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perlelune · 3 days

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Lucky | Rafe Cameron

For years, you had a crush on your best friend, one he never returned. You thought he'd be happy to see you move on. You couldn't be more wrong.

Warnings: NON-CON, Kook!Reader, Jealousy, Angst, Pining, Toxicity

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your lips curl skyward as you scroll through your phone. As you read every message it’s hard to refrain from kicking your feet and giggling as if you were back in middle school. It’s how he makes you feel. Giddy. Wanted. It’s your first time experiencing such feelings and you’ve been perched on a fluffy cloud all afternoon.

But remembering you aren’t alone, you try your best to keep a straight face. You’re in a bikini bottom and an oversized shirt by the Camerons’ pool. It’s a bright, sunny day, not a cloud in sight in the sky above Tannyhill.

The unforgiving, North Carolina heat has already melted the ice cubes in your drink. If it weren’t for the generous amounts of sunscreen you've applied earlier, you’d already be sunburnt from hours spent outside.

Rafe lifts his sunglasses from the edge of the pool, curiosity dancing in his blue eyes.

“You’ve been glued to your phone all afternoon, princess.”

You suppress your smile. Feigning nonchalance, you flip your phone down for good measure.

“I have not.”

“Have too,” he counters, in the exact same way he used to utter those words when you argued back and forth as kids.

He hauls himself out of the pool. You’re graced with the sight of Rafe stepping out of the water, droplets glistening over his broad, toned chest, defined abs and thick, bulging arms. He’s been going especially hard at the gym since summer began. It shows. Your best friend now looks like a breathing, walking Abercrombie ad. You wouldn’t be surprised if the brand gave him a call soon. Not that you’d tell him that. No need to blow up Rafe Cameron’s over-inflated ego even more.

As you watch him run his fingers through his drenched blonde locks, his golden ring glinting under the sunlight, pride flutters through you. Once upon a time, the sight of Rafe Cameron in nothing but his swim trunks would have had your heart racing and your entire body flush with shameful heat at how unbelievably attractive you found your best friend.

That was before. When you still clung to the crush you harbored for him for years.

You and Rafe have basically known each other your whole lives.

Since kindergarten specifically.

Back then, you were heavily bullied...and Rafe was the worst of them. He would tug your hair, pull your chair out before you could sit so you’d crash on the floor and call you mean names while other children cheered him on. It only stopped when you had a crying fit in front of him one day. The five year old was stumped. He spent the rest of the year apologizing and bringing a variety of gifts to you. You forgot about the mean things he did and said easily, won over by his determination to make you forgive him. A peculiar friendship blossomed from that. The two of you have been inseparable since then.

Years flew by.

Then one day Rafe came back to school walking and talking differently. He had filled out during summer break. He was broader, taller, his towering frame even allowing him to reach above your locker. All the girls noticed, including you. You started developing a little crush on him. One he never acknowledged.

He had a girl on his arm at every party, often disappearing with them upstairs. It wasn’t hard to guess what he was up to with those girls. For many years, you daydreamed about what it’d be like to be one of those girls. The girl that caught Rafe Cameron’s eye at a party. The one that would have his full, undivided attention. The one he’d flash a flirtatious grin at and undress with his gaze the entire night.

You wanted to be that girl more than you wanted to breathe.

He never treated you that way though. The two of you hung out all the time. You would play video games, smoke weed, drink the expensive Kentucky Bourbon he stole from his dad’s cabinet and talk about everything and nothing.

He would always joke that you were like a sister to him. And based on the amount of time you spent at the Camerons house, you might as well be a long lost relative.

Getting over Rafe Cameron had been tantamount to an exorcism. Loving him was so embedded into your flesh, tattooed onto your soul. It was all you knew. Rafe, Rafe, Rafe…

He was everything you longed for. Until he wasn’t.

It happened one year when you attended the Camerons’ new year’s eve party. You entered the living room and caught him making out with a gorgeous brunette on the balcony. As your heart broke, again, realization slipped through the crack. Pining for someone who doesn’t see you, never saw you, will lead you nowhere. Your suffering was of your own making…and you wanted to suffer no longer. Why fantasize about something that will never come? You’d rather look to the future.

So you chose to move on.

As fireworks set the night sky above Tannyhill aflame, the last embers of your longing for Rafe Cameron flickered out.

It’s how you wound up giving dating apps a try. Talking to guys in real life is nerve-wracking but online, you find it much easier. While most conversations you had fizzled out quickly… Garrett has been different. He’s never tried to pretend with you and has been nothing but sweet and inquisitive about your hobbies, hopes and dreams. You’ve talked to him for hours on the phone and he’s made you laugh and smile a countless number of times. As for the icing on the cake…He’s been clear about wanting more than a hookup. He even suggested the two of you should meet up in person soon.

“What got you smiling like that anyway?” Rafe says, tossing the towel around his neck.

“Nothing,” you reply with a shrug.

“If it’s nothing, you can show me.”

He tries to swipe your phone but you’re faster. You rise from your chair and pick it up before he can take it.

His eyes narrow.

“I thought we had no secret for each other,” he says, an accusation laced in his tone. He’s never liked you keeping things from him, no matter how small or insignificant.

“We don’t.”

He gives a slow nod. Then he smiles. And you suppose it should have been your warning, that you should have seen it coming. But you don’t see anything coming. His hand shoots out and he shoves you aside.

He plucks your phone from you like it’s nothing, using his height to keep it out of reach.

“Rafe! Give me my phone back,” you urge.

He makes no effort to abide by your request, glowering at the screen while scrolling.

“Who the hell is Garrett?”

“J-Just a guy I started talking to on this app...” Your voice dwindles as you cower under Rafe's hard gaze.

Disgust scrunches his handsome face.

“I thought you deleted those dating apps. We talked about this.”

You did talk about it. After a dispiriting streak of bad luck on these apps, he wheedled you to delete all of them. Rafe said all the guys on these apps wanted was to use you for a quick, meaningless fuck. That you were too gullible and would just be taken advantage of. He said that you deserved better and the right guy would come along eventually. You found yourself believing him. A lot of time, you ended up ghosted or the guys failed to show up anyways. It made you question what is so repulsive about you that made guys steer clear.

“I wanted to try again.”

“Well Garrett’s a douchebag name. I don’t like him for you.” He snickers. “Look at that. He’s playing you and his game isn’t even good. You’re really falling for this corny shit, princess?”

He starts reading some of the compliments Garrett paid you aloud, drawing a round of guffaws from Kelce and Topper.

Your cheeks come ablaze.

“Now you’re just being mean,” you lament, using a lapse of distraction to retrieve your phone.

Gulping the tears threatening to spill, you rush back inside. Kelce’s taunting voice echoes behind you.

“Guess that one got past you, huh, Rafe?”

“Shut your mouth, bro,” Rafe snaps angrily.

You lean on the counter and gather your breath. The tears subside. You remind yourself that this is just how Rafe can be. Callous. Inconsiderate.

It’s not who he really is.

It’s just a bit hard to recall when he has those moments. Those aggressively insensitive moments.

You open the fridge and grab a cool drink. Your throat is parched and you could use one.

When you pivot, you nearly spill the can.

Rafe’s towering frame impedes your path.

“You scared me, Rafe,” you say, unleashing a tremulous exhale.

He studies you, concern glimmering in his ocean gaze.

“I wasn’t trying to make you cry, I swear.” He shrugs and scratches the back of his neck. “I just meant he sounds like an asshole.”

“You’re an asshole,” you say, bumping into his arm as you sidle past him.

His brows draw together. He isn’t used to you addressing him that way. With anything other than sweetness dripping from your tongue.

You can tell he’s reeling at that alone. Getting the tiniest taste of his own medicine…from you of all people.

He approaches you as you swallow a sip of your drink.

“Ouch. I’m just looking out for you, princess.” His fingers slot beneath your chin. “You know that’s all I ever try to do, right?”

He flashes you a charming smile. That smile you could never resist. It used to be your Achilles’ heel. Despite your changing feelings, Rafe still possesses the uncanny ability to make you forget why you were even mad at him in the first place. Like right now.

Your shoulders sag.

“I know.”

Blue eyes dive into yours.

“I want to meet him.”

You retreat, your brows knitting.

“Meet him, why?”

“I want to make sure he’s good enough for you.”

“I can decide that myself.”

He snorts, his focus darting away before returning to you.

“You’ve never known what’s good for you.” You flinch. “I can’t believe you didn’t even tell me you were talking to someone. I tell you everything. Shit, guess I’m an idiot, huh?” His jaw clenches. “...Cause I thought you did too.”

You inch closer to him and wrap your fingers around his forearm.

“Rafe, I’m sorry, okay.” You gnaw on your bottom lip. “It’s just that…”

“Just that what?”

You pause, mulling over how to best word what you mean to say.

Your voice comes out a bashful whisper, your eyes clinging to the floor.

“Every time I’ve told you I liked a guy, it’s never worked out for some reason. It’s probably my fault but…I just didn’t want to jinx it this time.” You nervously swing your gaze back to him. “I figured if I keep it to myself I don’t have to get my hopes up.” You can’t quell the smile that fights its way onto your lips. “Garrett and I are just seeing where it goes right now. So…things are good.”

“Oh, it’s Garrett and I, now?” he sneers.

“Rafe, don’t be like this,” you beseech, squeezing his arm. “You’ll always be my best friend; you know that.” You shift in your spot, your tone pitching with hope as you ask, “Can’t you just be happy for me?”

He stares at you a long time, so long that his eyes on you grow unnerving. After a while, he releases a deep exhale.

Ignoring your question, he steps back from you.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” he announces.

“Rafe?”

You never get a response, his form vanishing down the hallway. A sigh ripples through your lips as you lean against the counter. Why is he being so difficult about this? It’s not like you’re not seeing him with a new girl every other week. You never batted an eyelash. You even encouraged him to seriously date some of them, the ones who seemed to sincerely like him and reminded you of yourself back in the day.

You’ve always cheered him on no matter what. So it baffles you that he can’t return the favor. Crushes you even.

For the rest of the week, you don’t hear much from Rafe. He pretty much ignores you and even leaves you on read after you send him a string of pleading messages, which is your cue that you wounded his feelings somehow. You surmise Rafe isn’t used to your attention veering towards someone else. Perhaps he’s miffed at the prospect that getting a boyfriend means you won’t hang out as much anymore, that he’ll have to share you. Your friendship’s been a fixture in both of your lives for so many years. The one unwavering, steadfast foundation nothing could topple. Whatever occured in his life or yours, you’ve always had each other.

Change can be scary.

But you don’t plan on neglecting the bond you have with Rafe just because you’re dating someone. He’ll always be in your life. He’ll always matter to you. It's what you meant to tell him. What you would tell him if only he bothered replying to your texts or answering your calls.

Rafe has always teased you for bartending at the Island Club. In his eyes, you’re much too Kook for what he calls a ‘Pogue job’. But you enjoy it. There is a certain comfort in having things you earned through your own hard work and not your parents’ money.

…Though you can’t deny you might not have landed this position if not for your dad’s close friendship with the owner of the private club. You’re also painfully aware you don’t get yelled at or scolded for making mistakes as much as other employees.

And on days like today, after you end your shift, Rafe has never failed to pick you up in his Jeep.

He’s never missed a day. Which is why you wear a dumbfounded expression as you note the glaring absence of the familiar black car in front of the country club. It takes you a while to accept and realize the cold, hard truth. Rafe isn’t coming to pick you up today.

It’s not the end of the world, of course. But it still makes your heart ache that he’d ditch like that without so much as an apology or heads-up. You feel kicked in the gut.

You try to call him but it goes straight to voicemail. Resigned, you resort to calling for back-up.

Sarah shows up in her truck with a bright smile.

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping,” she quips, winking at you.

You climb inside the passenger seat.

“Thanks for coming, S.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Since the oldest of the Camerons is currently denying your very existence, you figured you might as well call the Kook Princess herself to the rescue. His sister, Sarah Cameron.

“I brought snacks so I better get a five-star review,” she jests, wiggling her eyebrows. She tosses you a bag of M&M’s that you gleefully tear open. “Doesn’t Rafe usually pick you up after work?”

The sugar melting on your tongue sweetens the bitter taste of abandonment.

“Well, he’s sulking, so…” you mumble around a mouthful of candy.

“Sulking?” Shock colors her tone. “I don’t think there’s anything you could do to make my brother mad. You’re like the only person he’s not a complete jerk around.”

“Well, he was one last time we talked.”

Sarah arches a puzzled brow.

You sigh and explain, “I started dating someone…Actually, we’re still at the talking stage, but…I didn’t tell him.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything,” she dismisses cryptically.

Her peculiar tone peeves you.

“I’m not gonna forget, Sarah.”

Her shoulders rise and fall.

“It’s not my place to say. It’s between you and Rafe.” She throws you a cautious glance, marking a brief pause before inquiring, “You’re not still in love with my brother, are you?”

Heat creeps inside your cheeks.

“I was n-never in love with Rafe,” you stammer. Inwards, you’re screaming. Was it that obvious at the time?

Sarah’s plump lips quirk in a lopsided smile.

“Sure.”

Gratitude fills you. You’d rather leave this can of worms permanently closed. Lid tightly sealed and all. And the can tossed at the bottom of a lake. It’s embarrassing enough that you mooned over Rafe for as long as you did.

At least you find comfort in the fact that you’re over him now.

“You mind if we stop for ice cream on the way?” Sarah asks, adjusting her rearview mirror.

“No. I could go for one myself. This heat is killing me.”

“Cool.”

For the rest of the week, Rafe continues to dole out the silent treatment. You allow his childish antics to chafe you to a point. Then you elect to not let it bother you anymore. He can throw a tantrum if he wishes. You’ve done nothing wrong and you’re growing weary of being treated like you have.

For over fifteen years, you’ve been a great friend to Rafe, listening to him rant whenever he needed an ear, making time for him whenever he requested it. The fact he’s being a dick right now is staggering.

He frankly has no right.

After everything the two of you have been through, you hoped for more from him. While you’re aware he can be a jackass, you thought it was different when it came to you. That you were different. You suppose you were wrong.

Friday comes around and with it arrives the excitement of the plans you have for the night. Garrett asked you out on a date at a fancy seafood restaurant. It’ll be your first time meeting him in person. You’ve been looking forward to it the entire week.

As you’re putting the final touches to your makeup in front of the vanity mirror, your phone flashes with a request for a facetime call.

You swipe towards the green icon to accept the call.

Rafe’s face fills your screen.

“Hey, princess. I thought we could talk-”

“I’m kind of busy right now. Rain check tomorrow?”

“Busy doing what?” He squints, seeming to register your attire. A brand new sundress you purchased with your tips from the Island Club. You paired it with wedge heels. You also switched your hairstyle to something more sophisticated for the night. “W-What the hell are you wearing? Where are you even going dressed like that?”

You heave out a deep sigh.

“Good night, Rafe.”

You tap the screen to end the call.

A rush of power floods your insides. You hung up on him. This is your first time doing that, hanging up on Rafe Cameron himself.

Still, a sliver of guilt lingers alongside your pride. You quell it swiftly. You can’t be at his beck and call your entire life. Tonight’s about you. For once, you’d like to put your needs before Rafe’s.

Garrett comes to your house some time later. He has flowers in his arms. You soak in their scent for a few minutes. No one’s ever given you flowers before. It makes you feel special.

As he opens the door of his truck for you, he whistles in admiration.

“Wow,” he says, his gaze dragging over your frame.

Your skin warms at the attention, the kind you aren’t used to receiving.

Fiddling with the flowy sleeve of your sundress, you inquire, “Am I what you expected?”

A besotted smile spreads on his lips.

“You’re even more beautiful in person.”

“Thank you.”

You peer at him. His pictures don’t do him justice.

“You look very handsome. I like your shirt.”

His cheeks redden at your praise.

You get inside his car. The two of you exchange casual chatter on the way to the restaurant. You’re amazed at how easy talking to him is. You’re a little shy but his clear interest in you helps you slowly climb out of your shell.

Once you arrive at the restaurant, you’re escorted to your table. The light conversation resumes its flow, the two of you growing even more comfortable with each other. You like how intently he listens to you, even if his intense eye contact makes you wrestle the urge to look away. You nibble your lip as you peruse the menu. Mirth sways in Garett’s brown orbs when your stomach growls. You mumble an apology under your breath and he beams at you. You’ve been so anxious about the date for the whole day, you’ve forgotten to eat.

A familiar voice erupts from behind you.

“Well, look who it is. What a coincidence.”

You whirl, a gasp bursting from your throat.

“Rafe? What are you doing here?”

He stands besides you and Garrett’s table, his arm slung around a gorgeous redhead’s shoulders. It occurs to you haven’t seen him with that one before. Though you reckon Rafe rarely does repeat encounters.

What shocks you more however is his very presence here. Of all places, Rafe and the girl he’s with could have been tonight, it has to be the exact same location of your first date with Garrett.

What are the odds?

However, you recall that with the assistance of the friend-finding app both you and Rafe have on your phones in case of emergencies, figuring out your whereabouts would be about the easiest thing.

Would Rafe go that far just because you wouldn’t yield to his whims one time? Would he truly be that selfish?

The shit-eating grin unfurling on his face answers all your questions.

“Well, I heard this was a good spot so I thought…” Rafe’s brows furrow as he waves his hand before the girl’s face, appearing to struggle remembering her name.

“Jessica,” she finishes for him, disappointment decorating her pretty features.

He beams at her.

“Right. I thought that Jessica and I could check it out.”

He plops down next to you, forcing you to make space for him on the upholstered booth seat. Meanwhile his date sits next to Garrett.

“You mind, princess?”

Awkwardness fills the air. The heavy tension sits on your throat as Rafe makes himself more comfortable, going as far as spreading his legs.

You scold him with your gaze, all but spelling out ‘Yes, I do mind indeed’.

You clear your throat and shift your stance, resenting how every tiny motion has your thigh grazing against his.

“Actually I…We’re kind of on a date, Rafe.”

He places his arm on the wooden edge above your head, his smile expanding.

“So are we. So why not double date?”

“I don’t mind,” Garrett offers as he takes in your concerned expression. “You two…know each other, right?”

You open your mouth to speak but before words can pour from it, Rafe wraps his arm around you.

“Best friends. She and I go way back. Isn’t that right, princess?”

His intense blue eyes settle on you. You swallow the lump in your throat. Anger can’t begin to describe how upset you are with Rafe right now for crashing your date, but you also don’t want to cause a scene, make things even worse than they already are.

So you force a smile on your lips and nod.

“Y-Yeah, we do.”

Throughout the night, Rafe’s presence causes the date’s slow descent into a nightmare. Every time Garrett tries to strike up a conversation with you, Rafe interjects, his comments toeing the line between innocently inconsiderate and outright rude. He never lets the two of you have a moment, interrupting whenever Garrett looks at you for more than half a second. You grow weary of his antics. So does Rafe’s date. You can see the pretty redhead in front of him growing frustrated as he treats her as if she were a potted plant.

She ends up leaving the table to go to the bathroom but never returns. It doesn’t shock you. If someone inflicted upon you what Rafe has to the poor girl the entire night, you might take your leave as well.

By the time dessert comes, you’re on the cusp of tears. This is not how you envisioned your night going.

The awfulness doesn’t stop there.

When it’s time to part ways, Garrett finds his truck in an unfortunate state.

He curses under his breath as he hunkers down in front of his car.

“Some punk sliced my tires.”

In the back, Rafe shakes his head.

“Damn, tough luck. Guess I’ll have to drive you home, princess.”

You scowl at Rafe before placing a hand on Garrett’s arm. He’s already on his phone to contact someone to help move his truck.

“I could wait with you,” you say softly.

“It’s fine,” he replies. “Just go home. We’ll text, okay?”

Your tone turns contrite. “Okay. I’m so sorry… about everything.”

“Don’t worry about it. I still had a good time.”

“Me too.”

Despite his assurance, you aren’t too hopeful he’ll want to see you again. You know this wasn’t what he had in mind for the night. And neither did you.

You reluctantly trail behind Rafe, looking daggers at him when he opens the door of his black Volvo for you.

Not an ounce of guilt lurks on his handsome face, which tosses more fuel on the flames of your ire.

You don’t utter a word, almost too angry to speak. The last shred of your patience fizzled out in the restaurant, as your so-called best friend basked in your misery, getting a kick out of making a mockery of your night.

If you talk, it won’t be to have a calm, level-headed conversation with Rafe. It’ll be to spew venom at him.

As he parks into the driveway of your house, he lets go of the steering wheel and says, “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

You draw a long, slow breath.

“You think?” you snap icily. You jump out of the truck and slam the door closed.

Rafe follows you to your doorstep. You fumble with the lock. Your fingers quiver so much, you can’t even open the door. After a few unsuccessful tries jamming the keys inside the lock, Rafe takes them from you. He opens the door and you stomp inside.

You toss your clutch on a nearby table and whirl.

“What the hell, Rafe?” you shout. “You embarrassed me!”

His shoulders lift and slump.

“Well, you shouldn’t have been there to begin with.”

Disbelief rounds your gaze. “What?”

“You heard me. You shouldn’t have been on a date with him.”

Folding your arms, you scoff, “Right. Why is that?”

Rafe inches closer to you, his eyes locking with yours.

“Because you should have been on a date with me instead.”

A weary exhale drops from your chest. Rafe’s declared many things while hammered but this one takes the cake.

“I think you’re drunk,” you dismiss. “You need to go home, Rafe.”

Rafe’s jaw ticks.

“My mind is perfectly clear, okay? If you’ll just listen to me-”

“Go home, Rafe.”

You nearly turn your back on him but Rafe’s sturdy hand fastens around your arm, yanking you back.

He takes a long pause, drinking you in.

Rafe takes a deep breath before confessing, “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” His throat bobs as he adds, “And I know you love me too.”

Your mouth tumbles open, shock snatching the very air from your lungs. You stare at Rafe. Perhaps you heard him wrong. In your wrath, his words may have landed in your ears a little warped.

But as you get lost in his sea gaze, the truth sinks into you. He is serious. Very serious.

A war of conflicting emotions breaks out inside you. For years, you longed to hear those words. But not like this. And the insinuation that he knew how you felt…That he let you suffer in silence while gallivanting around with those girls.

A fast surge of tears blurs your gaze.

“You knew?”

He cradles your face.

“I’ve always known.”

A shudder wracks through your frame.

“So w-why did you never say anything?”

“I figured you’d wait for me, that I could just have some fun. That it wasn’t a big deal.”

Ice fills your blood. Your tone becomes clipped, detached.

“I want you to leave.”

His hold on you doesn’t loosen, his cheek pulsing in frustration.

“Really? I tell you I love you after all this time and this is your response?”

“I haven’t had those feelings for you in years, Rafe. And right now…I don’t even like you as a person.” Rafe bristles at your blunt words, looking like you slapped him. Your mouth wobbles as you say, “You’re not who I thought you were. I want you out of my house and out of my life.”

Something shifts in his blue eyes. The air around you drops a few degrees as he pushes you further inside the room. Desperation lurks in his deep timbre.

“Come on, we can talk about this, princess.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Dread escalates within you when he doesn’t move. You’re hit with the daunting realization that you’re alone with Rafe, your parents away on a trip right now. Usually being alone with him wouldn’t have fazed you, may have ensconced you in a sense of security and comfort even. Not tonight. Tonight, you don’t recognize the Rafe standing in front of you. Your voice trickles out small and shaky. “R-Rafe, get out, I’m serious.”

His expression hardens. He shoves you into a nearby wall. You gasp as pain prickles along your back.

“Just admit that you love me too,” he roars.

“I don’t,” you whimper as water brims under your lashes.

This propels him to the brink. There’s no time to process anything, Rafe hoisting you with ease. As he takes long, determined strides to your bedroom, your fear grows. He hurls your body into the bed. He fiddles with the buttons of his khaki pants until they come loose. A scream builds inside your throat, refusing to break past your lips as you linger in bewilderment. Rafe isn’t doing what you think he’s doing…what he’s preparing to do. There's no way. He wouldn’t.

Stupor girdles your motions. For a while, you gape at Rafe. As he approaches the bed, adrenaline rushes through you. You remember how to move.

But it’s for naught. Rafe is quicker than you, catching you when you rise and slamming you back on the sheets. He crawls over you. His blue gaze glimmers strangely in the darkness. Streaks of moonlight pour between your half-draw curtains, casting ominous shadows over his broad frame.

He cages you beneath him, shushing you as you croak out pleas for him to stop.

“I know you’re lying,” he rasps, scattering sloppy kisses alongside your neck.

He yanks down your dress and your breath hitches.

“I’m not. I don’t-” Words wither on your tongue as he flicks his thumb over your nipple, his other hand patting underneath your dress. “I-I don’t love you anymore, Rafe.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His fist curls around the vee part of your thin lace panties, tugging roughly enough to tear the delicate material. You squeal as the lace dents your flesh when it rips.

Your heart bounces. You push against Rafe’s chest with newfound urgency.

“Rafe, stop.”

He snatches both of your wrists and traps them above your head. Helplessness chokes your airways as he pokes lightly at your entrance. He slides one finger between your walls and you keen, breath faltering at the abrupt intrusion. His lewd gaze remains trained on you as you squirm beneath him.

“Why do you keep lying, huh?” he accuses, forcing a moan from your throat when he curls his digit inside you. When your eyes squeeze shut in denial, he lets go of your wrist to frame your jaw.

A sob spills from your throat, your eyes flying open.

“Nah…I want you to look at me, princess,” he orders, jerking your head up so your gazes lock. You choke on your breath when he shoves a second finger inside you. He slowly drags his fingers in and out of you. Heat gathers in your core. You writhe against the sheets, resisting the urge to buck your hips to seek more of the friction. He grazes a uniquely sensitive spot and your lids quake, a soft whimper flying from your mouth. You clench around Rafe’s fingers and he unleashes a sigh of pleasure as you grip him. You feel him harden against you. Your stomach knots at the pressure. His eyes are glued to you, soaking every minute shift of expression while he pumps his fingers inside you.

“I know you never stopped loving me,” he whispers, the alcohol on his breath seeping through your senses. “Think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

As you near your undoing, he removes his fingers. You sag against the sheets. The sudden emptiness leaves you with a mix of emotions you’re too ashamed to admit.

He presses his thick tip against your dripping entrance, gathering your arousal when he runs it along your folds. He pushes in slowly, his eyes rolling back at the sensation of your velvety warmth welcoming him. You tense at the intrusion. Your fingers curl into the sheets. Rafe’s broad frame covers yours, his forehead resting against yours as he whispers, “Say you love me.”

When you don’t reply, he slams his cock inside you in one swift stroke. Your back curves, a quiet scream ripping from your throat. Your chest lifts and falls rapidly as Rafe’s thick girth fills you up completely.

He begins moving inside you, his pace relentless and unforgiving. While his length is splitting you apart, it’s hard to deny the warm tingles pulsing through your core, joining the pain in devious harmony.

You go limp on the bed, his thick cock stretching you more than ever before. Every time he grazes your sweet spots, you spiral further down, your thoughts melting in the flames consuming your body.

“Say it,” he grunts, his warm breath fanning over your face.

His bulging muscles coil beneath his clothes from the force he exerts to shove all of himself inside you. Heavy breaths drop from Rafe’s chest as your walls squeeze around him. Drenched locks of his dirty blond hair cling to his forehead, beads of sweat collecting between his furrowed brows and dripping to your parted lips.

When you remain silent, Rafe’s large hand wraps around your throat, his tone more firm and menacing than before as he snarls, “Say that you love me, princess.”

His fingers crush your windpipe until you give in.

You can barely eke the words out, every harsh snap of Rafe’s hips into yours filling your vision with stars.

“I l-love you, Rafe.”

The words ache as they part from your throat. A bitter truth you buried long ago, beneath thick layers of heartbreak and denial. One you hoped would never crawl its way back to the surface. One that hurts even more now, shatters you as it leaves your lips. Because you can’t tell if Rafe forced it out of you or if it was there all along. Perhaps it never left you. Perhaps, even after all your attempts to purge Rafe Cameron from your flesh and soul, even after he’s done the unthinkable to you…Part of you may still love Rafe, may always love Rafe.

As you grow overwhelmed with warring emotions, his cock still viciously ramming into you, you don’t know who you hate more. Him. Or yourself.

Salty streams spill down your cheeks.

Rafe kisses them away, gently cupping your cheek while thrusting roughly into your cunt. His other hand explores your curves, clutching your flesh possessively. You can already feel bruises forming beneath his rough, insatiable touch. His eyes find yours, a possessive glint swaying in his intense blue gaze.

“Of course you do.” His lips stretch in a smug smile. “You’ve always been mine, princess, you just didn’t know it yet.”

#rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x kook!reader #kook!reader #dark rafe cameron

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sweetestdesire · 2 days

Text

BABY PICTURES

WARNINGS: absolutely none. Just some pure, sweet content.

PAIRING(S): Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: in which Jack Hughes’ mother shows Fem!Reader his baby pictures.

Jack was pouting. Which truthfully, Y/N didn’t think there were all that many moments where he wasn’t pouting, but he seemed to be pouting a little extra right now. Maybe she should feel bad, and maybe she should feel a little guilty that he’s sulking because of her, but then his mother flipped the page of the baby album in her hands, and she suddenly didn’t care as much about her petulant boyfriend anymore.

“This is Jack after he scraped his knee for the first time.” Ellen giggled, pointing to tiny, red and teary-faced Jack staring up at the camera, making Y/N snort as she leaned closer for a better look.

“He looks ridiculous.” Y/N laughed, and distantly, she could hear Jack gasp at the comment, crossing his arms and sending her a glare from across the living room.

“I was in pain.” Jack huffed. “Extremely excruciating pain. And my mother stopped to take a picture my misfortune. Who does that?”

To his dismay, Y/N didn’t even spare him a glance, pointing to the next picture of the album and giggling away with his mother, whispering what he was sure was yet another mean and rude comment making fun of him. What kid didn’t fall and scrape their knee? And what kid didn’t cry when they fall and scrape their knee? Normal children shed tears in the face of extreme pain, and Jack Hughes was not an exception to this fact. In fact, he liked to think he was one of the braver children.

“Jack, you were such a crybaby growing up.” Ellen shook her head, amusement lacing her tone as Y/N chuckled and shot him a sly grin.

“So nothing’s changed.” She hummed. “He’s still a crybaby now, too.”

“I am not.” Jack gasped. “Take that back, you liar.”

“And this is Jack on his first day of school.” Ellen hummed, cutting him off and pointing to a picture of a young Jack waving at the camera, missing what Y/N was sure was his entire front row of teeth. She grinned, letting out a small chuckle as her eyes softened at the image.

