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trashmouth-richie · 10 months

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master list

Eddie x fem! reader

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNINGS ⚠️

Absolutely no minors, gtfo. Hopefully everyone has read the warning post from earlier this week regarding this chapter. it is extremely dark themed.

Heavy violence

References to past rape/ assault

Blood, gore

Domestic violence

Somnaphilia

Character death etc

A/N: please know your limits. I love you and let’s get into this chapter so we can move on.

The brown popcorn bag spun lazily in the microwave like an oily inflating balloon. The steady hum of the appliance kept you company as the countdown to the sad supper ticked to an end. The cheerful ding springing you from the staring contest you were having with the counter top.

The small radio you had purchased was sitting on the counter, the soft belt of Linger by The Cranberries was playing for what seemed like the tenth time today and you couldn’t help but feel the lyrics in your blood.

Unaware of anything out of the ordinary. A typical night after working at the bar. Showering and throwing on a pair of pajama shorts, tucked next to the pair of Eddie’s boxer briefs you had found last week.

After investigating why the washer banged all to hell when even the smallest of loads were in it, wedged tight under the plastic agitator were his underwear.

And you’d be a fool to say you hadn’t broken down and sobbed in the basement on the discovery.

You dried them and folded them neatly next to your delicates. The same drawer that held the worn and tarnished pig ring he gave you as a Christmas gift, and the envelope full of cash.

The water works started again.

Hot tears flooding your eyes, the simple act made you feel like he was home with you. But the nightmare always continued.

You missed him so much.

“But you always really knew

I just want to be with you

If you were a tiny bit more awake you might have caught that the door to the garage was locked even though you had no memory of locking it yourself.

..And I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

Rustling the steaming bag from the microwave with burnt finger tips, you toss it on the counter hastily. Sucking your fingers into your mouth to dull the stinging redness away.

Do you have to let it linger?

And maybe it was then that if you weren’t busy nursing the premature burns, you would have noticed the odd set of keys on the counter next to the mail, pushed to the side by the buttery bag of popcorn.

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?

Bending at the waist to the lower cabinet you reach around for the smooth plastic of the yellow popcorn bowl. Upon standing you feel dizzy. You hear it before you feel it, the loud thwap of something heavy against the back of your head. The pain is searing and turns your vision to black. You’re passed out before your head even hits the floor.

(1987)

The November air whipped into reddened skin, striking out any heat you had left in the confinements of the peach sweater you borrowed from Nancy on your frozen walk to Forest Hills Trailer Park.

It happened again.

And this time it wasn’t an accident, no matter how much he begged, no matter how many times he said he was sorry.

He hit you with a closed fist.

You weren’t flirting with Dustin. He was your friend. Way before Chad had taken any interest in you. Most of your friends were guys, besides El and Max, and even though Nancy Wheeler was older and more popular— you considered her a friend too.

When she left for college this past fall, she insisted on making her room more stylish to your liking. And she never once minded the twin beds you both slept in, a night stand between them.

But when Mike sat next to you at lunch and was going over notes from Kensington’s class, Chad’s mind twisted it into Mike hitting on you. Which led to Chad hitting on you, but instead of compliments and doting behavior— he drug you out to his car, a bony grip on the back of your neck.

He screamed at you with every vein protruding from his tan skin. Voice hoarse and throat stretched tight.

Apparently you were fucking people behind his back. Even though you were a virgin. The town whore! He had yelled loud for even some of the teachers to hear, all turning a blind eye to the obvious domestic abuse happening on school grounds.

Explaining yourself only made it worse.

He slapped your face hard when you opened your mouth to interrupt him. And when you stood your ground and raised your chin to him, calm and steadily telling him to go fuck himself, he swung a fist into your eye.

And that’s when you left.

His apologies trailing behind you and caught in the gut of wind to travel far away from your ears. He wouldn’t follow you, he had appearances at school to keep up.

Much easier to tell Aaron and Sean that you got your period and were being crazy then explain why he had left school.

The gravel crunched beneath your feet, frozen from the last winter storm and holding pockets of ice amongst the rocks.

Pale blue and still holding the old television lawn ornament, you sighed audible when Eddie’s van was parked outside of the aluminum sided trailer.

You hadn’t seen him since graduation last May. The night Chrissy’s extra curricular activities with Rick finally came out when they were caught fucking in the shower upstairs, at Steve’s house. Both sporting pricked arms with needle marks.

A broken hearted Eddie drank all night long and puked into the hot tub.

Your quickened steps up to the concrete stairs and a shaky broken knock on the screen door have you stepping back waiting for the door to open, awaiting Eddie’s stupid grin waiting on the other side.

Living with Eddie you had no reason to be afraid. Many nights the front door was left unlocked. And maybe it was out of habit. Maybe you had left it unlatched tonight too.

It would explain how he was there now.

Hovering over you, his blond hair coined perfectly slicked to the side, slightly feathered back with thick styling gel. A Ralph Lauren polo with the logo on the left chest. His cologne reeked of some designer brand, making your stomach queasy.

The only difference between those years ago and now was that he had a small dusting of a flesh colored mustache wiggled on his sweaty lip. Same maniacal inky blacks to his blown pupils, laced with the piercing blue.

The realization ices your veins and stings your eyes with angry tears.

Chad Cunningham was in your home, his body over yours as you're pinned beneath him, the smell of iron invading your nose. Looking around with wild eyes you see the crimson streaks from the linoleum in the kitchen to the carpet where you are laying. Your head thumping with the rhythm of bloody drops against the fibers of the worm carpet.

“Been a long time hasn’t it, honey bun?”

An eternity wouldn’t have been enough.

Pressing his body into yours, you can feel the stiffness of his starched shirt as you try to will your arms to fight him away. He chuckles at your feeble attempts to push him off.

His weight presses deeper into you as he lowers his mouth to your lips, squeezing your face he almost sings, “Told you I’d see you soon.”

His lips are harshly planted into yours, feeling like jagged rocks against your soft waters.

“Fuck,” he groans, hard against your thigh. “just like I remember. I’ve missed you.”

The clink of his belt unthreading from the loops of his khakis finally renders your senses. But you wait with calculated timing.

Leaning back, he stares into your face with a quizzical expression burrowed deep on his brow. “What’s the frown for? Don’t you miss me? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Evident that his delusions still ran deep, it’s showtime. You would survive this. One good hit, that's all it would take.

Pushing yourself up gently, your head is swimming with nausea and the steady dripping tick of blood down the back of your neck.

Placing a shaky hand to his cheek he moves into your hand, the same way Eddie had that night, your stomach somersaults at the memory.

When his eyes shut, you turn your fingers into a clawed position, and scrape the flesh from the corner of his eye down to his lip.

It happens quickly and with your blurred vision and pounding head it feels like it’s all in slow motion. He wasn’t expecting it.

