn't have been stolen away from her and ripped from her heart.

He couldn't be dead. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't part of the plan. They were supposed to settle down and get married and have kids...have a real life together. Suddenly, their future was blurred.

The love and warmth of her soul had just vanished and slipped through her fingers.

Hot tears were stinging her eyes, pressing hard against her lash line and bringing an aching lump to her throat. There was a shuffle behind her, the sound of weight shifting between feet.

Her grip on her radio tightened even harder as if her only possible contact with John would disintegrate if she let go. She turned around at the noise, and she was met with the sight of the three strongest, most confident men that she knew were suddenly withdrawn.

She couldn't hear anything anymore. It was like her ears were filtering every little noise out so that they would be able to hear the one sound she was desperate for.

She couldn't hear the breeze rustling the trees or the birds fluttering in the sky above. The water beneath the docks was suddenly still and flat.

Ghost kept his gaze on her, his fists clenched into fists at his sides. Soap couldn't bring himself to look at her, his eyes pointed at his boots and the earth beneath him. Gaz's brows were furrowed in horror, his eyes struck with disbelief and sorrow.

"Ghost..." She whispered, their silence scaring her more than anything. "S-Soap?"

Their silence was unnerving. All three of them were too afraid to say anything to her. This was her worst nightmare coming true and unfolding right in front of her. Losing her beloved John Price at the hands of evil.

Her heart beat for John Price. The thought of Peach without Price or Price without Peach was just unfathomable.

Too many moments passed. It was just Peach staring at the three men who couldn't come up with something to say even if their life depended on it. Eventually, Ghost just had to say something.

"Peach..." Ghost said, reaching out for her with a slow, gentle hand like she was a frightened animal. "Come here."

She shook her head frantically, backing away from the three of them.

"I can't...J-John..." Her chest was heaving now, her entire system succumbing to anxiety and pure panic.

She was falling apart. Her life as she knew it crumbling in front of her and there wasn't a single thing that she could do about it.

They were supposed to get married...have a boy and a girl...have a countryside house that was just far enough away from the real world.

How could all of that just be gone? It couldn't be gone.

All four of them were trained to face death on the battlefield, but this…this was different. This was Peach -- their comrade, their friend, their own family -- breaking down right in front of them.

Peach was the strongest woman they knew, and they were watching her fall apart.

They all watched her grow worse by the second. Her face turned a sort of color that they had never seen, her breathing starting to stall and come out in short gasps.

“Peach,” Gaz tried this time, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "I-I need you to breathe."

Gaz was genuinely concerned that she was literally going to croak and die right in front of him from the shock of losing Price.

That's how much she loved him.

The next four decades of Peach's life was flashing right before her eyes. All of those years she had counted on Price being with her. Now she couldn't imagine her future at all.

Ghost, Gaz, and Soap knew there wasn't a thing they could say. A very still, eerie silence was shared between the three men. They watched and listened to Peach as she began to spiral.

The silence was killing her ears. She had a headache creeping its way to the front of her skull. She was sure that if she stood in this silence any longer, her head would literally explode.

But before that could happen, there was a sound. It was two sounds actually. Two different sounds. Two beautiful, wonderful, welcomed sounds.

Radio static and a voice.

"Peaches..." A gravelly, beautifully familiar voice sounded over comms. "This is Price. You read me?"

Suddenly, her life re-entered her in a rush and all at once.

He was alive.

"John..." She almost squeaked, a heat rising into her throat until she swallowed it back down. "I-I read you. Loud n' clear."

"Affirmative. You still at the docks?" He sounded breathless, like he was trying to control his breathing.

Her brain was sprinting at a million miles an hour. Every piece of information that she was hearing was flying into one ear and out the other without any processing in the middle.

The only response she could manage was a collection of stammering, which eventually cracked the dam and opened the floodgates. Overcome with emotion and anxiety, she practically collapsed in place. The only thing that kept her from hitting the ground was Soap, who swooped in at the last second to catch her.

"Captain. This is Ghost," He filled in for her. "Affirmative. We're northwest of your location, right behind the..."

The rest of Ghost's directions were a jumbled mess of sounds that she couldn't comprehend. There was a ringing in her ears, and the only thing louder than that was her own cries.

"It's alright," Soap held onto her as she clutched onto him for dear life. "He's alright, Peach. Price is alright."

Soap held her as tight as he could and spoke in his most gentle voice, despite the fact that he knew that his presence was nothing compared to whenever Price could get his arms around her.

"We're gonna get him," Soap made eye contact with Ghost, who was communicating with him through a certain expression. "Ghost and Gaz are goin' to get him right now."

Peach could only nod, her grip on Soap tightening. She watched as Ghost and Gaz moved swiftly towards the direction Ghost had indicated, disappearing into the darkness.

The wait was agonizing...it was painful. Each second felt like an eternity as Peach clung to Soap, her heart pounding in her chest. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional crackle of the radio.

Suddenly, a burst of static came through the radio, followed by a familiar voice.

“Ghost, this is Price. I’m on your six.”

A wave of relief washed over Peach. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, her body sagging against Soap, who was holding onto her like he was the only thing keeping her together.

“Copy.” Ghost’s voice came through the radio, a hint of relief evident in his tone.

About ten minutes later, Ghost and Gaz emerged from the darkness, a figure limping between them.

It was Price, battered, burned, and bruised...but alive.

Her cheeks were soaked with tears, her hair sticking to her face as she laid eyes on her lover that was standing before her. On wobbly legs, she rushed to her feet and over to him. Peach threw her arms around him with a desperate, yet thankful exhale. He grunted in discomfort at the feeling of being jostled, but he wrapped an arm around her and held her close.

"John..." She squeaked, unable to say anything else.

Being able to say his name while actually holding him felt like a blessing. He smelled like gasoline, gunpowder, and sweat, but she had never been more relieved to smell such a mix.

"I'm alright, Peaches..." He shuddered out an exhale that came from far within. "I'm fine, darling."

He didn't sound fine. His voice was strained and groggy, and the slight quiver in his words didn't make him sound fine. But he was here, alive, heart beating, and breathing -- so "fine" was something she could work with.

Price had no doubt in his mind that he had scared her to death. He had been scared to death. This was one of those "unmentionable moments" that the two of them had talked about before. Now that he was living it in real time, it felt so, so horribly surreal.

The hypothetical had become reality.

They found a break in their embrace, Ghost and Gaz stepping away to give them their space. Price held onto Peach's forearms to stay upright, a searing pain in his side making it hard to stand.

His cheeks were covered with soot and dirt, his left eye was slightly swollen and bruised, he had a slight burn on the right side of his face, and he had a fairly deep cut on his lip

Frankly, he looked terrible, but to her -- it was the best he had ever looked.

They sat there in silence, their arms locked together, as the chaos of the world around them seemed to fade into the background. It was just them - Peach and Price - two souls intertwined in a dance as old as time itself.

They were talking to one another without saying anything at all. Their eyes were communicating. He was telling her that he was there and alive...and on the flip side, she was telling him that he was there and alive.

She felt like she was watching their life together pass by in the reflection of his eyes. He knew how much she meant to him, but this was a reminder all over again.

She was everything to him.

He knew that this would make them stronger individually and as a couple. It would definitely take some time before she moved past this in an emotional context...and he had to tackle the emotional and physical aspect of it.

They would be having a long talk about this...more than one for sure. But for now, she was just beyond thankful that he was there, and he was thankful to still be there.

"Where are you hurt?" She asked, another set of tears rolling down her cheeks and she spoke through sniffles.

Her question was pretty empty. She wasn't quite sure what else to say, and the medic in her was coming forth.

Peach would examine him from head to toe when they were out of here and in a safe place. She could tell just by looking at his outer injuries and the way he was holding himself that his body had taken the most damage, and that he had several weeks of recovery ahead of him.

She would be there for him every step of the way. She was his rock after all, his anchor in the stormy sea of recovery.

"Everywhere," Price chuckled, but it wasn't an amused laugh. "Let's get out of here first."

Gaz, Ghost, and Soap took that as their cue, coming in for assistance. Ghost and Soap guided Price from the dock to the boat, and Gaz held Peach's hand and led her as well.

As they all boarded the boat, Gaz gave Peach a reassuring squeeze of her hand.

"We've got him, P. He's going to be fine." He said.

Peach nodded, her gaze never leaving her beloved Captain Price. She watched as Ghost and Soap carefully settled him down, their movements gentle yet efficient. She knew they were trained for this, but it was still hard to see Price in such a state.

It was hard to see any of them hurt.

Once everyone was on board, Ghost started the boat engines and began to pull out from the dock. Normally, Peach would've been a little nervous with Ghost driving, but she was far too distracted with John to even give it a second thought.

Once they were on route back to safety, Peach moved to sit beside John, holding his hands in hers as she spoke to him.

"John, what happened out there?" She asked, almost scared to.

He shook his head. His hands were still shaking.

"Complete ambush. They knew I was coming I suppose," He said. "Some kind of explosive took me out for a bit. Hell, I don't even know what it was."

She really shouldn't have even asked. Chills shuddered down her spine. She couldn't bear to think about this anymore.

Peach had her medic pack with her, and she was beginning to rummage through her pack and looking him over.

"I'll get you fixed up," She said, something she always said when starting to patch someone up. "Let's start with that cut."

Her voice was barely audible over the sound of the boat's engine and the wind, but Price could literally only hear her over everything else.

They were quiet for a bit as she cleaned him up and tended to his wounds. She was seeing him in better light now, and she definitely could tell that his eye was going to be swollen shut and purple by the time morning came around.

Thankfully, the burns on his face weren't too bad. They would irritate him for the next few days, but she didn't see any real threat with them.

He complained about his side the most, saying that's where most of his pain was. He had some definite tenderness there, and while she didn't feel any broken ribs, there was some bruising and evidence of impact there. She would have to more thoroughly check him out when they were back on land, but she was doing what she could for him now.

When she was finished with him for the time being, she didn't do anything else but sit with him. They sat together quietly. Just listening and feeling the other.

She rested her head on his shoulder, his hands still resting in hers. He never wanted to let go of her ever again. He would super glue himself to her if he had to.

He had almost died today. And the thought of leaving her was tearing him up more than death itself.

He thought about all the times they had talked about those hypothetical death scenarios. All the "preparation" they had done didn't seem to matter at all when it really came down to it. That was when it dawned on him.

Dying he was prepared for. Leaving her was a different story.

Price's thoughts were interrupted when he realized Soap was standing in front of them, hands jammed into his pockets and a stoic look on his face.

"Hey there, P Squared." Soap said. "Take it easy, Captain. We need you around."

That was Soap's way of saying: "You scared me, and I'm glad you're okay."

Soap walked away after that, leaving just as fast as he had come. He didn't even give either of them a chance to respond. John turned his head to look at Peach, who's coloration in her face was looking much better finally.

"P Squared?" John asked, and she grinned her first smile of the night.

"Our new nickname." She said without even raising her head from his shoulder.

John thought about it for a moment. Then let out a short chuckle.

"Not bad."

It was quiet again after that, and Peach just accepted that there wouldn't be very much talking tonight.

They would both recover on their own time. This feeling of anxiety and emotional distress would pass for both of them. Price would be up and about in a few weeks, and she would return to normal soon enough as well.

This was a process like any other. One that needed time, patience, and love from one another.

It felt like hours and hours of the boat gliding across black water into seemingly nothingness. Not a single wave or bump interrupted the boat's course, which was much appreciated considering that Ghost had the throttle pushed as far as it could go.

With one arm wrapped around her, and the other one free -- John took his free hand and slipped it into his pocket. His fingertips brushed against something familiar -- it was cold and small. Something that he had forgotten about for the first time since he bought it.

Price fiddled with it, a sense of remembrance and a bit of nerves rushing through every system he had. He touched the metal band of the ring and the diamond centered on it. He had memorized how it felt, because he had been playing with it and carrying it around since the day he bought it.

For a moment, he seriously thought about proposing to her. In no way was this the setting or circumstances he had imagined when it came to asking her to marry him, but he felt so connected and so in love with her in this moment that it felt all too right.

But he knew that this wasn't a good time. He was fresh off of almost dying and Peach was literally traumatized from it -- not a great proposal setting. Besides, he would never forgive himself if she associated her proposal with one of the worst nights of their life.

Yeah, definitely not the right time.

Good call, John. He thought to himself. Her emotions have been through enough tonight.

Suddenly, the first bit of land became barely visible on the horizon, and Price spoke.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight." He couldn't help but chuckle, and this time it was because he was amused.

After a near death experience, that wasn't surprising.

"Me neither," She whispered, raising her head to look at him. "Stay up with me?"

He felt like he could melt. She was staring at him like she was petrified that he was going to disintegrate if she let go of him. He kissed her then, ignoring the sting and ache in his lip as he did so.

The kiss was real. It reminded her that he was really alive and would see another day. Their future was still intact.

"Yes," He said. "Of course."

And, as promised, the two of them stayed up for the remainder of the night. As soon as their feet hit solid ground, Gaz and Soap delivered Price to a place where Peach could finally take a real look at him.

She took her time, looking over every inch of him and checking for anything he might have missed. By the time she was satisfied and content with her thorough examination, it had been almost two hours.

Honestly, she would've kept checking his vitals and examining him until the sun came up. But he had been through quite enough today, so she figured poking and prodding him wasn't the best call.

Considering what had happened, Price was extremely lucky to have gotten away with the injuries that he did. A couple of bone bruises, mild burns, and several superficial lacerations was a cakewalk.

Peach gave him extra cherry suckers that night out of her pack. Even though he didn't have the appetite for them, he took them with appreciation and downed every single one that she gave him. He would never take those cherry lollipops for granted ever again.

The two of them spent the late night hours together. Holding one another, continuing to be thankful and grateful that John Price didn't die that night.

They found solace in each other's arms. They were no doubt shaken to their cores, but there was peace with one another. John, who had brushed death, was alive and breathing in real time next to her.

Each breath he took was a reminder of the fact that each one was a miracle.

They held each other tighter, their hearts beating in sync, as if trying to make up for the beats that could have been lost. They spoke in hushed tones, their words a mix of relief, love, and a newfound appreciation for life.

John was still counting on marriage, two kids (still one boy and one girl), and a countryside house that was far, but not too far. After this, he wanted it even more than before.

They watched night turn into morning. Each moment was precious. A gift. A blessing.

John Price didn’t die that day. For that, she was eternally grateful. He was eternally grateful.

They were eternally grateful.

#john price #john price x reader #john price x fem! reader #john price x female reader #john price x “peach” #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price angst #john price fluff #call of duty mwii #mw2 imagine #modern warfare 2 fanfiction #call of duty mwii fanfiction #ghostandsoap

[cerealboxlore]

I love how casually crying over Billy Batson is just how some of my days are now.

I thought about him and the Bromfield family, how he had struggled for years to find a place where he belonged and had to suffer through horrible living conditions because of terrible people. I thought about how after his parent's deaths, no one took care of him. No one let him grieve. No one let him cry on their shoulders and told him everything was going to be okay. Just looks of discontent and frustration, thinking that he was just an inconvenience to the foster system. He must have thought he was too hard to love. Not enough.