Usually, Jack Hughes was a handful. He was loud and annoying and he talked far too much for his own good. He made her life increasingly difficult with the stubbornness he wore like a second skin, and he made her want to crawl into a hole half the time they were in public for all the scenes he seemed to always cause. But sometimes Jack Hughes was also very cute like in this photo for example, with chubby cheeks and a bright grin on his face as he stood in his school outfit.

“Awe, Jack.” Y/N cooed, making him perk up a little at the sound. “How cute.”

“I was a cute kid, wasn’t I?” He grinned, and almost as though he was never pouting in the first place, his mood switched at the slightest bit of praise. She rolled her eyes, giving him a flat look as she eyed him while he walked over to her, flopping onto the space beside her and looking over her shoulder.

“You were.” Y/N nodded, making a point to eye him up and down and raised an eyebrow. “I wonder what happened.”

Jack gasped, and the pout from earlier returned once more and she couldn’t say that she was surprised. “Rude, I’m still cute, you know.” He grumbled, and because he was Jack Hughes, the most annoying man she’d ever had the pleasure of encountering on the face of the planet, he poked her shoulder repeatedly. “Admit it, you still find me cute.” He whined. “You literally called me cute this morning.”

“That’s because you were sleeping.” Y/N shrugged. “You’re really cute when you shut up.”

“Yes, my favorite Jack was always a napping Jack growing up.” Ellen added from the side.

“Mom.” He protested, watching as Y/N and his mother snickered together. He wondered how the both of them could claimed to love him when they treated him like this, wounding his pride and ego with every insult thrown his way. He crossed his arms, angling his body away from Y/N as she giggled and wrapped herself around him.

“We’re just kidding, Jack.” Y/N grinned, reaching to pinch his cheek, chuckling when he swatted her hand away with a grunt. “You’re really the cutest.”

“You’re a liar.” He mumbled, shooting her a glare as she fought back an amused smile. “You said you loved me, but clearly you lied to me.”

“I do love you.” Y/N insisted. “And I love your baby pictures, too.”

Usually, Jack felt his heart soften when he watched Y/N and his mother get along. He thought he fell in love with her just a little harder every time he watched her eyes light up when she saw the women who raised him. But sometimes, he wished he never introduced her to his mother. He was almost certain she preferred spending time with his mother over him, and he was even more certain his mother wished Y/N was were the one she raised instead. He almost felt like the third wheel half the time he brought her over and he couldn’t help but wonder who did she even love more, him or his mother?

Jack thought he had his answer, though when Y/N leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw. No matter how often the two giggled at his expense, she didn’t kiss his mother on the jaw, and Jack couldn’t help but shoot a smirk her way as she rolled her eyes and stood.

“There are more I have to dig up sometime.” Ellen hummed, making Jack groan as Y/N nodded eagerly. “I’ll leave you two alone for a while.”

“I’m starting to think you come over for my mom instead of me.” Jack huffed as his mother left the room, making her roll her eyes as she leaned into his side. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her flush against his body, relaxing as her hand found his chest and rubbed slow circles.

“Only you would be jealous of your own mother.” Y/N snorted.

“I’m not jealous.” Jack protested. “I’m simply concerned that you ignore your boyfriend for hours to make fun of him with his mother.”

If there was one thing Y/N had learned after flipping through page after page of crying baby pictures, it was that Jack has been dramatic since the day he was born. This fact didn’t change even in his adult years, but if there was one other thing she’s learned, it’s that he was endearing, just a little too cute for his own good, and just a little too dangerously charming whether it’s the camera he was pouting at or her. She couldn’t help but shuffle closer, hugging him tightly as she smiled softly into his shirt.

“C’mon.” Y/N hummed, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You know you’re my favorite. I do wish I had a baby to cuddle with right now, though.”

“You have me.” Jack glared. “I’m your baby and you can cuddle with me.”

“It’s just not the same.” Y/N teased. “You talk too much.”

“I’ll have you know I got in trouble quite a lot as a child for talking too much. Adult me is a lot better.” Somehow, Y/N wasn’t surprised and a small part of her was almost grateful she didn’t know Jack in his young, obnoxious days as a child. An even bigger part of her felt bad for his mother and the strength she must’ve needed to raise the handful of a boyfriend in her arms along with his two brothers. “And besides.” Jack smirked, leaning down to pull her into a brief kiss. “If you want a baby, I could easily give you one.”

“Jack.” Y/N hissed, swatting his shoulder and making him pout as he rubbed over the spot she’d hit. “One of you is more than enough. We don’t need another.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x female reader #jack hughes x fem!reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes drabble #jh86 #jack hughes thoughts #new jersey devils

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tarjapearce · 2 days

Text

Mi Dulce Cereza

Ranchero! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Synopsis: Revenge's path is never an easy feat. Not when love for the enemy and other feelings get in the way. Would it rise and come out as a victor? Or would it succumb to the sweetest of beings?

WARNING: Novela level drama, Toxic relationships, character introduction, mild and brief sexual tension, No use of YN, Family feud, scheming, disingenuous behaviors. No proofread

Summary: Miguel's revenge is set into motion.

A/N: Centuries later, here it is <3, hope you enjoy this new version! So nervous about this jskjs. Thanks to my beta reader @oharasmommymilkers00 for the help <3

"Ma!"

The ten-year-old boy called, desperate as he searched and scourged the house he lived in, to eventually find her mother in his younger brother's room.

Ravenous and long curls adorned her back. Brown beautiful eyes stared with adoration at the little six-year-old boy, carefully tucked in her arms as she combed her child's wavy strands away from his innocent face.

"Ma!" the boy called a bit more urgent as he tugged on her skirt, earning him a hushed grunt from her.

"Gabriel está durmiendo, Miguel!" (Gabriel is sleeping)

"No, Ma! Debes venir a la entrada! Hay gente buscando a George!" (You gotta come to the door! There's people looking for George!)

Conchata quickly put Gabriel into his crib and darted to the entrance. Panic and bile rose in her insides.

The banging on the feeble and rusty metal doors alarmed Conchata the more she approached the main hacienda's door.

Much to her and Miguel's surprise a group of men, awaited outside. Dressed in the blue and white colors proper of a Santa Margarita's Town police officer.

Miguel's eyes wandered over the guns that nested on the men's hips as they rode their horses haughtily. But paid special attention to the man leading them.

Hardened and weathered face, partially obscured by his camel brown Stetson hat, dressed up sharply, letting his belt and the overall imposing aura to do the talk for him, same as his horse and everything that donned his body. His eyes narrowed as soon as he saw Conchata.

"Miss Stone. I believe it's the third time I ask for you to leave" He acknowledged sternly.

A surname that made Miguel's churn in utter discomfort, but his mother always told him to give that name to strangers, since the O'Hara was only for the family. But even that one didn't sit right in his heart either. Not when the provider of such surname had been long gone from their lives, with no intention of returning.

And the men before his home were everything but familiar, strangers at best. Invaders. Trespassers with a penchant for intimidation as they were all armed to the teeth.

"The hell you want?!" Conchata crossed her arms and returned the steely glare the handsome and powerful man gave her.

His mother's bravado was certainly something Miguel could look up, despite the woman not being her best title of mother with him. But her bravery made him courageous.

"For you to leave my property."

"What are you talking about?! This is not your property, Anderton!"

A man like Pastor William was hard to ignore, not when power and influences oozed from him by merely existing.

"It is. You're living in Edenton's. Half the area is mine now."

"I have my property papers! This is outright ridiculous!" Conchata huffed as she sent Miguel to to get them.

"My lawyer is here. So we can have this settled once for all."

"There is nothing to settle!, I told your people I wouldn't sell my home and now you're acting far from someone that believes in God to get it!, maldita rata!" (fucking rat)

William narrowed his eyes at the last words that spilled with venom from Conchata's plump lips. He wasn't a man to give easily into anger, but his patience wasn't something to be tested either.

He had bought a good chunk of Edenton's territory and much to Conchata's dismay her home was right in the middle of said property.

The boy wasted no time into retrieving her mother's proofs of ownership as she opened the door to see the man that ground her nerves in seconds. Face to face.

And when the policeman and lawyer took a brief look at them, they could only snort in derision upon reading them.

"Not only are they outdated, but the important signatures are missing. This is fake."

Conchata paled, and she clutched her chest. Her heart pounded so hard she had to grab Miguel's lanky arm to support herself. Everything was slowly falling apart.

"Ma?"

Her boy looked up at her, concern plastered over his young yet understanding face

"T-That cannot be! George left it all arranged before leaving!"

"He didn't. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

William gave the papers to his lawyer as he climbed off the horse and Conchata immediately tried to get them back, but tore them im the process

"No! No! That's not true! My papers " She shrieked and the police officer intervened as soon as she tried to go for Anderton's lawyer.

"Stop! " Miguel was held back after kicking the officer's shin.

Conchata freed herself from the guard's grip, only to deliver a hard slap on William's face.

"La vas a pagar caro cabrón! A mi nadie me sacará de mi casa!" (You'll pay for this. None kicks me out of my home!)

The officers held Conchata back and Miguel, since the boy attempted to defend the remnants of his mother's dignity. But there was little they could do.

Conchata's land was prosperous, and so far it provided a good income to live rather peacefully and away from the rest. Until now.

William was rather strict and apprehensive about his properties. He owed half the town, and for Conchata to live there, right in the spot he wanted to build his home for his new family, rendered nothing but a black and ugly spot to his future dream.

Buthe would erase it. And if he needed to get over the law, to get it, he would. Influences had their perks. And these worked to his favor without a hitch.

"I'll give you three days for you to pack it up 'n leave."

"Three days?! Where am I going to find a place to live? My children... I can't leave-"

"I'm sure the local shelters will take you in gladly. Be grateful I got you time."

William seethed with his usual calm, sending shivers down Miguel's spine, as the boy held onto his mother's skirt.

The men turned around in their horses and soon began galloping away, but William got up on the beast back, remaining high and proud. Looking down at him.

For a man to make Conchata to clutch and hold on to him so protectively, meant she had no power at all. That she had been defeated. Something his childish brain thought impossible.

It reminded him the ways she sometimes protected him and Gabriel from George in his usual drunk fits.

That day, Pastor William Anderton remained forever engraved in Miguel's core memories and in his heart's growing rage.

Resentment wasn't often a feeling a boy so young like him should experience. But there he was, memorizing every dip, pore and soft wrinkle from the man's features so his heart and mind wouldn't forget him.

So he wouldn't forget who had been the monster that forced his family to leave and abandon everything he had known so far.

Miguel O'Hara had no longer a home.

But if there was something William had forgotten, was to never scorn a woman. Much less one with a fiery temper and a heart full of fresh wounds.

He had doused her wounded heart in salt, rubbed with it and then tossed it to the fire. To let it break and burn to ashes.

William hadn't shown mercy, despite the word coming from his mouth every Sunday in his church as part of his speech to the masses.

But Conchata's mind was already turning and plotting.

----

Miguel's upbringing was everything but easy, but that didn't stop him from achieving whatever goals he proposed.

Shelters and rental homes were left behind, and soon he earned a scholarship into a college, earning him a degree and masters in agronomy and large-scale management.

Gabriel in the meantime helped Conchata around the house. Having little side hustles for himself.

But as he grew up, so did his hatred for the Andertons. It didn't help that Conchata threw more dry hatred bones to the vengeful fire with her bitter tells. She always boasted on whatever little thing the Andertons did with spite and hatred in her heart.

William's face remained intact in Miguel's brain. Ever hardened and cruel, impassive to anyone else's suffering. Indifferent to his mother's pleas.

The day they left everything they knew, scarred him to this very day. Miguel sworn to one day, he'd owe his own estate, full of everything he always wanted.

He wouldn't have to sojourn through shelters and temporary homes ever again, having a hard time sleeping because of his mother's safety. He wouldn't have to look down in fear and shame when people that breathed and exhaled money, talked to him.

He wouldn't have to see his mother, shitty as she was sometimes, breaking down for not having for the most basic of needs. And he definitely wouldn't let himself to be trampled all over again by anyone. Not rich, nor poor.

Now, with a master's degree in his pocket, a new project rose in his mind. Train and rehab horses professionally. An emerging and blooming business within Santa Margarita.

Everything out of hearing that William entered a new venture. Purebred horses.

Of course a man like him had to be in the mouth of every people in town.

William ran the biggest church in the city, had multiple successful and clean business thanks to his estate, Cherryville. And now, the horses.

A novelty in town. He'd often see through the newspaper images of William and his wife, Rosaura, telling how wonderful and valuable they were for the community, and how much their philanthropic tendencies helped those in need. The man was rotting money after all.

Oh, the irony. Miguel sometimes wondered if William did it out of genuine vocation, cause he had to give the man some credit for keeping a saint facade in front of the rest for so long. He was doing it go hard or go home.

If people only knew the scum he is.

If everyone truly knew who Pastor William J. Anderton was, none would spare him a glance. None would look at his way twice to spare him some kind words. Everyone would shun him and mark him a fraud. His world would collapse. Something Miguel needed to achieve.

The purebred training horse's business opened his contact list, and with his smarts and the follow of his intuition, it took him a couple of years to get him in the map of those that were in dire need of help and could afford it.

Cause if he could exploit the rich, he wouldn't waste the chance of earning good money. Not when his personal estate was under construction and renovations, away in it's own heaven, outside Santa Margarita.

He stopped introducing himself as Miguel Stone long ago. He didn't want anything to do with that surname that stirred nothing but hatred and suffocating anger, towards the man that harmed his little and already broken family even more. And the O'Hara had earned him a bit of reputation.

A credible and respectful renown to meet people that gave him the chance to not only learn from the best horse trainers, but gave him the chance to apply everything he knew. Adding even more value to his resume.

Gabriel also graduated college, following Miguel's steps. Although the latter was more inclined to production than management. He was a more practical man than the over thinker of his brother.

Together they made a phenomenal duo, but when separated, months could pass before they saw eachother again.

But with Miguel's plan running, Gabriel promised him to remain close and available as possible to see it through.

In fact, William sought him out himself to ask him if he could train his horses and took full on responsibility of his farm.

-----

He was ready to set his plan into motion. None other than his number one enemy had hired him.

Miguel's body buzzed with a mix of anxiety and excitement. Being the best to get hired was scratched off his list.

Soon all the hatred festering in his heart to the man that destroyed his childhood and family, would come to fruition. But there was a remaining distraction.

Dana.

"Remind me again, why are you going to a farm to be exploited and mistreated by rich people?"

The soft voice behind him echoed in his room. Miguel sat naked on the bed, as the short-haired brunette with blue eyes hugged him from behind and kissed his cheek and neck.

"Gotta make it as believable as possible if I want to expose the Andertons."

Dana just hummed, seeing him so determined and focused into getting this family feud, settled once and for all, amused her to no end.

Dana rolled her eyes while resting her chin on his sharp and well worked shoulder, "But no need to be so serious."

It was Miguel's turn to roll his eyes and stand up, reaching his underwear in tandem.

"Don't be cold, Miggy. I just wanna see you again, once you're victorious, so we can keep celebrating"

Miguel chuckled with derision as he took a towel and wrapped it up loosely against his waist.

"I'm good, thanks. And there's no we in this."

"Are you sure? I mean, I spread word around on you and look at you now. The best trainer. I'd say I'm also part of this too"

Her voice irked sometimes whenever it got like this. Sickly sweet and full of lies. Even more when she purred nothing but half truths.

In truth, he had met Dana for the past six months, all thanks to Gabriel that suggested her as a contact link to those he wanted to get at. Filthy and obscenely rich people that needed someone to help them out with their properties as soon as possible, to salvage them out of sentimentalism.

Even though the initial chemistry was undeniable, it had worn out thanks to her insufferable and possessive attitude. And no matter how many times he'd tell her a plain and outright No, she kept insisting. She was the one that always returned and always ended up in his bed.

"Yeah, no. Look, I don't want you snooping around. And I mean it."

The only that believed that they were something. Sure, Dana served his purpose to keep those physical urges away, but other than that, there was nothing substantial about her he could say he was attracted to, besides her contacts.

Dana's hands tried to reach him, but Miguel stepped away from her touch, recoiling with haste and heading for the shower.

"If you ruin this for me, I swear, We'll have problems."

More than they already did? Impossible.

Dana just laughed, "Don't be mean, you gotta reward me one way or another for your clientele."

"Dios mio... Con qué loca me vine a enredar" (My God, what a crazy woman I came to get involved with)

He mumbled while stepping into the shower.

"I'll see you soon, baby." Her giggles had his eyes rolling with annoyance and his shoulders squaring.

He'd leave in a couple of hours, to start what his whole self had been preparing for years. Soon the Andertons would know him.

----

Returning to the place he grew up had his stomach in a tight and anxious knot, tighter than a hair's tangle.

The once colorless and rusty metal doors he loved to slam with his soccer ball while playing with Gabriel, were now turned into sturdy, iron structures that moved automatically. Sliding to the side to let him in as soon as he reported himself through the camera's speaker.

A Stony L-shaped wall held a metallic letters into another metallic structure. Cherryville Ranch.

He had arrived and his heart beat at the uncomfortable sensation of seeing his home destroyed and turned into a colonial-like resort.

Where there was a modest yet firm built, one floored home, was now a two floored manor that extended left to right. A vibrant sunset orange dressed the walls of the structure, adding enough color to the place sumptuous grandeur.

The staff ran up and down, bustling and moving like busy ants through the anthill, obeying the queen. Or rather monarchs.

His black Chevrolet Silverado parked outside, following the instructions of a man that gave him the ok with a good smile.

He had arrived ten minutes earlier, just in case. Miguel stepped out and put on his hat.

A black and brown flannel dressed up his torso snugly, a pair of jeans that did a wonderful job into containing his well worked legs, the belt just hugged his narrow waist, accentuating his sculpted physique.

The man offered his help with his suitcase, but Miguel refused with a polite smile.

"Keep going straight and you'll get to Mr. Anderton's office. It's the only brown door in this floor."

Strong hands clenched at the name of his enemy.

"Thanks."

Miguel had to take a moment to breathe in and take his surroundings.

Everything he remembered from his childhood, gone. His heart felt mike coming home to a stranger's home. Foraying in someone else's territory.

A someone that obliterated every single bit of his childhood, every piece of memory he created with Gabriel, forever gone and buried.

Replaced with over the top decors, a fake sense of coziness, hidden lies embedded in the sunset like sturdy walls, and people he once strived to be like. All now trespassers and inconnus.

Conchata always fed his brain into believing greater things, alway encouraged him to keep the hatred alive.

Would she be proud to see how far on his plan had he gotten? Probably. Even if she was busy with her new boyfriend that provided everything.

Some women shushed and spilled their gasp as he passed, leaving his presence alone to do the talk for him regarding the effect he had on women.

But this land, his once forgotten and forlorn home, would be his again.

With steadfast steps, he ventured in the enemy's territory, passing rooms and people that unavoidably watched him with brief curiosity.

But all those hubristic thoughts sapped away as soon as his eyes came in contact with the door.

A thrilled and anxious chill ran down his spine upon hearing the terse voice of his sworn foe, giving orders to someone in particular. Miguel's throat felt arid.

His heart thumped a miles per second, his breath paced into a more agitated pace and his eyes kept blinking, readying themselves to face his nemesis.

"Come in."

He obeyed and his nose flared, releasing a shaky exhale when seeing William. Same weather and cold face, the only difference was him looking a bit more rugged and his white hairs even more prominent.

It was as if time had barely passed over him.

It took every single cell and fibre of his body to control the urge to punch him in the face. But the satisfaction of having the reversed roles for a moment brought satisfaction like no other.

This time William had to crane up his head to see him, and a chill ran down his spine when meeting Miguel's red-ish brown eyes. Piercing and judging with all the intention of doing so, as if the very man before him knew his deepest secrets.

The door shut with a quiet click and Miguel stepped closer.

"Mr. O'Hara." William stood to meet him with a brief and firm handshake.

"Sir."

William nodded with a brief smile and gestured for him to sit before him.

"Must say what people say about you, do you justice."

"Good things I hope."

"Now. The property you'll be in charge is in a bit of a mishap, I've barely had the time to fix it-"

"S'alright. It's part of the barn you said?"

"Indeed. Your functions are detailed in the contract, payment is every fortnight, unless you'd like to choose another type of payment time."

"Fortnight is alright."

William pushed the contract to Miguel, and this wasted no time in reading it and taking a picture of each page.

"Any doubts you, can call me and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Miguel signed and pushed the paper back to him. William put it on a folder and then put it on a file. He turned off his computer, and lead the way towards the stables.

"I've tried everything, and nothing works. People have told me to sacrifice the horse, but I can't do that."

Miguel wandered after William through the never ending halls of the estate, there was nothing left of his home. Not even the built in stone oven, where he'd watch Conchata prepare dinner and he'd help out with the tortillas.

Now full of modern equipment and full of people cooking different things he couldn't name.

Miguel had to admit that the stables were his favorite part from the whole dollhouse. William knew no concept of budget. But that was alright, cause every horse in it was worth every single penny and had turned it into a lovely stable aisle.

Each horse had its own fortified enclosure, well kept and clean. There were no bad odors, dirt, mud. None of that. Matter of fact, his eyes blinked when seeing some horses having a swim in a giant custom made pool.

Everything in Cherryville oozed with power and money.

Having revenge and interacting with horses he only dreamed of while getting paid, felt the ultimate fantasy came true.

The angry neigh of a horse snapped him out of his thoughts. The black Friesian stallion kicked and nipped another brown horse nearby. The caretakers immediately separated them both.

William sighed deeply and defeated. And Miguel approached to inspect the brown mustang horse.

"That's Joaquín. The black one is Agustín."

Miguel quirked his brow at the name choices but was glad to have something he was familiar with.

Miguel chuckled and nodded

"Do you know spanish, Mr. Anderton?"

"The amount enough to understand when my wife is angry."

"I see."

As much as he wanted to let out an array of insults here and there to test his words, he'd keep his sharp tongue for himself.

"You can start tomorrow, I'll let you get installed. The barn is in good conditions to suit your needs. If anything is missing, ask any of the helpers around."

With a final and firm handshake, William left.

Miguel gave himself a tour. He wanted to familiarize with the property as much as he could. He didn't like to rely on others for the simplest of task.

Even his way to the barn had been paved and well lighted. No longer being the muddy a d dark road he loved to splash his feet in, even if that meant to have his ear pulled by Conchata later.

The barn, like the rest, took his breath away. It looked like a house for himself.

He wasted no time into admiring the work, and effort put into it. The tack room was sure a thing, but his bedroom and office were even better conditioned. It was a place worth of his skills and knowledge.

Miguel begun unpacking and installing himself. From his window he could see yet another extension of property, Bodegas and the staff living quarters he supposed.

One thing he had forgotten about the place were the torrential rains that always seeped in. Sometimes the blackouts were so common he'd rather be candle lit.

And another entrance to the whole facility adjacent a couple of blocks from his barn.

---

He had finished his shower after spending his evening trying to get acquainted with Agustín and the rest of his crew. Overall and so far it seemed the perfect place to work, but also a challenge.

Thunders roared outside and rain kept flogging every surface it could, permeating to the core. He was ready to make his bed and call Gabriel when the lights were out.

A loud whir echoed through, before the lights returned, the generator wasted to time into working.

What alerted him was the main entrance opening and closing shut.

Had a worker slipped in?

Another blackout happened as he approached to the door only to find a soaked and gorgeous woman shivering on the entrance.

"Ma'am?"

----

Your friends had promised to be a casual party among the singletons in town, nothing more, nothing less. But time and drinks kept going, like the fun.

Until you had enough. As an Anderton you had a reputation to keep, but you were glad your friends made you feel a normal woman, free of keen and expecting eyes and societal etiquettes.

Free of the overbearing role model you had to be for being the Pastor's daughter.

But right now all you cared for was to get inside the barn to give your body a rest from the cold.

The once lovely dress you wore was now hugging you with a vice like grip, suffocating your curves like a second skin. The red and short cardigan around your shoulders did little to nothing to protect you from the unforgiving rain. Hair stuck to your shivering face, teeth clattered as you looked through the window. The rain had no intention to stop.

Your hands removed the cardigan, then tossed the clothing piece to the floor, as you rubbed some heat back.

"Ma'am?"

The rich and deep voice got you jumping in your spot.

"Oh, my god... I'm-" You swallowed when seeing the handsome man before you, dressed up in nothing but his grey sweatpants and some slippers. A towel hung loosely on one of his shoulders.

His brow quirked as his face remained serene.

"I-I'm sorry didn't know the barn was occupied."

You kept rubbing your arms, hoping for the rain to drop. A loud thunder made you recoil from the door, while the drip drops scurrying off your body rolled down to the floor, joining into a puddle beneath your red heeled sandals.

If it wasn't for your hair sticking on your cheeks, the man would definitely see the profuse blush emerging on them. Shirtless men weren't in your everyday occurrence, much less handsome and tall men with beautiful eyes that seized your soul.

A smirk came on Miguel's face, as he retrieved another towel from the bathroom and he approached.

"I got installed today, it's ok."

He gave you the towel, and you took with a grateful smile. Immediately pat drying your face, neck and arms.

He watched you with sharp eyes, following your hand's movement as he slicked back his hair.

You were gorgeous. And drenched to the bones. That little dress did little to keep his eyes wandering to your thighs, marveling at the soft and plumpness of them. He had to look away as soon as his eyes stopped on your chest. The outline of your nipples poking out the dress, gave him enough distraction for a moment.

You didn't look past twenties.

"Uhm..." Your sweet and stammering voice made him curious.

Such a polite girl.

"Yes?"

"Can I use the barn's phone, please?"

He shook his head softly and opened his office. Letting the door open for you to enter.

"Of course."

"Sorry for the floor."

Your arms crossed on your chest, giving him a glimpse of your cleavage. Then fetched the phone, the number however made him frown as it was William's personal contact number.

"Hello? Papa? Can you send someone to the barn with an umbrella, please?"

Papa

Miguel blinked as he stared your way from the door frame. This was even better than he anticipated.

He was so deep in his scheming that forgot William's family. So far he knew, the Anderton man had only one child. And he was now looking at said person.

He could see some bits of William in you, specially in your nose and cheekbones. The rest was your mother's doing.

And what a good job they've made.

"I know, I'm sorry. Got too caught up in the party."

Miguel luck couldn't truly get any better. He could even taste his revenge through his mouth. It was sweet as your perfume.

"Thanks. Love you!"

You hung up the call and smiled his way.

"Thank you. Mr...?"

"O'Hara. Miguel O'Hara."

You gave him your name with a sweet smile as he shook your hand amiably.

"Right. So you're the new trainer?"

His lax frame slanted against the doorframe, blocking your way from the entrance with his form. His eyes fixed you with an enigmatic smirk.

Your nervousness was making your mind a jumbled mess by simply being around him. Half-naked men and men were off the list. Mainly because your parents' strict beliefs. And the man that would get you, would be your future husband. Without discussion.

"I am. Yes. Quite impressive the settlement you've got."

"Ah, well. Dad takes seriously his businesses, and he needs all the help he can get. So thank you for coming."

"My pleasure to help, señorita."

His lip curled, almost imperceptible upon your flustered reaction. Your skin remained with goosebumps.

"Come. Let's get you warmed up."

You followed him to the fireplace and soon he got another towel since the one you had was soaked through.

You sat in front of the fireplace and he draped your shoulders with the dry and cozy towel to then sit across you.

"Thanks" You gulped and extended your hands towards the fire, gaining a much needed wave of heat.

He couldn't wait for you to leave and call Gabriel to tell him everything he had seen so far. Everything was beyond perfect, like if the universe itself had delivered his revenge on a silver platter.

A couple of minutes passed before a familiar voice to you echoed from outside the barn.

"Mi niña! Let's go!"

The ever familiar voice of your nana called, and you stood.

"Thanks for the help, Miguel."

"Anytime, señorita."

He nodded with a softened smile, that didn't reach his eyes and watched you leave.

"See you soon!" You waved and headed back to the main doors. Your heels clicking on the floor.

"Vicky!" you squeezed under the umbrella after your nana secured the towel.

You wanted to give Miguel a last thanking but the latter had already closed the door. You left to the manor.

Miguel rushed to fetch his phone and immediately called Gabriel. He picked up after the third ringing.

Miguel talked and rambled about everything he had seen, and Gabriel could only listen. Expectant.

"Lemme get some months in and then you can come. That way we gather more evidence."

"What about that woman? Anderton's daughter."

He sighed with a dreamy heave.

"She looks the type that's perfect for luring."

"Use her to your advantage. Hit em right where it hurts."

"I'll do it. Don't worry. She's too kind and sweet. Won't see it coming."

With this new piece of information, Miguel could do so many things. But his goal was clear.

He'd hit William right where he dared hit Conchata a long time ago.

He'd go after you. And if that meant to act like he adored you, then so be it.

His revenge was finally in motion.

----

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#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #ranchero! miguel #mi dulce cereza

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romanticintheory · 1 day

Note

Hello!!!! I was wondering if you could write an angst with Ghost/Simon where the reader was too clingy after having a bad day and he lashed out on her but he didn't think anything of it because the next day the reader was acting normal. He only noticed after a few weeks when reader became more distant and quiet. Feel free to ignore if it's too weird or you don't like it!!! ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

this one is dedicated to all the ones who were hurt and never got that apology. hope this alleviates the pain.

simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader || masterlist || request rules

-there was no one specific reason as to why today turned out to be a bad day. it just was.

-from accidentally burning yourself trying to make breakfast after waking up late to having to deal with the most insufferable customers, it just wasn't your day today.

-but it was okay, because you had simon to return to when everything was said and done.

-the frown on your face immediately softens the moment you see him walk through the door to your shared home. as soon as he pulls his mask and boots off, you make your way toward him and engulf him in a tight hug.

-you are painfully (but understandably) unaware of the thin veil of his patience and the frustration that had been brewing within him in the past few hours. he half-heartedly returns the embrace.

-"how was your day, si?" you ask him gently.

-"fine," he responds shortly, hoping there isn't more to the conversation.

-even after you pull away from him, you trail behind him as he moves around the house. this wasn't irregular behavior from either of you. simon wasn't usually the most talkative person in the room, anyway, but he loved to hear your voice. that was one of the things he loved about the two of you together; you filled the space he couldn't.

-today, though, was different. he was pissed off at all different kinds of people. for some reason, couldn't bring himself to tell you that he was having a bad day and needed some space, especially because it was evident you were having a bad one yourself.

-so when he turned on his heel after listening to your rambles for as much as he could take and lashed out at you, he tried not to think about the unbearable amount of guilt seeping into his veins.

-"would you just stop clinging to me for five minutes? god, 's like i can't get away from you or your constant fucking talking!"

-you had heard stories, mostly from simon, about the kind of man he could be when pushed to his limit. mostly, it was of violent, physical acts when it came to work or protecting the ones he loved. other times, he would tell you about when he'd lash out at others just like he did to you, now, and he always told it to you with a quiet fear. there was an unspoken meaning to him telling you about the times he's acted out: i don't want to do the same to you. i don't want to hurt you.