A kick to his ribs hurt your bare feet probably more than it injured him but you needed the extra time to escape into your room.

The phone feels cool against your cheek, and weighs heavy on your shoulder when you realize it’s dead. The plan of you running in here, dialing 9-1-1 and holding him off until they came was foiled.

“BITCH! You can’t hide from me!”

Knowing you only have seconds before he finds you, you

frantically look around for something to defend yourself with. Searching eyes land on the window.

Just need to get out and run to Mr. Griffin’s house.

Fingers on the frame you yank upwards, palms digging into the wired screen, pushing it out.

Throwing your leg out into the darkness of the night, you’re one step closer to being safe. One step closer to ending this night of horrors before it could begin.

The noise of splintering wood and the crack of a door being snapped from its hinges join your erratic breath and piercing screams— a monstrous reel of symphonic sound.

Chad twists a thick fist into your scalp, freeing the hair from its follicles in a sickening pop as you scratch your nails into the window sill, trying to hold on.

He’s stronger than you, no different than years before. And when your body crumbles onto the floor with a squelching thud, splinters of lacquered wood and nails that once held the door in place, pierce into your exposed skin.

But that is minor league compared to the shattering pain delivered from his fist into your face as he straddles you.

“Think you can hide away with that freak from me?!” He rocks his closed hand into your other cheek, this time clipping your eye with a gold wedding band.

Your cries fall on deaf ears. Tears stinging and trying to drip from your swelling eyelids.

“Honey bun,” he purrs into your ear, “don’t tell me you’re that fucking stupid to think I wouldn’t find you.”

His fingers move to brush your hair from your face, and he holds your head in place when you try to bite at his fingers.

His wicked smile could make the devil’s scaly skin crawl.

“Such a dumb whore, forgetting I have eyes and ears all over this town.” Placing his grabby fingers on his breasts, he continues, “Aaron and Sean may not be the brightest candles on the cake but they are loyal.”

Aaron…Sean.

You rack your brain for any recollection of those names. and it finally clicks. Chad’s friends in high school, following him around like he was the King. A snap of his fingers and they’d move like henchmen. Fighting anyone who got in his way, putting themselves at risk just to say they had a friend from a rich family.

The realization swims in your eyes and scares your tears dry.

“No.”

“Pieced it together huh?” Chad laughs wildly. “They work..” he grunts, hips rutting against you, pinching your perked nipples in his tight grasp, his fingernails digging through your shirt around the delicate skin, making you squeal, “..with the freak!”

His deranged cackle doubles when you yell out in pain.

“Small town bosses don’t lock their offices, and it was too easy for Aaron to find your address, even easier to find out that Eddie had left your ass here, unguarded, alone, waiting for someone to save you, and honey bun here I am!”

His sick twisted smile oozes fear further into your gut, brooding and feeding on any small amount of joy you had left.

“You need a fucking psychiatrist.”

“Such harsh words for that sweet mouth, but don’t worry!” he reassures, eyes wide with delight and a psychotic expression on his face as he brings his voice low and secret-like, “I won’t kill you yet, the boys are looking for Munson and when they find him…” he lowers himself to kiss your lips, sliding his tongue against the split flesh.

“Fuck!” He bellows, licking his lips savoring your taste on his tongue, “when they find him they’re gonna bring him here, and it’ll be arranged to look like the freak killed you and then himself.. a lover’s quarrel gone bad.”

He rubs his face and grunts again at the warbled wails you let out, squeezing your breasts and bucking into your clothed crotch. “Goddamn,” he groans, his eyes rolling into his head at the sound of your cries, getting off on your distorted face, “I just couldn’t help myself, had to come here and do this first. One last goodbye.”

You’d rather be dead at this point. You wish he’d kill you now and get it over with. But the thought of Eddie seeing your lifeless body haunted you. And you stop crying when his hands close around the hollow of your throat.

“Gonna be mine, one last time honeybun?”

“Fuck you,” you croak beneath his hands on your throat.

You’re weak and running out of time. Rolling your tongue against your teeth and cheeks, harboring a mixture of saliva and blood you wait until Chad is leaning over you, and when he’s close enough you spit the concoction into his face.

Chad bellers out, letting go of your throat and standing abruptly to wipe his face. The split second he’s distracted you try to crawl away, but he kicks you down.

Delivering several soccer styled strikes into your stomach, his voice spewing insults with every jab of his white Nikes into your body.

A raging shock of fury paints his face.

“What did I tell you hmm? If I can’t have you— no one can!” You scream loud when his shoe propels into your crotch, shocking your pelvis with burning heat.

All noise is void when he rolls you over and crashes down on your beaten body, clobbering your tear and blood streaked face, blow after blow. Your eyes are swelling shut and you’re surprised when you see Eddie’s face, before your eyes shut.

It feels like home.

-1987-

The warm smile you missed so much was not there to greet you. A cold calloused “what?” finds you instead.

“Eddie?” you ask with a scratchy throat, clearing it once, twice, to answer him against the wind.

Grumbling and stomping in the trailer is heard. Along with two separate giggles.

The door is yanked hard inward revealing a version of Eddie Munson you’d never seen before. His skin was sunken in on his cheeks, dark circles rimmed his eyes. His once soft features were sharp and lackluster, brooding with ashy shadows and skin that looked like it hadn’t seen sunlight in months.

He looked gaunt and hallowed out, his ribs poking against the cindery color of his skin. The warm whiskey eyes that once danced when he laughed were now gaping blacked marbled, polar and dull.

He speaks but you are too busy holding your breath from the stench of rotting clothes and unwashed bodies.

Stumbling over an apology for not hearing him, you are startled when he barks back, “I said, what the fuck are you doing here, Tooty?”

You look to the floor and notice he’s wearing a heavily stained sock with a hole in the toe, the other foot bare, next to a pair of work boots are three pairs of women’s shoes:, heels, keds, and pink reeboks. Your toes wiggle in your worn converse.

“I’m.. I uh..”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “oh for fucks sake spit it out! You selling raffle tickets or something for school? Pep team need new Pom-poms? Or maybe the chess club is looking for a new board?”

Shock stealing your speech you stand on frigid feet digging your fingers into the yarn on the Nancy’s sweater. Tears bite your lashes and fall on cold cheeks.

Eddie! Where’s your lighter? A sultry voice coos, padding feet getting closer to the threshold.

“Listen kid, I’m fucking busy, I don’t have time to haul you around because twiddle dick and dum forgot you at the gas station again.”

He has barely looked at you since you got there. The guy who held more merit to you than your own brother was gone.

When you wipe your eyes on the sleeve of your sweater he lets out an exaggerated groan.

He thrusts dirty fingers into his sweatpants pockets. Pulling out a perfectly rolled twenty dollar bill, he flattens it smooth. He smears his finger along the length of the bill, collecting remnants of a fine white powder, which is quickly shoved into his greedy mouth and rubbed on his gums like he’s brushing his teeth.