His uncle Ebeneezer was your classic narcissistic abuser who didn't care about others. All he cared about was money. He didn't care about taking care of Billy when he was supposed to.

I saw a video before where the narcissistic behavior of a parent/guardian was replicated, and the person said, "Have you thought that maybe you're just not easy to love?" And I imagine Ebeneezer saying that to a little Billy Batson, who just wants to be held and is being refused emotional support and help. Billy was made to feel small and inferior to all the adults around him, who said he wasn't special for his parents dying and that he needed to grow up and stop being so immature.

"Your feelings don't matter."

"Are you talking to me? Did anyone ask you to talk? Be quiet."

"You need to stop asking for so much. You live under my roof, that's more than what others would do."

"I don't care about your feelings. Stop being so emotional."

"You're being dramatic. You made me hit you. This is your own fault for talking back."

Billy has gone through so much over the years since his parents' deaths, and I can't imagine how relieving it must have been for him to meet the Bromfields. I think about Nick listening to Billy and taking the time to hear him and focus on what he wants and needs. Going on car rides and eating big belly burgers to their hearts content. Baking cookies and cakes at home (because Nora Bromfeild should not be trusted with a kitchen) and just enjoying life. Eating fresh cookies with milk, talking about their hobbies and personal lives. How Billy doesn't have to hide any secrets from them, and they give him all the privacy he wants, respecting his space and choices.

Billy would finally find hobbies for himself! He could take the time to let himself be happy and enjoy wasting time. I think it was either stamp or coin collecting that was his old hobby in the older comics. With the Bromfields, he can start living life as Billy Batson without worry of being neglected or shamed for being present. He doesn't have to deal with narcissistic abuse anymore (except for when fighting his villains).

I don't know what the point of this post was, I just wanted to talk about Billy and how he made me cry after eating a mango and thinking too hard.

#billy batson #dc captain marvel #shazam #dc comics #writing #the levels of abuse and neglect this kid went through and suffered through is insane #i could write an essay about it #and he still chose to be a good person #he doesn't inflict that trauma and pain onto others and decides to be true to his heart #not even gods could stay on the path of righteousness and honor as Billy can #i still want to throw a steel chair at ebeneezer though-

[jupitercomet]

I Swear Somewhere This Works: Prologue

summary - You've known your entire life that you were meant to be with Bradley Bradshaw. Born with the rare gift of being a "matchmaker", you've been able to see your soulmate connection since childhood, just like you see the romantic pairings of everyone around you. But while everyone saw that as a gift, you see it as a curse. Because what's the point of knowing Bradley's your soulmate if he's never fallen in love with you? You've tried, altering time and space with your gift to find the one iteration of your life that you and Bradley are fated to be together. And, in every iteration of your life, you have to watch Bradley fall in love with someone else. But everything changes when one of these iterations puts you right in the trajectory of Jake, a matchmaker who's determined to convince you that the universe isn't always right.

warnings - soulmate au, my first time writing a love triangle, language, talks of death/dying, mentions of hospitals, no use of y/n, both Bradley and Jake are 6'7" because I said so

word count - 2.3k

i swear somewhere this works masterlist

I swear somewhere…

The heart monitor beeps continuously, filling the room with a kind of white noise that’s almost relaxing, despite the circumstances. The IV bag drips, drips, drips right past a strip of medical tape and into worn, leathered skin. It’s all so hazy, like early rides to the airport or empty shopping malls where time feels frozen, and you want to fill the silence with something—anything—but all you do is listen to the heart monitor and watch the IV bag drip, drip, drip.

“What do you think happens when we die?”

“Don’t say things like that, Bradley.”

He chuckles, but it’s hoarse and weathered, sounding more like air being pushed out of his tired, weary lungs. “I don’t think not talking about it is going to stop me from dying, Fig.”

Looking at him now, tucked under a tightly woven hospital blanket, he still looks like your Bradley. Curious, kind eyes wrinkled with crows feet etched into his skin from every laugh and smile that took place in his lifetime. There’s still that crook in his nose from when he broke it when he was eight. It never did heal right, but Bradley never seemed to mind. He’d break it twice more over his life and every time you recalled the stories you’d joke that it’s a miracle the cartilage hasn’t just fallen off yet. But, much like who it belonged to, Bradley’s nose was stubborn.

He looks like your Bradley, with his kind eyes and crooked nose. But he’s not your Bradley. 

His hair is almost gone now, wispy and thin like it’s just laying on his scalp. Sun spots cover his skin, his complexion pale and fragile. And normally that would scare you, such an obvious display of his mortality, but it looks good on Bradley. He looks like he lived. 

With large hands that have held the weight of the world, and then children, and then grandchildren. Chapped lips that have spoken more words of love, and compassion, and happiness than you would ever have time to listen to. Once sturdy legs that have now turned frail, the bones eroded with how many places they have taken him to.

And so he’s not quite your Bradley anymore, not in the way he was. Not in the way he could have been.

“I think I’m ready,” Bradley wets his lips, hardly moving his neck from his propped up pillow to look at you. “To die, I mean.”

Your hand squeezes in his—worn, and old, and not yours—his words constricting your heart in a dulled sort of melancholy. You’ve already gone through the five stages of grief weirdly, usually you aren’t this ready for it. But denial turned to anger, turned to bargaining, turned to depression, and here you are at acceptance, holding the hand of the only person who has ever mattered as he looks entirely dead and entirely alive all at the same time.

“Well, I’m not,” you say finally. It comes out shaky, maybe because you don’t entirely mean it. You are ready. You just wish you weren’t.

Bradley meets your eye with an understanding that only comes with age. “Yes, you are.”

You hate how well he knows you. How he can read you with just a look and say the words you need to hear. He knows everything about you. And yet.

“Will you miss me?” You ask instead. It’s an empty question—irrelevant. But still you want to know. Just to be reassured that Bradley even cares about you a fraction of the amount you do for him. That maybe he’ll realize, just once, in this hazy capsule of time, that you matter more to him than anything ever should.

Bradley smiles at you sadly. “Of course I will. When have I ever not needed my Fig?”

Your lips quirk up just slightly and you look down at your interlocked hands. “I cannot believe I’m 77 and you’re still calling me that.” You look up again to meet his eye, pretending to shake your head in exasperation.

“And I cannot believe that you’re 77 and still think you can hide things from me.” The crows feet by Bradley’s eyes crinkle when you fail to register what he’s referencing. “I see you sneaking off to the vending machine to get Fig Newtons when you think I’m asleep.” When your lips part in unprepared surprise, Bradley croaks out a laugh. “I’m 84, not senile.”

Even now, he makes your cheeks heat and you huff in your fluster. “Well, can you blame me? I’ve been eating nothing but hospital food for the past week.”

Your words make you falter, a crack of lightning in the room that illuminates everything you wish to forget. When the world feels so hazy, you can trick yourself into thinking that time is entirely frozen. It’s just you and Bradley and the universe. You can talk about anything—your love of Fig Newtons and how the hospital vending machine has criminally overpriced them—because you have time. All you have is time.

But time is running out, like granules of sand in an hourglass. Seconds with Bradley tick away and you can run after them all you want, but all they do is slip through your fingers. Slip, slip, slip. 

If Bradley is affected by your words, he doesn’t look it, a calm sense of serenity washing through his eyes. For a moment, you can pretend that you would be okay with this, that you can finally let Bradley go. But it’s a little too late for that, you suppose. Because, somewhere, this has to work. Somewhere, you know everything about Bradley and he knows everything about you and he never has to stop being your Bradley.

It’s just as much for Bradley as it is for you. You’re his soulmate. Wouldn’t he be so much happier than this, having lived with his soulmate? You’re meant to be together and that’s all that matters. One of these times, Bradley will see that. You know he will.

“Can I get you some wa—”

“I’m going to die tomorrow,” Bradley decides.

You freeze, your question dying in your throat. There’s nothing else to say, you’ve done this song and dance enough times to know that. You only nod, pursing your lips to hold back the tears pricking at your waterline. You’re out of time.

Bradley turns to you with that familiar, childlike hope he somehow clung to his entire life. “Will you share a Fig Newton with me before I do?”

You swallow, your fingers tensing so much that the muscles twitch and you hide the hand from his view. “Of course.” You lift his hand to press a soft kiss on the back.

Bradley smiles and you feel like you’re going to be sick. He closes his eyes, shifting under the hospital blankets to get comfortable and you let out a silent sigh. You only get minutes of conversation with him now, before he’s too tired to continue. You sit with him anyway and, as he sleeps, you say all the things you never did over the decades of your friendship. He never remembered it anyway.

Bradley’s hand relaxes in your grip, the heart monitor spiking and dipping with his heart, and you try not to think about how he’s dying.

“This is going to sound like I’m crazy.” You look up at the sound of Bradley’s quiet voice, sleep tugging at the ends of it as his eyes remain closed. “But I can feel Alice waiting for me.”

He can’t see it, but you force a smile anyway, swallowing down the bile in your throat. You don’t say anything—you don’t think Bradley expects you to. That hazy feeling settles over the room as his breath evens out and, for several minutes, all you can do is watch him.

Maybe this isn’t fair. 

But if this isn’t fair, then none of it is. Why would the universe give you a soulmate who didn’t love you? Why did you deserve to watch him fall in love over and over again while you waste your life pinning over a man who’s never even looked your way? Didn’t you deserve to be happy? Didn’t Bradley?

You look down at his sleeping features, entirely relaxed like he’s not plagued with a single regret or an ounce of hesitance. Maybe it’s because you’re full of it, taking it all for him because you don’t know how to do anything else. The heart monitor beeps continuously. The IV bag drips, drips, drips. And you close your eyes.

…this works

Sunlight filters in through the windows, waking Jake gently as he stretches out his legs on the sheets of his bed. He’s still in that peaceful period between wake and sleep, enjoying the warmth of his blanket as he regains feeling of his muscles. The first thing he realizes is that he doesn’t hear seven of his bones cracking. The second thing he realizes is that he’s very, very sore. 

Jake sits up with a start, whipping his head towards the floor length mirror propped up by his dresser. He’s met with striking olive eyes and appropriately trimmed blond hair. He knew it.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Jake groans, rubbing at his eyes as he gets up from bed. He’s getting tired of this. He hadn’t said anything the first time it happened, nor the second, nor the third. But rewinding his life back to 31 for the fourth time? It’s getting ridiculous. 

Moving into his bathroom, he puts his toothbrush into his mouth with a little more force than necessary as he wraps his head around having to live out the rest of his life again. Everyone else was lucky, at least they don’t know they’re reliving their lives every few decades. But not Jake, Jake knows. Just like how he knows everything about this shitty soulmate system. And so Jake is stuck living his life over and over until someone gets to be with their soulmate.

For a while, Jake had no idea who that person could be—there’s an infinite number of people he could have come into contact with, that’s just kind of how civilization works. But then it kept happening and the puzzle pieces kept fitting and Jake has a pretty good idea as to what’s going on.

He cannot believe his life is being actively ruined because of Bradley fucking Bradshaw. 

At first, Jake didn’t think anything of the brunet and his infamous best friend/soulmate who had just moved to town. But it wasn’t hard to piece together the one-sided lingering looks and the somewhat charged interactions at the Hard Deck whenever Bradley had a bit too much to drink. You were in love with Bradley, that much was obvious. What hadn’t been as obvious was that you had the power to try to make him fall in love with you too. Which would be all well and dandy, if you hadn’t also dragged Jake into it in the process. He’s almost positive you’re the reason he’s currently reliving his life for the fourth time and Jake refuses to make it five.

Throwing an old shirt over his head, Jake exits his bedroom to snatch a banana from his kitchen counter. He eats it in large mouthfuls, lacing up his running shoes before making sure he has his phone and keys. Moving to throw away the banana peel, Jake also quickly grabs a water bottle and fills it up with cold, tap water in the sink.

Though he’s frustrated, Jake can admit that it’s nice to be in a body so young again. Granted, he’s currently suffering from the pushups Maverick must have put him through yesterday, but he’ll take that over the random aches and creaks he used to feel for seemingly no reason other than age.

With one last check to make sure he has everything, Jake opens the front door of his house, making quick work of the walkway steps as he breaks out into a light jog. His tennis shoes absorb the impact of his strides as he picks up speed, smiling politely at the woman he passes walking her dog. Taking a deep breath of the Miramar air, Jake takes the turn out of his neighborhood, his feet still crunching against the concrete.

He doesn’t entirely have a plan, all he knows is that he can’t keep doing this. And especially for this stupid of a reason. Jake had always been skeptical about the whole “soulmate” thing. Growing up, people always told him how special he was for being granted the ability to see soulmates, Jake just thought it was more trouble than it was worth. Now Jake knows definitively that soulmates are bullshit and he’s not about to let it ruin his life again.

The houses begin picking up in proximity again as Jake makes his way to another neighborhood. Sweat has started forming on his hairline, not quite enough to be droplets yet, and Jake wipes it with the back of his hand. He keeps running until a small, light blue house with purple flowers in the front and a brightly painted mailbox comes into view.

Jake slows to a stop, letting out a pant and taking a gulp of water before he starts walking towards the front door. He doesn’t have a plan, but he can’t keep doing this. Wiping some sweat from the back of his neck, Jake gently knocks on the door. When a minute goes by and there’s nothing, he knocks again, slightly louder.

This time there’s the sound of shuffling inside and Jake lets his shoulders slump as he catches his breath on the porch. The sound of footsteps gets closer and Jake swallows thickly, trying not to fidget. With a rickety creak, the door opens. You fill the doorway suddenly, still in pajamas and a sleepy expression, squinting at the sunlight you’ve let in.

Your eyes meet his and Jake watches your face crinkles with recognition and then confusion. “Hi?”

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#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluf #bradley bradshaw angst #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin imagines #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #rooster imagine #rooster imagines #rooster x reader #rooster fluff #rooster angst #hangman imagine #hangman imagines #hangman x reader #hangman fluff #hangman angst #top gun maverick imagines #x reader #i swear somewhere this works #buggy's got a pen

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Ok my friend Imma gonna hit you up for some more 😜 Fic Roulette!!!

1. 6 and 16

2. 10 and 39!

Hehehe, I'm almost afraid to ask but yes, Hunter 😂

You did marvelous on the last ones! Can't wait to see what you'll do with these!!!

Ohhhh sweet @dragonrider9905 You thought you could stump me huh? Well you almost did. LOL. Just kidding.

I hope you enjoy both stories. This is 6 and 16.

Love oo,

Not Your Fault

Warnings: Feelings of guilt, mentions of death, fluff, grief, sadness, I think that's it. If I miss anything please let me know.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Omega laughed as you tried to do a fishtail braid, “Sorry,  hun, I’m doing my best here, but it’s coming out a little …” you scrunch your face as you look at your handiwork, “Let’s just say if this was a real fish’s tail, this fish would be dead. Do you mind if I start over?”

“No. Go ahead.” She answered with patience and love, just happy to spend time with you.

“Alright.” 