-but here he was, towering over you with a coldness in his eyes and a dryness in his throat from the sheer volume of his words.

-averting your gaze from his, you let out a meek, "'m sorry," and watch as he slams the door in front of your face.

-when he slinks into bed next to your sleeping form later that night, ridden with shame and guilt, he misses the tear-stained face hidden from him. after his outburst, you felt like all of the energy in your body had been taken away from you and retreated to bed early. you cried on and off for hours.

-you always thought you had a clinging problem. it was an insecurity you carried with you starting from childhood. friends would become acquaintances and family would keep you at arms-length. after years of believing the issue was you, simon walked into your life and told you different.

-if you stopped talking because you thought he stopped listening and was uninterested, he'd always turn back to you and genuinely ask why you stopped talking. whenever you apologized for hugging him for too long or asking to spend time with him for the third time that week, he'd always tilt his head at you and say in that low, sincere voice, "but i love you?"

-for all those reasons, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt despite how much he hurt you. so, when he tries to bring it up the next morning, you do your best to brush it off. he was having a bad day. that was all. no need to make a fuss.

-"listen, love," he calls to you as you pop your piece of toast out of the toaster. "about last night-"

-completely disregarding his words, you look at the clock and stuff your phone into your pocket. "it's fine. honestly, simon," you tell him with the best smile you could muster. "i'm gonna be late. i'll see you tonight."

-you were so adamant on getting out as quick as possible that simon had no time to respond. he thought to himself that maybe he was making a bigger deal out of it than you. maybe there were no hard feelings and you were completely fine. after all, he was always overly worried for you, anyway.

-so, when you came home, he didn't mention it. it was as if last night didn't happen, and the two of you were perfectly fine. there were times where simon thought you were being a bit more restrained in your movements or words, but he tried to chalk it up to just him being overly paranoid. you said it was fine, so it was better not to push you on it, right?

-at first, you were doing really good at keeping yourself from overthinking the situation. however, as time went on and you paid more attention to how you acted around your boyfriend, you began to wonder if you were really that clingy.

-as the week progressed, your state of mind would deteriorate. what if it wasn't just a bad day? what if that was what he thought the entire time and was just waiting for the right moment to tell you? had he just been trying to cheer you up about your insecurities the entire time? and if he was, how much of this relationship was even real, then?

-the more you thought about it, the more distant you became. the last thing you wanted to do was make simon feel like he was being suffocated by you. you slowly stopped initiating physical affection with him, restricted talking about your day to a few sentences, and tried to answer simon's questions in one word when possible.

-he notices. of course he notices, it was like a stranger was living where you were supposed to be, and he missed it. he missed you.

-he asks you about your change when you're getting ready for bed, pulling the rest of your nightshirt over your head. despite being exhausted from work and looking like you were sitting out in the wind, he thought you never looked more ethereal than you did now.

-"(y/n)," he said.

-"hm?" you hummed to him, not turning toward his direction. you sat down on the edge of your side of the bed, turning off the lamp at the same time.

-your lack of emotional presence was starting to eat at him. he sat down next to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight and forcing you to lean toward him.

-"you alright?"

-"yes. why?"

-"i dunno, you just seem..." his eyes tried to find yours, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. "quiet."

-it was then that you looked at him, and it was scary to simon because he couldn't make out the emotion in your expression. there was nothing he could read.

-"isn't that-" you had to pause to try and stabilize your wavering voice. "isn't that what you wanted?"

-there was a tension-filled silence that settled in the room, and for a second you were worried that what you said was somehow incredibly offensive.

-finally, he chokes out, "i'm sorry."

-again, you try to muster up a smile. "it's fine, i already told you. i should've known you wanted space."

-"no."

-"no?"

-"it was my fault," he explains. "how could you 'ave known? i didn't tell you i wasn't in the mood that day, and that's not even considering the way i talked to you. i shouldn't have- nothing excuses what i said to you."

-still, you were convinced you were to blame. "well, i have a history of being clingy, so," you were trying to come up with more excuses for him. for most of your life, you had decided that you were the issue. it couldn't be any other way, right?

-"i know. it's one of the things i love you for," he says quietly. "not to sound cheesy but it's what makes you you, and i don't want you to lose that jus' 'cause i'm still shitty at communication."

-you knew in some capacity he was right. there was no excuse for how he talked to you, but the next words you wanted to say evaded you.

-simon thought about talking some more. instead, he grasped your back with one hand and slid his other underneath your legs, repositioning you on his lap. it was like a silent plea from him, a way of proving that he wanted to be close to you just as much as you wanted to be close to him.

-"you're sure i'm not too clingy?" you ask tentatively.

-"positive," he reassures you, rubbing small circles on your back with his thumb. "you wanna know something?"

-"what?"

-"if i wasn't so fucked up-"

-"you're not fucked up."

-"right." you never let him talk badly about himself. that was something he was still getting used to after all this time. being loved and learning to love himself. "well, if i didn't grow up the way i did and became the person i am, i'd probably be way clingier than you."

-"that's impossible," you deny, unconsciously letting yourself lean into his touch.

-"you don't know how much i want you. if my mind and body would let me, i'd be close to you all the time, showing you the attention you deserve."

-"you give me plenty."

-"agree to disagree," he stops with the circles and pulls you impossibly closer to his body. "but 'm trying. 'm trying to learn to let you love me and to not be afraid to love you. 'm sorry, love. i stopped trying that night, and i think it'll be the death of me."

-you let his words sink in, a thoughtful look on your face.

-"next time you'll tell me, right? what you're thinking?"

-"pinkie promise," he agrees, letting the hand under your legs slide out and raise his pinkie finger toward you.

-in return, you link your pinkie with his to seal the promise, and it feels as though the heavy tension in the air has cleared away.

-"i love you," he says, feeling bold from his previous admission.

-"i love you, too." there's that smile on your face. he never realized until now how he probably couldn't live without it.

-he kisses you on the lips, and for a moment the two of you just stay there in each other's arms, forgiving the past, healing the present, and dreaming of the future together.

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justlemmeadoreyou · 2 days

Text

solace-2* (famous!harry x masseuse!y/n)

summary: part 2 to this (tq for 1k notes!)

words: 5.2k+

warnings: fluff- so much of it. smut. p in v sex, sex in different positions, creampie, kissing, dirty talk.

Harry didn't reveal the full truth about the Italian coordinates tattooed on his hip. Instead, he simply smiled and changed the subject whenever Y/N tried to probe further about their meaning.

Y/N tried to shake off her nagging doubts about it too, but the sight of those precise geographic coordinates seemed to bore into her mind. She knew her boyfriend too well - he never did anything without intention or deeper meaning.

Over the next few days, she found herself scouring Harry's personal effects any time he left the room, searching for any other clues about what he could be hiding. Paranoid or not, she had to get to the bottom of this mystery.

Harry's laptop was password protected, as were his phones and tablets. Y/N briefly felt a pang of guilt going through his devices behind his back like this, but the need to uncover the truth overrode her hesitation. She tried every important date, nickname, and phrase she could think of based on their years together, but nothing seemed to crack his codes.

In his planner and calendar apps, she found no unusual appointments or Travel arrangements corresponding to those Italian coordinates. Harry's work schedule was booked solid for the next few months with the usual recording sessions, interviews, and meet-and-greets.

Rifling through his desk drawers, closets, and travel bags yielded no other obvious clues either. Just the typical miscellany of everyday life - old ticket stubs, charging cables, a modest collection of simple jewelry he favored.

The more Y/N searched fruitlessly for answers, the more unsettled she became. Just what kind of explosive secret could Harry be keeping from her, going to such lengths to conceal it?

Harry, for his part, seemed to be going out of his way to be extra attentive and loving towards Y/N over those days. Bouquets of her favorite flowers in full bloom arrived for no reason. He suggested romantic home-cooked meals filled with all her most beloved comfort foods. At night, he initiated lovemaking with an almost frantic passion, settling between her thighs and worshipping every inch of her body like a man desperate and touch-starved.

"You know you're everything to me, don't you,dove?" He would pant against her sweat-slicked skin, emerald eyes burning with an intensity that simultaneously set her ablaze and lodged a kernel of anxiety in her chest. "You're my whole bloody world and then some."

It was like he could sense her pulling away on some subconscious level and was determined to overwhelm her with affection and reminders of their connection, reeling her back in before she could drift any farther. The more Y/N felt herself falling under the intoxicating spell of Harry's doting lover persona, the more unshakeable her doubts became.

What was he fighting so hard to distract her from? And more importantly, could their relationship withstand whatever seismic truth he was keeping from her?

***

A week later, Harry said he had an important audition for a new movie role. He needed to fly to Milan for a few days. As Harry packed his bag, Y/N felt that gnawing doubt and curiosity come back.

The moment Harry left for the airport, Y/N opened her laptop. She searched for the coordinates from his tattoo. The coordinates pointed to a small town called Bappino near Florence in the heart of Tuscany's wine country. More specifically, they pinpointed a large villa estate surrounded by vineyards and olive groves.

Y/N stared at the beautiful scenery on her screen. Her mind was spinning. Could this Italian villa be what Harry inherited from his family, like he had started hinting before changing the subject? If so, why all the secrecy and obvious desire to surprise her?

Y/N's thoughts kept circling as the days went by with no word from Harry about when he would return from his "audition" in Milan. She tried not to read too much into his silence, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something big was happening behind the scenes.

Five days after Harry left, Y/N woke up in the middle of the night. Her sheets were tangled and her chest felt tight. In the quiet flat, she could no longer ignore the persistent urge to take action and find out the truth about that location.

It was impulsive, maybe even crazy, but Y/N made up her mind. If Harry was truly keeping a surprise about this Italian villa from her, then she was going to travel there herself and uncover the truth firsthand. No more waiting in suspense for him to tell her.

Within a few hours, Y/N had booked a flight to Florence and packed a small bag. She didn't bother leaving Harry a note about her spontaneous trip. After all his secrecy, he didn't deserve that courtesy right now.

The long flight passed in a blur of nervous anticipation and fitful napping. As Y/N's plane began descending towards the rural airstrip near the villa's coordinates, her heart pounded in her throat.

What if she was flying all this way just to satisfy her own fanciful assumptions, only to find some reasonable explanation? Or worse, what if Harry's surprise was something she hadn't braced herself for at all?

The small rental car agency in the village center of Bappino was empty when Y/N's taxi dropped her off. Within twenty minutes, she had the keys to a sleek black Fiat.

Y/N checked the GPS for the coordinates to the villa. The dusty backroads leading into the hills were quiet. Cypress trees and grapevine trellises lined the roads. Y/N watched out the window, trying to stay calm. She was used to the noise and crowds of London, not this peaceful scenery.

When the villa's gates finally appeared around the next bend, Y/N felt like she couldn't breathe. The estate was even more beautiful than the photos - with terracotta roofs, ivy-covered walls, and elegant arches. It looked like a Renaissance painting.

Y/N pulled up to the tall iron gates feeling nervous. Her hands shook on the steering wheel. What if this villa was the surprise Harry had been keeping secret? How could she just show up unannounced?

Just then, an older woman in a flower-print dress came out of a side door. She squinted at Y/N's idling car, like she was expecting someone.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N got out and approached the gates on shaky legs. Up close, the woman seemed friendly despite her stern look. She smiled warmly and used an old key to let Y/N inside.

"Welcome, miss!" the woman said in English with an accent. "We've been awaiting you. Welcome to Villa Arca del Cielo."

Y/N blinked in surprise at the warm welcome. "There must be some mistake," she stammered. "I'm actually more of a...surprise visitor myself."

The woman studied Y/N carefully for a moment before nodding.

"Of course, of course," she replied pleasantly. "We've prepared everything for your arrival. Leave your car and follow me, dear."

Though still utterly confused, Y/N did as she was told. The woman led her through stunning gardens filled with bright blooms and cozy benches along the winding paths.

Eventually they reached a spacious courtyard centered around a bubbling stone fountain. Y/N's breath caught when she spotted the man lounging casually on the fountain's edge.

"Harry?" she gasped before thinking.

He looked like a living Renaissance statue - handsome in linen and tailored clothes. Harry's green eyes found Y/N's, shining with some unreadable emotion.

"Why hello there, darling," he purred in that deep, velvety voice she loved. Rising smoothly to his feet, his lopsided smirk made butterflies flutter in her stomach. "Fancy meeting you here of all places."

Y/N opened and closed her mouth, a million questions spinning in her mind. But before she could speak, Harry was crossing the courtyard towards her. In one fluid motion, he dropped down on one knee and pulled out a small black box...

Y/N felt like her heart stopped as Harry opened the little black box. Inside was the most beautiful diamond ring she had ever seen.

"Harry...what are you doing?" she gasped, barely able to speak.

Harry looked up at her with those bright green eyes and gave her that lopsided smile that always made her knees weak.

"I'm doing something I should have done ages ago, my love," he said in that deep, rumbly voice. "I'm asking you to marry me. Will you be my wife?"

Y/N's hand flew up to cover her mouth as she let out a shocked little cry. She couldn't believe this was happening! She thought for sure Harry must be hiding some huge secret. But instead, he had planned this incredibly romantic surprise proposal!

"You...you want to marry me?" Y/N finally managed to say. "Here at this incredible place?"

Harry's smile stretched even wider across his handsome face. He gave a small chuckle and shook his head happily.

"Yes, darling. More than anything, I want you to be my wife," he said sincerely. "And what better place than my family's historic villa? This estate has been passed down for generations upon generations."

He swept his free hand out, gesturing to the beautiful terracotta buildings, lush gardens, and rolling vineyards all around them.

"When I received word that I had inherited the villa, I knew immediately this was where I wanted us to start our lives together. This place is filled with so much love and tradition. The perfect fresh start for our new adventure."

Tears blurred Y/N's vision as she stared down at the man she adored. She felt silly for doubting him, even for a moment. His pure heart and romantic spirit shone through in this amazingly thoughtful proposal.

"So what do you say, my love?" Harry gave the ring box a little shake with a wink. "Make me the happiest man in the world and marry me? We can build our happily ever after together right here in this paradise."

A joyful giggle burst out of Y/N's chest. She launched herself at Harry, sending them both tumbling onto the soft grass in a tangle of limbs. She peppered his face with kisses, cradling it in her hands.

"Yes! Yes, a million times yes!" she exclaimed between delighted laughs. "I can't think of anything I want more than to be your wife!"

Suddenly a cheer went up around them. Y/N looked up in surprise to see the courtyard was now filled with a small crowd of smiling people - couples, families with children, and elderly folks. These must be Harry's relatives from nearby, brought in to secretly witness this magical proposal.

Harry easily regained his feet, pulling Y/N up into his strong embrace. He slid the dazzling diamond onto her trembling finger as the crowd burst into applause again. Someone popped open a bottle of crisp white wine from the villa's own vineyards and began passing out glasses.

As the well-wishers surged forward to hug and congratulate the beaming couple, Y/N pressed herself against Harry's side. She gazed up at her new fiancé with eyes shining with love and happy tears.

"You brilliant, wonderful, maddening man," she said through her megawatt smile. "You really had me going there for a while with all your secretive ways!"

Harry's deep laugh rumbled against her cheek as he kissed the top of her head. "What can I say? I do love a good dramatic surprise," he drawled unrepentantly. "But I promise, from here on out, no more secrets between us. Just you and me, partners for life, building our forever in this little slice of paradise."

Y/N felt her heart swell to overflowing with love and joy as Harry pulled her close to sway among their joyfully celebrating new family. Whatever surprises the future still held, she knew they would face them side-by-side, heart-to-heart. This enchanting Tuscan villa was now their eternal home - an oasis of beauty, heritage, and boundless devotion between two soulmates. And really, what more could anyone want than that?

***

It was Harry's big wedding day and he was super nervous. He was getting ready in one of the fancy rooms at the beautiful Italian villa where the wedding was happening.

"I can't bloody well do this," Harry groaned, struggling with his bowtie. "What was I thinking, putting all this together?"

His best friend Niall gave him a look through the mirror they were standing in front of. "Don't start getting cold feet on me now, mate. You've been dreaming of this day forever!"

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm down. It was the morning of his wedding to the love of his life, Y/N. After he surprised her with his proposal a few months ago at his family's villa in Italy, they quickly started planning an intimate but fancy ceremony right there in the villa's pretty gardens.

Now as Harry stood there in his perfect tuxedo, he felt really anxious bubbling up inside. What if something went wrong? What if he messed up his vows or the weather turned bad suddenly?

"It's not the marriage part that's scaring me," he tried to explain to Niall, sitting down on the old couch. "I've never been more sure of anything than wanting Y/N as my wife. It's all this..." He waved his hand around at the luxurious room.

"This huge romantic, over-the-top destination wedding at a historic Italian villa. With all the family flying in from everywhere and the crazy timing to coordinate, it all feels a bit...overwhelming."

Niall raised an eyebrow at his lifelong friend. "And whose genius idea was it to have your wedding at this place again?" he said flatly.

Harry smiled a little, knowing Niall was right. He'd admitted before that he could be quite dramatic, especially when it came to being romantic with Y/N. But part of him worried that Y/N might think this whole destination wedding was too much or too showy.

"I just want everything to be perfectly perfect today, you know?" he sighed, running his hands through his styled hair. "Especially for her. Y/N deserves to have the most magical dream wedding after everything we've been through."

Just then, the door burst open and Harry's sister Gemma came in, looking beautiful in her robe with her hair and makeup done. She gave Harry a look, hands on her hips.

"There you are, worrying over nothing as usual!" Gemma fussed, pulling Harry's fidgeting hands away from his hair. "Honestly, H, with all this huge production you've planned, someone would have to be crazy to doubt how much you adore that girl."

Harry felt himself relax a little at his sister's gentle teasing. Gemma always knew how to put things simply and lovingly. He made a face at Niall, who snorted with amusement.

"Alright, alright, you've made your point, Gem," he said with a little laugh, kissing her cheek. "I'm just going to take a few minutes to myself to get centered, yeah?"

Gemma nodded briskly and shooed Niall out so Harry could have some privacy. Her warm eyes shone with real affection as she gave Harry's arm a reassuring squeeze.

"We both know today is going to be one for the books, love. Just focus on that feeling of pure joy when you see your bride walking down the aisle and everything else will fall into place. I believe in you."

Then Harry was blessedly alone with his whirling thoughts. He went over to the windows, breathing in the fresh spring air from Tuscany while trying to focus his energy. Gemma was right - none of the little details mattered in the big picture. The only important thing was honoring his everlasting love for the extraordinary woman he loved more than life itself.

Straightening up with renewed determination, Harry glanced at his reflection one last time before heading out to take his place. He was about to marry his soulmate in the place they would start their new life together, surrounded by their most cherished people. What could possibly be more magical than that?

Y/N could barely breathe when she saw the breathtaking wonderland that had been created for her wedding in the villa's garden. What was once a normal pretty garden had been totally transformed into something from a fairytale.

Everywhere she looked, there were vibrant splashes of jewel-toned flowers beautifully arranged into lush garlands, bouquets, or delicate sprigs woven into the soaring archway where she and Harry would exchange vows. The warm evening air was filled with the mingled sweet fragrances of peonies, roses, freesia, and sweet pea blossoms that drifted on each gentle breeze.

Overhead, thousands of twinkling lights were suspended amongst gauzy fabric and greenery stretched across the entire garden. As the golden Tuscan sunset faded into dusk, the effect was like being surrounded by a shimmering canopy of fairy lights and stars.

"Y/N, sweetheart, are you ready?"

The familiar gentle voice of her mother came through Y/N's dreamy haze and she turned, fresh tears pricking her eyes. Her mum looked impossibly elegant in her sleek champagne gown, eyes shining with barely contained emotion as she took in her only daughter.

"Oh Mum..." Y/N choked out, feeling a rush of euphoria and disbelief that this day had finally arrived. "I don't think I'll ever be ready enough for the honor of marrying someone like Harry."

Moving carefully so as not to disturb the delicate lace and tulle of her wedding dress, Y/N hugged her mother tightly and allowed herself a quiet moment to simply bask in the surreal joy. She had spent years picturing this day in her mind, imagining every possible detail down to her shoes and makeup. Yet now that it was really happening, she felt even more awestruck and humbled.

A gentle knock came and Y/N's dad was there, looking so handsome and proud in his suit. He cleared his throat roughly, but his watery smile gave away how sentimental he felt.

"Sorry to interrupt, but...it's just about time, petal." His warm fatherly gaze took in every inch of her bridal look - from the shimmering crystal-embellished bodice to the delicate beaded sleeves and sweeping skirt fanning out around her. "You look...well, I've never seen anything more beautiful in all my life."

Y/N hastily wiped beneath her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup. Not that it truly mattered, of course. She would happily embrace any imperfections if it meant getting to marry her other half at last.

"Shall we, then?" she managed to say, linking her arms through her parents' and falling into step with them.

The walk down the villa's arched galleries leading to the main gardens felt both endless yet over in a blink. Y/N focused on drawing deep, calming breaths as she absorbed every sublime detail - the glow of the ornate lanterns, heady jasmine fragrance, and cheerful chirping of crickets.

Finally, she rounded the last archway and her gaze was instantly drawn to the man she had chosen to walk life's path alongside from this day forward.

Harry.

He was standing beneath the towering archway covered in flowers, hands clasped loosely in front of him, full of nervous energy. For a single heartbeat, their eyes met and locked - shimmering forest green and sparkling hazel exchanging entire paragraphs of adoration, promise, and reverence in one penetrating look.

In that crystalline moment when their eyes met, everything else fell away. The decorations, the assembled guests watching, even the balmy Tuscan evening - it all faded. All that existed was Harry's reverent, loving gaze drinking her in like she was the most precious gift he'd ever received. A look that spoke straight to Y/N's soul, whispering 'you are my forever' without a single word.

As she glided down the petal-strewn aisle on her fathers' arms, Y/N took in every delicious detail of how heart-stoppingly handsome her groom looked. His polished boots shone, his tuxedo hugging his broad shoulders and narrow waist perfectly. The subtle patterns of his trousers and ivory vest added a dapper touch.

But it was Harry's soft, glowing expression that made Y/N weak - those bright green eyes sparkling with happy tears, pink lips curved in a radiant smile, cherub curls framing his chiseled jaw. In that moment, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Y/N barely registered her parents passing her to Harry's waiting hands under the arch, or the hushed scrape of the officiant clearing their throat to begin the ceremony. She and Harry simply stood transfixed, holding each other's gazes as the familiar words of the marriage rite washed over them.

Harry was the first to break the reverent trance when it was time for them to exchange their vows. He took a deep, steadying breath and squeezed Y/N's hands in his large, ring-warmed grasp.

"My darling Y/N, I knew from the very first moment you walked into that massage room that you were someone really special, sent just for me. Do you remember how nervous and shy I got just looking at your beautiful face? I tried acting all cool and confident like I usually do, but you saw right through that act." He gave a little laugh.

"You looked me straight in the eyes and said 'Cut it out mister, just be yourself. That's what I want to get to know.' And that moment changed everything for me. As your strong but gentle hands started rubbing out my muscle knots, it was like you were untying the knots around my heart too. You made me feel free just to be my real, imperfect self with you, no need to pretend."

Harry took a deep breath. "Our life together hasn't been perfect, babe. We've been through a lot of hard stuff that nobody should have to deal with. But through it all, you've been my one constant. My guiding light when I'm lost, my warmth and sunshine after the darkest days."

Tears shone in his eyes. "You are my true home and safe place, Y/N. Where I can always find love, laughter, and acceptance, no matter how beat up I am. Choosing to spend forever with your beautiful spirit is the greatest gift I could ever get."

He squeezed her hands tightly. "So on our wedding day, surrounded by everyone we love most, I vow to cherish you, my endlessly patient and loving wife, through every happiness and struggle life brings. I'll always be your safe harbor to come back to. This is my sacred promise to you, my soulmate."

Y/N had to blink back happy tears as she squeezed Harry's hands. "My dearest Harry, my whole life changed that day you walked into my massage room too. You came in acting all charming and cocky with your messy curls and those gorgeous green bedroom eyes." She grinned at him.

"But I could see right away I wanted to know the real you, not just some act. And that's when you truly captivated me - by wearing your heart wide open and feeling every emotion so deeply. Your childlike wonder at small joys, your kindness to all living things, your ability to empathize...that's when I knew you were someone who could break through all my walls."

Her chest felt ready to burst with love as she gazed at him. "This man standing before me is the rarest gem. You're boundlessly talented and creative, yes, but also so humble - using your art to uplift people and shine light into the darkness. Over the years you've uncovered the most beautiful soul, and I'm so honored to nurture that forever."

Y/N took a shuddering breath. "You are my safe haven too, my love. The place where I can let all my vulnerabilities show without fear, knowing you'll protect my fragile pieces as fiercely as I protect yours."

She raised their joined hands and kissed his knuckles gently. "So here, in our new beginning place, I vow to spend the rest of my days delighting in your spirit's brilliance. I'll nurture and endlessly celebrate your exquisite soul. Walking peacefully beside you is the greatest privilege imaginable. I'll make sure you never forget that."

***

His mouth was crashing over hers in a searing, all-consuming kiss that brooked no argument. Y/N melted into the hard planes of his body with a shameless moan, all thoughts of their reception and revelling guests evaporating like rain on desert sands.

They barely made it to the longue before articles of clothing began puddling at their feet in reckless abandon. All that existed for Harry and Y/N in that breathless, eternity was finally, surrendering to the long-anticipated unionn they had fought for.

"Tell me what you want, love," Harry husked into the heated space between their mouths. "Want to give you everything."

Y/N whimpered at the gravel of her husband's voice, dragging him down into another searing kiss. She licked fervently into his mouth, savoring the smoky, masculine taste that was purely Harry. She craved him.

Harry growled in approval, palming Y/N's breasts roughly before giving the peaked buds a sharp pinch. She cried out, arching into his touch as liquid fire lanced straight to her core. Not to be outdone, Y/N rolled them with surprising strength until she was straddling Harry's muscled thighs.

His gaze followed the path of her hands as she slowly, teasingly trailed them down the sculpted ridges of her own torso. Y/N threw her head back with a breath when her fingertips grazed the slick, throbbing bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

"Jesus..." Harry bit out, hips punching up instinctively when Y/N began working herself in tight, frantic circles right in front of him. "You're so bloody gorgeous, darling. Don't know how I got so lucky."

Y/N hummed breathlessly, catching Harry's stare as she continued touching herself shamelessly in clear view. Her other hand drifted lower to wrap around his thick, achingly hard length. She gave him a few firm strokes, smearing around the pearly bead of moisture leaking from his tip.

"Want you inside me," she rasped without preamble. "Need to feel you stretch me wide open, baby."

A low, guttural sound tore from Harry's chest as he instantly surged up into a seated position, cupping Y/N's bum and grinding against her slick entrance. She keened at the prod of him nudging insistently between her folds.

"Yeah?" he husked against the swell of her breasts. "You want this thick cock filling you up, love? Fucking you raw until you're sobbing my name?"

"Yes!" Y/N hissed out on a broken moan, rising up on her knees until just the bulbous tip of him caught on her soaked entrance. "Now Harry, oh my god, please!"

Harry snarled something incoherent before crushing their mouths together in another all-consuming. He swallowed Y/N's shrill cry as he abruptly surged up in one slick, powerful glide - burying every thick, throbbing inch inside her with a lewd grunt.

"Fuck YES!" Y/N sobbed out, throwing her head back as her inner walls fluttered wildly around the stretch and burn. "Oh god, just like that..."

"Bloody fucking perfect," Harry gritted through clenched teeth as Y/N rolled and clenched around him experimentally. "Grip me so damn tight, sweetheart."

Both spurred into a frenzy, they instantly launched into a rapid, frantic grind atop the rumpled sheets. Y/N rose up and dropped back down with shameless abandon, chasing the euphoric drag of Harry's girth splitting her open over and over. Her nails left crescent-shaped indents across the muscles of his straining shoulders and back.

"Yes, yes!" she chanted breathlessly, meeting Harry's brutal upward snaps with her own. "That's it, baby, fuck me just like that!"

"Jesus, the noises you make," Harry gritted out, his large hands flexing around Y/N's hips hard enough to bruise as he guided their filthy rhythm. "So fucking sexy, love. Gonna come just from hearing you."

Y/N keened in delight at his ragged words. She somehow managed to yank him even closer, savoring the rigid press of his abdomen rubbing against her swollen, aching clit with each punishing grind. Her breasts bounced with the feverish motion, nipples pebbled and aching for her husband's mouth.

Seemingly reading her mind, Harry latched on with a snarl, laving and sucking at the tender peaks with focused intensity. The pleasure arrowing straight to Y/N's center had her throwing her head back on a broken wail.

"Oh shit, shit yes!" she babbled frantically, legs beginning to shake and tremble. "Right there, Harry, fuuuuuck don't stop!"

Lewd sounds of flesh on flesh echoed throught the room, paired with their moans and grunts as they made noises freely. They didn’t care about their guests listening to them, because, well, they owned this place.

"Stay right there," Harry suddenly grunted through clenched teeth, halting Y/N with a bone-crushing grip on her hips. He then snapped his hips up once, twice, burying himself to the hilt on each brutal thrust.

Y/N screamed as she finally came around him, every muscle seizing up in pure bliss. Her back contorted sharply as shockwave after shockwave of pure bliss blitzed through her nerve-endings. She could barely draw breath, completely shattered by the force of her release as it gushed hotly around Harry's relentless possession of her core.

"Oh FUCK," Harry roared out, head tossed back as Y/N's clenching finally dragged him over that edge as well. His whole body strained, tendons in his neck and arms flexing as he erupted torrentially inside Y/N with a long, drawn out moan.

They clung to each other throughout their shared ecstasy, trapped in an endless cycle of crashing between blinding highs and soft lows.. Harry's mouth was persistent, soothing across Y/N's damp hairline and temples once coherent thought became possible again.

Finally, when the last ripples had faded away, he gently manoeuvred them onto their sides without separating their bodies. His now-lax biceps flexed around Y/N's hips, pulling her even closer so he could nuzzle fervent kisses beneath her jaw.

"You're everything," he murmured in a voice gone coarse and raspy from their cries. "My whole fucking universe, you understand me?"

Y/N shivered at his words, craning her neck to slot her mouth over his in a deep, intoxicating kiss. She matched his confession with one of her own without breaking the languid back-and-forth of their kiss.

"Forever, baby. You and me forever."