“Here,” he grunts, shoving the drugged money into your pocket, avoiding your eyes at all cost, “now get lost.”

The blinds on the door are still swinging as you stand there dumbstruck and watery eyed. Low voices are murmured through the thin walls as a lighter flicks and sizzles.

Who was that baby?

Nobody.

And that’s exactly who you were to everyone you knew, nobody.

And ironically enough— that’s exactly who you could rely on.

One thing was for certain: Eddie Munson was a stranger to you.

The tears fell harder on the shameful walk back to Chad. But you weren’t sure if you were crying harder because of the sudden loss you felt from an old friend or because of the pain in your eye.

Heart hammering in his chest, Eddie jiggles the door handle, it’s locked and he panics and realizes he still has his key. Fumbling with the key ring, Eddie finds the short brass one and unlocks the door.

The sight of the mostly empty house is jarring, causing his stomach to drop , a small recliner rests in the living room where his couch once sat. Wine is spilled from the kitchen to the living room, smeared like it was swept poorly with a mop.

You never drank wine.

Maybe you started drinking heavily after he left. He did. It only made sense.

But a second glance at the claret colored stain embedded into the carpet and his worst fear was realized.

Blood.

The sound of something wet and thwacking settles into his bones and shakes his spine. Someone was hurting you.

Heavy docs lead him to the corner of the house, your room and his old room. Where his door was intact, yours was shattered. Like Jack Torrance took his ax to it in The Shining. Stepping on cracked wood, Eddie sees the most horrific thing he’s ever been a witness too.

And suddenly he’s six years old again, helpless. Watching a woman he loved lose a battle she didn’t even know she was in. But instead of his mother’s lifeless body crumbled by his father’s feet, instead of her dark curly hair matted with pooling blood and a gaping bullet hole— It’s you underneath a guy he doesn’t recognize.

Your face is battered and covered in blood, the once plush lips he held so warmly between his own were split and slack. Your eyes were swollen, lacking any shine to them they normally held.

His eyes connect with yours for a brief second, and when they close he doesn’t know if they will open again.

Fury radiates through his entire body, masking the pain of heartache at the sight of you slipping from him.

Before he can acknowledge the thought of you being gone, he lunges at the catalog Dad dressed asshole. Knocking him off your body and landing on top of him, colliding into your dresser. The tangle of body parts wrestling for purchase tumble into the hall. Ringed fists land home on every surface of this guy's face, and when he stops to take a breath— he realizes the face he is hitting is Chad Cunningham’s.

How did he find you? Had he been stalking you both since that day at the grocery store?

Didn’t matter all that he cared about was throwing this mother fucker the biggest ass kicking of his life, and he wouldn’t stop until either Chad or himself was dead.

“I’ve waited years for this day,” Chad spit, after getting a punch in when Eddie was in his own head, knocking Eddie’s jaw to bite down on his tongue, filling his mouth with blood immediately. “Trailer trash Munson finally came to play.”

Taken by surprise, Chad shoves Eddie from him and stands up, looking through the doorway at your limp body.

Eddie stands slow, using the bathroom doorknob to help, he reaches for the knife kept in his back pocket.

Chad spins to face Eddie, his hair sweaty and face ballooning out from Eddie’s rings. “You should have left my girl alone Munson, would have saved your uncle the heartache.”

Eddie flicks the blade open on the knife, grip tight around it, he breathes through his nose his throat tight and stretching around his words, his leather jacket creaking when he moves his neck around in a stretch, confident in his delivery, “she’s not yours.”

The hysterical laugh that leaves Chad’s lungs could resemble bats screeching in the night, he’d make a great clown in a haunted house.

“Dead or alive whether I’m married or not— she’ll always be mine.”

Like alley cats, they stare each other down, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

Chad licks his lips and looks your way again, “listen, I get it, she’s hot. And that tight little pussy..” he licks his lips and grabs himself over his denim jeans, stained with your blood.

Eddie’s blood is boiling, he’s seconds away from snapping but trying to hold it together long enough to make a perfect attack.

Chad leans forward, gesturing a mockery secret with his hand held around his mouth, “It’s even better when she’s fighting you,” he inhales deep, like he’s wishing he was in a past memory, “screaming really tightens her right up.”

Knife out, Eddie charges forward. And is struck dumb when the knife is kicked from his hand. Another kick this time to the chest that he wasn’t expecting sends him stumbling into the living room, air gone from his lungs. Chad follows and swings into his diaphragm making Eddie choke out on nothing, gasping for air.

“Oh come on, Munson,” Chad taunted, leaning down to kiss Eddie’s cheek, “Thought you would have some trailer park moves to throw at me.”

Raising a heavy boot, Eddie stomps on Chad’s toes, and mule kicks his kneecaps. A ringed fist meets his cheek, adding another forming bruise to his winter tan skin. Shoving him backwards into the counter in the kitchen, the cabinet doors bust on the impact.

The punches Eddie is landing have his knuckles bloody and swelling but he doesn’t care. Each punch is a testament for the years you held yourself together, acted like nothing bad was going on, when in reality you were experiencing hell on Earth and he never knew.

This was his payback. His way of righting a wrong. A wrong that should have never even began.

He doesn’t know what he was hit with just that he was stumbling backwards again. Temple throbbing and without reaching up he knows he’s bleeding. His back hitting the corner of the fridge he slides down onto the linoleum.

His head is heavy and his vision blinded with hazy clouds of black and white. He hears Chad but doesn’t see him, just feels his head being slammed in the fridge and a grip in his hair.

“Could have saved your uncle funeral costs you stupid bastard… clearly you don’t care about him, or Tooty for that matter, leaving her all alone like that,” Chad sucks through his teeth, splitting blood onto Eddie’s shirt, “thought the raccoons usually stuck together.”

He chuckles low and slams Eddie’s head one more time with such force it leaves a dent in the fridge. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he says, straightening his shirt, walking towards your room , “my girl is waiting.”

“Don’t touch her!” Eddie roars, pushing himself up to stand with all his might. Pounding head and nausea thick in his mouth. Raising his head he looks at Chad with blurry sight, trying to see clearly. His voice is low, catching his breath and taking all of his strength to utter out the words. Balancing around the mark of deranged, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Chad swivels on his heels, head cocked at Eddie, he grabs under his chin holding it firmly in place. His breath fanning over Eddie’s cheeks and he smiles maniacally, blood painting his teeth.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” A heavy fist to the gut has Eddie doubled over. Gripping the counter with white knuckles and wet blood smeared fingertips.

He had failed again. He wasn’t able to stop his own father from killing his mother. And now Chad was on his way to desecrate your lifeless body. He’s a fuck up and a failure.

Always.