So you set to remake the fishtail, yet, no matter how hard you tried, the tails didn’t look even or how Omega wanted them, and she couldn’t stop laughing, “Omega,” you laughed unable to hold back, “I’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still.”

It was about another hour when you had finally managed to get the tails to look like tails and to make them even enough they wouldn’t embarrass her, make her look odd or like a crazy person. She ran around telling her brothers about her fishtails and showing them off. 

You chuckled to yourself, slowly following her footsteps. However, you stopped midstep, your eyes focusing on Hunter sitting in his patio chair looking out over the water. There was a near blank expression on his face, yet his eyes held all his emotions. It broke your heart seeing him so … lost? Guilt-ridden? Maybe it was just overwhelming grief.  

After all, it hadn’t been long since Omega and Crosshair came back. Frankly, you were happy to have them back, especially after losing Tech. Everyone on Pabu felt his loss, and getting to know Crosshair had been challenging at first, yet Hunter somehow took on the responsibility of making sure Crosshair got along with everyone.

As each day progressed, the emotions in Hunter’s eyes were slowly becoming more and more overwhelming. It wasn’t hard to see he was still learning how to move on without Tech. How to live his life without his brother. 

You’ve suffered more than your fair share of losses, and you knew how difficult it was to just start living again. To start putting yourself back together without having that support you relied on so heavily. If anything, Hunter needed a friend first and foremost right now. 

Not wanting to disrupt his peace too much, you did what you could as you quietly walked over and sat beside him. 

Hunter didn’t flinch or react as you took your seat, he knew you were there, but he’d rather focus on the horizon, at the moment.

It was almost half an hour later, when you finally spoke up, “You okay? Caught you staring off into space again.”

His face turned to look at you, doing his best to give you a smile, even if it was half hearted. 

“I’m fine.”

It had been his go-to response lately. Everything was either ‘I’m fine,’ ‘I’m okay,’ or ‘I’m just tired.’ Honestly, you had to keep reminding yourself not to get upset with him, he and his family had been through a lot. More than most families and it didn’t help if all you were going to do was nag him. 

So you did what needed to be done. Find a way to get him talking. Whether you two would still remain friends after this conversation, was yet to be seen. But he needed this, whether he admitted it or not. 

“It’s not your fault you know,” you rested your clasped hands on the table as you looked at him.

“What’s not?”

“Losing Tech, Omega getting captured or even Crosshair choosing to stay with Empire for as long as he did before leaving them.”

He let out a vexed noise, “It is.”

“It’s not.” You told him emphatically. 

“You weren’t there.” 

His eyes narrowed as you talked about the unspoken topic that was never to be mentioned between the two of you. He knew you cared, it was evident by how you took care of them. Ever since they moved into the house beside yours, you were quick to offer any assistance. Helping Omega, cooking dinner, even giving a listening ear to whoever needed it and keeping what you had learned to yourself. 

However, he didn’t want you to be tainted with his failures. He wanted you to remain separate. 

“You’re right.” You nodded, as your eyes focused on the sunset, “I wasn’t there, but you know who was?” I turned to look at him and smiled, “Wrecker, Omega, Echo and Tech. I’ve spoken with Wrecker, Omega and Echo, and each one of them said Tech made a choice. It was a difficult situation and it was either he delayed the inevitable and you all got captured or killed, or … he’d make the ultimate sacrifice to ensure his family survived.” 

You reached over and took Hunter’s hand in yours, “Considering who Tech … was, do you think he would’ve been happy knowing you would’ve been captured because of him?”

He shook his head, as he let out a choked laugh, “No. No, he would’ve made us go over the scenario a thousand times to make sure we never let that happen again, and then he would’ve come up with a plan to enforce that.”

“And would he have blamed you for going to the outpost you went just to find information on Crosshair?”

“No. He … he was the first one to suggest it.”

You nodded, tightening your hold on his hand, “Then would it be right to say it was your fault? I mean Tech made the ultimate sacrifice for his family, that’s commendible and honourable. Don’t cheapen his sacrifice with your guilt.”

Hunter let out a long sigh as his free hand ran down his face, “If only it were that easy.”

“I know, it’s easy for someone like me … an outsider … to look in and tell you what you need to do; but as the person who lived it,” you smiled as you looked at him, “… you can just tell me to shut up and just hold your hand.” 

A small smile of understanding appeared on your face as you offered it to Hunter. 

“I’d never tell you to shut up.”

“Maybe I haven’t irritated you enough, yet.” You looked into his eyes letting him know you were there, as you squeezed his hand, “Hunter, nothing that happened was your fault. Omega getting captured was as Echo put it ‘an overwhelming amount of force.’ Crosshair choosing to join the Empire was no more your fault, than him choosing to leave the Empire.” You reached over brushing his hair back and tucking it behind his ear, as you cupped his cheek. “You can’t take on people’s choices or circumstances beyond your control, simply because you’re a Sergeant, or were a Sergeant. Life gives you no karking choice but to play the cards you’re dealt, and I for one, am glad you guys found your way into my life.”

He leaned into your hand holding it against his cheek, “Your friendship means more to me than you know.”

You smiled as you looked into his eyes, “I know. Your friendship means a lot too. Just … promise me, you’ll talk to me when you’re letting your emotions overwhelm you. If not me, at least someone. Please?”

“Alright, mesh’la. I promise.”

Hunter’s smile grew as he kept looking at you, even as you pulled your hand away. He’d been holding off on telling you how he felt for so long. However, he couldn’t hold back anymore, he was going to tell you.

“You know, one of these days, you’re going to have to tell me what mesh-a-la means.”

“I will,” he leaned forward, keeping your hand in his, “I promise.”

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

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#star wars #450 follower celebration #Star Wars fic roulette #SW Fic Roulette #450 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION #Follower Celebration #Star Wars Fic Roulette #Fic Roulette #star wars the clone wars #star wars: the clone wars #starwars #pick your character #pick your prompt #the clone wars #the Mandalorian #Andor #Book of Boba Fett #original trilogy #Obi-wan #Ahsoka #The Bad Batch #star wars prequels #star wars sequel trilogy #tbb hunter #hunter x reader #the bad batch hunter #hunter bad batch #bad batch hunter

[aranora]

Another life.

Various genshin men x reader

(Character insert.)

-Angst with no comfort, main character death (you are dead prior to the start of the story) Gn reader, you have a child but isn’t described as biological or adopted (you can choose)

*  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

His hands came to your face, palms cupping the delicate skin of your cheek as he leaned into you. His lips slowly attached to yours, as if you would break at the slightest pressure that was too much. It was gentle and loving, lasting a few moments before he broke the kiss, retreating his position to give you some space. He gave a soft smile as he caressed your skin, lifting his thumb to wipe the tears that welled up in the corner of your eyes. He didn’t know what was wrong at the time but still tried his best to reassure you, gentle touches lingering on your burning skin. Your face flushed as you nuzzled into his hand, giving a hum of comfort before opening your mouth once again.

“It’s nothing to worry about my love, everything’s alright. I love you” your voice came out soft, almost cracking from how dry your throat was from your past sobbing. He could tell something was up but decided not to push you, giving you the space you needed for the time being. His other hand raised to mimic the other, pulling you slightly forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, pulling back.

“I love you too darling. I always have and will, remember that.” For the first time since he arrived home you returned the gentle smile he held.

“thank you.” His eyes widened as your tears began to flow down your cheeks, lip quivering as you tried to keep your smile up. His hands started shaking as he focused on what was happening, your left side starting to fade as his hand fell from your face. He could feel his own tears rising, warm liquid slipping down his face as it fell to the ground. No matter how much he tried he couldn’t move, being able to do nothing more than watch as you leave. Your mouth fell open in an instant, a small sound exiting as you had fully disappeared.

“I’m sorry”

*

He felt his eyes slowly open, adjusting to the brightness of the room as he looked around. ‘another nightmare…’ his eyes fell to the bundle pressed closely to his chest, the small child still asleep despite the sobs that escaped his lips. He realised now that you were scared, scared of how he would react to you telling him of the illness you had, so you simply didn’t until it was too late. He constantly blamed himself despite everyone telling him that it wasn’t, having the guilt almost fully consume him if not for his child, your child. They were the last piece he had of you, not being able to watch them without thinking how you would have been the best parent to them, filling the role he struggled to himself.

 He cradled your child in his arms as he couldn’t shake the thought of you from his mind. No matter how long passed he couldn’t get over you, as if you were still there despite just being a memory in the back of his mind. No matter how in love you both were, It just couldn’t work out in the minds of the gods as they took you from him. He promised to always love you and he could only hope that in one life you two could live happily, but he knew it wasn’t time just yet, not in this life time at least.

#genshin x reader #cyno x reader #genshin #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader #tighnari x reader #tighnari x y/n #tighnari x you #kaveh x y/n #kaveh x gender neutral reader #kaveh x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x y/n #ayato x reader #childe #childe x reader #childe x you #ayato x y/n #kaeya x reader #venti x reader #zhongli x reader #xiao x reader #thoma x reader #gorou x reader #itto x reader #dainslief x reader #kazuha x reader #heizou x reader #albedo x reader

[yorshie]

Ritual in Midnight Blue

Bayverse Foot Leo x Reader

Warning: SFW as in there's not smut, but this one shot is exploring darker themes. Dub con, fear of violence, basically a relationship under coercion. Wolf x rabbit vibes

Song used as reference: I know I’m a wolf by discovery of an afterlife

There was a certain ritual to it, even if the shadows of the little unknowns clung to the shapes and curves of him, tinted every gesture and phrase he offered. The weight of each interaction was a small pebble placed on the center of your chest, a combination of weight that made each breath a struggle, an echo of his heavy hand around your throat.

You never heard his arrival. In all things he was silent, a mere breeze floating through your room until he drew back whatever curtain he hid himself with, whatever magic he wielded that allowed him to pass unseen. Between one blink and the next the mundane feel of your home would peel away, leaving a dream like countenance in his wake.

It was late when you stepped out of your shower and into the little hallway that connected to your living room, tiredness pulling at your limbs and navigating more so by memory than any visual cue, when your foot stopped just shy of where the soft yellow light of your bathroom gave way deep blue.

The old clock you thrifted a few months ago was loud in the dark, the tic tic tic of the iron hand moving around the only sound beyond the gurgle of water passing through pipes. Normal sounds, but the hair along the nape of your neck lifted, the ghost of a breath glancing over the thin skin. You swallowed heavily, every muscle tightening to attention at the thought of what you’d find waiting for you by the window in your living room. That he was waiting for you.

It was a struggle to pick out the shape of him against the blue-black shadows that blanketed the corners of the room. They swallowed up every detail, until you’d half convinced yourself you were staring at your empty armchair. 

The ruse was broken when he turned his head just right and the lamplight outside your window glanced off his irises. The points of blue shine gave nothing away as he watched you step fully into the room, and your mind turned to the usual comparison of a wolf deciding a rabbit’s fate.

It was always like this, every time he followed you home. A long moment of silence when you fancied he was internally struggling, arguing against whatever want curled in his chest. You often wondered, eyes drifting to the dark armor, the swords strapped across his back, if this would be your last night. If his sense of duty would outweigh whatever conflict was brewing deep within him.

He took up too much space, too much oxygen in your little room, and as the silence lengthened you turned inwards, mind following a steady path to the tune of the metal clock hands, back to the night he first assessed you.

The night you almost died.

Your gaze trailed down to his hands, the three fingers almost hidden completely by the gauntlets covering them, remembering the steady way he pressed the flat of his blade to your throat, the strength corded in his grip when he had your wind pipe in his palm, and entertained the thought that you were already dead. That he had killed you the night you’d been too stupid to walk away. These midnight meetings were a sad farce of an afterlife, but every brush with him felt a little bit like death, a little bit like borrowed time. Your life belonged to him, after all. He held the hands of the clock your heart beat to firmly in his grasp.

After a long moment, he spoke the magic words that freed you from your stand off, voice low and rich, the notes slipping past your defenses and reeling you back in from the gentle drift of your thoughts:

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

Your spine softened as unrealized tension slipped away, and you almost told him ‘you should. I don’t know why you haven’t. It’s only a matter of time’, but instead you swallowed the words, let them cut the inside of your throat, and watched as he stood slowly and crossed the room to your little table.

He started undoing the buckles of his armor, up underneath his arms, shedding steel and leather and placing it neatly on top of the wooden surface, eyes on his task and not on the way you lingered to watch him.

‘What’s your name?’ You wanted to ask, watching  as the little pile grew, ‘why are you doing this?’ A thick belt of knives, the sharp edges glinting, clattered as he set them down, and you inhaled sharply as the desire to yell the next question at him bubbled up behind your tongue, ‘what do you WANT?’

At the sound he paused, hands smoothing down the leather of the harness that kept his swords in place, his beak tilted towards the table in a downward angle that hid his expression. You were struck with a visual spark, comparing the slow strip to the first few times he visited, back when this part of the ritual didn’t exist and he would spend the night tucked into a corner of whatever room you were in.

Watching you, silently, haunting your footsteps as you moved about your nightly routine. Those nights were sleepless, when you still weren’t sure if he would rethink his decision and end your life before you even realized it was gone.

His hands resumed their task, and the slight noise of his sword sheaths being placed beside his armor on the table brought you back once more. You must have made some small movement at the sight of the polished, meticulously maintained weapons, because his head tilted, eyes cut to the side to pin you in place. The pop of blue against midnight black was your only clue as to where he was looking despite feeling his gaze like a physical caress.

Your shoulders touched the wall at your back, and you belatedly remembered that you were only wearing a towel, and despite having never broken his word there was very little in the way of protection between you and him.

Not that it would have made any difference. When he only looked at you patiently however, before returning his attention to the wraps along his arms, you wondered once more why he was doing this.

Why hadn’t he killed you the night you met, when your throat was in his hands and the cold contemplation on his face revealed he meant to? What stayed his hand, what continued to save your life every time you brushed up against him?

What did he gain, from these little encounters?

Your brow furrowed, contemplating, watching as he slowly unwrapped his arms, tendons and muscle catching on the light trailing out from the bathroom. The soft pattern of light rippling over his beak signaled his head turning right before you were pierced by his gaze again.

“Have you eaten?” He asked in that deceptively soft voice, starting to unravel the wide belt at his waist, fingers dipping to pull his tucked shirt out from underneath the material before tightening it back in place.

“Yes.” You whispered, not bothering to move, knowing he could be on you in an instant if he wanted, knowing he’d eventually tell you what to do. You watched as nimble fingers, covered in fine scars that you could make out even in the low light, undid a series of hidden buttons. With a small sigh through his nose, he reached backwards, arms curling up over his head and giving you a show of taunt muscles as he undid the cloth knotted behind his neck that kept his sleeves up and out of the way.

“Go lay down.” He ordered softly, tucking the cloth into a neat little circle before bending at the waist to reach his shoes, giving you a glimpse of the scars mapping out constellations amid the whorls of his shell where his shirt hung loose and open.

You half turned from the sight, swallowing down the warm, confused roll of your stomach, before the cool air tickled the back of your knees and you forced yourself to ask, “clothes?”