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! and also if part 2 lived up to the expectations lol.

please reblog or comment if you like, it makes my heart happy :)

feedback | masterlist

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge @mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @daphnesutton @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld @chesthairrry @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs @hisparentsgallerryy @storyschanging @selluequestrian @islakp217 @swiftmendeshoran @princessaxoxo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hermoinelove @chronicallybubbly @angeldavis777

solace taglist (y'all asked to be tagged in part 2!): @lhhlver @mysteriouslydecaffeinatedfox @fangirl7060

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malfoyscoffee · 18 hours

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theodore nott ᯓᡣ𐭩 friends with benefits to lovers

fwb!theodore who groans and pulls you closer to his body when you attempt to leave so early in the morning.

fwb!theodore who finally wakes up and suggests you spend the morning in his bed because “it’s the best way to spend saturdays”.

fwb!theodore who whines when you say you have to study for potions, because why is potions more important than him?

fwb!theodore who complains like a child but proceeds to walk you to his door, not forgetting to press a quick kiss to your lips, before reminding you that he’s free all day.

fwb!theodore who eventually gets bored without you and decides to head to draco’s room where the others planned to hangout.

fwb!theodore who is taken back when blaise tells him that there are rumors that cedric diggory was going to ask you to hogsmeade.

best friend!mattheo who laughs and teases theodore, stating that pairs who go to hogsmeade always end up dating by the end of the date.

fwb!theodore who smacks mattheo in the head with draco’s pillow before frantically trying to find out when cedric was planning on asking you out.

fwb!theodore who runs out of draco’s dorm and barges into yours, sighing in relief when he actually finds you studying on your desk. you really chose studying above him

fwb!theodore who towers over you while you stand up from your seat, questioning why he’s out of breath when he was fine in the morning.

fwb!theodore who holds your hand into his, before taking a deep breath because it was truly now or never.

“i’m in love with you. i don’t want to just sleep around with you, i want a real relationship. please tell me you feel the same; my heart is pounding and my mind is racing because this is making me nervous—you’re making me nervous.”

fwb!theodore who cups your face and kisses you like his life depends on it when you confess that the feelings are reciprocated.

boyfriend!theodore who watches you and cedric at the entrance of the great hall the next morning, smirking because he could predict what cedric was going to talk to you about.

boyfriend!theodore who spots your polite smile and cedric’s deflated shoulders, before you bid cedric goodbye and return to your friends.

boyfriend!theodore who puts an arm around you waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek when you return to your seat next to him.

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cameronspecial · 2 days

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A New Kind Of Normal (Part 6)

Pairing: Dad!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Drug Use, Mentions about Relapse and Talks About Getting Better After a Relapse

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.0K

Summary: Rafe doesn't know if he has what it takes to be the person that Stella and Y/N deserve.

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Rafe has been giving Y/N her space, but it didn’t mean he stopped trying to get her to forgive him. He sent letter after letter. Gift after gift. All of them returned. NA meetings, anger management sessions, therapy appointments and calls from Diana all go ignored as he seeks solace in his drug of choice and ways of getting Y/N to let him back into her life. It is safe to say his week is not going so great.

Lucky or maybe unlucky for him, Wheezie and Sarah were still allowed to see the light of his life and would report back to him how she had been doing. Learning how much Stella misses him causes guilt to form in his stomach. He told his father he wouldn’t be the type of father to leave his daughter, but it was his decision that forced Y/N to create that distance. Every fibre of his body wants to hate Y/N for taking Stella away from him and causing Stella pain by doing so, yet he only seems to crave Y/N’s smile and proximity. He craves their late-night phone calls and her reassurance that he can stay sober. The silence on her end makes him believe she has given up on him. That he has no hope of getting back on the proverbial horse. Again, the only thing that can help remove the little voice inside his head saying he isn’t good enough for his dad, Y/N and Stella is the powder the powder that dries up his nose..

After yet another attempt to gain Y/N’s forgiveness doesn’t work, Rafe finds himself returning home from Barry’s with Ziploc bags in his pockets. He has been sleeping in his house in the Outer Banks since his apartment near Y/N’s only reminds him of what he has lost. Before he met Stella, he thought the big house was all he could ask for. That the material things could fill him with happiness. But with Y/N and Stella now in his life, he knows he could not have been more wrong. He begins to feel he will never be happy again without them in his life and he rushes to the closest flat surface.

His hands shake as he tears the bag open, letting the coke spill all over the entranceway table. He takes his credit card out and starts to form line after line. One finger comes up to his nose to block one of his nostrils so the other can inhale the drug. He does every single line until he runs out. Frustration overcomes him when he can’t get the next bag out of his pocket, so he gives up and opts to try to sleep to help dull his toxic thoughts. He is too lazy to move out of the front room, lying down in the middle of the room spread out like a starfish.

——

Sarah and Wheezie find their older brother as soon as they open his front door. Sarah would have walked on top of him if she wasn’t looking where she was going. Both girls knew what had happened and that he wasn’t faring well. They knew he had started using again. Wheezie kneels beside Rafe’s head and slaps him awake. He bolts forward, letting out a gasp of fear. “What did you do that for?” he groans, rubbing his cheek. She looks at him with slight disappointment, “We both know you wouldn’t have woken up if we tried a nicer way of doing it.” “Okay, that may be true. What are you doing here?” he questions. It is Sarah’s turn to reply. “We are worried about you. We know you are using again and you are never going to get sober again if you don’t talk to someone.” He lies back down with a shake of his head, “What is the point of getting sober again if I’m never going to see Stella again?”

Sarah doesn’t respond for a second; instead, she looks for something in her purse. She finally finds what she is looking for and pulls out a piece of paper. Rafe takes the outstretched paper hesitantly. The worry that he is about to read a custody agreement from Y/N fills him with dread. However, he carefully unfolds the paper to find a drawing. The stick figures with pointy hats would not make any sense to most people, but to her father, he knew exactly what they were meant to be. It is a picture of him and his little girl holding hands with witches’ hats on their heads. The big round circle beside him must be a cauldron and the black blob beside Stella must be the cat she has always wanted. The only word he can make out from the indecipherable letters is Stella’s name. Y/N is doing such a great job at teaching Stella to write her name.

Wheezie can see the confusion about the words on Rafe’s face and goes in to translate for him. “It says get well soon. Y/N told Stella the reason you aren’t coming over is because you are sick. You want a reason to get sober?” Wheezie starts to explain. “That’s your reason to get sober again. Yes, you may not be able to see her right now, but that little girl is waiting for you to come back and you are never going to do that if you keep spiralling.” He sits back up to see the picture in a better light. Tears start to form in his eyes as all his feelings about missing his daughter come crashing down.

“She needs me still,” he whispers to himself. Yes, his father and Y/N may think he is useless but Stella doesn’t. She hasn’t forgotten about him and still wants him to come back even after he hasn’t talked to her in a week. That is one thought he doesn’t want to leave his head, except he realizes it always does whenever he seeks comfort from the cocaine. It may help him forget about the pain Ward has caused him, but he also forgets the love he gets from Stella. And that beats every other feeling. He gets up from the floor, pulling the rest of the coke easily out of his pocket now that he can think a little more clearly. He hands it to Sarah, “Get rid of this for me, please?” She nods her head and he brings both of his sisters in for a hug. “Thank you for not giving up on me. I promise I’m going to try again,” he tells them. They both return the hug, Wheezie pressing her head against his shoulder, “We believe you and we are here to help.” He may never hear those words from his father, but he is so glad he has his sisters to give him the support their father never could.

——

“I screwed up, Diana. She’s never going to forgive me.” Diana gives him a concerned look, “Rafe, it’s going to take more than a week for her to forgive you, especially since you only decided to try to get sober today.” Rafe nods his head, playing with the band of his watch. “Right… So you think I have a chance,” he hopes. She gives him a soft smile, “I do. If you give her time and take this one day at a time, I think she’ll come around. Show her how much they both mean to you.” “I can do that. One day at a day,” he repeats.

——

Luna’s Diner feels so much darker with the knowledge that Y/N is angry at him. He knows he should give her space, but this week has been the longest he has gone without seeing Stella or Y/N. He’s nervous as he listens to the little bell announce his arrival. The little girl at the counter looks up from her colouring and her face lights up when she sees who it is. “Daddy!” she yells, running over to him. He picks her up and brings her into a tight hug. “Are you feeling better, Daddy?” He gives her a kiss on the temple, “I am, little witch. Thank you for my card. I loved it.” Rafe sits on a stool with Stella in his lap. She tells him everything he has missed during their week away. Sabrina is now her friend again because they realize Will is a gross boy. Stella and Sabrina are now dating and their wedding is on Monday.

“Uncle Benny and I made sculptures. His was as tall as me,” she recounts, throwing her arms apart to exaggerate. Rafe giggles at how happy she is. The sight Y/N comes back to angers her and she is about to blow a fuse. “What are you doing here?” she grits through her teeth. She rounds the counter to take Stella in her hands. He stands up with his hands in the air to show he meant no harm, “I just wanted to talk to you. And catch up with Stella.” “You lost the right to do that when you rela- when you did what you did while Stella was home,” she argues.

“I know, you know I regret that completely. I will never forgive myself for putting her in danger. I want you to know I’m back on track to getting better.”

“That’s great. But I can’t just trust you like that again Rafe,” she snaps her fingers to iterate her point. “I want you to leave, please.” Stella looks between the two adults in confusion, wondering why it seemed they were talking in code. Rafe looks into Y/N’s eyes and sees the frustrations she feels. He doesn’t want to cause her any more trouble, so he heads toward the door. “Daddy, where are you going? Aren’t you going to play with me?” Stella calls out in a plea. His heart stops for a second and he doesn’t know how to get it to start beating again. He shakes his head sadly, “I’m sorry, little witch, but I have to go. I have work tomorrow.” Stella’s eyes start to brim with tears. “But you didn’t give me a hug yet,” she cries, holding out her arms for him. He looks at Y/N to confirm he is allowed to and she gives a solemn nod. She can’t deny her daughter a moment with her father.

Y/N puts Stella down on the floor and Stella runs to her father. She goes into his arms, burying her head into his neck, “Bye-bye, Daddy. Forever and always?” He returns the intensity of her hug and kisses her. “Forever and always.” Her feet find the floor again and she watches as Rafe leaves her. He turns around when on the other side of the glass, blowing the little girl a kiss. Stella may not understand what is going on between her parents, but she can sense something has changed between them and that she might never see her father again. She goes back to her mother with hopeful eyes, “When can we see Daddy again?” “I don’t know, Baby. I’m sorry,” Y/N hates to say, giving the girl a hug to comfort her.

——

Rafe does not blame Y/N for still being mad at him and for being hesitant to bring her back into their lives. He broke her trust, which is a sacred thing. The gifts were obviously not working and he is honestly glad it doesn't. Thinking back on it, he wants to gain her trust back through actions instead of materialistic things. He isn’t sure how to make it up to her, but he knows he can start a plan. First things, booking his next therapy appointment and increasing how often he sees Dr. Winters. Next, he will meet with Diana and reflect on why he relapsed so he can make a relapse prevention plan. Finally, make a list of possible places to go to rehab if he feels he can’t get sober in his current environment.

Yes, this plan isn’t about getting back Y/N, but it helps him with recovering from his relapse and this will hopefully show Y/N how serious he is. As he writes down his plan, he vows to do everything in his power to gain back Y/N’s trust and show her he will never make the mistake of putting Stella in danger again.

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @drewstarkeyswifehoe @kisstaya @magicalyoura @mp-littlebit @loverfu55ii @dark1paradise @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @alyisdead @emeloyy @js-a-writer @kisstaya @optimisticsandwichgladiator

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scarisd3ad · 2 days

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Jump then fall | Steve Harrington x reader

Chapter one - everything has changed

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Summary - after 7 years of being split apart from your childhood friend Steve you return to hawkins after your younger sisters tragic death, and parents messy divorce. But the Steve you came back to isn’t the same Steve you left behind.

"Steve!" Steve was surrounded by two of his new friends, Tommy and his girlfriend Carol, as I skipped up to him. They were both in 8th grade like Steve. carol looked me up and down as I stood in front of the trio. Steve had an annoyed look on his face from the moment I opened my mouth. Ever since he became friends with Tommy and Carol, it seemed as if I was just another inconvenience for Steve. "What?" the words are harsh as they come out of his mouth, almost like he was stabbing me right in the heart. But despite the achy feeling in my chest, I continued to talk. "wanna come over after school? My dad is working, so he won-"

"God, you are so annoying," Steve scoffs, which makes my brow furrow together in confusion. Steve has been a sweet boy ever since the moment I met him in kindergarten, but the moment he entered the 8th grade it was like a switch flipped inside of him. He no longer cared about his mother or his real friends he only care about popularity, girls, and being an absolute asshole to everyone around him. "Wh-what?" the words come out quiet and meek, the confusion still setting in as my eyes flicked from him to Tommy and then to Carol. Both his friends chuckled, probably because of the tears pooling in my eyes. "I said, you are fucking annoying! can't you go find someone else to cling onto?"

It seemed like time had stopped. Everyone around us stared, some laughed, and some whispered. Was I sent into a parallel universe because this wasn't the Steve I had grown to know? My chest heaved as I blinked back tears. "I-I'm sorry I thought-I thought-" I couldn't get the words out fast enough because Steve was shouting again before I could finish my sentence. "What that I was, your friend? I only hung out with you 'cause I felt bad that your sister died" This wasn't about Sara. He didn't need to bring her up. He knew it was a sore subject. The wound was still fresh. He knew it was still fresh. This felt like he was sticking a knife into that barely healed wound.

I want to punch him; I want to tackle him down to the ground and kill him just because he brought up my sister. "Your mom didn't even like you, so why should I? She dodged a bullet, leaving you." Maybe it was my mind making it up, but it felt like everyone around me was cackling at his words, at my tears, at my fists clenching and unclenching themselves. it hurt, it hurt so bad because I trusted him. I thought he was my best friend, but he wasn't. he was an evil lying bitch.

Before he can say anything else, I'm running away. I ran out of the school and to the group of telephones that stood outside against the school. I immediately punched in my father's work number as heavy sobs racked through my body. The phone rang a good three times before the secretary, Flo, answered the call.

"Hello, this is Hawkins police station. My name is Flo. How may I help you?" Flo was an older lady with dark hair and big, round glasses that sat on the brim of her nose. I sniffled before wiping my eyes. "He-hey Flo, can I talk to my dad?" I asked. Flo must've not noticed I was crying because she instantly transferred me to my father. The phone rang once before my dad answered, "Yeah what ya need?" Dad asks, "Da-daddy can you-you come get me?" I asked through sobs. I could almost hear the confusion in his voice as he asked, "What's wrong? What happened?" I don't answer due to the sobs that continue to erupt from my body. My brain was asking the same question repeatedly. Why would he do that to me? I thought we were friends. "I-I-please Dad," he grumbles quietly, "alright I'll be there in a few minutes."

I stood on the sidewalk with my arms wrapped around my body, waiting. Tears were still streaming down my cheeks when my dad's blazer pulled up beside me. I quickly get into the car, throwing my backpack in the back seat, and slamming the door shut before curling up in a ball, leaning my head against the glass. My father didn't immediately begin driving, instead deciding to interrogate me. "What happened? Did someone say something to you?"

"Steve," I whispered as more tears fell down my cheek. "Wh-what'd he do?" he asked, brows curling into a furrow. Dad knew Steve as a sweet boy, not someone who could ever hurt me. "He-he said...said I was annoying a-a-and that I was clingy." I said through sobs "And he-he said he was only my friend because he fe-felt bad because Sara die-died, that, m-mom didn't like me so why should he, a-and that she do-dodged a bullet leaving." His blood was boiling, I could tell. His face turned red, and he clenched his fists. Before I could even ask him what he was doing, he was already out of the car and halfway towards the front door.

I wasn't a total nerd or loser. I was just normal, but I wasn't a Heather or a Carol. I was just me. I wasn't even the attractive type of normal person like Nancy Wheeler. I was just average. I was standing at my locker waiting for my friend Stephanie. We always met up at my locker before walking to English. Steph was popular. Sometimes I ask myself how I scored a friend like her. She was beautiful and kind. Everybody liked her and everybody had a reason why. The boys liked her because she was pretty, and the girls liked her because she was kinder than the other popular girls. Her curly hair bounced as she sauntered up to me. Her lips formed in a sweet smile as her hands pressed against her hips.

Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and a green bow was placed in her hair to match her green cheerleading uniform. "You coming to the game tonight?" she asked as she leaned her body against the locker next to me. "Maybe I Dunno. I have a lot of homework tonight," I whisper. I'm momentarily distracted by Steve walking by with his arm around his new plaything, Lisa Franklin, a cheerleader like Steph, but unlike Steph, Lisa was an absolute bitch. Despite the hurtful things Steve Harrington said to me, my crush on him never completely disappeared. Sometimes it felt like it was hidden away, but it was always there, simmering beneath the surface.

Whenever I saw him walk by or heard him speak in any of our shared classes, my heart would skip a beat and my feelings for him would come flooding back. It was frustrating and confusing, but I couldn't help the way I felt. I feel two arms wrapping around my body, drawing my attention away from Steve. I glance over and see that it's Shawn Peterson. My relationship with Shawn is a bit complicated. We do things that most people in a romantic relationship do, but we don't use labels because he 'doesn't like labels'.

Shawn's a football player who's popular enough to be kind of friends with Steve. His hair is a dark, chocolate brown that falls in natural waves, framing a face that is both masculine and handsome. But it's his stunning brown eyes that steal the show, sparkling with an intensity that could make any girl weak in the knees. "So, you coming tonight?" he asks as he presses a kiss to my neck. I shrug my shoulders. "Maybe still Dunno though," I whisper. He groans as he presses a kiss just below my ear. "c'mon my parents aren't home tonight; we can go to mine afterward," I hum as I turn so I'm facing him. If I go, I have to tell my dad I'm at Steph's house and if I do that, I have the risk of him calling her parents to verify.

despite the risks, I smile up at him and whisper, "yeah okay sure."

I sat on the bleachers watching as Steph cheered. my hands were buried deep into my pockets as I zoned out. No matter how much I loved Steph and Shawn, I'll always find high school football games a little boring. I didn't understand football and no matter how many times Shawn tried explaining it to me, I always left the conversation a little more confused than I was before. I feel someone sit down beside me, but I don't care enough to look to see who it is.

"hey," an all too familiar voice whispers. That makes me look up because I haven't heard that voice talking to me in years. Steve Harrington sat next to me, dressed in the same outfit he had been wearing at school earlier that day. I couldn't stop my heart from beating a mile a minute, and my hands beginning to shake. I can't tell if I'm nervous because I'm scared or because I have feelings for him. "What?" I mutter back, my voice a little harsher than I expected. Despite the fact he had been so mean to me back in 7th grade, I never wanted to be mean back. I couldn't get myself to do it.

"You here for Shawn?" Steve asks, his left hand tapping away at the metal bench. I nod replying "Yup" he hums as he nods awkwardly "Sooo...is he your y'know boyfriend?" I shrug "It's complicated..." he nods, a quiet hum coming from his lips. Why did he want to talk now? He hasn't talked to me in 3 years, but now randomly he wants to talk like nothing ever happened, like he never whispered to his friends when I walked by or spread rumors about me. "Why are you talking to me?" I ask brows curling in confusion as I stare up at him.

"wh-oh I-I just wanted to talk," he mutters back. he didn't want to talk for years before this, so why'd he want to talk now? After everything he's done to me, why now? I'm silent as I search his face for any signs that he's messing with me. But there's nothing, not a smirk, or some type of glint in his eyes, just brows furrowed together in confusion. I decided to look around to see if any of his friends were nearby snickering to themselves, but still, I didn't see any of them.

"wh-what are you looking for?" he asks. I quickly pivot my body towards him again. "Are you fucking with me again Steve?" he lets out a shocked little gasp before hurling into saying "No, no I'm not I just thought we could talk y'know since we haven't in a while" That infuriates me because he knows damn well why we aren't talking. "You know why we haven't talked in a while," I mutter as I scoot away from him. "c'mon y/n that was so long ago," he says, elongating the 'o' at the end of ago. I scoff rolling my eyes. "Yeah fuck you," I say as I scoot away from him a little more. He sighs defeated before asking, "How's your dad?" I shrug, muttering a quiet "fine," he nods awkwardly "You still live in the same house?" I shake my head. "No, moved a few years back."

We sit awkwardly, both of us not speaking as the football team comes running out on the field. Most of the people around us roar in applause and shouts of excitement, including Steve. he stands to his feet clapping before cupping his hands together in front of his mouth and shouting "Yeahhh Shawn!!" I cringe a little inside. Steve, like every other popular guy and athlete at the school, were filled with so much school spirit it made me physically cringe. he sat back down looking at me, as I stared at my feet trying to hold back laughter. "What?" a smile cracks to his lips as I let out a few quiet giggles. "Nothing...nothing" he laughs, and for a few quick minutes our old dynamic came back.

"Seriously? C'mon, what?" cover my mouth with my hand as I continue to laugh. I shake my head, refusing to say anything as our laughter dies down. And just like that, we were back to two estranged friends who hadn't held a conversation for more than 2 minutes for the past 3 years, almost. "y'know your dad punched me that day?" I look up at him, brows furrowing as I whisper a quiet "What?"

"He punched me when I was in eighth grade. " It all comes back, my father storming into the school after admitting to him what Steve had said to me. "good" I wouldn't normally expect my father, a grown man, to punch a 13-year-old, but in that instance, I don't blame him. If I was him and a guy like Steve had told my daughter the things Steve had told to me, I would've done more than just punched him. Steve laughs almost as if he was agreeing with me "Yeah...I was an asshole" I roll my eyes, was? Steve Harrington was still an asshole. "still" I say correcting him. Now it's his turn to ask "What?" I roll my eyes yet again as I say, "You're still an asshole", he frowns as he nods slowly "Yeah...I guess" At least he could admit it.

Once the game ended, I bid Steve a quiet goodbye and went to the parking lot. I wait by Shawn's car for about 10 minutes until I see Shawn walking towards it, duffle bag swung over his shoulder, and hair damp. Steve walked next to him, both chatting about who knows what. Shawn drops his bag onto the hood of his car before scooping me up into a kiss.

Returning his kiss, I wrap my arms around his neck. I try to enjoy the kiss, but unfortunately, I can't because I can practically feel Steve's glare. I pull away, eyes meeting with Steve's. His brows are knitted together in an angry, or jealous type of furrow, and his arms are crossed over his chest. "You did so good out there," I say, pretending like I wasn't zoning out every 10 seconds. "mhm" Shawn hums before pressing his lips back against mine.

Steve clears his throat, making Shawn and I pull apart yet again. "well I'm gonna go. "See ya later, dude... um, nice talking to you again, y/n," Steve says before he starts walking towards his BMW, that was parked a few cars down.

The drive to Shawn's house is short and quiet. The only noise present is the low hum of the radio, and our breathing. When we get into his room, his hands are almost immediately all over my body. His lips touch mine, and his hands slide up and down the sides of my body before deciding to rest comfortably against my hips. The room is already somehow hot, and we're both out of breath when the sound of the phone (which sat on his nightstand) begins to ring.

BRINGGGG, BRINGGGG, BRINGGGG.

The sound of the phones rings is shrill and cuts through the quiet house like a knife. Shawn groans before pulling away from me. He crawls up his bed before answering the phone. Leaning against the headboard, he says, "Hello?"" in a very annoyed tone. "Oh, hey dude...no you weren't interrupting anything." the last bit drips in sarcasm as he says it.

"Yeah...yeah she's here, what'dya need?" I know he's talking about me because no one else is here, but I don't have a clue about who he's talking to. His brows furrow in confusion as the muffled sound of the other person talking comes out of the receiver. Then he scoffs as he shakes his head. "No, I'm not gonna do that sorry Steve." Steve? Why would Steve be asking about me? "Dude, you can't just ask me to do that" Shawn's eyes flick over to me before he whispers "I've gotta go alright? yeah, yeah, see you later." Shawn says before hanging up the phone.

"What was that about?" I ask. He hums quietly before hesitantly saying "Um...he just wanted to ask me if he could copy my homework" My brows furrow. There's no way Shawn would have made a big deal out of copying homework. They always copied each other work, so there was no way that's what Steve had asked. There was no world in which Shawn would have answered like that to needing to copy his homework.

As I press my hands into the soft cushion of Shawn's mattress, I sigh and whisper, "I should go... my dad's gonna be pissed if he finds out I stayed out late." Shawn nods before asking "Need a ride?" I nod, pushing myself up off the mattress and to my feet. "Yeah, but drop me off a few miles out. Don't need my dad knowing you're there."

A few years back, after my father's divorce was settled, and I was adjusted in school, my father sold our old family house. Claiming there were too many bad memories there, then he promptly moved us out to a cabin in the woods, much to 12-year-old Me's dismay. The cabin had supposedly been my grandfather's. his father, aka my grandfather, skipped out on the 'wondrous' opportunity to live in the shithole, so it had been abandoned for years since my great-grandfather died. It's a shitty log cabin, two beds and one bath that sat in the middle of the woods.

I hate being at that place alone. The doors creek, and the trees around it whistle with every gust of wind. I swear I'm going to be murdered one day in it and it'll be all Dad's fault for moving us out there. I didn't know why he couldn't have just moved us into some moderately shitty apartment or even keep us at the old house.

Shawn's car slowly drives down a dirt road in the middle of the woods. His high beams shining ahead of us to make sure there wasn't some animal (or person) in our way. About halfway towards my house, Shawn stops the car. From there, it would be about a 10-minute walk up to the house. "I can walk you up there if you want me to," he says, his voice quiet as if he thought my father would somehow hear him all the way out here. "No, I'm fine...but thanks anyway. See you on Monday," I say as I push open the car door. I sling my bag over my shoulder as I begin the walk towards my house. Shawn waits until I'm out of sight from his car to turn around and it's the 5-minute drive back to the main road.

I arrive at my bedroom window. I don't even notice my dad stood leaned up against the door frame until I'm fully inside my room. I'm left staring at my father, who has his arms crossed over his chest, angrily glaring at me. "WHERE THE HELL WHERE YOU?" my mouth gaped open as I began to say something but decided it was better not to. "GO ON TELL ME WHERE THE FUCK YOU WHERE" I let out a groan as I matched my father cross my arms over my chest "I was at the football game," I say with an eye-roll as I toss my backpack on my bed.

He scoffs "THE FOOTBALL GAME ENDED AT 8:30 SO TELL ME WHERE THE FUCK YOU'VE BEEN FOR THE LAST 2 HOURS!" his voice echoes through my room as I begin to talk, "God you're being so dramatic. A few friends and I went to Shawn's to celebrate after the game." his face is red, and his fists clench and unclench before he begins to shout again. "YEAH, WE'LL SINCE YOU DONT KNOW HOW TO FUCKING PICK UP A PHONE AND TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE I DON'T WANT YOU OUT OF THIS HOUSE FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS!" my eyes widen as I shout "What! that's not fair! I'm babysitting this weekend!"

"well, you're going to call whoever you're babysitting for this weekend and tell them that you can't make it anymore, and I don't want you using this phone this weekend either," he says as he goes to unplug the phone from the wall. I let out a loud dramatic "ugh!" which is then followed by me shouting "I hate you!"

As he walks out of the room he says, "Yeah well I fucking hate you too" I dramatically sit down on my bed before shouting again "You're such a fucking asshole!" he turns brows furrowing as he says, "What did you just call me", I'm not scared of him, I never have. He thinks I am, but I never will. "I said you're a fucking asshole," I repeat as my arms cross over my chest. He scoffs as he says, "I'll show you how much of an asshole I can be" before slamming my bedroom door behind him.

I sit on my bed, arms crossed like a bratty toddler as tears pricked in my eyes. it wasn't fair. I've gotten home late a handful of times and he never gotten angry any of those times, why did he always pick and choose when he wanted to blow up? I wonder what it would be like right now if I was still in New York with my mother. would she be blowing up on me right now too? would she be cool about things like this? or was she strict? but I guess I'll never know because she gave up on me and our family.

I feel bad after fighting with him, I always feel bad. I know deep down he loves me; he just doesn't really know how to show it anymore. I crave that fatherly love that gets rationed out from time to time. I think that's why we fight so much; I crave the affection; he doesn't know how to show it. when he's not working, he sits on his chair, or in his bedroom practically in a catatonic state staring at the tv or a wall, we eat dinner in our separate rooms we don't talk unless we're screaming at each other, or I've got my head laid in his lap as I profusely apologize for what had happened. we're both traumatized i know that we both lost so much, but he should at least try. he knows I don't have any other parental figures in my life, and he still chooses to be distant and cold.

I sigh arms falling to my sides, pressing against my soft mattress. sometimes in the spur of the moment I wish he had died, and I know he thinks the same about me. I always feel bad afterwards though. even though I live with him, I don't know my father at all, he's a stranger to me. the only time we feel like father and daughter is when he's bossing me around. it's absolutely bazar that I feel the same way about my father that I do my absent mother. it's actually like they're both absent in their own ways, dad emotionally, and mom physically. he totally gave up after sara died, I mourn my father in the same way i mourn my dead sister. I just want the old him back, the dad who chased us around the park, and took us out for ice cream, the dad who never even thought to yell at me even if i had stollen a car.

I just want him back.

Taglist

@sheisjoeschateau @nothankyou138 @gleefulleve @luluw-20 @skrzydlak @halflifejess @natalie-flo @castleallherown

#fanfics #x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #fem!reader #joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington x female!reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things season one

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skelly-words · 1 day

Note

Hey! If cool I was wondering if you could write tentacle smut. I’m not too sure on the plot but wanted reader to be very much in some sort of public setting with loads of people just watching as she gets railed by a tentacle. The kinks I wanted to ask if they could be in there is Voyourism (public sex), public nudity, squirting and/ watersports and overstimulation.

If not that is totally okay! I just wanted to ask :) and am exited to see what you come up with if your comfortable with writing this

okay cool so....

Not proofread, tags in the ask + spit a lil bit, ass eating, idk futa shenanigans, ahhhh milk (i kinda scared myself w/ this at the end)

My brain immediately went to big networking conventions that businesses have where the important people from the different corporate branches come together to drink, schmooze, and brag about sales numbers to each other.

Your boss asks you to come with her to help with the demonstration. The travel expenses and hotel costs are all covered, so you agree to spend the weekend on Wall Street with her.

I hate this, but there's the slightest bit of lore, so i ECOURAGE you to read the other parts first -> masterlist

MINORS DNI, stay away 18+ only

The presentation room of the hotel caters to corporate mixers like this. Circular dinner tables decorated with charcuterie fill out the hall. Your knee bounces nervously as people begin to file in. Saturday had been boring, spent bumming around the all-inclusive spa while your boss attended other company presentations not too dissimilar from this one.

"Relax." Your boss whispers. She sits in the squeaky folding chair beside you. Her hand lands comfortably on your thigh, stilling your knee with her warm touch. "All you have to do is bend over the podium."

You nod and try to emulate her flippant attitude. The bounce returns to your knee anyway because nerves are impossible to hide. The minutes slip by as people settle into their seats. The dimming lights act as a cue to hush the small talk and side conversations.