A low guttural choking sound breeches Eddie’s ears. And he turns to see you covered in your own blood, barely standing and wielding a bat with nails protruding from every which way.

The nails are claret colored and dripping thick drops onto the carpet, fibers of Chad’s jeans hang in shreds from the sharp edges. A scant look towards Eddie and your eyes swim with relief and mourning.

He’s here. Blood is smeared down his lips and his hands look tight and swollen.

But he’s alive. And so are you.

Eddie’s vision is doubled and he blinks rapidly unaware if he is seeing you or not. He swallows hard and almost chokes on tears.

But that is short lived.

And it happens fast.

The yelling rage from Chad’s lungs over power your screams. His hands are tight around your throat before you can blink, your spine snapping into the nearest wall, feet dangling off the ground.

Haziness bleeds into your eyes and your breath is expelled from screaming— now gone when your windpipe is crushing like a pixie stick under Chad’s grip.

Desperate to fight back you jam your thumbs into his eyes. Victor Creel style like the Urban Legends passed down that you were told as kids.

If you were going to die, at least he would be blind, a forever reminder of this day etched, literally, into his face.

You prayed Eddie would know how much you loved him.

Should have’s taking over the last puffs of oxygen in your brain, popping like bubbles.

Should have told him sooner.

Should have said it every day.

Should have kissed him more.

Should have let him love you.

The guilt wraps around your mind as the cold hands of death welcome you. But you’re not afraid. Knowing Chad always kept good on his word, Eddie would join you in the afterlife.

Hand in hand.

Strolling along the pinked cotton candy clouds and the pearly gates.

You are his and he is yours.

Lovers together finally at last.

The last breath on your lips is a silent devotion to him.

I love you, Eddie.

a/n: my asks are always open ♥️

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #fic recs #eddie munson angst #stranger things

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marvelsswansong · 2 years

Text

bad for business

summary: Steve's got a lot on his plate - managing his house whilst his parents are out of town, work shifts in Family Video, babysitting six teens. If only his love for you didn't get in the way: you're good for his heart but bad for business.

tags: Steve x fem!reader, tooth rotting fluff, whipped n lovesick bf Steve, exasperated Robin & sassy kids, Steve's parents being toxic, humor, slightly suggestive, Sabrina song fic again

☆ word count: 5.3K+ ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Steve still remembered the stern look on his father's aged face, frown lines carving into the old man's dimples as he cautiously dangled the set of keys from his left hand.

"Are you sure that you'll be able to manage everything whilst we're gone?"

There was a hint of doubt laced into his question, a shadow of disapproval and distrust barely masked by his neutral expression. Not that it affected Steve much - he was used to his father's sly comments at this point, the casual passive aggressiveness, the layering of seemingly innocent questions with sour tones.

So Steve simply smiled and rolled his shoulders forward, his fingers meeting his father's wrinkled ones as the house keys were exchanged by the front porch of the house. The car was already running, toxic gas fumes billowing into the air, stacks of suitcases crammed into the backseat.

"Yes, dad. I promise to be diligent."

His father only narrowed his eyes at that, licking his chapped lips as he eyed Steve up and down.

"Well, I suppose it shouldn't be too difficult for you to manage. It isn't as if you're pressed for time: considering you're a twentysomething with a job at a video store and no future plans for higher education."

The insult stung, bitter taste filling Steve's mouth, but he'd be damned if he let it show how his father's cruelty affected him. So his lips only ever so flicked upwards in a faux smile, sick sweetness dripping from his tone.

"Of course. I hope you and mom have a great time in San Francisco."

Steve's mother was kinder upon departure - albeit, only so because she hurriedly left with a swift kiss to his cheek and a stern reminder that she'd left a list on the fridge on all he'd have to do whilst they were gone. It was clear that neither of his parents truly trusted him to take care of the house, which annoyed him to no end, but he swallowed all his protests and waved his parents goodbye as the maroon Ford swerved out of the driveway.

The list of things to keep on top of, as scribbled down by his mother in frantic pencil marks, now remained practically untouched by his fridge. The first morning after his parents had gone, he'd briefly skimmed over the list and began to sort through the tasks in his mind - the laundry, collecting the mail, dusting his parents' room, opening the windows in the basement to allow for air to circulate... And he was determined on being responsible and sticking by it to a tee-

And then you'd called.

Giggly and drunk, calling him from a random phone booth outside a downtown bar, voice low and sweet as you rambled on about how much you missed him. Steve was dashing out of his house in an instant at that, not even bothering to take the time to turn off all the lights or properly lock his front door, and he spent the rest of the night doting after you - bringing you glasses of water, pressing light kisses onto your forehead, devouring one VHS tape after another on the couch with your sleepy body enveloping his.

'I'll get to the list of things tomorrow.' he reasoned then, fingers gently running up and down the curve of your waist as you slept peacefully against his chest. The disapproving stares and condescending comments of his parents disappeared further and further in his mind as he relaxed into your hold, warmth and familiar scents of vanilla and jasmine lulling him to sleep.

That was three days ago.

Steve still hasn't taken out the trash. He's yet to even drive past the post office to see if his parents had received any new packages. The laundry basket is still full and leaning hazardously against his parents' bedroom door, almost mocking him every time he passes by their room. Alas, Steve's been too busy spending every moment with you: spontaneous drives, date nights, and running errands around town with your pinkie finger interlaced with his.

Damn it.

Today's the day, Steve tells himself, fixing his curls in the bathroom mirror before taking a deep breath in. He's going to have a quick breakfast before getting started with mowing the lawn, then he'll move on to sort the laundry, then he can drive off to the post office-

"STEVIEEEE-" your melodic voice rings out from the kitchen, cutting through his frantic thoughts with ease. The warmth that blossoms in his stomach is instantaneous, as is the grin on his face at the sound of your pleading.

"Yes, angel?" he shouts back, peeking his head out the door. You step back from the kitchen counter, Steve's oversized green tie dye shirt hanging loosely and stopping at the top of your thighs. It drives him crazy: your bedhead hair, the bumblebee patterned fuzzy socks on your feet, the innocent twinkle in your eyes as you smile at him from across the room.

"Do you want bacon or sausages with your pancakes?" you ask, deep in thought.

"Either is good with me, love." Steve responds, but you only pout at that, shaking your head sideways in mock dissatisfaction.

"That's not helpful, babe! Or is it because you want both?"

"Fine, uh... sausages, I guess." he resigns and you nod, returning your attention to the sizzling pan. He takes a moment after turning off the sink tap to admire you in the sunlight - golden beams of light illuminating a halo around the crown of your head, pink lips turning glossy as you absentmindedly suck on a strawberry, soft thighs parting and crossing underneath his t-shirt.

It's a sight that makes Steve feral with desire, heart pounding so fast he thinks it'll burst out of his chest. It's a sight that he'd give anything to wake up to, all other consequences be damned.