He looked up, face unreadable, taking in the oversized towel you clutched to yourself in a slow perusal, lingering on where the hem stopped just above your knees.

After another long moment, he nodded in acceptance, and you tiptoed into your room, shucked the towel and dressed in your pajamas in record time despite knowing he would stay out until you were safely under the covers.

You almost picked the sweatpants and long sleeved shirt, wanting the barrier, wanting something solid and safe between your skin and his scales, but the remembered way his eyes flashed in the dark eyeing the skin of your shoulders and calves stayed your hand. You settled for shorts and a tank top, something fit more so for the height of summer than the beginning of winter, but it was soft against your skin. You had the remembered feel of his fingers smoothing over the material in the back of your mind as you hurried to your bed.

This part of the ritual, you thought, pulling back your comforter and climbing in to settle in the dead center, didn’t start until after the Lull, when you thought he had forgotten about you.

The relief, thinking back to that period, was a tainted thing, a heady connection that a sick, twisted sense of longing had somehow crept its way into.

A rabbit should not long for this feeling, you knew, heartbeat racing and eyes closing when he purposefully let the floorboard just outside your bedroom creak in warning. A rabbit should not go along with the wolf.

After the two week Lull, where he did not visit you once, there was a breaking point for him where you think he almost granted your twisted wish. When he finally darkened your windowsill once more, a different edge of violent clung to him, upfront and bristling for conflict instead of the lethal patience he usually oozed.

Then, he hadn’t uttered a word, hadn’t patiently dismantled his gear. He’d appeared mid way through your dinner, bloody and breathing heavy like a bull. In the space between blinks he had you pinned half under your table, plates and cups flying when the edge of his shell hit a leg while pulling you down.

For the first time ever, you had tried to fight him, something you hadn’t even managed the night you met. The reflexive slap certainly wouldn’t have done anything if he had truly meant to end whatever was happening between you that night, but you tallied it in triumph later when you were alone, a silent indication to yourself that you weren’t just a rabbit, after all. At the time however, you weren’t sure he even felt it, certainly he didn’t flinch, only bore down on you, teeth flashing in the low light.

You didn’t even have the time to scream, terror freezing the cry in your throat when his beak slammed into the dip near your collar. But instead of the tight pain of teeth breaking into your artery, he gave a low, tortured keen. He shivered over you, deep breaths pressing you into the carpet, trapping you underneath him until dawn crept into the room and illuminated the streaks of red clinging to his scales.

There was never a repeat performance of that raw emotion ever again.

The following night he arrived later, so late you had let your guard down. You were already in bed when he appeared in your doorway. When you had only laid there, daze and skittish, panicking over the illusion of intimacy your bedroom granted, he had offered those beginning words once more, had taken his time to remove his gear where you could see before he joined you on the bed. 

A dip in the mattress, a heavy knee by your own, brought you back again, and with a flutter of lashes you found him hovering, watching for the sign you were aware of him entering your space.

He was alien looking in the dark. The undershirt clung to his shoulders, doing little to hide the hard edges of keratin underneath. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he wasn’t human, but it wasn’t until you first shared a bed with him, saw the shell curving where his spine should be, that you realized he must be a turtle.

You wondered passingly the first night, if it was a quirk of fate or the will of man that led him to occupy the shape he did now, if whatever way he came to be like this could also explain the apparent fascination he had with you.

What was he after, you thought again, as he placed his other knee beside your calf and stretched out over you. What was so special about this?

His hands, callused and cool, so much larger than your own, captured your wrists, led them to opposite sides of the mattress and pressed them tightly into the comforter. His fingers settled into their remembered places, and you fought not to stiffen, remembering the bruises he’d left on your wrists the first couple nights of restraining you, how you’d silently cried while he tried to learn how to hold you. 

His thumbs whispered over the rushing dash of your heart locked underneath the thin skin of your wrists, and you just knew he was remembering as well. 

Your legs shifted under the covers, restless for what came next, feeling the ghostly imprint of his beak slotting against the heartbeat thundering just under your jaw, the weight of him keeping you pinned for as long as he wanted.

He deviated though, broke the next steps of the ritual, blue eyes holding your gaze captive in the dark before his head dipped and the lines of certainty were blurred with a shuffle of his knees and the weight of his cheek pressing against the swell of your stomach.

He sighed, the movement only discernible where his plastron cut into your hip bones, the tip of his beak nudging just under the protective cage of your ribs.

You couldn’t control the instinctual shiver that erupted at the sensation, the quiver in your stomach, the latent fear at the unknown that had you gasping at the ceiling.

Once more, in a whispered voice that finally brought a muffled noise from your mouth, he broke the ritual the two of you built over the months. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

He held himself so carefully, so tightly over you, and for the first time your interactions were turned on their sides in your mind. You wondered if the way he held you down is more for his sake of control than any fear you’d slip away. Another shiver almost knocked you against his hold and a low rumble answered from deep in his chest.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He reiterated, and the heated line has the air bursting from you, the darkened ceiling disappearing in a haze as foggy stars took over your vision.

“Then why are you here?” You heard a voice ask, but it sounds foreign in your ears, a quiet, near silent break in character that you instantly wished you could take back.

He stilled over you, for a moment, before giving a slow pet of your hands with the side of his fingers. All your muscles tightened underneath him, shock mixing with alarm in your muddled mind at the soft touch, thoughts slow as quicksand sucked at the trail of thoughts you’d pieced together over the course of interacting with him.

He’d built the ritual, piece by piece, deviated and pushed the boundaries of what you were willing and comfortable with over and over, in order to get something he wanted. But what was it? 

The answer hovered just out of reach, despite the way he’d patiently led you further and further each time, but the end goal stretched out in the darkness in front of you, hazy and indiscrete and unknown, unknown could get you killed-

His next words only confirmed your suspicions.

“You’re so soft.” He whispered, the words traveling through your skin and settling in your chest. His head dipped, gave the barest nuzzle to your mid section, and in concert to the little movement your brows crumpled over the revelation that burst like a star in your mind.

Oh… oh. Soft. Did he even know what he wanted, what he was chasing, pushing the both of you towards? Was this stilted, slow dance his way of feeling out, pushing up against your boundaries until he found the soft points he coveted?

If… if he stopped chasing the softness, would he kill you then? 

Another slow pet of this thumb over the softest part of your wrist, lingering over the fine bones hidden underneath your skin, and another thought came unbidden to wash away the panicked edge of the others.

Why would he wait months, waste months, for this from you if there was any chance he’d end your life?

The thought had you sinking into your bed, thinking, careful to temper the blind hope of the errant thought with the immediate weight of the giant turtle over you.  He was dangerous, a killer, but maybe, just maybe, you could trust him with this. 

He held the position through the long hours of the night, not pushing for more, his breath slow and even against your stomach and his body slowly warming from the close proximity to yours.

You always promised yourself that you wouldn’t sleep, couldn’t possibly sleep, with him holding you so, but some times in between the slow, soft touches and the steady beat of his hear against your legs, you found yourself drifting off.

Your dreams were vague things that blended with reality, where you weren’t sure if you were pinned down like an insect to be studied or cradled like something precious, the only thing for certain is you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

When you woke in the morning, something curled up in your right hand drew your attention, amid the absence of your strange nighttime suitor. 

A little blossom, a delicate thing, safely tucked into the dip of your palm where it wouldn’t be crushed. You turned over the white petals carefully before bringing your cupped hand to your nose and inhaling.

Curiosity struck you at the subtle and sweet scent. Out of all the flowers, why would he pick jasmine?

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt bayverse x reader #tmnt leonardo #bayverse leonardo #TMNT foot leonardo #bayverse leo x reader #bayverse leonardo x reader #tw: dub con #tw: dark themes #dub con #dark themes

[kit-williams]

Imagine your yandere astartes as their miniature versions in the husbandry verse. And their darlings are their baseline human companions who fostered them.

See you wanna know what the horrifying thing is. I know for your version of Husbandry they're all mini... mine are all canonical heights aka full blown astartes. Lets see if I can make them work in a platonic setting (spoiler probably not) ((NOT SORRY FOR TULIO))

What is Canon: the "fostering"

SO LETS GO

Azazel She jumped as the Dark Angel leered around the corner just being a creepy ass Dark Angel. Foster an Astartes it will help with adjustment back to civilian life. They said... "Jesus Christ Azazel. Stop that." She grumbles just pushing past him eager to get this fostering over with.

Dark Angels were notorious in fostering, not because they were human killers... but because they would just up and leave or hardly interact with the human until their allotted time was up. Azazel was like that at first but then he started to stalk her.

She limps to her couch as her leg seizes up slightly... damn nerve and muscle damage. She covers her eyes as she claws the arm of the couch but she soon feels thick fingers against her leg slowly loosening the muscle and she looks to him as she sighs out a thanks not hearing his muttered 'You're welcome.'

Palion She was a MUSE! A darling! A GODDESS! Palion could feel it! The special thing that his human having brothers fawned over. He was certain he felt it for her even if she stayed inside so often. She told him one day as she was brushing his hair that she only did this to try to stop feeling alone after the accident. He bleeds for her plight as her home was so barren and plain it was his job to bring LIFE to it and Palion did.

He beamed over her small smiles and the little victories. Oh he was fostering her more than she was fostering him but this is what he was made for! He was certain of it... had not everything gone to shit he would be some place with a broken muse tending to her.

"Palion... maybe we can go outside for a small walk today." She spoke and he trilled with excitement.

Harram He looked to Farum as he knows he wasn't her first choice to occupy her time as Harram wasn't foolish he could tell she was still in mourning. And he could feel a fledgling bond flutter between them but she was trying her best to keep a happy face even when at night he could hear her sob at night.

Harram simply spoke to her and embraced her tightly as she just needed to be reassured. He would help shore up the fortress of her heart. The siege of death was always a hard one and he was here to help shore up the holes and build a better fortress as that is what he was there for.

Arkyn He picked you up and just nuzzled the back of your head. You have a feeling you've met this Space Wolf once before when you were a young woman maybe a teenager but it doesn't matter as he wraps you up in pelts just burying you in a nest made of pelts wanting to show off how well he has done during hunting season.

She yawns sleepily as the cozy little cabin feels so snug and lived in with Arkyn taking up the lead as hunter letting her focus on other things that when she would do her stints of survival off the grid left her rushing to complete before winter. She enjoyed the way he provided for her in a way she never felt like the world ever could.

Of course this would all probably end by spring time... but it was worth this momentary happiness.

Ghosk "Ghosk you little shit!" His darling said as he cackled loudly his wings folded on his back as he held her phone out of reach.

No date for you! He crooned in Nostraman to her as she tried to climb up him reaching for her phone.

"Ghosk I swear to God-"

"Swear! Swear! Swear!" He laughs repeating the word in a mocking tone.

She seethed as Night Lords were known for their habit of copying words and using it to scare people. She threw up her hands, "FINE you win I won't go out tonight! Happy?!"

"Very." He purred and pulled her into a wing hug.

Sirus He saw his moonlight in the pale moonlight and she broke him of his black rage. He saw her look at him with concern before he was swarmed by his brothers deathly afraid that he was approaching her to kill her. He had to find her after! His brothers were helpful and she agreed to foster him to see if she was wanting a bond with him.

He was so thirsty but no blood he drank seemed to quench him but as he cuddled and kissed her neck he could feel his fangs ache as he just wanted a small taste... a little nibble... and he hears her groan under him as he nips hard enough to draw blood and he licks her skin greedily.

"Si... Si stop." She says breathlessly... covering her eyes with an arm... as she tries to separate herself from the blood angel but he holds her under him as their bond strains to remain a simple bond. Her blood is so addictive... and he tries to resist but he leans her head back as he sinks his fangs in and just drinks a little.

Vauth "Fucking machine." She grumbled as she put her palms against her eyes as she leans back in the seat. She wasn't even suppose to be working she was busy fostering a case of an Iron Hand. He was flagged as a worry to be a human killer... feral Iron Hands were prickly like feral Dark Angels.

Vauth lumbers into her workshop as she is tapping on her machine just googling some troubleshooting. She sighs looking over at him, "Hey big guy I'm sorry about this. No wait what are you doing put it down!" Byte says as she watches how he plugs himself in.

She watches the screen as soon it's no longer stuck on the crash log and suddenly back on the desktop. She cocks her head before looking up at him. "Good job! Thank you! You saved me hours of-"

Byte yelped as Vauth picked her up as he felt it was time for him to get his socializations met.

Zul Zul wasn't a human killer by any means but every decade or so they had to go through a "fostering" to insure feral astartes weren't human killers unless one had a prior "registered" bond. Zul snorted at the logistics that the Ultramarines came up with and how it worked for the most part. Though he wasn't expecting to "bond" with this little darling. She's a bit timid at the world but her gentle hands touching him... the nails don't dig too deeply. She mutters something about getting them removed but she just withers under his gaze.

He picks her up and just lets a rumble slowly meander its way out of his chest... she needs to talk less and just enjoy this. And as usual she stops fretting and just lets him hold her.

Tulio She was confused why he was so anxious as she was told Ultramarines were a haughty breed... confident... but he looks at her like he's nervous. For Tulio he wasn't sure if this is what a bond entailed as suddenly this small humble woman came into his life and he felt like a mess!

He wanted to hold her tightly against him! He wanted to pepper her with kisses! He felt the bond yes but when he saw her his mind raced to something far more then just a bond! He was worried to touch her or be in her presence for too long or else he was certain that he would do something... unsavory. But a part of him hopped... she would reciprocate.

Solos He croaks the same word to you again and again whenever he sees you. You're a skilled enough handler and a semi feral Death Guard was a... challenge. However he seemed to warm up to you rather quickly. Though ever since getting Sol... you've been a bit more tired and weaker but Sol has been happy. You wonder what he calls you... you hope it's not some insult.

"Well Sol you're with me for another week and then you're free to go. Though you're free to come and go big guy." She says petting his cheek as he croons back.

Oh Lovie... I aint ever leavin ya. He purrs into your hand.

Nakht She sighs as her Macaw dances on her shoulder before free flying over to Nakht just talking to him in high gothic. Betrayed by her own bird! Nakht had it made as his darling ran a bookstore! And one that could cater to his tastes as it made him a rather important figure amongst his brothers seeking knowledge... yes it gave him power! But he rumbled to her in his honey dulcet tones.

"Oh stop you trying to butter me up!" You pout playfully as he comes over kissing your temple and then stealing a sip of your hot chocolate as he tells her, what she assumes, about some magical theory beyond her understanding and of course telling her all of those probably smart and fancy words she doesn't understand. She just nods and smiles letting him be his big smarty pants self.

Zhur He was spared being "culled" by one of his kin who had bonded with a human. This Dolly woman intrigued him as she was tough and hardly took his nonsense. His brother explained to him the bare minimum he needed to do to simply stay alive. He remembers his prophet talking about how they warped the mind.

He might not feel that overwhelming desire... that anxious energy that seems to overtake his brothers and his cousins but he feels a different sort of bond forming. He shudders as she is so willing to let him hold her close as he is slightly touch starved.