“Ready?” She gives your thigh a heady squeeze.

“Yea, ‘m ready,” you mumble.

Her gait is steady and comfortable up to the front of the room, and you trail behind in the shelter of her shadow. You smiled unsteadily at the sea of unfamiliar faces. Your boss tapped her knuckles on the podium, clearing her throat to get the rooms attention.

“Thank you all for coming,” she begins. “My branch is testing a few new methods of increasing productivity today. It’s all based on the same principle, ‘a happy mind is profitable one.’

“Of course, we’ll begin with the demonstration, just to prove how much it’ll help you focus on the rest of the presentation.”

An interested hum sweeps through the crowd as she leads you around the front of the podium. You aren’t wearing panties, only a skirt, which immediately becomes apparent as she lifts your waist up to the podium. The sturdy wooden surface slopes slightly up toward the room, propped up for dozens of eyes ogle your bare skin.

The position makes blood rush to your head, almost dizzy from the heavy heartbeat in your ears. Your skin feels hot and sensitive. The skirt tickles, sliding down the gentle slope of your back. You wonder if they can see how wet you are, cunt aching from all the attention.

The speech sounds so far away, like all your senses are dulling to make way for the electricity running beneath your skin. From the corner of your eye, you see a couple workers wheel three tanks up to the front of the podium.

The terrariums are large and damp, too fogged up from humidity to see anything through the glass. They're pushed into a neat line, starting at your side and progressing to the front of the stage in single file. The tank closest to you is the smallest. It's the only one you can properly look into because the creatures have suctioned themselves to the wet panes. Their round bodies flatten into mounds on the glass, little mouths busily opening and closing. You watch them, mindlessly observing them inch in little circles, around and round, maybe spirals if you spent enough time staring. You shiver, imagining the pattern it could suck into your skin. From your position now, you wonder if you look anything like that mouth on the glass to that polite crowd of people.

You feel a warm hand skim over your ass, inviting your neatly pleated skirt to drape over your back completely. The gauzy brown fabric went well with your blouse, and you remember packing it for this conference a week in advance. It feels silly now, to think what you're wearing matters when it's really the demonstration that's important.

The first tank slides open with a squeak, and your boss pulls a writhing blue tentacle out with a cloud of steam following it. You can barely see what's happening in your peripheral vision and only when you turn your head to the side. She wastes no time at all, taking the companies limited resources into account, the conference room was only reserved for an hour. Her other hand traces up and down your back, nails first, to scratch gently through the layers of fabric.

"You're doing great, hun." She whispers the reassurance into your ear, low and husky so only you can hear it. In one motion, she presses the end of the tentacle into your butt. It's bigger than what you had at home, which is what you prepped for. Her hand flattens to soothing circles when the pain comes through in your groans. You quiet to a whimper as the thing flails, twisting to orient itself inside you. It still hurt, but you were adjusting quickly to the pressure in your ass as it slithers down to find your pussy.

Now, no matter how you turn, you can't see what's going on. The suckers drag against you, that much is easy to discern from the sense of touch. The rest of your senses besides that have gone totally useless, so you watch the hypnotic pattern that the specimens in the last tank trace in the condensation.

The blue tentacle pushes into you. It's fat, thick and showy so the people in the back can see. Your eyes might be crossing from the way it slowly stretches you out. A shiny blue slime drips from every pore, sucker, and gland on the thing, making you squish obscenely from every movement. In. Out. In. Out. And your boss is still talking, you can even see the slides she flicks through when your eyes roll back, but it all sounds like white noise as the monstrous size shoves into your cunt, slipping out to momentarily attach an oozing sucker to your clit. Then it squirms right back into your hole, so slick that it runs down the inside of your thighs.

It's hopeless to imagine paying attention to anything else.

"But that's when we ran into the issue of hygiene. Clearly, this doesn't fit corporate dress-code."

That cuts through your thoughts, followed by light chuckles. The second tank slides open with a thunk, and you don't have to crane as much to see the pink tentacle calmy wrap around her arm.

"Oh, f-fuck," you finally make a sound audible over the disgusting squelch of that blue monster. She's trying to press the thick bulb at the end of the pink one into you, leaning real close, almost cheek to cheek as she forces it further past your rim. A glob of spit falls from her lips, you groan as she smears it around with her tongue.

"Just relax for me." And you're not even sure she's talking to you in that raspy tone. The hand on your back has inched lower to keep you pinned in place, and it's making you sore from how the podium’s edge digs into your hips.

Your sounds fall freely now, turning to whines as she licks you to ease the stretch. The hand on your back lightens up as the fat plug slides into place alongside the blue one. An affectionate smack lands on your ass, rubbing her warm palm over the spot as she watches the pink tentacle unfurl and flatten.

You can't see it, only whine as the weight shifts and adjusts inside you. The blue tentacle stops moving as if to behave and play nice with a friend. The gummy feelers attach as the pink tentacle latches on. It cups your swollen pussy, cleaning up the appearance quite nicely to the audience's disappointment. But your moans grow louder, echoing to let you know the sound made it to the back of the room. The little fingerlings lining the pink tentacles interior are so active. They pinch at your clit, making it slip between the soft jelly limbs while the others started playing with the rest of you.

"...And when properly stimulated, this specimen can be prompted to release its reproductive material on command." That faint comment reminds you of the eggs.

Your gasp is mixed between startled and concerned when her hand begins to brush the tentacle wrapped around your crotch. Being stuffed with the twitching blue tentacle makes you wonder where all the slimy eggs will go.

At her light brushes, the tendrils start to pull you apart. They slip inside you, just barely, enough to make your legs start to shake. You can feel them start to pour in as her thumb pushes down, squeezing out the soft spawn like horrific toothpaste as she slides the digit up from the base.

The blue tentacle comes back to life now, helping push the pink jelly into your poor pussy. You can feel the tiny limbs scoop and blue suckers fuck the eggs up against your sore cervix. And still, nobody can see. Your boss stands over you. Her hand trails between your thighs, tapping in the drying slick that's become tacky. She tugs at the tip of the tentacle, pinching firmly at the pink appendage and peeling it back.

Not all the eggs made it inside, rolling down your thighs as the mess is exposed. She's slow with her reveal, trailing her fingers through the juices to try the combination. You've gotten quieter, trying to keep your whimpers silent now that it's easier to hear. She starts to pull at the plug, and you have to bite your lip to keep it down. It doesn't wanna come out of your ass, still pulsing from so recently releasing eggs. Still, she tugs, making you squirm and clench your cunt. You've been on the edge for so long, and feeling the stretch to your rim makes your thighs squeeze together. They can barely shut to rub around your throbbing clit.

"I might as well introduce the last one then." She gives up on freeing the pink tentacle with a frustrated sigh and finally steps behind the podium to reach the tank in your eyeline. "They fit perfectly under your bra, so we'll both be demonstrating."

Your eyes follow her hand, from the lid, to inside the tank, to the buttons on her shirt. You strain to look up at her because she's standing so close, watching with jealousy as that thing sucks on her nipple. Her breasts look bigger too, spilling from her bra when she tries to squish them back into her shirt. A glance back down makes you blush. A bulge starts to bubble from her pencil skirt. It wouldn't be very noticeable if it wasn't a few inches from your nose.

"My turn?" You look up at her from between watery lashes, bending to smiling crescents when she nods. She lifts your chest just enough from the podium to let the green lump latch onto you. It doesn't seem to mind being squashed against the wood when she lowers you back down. They feel good, sucking at your breasts in a perfectly alternating rhythm. You start to feel weird, hotter as your tits get sore. The mouths pinch a little, not enough to hurt, barely more than a warning bite. You groan, the throbbing in your ruined pussy is getting worse. It makes you imagine what your boss is feeling. The pre dripping into her underwear. You probably could take her cock too if she asked you. She's still giving a presentation, talking through a slide as the buttons on her dress shirt strain. Her hand slips back to your butt, where it was yanking the bigger plug out of you.

She braces the opposite hand on your asscheek, rocking the pink tentacle back and forth to coax it out. You can barely hold sound back, dissolving into pitchy breaths when the fat blue fucker decides to start up again. It starts slow, but that pace doesn't last. After packing you with eggs, it's eager to let its cum out. Every loud thrust makes the eggs probe deeper. You can feel it in your tummy, pressed flat to the uncomfortably hard podium.

Your sensitive nipples pulse in time with the relentless suckers. You can't even care to be surprised as they spurt milk, moaning instead from the toy twisting in your ass.

The pink tentacle finally slips out of you, put back in its tank where it belongs. But you're sore, hole left gaping for the blue one to fill in as it swells. It gets bigger in your pussy too, larger with each beat. Even as she talks, her fingers can't stop playing with you, either pinching at your skin or dragging a digit through your slit. Her microphone is ther only thing keeping her intelligible over your cries, strung out from the pleasure.

Her fingers swirl around your clit, so sensitive. The touch isn't any more than light nibbles on your chest, but it makes you gasp and jump against her hand. You start to cum when she twists harder. The moans inside you spill out in one cry as you squirt. The pinch to your clit makes you spurt all over the front of her clothes.

She gasps in disgust and yanks you off the podium. The flooring is carpet, soft enough for your sore ass when you slump against the sturdy wood.

Your boss brushes off the interruption like nothing, simply indicating the conclusion of the demonstration as the slides flick to a new segment. She steps carefully between your legs when walking back to her place behind the podium.

The front of your blouse is halfway unbuttoned, however much was needed to get those creatures on, and now you notice how swollen they made your tits. You whine as the blue thing keeps moving between your thighs. There's more leverage at this angle and you don't know if you should moan or cry. In a few stunted thrusts, cum starts to fill you up, thick ropes of it that still somehow leak out from between all the eggs and the fat tentacle.

The pretty blue sheen coats your inner-thighs and the conference room floor. Something’s still wrong though. The ache between your legs isn't gone, not completely no matter how much your sore body begs to stop. It's the milk, or the hormones that come with it asking for just a little more. The demonstration portion is over. You're done, everyone's supposed to be focused on the woman speaking.

You slip a hand to your clit, circling the bud with shaking fingers. Just one more, and you'll be fine. Your boss doesn't even notice the room's eyes drifting lower. The blue tentacle indulges you, lazily moving in your cunny along with a few pumps of its warm seed. You can look at the lump it makes in your stomach from this angle.

This time, the orgasm builds fast and you have to muffle soft pants against your hand as you cum. Your poor pussy hurts, but you still need another and the tight circles on your clit don't let up.

There can't be that much more time before the hour is up and she has to get these things off you. Yet, your wrist is getting sore and weak dribbles of piss leak out of you at each peak. You notice people in the crowd hiding their arousal, and that somehow makes your crazy mind even hornier. Your abused clitty gives a heartbeat to your thumb each time someone palms their crotch or crosses their legs, still trying to be politely discreet.

The lights brighten as the presentation ends and a few odd bursts of scattered applause break out at a few tables. You still don't have the decency to leave your needy cunt alone, finally closing your legs around the blue tendril still curled up inside you as the people leave the room to pick a brochure up.

I had another anon ask abt going to find a new tentacle with the coworker from pt.2, but I kinda decided they were aliens (pink and blue both would normally use a host for mating and the suckers kinda do the same thing but for food, ig they're all just parasites sorry if that's gross), so i added a new variety into this one for you <3

A/N- how'd she do that? i would've gone ngh~ *squish* IMMEDIATLY, sry can you tell idk anything about an office job? oh well, stfu and enjoy the smut then (this is way over the top 😭) Also why did i give myself the displeasure of two (2) unnamed characters, give me names for Ms. boss or i'll start adding y/n (a threat)

#skel replies sometimes #skel writes tentacles #tentacle smut #tentacular #nsft tentacles #tentacles #monster fucker #terato #teratophillia

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lixielovess · 1 day

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"and i still dont care, i only care about you and how you feel. if it meant that I'd have to kill everyone in the world except for you and then myself just to prove that i love you, then I'll do so."

hyunjin x fem!chubby!reader

warnings: reader is insecure about her body, implied ED, swearing

genre: angst, fluff

hyunjin was a childhood friend of yours, you always hung out with him and you enjoyed being around him. but you were always considered the 'ugly' friend by your other friends, sometimes your family and you yourself agreed sometimes.. ofcourse he never did, he thought you were absolutely beautiful, tough he never said it.

when you were in junior high school, you could never be friends with anyone without someone shipping you two, but with you.. everyone always considered it as a joke. like you were a joke, people kept teasing hyunjin about liking you and he always denied it, and you believed him. he was never harsh about it he was genuinely nice, he was always polite with it but it always seemed to hurt you. you loved him, and deep down he knew he liked you aswell.

he was the handsome popular guy and you were just another one of his fangirls who just happened to be one of his friends. though you did have girl friends alot of girls seemed to hate you because you were friends with hyunjin, saying that you only hung out with him to distract yourself from how fugly you actually are. and honestly you thought the same, it was to the point you starved yourself and had to go to the hospital because you didn't eat the normal amount of food a healthy person should eat for about a month, but despite not eating almost anything at all you still looked like that.

and suddenly when you were in highschool in senior year when in the schools garden, he stood infront of you, bouquet in hand looking straight into your eyes "y/n y/l/n i-... i loved you.. i always have.. so please-" you cut him off. "is this some sort of joke..?" he froze up, confused, time seemed to stop as he just stared at you completely confused "what?"

"did one of your friends force you to do this? did you lose a bet? do you think its funny 'confessing' to the ugly chubby girl?" you we're used to it, guys confessing to you, going out with you because it was a dare or a jokey joke. but its happened to you over and over again for too many times to the point where you couldn't tell the difference between that and the real thing... and when someone actually had feelings, that someone being hyunjin, you turned him down because you didn't trust anyone that said they liked you, either way if it was true or not.

"Y/n-" "save it." angry tears welled up in your eyes as he just stared at you in disbelief "listen! please- im not joking! i genuinely do-" you grit your teeth, holding in your tears as you try not to break down sobbing "i thought you were my friend, hyunjin."

"i am! and i want us to be more than that-"

"Liar! you don't like me, i know you don't. you denied it since we were 10 and even until now you still do. feelings don't change overnight. i cant believe i thought you were my friend, never talk to me again you piece of shit" you ran off into somewhere, you dont know where you just walked. a few hours later you somehow arrived home, you waltzed into your room and just locked yourself in there.

days go by and you return to school completely ignoring him, everytime he came to talk to you, you just brushed him off like he was nothing.

your friends still hung out with him, and they brought you along when they hung out with him, but what else could you do? not hang out with your friends who've known you for years..? no. eventually you forgave him and tolerated him, and started hanging out with eachother more and more.

it wasn't until recently when you guys were alone, he took your hand and looked straight into your eyes when he confessed, again. "i.. i just wanted you to know that it wasnt a joke, i genuinely did love you back then and i didn't care about how you looked you were absolutely beautiful regardless. and i still dont care, i only care about you and how you feel. if it meant that I'd have to kill everyone in the world except for you and then myself just to prove that i love you, then I'll do so."

#stray kids #hwang hyunjin #stray kids angst #hyunjin x reader #skz x you #writing

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ghostybaby000 · 3 days

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He found you. Again. | Part 1

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Summary: You had never truly had any issues with what you thought was a creep with a crush, that is until you realized it was far more serious-but by then, it was too late.

Warnings: 18+, stalker, symptoms of panic, future smut

Word Count: 2.5k

(Not fully edited, apologies for any incorrect information!)

From someone with a username, to someone who had entirely become obsessed with your life, and all of its details since high school. You weren’t famous online, and you certainly didn’t try to be, in fact you enjoyed having only a few close friends. This once innocent crush became destructive when you found they had been talking to family members about you and what you, ‘were up to’. You knew that stalkers weren’t something to mess around with and once you had found the right people to talk to, you were able to file a restraining order which worked, for some time.

Years had gone by, and the interaction had totally abandoned your mind not hearing or seeing anything from the matter for so long, you assumed it had passed. That is until you were visiting your family’s home in your childhood town, and found a dark figure watching you from the roadside. Here, in this small town where this obsessive behavior had begun, in this home where you once felt warmth and safety you now felt dread and utter panic.

While you had just been passing in the upstairs hallway, you happened to look down and froze, as memories of the monster crawled up your spine causing you to bead sweat from anger or fear, you couldn’t tell. From this distance you wouldn’t guess it was a person, just a dark shadow as the sun was setting on the other side of your house, where your family was waiting for you to return.

You stood still, although your heart couldn’t help pounding in your chest until you could heart it reverberate in between your ears, a constant reminder of the fight or flight battle occurring in your mind. You felt a buzz in your back pocket causing you to flinch just enough to be noticeable, your phone. You considered reaching for it, not wanting to take your eyes off the figure, now standing facing you directly, a cold dark stare plastered over their hooded face looking up at you. Now that they’ve positioned themselves to face you more directly you take in more details, some that you recall being very different from years past. They seem slightly taller and broader, and stronger, much stronger. Although the coloration of the clothing is difficult to see from this distance, you can just make out that they are wearing large boots, and a jacket that made them look all the more intimidating while a hood kept their lurking eyes from yours. Your instincts tell you to scream, to yell for a family member to call the police, to come and take this thing that was so persistent in getting to you it made you sick. You couldn’t find it in your turning stomach to yell out, still feeling as if your feet were glued to the ground, your heartbeat the only thing confirming you weren’t dreaming.

You finally find it in you to reach for your phone, and instead of looking at the screen you held it close to your body, eyes still focused on the figure. You think through your options taking a second to realize that your family was just downstairs, a lump forming in your throat, considering if he were bold enough to try and come inside. You could look down to call the police, although you had a feeling it wouldn’t be that effective seems how they were standing outside your home- and then it occurred to you. How did he know you were back in town? You kept every detail of your personal life offline, not even allowing friends to post much about you. This thought made your stomach flip again, when you hear a saving grace from just downstairs.

Relentless barking from the family dog caused the hulking figure to saunter farther from the house backwards, only turning their back when necessary. They finally make their way across the street where they jump a fence and vanish as if they had already routed it out in their mind.

As soon as the figure is gone you yell out for your mother, who comes bounding up the stairs along with the dog into your room, who was simply happy to see you and who had unsuspectingly protected you and your family. You scramble for your phone, words fumbling from your mouth in trying to explain what had happened to your now very concerned mother.

‘What do you mean he’s back?, who is he?’

‘T-The stalker- the guy who we got a restraining order for just a few years ago!?, You don’t remember him? ‘ You ramble out breathlessly, your heart still racing, hoping with everything that she would believe you.

‘Oh honey no, who in their right minds would come at this hour, and let alone after so long-‘

She’s taken aback when she sees the piercing look you give her, when she’s able to finally see the sweat beading down your face, your hands still shaking just as intensely as your breathing.

‘Are you sure, and I mean sure it was him- no chances it wasn’t?’

You already have the phone to your ear, calling for the police before she can allow you to second guess yourself, you knew what you saw.

Soon after that event and the police being as helpful as possible you made your way back home, states away where you finally began to feel at peace. You reassured your mother and father multiple times a day that you were okay and made it home safe for a few weeks afterwards, knowing that you weren’t just doing it for you but for them as well.

This peacefulness was disturbed when you had found yourself face to face with your new neighbor. The neighbor that was far taller than you, far more muscular than you had thought, and on top of that incredibly intimidating.

You had just come back from work, making your way into the elevator taking notice of everyone there that at some point you had spoken to. The other people had gotten off on their level by the time you had made your way up to the fourth floor, when the elevator doors opened and there he was.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to see the new neighbor that moved in, being quiet in his own room down the hall a few rooms from yours, allowed for you to barley notice him until now and you couldn’t help but tear your gaze away as you made eye contact with him through a mask he was wearing.

‘Oh, h-hello I suppose you’re the new neighbor?’

The elevator doors began to close as his hand, which you now noticed was larger than you had thought reached out to hold them open as he stepped out of the way so you could pass.

‘Yes’

His thick accent and deeper tone made you feel unnerved, maybe he was nervous moving into a new building, or didn’t want to talk with anyone. If anything you understood trying to stay away from others and keeping yourself closed off. You step out of the hall essentially swapping places with him as you make one last glance at him, his back to the elevator wall with his head slightly tilted up, you now see he has boots on…boots that are quite large and seem to be military.

You feel a flush through your body as you scramble to your room, making sure to lock both the deadbolt and door itself as worry was catching up to you now. You think for a second to call your parents and tell them…

Tell them what? A neighbor moved in- a man who has an accent and military grade boots- no, you would sound ridiculous. There were plenty of good reasons for him to be staying in these apartments- one being a nearby base. Instead, you try to relax by preparing something quick to eat and taking a warm shower, reading for a bit then getting to bed.

You’d noticed him more after that interaction, realizing he only lived 2 doors down and that he was in the military- to what degree or position you had no clue. This made sense as he would be gone for days on end, sometimes even weeks on what you assumed were missions of some sort. He didn’t try to talk to you or go out of his way to say anything neighborly, instead he would give you passing glances and the occasional head nod as he made him way to his room. You became accustomed to him living on your floor and figured that the next time you’d see him you would try to get to at least know his name.

This happened far sooner than you thought, the next day to be exact as you saw him pulling up outside the building. You made your way outside to a nearby bench and found him with a group of what appeared to be other military men all dressed similarly with a calm but stern expression, although you couldn’t really make out his expression being hidden by the mask. The mask he wears makes sense when you believe you hear someone refer to him as ‘Ghost’, clearly he didn’t give away much personal information even to those closer to him. You thought it would be rude to assume you heard correctly, so instead you figure you would ask. You waited until his group had left and attempted to speak with him as he made a gesture for the door to the apartments.

‘Hey, I never caught your name-‘ You say as you get up from the bench motioning towards him.

He slows his movement in hearing you for just a second, yet still made his way inside which to you, seemed to be ignoring you.

Maybe he just wasn’t a friendly person, you were sure that being in the military was difficult, as you’d seen him before making it too his room with a limp or wrapped hand. You decided to not push the matter any more, almost feeling embarrassed for trying to get his attention, angry at yourself and feeling foolish slightly overhearing his conversation. With a bit of speed in your step you made your way to the market to pick up some ingredients for dinner, which was your original plan before that embarrassment.

Later in the evening you find that you’d forgotten some things and would enjoy some fresh air before getting to bed for work tomorrow. You usually went to the market that was a few blocks away, but tonight you decided that you’d like to walk to the local market which was only a few buildings down. As the sun was setting you found it nice to notice the change in seasons and the small families walking together, making a mental note to call and check in on your own family later.

You purchase your few items and start to head back to the apartments when you reconcile about your interaction earlier. Opening the door to the building you think to yourself,

He had clearly slowed down when he heard me-why not respond? Passing the receptionists desk with a small wave and smile.

He didn’t seem very open to talking, I’m sure he’s got plenty on his plate. The last thing he needs is someone pestering him. Pressing the elevator button, watching the floor numbers tick down until they had reached one.

And on top of that, I really should try and keep myself more reserved-who knows what kind of a person he really is or why he is so mysterious. Stepping into the elevator, pausing before turning to press the button. More people shuffle in as you watch your feet still lost in your thoughts, until again you are what seemed to be the only one left in the small boxy elevator.

Why did I try to ask in the first place-

‘It’s Ghost’ You inhale sharply, whipping around to see the one that had been so imbedded in your thoughts now looming behind you. He sees your panic and continues to speak anyways.

‘People call me Ghost; You really should pay attention more closely to your surroundings.’

Still catching your breath as the door opens to both of your floors he begins to walk to his room, leaving you in the elevator.

‘O-Oh well I’m Y/N’ Why were you so quiet? You were almost sure he didn’t hear you now being steps ahead of you. How had such a large man made his way behind you-had you been that lost in thought? All of a sudden his name made sense.

Your mind catches up with you as you straighten yourself and start to walk towards your room as well. He’s making his way inside fishing his keys from his pockets when, despite your thoughts not to, you ask,

‘What’s your real name, Ghost?’

He pauses for a moment to look up at you, his eye contact making you feel nervous yet still standing tall you waited for his response. He finds the correct key and unlocks his door with ease returning his eyes to his door. Using his hand to push it ajar you think he’s going to leave without giving you a response again, only starting to make you feel worse for asking. He takes a breath as if he were going to answer but instead leaves you with only a ‘goodnight.’

You had continued on with your work life, your job feeling more boring by the day. Sometimes chatting with your parents and brother and making easy home dinners. Tonight you had made a microwave dinner, and decided to watch one of your favorite detective shows before drifting to sleep on the couch. Hours later you jolt wake to the sound of gun shots coming from the TV, it was louder than you had thought and hoped it hadn’t woken any of your neighbors. The room in-between yours and ‘Ghosts’ hadn’t been occupied in a while along with plenty of other rooms on the fourth floor, and you worried about being too loud possibly waking anyone up- especially those who didn’t get rest often.

You quickly turn down the volume and click off the TV, bringing your snack wrappers to the kitchen finally making your way to your bedroom. You’re just passing through the hall to your room when you hear a knocking at the door. You felt your stomach drop, you had woken him up. You woke him up and now he was here to scold you for being so inconsiderate- you saunter to the door still tired yet moving quickly enough to not make him more upset. You open the door, prepared with an apology yawning as you do so, looking to the ground embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry for the noise, I didn’t realize it was so loud’ Rubbing your eyes you get a chance to look up and see now more clearly than ever, this was not Ghost. This couldn’t be ghost, he wasn’t as tall and wasn’t masked in the slightest. It only took you a few seconds to age the younger features you once new and had seen in reports, and now you knew that your fears had come to light.

He had found you. Again.

#ghost cod #simon ghost riley #call of duty fanart #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #cod fanfic #books #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost fanfiction

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miller-n-morgan · 1 day

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And I Feel Fine (.ii)

Joel Miller x Jackson!Reader

18+, mdni

Summary: A new journey lies ahead, and on the very first night you become sure of something that will completely change the trajectory of your entire future.

Warnings: leaving most of the warnings the same because they apply. mentions of death, violence, gore, blood, mentions of sex abuse and trafficking. Mentions of teenage pregnancy. Mention of drugs and substances. Again, literally has ✨️the works.✨️

Word Count: 7k (i'm going absolutely wild)

Now we're cookin'.... enjoy this slice of my brain that I spent entirely too long on. And also know that the first part of the Arthur Morgan series will probably drop this week.

“I ain’t shittin’ you.” You were fine to leave it at that, but he sure as hell wasn’t. For a guy that hated long conversations, he seemed to like poking around in your business. “And what makes you think that?” You honestly didn’t want to tell him. He’s not Tommy, he might make fun of you, might store away the information later on and use it against you. You have no idea, actually. You don’t know him.

Your contact had gotten you to an apartment. It was worn down, just as every other place in the QZ seemed to be, but it was better taken care of. The people living here must have been attentive about the appearance of their home. A good enough family to leave your baby with.

She stopped you in the hallway, knocking three times on the old wood door, hearing a lively voice from the otherside before it opened. The woman standing there was lovely, about thirty or so, a half smile on her face when she saw you both had arrived. This plan had been in the works for some time now.

“Hello, I’m Maxine Williams,” she greeted, reaching for your hand to shake. You did your best to match her kind and infectious energy, giving her a smile in return. She is after all going to be doing you the favor of a lifetime.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you replied, keeping your head low between your shoulders, though you felt comfortable in her presence.

She leaned into your contact, turning her head, but you heard the whisper “She’s so young…”

“S’why she needs help.”

You understood that this didn’t look right. You should not be pregnant at your tender age, should not have been put in this position. You’ve seen more horrific things than any person ever should, and it all started when you were eight… outbreak day.

“Of course… come in, both of you.”

The pleasantries went on for a while, exchanging information of where you came from, why you were in this area, what you did before being in Boston. She mentioned her husband, her two sons and their love for older things, wishing for the world the way it was. It was all just small talk, leading up to the actual conversation topic: the baby she was about to take off your hands.

“You’ll stay with us until the birth, if that’s okay,” she offered, but it sounded more like a demand. It wasn’t a harsh or cruel one. Even if you slept on the rickety couch you were lounging upon now, it would be better than camping in the woods, sleeping on the hard ground like you’d been doing only a month ago.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

Your contact was happy to see both ends so receptive. She’d never seen a deal containing human life go down this smoothly. Probably because this was a bit more sensitive of an exchange.

“Good… that’s good. I’ve heard you’re interested in a closed adoption?”

You glanced down at your stomach, feeling the weight of it, crushing inwards on the rest of your body. Having this baby and giving it away will relieve the weight both physically and metaphorically. They’ll be in good hands, better than your own could ever be.

“I think it’s probably best. I used to have siblings, but I never really took care of them… I’m not sure I could do this,” You shook your head. You saw her younger son peeking his head out of the bedroom door in the corner, backing away as soon as you caught him. Even in an apocalypse, a child can be happy… just not with you. “I want to give them their best chance.”

“I understand… and we’re going to do our best to make sure they have a normal childhood,” she responded, leaning forward and placing a comforting hand on your knee.

“Thank you…”

You had sat down on one of the containment units, feeling as though the adrenaline rush from the ambush was beginning to wear off. Tommy found Maria not far away from where you were sitting, and began to ask his special favor. It was crazy, he knew it, you knew it… but it had to be done. This girl was somehow important, to the fireflies and to all of mankind, and you were starting to wonder why. Joel hadn’t said a word, sitting across from you and awaiting the news that would surely come from his brother’s discussion with his wife.

“So, you’ve been traveling with Ellie?”

He looked up at you from his boot laces, his eyes were heavy, and he didn’t seem in the mood to talk. He was grumpy in nature, but you could tell there was more underneath the tough exterior.

“I have.” And no further explanation was given.

You didn’t think it was best to keep trying your luck, keep on asking him questions. He wasn’t the talking type and you figured you’d be wasting your time… but speak of the devil, Ellie came up to him just as the conversation between Tommy and Maria was getting heated.

“What’s that all about?” She nodded in their direction. She looked scared, like a deer caught in headlights, just not as frozen. Wide eyed and unable to look away from the scene. “Does that have anything to do with me?”

She was smart, she’d pick up on the words they were saying - more like yelling - to each other. The context clues were there, Joel would have to be an idiot to think she’d just let him off the hook.

“We’ll talk about it later…” he grumbled, his annoyance already at a high from your unimportant questions and the fighting in the background.

“Did he tell you where the lab is?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowing as she got even closer to hear them.

The lab? Is that where the fireflies would be? You vaguely remember the days you spent with the resistance group, but you don’t remember anything about a lab…

“We’ll talk about it later,” he repeated himself, almost as a warning.

She turned to Tommy and Maria, then back to Joel, her face one of distrust and sadness. She knew, she could tell. Joel was trying to get rid of her.