And Steve's plans for a quick breakfast all but fly out the window the moment you sit him down onto the kitchen counter and insist on him keeping you company through the "most important meal of the day." The excuse of really having to get to the list of tasks left by his parents is sitting on the tip of his tongue, but his mind blanks white at your glittery smile and your soft fingers tracing random patterns onto his shaky hands, legs thrown over his lap.

"Just fifteen minutes, please?" you bat your eyelashes at him too, and he's a goner.

"Of course, baby."

Breakfast drags on for at least an hour - what with Steve wanting to feed you spoonfuls of sweet honeyed pancakes and grapes, your legs kicking forward in delight, and the various kisses he can't help himself to leave along your skin. Head burrowed in to the dip of your neck leading down to the valley of your breasts, one arm tightly wrapped around your waist to secure you in his lap, time just slips away from him easily.

Once the plates are empty and the dishwasher's been filled, Steve forces himself (pulling away from your embrace with significant difficulty) to get on with his tasks. He gets an hour or two at best before you flip the rest of his day upside down, finding him hunched over the washing machine. Face scrunched up in frustration and bottom lip protruding as he intently focuses, Steve's throat then runs dry the moment he looks up and sees that you've changed into his favorite dress. Mint green with light puffy sleeves, a dress with cotton fabric which hugs your figure perfectly.

"It's so nice outside and you want to stay home and do the laundry?" you whine, jumping up and down on the balls of your feet. He's still caught off guard as you trail towards him, mischievous smile on your lips as you tug at his sleeves.

"We should go out, Stevie. I heard Lover's Lake is real romantic this time of the year, and we have enough left overs from last night to have a picnic."

There's still so many things to do - he's only manage to cross off two tasks out of a total of twenty, and his parents are coming back tomorrow morning.

But all he can focus on right now is how breathtaking you look in that dress, the silver butterfly necklace hanging loosely from your neck when you lean over and brush your thumbs against his face, smoothing over his cheeks. The dirty clothes are quickly dropped back into the laundry basket as he caves, hurrying to help you pack a picnic basket and then rushing to open the front door of his BMW for you.

Turns out, you sneak a bit of cherry wine into the mix, making him tipsy off of the sweet alcholic beverage mingling in his mouth, whilst he's simultaneously getting drunk off of your giggles at all his dirty jokes. He stops drinking before he gets fully drunk, of course, but the pleasant buzz in his mind continues as you straddle him, equally as tipsy as him.

"I love you so much, Steve." you mumble into his skin, arms wrapping around his neck, lazy smile painting your face. Steve swears he can feel his brain melt at that admission, stomach so full with love and fingertips buzzing with electricity, it hurts to look straight at you due to the sunlight but he still does so with a goofy grin.

"I love you even more, baby."

The last night before his parents' return is then spent not on catching up on the rest of his duties, but lost to cuddling sessions on the couch as a boring rom-com drones on in the background. His hands can't help but trace your figure teasingly, thumbs dipping underneath your shorts, the gesture tickling against your skin as you giggle and bat at his chest.

"Stop, Stevie." you joke, making Steve look up from where he's pressing kisses down onto your exposed shoulders.

"Not a chance, love. I'm addicted to you." he groans, shifting to sit you up right against his chest. You raise your eyebrows at that.

"Addicted? What am I, a drug?" you tease.

"Even worse." he mumbles, coarse lips ghosting alongside your jaw. "You're all I think about and can ever think about."

A harsh sound - the house telephone perched on the opposite wall ringing - fills the living room and you quirk your head sideways, amused at how Steve doesn't seem phased at all.

"Don't you wanna get that? It might be your parents, after all."

He's not even listening to you, head drawn downwards, fingers gripping at your waist with a lustful smile to match. His irises are glazed over, chest heavy with infatuation - the air feels sickly sweet and heavy to him, intoxicated to be in your presence.

"Let it ring." he insists. He flips you underneath him in an instant, the laugh bubbling from your throat quickly morphing into a moan when his kisses begin to get more aggressive.

"I'm more focused on... something else, if you get what I mean." he lowly teases, starting to tug your shirt over your neck.

Steve wakes the next morning, startled and disoriented, to the sound of his parents' car pulling back into the driveway, accompanied by the yelling of his father to come downstairs. His sleepy mind is still stuck in the crevices of his dreamlike state - your warm legs entangled with his, head resting against his chest as he pulls your scantily clad body closer to him - as he begrudgingly forces himself to sit upright, pulling a shirt over his naked torso.

He looks back at you one last time, still sleeping and head peacefully resting against his pillows, before walking downstairs to meet his parents' fury.

"Did you manage to get the tasks done?" his father fusses, examining the living room with a critical eye. His father is clearly unhappy with the mess you two have left: the blanket draped over the two of you from last night still messily strewn over the sofa, paper plates stained with pizza grease peeking out from the trash can, your borrowed shirt still on the floor (which Steve is quick to pick back up with a reddened face).

"I uh... sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I meant to." Steve starts off slowly, before his eyes fall back onto the shirt in his hands and a smile appears on his face instinctively. "Then I got distracted."

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

Steve's work hours are from nine to six, with a late start on Fridays from ten to seven. He doesn't mind working at Family Video, he might even say he actually likes it - Robin's great company (he can't complain about having his co-worker also be his best friend) and the constant rotation of new media and customers keeps him on his toes.

Steve's always been a diligent worker too. Rises at eight, has breakfast, brushes his teeth, swings his bag over his shoulder and makes the drive across town to get to work precisely on time. His track record is precise, he gets along with all the customers, he doesn't cause too many issues for either Robin or their boss.

That was at least the case, until he fell in love with you.

Steve tries to resist you come every Sunday - he knows he has a full week of work ahead and that if he goes to bed any time later than 11, he'll be yawning and stumbling around like a zombie from the fatigue. But you're dangerous when you call him up at night, voice dripping with honey and maple sugar, he can practically visualize you with your legs hanging in the air as you dangle off of the edge of your bed.

"I'm bored, Stevie." you sigh into the phone.

Clutching the phone receiver closer to his ear, Steve only smirks at that, imagining your cute face scrunch up in annoyance as you complain about your Sunday night boredom.

"I'm sorry to hear that, angel, but I really should go to bed early." he gently coaxes you, but you only huff on the other line. The sound of fabric shifting underneath your figure rings out as you readjust your posture on your bed.

"I know, just... I miss you, it's all."

"Aw baby I miss you too." he coos, wishing he could be by your side right now. "Why don't you ask Nancy to come over? She's taking tomorrow off, I heard."

He hears you rustling through your belongings in the background before you respond, this time with a chirpier voice.

"Oh actually, it's fine! I remember Eddie saying we could hang out tonight if I wanted to."

Jealousy pricks at Steve's heart at an instant, needles poking against his skin, fiery liquid burning his veins.