He croons such filthy words to her in gothic as she just sits there listening to him unaware of what he says and he doesn't mind that be the case.

Jihias Word Bearers loved to learn about religions! And Jihias was eager to learn. He grinned at his Lamb, as he was calling her in his mind, she had decided to give him a chance. As he was spared from a culling and he realizes... he was so wrong! He could feel this bond he was told so much about with his Lamb... his precious little lamb. His demon wasn't with him... he couldn't feel him as strongly but if he listened hard enough he could hear its whispers.

And they told him to devour the Lamb. He crooned to her as she was sat by the window drinking her afternoon tea just preaching to her about demons and other things as he still would try to get her to worship the chaos gods but... he also enjoyed this lesser key of Solomon book as well. She smiles against the rim of her teacup before she closes her eyes and his eyes look at her with a different sort of passion then his normal religious zeal.

Nubin Bev pats the older Salamander as he is just content at relaxing with her. He talks softly to her being a bit of a bastard as he was a stubborn old Salamander but protective of her.

"Yeah don't worry old guy I don't think anything bad will happen to you... just remember you can always just come by."

He rumbles softly holding her close as he closes his eyes to nap until dinner time.

Sor, Kazi, & Moremo You originally were only fostering Sor and the other two just showed up. Sor enjoyed having them around so you had stopped trying to separate the flock. Though you made them have a nice roost and a cozy place for the three of them... you wake up as Kazi's head is against your stomach... your legs on Moremo's... and your head on Sor's pectoral. You found yourself being dragged into their nest any time you make the mistake of falling asleep on the couch.

"Boys please I need to get up." You groan but you just feel them hold you tighter... Oh maybe you can just get your morning coffee in thirty more minutes...

Alpharius? Omegon follows his Vixen as she pulls out cans of spray paint as the cold night air nips at her. She leaves her tag as he stumbled upon this darling on accident while on another job watching someone else... she was a hacker, an rebel, a free thinker! She just got trapped in his web! And Omegon wasn't willing to let her go.

He feels her lean against him, "I think I've gotten better at spray painting! Not bad for a novice right?"

He looks and chuckles as it's a highly stylized Alpha legion symbol and pets her head. "Good girl. Lets go before your cuteness attracts too much attention."

"You know that's a lame excuse."

"Its a viable threat where I'm from."

"Right big guy. I think you're just a bad flirt." She says with a laugh as he just laughs softly walking away into the shadows.

Roland She was a Bäckerin! Roland wasn't bothered by the ungodly hour as they walked into the back of the bakery and Roland sighed as it smelt like a warm blanket from his childhood. He let his chest rumble in enjoyment as the scents of freshly baked bread would permeate into his robes and linger in his hair. He could let himself be lazy for a moment just letting himself a slow languid yawn as he feels all warm and fuzzy around her. And a part of him hoped that this good dream would never end... or maybe this was a sign for things to come? He sighs happily.

Tyberos? Ophelia looks at the giant Astartes in her back yard. She swallows softly as she was certain it was a Night Lord stalking her house but a Carcaradon... they're an odd variety of Loyalist. He looks inside of her one story home as he had tapped on her window. He huffs down at her confused as to why he is here but something in his blood moved his feet to here.

She gently touched his hand just trying to soothe him as he doesn't appear or act like a human killer. Tyberos rumbled in his chest as he has been lurking around for awhile and only recently he felt something call to him. She smiles up at him as her words are soft and soothing... And before Ophelia knew it... she was gone from her room and her house. Astartenapped

Taggin ya'll because I know you love the yandere boys @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty

#space marine husbandry? #warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #yandere #yandere space marines #the darlings

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Twelve: Down The Rabbit Hole

Gates Of Hell Masterlist

Word Count: 11k (the struggle was real)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, horror, gore

[A/N: immensely shocked at myself for finishing this chapter but ultimately that means there are some reallyyyy good bits and some that… I hate the ending but I wrote it five different ways and this is just word vomit now. We will be back with more GOH after the new year but until then, I hope everyone has a good festive period <;3]

Down The Rabbit Hole

White walls. Red blood. Green Eyes.

The same nightmare crept up on you again, raising your heart rate and jolting you awake. This time hadn’t been any clearer than the last, no matter how hard you tried to look for more clues, to escape. But it ended the same it always did; with those glowing green eyes.

You blink against the darkness, hearing soft snores and breathing in the space around you. Everyone else was sleeping, only Joyce and Hopper not to be seen. They must be on patrol.

When you look to your right, you notice a familiar head of hair in the cot beside you, facing the wall with steady breaths. Part of you wanted to wake him then, pull him into all of your spiraling thoughts. But that was selfish.

Holding your breath, you make as little sound as possible as you slip out of the bed, containing a wince when a pain shoots up your ankle. An unfriendly reminder of your fate. You hadn’t bothered taking your sneakers off when you slept, part of you worrying that something would have you rushing out of bed at a moment’s notice.

Thankfully, the door was quiet as you closed it behind you, taking a deep breath in an empty room. New maps were sprawled across the table now, different markings. Places Hopper was going to search in a dangerous setting all because you had a theory.

It was all too much to be thinking about now. Rather than stay, you head up a few measly steps and exit the ‘bunker’, finding yourself back in what you assumed to be a control room. The room was cast in a red light, the source held behind a long panel of glass.

The gate, while terrifying, was also strangely beautiful. It looked alive, if anything, thrumming in calm bursts of crimson lights, a few white particles scattering the air in front of it. You thought it almost looked peaceful as you leaned with your arms against a metal railing, noting the door that would lead you to the gate on a lower level.

What would be the last thing you saw? It was useless pretending like the virus wasn’t constantly in your mind. If you were to turn, where would it be? Would it hurt? Would you hurt someone? How would you avoid that?

You remembered how Holloway was barely human. You also recalled his momentary lapse of weakness, a glimmer of the man you once called a teacher. Did that mean he was still in there, in no control of his own body? And, if that were to happen to you, could you really live with yourself if you killed the ones you loved?

A heavy thought for an April morning.

The creak of the door caught your attention. You glance over to see the boy you survived four days with closing the door behind him, running a hand through his hair. Even with a bed-head, he might be the most godly guy you’ve seen.

“Sorry. Was I loud?” You wince but he’s quick to dismiss it.

“No, no. I… I tried falling asleep but, uh, haven’t managed to do that in a while, you know?”

You merely nod, returning your attention back to the gate as he joins you, mirroring your own stance.

Steve takes a long look at the gate in front of him. This was the very thing that started all his problems, ruined his life. Although, he supposed he was already doing that himself before he could redeem that part he had kept hidden away. And that wasn’t until the gate had spewed out a grey faceless monster. Funny, how he could be grateful for an alternate dimension when it was the birth of an apocalypse on the town he called home.

His eyes eventually shift to yours, his gaze softening. You looked tired, worn from everything you’ve been through over the past four days. He can tell you didn’t sleep much either. He could also tell you were overthinking something in the way your tongue was pressed against your bottom lip.

“Are you okay?”

You meet his stare and he almost feels himself melting. He had followed you out here for a reason, and now he was paying the price of nerves attacking him. He really hoped you couldn’t notice the red he felt creeping up his neck against the already rouge light.

“I wish someone would have dragged me into this sooner.” You sigh and he looks surprised. “I get my dad was just trying to protect me but… I can’t help thinking how different everything would be if someone just told me. Maybe… maybe I wouldn’t have been in detention in the first place.”

“Maybe.” He agrees quietly, fidgeting with his hands, “I’m glad you were, though.”

Your eyes flash towards his with a confused scrunch of your brows. “Why?”

“I don’t know what I would have done if I had to go through this alone.” He admits, avoiding your eyes by turning back to face the window. “It was nice, having someone there. Even if we, uh, hate eachother.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head slightly. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m kinda glad you were there, too. Even, yeah, even if we are sworn enemies.”

“Y/n.”

He finally looks at you and you patiently wait for whatever he has to say. The longer it takes, the stranger you feel, like a growing pit of anticipation, both good and bad. You watch as he struggles with the words, like he couldn’t choose or he genuinely didn’t know what to say, his lips forming them in small twitches but never speaking.

“I don’t hate you.”

You didn’t realise how close you were until you felt his shoulder brush against yours as he shifted to lean on one arm, looking at you, expecting a response.

“I…” You try, searching his eyes for some kind of hint that this was all a joke. But it was genuine. So genuine, you found yourself lost in his gaze, fighting the idea that you never wanted to leave it. “You don’t?”

“I thought I did.” He says, his voice merely a whisper. “But I meant what I said. I’m glad you were there at the beginning of all this. And… and I’m glad it was you.”

The sudden flutter in your chest was crumpled by the hand of anxiety, pulling you back down to earth, burning the incriminating evidence on your ankle as to why that hope you felt would never be. Timing was a cruel mistress.

“Steve…” You start, but he is already closer now, close enough to make you look at him.

“I don’t want us to hate eachother.” He says, and he meant it with every heartbeat in his chest, “I don’t… I don’t even know why it’s like this. The last four days just proved that I don’t have a single reason to hate you, Y/n. And… and I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

“I…” You hoped if you started talking, the words would just follow. But instead, they stay stuck in your throat in the same way your eyes never wavered from his brown ones. Those little gold flecks shone bright at you. You couldn’t do this to him.

“Do you hate me?” He asks, rearing himself closer. You catch his eyes dart to your lips and you hold your breath, your fingers unintentionally moving to his hand.

That delicious tingle of contact brushed against him, racing his heart across his body until he felt like it was over the moon, that painfully sweet anticipation of your lips against his…

But you pull your head away from his, your eyes squeezed shut.

“We can’t.” You whisper out, so quiet he thought he misheard you. He hoped he had, but he was so focused on your lips he knew each word as they left your mouth.

“Why?” Steve frowns softly, reaching out to take your hand in his, and you don’t snatch it away.

“Y/n… we don’t have to keep playing that stupid game high school made up for us. Okay? High school practically doesn’t even exist anymore-”

“There’s too many complications.” Your voice is strained, like you didn’t want to say it.

“Like what?” He looks at you for an answer, but you can’t meet his eyes. “Give me one good reason why, and I’ll go. Just don’t lie to me.”

“We haven’t spoken in years, Steve.” You finally look up at him and he can see the tears already pooling. “Not as friends, at least. I’m glad I got to see the real Steve Harrington, even if it was just a few days, but… but that’s not enough time to really know eachother. You don’t know me.”

“It doesn’t change how I feel.” He says and you so badly wanted to grab him and kiss him until all the pain went away, all your issues and burdens, the entire world if nothing at all. But you can’t. What if you committed to this and it all blew up in your face? What if it ended quicker than it began?

“I’m sorry.” You finally say, stepping back and wiping a tear. He doesn’t let you go. “Steve-”

“You claim I don’t know you. That I haven’t had enough time to.” He starts, concern marking his eyes. “But right now, I know you’re hiding something from me.”

Steve can’t believe that his past self was so adamant on hating you, returning your unkind favours with his own, battling out who could make the other’s life a living hell. It took an actual living hell to realise he was wrong. Without the distraction of high school, he was forced to admit his feelings. To himself. To you. The whole world was burning, but his biggest fear was that you wouldn’t like him the same way he has liked you all this time.

“Just tell me.” He pleads. “Y/n-”

“One of those things got me.” You finally blurt and he blinks, shaking his head.

“I don’t-”

“The demodog. At school.” You begin, gulping back the fear. It was time you admitted it to yourself. “When it was dragging me away… I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“What are you trying to say?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. He wants you to prove him wrong, tell a different fate.

“It bit me.” The words were heavy as they tumbled from your lips, hitting the air with a cold smack. “And I’m pretty sure I’m gonna turn into one of those things out there.”

Steve doesn’t speak, doesn’t move- breathe. It would have been funny to see Steve buffering if you hadn’t just admitted your death sentence.

“No.” He says plainly and you shut your eyes. “No, that’s not- no.”

Rather than speak, you slowly reach down and pull up the leg of your jeans, revealing the damned mark to him once and for all. His skin was getting paler as he followed the black veins snaking along your skin, like growing vines.

“No, that’s not poss-” He stops himself with a deep breath, stepping back and resting his hands on his head. “If it was- you would have turned by now if it was true. The others didn’t take that long, right? It’s not…”

“I don’t know how it works. I thought… maybe, it wasn’t affecting me. But the veins… look just like the ones they have. I… I don’t know how long I have left.”

“We’ll find something.” He suddenly says with a hardened face and posture. “A cure. There’s gotta be a way out of it.”

“I don’t think there is one.” You say, cutting him off when he tries to speak. “We don’t even know how long this virus takes, or if it affects people differently- we don’t have the time.”

“Maybe El knows something.” He suggests, but even he knew it was a long shot. He just couldn’t believe he had been laying in that bed figuring out how to tell you his feelings, thinking the worst you could say was that you didn’t feel the same way.

“You can’t tell anyone.” You’re quiet, shifting on your leg with your head low. Steve can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“What- you… you expect me to just pretend like everything’s fine?” He exasperates, scrunching his face when you don’t respond. “No, Y/n, don’t- don’t just spring that on me and expect me not to help you.”

“They’re leaving today.” You finally speak, looking up at him with sad eyes. “They’ll head out to the school, go through a gate and try to survive while finding unknown evidence of my theory. If I’m wrong, then it was all for nothing. They could get hurt, or- or worse. And if I’m right… then what? How do we know they’ll be able to fight it? All of this while the kids are going to be listening in on every breath and every step, Joyce is gonna be wondering what to do if Hop never comes back, Jonathan- Mike is going to be scared for his life knowing his sister is down there. And then El… everyone already has so much weighing them down, so many things to be afraid of. I don’t even know if this bite is gonna do anything but I want them going in with clear heads, not constantly worrying about me.”

“Not even Robin?” He challenges, coming closer again. “Your dad?”

“Robin will be fine.” You say, convincing yourself. “And Hop… I can’t think about that right now.”

“Y/n-”

“No.” You snap, taking a deep breath when you realise how loud the word had slipped from your mouth. “Sorry. I just… even if I did tell him… what is he gonna do? What the hell are any of us gonna do? There isn’t a cure, or- or a way out. Either it’s fine and it doesn’t happen, or I’m gonna become one of those things. And… and I can’t become one of them. I can’t let my dad, you, anyone, watch me become one of those things.”

When you blink, a single tear catches and trails down your face. Steve places his hand on your cheek, gently wiping it away with his hand and you’re surprised by the contact, but you don’t pull away. He brings his other hand up until he’s cupping your face, a pained expression painting his own.

“I’m not letting that happen to you.” He whispers and you instinctively hold on to his arms.

Before you could utter another word, the startling creak of the lab door on the other side of the room catches your attention just as it’s thrown open, revealing wide eyes of the adults catching you in a moment.

Steve practically jumps away from you, assuming what he hoped was a casual pose and you tighten your lips.

Joyce is suppressing a smile, clocking Hopper’s hardened stare as his eyes flicker between you both.

“Hi, kids.” She smiles.

“Hey.” You respond, ignoring Steve’s flushed look. “How was the patrol?”