You wanted to say something, to jump in and tell her that she didn’t need to be scared, didn’t need to be worried about where she was going. That you would go with her and it would be okay… but that wouldn’t help a damn thing. Even if you turn out to be her biological mother, you are most definitely not her mom, and cannot console her as one.

“Later… right,” she trailed, backing away from Joel and off to another sectional of the checkpoint.

Joel looked back to you, your eyes already on him.

He sighed, at first not saying a word… but when he made a full rotation of his eyeline and you were still staring holes into him, he had to speak up.

“If you’re lookin’ to judge me, then just-.”

“I’m not.”

Your interruption cut him off, and he didn’t really know what else to say. He nodded, not looking away from you, but rather trying to figure out what it is you needed from him. Your stare was not discomforting but it felt demanding. It wanted something.

“How long have you known her?” You finally spit out, tucking a leg under your elbow as you sat back. You knew you’d gotten his attention, now.

“Few months, now. I’m supposed to take her to the fireflies as a favor to someone.”

“What do the fireflies want with a fourteen year old kid?”

He sighed, raising his shoulders in a shrug like he didn’t know. He must’ve been lying, right? You’d gotten pretty good at reading people, but for some reason you couldn’t tell with him. Maybe you just didn’t know him well enough…

“M’not really sure. All I knew in the beginning was that I could get paid pretty well, so I took her.”

You nodded. He didn’t seem like the person that did things for the sake of them, Tommy had told you stories about him, the things he used to do. If it was for his survival, he’d do it… but just for the sake of getting paid? When barely anything left had real monetary value? It sounded like bullshit.

“She seems to trust you an awful lot,” you gestured between him and the empty space she’d left.

There was another beat of silence, to which he didn’t use for reply. Instead he sat, his back curled over and his shoulders sunken inwards. He was tired, he was worn. He needed to rest, but this life wouldn’t let him.

“She knows you’re handing her off…”

“I reckon she does, yeah.”

And right over your shoulder you heard the climax of Tommy and Maria’s argument. She held a pointed finger in his face, before he finally insisted on Joel’s plan. She couldn’t move him. He was going to do this whether she liked it or not… which is something you haven’t seen out of Tommy for years. Joel must mean a hell of a lot to him, to up and leave Maria on a dangerous errand like this.

You stay seated when Maria walks over to Joel, and then when Joel stands up to talk to Tommy. You stay seated and think… I can keep Tommy safe. I’ve got nothing to lose, and everything to gain from learning about this girl. I can bring him home to Maria, even if it means my life.

But you immediately stand when you hear Tommy’s rapid speech. “That girl of yours. she took one of our horses and rode off,” and then he glanced at you with an eyeroll. “She took provoker…”

You huffed a sigh, following the men over to the front of the sectional, the open trail up ahead. Maria was mad at Tommy, so obviously she wouldn’t be accompanying them… and that left you. Casper didn’t like men.

“Damnit, which way?” Joel asked, his steps were heavy on the muddy ground.

“I just saw her riding out of here!” Terry yelled, loosening the reins on two more horses he’d brought over for assistance.

“Alright, get back inside, help the others clean the place up,” Tommy told the man, nodding for you to mount the back of his horse after he’d climbed up himself. You chanced a look at Joel, riding across from you both. His face was mixed with anger and determination, and it reminded you of what Tommy looked like after hours of hunting. They were the epitome of brothers, though you’d never met the other half before.

You all followed the tracks, leading every which way it seemed. Some of the tracks were fresh, and some were older, but it was hard to tell when the grounds here were moist all the time, never really drying up and creating lasting prints on the dirt.

After a while of riding, and running into some raiders - who were easily fended off - you saw your horse standing in front of an old farmhouse, the reins tied to a pole holding up the roof of the porch. You jumped from Tommy’s mare and ran up to Casper, petting his mane and making sure he was alright. There didn’t seem to be a scratch on him.

You watched Joel enter the house, waiting back with Tommy. Even though Joel was the one she ran away from, you couldn’t imagine she’d be thrilled to see you or Tommy instead. Joel had a good reason to do what he did. He didn’t feel strong enough or fast enough for this job anymore. He didn’t feel like he could keep her safe. You unfortunately understood that feeling a little too well, and if you were correct on your suspicions, it would have been with the exact same kid.

Tommy unstrapped his gun from his back, holding it steady and watching the surroundings whilst he leaned against the porch beam you were standing by. He was trying to gage whether or not your horse was calm enough for him to approach you closer, knowing what would happen if he wasn’t.

“I think you’re right, you know…” He trailed, his voice quiet on the off chance of an open window.

“You do?”

You turned to him, you didn’t exactly have to think twice about what he meant.

“Yeah,” he nodded, a chuckle falling from his lips. “It makes sense… the timing n’ everything. She looks a hell of a lot like you… and she’s caused about as much trouble today as the first time I met you.”

“Causing trouble is genetic?” You laughed, your eyes watering a bit at the implications he made. She might be yours. Your daughter, who you didn’t think you’d see again.

“Hell, it might be. Your kinda trouble, anyway… stealin’ horses and shit.”

The nod of your head was slow, the thought of this all sinking in. It made perfect sense and yet coming to terms with the facts of ‘it is’ instead of ‘it could be’ makes you feel light headed.

You didn’t know if he was being serious or if he was just trying to make you feel better, but the look on his face told you the former. He wouldn’t just lie to you, he knew you could read him.

“I keep turning it over in my head, tryin’ to think of ways I could prove it to myself… I think just seein’ her was enough for me. I’m remembering things I thought I forgot about a long time ago.”

Now it was his turn to nod, but your moment was caught short when you heard a branch snap around the corner. You instinctively pulled your gun from your pants, holding it out in the direction the snap came from. Tommy raised his rifle, doing the same and gesturing for you to go inside. You both made it in the doorway before the threat made itself known. Two guys, coming around the corner. They hadn’t realized you were watching them yet, but they did a quick scan, making sure there wasn’t any immediate danger.

“Get upstairs,” he said in a whisper, but you snapped your head to face him.

“No way, the odds are even if I stay,” you argued, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood for a fight right now. It was too risky to have you both down here.

“Go tell Joel to get his ass down here, you stay up with the kid.”

“Like hell I’m going up there. Your brother scares me,” you say in a half joking mumble, keeping watch on the two strangers that were now surrounding your horse. They were about to get kicked in the ass if they didn’t step away.

Tommy realizes that them being distracted gives a good amount of time to leave without cover.

“Alright, but you first,” he shrugged a shoulder towards the staircase, and with one last glance to your horse, you left your corner by the window.

You quickly ran up the stairs, ducking a head in a few rooms before finding the one Joel and Ellie were in.

“Get it together, we’re not alone,” Tommy said as soon as you got inside the door.

“I got two walking in,” Joel leaned towards the sliding window to get some eyes on the situation.

“There’s more inside already…”

You backed against the door, Tommy against the dresser on the opposite side. Joel stepped over in front of you, and Ellie behind Tommy. You didn’t realize until now, but taking a glance at Ellie, she looked even worse than when she left. Her face was sullen and her head was dropped. She didn’t seem to be snapping into reality, even with the weight of the situation.

You stayed by her throughout the house, when Tommy and Joel started shooting, you stood in front of her, covering them from back behind. It was weird, these maternal feelings that had never sparked within you before, only now arising for this specific human that had no clue who you were.

Once outside, it seemed strange. The dynamic between the four of you was so incredibly awkward. Everyone was thinking on a different topic, and the silence could echo on for miles. You nodded for Ellie to mount the back of your horse, since she didn’t seem comfortable to ride with Joel for the time being. She climbed up behind you and for a second you smiled, because this is your daughter, you know it… but soon after, your mind quickly succumbed to the general silence.

The nature and scenery surrounding you seemed to be duller than before, the pretty autumnal colors becoming ugly in the sense that you didn’t appreciate them right now. You loved the beginning of fall, but the feelings spread among you are tense and terrible, worse than raking up the fallen leaves before winter.

The feeling never leaves, it stays until you all reach the edge of the town.

“I’m not hungry,” you swore, shoving the extra plate of food away from your placemat.

Manxine’s husband was hungry, and you’d noticed him and his wife being decent enough to give you some of their food the past few days. It wasn’t necessary, because you weren’t working, and you weren’t barely helping them. They were helping you, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Taking extra food that wasn’t just lying around felt like stealing. You’d never been a stranger to it before, but these people were far too kind, too gentle. They made you feel like maybe the world wasn’t completely at its end. It still turned, and people were still good, despite everything.

“Yes you are, and you should be,” Maxine pushed the plate back in front of you. Her goal had been to ‘put a little meat on your bones’ as long as you were under her roof.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“Promise or no promise, you need to eat more. You’re still too thin to try and survive childbirth, ya hear?” She put the old fork back into your open hand, and you sighed. It was sometimes hard to eat more than you normally did, on the account of your body not being used to it. If you ate more than usual would it make you sick? If you threw up the extra rations they were spotting you, you’d feel terrible, but she kept insisting.

You opened your mouth to take a bite, swallowing it down and feeling the slight discomfort start to settle. Already you’d been eating a lot more than before the QZ, and you didn’t realize how slowly your appetite would have to grow.

After a few more bites you had to drop the fork to your plate, feeling too full already to keep on. You felt terrible, refusing extra portions that were meant to keep you healthy. Whether or not it was caused by the pregnancy hormones, or just your own emotional breakdown, you weren’t sure… but you started tearing up while sitting at the table.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, covering your mouth and sitting back while the tears rolled down.

“Don’t you apologize, sweetheart,” Maxine uttered softly, her presence at your side immediately.

To her, none of this effort was wasted, or overdone. She and her husband, though some of the better off people in the QZ by job merritt, couldn’t seem to have another baby. It wasn’t for the lack of trying, or stress that they couldn’t afford it. It was simply the fact that after six years from their last child, they couldn’t conceive another. This baby, your baby, was going to be a gift to them. They were happy to take any necessary steps into getting you to childbirth.

“I just can’t eat anymore,” you tried to justify your emotions, but now it only looked like an overreaction. People are dying without food, and here you are, crying about there being too much.

“It’s alright. Leftovers don’t go to waste in this house,” she spoke, a bit of a chuckle in her tone, which alleviated some of the pressure you felt.

“Okay,” you nodded, letting her take your plate to the other room, likely where her husband had retired to.

The campfire was crackling, the smoke filling the hazy navy color of the dark sky. Trees had covered it mostly, but there were a few stars peaking here and there. You’d just finished a can of chicken soup, tossing it on the pile that had been started by the others. It was crazy, how you suddenly remembered so much, just by eating food out of a can again. Days on the run, with the fireflies, being a raider even… it all came back.

It had only been a few hours or so since leaving Jackson, but after the fiasco of today, the three of you had gotten extremely tired a lot earlier than you should have.

The three of you meaning: Yourself, Joel and Ellie.

After the silence of the horse ride back to the commune, something had changed. Joel realized not only what Ellie meant to him, but what he means to Ellie. He’d decided Tommy was no longer required, and that he could fare the journey on his own. Of course, you immediately volunteered an extra pair of hands and a quick gun as assistance. To your surprise, it was Ellie who was your greatest advocate. Her, and the fact that you remembered the lab’s location, could probably get her there on your own if you had to.

The mirror building… you don’t remember it being a lab, but as soon as Tommy said the words it jogged your memory.

Now you were here, sitting with your back against a log, and staring holes into the shoulder of a fourteen year old girl.

“Whatch’u lookin’ at?” Joel asked, his arms crossed over his chest as he lazily reclined against a tree.

You only looked away for a second, too fixated on what was just barely peeking over the collar of Ellie’s shirt and jacket. It had fallen down a bit when she laid down to sleep.

“Nothin’,” you shrugged it off. He was a man of few words, surely he’d drop it on account of having to speak more if he didn’t… but God help him, he’s like a damn cat, his curiosity could kill him.

“You’re very focused on nothin’,” he teased. There was something off about you with Ellie, he’d taken notice of it. He didn’t know what it was about but it didn’t seem like a danger.

You rolled your eyes over to him, but could tell by his glance back that he wouldn’t quit. He’d already volunteered to take the first watch, and he had nothing else better to do.

“It’s a long story, you’d get bored.”

But again, he had nothing better to do.

“Try me,” he raised his shoulders in a shrug of his own. He seemed much more docile of a creature in this setting. The early hours of night, so quiet, and dimly lit. His voice was gentle and his features were soft. He was relaxed.

You took a deep inhale, trying to brace yourself for whatever came of this. He was a fresh face, someone new to explain an old wound to. The scar had finally healed and you were about to dig a blade back through and rip it open… but you suppose you’d sharpened the knife by coming along in the first place.

“I think Ellie’s my daughter,” you breathed out, not checking for a reaction until he’d been silent too long. His eyes were narrow, and he tilted his head, looking between you two. She was fast asleep by now, but he had a picture of her in his head, comparing it to you.

“You’re shittin’ me, right?”

You blew out another long breath, shaking your head and rolling your eyes. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know this feeling you have or the fact that you’ve never felt it before. He doesn’t understand that you’d come to peace with the fact that you’d never see her again, and then she appeared like a ghost from your past. You thought she was your past self at first, taunting you, making fun of who you were now.

“I ain’t shittin’ you.”

You were fine to leave it at that, but he sure as hell wasn’t. For a guy that hated long conversations, he seemed to like poking around in your business.

“And what makes you think that?”

You honestly didn’t want to tell him. He’s not Tommy, he might make fun of you, might store away the information later on and use it against you. You have no idea, actually. You don’t know him.

You let your eyes flick up to the stars, hoping by some miracle they will fall from the heavens in the form of angels to give you a message, that message being: shut the fuck up and don’t spill your guts to a man you met this morning.

“When I was thirteen, I was by myself. I fell into a weird group of people that could probably be considered a cult. There was this one guy that treated me better than the others…” you trailed off, not sure if you’re ready to rehash all of this. But it’s been a long time since you talked about it. You need to get it off your chest if you’re to somehow make a relationship with the product of your past. “He was in his twenties, so a lot younger than most people in the group. Pretty sure I was the youngest. I didn’t realize he was using me.”

Joel was tense, but not because he was uncomfortable… he was genuinely invested. Wanted to know this story and how it connected with Ellie. His Ellie.

“We left the group, and I found out I was pregnant a few months later. I’d barely had my cycle a fucking year… wasn’t even sure what it meant when I didn’t get it. Anyways,” you had to stifle a laugh, because just looking back… what the actual hell? You kept blinking to make sure no tears escaped in front of this man. You weren’t there yet with him. “I think he just lost all interest in me after that. He didn’t really speak to me unless it was necessary, and wouldn't look at me. Stuff like that.”

But that wasn’t the worst part, and Joel knew you were working your way up to it.

“Before I was pregnant I used to sneak into places most people couldn’t. I was real skinny like that. Was able to smuggle stuff in and out of different QZs across the country. We peddled rare narcotics for the most part… but I had to stop when I, you know…” you made a round hand motion around your stomach, hoping he got the jist. “I didn’t fit in the smaller spaces.”

“What kind of narcotics?” Joel finally asked a question, and it wasn’t really the one you were hoping for… but you understood he’d probably fallen into the same scheme over the years.

“Vicodin, mostly. Up in Princeton there was this one apartment… we’d searched it top to bottom because of how many secret hiding places there were. Vicodin everywhere. Whoever lived there was either severely addicted or preparing for the worst.”

“Maybe both.”

Yeah, probably. Damn shame he never got to use them.

“We used it as a trading token most of the time. It was actually what got us into Boston,” you waved off your tangent eventually, getting back to the story and where Ellie came in. “Pretty much gave the rest of our stash to a contact we had there… she got us a family we could hand the baby off to.”

And now he got it. You’d been knocked up by a predator, and said predator wanted you to give up the baby so he could go about using you some more. He’d seen and done some cruel things in a post apocalyptic world, but he would never stoop that low, and grimaced at anyone who possibly could.

“I had her when I was fourteen. Lookin’ at her today was like looking in a mirror,” you rambled on, still not quite to your point. “She’s the right age, from the right location… and that birthmark on her shoulder…”

He hadn’t even noticed it all this time. Months with the kid, and he thought nothing of it. But to you, it was clarification. It was the confirming piece of evidence that pulled it all together. You’d barely taken your eyes off of it since you saw it. You wanted to make sure you weren’t seeing things. Wanted to make sure it was the right shape and placement, just so you could be sure.

He nodded, seemingly coming to this conclusion now, too. It didn’t take him any more convincing. It was clear by now that your hunch was not just a hunch.

“Her dad, he still… around?”

You shook your head with a light hearted laugh.

“No,” and you could have left it with that simple answer… but that was never much your style. “I shot him in the head.”

His low whistle cut the air, and you almost felt proud. You’d killed the one thing in life that ever hurt you directly.

“He deserved worse.”

“Yeah, he did.”

And then it was quiet for a minute, all the words the two of you had spoken up until now were rotating over and around in your heads to make sense of them, until he spoke up again.

“I’m sorry,” he nearly whispered.

“S’okay. Not your fault…” you shook it off. It’s in the past, it’s done.

“Not yours either,” he replied, raising a brow to you. “M’just, sorry you went through that.”

He was soft, he was gentle. You supposed he was like Tommy. He didn’t judge you or make you feel inferior because of your tragic mishappenings. He just listened, and felt sympathy.

“I don’t mind it so much now… I got her back.”

And both your gazes shifted to the sleeping teenager, her breaths steady with the humming of the night around you. She has no clue, and for now you’ll have to keep it that way.

Yeah, you think… I got her back.

It only took two weeks. Riding, eating, sleeping, and talking, rinse and repeat. There was the odd occasion of dealing with infected, but they were never in large groups, and cleared out easily.

You remembered exactly where to go when you entered the city limits, guiding them towards the college campus you once lived in as a firefly. It was almost ten years ago, but you remember it pretty well. It’s where you met Tommy. Not in the lab, obviously. You’d both been put on security detail one morning, having never met beforehand. He proceeded to ‘teach you’ how to shoot a rifle properly, only to find you could hit a perfect bullseye on your first shot. Probably because your dad was a man who loved his guns, and you’d been shooting one since you were a kid before the outbreak. He laughed about it, and you two were friends ever since.

“Are you getting any of this?” Ellie asked you, pulling you from your thoughts as you rode alongside them.

For the last hour, Joel was attempting - and failing - to explain the rules of football to the young Miss Ellie. And she didn’t understand one lick of it, not that you blame her. You’d been to actual football games in your youth, but you couldn’t get it even then.

“Nope, I was always more of a baseball fan…” you trailed, and smiled at the thought. Baseball was fun, you remember it well. It was your biggest obsession right before ballet, and right after fingerpainting.

“Oh really, now?” Joel cut in, his surprise evident in his raised eyebrow and tilted gaze in your direction.

“Yep. You’re looking at the MVP of the Acorn’s jr. little league team.”

Ellie laughed. She didn’t know a thing about baseball either. She’d seen some old collectors cards though here and there. Apparently they used to be valuable. They were only knick knacks to anyone who saw them now.

“What position did you play?”

“Shortstop… or second base, technically. No shortstop in jr. little league,” you admitted. Your dad always called you shortstop, so that’s what you tell people now. Anyone who asks, at least. You can count on one hand the number of people who have.

“Seein’ you around infected… I bet you swung like hell,” he chuckled. Ellie was still confused about the rules of the last sport, much less how to play this one… but she listened intently because Joel was interested, so she was interested too.

“I always got on base, didn’t always stay there, but always got on. Plus, I was the only kid who never picked their nose at the plate, so… Obviously I earned my title.”

“That must’ve been an amazing accomplishment. How old were you?”

From what he understood, you’d been eight on outbreak day. You couldn’t have been too much younger to have started a sport, right?

“Probably six or seven at the time. I did ballet after, had kind of a short attention span when it came to after school activities,” you explained, a smile on your cheeks when you spoke about the things you used to love doing. You probably would still like doing some of them, had they been an option in Jackson.

“I know about ballet!” Ellie jumped in, nearly scaring Joel off the horse. “That’s the dancers that used to wear those weird shoes and shit.”

“Pointe shoes?” You chuckled, more at Joel trying to compose himself than Ellie’s funny recollection of footwear.

“Yeah, those. They looked like torture devices in some of the paintings I saw… did you ever wear any?”

“No, I would have had to train for about five more years to have gotten to that point. That was the dream at the time, to be a pointe ballerina. Of course, the end of the world happened…”

Joel turned to you from his forwards facing stare, a sadness in his eyes before he looked back onto the road ahead of him. Was that… pity? You were slowly learning to read him, his little mannerisms and tells that made him like everyone else, yet just a tad different, in a way that only he could be.

“Maybe after all this is over you can teach me some steps,” she suggested, but you scoffed.

“Maybe,” you shook your head at how funny the thought sounded in your head. You’d only danced for what? Ten months at most? And as an eight year old? “I think you’ll probably be too busy with Joel’s guitar lessons.”

She laughed it off, shaking her head and leaning it back onto Joel’s shoulder in front of her. The three of you kept along until reaching the building you remembered, but instantly it was a disappointment. The fireflies weren’t here, and likely hadn’t been for over a year.

“This isn’t right. There should be a checkpoint set up and a security blockade surrounding the place,” you mentioned, getting off your horse and running up to the door in the front. You peeked inside, and there was no sign of life anywhere.

“You’re kidding,” Ellie grumbled.

Joel dismounted the horse and followed after you, looking around and trying to find any signs that they might have been here at all.

“You sure this is the right place?”

“Positive. I remember this building, I met Tommy right over there,” you pointed down the sidewalk, where a half torn down barricade of cement was still sitting, but just barely. You walked to the corner of the crumbling stairs and grabbed a piece of old broken up brick, chucking it through the front door in order to unlock it.

Joel chuckled for a moment at your frustration, watching the scene play out.

“Baseball… right,” he teased, leading the way inside with you and Ellie in tow.

Maxine’s boys were at Fedra school. Her husband was at work in a different sector. Maxine herself was trading ration cards for supplies. It was the first time she’d left the apartment since you’d been there, and of all days, of all mornings for it to happen… your water broke.

You were alone, and scared. You weren’t allowed to leave the apartment for fear of the neighbor’s suspicion. Maxine’s family would be torn apart by Fedra if anyone found out what was going on, so no matter how terrified you were, you couldn’t risk going outside for help.

“Not now,” you cried, the tension in the pit of your stomach slowly turning to pain when your first contraction started. “Please, kid, I’m begging.”

You suck down against the wall of the living room, trying to find a sitting position that doesn't kill you from the pain. You wished more than anything you had some of those pain pills left over from the exchange, but they would probably only hurt you right now.

“Please, don’t,” you tried to even your breathing, the tears crawling down your cheeks at a fastening rate. “I can’t do this…”

The walls were closing in, you weren’t prepared for this. It didn’t seem to be the right time, either… but it was happening, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop it. The baby was coming, and if you wanted to live to see another day, you were going to have to get your head straight, and push it out of you.

You didn’t know how long you’d have, but from the time your water broke to the last contraction, things were moving relatively quickly. You were still on the ground against the wall, biting down on the sleeve of your shirt to try and not make noise.

You hoped and prayed that you would not deliver this baby on your own, but it looked like that was your only option right now. They had all left around an hour ago, they would be gone all day.

“I don’t know what to do, kid… help me out here,” you cried out again, but the baby didn’t exactly listen. You felt more weight bearing down on your lower half by the minute, and all you could do was panic.

It had happened so fast, the attack. Too fast, nothing you guys could have prepared for. It was all within minutes, and the ringing in your ears following your last gunshot seemed to put everything in slow motion. The way Ellie was yelling but you couldn’t hear it, the man that was coming up from behind you, and the one that was wrestling with Joel near the edge of the rail.

Too fast, the man on your rear grabbed at you and pulled backwards, keeping you from being able to stop Joel’s attacker… You got trapped in a headlock, a gun to your temple, and another man was about to get Ellie. Joel and his attacker broke through the railing, tumbling over the edge and falling into God knows what. You sunk deadweight in the man’s arms, letting Ellie shoot him with her raised gun before you shot the man coming for her.

She ran to the edge first, freezing as she looked down. You followed and peered over, unsure what you would see.

“Shit,” you lowered yourself to a sitting position before scooting off the edge and dropping down to where he was. Your voice was in a panic “Joel?”

He was alive, but fatally injured if you didn’t get him out of here right now.

“I’m gonna need you to pull,” he managed to get out through gritted teeth. His face was scrunched in pain, and you knew better than anyone how hard it was to stay quiet when you’re hurting that bad.

“You could bleed out,” you shook your head, kneeling down and flinging off your backpack. Digging through, you only have the most basic of supplies… nothing substantial enough to stop mass amounts of blood, or, worst case scenario, a deadly infection.

“Just pull, damnit,” he grunted, offering his hand.

By now Ellie had come down, watching in fear as the only figure of importance in her life was nearly on his deathbed. It couldn’t be exaggerated because it really was that bad. He could drop down at any moment and never get back up, but he kept pushing on.

You did as he asked, hoisting him to a stand, letting him lean on you for support. Ellie went on ahead, leading the way as she cleared the place with her own gun. You had to assist here and there, unwilling to let Ellie get shot on account of holding Joel up on his feet.

It was practically a miracle that any of you made it outside. Your horse had already taken care of a raider, it seemed, the man lying unconscious on the ground behind him. He likely got to close, touched him, even. Ellie shot the last obstacle standing between you and an escape, and once he was cleared, you mounted your horses, helping Joel onto his, first.

You rode in front of them, looking for a place to take shelter. Looking for an empty house, or gas station even. Anything would work, as long as it was safer than here. You rode for miles down the road, unsure if there were people in the area. You’d finally reached a neighborhood of substantial size, with no signs of life or proof of human activity.

But before you could even find a safe shelter…

“Joel? Joel!”

And you quickly turned around. Joel fell off the horse, out like a light.

Tags: @orcasoul

#joel miller #reader insert #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #the last of us #joel

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koshkamartell · 14 hours

Text

No One But Me

masterlist

Oscar had expected to leave your doorstep that night feeling lighter and more at peace within himself. He was being truthful when he said that he just needed to confess his feelings to you. He was not expecting some miracle to magically manifest, a dream come to life that you miraculously confessed your own love for him.

He expected to depart with the weighty burden of his emotions no longer torturing him, returning to the lonesome quiet of his room to fall into a dreamless sleep. But instead, Oscar ended up treking back to his home in an almost bewildered state, with questions buzzing around his brain and a disturbing suspicion that something was not right.

He replayed your conversation over and over in his mind, trying hard to recollect the nuances of your body language and your voice, to remember your exact words. You had looked so small and sad standing at the threshold of your door in your pyjamas. Oscar had overheard Troy talking about the poker night at Tommy's earlier that day, so he chose that particular night to come to your door, knowing Joel would be at Tommy's.

Oscar may love you, but he would never encroach on your relationship with someone else. It didn't occur for him to try persuade you to leave Joel, to give him a chance instead - it just wasn't the kind of man Oscar was. Oscar couldn't even feel resentment toward Joel, even if Joel had never mentioned you. It wasn't his business.

Joel. Oscar couldn't believe you had been with Joel for so long. He was shocked, truthfully. He didn't feel betrayed or upset; he only felt disconcerted. Why hadn't you disclosed your relationship to him earlier? Surely you would have declared it if you were happy together, Oscar believed. So just why did you keep it a secret for so long?

Things haven't been good, you had sobbed to him. What exactly did that mean? Was Joel not treating you right?

While working together Oscar had witnessed the range of moods you cycled through. There were many times you appeared sad, so many moments when he had noticed the pensive set of your features while you were lost in some daydream. You had even cried in his arms. Did you not do that with Joel? Did he not comfort you?

Oscar dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and groaned wearily. Maybe his mind was purposely confusing him; perhaps he wasn't remembering things as accurately as he could have. But there was a gnawing apprehension inside him that he couldn't ignore. And if this apocalypse had taught Oscar anything, it was that gut instinct shouldn't be ignored.

The night of the argument Joel had stormed out of the dining room and out of the house straight after threatening to kill Oscar, leaving you no chance to debate him. You figured you should wait for the dust to settle and for Joel to cool down before potentially provoking his anger once more, anyway. There was no point in trying to discuss anything with him when he was so agitated; all reasoning seemed to disappear when he was in such a mood. It would have to wait until another day.

You weren't capable of rationally arguing with him, anyway. Your gut was a knotted mass of anxious despair to think of Oscar being in danger, to think that you were now completely trapped into being with Joel not just for Ellie but also for Oscar's safety.

You went to bed alone that night and cried into your pillow. You spent a long time tossing and turning in the sheets, the muscles all through your body far too tense for you to relax enough to fall asleep. You tried to read some more of your book but you couldn't concentrate on the words on the page.

Joel really thought you had cheated on him, had betrayed him somehow. But what was wrong with two friends meeting for lunch once in a while? It's not like you knew Oscar had such deep feelings for you at the time; infact you had been quite blind to the depth of his affection. You had always felt so unworthy of anything good in life that the idea of Oscar actually loving you was never something you'd ever considered before. Why would someone so pure and beautiful want you like that?

But that didn't matter now. You had met him at the wrong time in life and nothing could be done about it, you told yourself. It was easier to think that way and to just brush it off as bad luck, something of a subconscious attempt to stop you from mourning what could have been. If you stopped to consider the whats ifs, your heart would surely break.

After hours of rumination and reminiscing you eventually fell into a deep sleep. You did not wake when Joel returned home in the early hours of the morning and crept into bed next to you, bleary eyed and stinking of whiskey.

The following Wednesday you are sure Oscar would show up to the library for your usual lunch date. You knew him well enough to know he would not abandon your regular date, even after showing up at your cottage late at night to confess his love for you.

So just before your usual meeting time you stick a sign on the front door that said "closed for lunch break". You scribble a note for him on a small piece of paper which you fold and tuck under the door with his name written on the top. You feel like a coward telling Oscar you can no longer see him without a proper explanation, in a letter rather than face to face, but it is for the safety of you both.

You sit on the floor in the store room and read while you wait for your lunch break to finish, your stomach growling from lack of food.

You've been on edge around Joel since your argument last week. You're like a mouse, the way you creep around his house hoping to avoid the opportunity for him to initiate some kind of interaction. It isn't that you are scared of him, either. You want to avoid him because you cannot hide the twisting vine of resentment that's been growing inside your sternum; a burgeoning sense of indignation that you cannot suppress.

You aren't affectionate back to him when his hands ghost over your hips as he passes you in the hallway, or when he presses a kiss to your lips when he comes home in the evenings. You do not seek him out for any kind of pleasure but you also do not stop his advances, often waking in the middle of the night to his hard cock pressing against your ass and his mouth sucking at your neck. You submit to him again and again, and you cum again and again, but you resist the urge to cuddle to his warm, solid body after it is over.