"Eddie said that?" he chokes out. You don't seem to pick up on your boyfriend's shift in demeanor at the end of the line, only nodding and curling the phone chord between your upper fingers.

"Yeah, and I haven't seen him in a bit so maybe I could call him up. I still have the brownie batter from last weekend in the fridge so it'll be fun-"

Steve's vision flashes red at that - baking sessions are to be solely shared between you and him, he thinks. And the thought of Eddie Munson putting his hands on you (platonic or not), guiding your hands on the kitchen counter and wiping away spare chocolate from your lips the way Steve always does, makes him delirious with anger and jealousy.

"I'm coming over." he announces, already beginning to grab his jacket and keys. You frown from the other side, pulling away from the phone in momentary surprise before responding.

"Are you sure? If you're working tomorrow, it's fine, I can just call Eddie-" you start, only to be cut off again.

"NOPE. I'm coming over, it's final, no need to call Eddie." Steve rushes out. "Love you, see you soon."

Before you can even try to talk him out of it he hangs up, leaving you to stare at your ringing phone with amusement. True to his word, your flustered and out of breath boyfriend is waiting for you by your doorstep in less than fifteen minutes.

"Hi there." you tease, eyeing him up and down. His tense posture - clenched jaw, squared shoulders, anxious twiddling of his fingers by his sides - melts away the moment his eyes land on you in a lacy blue nightdress and pink socks.

Fuck, you look ethereal, he notes, the pale moonlight shining down onto your hair, kissing the top of your brows and carving shadows down your jaw.

"You were jealous, weren't you?" you tease, crossing your arms across your chest. You let out a gentle laugh at his bewildered expression. "You don't have to be, baby. Eddie's just a friend, if anything, he's like the annoying brother I've never had."

"Was not jealous." Steve mumbles, not even meeting your gaze as he shuffles into your house and shrugs off his jacket by your sofa. You suppress another laugh at that, his doelike eyes drawn downwards as if he's a puppy that's been kicked.

"Okay, you weren't jealous." you sarcastically comment, leaning against the sofa. He looks up at that, defensive.

"I wasn't!" the pitch of his voice comes out too high to be persuasive, forcing him to cough and attempt to purposefully lower his voice. "I was not jealous of Eddie."

Leaning forward slowly, you press a light kiss onto his lips - he still tastes like his mint toothpaste - and wiggle your eyebrows.

"Alright, handsome. Whatever you say."

He'd fight you, he really would, but he can't find it in himself to argue with you when the alternative is to be able to hug you from behind as you bake and make you laugh. In between separating the batter and organizing the kitchen mid-mess, Steve makes sure to sneak in a few photographs with his polaroid.

"I swear you're obsessed with that thing." you comment, pointing your wooden spoon at the polaroid sitting in Steve's palms. "Ever since I've gotten you that camera for your birthday, you haven't ever put it down."

Steve just hums at that, sly smile on his lips as he snaps another picture of you leaning over the open oven, the bright flash blinding you momentarily. When the photo pops out, Steve's fingers curl around the edges to shake it back and forth, before he examines the developing photograph with a wide smirk.

"What can I say, I just want to capture your beauty the best I can."

He jokes that he's coming for Jonathan's job as the photographer of the group, and you playfully roll your eyes and tell him that if he's trying to compete with Jonathan, he's doing a rotten job.

"You only ever take photos of me or of us together, babe." you remind him. You're correct, of course. Steve's wallet is overflowing with crammed polaroids of you laying on the sofa, reading the newspaper, sleeping - doing the most mundane and uninteresting things. Not that he cares, if anything, he argues that you look the most stunning during those times.

In fact, you even caught him showing off photos of you to his friends, who all smile at how adorable his infatuation with you is, whilst simultaneously dreading the repeated practice. You have to admit, it does give off a bit of the "old grandfather showing off photos of his grandchildren" vibes at times.

Once the brownies have finished baking, you carefully divide them up into neat squares, making sure to package few of them separately for Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Joyce and Hopper. You beg Steve to join you by the rooftop to enjoy the rest and so he obviously obliges, exchanging caramel brownie kisses with you under the moonlight with a light blanket draped over both your laps.

"We should really get to bed." you try to reason, pulling away from his grasp, wary of his early start tomorrow. But Steve rolls his eyes at that, left hand coming to cup your chin again, pulling your lips right back against his.

"Another ten minutes."

You smile into the kiss, nodding.

"Another ten minutes."

Of course, with you, kisses are never ten minutes.

Hence why now he's doing the walk of shame into Family Video, arriving at 10.30 - a full hour and a half after his shift was supposed to start - with Robin leaning against the counter with an unimpressed expression on her face. She doesn't even need to question him at this point, considering you've walked into the store with him, smoothing over his hair with your fingers and waving at Robin as you've driven your boyfriend to work.

"Late night?" Robin smirks, noticing how you're having a bit of trouble walking. You laugh nervously as Steve blushes pink at his best friend's teasing, the dark marks decorating his neck a dead giveaway of what you two ended up doing last night.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Robin. I swear, I was trying to get him to sleep but he kept on insisting!" you say, making the brunette shake her head in response, amused grin quirking up her lips.

"You don't have to tell me twice, hun. Steve all but throws out all his responsibilities the moment you come into his peripheral."

Steve rolls his eyes, mouth open ready to defend himself, but he realizes that she kind of has a point. So he resigns to go off to the back room to change into his uniform, but not completely out of earshot from you and Robin.

"See, I was just going to call up Eddie since I knew Steve had work today morning, but Steve just hung up and showed up at my doorstep so I didn't have much of a choice." you recall, only making Robin's smirk widen as she shoots her best friend an amused look.

"Is that true, lover boy? Got jealous of Eddie Munson, the drug dealer obsessed with D&D?" she sing songs, clearly mocking him.

"Shut up." Steve grumbles out, tugging his work vest over his shoulders.

"You two together-" he points between the two of you, you leaning forward on the counter on your propped up arms and Robin standing up straight with her arms crossed, "are dangerous."

"You're just afraid that one day I'm gonna steal her. It's the least you can do to compensate me, with how many times you're coming in late these days." Robin jokes, placing an arm around your shoulder. You laugh again at that as Steve sighs, rubbing his forehead.

"I'm sorry, you can take Thursday and Friday off, how about that?" he tries to console, feeling bad for all his tardiness lately. His best friend chooses to simply hum in response, tapping her fingers against the counter in contemplation.

"I get Thursday and Friday off, and you pay for pizza night at (Y/n)'s next weekend." Robin counter-suggests.

Your boyfriend only huffs at that, flailing his arms around in frustration.

"WHAT? How is that any fair, technically my girlfriend is just as responsible for me being late as myself." he argues, gesturing to you emphatically.