“I’m moving your beds.” Hopper states and Joyce rolls her eyes.

“He’s kidding.” She says as she steers him away from you both and towards the bunker door.

“He’s not.” Hopper grumbles but eventually gives in with a sigh. “We’re about to get everyone up and ready, we’ll need you both for this meeting.”

“We’ll be there.” You nod and he lets out another sigh.

“Come on.” Joyce teases, opening the door and stepping through.

Before Hopper followed, he paused with one hand holding the metal door open. “Oh, and Steve?”

“Yes, sir?” Steve suddenly straightens and your eyes widen in amusement.

“Three feet away from my daughter.”

“Yes, sir.” He takes a big step back away from you and Hopper hums in approval, finally shutting the door behind him.

Despite the tension still lingering in the air, almost-kisses and heartbreaking-declarations, you started to laugh.

“What?” Steve frowns, the tips of his ears bright red.

“Nothing.” You giggle still, shaking your head in disbelief. “Never thought my dad would ever be worried about me and Steve Harrington. It’s… god, it’s funny.”

“He’s scary when he’s like that.” Steve mutters and you have to walk away before you laugh any harder. “Where are you going?”

“To this meeting before Hop comes back and asks for your head on a stick.”

With that, his eyes widen and he clears his throat, nodding viciously.

“Yep, yep, one hundred percent with you there.” And he steps forward before pausing.

“What is it?” You raise your eyebrow and he scans the floor between you, making you groan. “Are you seriously staying three feet away from me right now?”

“He could be watching.” He whispers and you roll your eyes.

“God, you’re such a coward.”

“Better a coward than thrown in jail for the rest of my life.”

“He can’t do that- oh for god’s sake.” You move quicker than he can react and place your hand on his shoulders. He tenses and you smile. “See? No one’s coming to arrest you.”

He lets out a chuckle, looking down at you like you were water in the Sahara, before his face drops to a serious tone.

“You have to tell him, Y/n.”

You let your hands fall back by your side and bite your bottom lip. “I know. But I can’t. Not yet.”

“What on god’s horribly disfigured earth were you doing this morning with Harrington?” Robin persists with a low voice and you shoot her a warning look.

You and Steve had returned to the sleepy gazes of your friends, some still trailing in while rubbing their eyes, others didn’t even look like they had woken up yet. Regardless, Hopper’s voice was demanding, and you had shuffled your way over to Robin so you could focus. If you were standing beside Steve, the apocalypse wouldn’t be the first thing on your mind.

“Can we not talk about it here?” You hiss, aware of the ears around you that could pick up on the conversation.

“Fine.” Robin widens her eyes mockingly. “You wanna keep it on the down low, got it. Tell your boyfriend that first.”

She nods her head in Steve’s direction and when you look over, a blush creeps across his cheeks and he’s averting his eyes, making your heart flutter.

“Not my boyfriend.” You almost forget to correct, folding your arms and redirecting your gaze back to Joyce.

“El will be by the gate, ready to connect with Hopper and try to find whatever is causing these gates to open.” Joyce smiles at the young girl beside her. “As for everyone else, we’ll need people on radios at all times. Patrol will be done periodically as usual.”

“I got the radios sorted.” Dustin smiles, motioning to the pile on the table.

Steve takes a glance down before his stomach twists. How many times had he tried contacting Dustin before his heart couldn’t take it anymore? Too many.

“The plan is for us to be down there an hour at most. It will let us cover the area surrounding the school and if we don’t find anything when our time is up, we’re getting out and we’re coming back here for a new course of action.” Hopper states and Nancy nods beside him, mentally capturing the map in her mind with the intention of scripting their movements in the limited time period.

“And if you do find something?” Mike asks and Hopper furrows his brows.

“We’re not planning on getting close enough to say hello.” He replies lowly, “But I know El will have eyes on us the whole time.”

The girl in question is nodding her head, face stoic and ready for her duties.

“We’ll head off in two hours. Until then, let’s make sure we have everything we need and take some time to prepare.”

And by that, he meant to prepare mentally. Nancy looked ready but her eyes kept darting to where Jonathan sat, already staring back at her. You supposed there must have been some friction when she decided to follow Hopper into the Upside Down. And in a mere two hours, a lovers quarrel would be the last thing to worry about.

“Y/n.” Hopper calls and you snap out of your thoughts, looking up. “You okay to do the patrol shift?”

“Yeah.” You nod, turning to Robin.

She was already walking away, her hands held up in silent protest and you understood her decision.

You absent-mindedly start looking to where Steve was standing, his arms crossed, back against a wall as Dustin chatted his ear off. The idea of being alone with him before all of this was excruciating, a thought that would never have crossed your mind. Now you were willing, and very happily so, to be spending time with him. He’s changed a lot from the King Steve you’ve grown to hate. He’s much more like that boy you met in middle school.

Hopper clears his throat and you realise you’ve been staring too long, returning your attention back to your father.

“I could-” You start but he’s already got other plans.

“Billy.” He calls over, summoning the boy by his side. “I need you and Y/n to patrol. Nothing long, just a quick check around the lab to make sure nothing has gotten in before we head out.”

“Sounds like fun.” Billy shrugs, throwing a smirk your way and you almost roll your eyes.

Content with his decision, Hopper gave a smile that said ‘that should keep you occupied’ and headed back to Joyce, probably to boast about how well he handled the Steve situation.

“Shall we?” Billy gestures to the weapons and you let out a sigh.

“Why not.” You say, throwing a look over your shoulder to where Robin was stifling a laugh. You pull a face at her before reaching the table, grabbing a knife.

“Last I remember, you were a pretty great shot.” Billy suggested, eyeing the shotgun. You knew he was genuine in his suggestion, but the thought of holding one again sent a chill down your spine. The shotgun didn’t save you last time.

“Like Hopper said, it’s just a quick tour of the lab.” You dismiss, smiling. “We better get it over with so you can prepare.”

“Right.” He chuckles, slinging the shotgun strap onto his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Steve watches in disdain as you leave with Billy, falling into easy conversation like the guy wasn’t a horrible human being. Part of him wanted to walk over and smack that smug look off his face but he was also fully aware of Hopper’s stare on him.

With a sigh, he re-immerses himself back into Dustin’s explanation on the notebooks he discovered in the control room upstairs.

“Most of it was pretty unintelligible. People need to learn how to write, or what’s the point?” He rambles, waving the book in the air. “I mean, the only words I could figure out were ‘green’ and numbers attached to experiments. Will’s much better at reading cursive than I am, so he’s getting information whenever he has time. Do you think they were doing other experiments here?”

“Are your radios gonna work?” Steve questions and Dustin looks in exasperation.

“You’re not even gonna attempt to be interested?” He complains and Steve pinches the bridge of his nose.

“We need to be focusing on this mission, not what some whack-job scientist scribbled in his diary.” He sighs. “So, radios. Are we sure they’ll even reach them?”

“Uh… duh. Or we wouldn’t be doing it.”

Steve resists the groan bubbling in his throat. “Well, it hasn’t been very useful so far.”

“What do you mean?” He looks up at him inquisitively, clutching his radio in his right hand.

Shifting uncomfortably, Steve lowers his head and purses his lips.

“Nothing, man, I’m just… I’m not convinced the radios work properly.”

“Why?” He pesters once more and Steve sighs.

“I tried reaching you.” He admits and the young boy’s eyes widen. “Like five times. And I know you’ve got that thing on you all the damn time. There’s gotta be a reason why it wasn’t reaching, or maybe you were just ignoring me.”

“I would never ignore you.” Dustin states matter-of-factly, shrugging. “And it wouldn’t have worked because I’ve been stuck in this bunker for hours on end, the frequency doesn’t reach this far down. I don’t think it’s built for stuff like that.”

“Oh.” Is all Steve can say.

“I would’ve answered if not.” Dustin assures and Steve slowly nods, swiping the bottle from the table beside him. “Plus, you should be thankful it never reached.”

“I should?” Steve raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of water.

“You would never have a girlfriend right now if I answered.”

Steve almost spat out his water, choking when the minimal requirement of swallowing said water went horribly awry.

“Knew it.” Dustin laughs.

“She’s not- we’re not-” Steve stumbles over his words, thankful everyone is too consumed in their own tasks to take notice. “Shut up, Henderson.”

The boy just laughs, content in his observation just as Nancy wanders over, picking up one of Dustin’s radios.

“Hey, this gonna work?” She asks and Dustin’s face drops.

“Why must everybody question me?” He grumbles, walking away without answering her question.

Nancy looks dumbfounded, turning to Steve. “Something I said?”

“I don’t know, that kid’s a ticking time bomb, anything could set him off.” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “But, I wouldn’t worry about the radios. Henderson knows what he’s doing.”

She slowly nods, looking down at the object in question and Steve is unsure of what to say to her. They hadn’t talked since… well, not since they broke up. He wasn’t even sure if he was fully over her, or their relationship to be specific. It was the first time he really felt connected to someone. Until she started pulling away and leaving him to stare at himself for hours on end in that mirror of conscience.

“You guys are pretty close now, huh?” She queries, raising her head to meet his eyes and he clears his throat.

“Uh, yeah.” He nods, moving away from the wall and straightening up, wondering what to do with his hands. How did he used to stand? “He’s a little shit, but he’s pretty cool. Like having a little brother.”

“Right.” She chuckles under her breath. “But, um… that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you…” Steve began before it finally clicked and he tightens his lips, wincing. “Did everyone see us come in together?”

“I think most of them saw you follow her outside, actually.” She offers a smile and he starts to laugh awkwardly.

“It’s not- we’re… we’re just friends. I think. I actually don’t know if we’re even that right now. We’re not- that’s not…” He rambles, wiping his hands on his jeans. Was it always hot in here, why did he feel so hot? “Acquaintances.”

“Sure.” Nancy says knowingly, setting the radio back down. “I’m just… surprised. Last I knew, you hated her.”

Her smile drops when his face does, avoiding her eyes. She starts to shake her head.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no. You’re right, I… I did hate her.” Steve shrugs, “The more I think about it, though… the more I wonder if I ever had any reason to.”

“You mean other than freshman year?” She asks and his eyes shoot up. “I don’t remember anything else-”

“What about freshman year?” Steve interjects and her brows scrunch.

“You don’t remember?” Her eyes widen when he shakes his head, letting out a breath. “Wow. Sorry, I didn’t realise- it was the biggest gossip. I wasn’t even in high school yet but everyone in my class talked about it.”

“About what?”

“The date.” She says it was a historic event. “All I heard was you guys went to Lover’s Lake, she tried… well, she tried something, and then got all upset because you turned her down. I remember Carol saying that Y/n took it so bad she tried turning everyone on you, using it to get closer to guys?”

Steve wasn’t sure if his memory was truly terrible, or if he shouldn’t be believing any of it. He couldn’t recall ‘the date’, or Lover’s Lake. Not even the part where you apparently came onto him and he rejected you? That made no sense.

“That didn’t happen.” He frowns, mostly muttering to himself.

“I wasn’t there.” Nancy tightens her lips sympathetically, “And I know now that anything Carol says can be a complete lie. But it’s the only thing I can think of. You guys never fought in middle school.”

“Nancy!” Mike’s voice carries across the room and she looks over her shoulder.

“Look, I should…” She motions to her brother, “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He dismisses with a forced smile. Nancy knows him better than that, but she also knows she’s on borrowed time to see Mike before she leaves, so she starts moving away from him. “Hey.”

She looks back expectantly.

“Good luck. Just in case I don’t get a chance to say it later.”

With a smile, she finally turns away and joins her brother and his friends, leaving Steve to stand with his thoughts, and wonder just how much of his life he had lost in those battles.

Everything was pretty quiet in the lab. There hadn’t been one ominous sound, not even an echo of a snarl. The only noise came from the soft thumps of footsteps between friends.

You wondered what Steve was doing now.

No, you tell yourself, stop it.

Whenever your thoughts drifted to Steve, they were automatically met with a wake up call from the sore curse on your ankle, feeding into the long list of reasons you couldn’t be closer to him. Your life had gotten spectacularly more complicated and, as a result, shorter than anticipated. You hoped you would at least feel when it was happening. Maybe then you’d have a chance to stop yourself before it was too late.

Billy lets out a yawn beside you, peering through a door that was slightly ajar before returning with no evidence of a monster in sight.

“So.” You look up to the boy beside you, welcoming a distraction. “Haven’t talked to you in a while.”

You can see his eyes retract from you, looking almost… sheepish. He must have been expecting this conversation.

“Yeah…” Billy coughs, rolling his shoulders. “Sorry about that. I was busy.”

“Hm.” You nod with a smile, tilting your head. “I can imagine how busy it must have been. How many missed calls was it? 7?”

“9.” He responds quickly before immediately clocking the trap you sent for him. “Shit.”

“Not too busy to see them, then?” You comment with a smirk. You weren’t upset about it.

Truthfully, you weren’t really close friends. More… friendly acquaintances. But he did just suddenly drop off the face of your earth and never explained himself. Avoiding you wherever possible, watching your calls ring through with no intention of picking up. You gave up after 9 days. That was enough to be satisfied you had tried your best.

“Okay, yeah, you got me.” He chuckles, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I don’t have a good reason for it, either.”

“It’s whatever.” You shrug when he raises an eyebrow. “Come on, we were just partners on a project, you didn’t stand me up at our wedding or anything.”

“Always figured you wanted something more.” He jokes with that smirk of his. You simply roll your eyes.

“In your dreams.”

“Every night, princess.”

“God.” You grimace, laughing. “You’re such a creep when you call me that. My dad’s the chief of police. And it definitely doesn’t suit me.”

“That’s what makes it so funny.”

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes and he chuckles to himself.

“How about I make it up to you later?” Billy nudges your shoulder and you laugh.

“Not necessary.”

“Nah, come on. We’ll go wherever you want.”

“If I recall, aren’t you about to go on a dangerous mission?” You try to keep it light-hearted and he shrugs.

“When I get back.”

“Okay,” You nod slowly, curious. “And where in Hawkins are we gonna go? Considering everything is a pile of rubble.”

“The chief said something about Illinois.” He recalls as he holds a door open for you, “How about I buy you a drink there?”

You laugh. “No specific place. Just Illinois.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re barely 19.”

“That’s not what it says on my ID.” He pretends to act shocked and you laugh, shaking your head. “So, what’d you say?”

“You get back from the Upside Down… and I’ll think about it.”

He clicks his tongue with a grin, shaking his head. “That’s fair. I deserve that.”

“Just focus on finding monsters.” You playfully push him away from you, ignoring that jolt of anxiety you feel when you notice a flickering lightbulb in a passing corridor.

“So, when we go for drinks.” Billy smirks, “Is Harrington gonna mind?”

You almost trip up. “Why would Steve care?”

“Look, I don’t wanna get in the middle of stuff.” Billy says and you’re slightly surprised. After all, he wasn’t known for his quiet and respectful nature at school. Your hesitancy must have shown on your face because he shrugs. “High school’s almost over, and I’m not looking for those assholes to be my ‘glory days’ or whatever. We all gotta grow up sometime.”