Joel has moved most of your possessions into his house but the place does not feel like home to you. It lacks the warmth and comfort that your cottage owned in all its simple, run down charm. Joel's house is much more spacious, and despite being filled with paintings and different furnishings, the place exudes a kind of gloomy loneliness. There is no sign of cheer. Ellie's absence would have really hit Joel hard, you mused. Joel is probably quite lonely, although he would never admit it.

You retreat into the comfort of books and quests of research for your students. You bask in the ray of joy whenever Ellie pops in for a visit, and you take extra care preparing food she enjoys when she comes for the weekly family dinner. Every other meal time is subdued.

You sit beside Joel at the dinner table each night, sometimes reading a novel, sometimes wordlessly chewing and swallowing food that neither whets or satiates what little appetite you have. To his credit Joel tries to make some kind of conversation with you, usually by asking questions about your day, but his words come out awkward and stilted. He's not a big talker at the best of times and it is clear he is nervous, unsure how to best navigate the task of casually conversing with you. But he really does try.

"Ellie mentioned an experiment you were talkin' about with your class," Joel mentioned shyly one night, keeping his eyes trained on the soup bowl before him. "So, uh, how's that all goin' along?"

You wedged a finger inbetween the pages of your book and slowly closed it. You glanced up at him and licked your dry lips.

Joel asked you a direct question about your teaching duty. He actually paid attention to what Ellie had said about you and asked a question like he gave a shit. For the first time ever.

"Oh. Yeah. It's going good," you replied, feeling weirdly formal in your response. "It's for the science component of our curriculum. I'll be demonstrating chemical reactions."

Joel nodded without looking at you and cleared his throat. "Well...if ya need anything, like materials 'n such...I could get some stuff from the lumber yard, or the pharmacy."

You are taken aback by this offer. He really is trying.

"Oh," is all you could blurt out.

"Just let me know," Joel murmured as he scraped his spoon around the bowl.

"Okay. Thank you, Joel." You replied politely.

Joel just nodded, still not looking at you although he could surely feel your gaze upon him. You took the opportunity to absorb his features and really study him; the mess of dark and silver curls of his hair - which is in need of a trim, you think - and the soft scruff of beard smattering along his jaw, the worn wrinkles of his handsome tanned face. He almost appears serene. In this moment Joel is soft again, unencumbered by the burden of whatever demons plague him, and you are struck by how beautiful he looks.

You hate yourself for the twinge of adoration that pulses inside your heart, an agonising reminder of just how profoundly he has imprinted upon you.

This is the Joel I loved, you thought to yourself. Why did he have to hide for so long?

Joel opened his mouth to say something more but you spoke swiftly, cutting him off. You had to get out of the room before you could no longer resist the random urge to caress his face and kiss his plush lips.

"I'm feeling a bit off, I'm going to bed," you quickly blabbered, hurriedly standing up from the table and rushing to the bedroom to get away from him.

Once in the bedroom you shut the door behind you and flopped onto the mattress. You tucked your knees up into your chest, wanting to make yourself as small as possible.

Sometimes you wished he was always cold and cruel. It would hurt so much less if he did not show you these glimpses of kindness, of the kind of man he could be.

You felt like it was the right time to confront Joel. Things had calmed down significantly and Joel's attitude had softened enough for you to feel confident enough to talk to him. You couldn't just accept whatever Joel said without atleast trying to dispute it. You no longer wanted to be that weak little thing who bowed down to anything he demanded. You wanted to be strong and powerful like Rhi, or vivacious and carefree like Kate. You wished to be like the protagonists in your favourite books - headstrong, resilient, fierce characters - who fought against oppression. Maybe it was time for you to try. And the first step to achieving such a thing would be summoning the courage to use your voice.

One night after dinner you approached Joel in the living room as he poured himself a shot of whiskey. You cleared your throat to capture his attention.

"Joel," you announced, "I need to talk to you."

"Hm," he hummed without looking at you, seemingly unbothered as he pushed the cap back into the glass decanter.

You took a sharp inhale to steady your nerves. You can do this. "The rules. They aren't going to work."

Joel turned to look at you then, his brows creased. "What?"

"It'll affect everything. Like my job, Joel," you tried your best to sound assertive. "If I have to be home straight after school, I can't liaise with the other teachers. That means I might not be able to effectively teach the kids."

Joel nodded slowly, like he could see the merit in your point. "Schedule a meetin' with 'em once a week and I'll allow ya an extra hour that day." He replied smoothly.

His solution was simple enough and it could work; you did not need much time to plan your lessons when you only taught part time. Thankfully Joel valued education and knew the importance of you being able to teach according to a proper curriculum. But when it came to the next issue of contention you weren't so sure he would understand its importance to you.

"A-and what about my friends?" You asked, slightly breathless. "How can I keep my friendships if I don't ever see them?"

Joel brought the glass in his hand up to his mouth and took a shot of the amber liquid, his eyes watching you the whole time. "Tell 'em you're livin' with me and got work to do at home. You don't need to be wastin' time with those girls anyway." Joel retorted with total indifference.

Vexation and irritation bubbled in your guts at his words. You balled your hands into tight fists and narrowed your eyes at Joel. Kate and Rhi had both shown up on your lunch break at work on different days, curious about where you'd been lately and if you were okay. You were convincing enough to make some excuse about being busy with your work load now you were filling in for Mrs. Thompson, but you felt terrible for lying.

This whole thing was beyond unreasonable, you wanted to yell. Once, in the not so distant past, you would have agreed to such conditions without dispute. You would have easily adhered to whatever conditions that would make Joel happy. But something had changed inside you. You were determined not to prioritise Joel's satisfaction over your own anymore. Not after the heartbreak he has put you through for so long.

"And if I tell them the truth?" You questioned him, voice wavering just a little.

"Oh yeah? And what truth is that?" Joel asked with barely disguised derision in his tone. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side with an air of condescension. You hated the way he made you feel like a foolish little school girl who had been caught misbehaving.

"That...that I can't see them because you're forcing these conditions onto me." You squeaked, digging your fingernails into your palms. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, you internally admonished yourself. Stay calm. "That you're just trying to control me."

Joel clicked his tongue. "These conditions are consequences of your own actions, sweetheart. I ain't forcin' anythin' on you."

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. He had indirectly blackmailed you into staying with him to keep Oscar safe and Ellie happy. How could Joel possibly contend that he wasn't forcing these conditions onto you? Was he so deluded that he couldn't recognise how obsessive his need for control over you was?

"But...I-I didn't even do anything wrong! I don't want to live with these rules," you stammered and shook your head vehemently. "I can't. Joel, you're making me."

Joel set his glass onto the mantle above the fire place and then stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head gently. "Now you listen to me, sugar, cos I already explained this and I aint gonna do it again."

Joel spoke calmly, his tone smooth and authoritarian and so confident. It simultaneously scared you and irritated you. "Ain't no use fightin' about this. You're mine. Nothin' is gonna change that. And you need boundaries. So it's best for the both of us that you just accept it."

"But why do I need rules?" You bristled, fighting to resist stamping your foot like a petulant child. "I'm not a child, Joel, I'm a woman...and-and you can't treat me like I don't have a say in anything!"

"Havin' some rules in place keeps you from bein' around bad influences and it keeps us strong." He narrowed his eyes at you and concluded pointedly. "Help keep you faithful."

"Joel!" You snapped in exasperation. "I did not cheat on you! Not with Oscar, not with anybody! So just...just stop it!"

You hated the shrill edge to your voice but his obstinate resolution was starting to unravel your self control. Joel's expression darkened suddenly and he took a step toward you.

"Then why were you meetin' with him in secret like that?" Joel boomed, the dimple in his cheek visible for a brief moment. "Why were you hidin' that from me if you weren't fuckin' him?"

"I wasn't fucking him." You insisted with composed sincerity. "And our meetings weren't in secret. It was just the only time we were able to spend any time together."

You inwardly cringed at the sound of your own explanation, knowing full well that Joel would misinterpret your reasoning as still being deceptive. He scoffed and shook his head at you.

"I just didn't tell you, Joel," you said with a defeated sigh. "Because you wouldn't let us be friends if you knew. Because you hate any other man speaking to me, even when it is innocent."

You braced yourself for another argument and whatever insulting accusation Joel chose to throw at you next. You were already so exhausted by it all. You realised he will never be satisfied by your answers, will always succumb to the insecurity and distrust that plagues his heart. It pained your own heart to finally comprehend this, to become cognisant to the hopeless reality of this relationship.

But Joel didn't argue against this point. Instead, his shoulders slumped and he let out a heavy stuttering sigh, as if he was just as worn out as you were. Maybe he was.

"Why is he so special?" Joel lamented, his deep voice sounding hushed and wounded.

"Oh, Joel...I've been so miserable," you replied tiredly. You cupped your cheeks in your palms and sighed wearily. "And Oscar actually cared about me. He actually listened to me and tried to help me. That is what made him a good friend. That is why he is special."

"I didn't care for you? How could you say that?" Joel hissed indignantly, the evident pain in his sorrowful brown eyes actually making you feel an ounce of guilt. "All I've been doin' is care for you."

No! your mind suddenly screamed. You beat me with a belt and raped me!

"If you truly cared for me, you would have listened to me when I said stop or no." You responded softly. "You wouldn't have done what you did in the first place, Joel."

Joel's adams apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. He opened his mouth as if to speak but just closed it again, seemingly lost for words. His silence encouraged you to challenge him further.

"Did you ever care enough to listen to me then?" You questioned him cooly.

"Thought we moved passed that," Joel muttered as he crossed his arms and looked away from you.

"You might have, but I haven't. And I don't think I ever will, Joel."

He was silent for a while, seemingly lost in his thoughts, his jaw ticking.

"How many times do I have to apologise?" Joel asked in a low, bitter tone. He rolled his eyes to look back at you and you could see the spark of aggravation in his orbs. "What else do I have to do to fix it?"

"You can't say sorry and expect me to forget everything you did to me!" You spat at him, dropping your hands from your face and clenching your fists once more. "That isn't how things work, Joel!"

"I know, alright?" He huffed. "I know."

You couldn't hold back the tears that were beginning to well in your eyes. You had held on for so long without crying, you stupid girl, you chastised yourself. The confrontation was slowly wearing you down, removing your armour bit by bit to expose the tender flesh of your emotions.

"So what do you want from me?" You asked dolefully, shrugging your shoulders in a weak gesture to indicate the hopelessness you felt. "To say I love you and act like nothing happened?"

Joel sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands, rough skin rasping over the scruff of his beard. He stared at you with forlorn hooded eyes and visibly gulped before he spoke.

"I don't know, alright? All I know is I love you," he whispered. "Just want you to love me, too."

Why did you wait so long? You wanted to scream in his face. Why did you hurt me so much and ruin everything?

"Joel," you murmured as you rubbed your temples with your fingertips. "If you really loved me, you wouldn't be keeping me here as a prisoner. You wouldn't be hurting me even more by doing this."

"I ain't hurtin' you - I'm protectin' what we have. I can't lose you." He took a step toward you and outstretched his big hand to you, imploring and supplicating. "I won't lose you."

You just stared at him and slowly shook your head, despondence and fatigue etched into your soft features.

"It's you I need protection from, Joel."

The impact of your words hit Joel like a knife being plunged into his chest cavity and piercing his heart. He took a step backward as his face contorted with hurt and shock, mouth falling open and eyes burning with betrayl. You had never seen him like that before - stung and vulnerable - and it genuinely surprised you to see him so perturbed.

This time, however, you didn't feel bad. You were speaking the truth - your truth.

The air in the room had suddenly become stifling, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the space. Your eyes were locked on each other and you felt all the muscles in your body tense, prepared to face the onslaught of whatever Joel was going to do in response to what you had just said.

The moment seemed to last forever but then something appeared to click inside Joel's mind. There was a visible shift in his demeanour; the sadness within his eyes dissipated and the features of his face hardened back into its usual stoic scowl. You noticed his hands clench and unclench nervously by his sides.

"So you think I'm a monster or somethin'?" Joel growled. "Well I don't give a shit. I ain't gonna have you ruin our family over this bullshit, so you're gonna accept whatever I say and stop fightin' me on all this."

Ruin our family.

You closed your eyes for a second, the image of Ellie's smiling face flashing in your mind.

Oh, dear Ellie.

You opened your eyes once again and were met with the sight of Joel's morose face, with his mouth downturned and prominent bags under his eyes, looking every bit his age. You were truly struck by how unless this whole situation was; the pushing back, the arguing, the energy and emotions expended. You would never escape it.

"Okay," you said robotically, no hint of emotion in your voice. "Okay, Joel. I won't ruin our family. But I can't love you the way I did. I can't change that. So if I accept your conditions, you must accept mine."

Joel didn't bother responding to you. He just turned on the heel of his boots and stormed out of the bedroom, leaving you alone in the room with nothing but a somber silence in his wake.

You couldn't possibly guess that he didn't want to be near you in case you could see the tears forming in his eyes and begin to trickle down his cheek. He rubbed the corner of his eye with the back of his knuckle and willed himself not to cry.

The first time you walk down the main street of Jackson next to Joel seems surreal. You aren't even really sure why he insisted on walking with you this morning. His gloved hand clutches yours tightly as he leads you towards the school building where your teaching lesson is due to start soon. You struggle to maintain the pace Joel has set and you end up lagging slightly behind him, but his grip on your hand propels you forward through the thick snow covering the ground. You feel like a scolded child being reluctantly dragged along by her parent.

You don't even really care about who is out and around town to witness the unexpected sight of Joel Miller with a woman for the first time in his history of residing in Jackson. There is no sense of pride or joy in your heart at finally having Joel openly affirm your place in his life. You are not an equal partner, not a girlfriend or a wife; you are nothing more than property that he owns.

The grip of his thick fingers over yours solidifies this. Joel's hold is more like a warning than a gesture of affection; a caution for you to uphold a happy facade or else something could happen to you or Oscar, or perhaps even the both of you.

His hand swallowing yours serves to remind you that you are under his control, that it is Joel who protects, and that it is he who also bends you according to his will.

You turn your face upward to the sky. It is depressingly dull with dark grey clouds that appear heavy with the promise of rain. You like the rain and the nourishment it brings your garden, particularly in the spring, but spring seems impossibly far away right this minute. With the frosty air currently numbing your cheeks and splintering your lungs with each inhale you take, you feel like spring will never come. And perhaps it won't - perhaps your beloved plants and flowers will remain dead and suffocated under layers and layers of snow.

It is the kind of morning that makes you wish you were still snuggled in bed, safe and warm within a bundle of blankets and your favourite sweater. But you need to substitute for Mrs.Thompson today and you need to show up for the children who crave knowledge and who flourish under your tutelage. You need to fulfil this purpose no matter how defeated and dismal you truly feel.

You can always go back to bed after school, anyway, you reason to yourself. It's not like you'll be able to do anything otherwise. You can nap for a couple hours until you have to get food ready for the weekly family dinner tonight.

You almost trip over your own boots when Joel comes to an abrupt stop infront of the school.

"I'll see ya at home," Joel murmers before he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. You just nod, feeling slightly disorientated. He gives your hand one last squeeze before turning around to make his way toward the stables. You watch the back of Joel's tall, board figure stalk away and round the corner into the neighbouring street. Once he's disappeared from your view you let out a soft sigh and your tense shoulders immediately slump.

You feel exhausted but you manage to push through the day. That evening you prepare the dinner table for Ellie's and Joel's arrival around 7.30pm. You arrange the bowls and cutlery in the usual places, mindful to set the larger bowl where Joel always sits. You hear the front door open just as you sit a pot of steaming soup in the centre of the table.

You put on a smile and walk out of the dining room into the living room to greet them. But it's not just Ellie's light hearted lilt and Joel's drawl that you hear; there's another voice amidst their chatter. There's a shuffle of boots and clunking, then they trail into the living room, still talking amongst each other. Then you spot the third mystery person walking behind Joel and your heart skips a beat.

It's Tommy.

"Hey there, little lady," he beams at you when he sees you. His dark eyes twinkle and his soft smile is warm and genuine. He's just as gorgeous as his older brother, and you feel your cheeks blush.

"Hi, Tommy," you give him a polite, shy smile. "How are you?"

"I'm doin' fine, what about yourself? Smells mighty good in here."

You can feel Joel's eyes on you, watching the interaction, but you pretend not to notice.

"Yeah, what's on the menu?" Ellie playfully nudges you with her elbow. "I'm starving."

"You're always starvin'," Joel grunts as he pulls off his gloves. Ellie rolls her eyes and unwinds the scarf from around her neck.

"How you manage to put up with these two is a mystery to me," Tommy chuckles. He smooths over his thick moustache with his thumb and forefinger and you can't help but marvel at how large and thick his hand is, just like Joel's.

"Can Uncle Tommy stay for dinner?" Ellie asks, looking between you and Joel.

Similar to Ellie, there's something about Tommy that seems to soothe you, to inspire a carefree gaiety inside your soul. Tommy seemed to have that affect on people, you thought. He was also a good husband to Maria, a dedicated father to his children, and an overall devoted and fair leader of the community. You would love to have Tommy stay but you didn't want to seem too excited, lest Joel find your enthusiasm suspicious. So you just nod and say ofcourse.

"Well," Tommy murmers, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maria is visiting Mrs. Thompson with the boys this evenin'..."

"That settles that, then," Ellie slaps her hand on his shoulder. "What's that saying? The more the merrier, or some shit?"

Tommy barks out a laugh and gives Ellie's hair a playful tousle. You glance at Joel to gauge how he might be feeling; he seems impassive as eyes shift from you to his brother, but then he nods.

"Plenty to go 'round." Joel concedes. He tosses his gloves onto the mantle. "Ellie, go wash your hands first."

Ellie makes a fuss but follows Joel's orders and goes to the bathroom. You pop back into the kitchen to gather a bowl and cutlery for Tommy while the brothers take a seat at the table. You appear back in the dining room and place Tommy's bowl and spoon on the place mat infront of him.

"Thank you, ma'am," Tommy gives you another winning smile. "I appreciate your kindness."

You chuckle and sit down on the chair opposite Joel. "You're welcome, Tommy. It's nice to have you."

Joel remains silent and rigid as you abd Tommy exchange small talk. Once Ellie comes bounding back into the room you begin serving everyone their portion of lamb stew and buttery mashed potato.

Joel spends the whole of dinner quietly observing the interaction between you and Tommy, trying his best to appear dispassionate and unconcerned. He cannot help feeling envious of his brother for how effortlessly he's able to get you talking. You are still your normal bashful and feminine self, but you are different. You are more like you were when Joel first met you - more bubbly, a little more chatty, and so inquisitive. It is unnerving for him to witness.

Joel surreptitiously studies the way your mouth curls into a sweet little smile and the shy way you cover your mouth when you titter at something silly Tommy says. Joel cannot remember the last time he saw you so animated like this. The realisation makes him feel both resentful and sad. He should be the one making you giggle. He should be the one you ask questions to. He should be the one who incites you to speak about your work and aspirations with such gusto and passion.

When dinner is finished Tommy, ever the Southern gentleman, insists on helping you wash and dry the dishes. He stands at the sink with his hands submerged in the soapy water and washes the bowls and spoons and cups while you stand beside him with a dish towel to dry them. Ellie sits on the kitchen countertop and entertains you with stories from her days work at the barn, and the kitchen is soon filled with laughter.

Joel doesn't join in. He watches from the shadows of the hallway for a while, seething with jealousy, hating how harmonious and domestic the three of you look together. He's jealous of how naturally Tommy slots into sync with you and Ellie, but he's also disturbed because there's something familiar about the energy around the three of you. Then it clicks for Joel.

Sarah. It's because of her.

Because Joel is reminded of all the nights he ate dinner with his daughter during her time on this earth. He is reminded of them sitting together at the dinner table sharing stories and jokes, how her laughter brought him so much joy, how her killer smile could wash away all his tension and stress after a hard days work. He is reminded of all the times he fumbled around in the kitchen trying to conjure something palatable to eat. He remembers how she once went weeks refusing to eat anything but macaroni and cheese. He can even remember the first time he taught her how to properly cook a steak medium rare, and how they both groaned with satisfaction when they took the first bite of their meal.

Seeing you and Tommy in the kitchen reminded Joel of how he and Sarah would always do the dishes together. He would flick soapy water at her as she dried, making her squeal and threaten to dunk his head into the sink. They would laugh and jest - just like the three of you now - and Joel felt like that may have been some of the happiest times in his life.

But Sarah's voice was absent among the happy noise coming from this kitchen. And Joel himself is not part of it, either. The version of himself who could once revel in such carefree gaeity was dead. The man Joel was now didn't deserve to be happy, anyway.

He slunk further down the hallway and disappeared to go pour himself a drink.

•••••

Soon it is time to say goodnight. Ellie pulls you into a hug and thanks you for a delicious dinner. Tommy tips his head to you and smiles warmly.

"Thank you once again for dinner, darlin'. You're a damn good cook. Maybe you can give Maria a lesson one of these days," he chuckles and gives you a wink.

You giggle and absent-mindedly fidget with the cuff of your sweater. "You give me too much credit, Tommy."

"Oh, hush now. I give credit where credit is due," he declares. "My brother is a lucky man."

Tommy crosses over to where Joel stands impassively by the fire place with his arms crossed. He pats his brother's shoulder and they exchange some words about their next patrol shift then walks to the door. As he pulls his jacket on, he addresses you once last time.

"By the way, that paint you were lookin' for a while ago for that shelf - I found more of it in one of the sheds. I'll drop it off next week, that alright?"

"What?" You huff a little laugh, incredulous. "Tommy, that was ages ago. You actually remembered that?"

Tommy nods. "Yeah, sure. I know how much it meant to ya."

"Thank you, really. Thank you so much."

Joel can see how touched you are by whatever Tommy's done for you, your surprise and gratitude evident in the blush of your cheeks and the girlish way you clasp your hands together. He knows Tommy is just being Tommy, that his brother isn't purposely laying on the charm to make him jealous. But it doesn't stop the bitter wrath prickling at the nape of his neck.

"Come on Ellie, I'll walk ya," Tommy beckons the girl with a jerk of his head. Ellie gives you another quick hug and they both bid you and Joel a final goodnight before they trudge out of the door.

A heavy silence falls upon the house once the pair have left. You have already plopped onto the couch with one of your books, settling in for another night of barely talking to him in favour of whatever adventure is happening in your story.

Joel remains standing at the fireplace watching the flames dance, tossing up whether it is worth asking about. He wishes it didn't bother him, wishes he could give less of a shit that his younger brother can make you smile so easily. He tries to drown the angst and curiousity swirling inside his belly, telling himself it doesn't matter, to just forget it, but he can't. He so desperately wants to provide for you, to be the only man you rely on to fulfil your needs and wants, to keep you protected from the harsh world and the people in it. It makes him feel like a failure to know that another man fulfilled one of your wishes, even if it was his own brother, even if it was something as simple as paint and a fucking shelf.

"What's that shelf Tommy was talkin' about?" Joel finally breaks the silence.

You look up from the novel splayed infront of your face and frown. "Huh?" It takes a second for you to register what he's talking about. "Oh. The paint?"

Joel nods once.

You give a little shrug. "There's a book shelf at school that I really love. One day I mentioned to Maria that I wished I could paint it a particular colour. This pretty kind of teal shade that I have always loved, since I was a kid."

Joel notices the flash of sadness pass over your eyes at the mention of your childhood.

"Anyway, she told Tommy. He came to the school to ask how he could help." You sigh softly. "It was a long time ago now, but he remembered."

It pains Joel even more to recognise that this is the most you have spoken to him since that big argument. He clears his throat and looks at you with doleful eyes.

"Why didn't you ever mention that to me?" He asks gently. "'Bout the shelf, or the paint?"

You stare at Joel and cock your eyebrow quizzically. "You're actually asking me this, Joel?"

Joel frowns and turns his body to face you directly. "Yeah, I am. Why did my brother know about it and I didn't?" He knows he sounds pathetic, childish. He hates himself for it, but he cannot stop himself.

"Joel," you almost seem to groan. "I don't want to talk about all this again."

"I wanna know," Joel says with conviction.

You close your book and toss it next to you on the couch. You glare up at him. "When did you ever care what I had to say, Joel? When did you ever want to hear about something like a random book shelf at my work?"

Joel doesn't have an answer. He just stares at you, ashamed and lost for words.

"Your brother knew because he was interested enough to ask," you snap. "I'm a person too, you know, Joel."

"What?" He mumbles in confusion.

"I'm a person," you repeat the words slowly, bitingly. "I'm not just your toy, or your maid, or whatever."

"I know," he whispers.

"You don't even know anything about me," you whisper back despondently.

"Ofcourse I do," Joel scowls.

You just shake your head and sniff, sounding like your sinus is clogged with unshed tears. You turn your head away from him and stare at the hardwood floor in gloomy silence. For what seems like several minutes the only sound within the room comes from the quiet cracklingly of the fire. It is soothing in a way, along with the cosy warmth it emits, and you find yourself being lulled to sleep on the couch. Just as your eyelids flutter shut Joel's voice cuts through the peace.

"Forget Me Not."

Sleepiness has made your mind sluggish and you don't quite understand what he has said. You blink slowly and scrub at one eye with your fist.

"...What?" You mumble.

"The flower. It's your favourite."

You don't respond or even look at Joel but your heartbeat picks up speed. How did he even know what your favourite flower is? You don't recall ever telling him.

"You like green tea best in the mornin'," Joel utters. "Peppermint at night."

He is right, but you still don't say anything in return.

"Your momma used to tie ribbons in your hair when you were a little girl," Joel states softly, his expressive brown orbs roaming all over your fragile form. "'S why you like to wear 'em still."

Joel's intention was to prove how intimately he knows you, but in reality his words spark something vicious and defensive inside your soul. You pull yourself up from the couch and snatch your book up.

"I don't want to hear this!" You growl at him. "Just leave me alone!"

Joel strides over to you and blocks your escape into the hallway. He looks down at you, sober and resolute. "I know you better than you think, babydoll."

"I said leave me alone," you snap, glowering up at him. You shove at his chest but his body stays solid and unmoving, far too powerful for your small hands to have any impact upon.

"I'll never leave you alone," Joel snaps back. "And from now on, you need anythin', you come to me and me only. I'm the only person you rely on, you understand? Not Tommy, not anybody. Just me."

You scoff contemptuously and try again to shove past him. "Yeah, sure Joel, whatever you say."

"Better watch that smart mouth," he growls, but still steps aside to let you pass by into the hallway. You quickly ascend the stairs and Joel follows close behind you. You cross the landing and make your way to the bathroom, but just as you turn the door knob Joel swiftly wraps his hand around your wrist. He pulls you back into the hall and stands directly infront of your line of vision, determined for you to see and hear him.

"I mean it," he grunts. "I'm the only one you need."

"I don't need you, Joel," you hiss at him. "And I don't want you, Joel, not this cruel man you've proven yourself to be. I will never be happy with you again."

An uncontrollable, primal fury surges through Joel and he suddenly smashes his fist into the wall next to your head, busting a hole into the drywall and sprinkling plaster debris over the rug. You scream and scurry into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind you.

Joel grits his teeth as he flexes his hand, the split skin of his knuckles already bloody and smarting. He heaves rapid breaths through his clenched teeth, his chest expanding with each inhale.

He hears you sobbing heavily through the wall and the woeful noise is enough to shatter through the bubble of animalistic wrath blinding him. Fuck, now you are terrified and crying. Again.

Joel growls and descends the stair case to go to the kitchen and clean his hand. He turns on the cold water and runs his knuckles under the stream.

It isn't his fault, he tells himself. You goaded him and had to fucking talk back.

He dabs at the blood with one of the dish rags and watches a red stain bloom on the soft yellow material. He grumbles and cleans the powdered drywall from his skin.

He'll let you cry it out. You won't have such a smart mouth after that, he's sure.

Joel finishes cleaning up the back of his hand and dries it with a dish towel, unbothered by the familiar sting of freshly sliced skin.

All he wanted to do was provide for you and take care of you, but you had to ruin everything.

Joel swaggered into the loungeroom and grabbed the decanter of whiskey from the mantle. He was going to get shit faced and knock himself out. He wanted to forget the hateful ferocity of your words. The grief for what he has ruined. The mourning of what could have been. And most of all, the unbearable absence of his daughter Sarah.

Joel had laid down the law of his house without any room for compromise. It had been so long overdue, after all. His rules are straight forward and fairly simple, uncomplicated in their shared objective to isolate you from everyone else, especially Oscar.

In his mind Joel is justified in drastically limiting your freedoms. He had made the mistake of allowing you too much independence, of granting you too much trust, only for him to catch you in the arms of another man.

Joel had always liked seeing you scared; he took pleasure in your wide panicked eyes, how your hands trembled, how you begged so helplessly. Your fear excited him and made him feel powerful. But the choked sob you let out when Joel threatened to kill Oscar had only infuriated him. He found no satisfaction in your reaction, only anger.

He was angry because of the agonising realisation had dawned upon him so abruptly at that moment - the reality that he was no longer the only person that resided in your precious heart. How had Oscar infiltrated your bubble of introversion so quickly? What made you choose to accept him into your heart?

Oscar talked with you, you had argued pathetically. So what? Joel was well known for his distaste of conversing more than the bare minimum of what was considered good etiquette. But he could talk to you, properly and intellectually, if that's what you really fucking wanted. But that didn't matter so much right now. What mattered was Joel retaining control over your relationship and keeping Oscar the fuck away from you.

He should've never listened to Tommy and his bullshit psychology - he and his bitch of a wife were so different to you and Joel, their connection no where near as deep and profound as what you two shared. No words could adequately describe just how special that binding tie was. No one else could understand.

Tommy had been wrong. Oh so wrong. Being tender and patient with you hadn't worked - you had still sought out Oscar for your emotional needs while denying Joel any kind of deeper intimacy. What was the point of trying to be gentle and not hurt you when you had hurt him so badly? Nothing Joel did seemed to help make you happy. You were never satisfied.

He has given you so much of himself. Parts he did not know still existed inside his black heart, pieces of him that he thought had been strangled the moment Sarah had died in his arms. He has shown you so much vulnerability, shared sacred parts of his soul and a depth of intimacy that he has never revealed to anyone before. He had offered you his love and protection.

Joel has given you so much and yet you make him feel as though it is not good enough. As though he is not good enough, that he is inferior to someone like Oscar, or his brother Tommy. You have made him feel pathetic and weak. You have made him feel out of control, something that he has not experienced for a very, very long time.

It scares Joel to his core.

The longer he thought about it, the more irritated Joel was becoming. Just what the hell was it going to take for you to stop moping and forget about Oscar? What was it going to take for you to just accept your fate and get over everything? What more could you possibly expect of Joel? Why couldn't you and he start over again, go back to the way things used to be? When you were so sweet and meek, just his good little girl.

Amidst the rejection and aggravation and betrayl was something else stirring inside Joel; something more venomous, more baleful than anything he had ever associated you with. It was an emotion that Joel was very familiar with, one that had enabled him to endure and survive for so long in a world gone to hell.