"Not true, Stevie. I told you multiple times I could find someone else for the night and I also did tried to get you to sleep earlier repeatedly." you remind him, giving him a knowing glance.

"Yeah, Harrington, don't try to change the subject. It's not her fault that you're like, obsessed with her." Robin adds, poking Steve in the shoulder.

Unable to handle the teasing further, he relents, shaking his head in defeat.

"Okay, okay. Thursday and Friday off, and I'll pay for pizza night next week."

"Great! I'll see you later, yeah?" you ask, kissing Steve on the cheek. You don't get even more than a few feet away from the counter before he's pulling you backwards by your wrist, liplocking you into a harsh kiss that leaves your lips buzzing and head fuzzy.

"See you later, love."

He watches you leave with infatuation clouding his vision, head still swimming with the taste of your lips. Robin has to physically shake him awake, an exasperated look on her face.

"Come on, Harrington. You don't want to even more late to work, do you?"

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

Steve's never seen without you these days. The kids have gotten used to seeing you by the front seat of his BMW, grinning at them through the window as Steve is there on "pickup duty" - be that from the arcade, the library or school.

There's a light breeze passing through the park today, the summer sun far too nice to pass up a day outside. Erica and Lucas are racing each other on their bikes, Mike's engaged in a casual conversation with Will by the swing set, then you and Max are standing by the walkway with her skateboard.

You're watching intently as the redhead flawlessly hops onto the skateboard in front of you, before jumping up into the air, kicking the board up into a minor flip and landing down onto the pavement safely. Your eyes widen in awe, quickly clapping afterwards, causing the girl's cheeks to turn as red as her hair.

"You have to teach me!" you insist.

"I'm not sure if I'd be a good teacher." Max shyly responds, scratching her neck. You wave her off.

"You'd be fantastic, Max! But only if you want to teach me, of course. I'm sure if I'm learning from you I'll be a pro in no time."

Dustin is stealing another handful of grapes from the picnic basket, sneaking looks in between where you're standing and then to Steve, who has the most dorky smile on his face as he admires you from afar whilst leaning against a large willow tree.

"You're so fucking whipped for her, it's sickening." Dustin comments, causing the older boy to look down at him, black rimmed sunglasses sliding down the bridge of Steve's nose at the action.

"Staring at my girlfriend is not a crime, Henderson." he reminds the younger boy, shoving him lightly in the shoulder. Dustin only huffs at that, straightening his shirt and dusting off his shoulders.

"Sure, but you bring her everywhere with you and you lose all your common sense when she's around."

"Nuh uh, do not." Steve defends himself, sitting up straight. Dustin pokes his tongue out, teasing him.

"Uh huh, you do."

"Do not."

"You do."

"What are we arguing about, boys?" you ask, sitting back down across them, breathless smile on your face. Your wet lips part and wrap around a lemonade bottle, and Steve swears he's never seen a more angelic sight than one of you in a tank top and levi jeans, sunlight accentuating your delighted features.

"Just about how Steve brings you to like, everything, and is obsessed with you and how sickening it is." the curly haired boy slyly comments, biting into a piece of toast. You fake your smile dropping at that, looking down in faux sadness.

"Oh... Sorry, would you prefer if I stop coming to these things?"

Steve hides his amused smile at that, watching Dustin's eyes widen in alarm.

"W-what?"

You drag out your sigh, sadly trailing your finger up and down the picnic mat.

"I know that Steve used to be the only one picking you guys up or bringing you to the park... If I'm ruining all your plans with Steve, I'm happy to no longer come-"

"NO, NO, NO! Oh my god, (Y/n), that's totally not what I meant." Dustin hurriedly explains, speaking so fast that bread crumbs are falling everywhere. "We love having you around, seriously Max and Lucas will kick me in the shins if you stop showing up for these things, I was just making fun of Steve and how much he loves you, it's actually kinda sweet and I was just joking-"

You and Steve both laugh at that point, the dam breaking as you both throw your head back, causing Dustin's expression to morph into one of confusion. Pausing, you brush your hand over Dustin's curls, gently patting him on the head.

"I know, bub. I was just joking, that's all."

Dustin splutters at that, before pouting his lips forward.

"Oh, come on, that was just evil, (Y/n)." he grumbles.

"Aw, I'm sorry Dusty. But I'm always happy to show up to these things, so long as you're all happy to have me."

He looks up at you, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"I mean, yeah. You're cool. In fact, too cool to be dating this one." he says, pointing to Steve, who raises his eyebrows in mock offense.

"Watch it, Henderson."

Dustin runs off at the sound of Lucas and Erica calling him over, standing over their parked bikes, leaving you to stare at the gorgeous face of your boyfriend's.

"The kids all love you." he comments, his cold fingers brushing over your warm hands. "A bit too much, I think. I'm starting think you're the resident babysitter, not me."

Leaning in close, so close that he can count the individual droplets of water adorning your hair, you shake your head sideways in denial.

"Nah, I don't think that's possible." you pause for dramatic effect. "I think that'll always be Nancy."

"You little-" he starts, pretending to be burnt by your betrayal.

Giggling, you pull away, already beginning to make a run for it towards the kids when Steve all but (carefully) pummels into you, pinning you against the nearest tree. Hands tickling your waist, he steadies your body beneath his, amused grin decorating his lips.

"Apologize, babe." he commands.

"Mmm... I don't know..." you trail off, pretending to be conflicted.

"Apologize or I won't kiss you." he threatens, which only makes you chuckle.

"That's an empty threat, Stevie. We both know that if anyone's going to be more kiss deprived, it's you."

"That's true!" Erica shouts from the background, making your smile only widen.

"Damn those smart ass kids." he swears, letting you back down. You smooth a hand over his forehead and wink at him.

"Don't worry, babe. You're still the resident babysitter."

"Lovebirds!"

You perk up at the sound of Nancy's voice before running over to quickly hug your friend, leaving Jonathan to replace your absence, standing next to Steve with his right hand fiddling with his camera.

"Are we still good for tomorrow?" Jonathan questions, shooting Steve a nonchalant glance. Steve only frowns at that, mind blanking.

"Uh... what's happening tomorrow?"

"Seriously?" the dark haired boy questions, raising his eyebrows. "You volunteered to helped me with my photography assignment, you know, the one for the local newspaper? We've literally talked about this two days ago."

"Oh, right! Yeah, sorry, I just uh..." Steve fumbles for an excuse, truthfully having totally forgotten about his plans for tomorrow.

"It's (Y/n), isn't it?" Jonathan quips, cocking his head towards where you're standing. He laughs at Steve's obvious embarrassment, Steve's eyes suddenly looking away as his ears turn red. "Robin was right, you're hopeless when you're around her."