“And the thing that happened last year?” You suggest, “I don’t know what happened, but everyone seems pretty pissed with you.”

“It was a mistake.” His eyes darken, jaw tight and set as he looks ahead. “I was just sick of people ordering me around all the fucking time, you know?”

You go to answer when something starts echoing your way. It sounded like… scratches?

“The hell is that?” Billy frowns, shotgun slipping off his shoulder and into his hands. Your heart starts to race.

“Probably nothing.” You shake your head, and then the noise starts up again. Except this time, it’s a pounding of noises, harsh banging that had you stumbling back.

“Nothing is making a shit ton of noise right now.” Billy breathes out harshly, stepping in front of you.

He’s already moving toward the noise before you could offer any more dismissals and you have to follow, your knuckles paler from the tightened grip of the knife in your fist.

Your heart leaps into your throat, choking a gasp from your mouth when you reach a set of double doors, leading down the very hallway that you had discovered yesterday. The one that apparently wasn’t just in your nightmares.

“Billy.” You hold a hand out, stopping him from charging forward. “We should get back-up.”

“It’s fine, probably just another demodog.” He raises his shotgun, ignoring your protests.

Something suddenly snarls behind you and you both spin around, finding nothing under the furiously flickering lights. The banging noise starts again, in the same space you both stared at.

“Shit, it’s following us.” Billy curses, grabbing your arm and pulling you behind him. “That hallway leads to the other side of the lab. It’ll get us closer to the bunker.”

“Are you sure?” You glance over your shoulder, an unsettling feeling burying into your gut.

“Trust me, we’ve been using it for days now.”

His retreating footsteps weren’t giving you much choice as another snarl bites the air, forcing you to bump open one of the double doors and back yourself into the hallway.

And then the banging starts again. Except it’s behind you.

You both freeze, turning once again to the singular door at the end of the hallway, a snarl vibrating through the wood of it.

The door you had walked through swung itself closed with a loud bang.

Spinning around with no intention of being here any longer, you reach out and pull the handle towards you.

It didn’t budge.

You grab the other handle in your spare hand and pull harder, the doors rattling under your force, but never opening.

“Billy!” You yell, but he’s already pushing against the doors, eyes wide. “It’s locked! How is it locked?!”

“Shit!” He hisses, turning to ram his shoulder against it for extra strength, but he couldn’t keep it up forever.

And then the pounding against the door gets louder, more violent. He is using every bit of his strength to break through, but it’s not working.

“Shit, shit, shit!” He yells out, driving his boot down on the doors hard. It was just as successful as before.

The air is cut silent and you freeze, breathing heavy as you raise your head, meeting Billy’s eyes. He’s looking behind you, trying to figure out what was going on. But you knew. You’ve been here before.

“Billy.” You divert his attention with pleading eyes. “Go back to the bunker.”

“The fuck I will.” He protests, frowning.

Knowing you needed a solid reason, you put on your best front and nod at him. “Get back-up.”

His eyes keep darting between you and the door, a scowl masking whatever fear swam in his gaze.

“You don’t have any other choice.” You say and he lets out a frustrated sigh, nodding.

“Do not die.” Billy warns, jogging backwards before breaking out into a run, back through the winding hallways.

And you were left alone, slowly turning back to the door, waiting for your nightmare to begin again.

Steve was brooding. There wasn’t any other way to put it. Pouting, maybe. Like a child that had been left behind.

Right now, you were roaming the halls with Billy Hargrove, probably discussing that ‘moment’ you apparently had. He wondered if you would tell him about the bite, trust Billy like you trusted Steve. Part of him felt bitter about that thought.

He feels a shadow approach him and turns around from where he was standing at the window to the gate.

“Does something perplex thee?” Robin mocks with a posh British accent, earning a glare. She drops the act. “Damn, you do be perplexing.”

“No, I’m not.” He scrunches his face, glancing back at the portal to hell. “Wait, what does perplex mean?”

“The American education system has failed you, my friend.” She rests a hand on his shoulder, curving her head to meet his eyes. “There something you wanna tell me?”

“I mean, I did miss a lot of school.” He admits with a shrug and she whacks his arm. “Ow!”

“I meant about her, dingus!” She flails an arm out, her voice louder than anticipated.

“Shh! Jesus Christ.” His eyes are wide and Robin is resisting the grin ever-growing dimples on her face. “No. No, I’m not…”

She raises an eyebrow and he feels a blush creeping up his neck.

“Y/n and I are just friends.” He states sternly and she smirks.

“I never said I was talking about Y/n.” She points out and by this point, he’s beetroot red.

“Fine.” He whispers out. It was admit it or forever be haunted by it. “I… mightlikeher.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Robin prompts, holding a hand to her ear.

Steve grits his teeth. “I… might… likeher.”

“One more time.”

“Robin!”

“Okay, jeez.” Robin laughs, shaking her head. “You didn’t even need to say it out loud, you’re so obvious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I’ve seen monkeys act more normal than you.”

“Yeah well, maybe monkeys can act normal because the monkeys they like actually like them back.”

Robin stares blankly. “You lost me.”

“I… I told her this morning. Kind of. Well…”

She raises a brow. “You either did or you didn’t.”

“There was a…” He waves his hand in the air, eyes squinting. “Moment.”

“And was this, uh… moment, inside or outside of your head?” Robin accuses and he slumps against the metal railing.

“Why am I even talking to you?” Steve mutters and Robin snorts.

“Because your only other friend is a child.” She laughs, quietening when she catches his glare. “Okay, okay, sorry. I’m just curious, that’s all. One minute you guys are literally yelling at eachother across a cafeteria and the next you’re sneaking off and sneaking glances and being all… mushy.”

“Horrible word choice.” Steve cringes.

“And Y/n won’t spill anything. In fact, she’s been distracted and kind of distant so naturally, I’ve come to the source.”

“She…” He isn’t sure how to finish his explanation. It wasn’t his place to tell her. If anyone should, it should be you. But he knew you would avoid the topic forever if you could. “I don’t know. Nothing’s happening between us, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She detects that tone of disappointment in his voice and her entire demeanour changes.

“It’s really hard liking someone when you don’t even know if you can be together.” She says quietly and Steve turns his head to her. She rests her hands against the railing, staring down at them. “Especially when it’s literally only one thing. And that thing is usually the most crucial part.”

Steve thinks about this for a moment, catching his reflection against the glass. The most crucial part to your relationship was, as it has been for the last four days, survival in its simplest form. But you might have this virus and Steve can’t change that. You might not survive.

“You just have to figure out if it’s worth trying anyway.” Robin smiles sadly at him. “Jump into the deep end. Sink or swim.”

Steve couldn’t decide. Was it better for him to lay it all out on the table, tell you how he really feels, give it a shot? Or is it going to be easier for him to just forget this ever happened? It was a horrible thing, to decide how you could live best after someone was sentenced to death.

“What do you think I should do?” He asks and she looks a little surprised, her mouth parting. And then she smiles.

“Well, it should really be your decision. But... if you really want my opinion...” She meets his eyes and tilts her head. “I happen to remember you’re a really good swimmer.”

Steve couldn't help but smile at that, standing beside a girl who might have the potential to be the friend he always needed.

A loud echo drums against the control room walls, snapping their heads to the sound. Steve frowns while Robin’s eyes widen.

“What was that?” She whispers out.

Steve’s arms begin to trail goosebumps along the skin as he pushes away from the window.

“I don’t know.” He replies truthfully, straining his ears for another clue.

“Maybe they’re on their way back and dropped something.” Robin suggests, and Steve wants to believe it’s true.

Until a hot blare of screeching sirens suddenly rings out above them, red lights spinning around the room in crimson shadows. They immediately clamp their hands over their ears, groaning at the ear-piercing sound.

Hopper finds his way out of the bunker, holding two shotguns and a hard stare. He had snapped into action as soon as he heard the distant warning bells.

“What happened?!” He shouts over the noise, but the duo shake their heads.

The door bursts open and a red-faced Billy stumbles in, panting as he tries to catch his breath.

Steve’s heart drops when he sees he’s alone, and Hopper immediately strides over to him.

“Where’s Y/n?!” He demands, and Billy stumbles over his words. “I can’t hear you!”

“She’s trapped and something’s in there with her!” Billy yells, and Steve’s blood runs cold.

Hopper immediately turns, chucking a shotgun toward Steve and the boy luckily manages to catch it.

“You two, with me!” He orders, turning to Robin. “Grab the others and figure out what’s going on with the sirens!”

She quickly nods and scrambles to get into the bunker as Steve and Hopper follow Billy out, wasting no time.

They didn’t know what to expect, and they didn’t care. Steve prayed they made it in time.

You stand there, pressed up against your locked exit as the door shudders from the impact behind, rattling the hinges with each force of a beating.

You weren’t going to wake up this time.

You scan the floor for what you remember seeing, Robin’s bracelet. It was different this time, like it hadn’t happened yet.

The door shatters into splinters and you almost stop breathing, a loud piercing sound of nails against the chalkboard.

Claws.

It was the first you saw in the darkness, and then a fog of breath.

Everything plunged into chaos.

The sirens start blaring and you wince against the sudden noise, clamping your hands over your ears. The lights were flickering out of control, leaving you dazed and disoriented. You struggled to keep your eyes on the door, knowing one moment of distraction would be your demise.

Something was breathing heavy, a dim silhouette growing until its head almost struggled to fit inside the doorframe. Then you saw it.

Green glowing eyes.

And it finally stepped forward, knocking the air out of your lungs as your eyes pricked with tears.

“Y/n?” A voice calls out, and for a mere second you thought you were free.

Until you realise that voice was echoing from the wrong direction.

The monster stops moving and you can just see a figure behind it at the end of the hallway, their soft features looking around with a frown. And then she sees it.

Robin finally sees the monster.

Her eyes widen in terror as the thing turns towards her, snarling, flexing its claws.

“NO!” You scream, and your best friend tries to run.

She doesn’t make it.

The monster hooks its claws into her back and she lets out a blood-curdling scream. You cry out, raising your knife and charging forward. One swift hand throws you back and you thump onto the floor, coughing for oxygen.

You try to scramble to your feet again, save her, kill it. But you’re too late.

Her screams suddenly stop and you watch as it rips into her, slicing through flesh like it was paper, your knife slipping from your grip as everything around you feels like it has stopped. You couldn’t even feel your own heartbeat anymore.

One motion from the creature’s claw and something is flung from the vicious actions, landing at your feet.

A glint of metal in a woven circle.

Her bracelet.

You let out a strangled cry, falling back to the ground. It stops, breathing heavily, and slowly turning back towards you.

It was similar to a demogorgon’s body, pale and unnatural. But much bigger. And this one had a face.

Two green eyes that stretched along each side, like they had been pulled back.

A long, gaping mouth, slots of sharp teeth slowly pushing through the gums.

Its arms were long and lanky, sharp claws scratching against the walls as it creeps closer to you, smearing red against the white. Robin’s blood. Robin’s blood.

Tears are streaming down your face as you try to scramble away, knowing there was no escape. It had murdered Robin- god - in cold blood right in front of you, and now it was going to kill you. Part of you didn’t have the fight left.

One terrifyingly high pitched roar escapes its mouth as it raises an ugly claw.

Your eyes squeeze shut, trying to imagine your family, Sara. Robin. Steve. You couldn’t let your last memory be that ugly face.

The sound of smashing glass had your eyes flying open in an instant, rattling sounds of a shotgun fire above you. You look with tear stained cheeks at the monster stumbling away from you into a run, startled by the attack.

Not before it sent another cold shiver down your spine with one look in its endless green eyes, clicking its tongue.

It had vanished down the hallway by the time Steve had managed to break through one of the doors. It was almost like it had opened by itself, never been locked. Nothing like how Billy had described it to be.

“Y/n?!” He yells, fear coating his entire body when he notices something further down the hallway. So much blood.

“Steve?”

Your small voice turns him to where you’re curled up in the corner, eyes wide and gleaming with the tears that hadn’t already fallen.

“Thank god.” He breathes in relief, meeting you on the floor and capturing you in a hug, wincing at the way you were shaking. “Are you okay? Did it hurt you?”

“No-“ A sob is caught in your throat and he pulls back, searching your eyes. “It… it got her. She’s-“

“Who?” Steve asks, his brows furrowed as bile rises in his throat.

Your eyes drift back down that hallway. He turns his head to see Hopper already walking over to the body, kneeling beside it. You suddenly scramble to your feet, startling him.

“Y/n-“

“It killed Robin.” You finally say and he starts to shake his head.

“No.” He frowns, placing himself in front of you. “Y/n, look at me. That’s impossible. I was just with her. She’s safe.”

“She came looking for me.” Your mind was distracted, a heavy weight pushing against your chest as you avoided his eyes, “I didn’t get there fast enough, I could’ve- it killed her right in front of me…”

Steve looks at Hopper in exasperation as the man raises his head, shaking it. Steve looks down at the body, actually taking time to take in what remained.

“Why didn’t I stop it…” You’re still whispering to yourself, searching the ground for the weapon you abandoned. “I have to kill it. I have to-“

“Wait, stop.” Steve’s hand flies out to grab your arm, but you yank it away.

“She’s dead, and it’s my fault.” You still mutter, swiping the knife from the floor again. This wasn’t normal, the reaction you were heaving. Where was the screaming, the crying? Your best friend is dead.

“No, look-“

You ignore him, gripping the knife and trying to charge forward, but Steve grabs both of your arms now and you start to struggle. “Get off me! I have to-“

“Hey! Hey, it’s not her! Look, it’s not her!” Steve yells at you and you stop to finally look at the body, breathing hard and frowning.

There was so much blood splattered around, gashes of flesh against the cold floor. But none of it belonged to Robin. Because it had never been Robin.

The same dark and bony figure you had seen take your form days ago was led there, its hands a dead giveaway. A shapeshifter.

“It's not…” You blink back tears, shoulders dropping in defeat, and you feel someone gently taking the knife out of your hand.

“Just another shapeshifter. Y/n, look at me…” Steve gently places a hand on your check, guiding your eyes to look at him. “She’s okay. Robin’s okay. You’re okay.”

A tear trickles down and he pulls you into a hug again. Except this time, you surrender to it completely and hold onto him like a lifeline, sobbing into his shoulder with all the tears that were physically causing you pain to hold back.

Steve can’t believe this happened again. He left you, again. Anytime you weren’t in his sights, the universe had to find some way to mock him.

“You’re okay.” He whispers, into your hair, his own eyes falling shut.

Alarms were still blaring out of control when you finally left those hallways, the repetitive noise drilling a headache into your mind.

When the door bursts open, Dustin gasps and Robin turns from where she had been hitting random buttons in an attempt to get the noise to stop.

“Oh, thank god, you’re-”

Her words were cut off when you almost flew at her, pulling her into an unexpected hug.

“You’re alive.” You whisper quietly and she frowns.

“Of course I am.” She shakes her head as you pull away, noticing the trails tears had left down your cheeks. “What happened?”

“A shapeshifter.” You sigh and her face drops.

“And… it looked like me?” She theorised, her lips tightening when you nod. Wordless, she pulls you in for another hug, squeezing her eyes shut.