Hatred.

Hatred for you for all that you had taken from him just to throw back in his face. For you to yell at him that you don't need him, that you don't want him.

Hatred for your selfishness and insolence.

Hatred for you giving him so much pleasure and kindness only for you to retreat and withhold from him completely.

It made Joel want to hurt you in any way he could, to thieve every last bit of dignity and autonomy from you, to show you just who the fuck you were dealing with. He was Joel Miller, after all, and you had no idea just what he was capable of.

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laylajeffany · 16 hours

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Crying at the Texas Roadhouse | Wenclair One-Shot for @cruciokilljoy

Rating: G WC: 4,500 Summary: Enid’s feelings are hurt and Wednesday tries to resolve them, requiring her to find her soft spot (in public) when Enid starts sobbing in the middle of a chain restaurant in Jericho. Enid's POV, established relationship, unrelated to any of my multi-chapter work TW: Esther Sinclair being herself

@cruciokilljoy You were probably looking for more physical hurt/comfort but both my multi-chap fics have explored that pretty throughly and I am tired of writing the girls in physical pain so I put them through emotional pain instead. Certainly not based on actual, recent conversations with my own hateful mother not at all ☠️

“You were crying.”

Duh.

“Like, an hour ago,” Enid clarified, looking at Wednesday as she stepped into their room with her jacket draped over her arm, sleeves rolled up, hands filthy. She could only imagine what her girlfriend had gotten into (literally, looking at the caked-on mud on her Oxfords that ran up to her stocking-covered knees). “I hardly think that’s the most pressing thing we need to talk about. Why are you covered in dirt?”

“Mud wrestling,” Wednesday replied dryly.

“Not enough on you for that.” Enid rolled her eyes and crossed her sweater-covered arms. She almost didn’t want to know but would certainly rather discuss Wednesday's potentially illegal antics than herself after the challenging evening that she’d already had.

She wasn’t in the mood for bickering, either way - so maybe quiet time would be best.

“Why were you upset?” Clearly, she wasn't going to drop it with her own deflection. Wednesday draped her jacket over the side of her desk chair and toed off her muddy shoes, forcing her to lose the small boost of lift they gave her, putting her squarely two inches beneath Enid. She stood directly in front of her, a kiss away – bearing into Enid with her eyes and forcing truth out of her.

Knowing her lower lip trembled a little, hating her tells and trying to frown the feelings away, Enid looked at her own feet. There was no use lying to Wednesday about an actually serious subject when the evidence was still in the bloodshot veins of her eyes. “My mother called. It was…it’s just always upsetting,” She glanced back up with a forced, sad smile. Wednesday’s eyes lost their intensity from curiosity, but gained something that was largely new for her – sympathy.

How Enid hated it. Deciding to dangle a tantalizing offer in front of her, she forced her pitch to remain neutral as she stated, “I don’t want to dwell on it. Can we skip the part where I rehash how my mom is a miserable person and…just go to dinner? You could edit my lycan paper after, I could use the help…”

Wednesday’s stare continued to be gentle and Enid was about ready to march out of the room if she didn’t quit. She couldn’t stand that. “Stop, please? Wednesday, honestly. I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want you to pacify me this evening. My mother always manages to upset me. And even if I stand up to her on the phone, I sometimes need to cry it out after. It’s like…” Deciding to use a weapon analogy, Enid expressed, “Like a fuse. She lit it, I detonated on her, and now there’s some debris to clean up, but I’m actually fine. I want to move on.”

Obviously a little put out by the way her jaw shifted just slightly, Wednesday disappeared wordlessly, returning from the community washroom down the hall with clean hands and sans her stockings, which Enid assumed she’d tossed rather than get any more flak from the on-site laundry service about soiling other people’s clothing.

She disappeared into her closet, coming out in a pair of wide-legged pants and an oversized black sweatshirt that fell nearly to her knees. If Enid could hide her emotions, she supposed she couldn’t comment on Wednesday hiding her body.

To her surprise, Wednesday actually let her not speak about her feelings and folded a hand into hers as she waved to Thing, nonverbally communicating that she wanted to be alone with Enid. Thing had been quite helpful to the whole affair – had heard her mother’s hurtful words, passed her tissues after she finished crying into her pillow, patted her back sweetly…

Wednesday led her to the foyer but didn’t turn to the right to take them to the cafeteria. Enid blinked a few times when Wednesday tugged her right out the front door and down the front steps. Confused, and really not in the mood to go investigating anything, particularly to discover whatever had Wednesday so dirty, Enid whined a little, “Can’t we just eat?”

“It’s Monday,” Her voice was just a touch darker than it had been in their room. “Nevermore’s infamous attempt at cowering to the vegetarians is tonight, and I don’t think their imitation beef is going to help you feel any better. We’re heading into town – I’m getting you a steak.” Well, that certainly perked her up just a little bit. “Withdrawing red meat once a week in an effort to be more environmentally friendly when ten percent of the student campus requires it as part of their metabolic diet is cruel, performative activism and we don’t need to be part of it. It makes as much sense as banning plastic straws. You don’t create systems change by following trends. Meatless Monday is going to meet my full-meat fist one of these days. But tonight, we’re going to crush peanut shells underfoot at a chain restaurant instead.”

More than okay with getting that salty coating in between the grooves of her furry, pink boots, Enid pulled Wednesday to her in a hug when they arrived to the edge of the forest trail that would take them into Jericho. Wednesday sucked in a breath of surprise at being forced into her hold but returned it after just a second of processing what was happening to her. “I don’t mean to take my bad mood out on you,” Enid apologized.

“I do it to you all the time,” Wednesday mumbled into her shoulder, sighing as she hooked her arms around her middle, hanging on just as tightly. “Usually for far-less valid reasons.” She pulled away to put her palms on Enid’s shoulders and met her eyes without that sympathy…instead…

Wednesday’s brown gaze in the setting sun was highly empathetic and made Enid drop half the tension in her shoulders. “I might also be a little hangry,” She confessed as her stomach roared suddenly between them.

There was a flirtation of a smirk on Wednesday’s lips at the noise and she said nothing, merely took her hand again, leading them boldly through the woods for a twenty-minute walk into town.

Enid swore she felt better just at the sight of the neon lights outlining the state of Texas with a cowboy hat perched on top of it when the restaurant was in view. Inside promised at least a feeling of satisfaction for the wolf within her, and that could often soften the meltdown of her personhood, too.

“Two, please,” Wednesday politely replied when the hostess, a too-cool Jericho High student with rapidly growing roots sticking out of her bleach blonde hair snapped her gum and looked irritated to have to ask how many were in their party.

Holding back her own growl of irritation, Enid would admit, she was relatively surprised by how well-behaved Wednesday could be in spaces like public restaurants. She often claimed that staff were simply victims of the State or something about labor rights, and generally tipped far more than Enid would’ve thought that they had earned.

Enid watched a basket of rolls be taken into a waitress’ hands and swallowed the saliva that threatened to slip out of her lips, thinking Wednesday was about to drop her hand as she often did in public – but not that day. She must’ve sensed some of her mother’s conversation had been about, willing to take on any bigot that might’ve had something to say about the two of them in a relationship. Vermont might’ve been one of the more progressive states in the country, but – certainly, so was California, and her mother had a whole lot to say from there that evening…

Once they were seated, Enid took a roll without waiting even a beat for the young woman who would be taking care of them to go through her required spiel, while Wednesday simply gave a curt nod at her before giving all of her attention to Enid as she went to return with water. (Enid could hardly wait for the day she could down one of those massive margaritas in the advertisements all over the establishment.)

She was halfway through with her first roll when Wednesday’s harsh stare asked the question before she needed to confirm, “You missed lunch with that extra dance practice today.”

“I’m sorry,” Enid said, just about ready to own up to anything – even things she hadn’t done, in an effort to just keep everyone from blowing up at her anymore that day. She really couldn’t handle Wednesday being frustrated with her, too -

“Next time, tell me,” Wednesday ordered, her voice clipped; Enid stared hard at the rings on the wooden, lacquered tabletop, willing her next round of sadness to stay internal. “I’ll bring you something to class. Don’t apologize to me.”

About to say ‘sorry’ again, Enid just bit her lip, seeing the tears that were threatening to well up in her gaze. She tried to blink them away, and was grateful when the waitress asked if they needed more time with the menu when she brought their water over. Enid just shook her head, while Wednesday started, then said her name in a very gentle tone – and all the up and down of soft and hard was really –

“Um, the twelve-ounce New York strip, please – rare.”

“You know that means pink, possibly bloo-”

Wednesday was quick to defend her. “She knows what her body requires.”

Enid let out a shuddered breath, quietly asking for her sides before the waitress left. Wednesday reached across the table and took both of Enid’s hands, clearly needing to understand more about what was making her act so small and miserable. “Tell me what your mother said.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Enid argued, feeling her tone rising as hysteria was pouring out of each vein, flooding her body.

“You obviously already are. It’s weighing on you. Release the burden, and you’ll feel relief.”

As the first tear fell, Wednesday’s face contorted from intensity and certainty to overwhelmed and near helplessness as she obviously hadn't thought through the fact that Enid was going to cry in public. She squeezed Enid’s hands, but the gesture only caused the second one to dribble, then the third, and the fourth, and Enid brought her sweater up over her face to keep from letting out an audible sob in the restaurant.

Thankfully, Wednesday had some sort of awareness about what to do – they’d been dating for months and friends for so long, she’d seen her fair share of Enid’s breakdowns and generally knew what did and didn’t help. When the preventative measures clearly weren’t working that Monday, she stood up and rounded to the space beside her, putting an arm around her and letting Enid fold herself into her chest. The unexpected display of affection was actually bringing out even more of her release. God – that hug to soothe her emotions into was exactly what Enid needed, and the fact that Wednesday had it in her to be soft enough around her to let her break down, in a half-full restaurant, into her arms? She loved her more than anything, and Enid knew that, she just wished, maybe – well, Wednesday was probably right. She did just need to talk about it to work through it.

When she met the black strings of her hoodie, Enid knew she let out a cry of a sniffly sound. It was embarrassing, devastating, really, to be having a full breakdown at the Texas Roadhouse. But Wednesday had been determined to try and make her feel better that evening and was going to have to finish what she started, even if that meant snuggling her in a vinyl-covered booth while the waitress awkwardly put their salads down on the same side of the table a few minutes after the crying began.

Wednesday unrolled one of the fabric napkins, shaking out a knife and the forks. For a brief, split-second, Enid thought she really might eat one-handed while she continued to snivel all over her chest, but Wednesday instead used the square to dab Enid’s cheeks, soaking up the tears that hadn’t been absorbed into her sweatshirt. She adjusted her hold on her girlfriend and looked at her with something new –

Sincerity.

Almost blubbering again, Enid just nodded, knowing it would do well to admit what Esther had said to her on the phone. “My…mother – she was …on her weekly rampage, about…everything. Nevermore, administration refusing to split us up – you not receiving any consequences from last semester…the usual. Then…it shifted,” She sniffed. “She brought up my late blooming, how I’d been so privileged to have been even have parents who cared enough to offer to send me to lycanthropy conversion camp…”

Wednesday’s hand curled on her upper thigh at that.

“And when she wasn’t getting a rise out of me for that, she dug deeper – the normal line of inane ramblings of how she couldn’t believe after all that time, ‘that Addams girl’ was what got me to shift for the first time…and, when I reminded her, ‘that Addams girl’ is Wednesday, my girlfriend, she…she…just said, ‘we don’t talk about that,’ and started bitching about the value of a Nevermore education not matching up to the price tag, not that it mattered – since none of her pack were scoring above a 3.5 on the ‘mediocre’ grading system, moved on to my scar tissue and wanting me to come home to have a consultation with a plastic surgeon for a revision procedure, and I said that wasn’t going to happen and hung up on her. Then I cried.”

Watching Wednesday respond to the entirety of the call was like discovering something new hidden in a sensory tube every other second. While she was short for words, Wednesday’s eyes always spoke volumes about what she would say if she dared to put her thoughts out verbally. Mr. Addams had described her tongue as that of a viper to Enid more than once when telling stories about her, so she was pretty sure it was often for the best that Wednesday focused on taking in all the information before reacting. She knew that Wednesday tended to get into it with administrators and authority, but at least with Enid – she was far more even-tempered in how she responded to hearing words she didn’t like.

Enid let out a long breath and picked up one of the forks that Wednesday had shaken out of the napkin, needing to channel her energy into anything but crying again. She speared leafy greens onto the tines, trying not to visualize doing the same to any of her mother’s more vulnerable body parts, for that matter – wondering which Wednesday would fantasize about ripping out first in her defense.

“I’m sorry, Enid,” Wednesday spoke through a near whisper of a tone.

Hearing those words come out of Wednesday was like hearing foreign language that she needed to interpret. Her fork fell out of her hand. Not wanting to startle her anymore, Enid brought her longing, hopeful sort of gaze to Wednesday’s. “Why are you apologizing now?”

Wednesday drew her hands into her lap, staring straight ahead. It took her some time to form her response, likely, if Enid had to guess, because of the emotion that was pooling in her own eyes. She knew her damn well enough that she wouldn’t shed anything close to a tear in public, but Wednesday was very much on the edge. It didn’t make sense – she’d done nothing wrong, aside from maybe push her into talking about it when Enid knew what that would unleash, but even then – it’s not like she had been the one to say all those hurtful things…

“I suppose I am not apologizing with my sorry. But I am sorry that I contributed to enough of your mother’s ire that she took it out on you. I’m sorry that she continues to refuse to acknowledge that you are in a non-traditional relationship, let alone demonstrate any sort of positive feeling about it. I’m sorry that she continues to bring up painful events of the past, and attempt to shame you for them, or think you should have been grateful for her wanting to send you to an abusive situation. I’m sorry that she thinks your grades aren’t good enough – you’ve got a 3.87 right now, which is Magna cum laude and I’m really proud of you for working diligently at increasing your grade point average. I’m sorry that she thinks you need plastic surgery. If you wanted to, that would be your choice. But I love your scars, and I think they’re beautiful.”

Enid could barely breathe. She wasn’t sure if Wednesday had ever said so many words consecutively, let alone that indicated her true feelings on any subject matter…that she was harboring so many about her, in particular. Trying not to let herself curl up into the faux-wooden logs that made up the side wall of their booth, Enid finally found the ability to expand her lungs and release the last of the tension she’d been harboring. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

“It’s not in pity,” Wednesday clarified. “It’s not. It’s…perhaps a feeling that I don’t have a schema for.” She gave a rare blink as she seemed to be trying to find the emotional vocabulary within her to better explain herself, staring at Enid, who was pretty sure she was going to need an inhaler by the end of dinner at the rate Wednesday was taking her breath away. Finally, she gave a nearly-invisible shrug as she further clarified, “I just know, that I love you. And I despise that anyone would attempt to make you feel small, or anything else negative, especially someone who is also supposed to love you unconditionally. And I am sorry, that you were forced to endure that. All your life. So…I’m sorry, and I hope to make it up to you.”

Tilting her head, sniffing just a little, finding the shiest hint of a smile, Enid promised in a watery whisper, “You are. Right now. You…knew that I needed to take care of myself, and that school wasn’t going to cut it, and you brought me to the Texas Roadhouse,” She let out a small bubble of a laugh. “Here, I’ll get what I need to sustain me, but while we’re waiting,” She paused, reaching over for one of Wednesday’s clasped hands, forcing them apart so they could squeeze one another’s. “You’re giving me the opportunity to release what doesn’t. Thank you, Wednesday.”

There was a new wave on Wednesday’s features – a distinct mark of relief in her gaze as she swept it, unblinking onto Enid again. “It is hardly my forte to make someone who was sad return to baseline, let alone anything akin to happiness…”

“You’ve done a pretty remarkable job for me,” Enid assured her when the waitress brought out their main courses, looking a little awkward as she put them near their still-full salad plates.

“Uh…anything else I can bring you girls?”

“A total end to the heteronormative, compulsory, traditional society we continue to find ourselves existing in,” Wednesday said without hesitating.

The waitress blinked.

Enid shook her head. “I think we’ve got anything we need, right here.”

The woman left with wide, confused eyes and Enid sighed, cutting into her steak without thinking twice, watching the red ooze out onto her plate. The sight grossed her out, but she knew it would do her body good.

Sure enough – halfway into the steak, she was feeling remarkably better already. “Try to finish it,” Wednesday prompted her. “The full moon is on Thursday, you should be nearly doubling your caloric intake.”

Kissing her cheek, earning the slightest twinge of red to her cheeks, Enid thanked her and followed through, polishing off the meat, picking at her vegetables while Wednesday ate with a distinct sort of raised-higher-class slowness that she usually did.

After finishing and watching Wednesday tip the waitress almost double what the bill had been, Enid took her hand and made it her turn to lead them – the yellow glow of a Dollar General sign across the street tempting her. “I feel like properly finishing up my breakdown by making a frivolous, five-dollar purchase.”

Wednesday’s eyes rolled but she didn’t fight her. Mid 2000s soft-pop radio was playing as they stepped into the nearly desolate discount store, one that Enid liked because of the deadstock that featured some of her favorite comfort characters from her childhood. Knowing exactly what she wanted, she led Wednesday through precariously stacked makeshift aisles of cardboard boxes filled with inventory that would be put out by the one employee working there over the course of several weeks. She hummed along to the music, singing along softly with Colbie Caillat, feeling a little bubbly herself as Wednesday refrained from spewing out comments on late-stage capitalism or some such true, but nonsensical arguing that would accomplish nothing between them. “Here they are,” She said, gesturing to a host of children’s coloring books. Wondering if Wednesday's limited access to traditional children's media would kick in, Enid playfully wondered, “Anybody look familiar to you?”

“Even someone who spent a significant portion of her childhood exploring the caves below the house like myself can recognize the ultimate example of corporate greed, the mouse that is Mickey.”

“Yikes,” Enid commented, “I’ll steer clear of the Disney characters.” Mentally retracting her statement to herself about Wednesday being able to hold back full-punch societal comments, she smirked, spotting what she wanted pretty much right away, taking a pink, Strawberry Shortcake book into her hold. “Will you color with me?”

“I cannot promise that I won’t be giving the fruitcake a makeover. And a knife.”

Giggling, then singing along a little more as she took Wednesday’s hand and wove her through the maze of mess before checking out – spending a whopping two dollars and twelve cents to achieve the final release in neurotransmitters that would complete her night.

After a walk back to Ophelia Hall that included a great production of sneaking back into the campus as they’d left without permission, Enid and Wednesday both found themselves in their pajamas and ready for bed before Enid took her art supplies out from a basket, revealing about three hundred colored pencils in different shades.

Wednesday flipped through the coloring book with a touch of a nose wrinkle, staring at the smiley, fruit-themed girls. She was going out of her way, clearly setting every intention of getting through the moment to make her girlfriend happy as she'd claimed. Finally letting out a real, whole laugh, Enid earned her perplexed stare. “You did it,” She promised. Wednesday waited and Enid winked. “You didn’t just reset me to factory settings, but you made me happy. I promise. You totally do not have to color with me. You can read or edit papers or whatever else is going to make you happy, too. So long as you’re not out solving mysteries, but here with me.”

There was a beat of relief as Wednesday took out a book she’d been reading through, curling up beside Enid, who took some creative liberties as Wednesday would have, forcing a picture of Lemon Meringue, the pigtailed character, and Strawberry Shortcake to look as close to herself and Wednesday as possible, even adding a little knife into Lemon’s hand. Wednesday let Enid pick the music, but she went with one of her playlists of cello covers as a compromise for both of them.

When she finished and flashed the coloring sheet to her girlfriend, Wednesday almost smiled, amusement evident in her eyes as she took a knife out of her pajama pocket (naturally – everyone needed a bedtime knife), evenly slicing it out of the book. She tacked it up on Enid’s bulletin board before putting all the coloring supplies away while Enid watched. Finally, she turned off all the lights except the strand of twinkling ones she’d magically learned to tolerate once they started dating.

She brought Enid to the floor-bed they’d made with a roll-away mattress that was more comfortable than cramming into either of their twin beds, lying on her back as usual, and inviting Enid to curl up with her with silence, just vague gestures – a pat of her own chest, a small nod…

“Wednesday, I love you. Thank you, for making me feel one hundred percent better. I feel even better than before my mom called,” Enid said softly, nuzzling into her.

Wednesday’s fingers instinctively wove into her hair. “I’m tempted to block her number on your phone so she can’t get a hold of you. I can’t promise that if I’m in the room the next time she calls, I won’t make her feel something about herself that is more than true.”

“Good,” Enid encouraged with a contented huff. “She deserves that.”

“You didn’t deserve what she said or attempted to do to you in the past. And I hope that…her comments about…us, don’t make you second guess things. I am always here – to repair and comfort what she has hurt or damaged, as long as you want me to.”

Enid squeezed her affectionately. “You are excellent at comforting my hurts.”

There was a small breath of alleviation she felt from Wednesday. Wanting her to really understand that, she added, “You went out of your way for me tonight. You could’ve just given me a hug, taken me down to the dining hall, and come up to edit my paper. But you didn’t. You knew what very specific things would make me physically feel better, then opened yourself up emotionally for me, too. You’re the best. I love you.”

Wednesday clutched her tightly with one palm wrapped around her back, the other gently tracing the skin near Enid’s scars. Her words felt a little surprising when she added, “I would like to apologize for forcing you to talk about what happened before you were ready. I’m sure you would have liked to not cry in public at the Texas Roadhouse.”

“I think it’s a perfectly lovely public place to have a breakdown,” Enid said with a giggle at her own expense.

Wednesday said nothing other than a quiet, “I love you. Go to sleep.”

Closing her eyes so she could follow the direction, Enid sighed very contently, reflecting on the evening as she drifted off to have the chance to start over in a new day.

Layla is working through prompts and determined to write the Black Menagerie epilogue for the weekend - stay tuned for more ✌🏼

#Wednesday 2022 #Fanfic #Wenclair #One-Shot #visual for my non-american readers of what a Texas Roadhouse looks like 🫶🏻#who among us hasn't cried in a chain restaurant?#unbeta’d #the collection of one-shots I write mostly in a closet at work is bringing me great joy #thank you for all the prompts I struggle to do any kind of one-shot on my own #layla's >5k challenge

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maggeemoo · 2 days

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Tarnished Mirror; Ch. 2

-[CW: Vomit/Puke, Blood]-

Saying his name felt wrong. Every part of her knew that she was right, but every part of her wanted so desperately to be wrong. Why would Jaune ever write “kill me?” It didn’t make sense, nothing does anymore. “Does he blame himself for Penny’s death? H-How could that even come close to what happened? I-I was the one who…” Is all that Pyrrha manages to say, her thoughts and voice having no barrier just as usual. Why though? Her voice still feels ever so slightly off, like it both is and isn’t hers. She rereads the note over and over, desperately hoping that this is all a sick nightmare and that dream logic would kick in, the words suddenly changing or for her to wake up and continue the fight with Cinder.

No such thing happens. As she reads the note, she only becomes surer that it’s Jaune’s handwriting, that he thinks Penny’s death is his fault, that it’s him who calls himself a monster.

That it’s him who wants to die.

For a brief moment, Pyrrha’s mind can’t help but wander to the last time she saw him. He was desperately pleading with her, but all that she heard was the noise of the ongoing battle. His words were both like a siren song and like gunshots, his voice as beautiful as the sky and as ugly as the Wyvern Grimm that flew through it.

But still, all she heard was the boy she kissed, the boy she wanted to leave with but knew she couldn’t. As she finally forced her thoughts to return to the present she felt queasy, her heart thrumming faster than a hummingbird’s wings as she stumbled out of the tent and fell to the ground.

With the sun setting now, the sand and soil felt cool, at least much cooler than her blood which Pyrrha swears she could feel boiling. A burning sensation erupted from her chest as she tried and failed to get up, the sting and burn of acid shooting up through her throat. She just barely managed to prop herself up before a puddle was beneath her, yellowy-green bile still stinging her mouth as more came.

After what felt like hours and seconds at the same time, one last retch spilled from Pyrrha’s lips, only a few small drops of bile escaping her as she finally stood up. It felt like she was standing upside down, like her feet were somehow clinging to the ceiling and that the sky above her was a void waiting for her to fall into.

But she didn’t fall.

She stared up into the sky, getting darker with each passing moment, and the abyss that she thought was there didn’t stare into her. Nothing was there to stare, no eyes, no abyss, just the slowly darkening sky. As she yet again spoke out loud, her voice finally felt right, the acid of the vomit having burned away something in her throat.

“H-He has to be out here s-s-somewhere. He must be h-hurting, if he was a-alright he wouldn’t even be thinking about wanting to… to die.”

Pyrrha took a big breath in as she talked, the now dark jungle’s cool night breeze washing away any heat or burn inside her. Her heart was still beating, her lungs still pumping, her blood still warm in her veins. She slowly wandered back into the tent, lying down on the bed of leaves as she calmed down, the sudden exertion of puking having tired her out. She speaks one more time before she drifts off into a dream.

“I need to help him.”

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Pyrrha’s sleep was strangely dreamless. She drifted through the blank nothing that is sleep, her body feeling weightless. But with a sudden shift, she felt heavy, her armor and clothes putting pressure on her skin as her eyes slowly opened.

She was still in the tent, the light of day bleeding through the canvas material. As she stood up, she felt the weight ground her, keeping her senses active as she briefly glanced around the tent again.

There’s another shred of paper in a small box, what looks like a calendar. Reading over it, Pyrrha sees that the only days that Jaune comes to this camp are two out of the week, and that they’re back to back. The first of the two days he leaves early for something, but the second of the two seems more relaxed. A small note scrawled on the back reveals why. Pleasers don’t try to ascend as early on the day after the second, so don’t rush to get back. Spend the night here and then head back as soon as you wake up

“Ascend? Pleasers? Whatever it is, Jaune must be struggling with it if he has to remind himself of what he’s doing.” Pyrrha says as she grabs the map of the area, seeing another note showing that he tries to get back around noon. Not seeing any sort of time keeper in the tent, Pyrrha steps outside and glances up at the sky, seeing that the sun is right near the center. Noon.

Guess I’ll be waiting for a bit, might as well eat. Pyrrha thinks to herself, grabbing a sliver of the jerky that she found and quickly downing it. Just as she swallows, she hears a rustling behind her, sounding like something is in the bushes behind the tent.

She opts to stay quiet, slowly turning around and investigating. As she steps around the tent she sees a bush shaking, but just a moment later a mouse hops out of it, standing on its hind legs. She’s curious about the strange little creature, but regardless breathes a sigh of relief seeing that it wasn’t anything dangerous.

Unfortunately, that sigh is met with a cold sort of itch at her throat, and before she can think to scratch it, the feeling seems to dig into her neck.

“Either you’ve been here long enough to get sloppy or the Monster’s stories about you were so wrong that I snuck up that easily. But if you’re here then team RWBY isn’t far behind I’m sure, so give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now and spare them the trouble, Neo.”

The voice was cold, calculating, and even. It had just enough familiarity for Pyrrha to second-guess herself though, so she didn’t immediately use her semblance to move the metal blade away. She opened her mouth to respond before she realized that there were other holes in her memory. There was always someone there that she can’t quite remember, a blank spot in otherwise perfect memories. She knows Neo, but at the same time, she doesn’t.

“Neo? I’m not Neo, I… If I could remember her then I’d explain. I know the name but I don’t remember.” Pyrrha says, slowly putting her hands up. The voice pauses for a bit, seemingly hesitating after hearing Pyrrha’s words. For just a moment, Pyrrha could feel the blade being pulled away from her throat. But just another moment later it was back, now threatening to draw blood.

“You seriously expect me to believe that? After all you’ve done, after who knows how many people you’ve hurt? You’re almost as bad as him, but you were at least blatant with your wrongdoings.”

“Jaune, please-” “If you compare me to that Monster again, then it won’t matter if you have a good reason for me to not kill you. That thing killed Penny, and if he wasn’t such a coward then he could’ve saved the person you’re imitating. If it weren’t for me killing him then I’m sure he would’ve killed more too.”

The voice is definitely Jaune’s, just older. Much, much older. It’s low and gravelly, and so so so cold. What the hell happened to him? How long has it been since Pyrrha was fighting Cinder?

“I’m not imitating anyone! And you didn’t kill Penny, I did!” Pyrrha yells out, the sudden movement of her throat making the blade dig into Pyrrha’s throat and draw a single drop of blood, the drop now slowly inching down her neck.

The man hesitates again, but the blade doesn’t leave Pyrrha’s throat, just idly sitting there as her blood adds to its already incredibly rusted surface. He slowly spoke up though, his voice starting to shake a little.

“Pyrrha Nikos died during the Fall of Beacon. Jaune Arc could’ve stopped her but didn’t, instead letting others do the work only for one of his victims to watch her die. Long after that, he killed Penny after she was brought back.” He says, pausing for just a second to breathe. “And you tried to kill Ruby, but got Yang instead. I doubt either of them are dead though, before I killed Arc he always went on and on about how he was sure that they were alive. It’s the least I can do to wait for them, to keep them safe once they get here. And to give them the good news, that their manipulator is dead.” Pyrrha can’t bear to hear this all from Jaune’s voice. She’s desperately trying not to cry, her vision blurred with tears that have yet to fall. She can feel Jaune press the blade into her neck more before she finally caves, using her semblance to just barely slip out of his grasp and jump away. “I was gonna give you a quick death, you know. Even the worst people ever deserve a painless one. This is your own fault.” The man says, and now that Pyrrha has turned to see him, he has a helmet on, obscuring his face.

“Jaune, please! Snap out of it! I’m alive and right in front of you! Please!”

The man stands up a little, Jaune now in his old age is even taller than Pyrrha. He flicks her blood off of his broken and rusted blade, his rusted armor creaking as he moves and gets ready to lunge.

“That’s the second time now. You even beginning to compare him with me is infuriating. If I was as insane as him I would kill you slowly for that, but I’m not. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Just as Pyrrha draws her weapons, Jaune launches himself at her, tearing the tent apart in the process. They’ve both stopped talking now, Jaune aiming for the kill and Pyrrha only blocking and dodging.

Now with centuries of experience, Jaune already has the upper hand.

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(That's the end of Chapter Two, everything past this is just me the author rambling~ And here's a link to the Previous Chapter! I'll get a link to Chapter Three as soon as it's up~)

Hello again everyone! I got super carried away and just wrote Chapter two already~ Honestly I'm a little unsure if this is really a finished product so I may revise it still but oh well, we'll burn that bridge after we cross it!

And of course gonna tag some people again that I saw would like this: @pilot-boi @philosophicalpug

#mirror man au #tarnished spartan #Tarnished Mirror AU #rwby au #rwby #save rwby #rwby fanfiction #fanfic #fiction #writing

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