“You found a way to get this thing to shut off?” Hopper asks, his raised voice sounding like a normal volume over the shrill sounds of sirens.

“I’ve looked everywhere, there’s no instructions or even a manual for this thing!” Dustin exasperates, flinging a bunch of notebooks everywhere. “All I got is this weird countdown!”

Hopper frowns, gently moving him aside to stare down at a screen implanted into the control room panels, staring at red numbers that were counting down from 7:00, assuming it had started much earlier before he arrived.

They had already lost 10 seconds before he finally turned back around, and you noticed the pale look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” You question, stepping forward.

“It's not safe here anymore. We need to leave.” He says, looking between the confused expressions in the room. “Now!”

“It's a lockdown.” Dustin whispers out in realisation, mouth dropping open.

“What does that mean?” He frowns, finding himself looking at where Billy was peering down at the ticking clock.

“It means if we don’t get out of here soon, we’ll all be dog food.” He grunts, quickly moving to where Hopper was flinging open the bunker door, already shouting for everyone to abort the mission.

“Shit.” Steve spits, making sure you were already descending the stairs before he grabbed Dustin’s arm. “Come on, go, go.”

Everything was chaos. Groups were scrambling to collect different items, hastily shoving them into backpacks. Hopper didn’t need to say much to get them motivated, just his horrified look and a mention of an explosion to have them scrambling around to pack as much as they could before the time was up.

You hadn’t come with much, just one of Steve’s old backpacks still filled with various supplies. So, you make sure the kids are moving as quickly as they could, taking on different tasks, afraid of what will happen if you’re not out of the building when that clock hits zero.

“We need to go, now!” Hopper shouts and everyone drops whatever was in their hands, knowing if it wasn’t packed, it wouldn’t be coming with them. “Kids, follow Joyce! Billy, Nancy, Jonathan, go ahead!”

The trio in question nod their heads, arming their weapons and running up the stairs, Joyce just behind them. Hopper directs Mike and Will to follow, his head darting around for the other four.

“Guys!” You yell at Lucas and Max, pointing. “Go, quick!”

“Where’s El?!” Max worries out loud and you’re spinning around.

“I saw her head up already!” Dustin shouts as he runs past. You and Hopper share a similar nod of relief and you slip your backpack on.

“Let’s go!” Hopper yells again and you grab Robin's arm, knowing Steve would be following.

The increase of volume was as if you had walked into a room filled with high-pitched shrieking, wincing as Robin clamps her hands over her ears. She’s running through the door, Dustin and Steve beside her when you sneak a glance at the clock.

4:54

You were gonna make it.

As you turn on your heel to begin running, your eyes catch the window, processing something that almost tripped you over. The gate wasn’t as red as it had once been.

Dust was pouring out, flooding the railings with a sea of black. You shivered, deciding to run and leave it. It would simply be a pile of rubble in a few minutes.

But the distant screaming struck your spine and you found a girl struggling against its pull, taking shape to wrap around her body and tug her back towards the gate. Your eyes drift to where the door below the railing you stood on was wide open, like someone had run out. Someone who spent more time with the gate than anyone else.

El.

Steve glances over his shoulder and skids to a stop, steadying the shotgun that threatened to slip from his shoulder. The others kept charging ahead and he barely waited for you to appear before he began running back the way he came, one hand on the doorframe when he reached the control room.

“Y/n-”

You weren’t there. Shit. Why weren’t you there?

“Steve! Where are you guys?! Over!” Dustin’s voice blared through the radio strapped to his hip and his hand hovered over it, debating.

He couldn’t leave you behind again.

The first time he let you go, you were bitten by a demodog which could now be the very reason you wouldn’t survive. The second had you kidnapped and traumatised, a distant look in your eye that made him worry a hell of a lot more than he should be. The third you just disappeared, battling some unbeatable creature he had thought killed you. And now, a fourth time, that ungodly creature with glowing green eyes..

He wouldn’t let that happen a fifth.

“Henderson, listen to me. Get out of the building. Make sure everyone is out, don’t let anyone turn back.” He says into the radio, a hit of silence before Dustin’s voice comes blaring through again.

“And you’ll be out soon, right?”

Steve lowers his head, looking over at the countdown.

4:32.

“Yeah, we’ll be out soon.” He says, but his heart wasn’t in it, no vindication of truth in his words.

He straps the radio back on his hip, knowing if he talks too much he might feel the guilt of leaving Dustin. He could get you out in 2 minutes. Right? He checks his watch, making a mental note of the time. He wanted to track how long it took to find you. It was 9:28am right now.

If he could find you. Steve’s eyes scan the window of the gate, squinting at a blurry black shape. He’s been wondering if he needs glasses for a while now.

And then he sees you, leaning over the railing, screaming. His eyes dart to where he can just see El being dragged through the gate, heart leaping into his throat.

He didn’t expect you to push away and start running further down, closer to the entrance, further from him.

“Y/n!” He shouts out as he almost flies down the steps and out the door before his conscience could convince him otherwise.

He keeps shouting your name, and you keep ignoring it, trailing further and further down, your footsteps harsh against the metal staircase.

You didn’t have a weapon, no chance for survival. But you couldn’t leave her. You couldn’t watch her die. Not another sister. Not your sister. Not again.

It was stupid, reckless, suicidal what you were doing. No doubt as to why your friends were screaming for you to stop. But was it really a risk when you’re already so close to death?

It wasn’t just the bite, it was the veins, a black substance stretching around the wound. It was already too late for you, just like the other townsfolk plagued by the creatures ripping you all apart. You could have just sat and cried about it, helplessly ranted to your friends, to Hopper. To Steve. But what good would that do?

You hated yourself, but even that small miniscule part of you that still had faith was powering you to do something right for once.

To run into the wonderland of your nightmares alone.

Because who would ever follow you down the rabbit hole?

The difference between metal and rocky ground almost threw you off, ignoring that hiss of pain in your ankle. It was loud down here for a different reason, a thrumming of sound emitting from the gate in front of you. It was huge, taking up entirely too much space. And the dust was retreating through it, your sister already vanished.

How long has it been since the countdown? Probably too long for you to turn back, find another way. There were other gates, but this one was right here. El needed you.

Charging forward, you reach your hands out and pull apart the seams of the gate, pushing through what felt like some sort of unpleasant membrane. You tried not to think too much of it, driving yourself forward with what little will you had left.

The air felt thicker, white specks floating aimlessly around you as you drag yourself through the gate, wondering if it ever ended. Your foot catches on something and you fall forward, letting out a groan when you barely manage to bring your hands out in front of you in time.

You take in a breath, reaching out for the walls of the gate. Your eyes slowly open.

Everything was so dark in here. The sky, the ground, even the flashes of red lightning through the dark clouds. You push yourself to your feet, frowning as you take in your surroundings. If this version of Hawkins was meant to reflect your own, why were you outside?

“El?” You call out, frowning. You didn’t see any dust.

Something spits behind you and you spin around in a stumble, face dropping. The gate was towering over you once again, plastered to a wall of vines the same size as the lab you were just in. You look at your feet, gasping.

This was a flipped version of Hawkins. Except, somehow, you were standing in the ruins of a lab that once was. Like something destroyed it.

“El?!” You yell out, searching the dim blue for a girl, or at least a sign. You turn back around, feeling helpless.

The gate starts physically breathing, beaming a brighter red and casting your shadow behind you. You slowly back away. The humming of it grew louder, the vines it lay on slithering around it in unchoreographed patterns.

Something breaks through and you search the ground for a weapon, panicking. When it almost reaches you, you grab a rock and get ready to swing.

“Hey, woah, hey! Stop!” Steve yells out and you drop it, eyes widening, “Jesus, you could kill somebody with that!”

You blink, slowly shaking your head. “No, no, no, no, no…”

He frowns at you, quickly looking down at his watch. It just turned 9:30am, “Fuck, okay, we have just over two minutes to get the hell out before god knows what happens.”

“You’re not meant to be here.” You say, still shaking your head. “Steve! Why the hell did you follow me?!”

“Like I was gonna leave you?!” He gawks, gesturing to the gate. “What else was I meant to do?!”

“Get the hell out of the lab!” You exasperate. He shouldn’t have come with you. This was a death trap, he had to know it.

“We still have time-”

“I need to find El, you should leave before you run out of time.” You point to the gate but he’s much more stubborn than you think.

“I’m not leaving unless you’re coming with me.” He says sternly and you could almost scream.

“Steve, you’re literally wasting one of those minutes arguing with me, we can’t-”

“It’s fine, it’s still two…” Steve frowns, glaring at his watch. The hand hadn’t budged from the six. He looks a little closer, holding it to his ear. It wasn’t ticking. “What the…”

“What?”

“My watch stopped working.” He says and you scrunch your face. “No, I only just replaced the batteries, Dustin borrowed it and fixed it while we were gone, I…”

You stare at him. “So you don’t know how much time is left?”

He shakes his head vigorously. “I-“

A loud rumble shakes the floor and you automatically reach out to Steve, his hands grabbing your waist as you try to balance.

“What the hell was that?” You breathe out, and you both turn to the gate, something behind it growing brighter and brighter. “Steve…”

He squints against it. It looked like something was getting closer. Then, as he stares down at his suspiciously broken watch, his stomach drops. You were out of time.

“Run.” He breathes helplessly, not bothering to wait for your response before grabbing your hand and pulling you with him.

Steve desperately searches the area for some shelter, any kind of cover. He was standing in what looked like debris, a giant piece of… the lab? Whatever it was, it looked sturdy enough for him to pull you behind it.

He ducked his head down just as a giant blast of fire spat out of the gate, feeling the heat of it in the air as he held you tight. The shock left a ringing in his ear, his only reminder that he was still alive being the way you grasped his hand tight.

You move first, peering out over the slab of concrete and hissing when your hand accidentally makes contact with the burning stone. Everything around you was either burnt or burning, small flames dancing along the ground and chasing after screeching vines.

The lab had exploded, you realise, shoulders dropping. It was gone. And it took the gate with it, only a large crack against the surface left in its demise.

You turn to see Steve already standing beside you, taking in the scene just as you had, his hard stare softening into defeat. There was no going back.

“What now?” You whisper, afraid if you say it any louder the realisation of what you had done would come crashing down, taking away that last remaining piece of sanity with its tide.

“I…” Steve frowns, slowly meeting your eyes. He didn’t have a plan this time, no positives to share. You were both stuck in an alternate dimension, your exit blown to smithereens. “I don’t know.”

Four days ago, you had both survived the beginning of the apocalypse despite mutual hatred in every bone. It was purely a strategic pairing, unbeknownst to how much you’d learn.

Four days later, and there was a new beginning lurking in the air, staring at one another and holding hands like it was the only salvation.

This is it, Steve thinks, his eyes searching your own worried glaze of hue, sink or swim.

Chapter Thirteen: Three Weeks Later ->

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#stranger things x reader #stranger things #fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington series #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve x reader #stranger things au #apocalypse au #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #fanfic series

[crysingae]

Keith Kogan x GN!Reader.

"Don't leave me now"

(Pronouns for reader not used/specified)

Little bit angst and fluff.

Open ended

⚠️Tigger Warning: mentions of possible death, distressed Keith, anxiety, graphic descriptions, mentions of blood and severe wounds.

Have fun besties.

My skin was warm, not enough to burn but enough to feel unfamiliar with the constant chill of the infinite universe. Even under my now torn space suit, the coolness of the air did little to soothe my discomfort. I could hear Keith's panicked words in my headset, the unsure and worried voices of the other paladins echoed in the background but his voice was the most dominant. Footsteps approached quickly, unevenly and fast as the gravel beneath lay at the mercy of the oncoming paladin. His voice smoothed out as the static was replaced by his in-person shouts.

I offered him nothing more than a tired smile, my hands locked in place over my wound. His expression was grim and distressed telling me all I needed to know about the situation. He dropped to his knees beside me, shooing my hands away and replacing them with his own and some medical cotton sheets that he had retrieved from the castle. With a shaky breath, I took off my helmet and placed it beside me, my bloody fingerprints decorated the visor. I had tuned out his panicked rambles in turn for the cool air that graced the Balmera. My breath came out as fog, I wanted to chuckle but Keith would have had my head if I did.

I could feel the adrenaline flow through my veins with each weak pump of my heart, my life was draining out and into dark red puddles. I didn’t have the heart to tell him though, I think part of him knew that yet he continued to try and bandage me up. 

“You're going to be fine Y/n, just… fuck, don’t die on me” He hissed, voice fogged by the pain in his throat. The tears in his eyes wear thick, no doubt clouding his vision. His hands wear shaking as he fiddled with my dressings. My stained hand reached to his face, nudging weakly at his helmet.

“- off, take it off” my words tugged sharply at my dried throat. My free hand covered my mouth as a coughing fit endured. He was quick to take off his helmet, not wanting to fill his hands with anything that wouldn’t save my life. His free hand held mine as my coughing ceased. I slowly sat up, noting just how extensive my wound was. From my left shoulder to my right lower abdomen, just under my ribs, hasty dressing and blood-stained clothing adorned my body. I couldn’t tell just how deep it was but just thinking about it made my stomach flip. His free hand helped guide me until I semi-slumped over, my breath rugged and harsh like I hadn’t just done such a simple thing. I knew that I wouldn’t get him to calm down no matter what I said but I did get him to sit down and steady his breathing.

“Y’know what Red?” I started, attempting an ice-breaker, “You’re one stubborn jackass”

My elbow nudged at his side, “And I love that about you, just make sure it doesn't lead you down the wrong path”

His mouth opened before shutting, and his eyebrows furrowed before he looked at the ground in front of him. We both went silent for a moment, I didn’t mention the silent tears that slid down his cheeks and he didn’t mention the pained groans I huffed out ever so often. I chewed lightly at my bottom lip and my hands lightly picked at the skin around my nails, letting out a frustrated sigh I looked at him again. 

“Keith?” his head snapped in my direction, alerted by my soft tone and gentle smile. I huffed out a single chuckle. My hand brushed against his and despite the caked blood, he allowed me to intertwine our fingers, even holding my hand back.

“I know the others will be here at any moment, but regardless I don’t know if I'm going to live or-”

“Don’t say that, don’t your dare say that and expect me to be fine with it” He hissed, his eyes were cold as he glared harshly at me. I sighed once again, cupping his cheek with my free hand. I leaned over and our lips met, he was stiff from shock. His inexperience was evident but it was sweet, he tasted sweet and his lips were ever so slightly rough. He followed along lazily, his grip on my hand tightening before he pulled away.

“Don’t leave me now, not after this” his voice a hoarse whisper, light panting breath fanned over my cheek.

“I won’t, and hey, once I’m fully healed… can I have the pleasure of calling you mine?” I whispered, the sound of the other paladins approaching got louder but I couldn’t bring myself to care. My head throbbed but there was joy in his nod and soft smile, he kissed my temple.

#keith kogane x reader #Keith Kogan #voltron #voltron x reader #angst #Voltron angst #fluff #sad confessions #i give him kith #mwah