Thankfully, their conversation is cut off short by the sound of your footsteps alongside Nancy's approaching, allowing Steve to instead focus on how warm your arm feels around his waist as you bury your head into his neck. Rubbing his hands up and down your back, he glares at Nancy and Jonathan who wiggle their eyebrows from behind you, clearly teasing him.

They're all right, Steve supposes. His parents, Robin, the kids, Nancy and Jonathan - to point out that you've turned his life upside down. He's been falling behind on his house tasks, showing up late to work, and forgetting his plans with his friends.

You're going to be the death of him.

Especially with the way you're now whining against his skin, asking him oh-so-sweetly if he wants to have dinner tonight at the diner off the 45 with the good milkshakes.

Steve knows that actually, his parents want him back home by five today, but he decides then and there that they can wait. Dinners with you will always come first, to hell with whatever snarky comments his parents might throw at him afterwards.

Alas, you're good for his heart but bad for business.

a/n: I know I literally just posted another Sabrina song fic after 'tornado warnings' for Eddie like less than a week ago but I COULDN'T resist, I'm still obsesed with emails I can't send and this song is so fucking cute a fluff fic had to be written around it.

Hope y'all like this one, I know the structure was a bit unusual but I loved how it turned out personally :)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #steve harrington #1k #2k #3k

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sushiwriterhere · 8 months

Text

in a heartbeat

summary: "Maybe he just didn’t need the fanfare, maybe he needed to ditch the plans and just hand the rock to you over Chinese takeout and let that be it." rating: explicit (no minors!) pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x f!reader word count: 3.9k warnings: very fluffy, PiV (unprotected), no use of y/n. notes: this is my first fic in a while and im fighting writers block something awful. this is not proofread :( pls lmk what you think <3! my other works are here part of the coming home to you universe

four days before.

“I’m gonna go out for drinks with the girls Saturday.”

“Uhhh, you can’t.”

Did he need to loop your coworkers into the proposal plan too? Phoenix having dragged it out of him so they could all help was bad enough. Bradley could feel his headache building behind his eyes. He tried to avert eye contact to make the conversation feel natural, instead focusing his gaze on the onion he was trying to caramelize.

“I can’t?”

Bradley’s never been controlling, never tried to tell you who you can and can’t hang out with, and certainly never with that particular tone in his voice. He heard the mail you were inspecting drop onto the granite countertop as you turned your full attention on him.

“Why?”

Fuck.

He could hear the way your eyes were narrowed from the uncharacteristically steady tone of your voice, the way one eyebrow was raised expectantly.

In the back of his mind, Bradley also saw the picnic blanket, candles, and bottle of your favorite wine stashed at Mav’s. There were the flowers he had to pick up and arrange on Friday while you were working, the homemade meal Javy promised him that he needed to grab on Saturday around midday.

“I made dinner reservations at this new place down by the beach, and the only time they had was Saturday evening.”

“And you forgot to tell me until now?”

Bradley didn’t forget. Not about these types of things. Ever since your first date, Bradley had been nothing but proactive. He planned dates, cooked meals, doted on you. Forgetting just wasn’t like him.

“Made the reservation this morning and you seemed busy.” He finally met your eyes and he watched as your gaze softened and you turned back to the stack of mail.

“Bradley Bradshaw you are a sap.”

And the moment passed.

You and Bradley had talked about marriage, you have. You’d talked about it enough for him to know what kind of ring you wanted, that you wanted a small, intimate ceremony, and that you’d lost more than enough sleep over whether to invite your parents. You’d talked enough to know Bradley would probably have the Dagger Squad as best men (people?) and that he’d let Phoenix be part of your bridal party if you wanted, that he wanted Mav right there next to him, and that there would be an empty chair for Goose and Carole. That was one thing.

Getting down on one knee and actually going over that line? That was another.

The rational part of his brain had always insisted that you would say yes, that you also knew from very early on, if not the beginning. The unhelpful part of his brain kept telling him the ring was the wrong size or that a seagull would swoop down and steal the shiny thing right from his fingertips before you could even say no.

three days before.

Bradley’s checked the ring at least six times since he, Javy, and the other guys came into the shop. The sound of the velvet clicking back against itself then sliding open again was starting to grate on his nerves, but he wanted to give Bradley the benefit of the doubt. He remembered what it was like, that lump in your throat, the way his brain tended to keep him up about every disagreement, every time he should’ve apologized instead of stewing on his anger.

Javy, instead, choose peace. He watched calmly as Bradley opened the box again, and brought a finger up to trace the gems before deciding against it.

Doesn’t want to smudge it.

There was clearly something on his mind, because the ring had been paid for months ago and the re-sizing and adjustments were included in the price. But there Bradley was, stuck to the shop floor, looking like he was trying to decide between getting sick right there and maybe saving it for the trees outside the shop’s doors.

“What’cha thinkin’ about there, Rooster?” Jake sidled up to Bradley’s side, voice a low murmur, as if trying not to startle the man.

Regardless, Bradley jumped slightly, jostling the open box and the sound of the box snapping shut echoed harshly around the showroom. Bradley looked like he might’ve decided on getting sick inside.

“Should I get a second one? What if she doesn’t like this one?”

Across the room, a sales associate perked up just slightly, clearly looking to score on another guy so nervous he looked like a ghost. Vultures.

“Bradley, my man, we’ve been over this a thousand times. Phoenix got her Pinterest, it’s all a certain style, and it’s definitely the perfect ring.”

Jake and Bradley had begun to get along, rather begrudgingly at first, then very amicably, after the mission and Jake saved Bradley’s life. Seeing him comfort Bradley was something else though, Javy acknowledged. It was kind of nice to have that tension dissipate from within their team.

“But what if I need another perfect one?”

“Are you gonna propose to her twice?” Bob had popped up on Bradley’s other side, silent as ever. “Usually there’s a second one for the wedding, but I’m here for a bit of a new tradition.”

At that, Bradley deflated a bit. The box in his hands clicked open, then shut again.

“No, no new tradition.” He murmured, before slipping the box into his pocket.

two days before.

Bradley knew Mav loved him, but he wasn’t sure how much he would after this whole ordeal. They must’ve run over the schedule at least a thousand times, forward and backward, even while flying over their comms. At this point, Bradley was sure he had the entire Dagger Squad reciting the plan in their sleep. He hoped he at least wasn’t, he didn’t need you to be clued into anything.

“Nothing has moved since the last time you were here. Go home, Bradley.” Mav’s voice carried through the house as Bradley unceremoniously burst through the door.

He’d started leaving work fifteen minutes early last week, just to double check that everything was in its place, that nothing had broken or spontaneously combusted. It was just enough time for him to stop at Mav’s place on the way home, do his round, and make it home around the same time as usual so as not to rouse suspicion.

“I’m just–”

“Just checking yeah, get outta my house Bradley and go be with your fiance.” Mav had rounded the corner into his back room, all bathed in sunlight and a picture-perfect reminder of why people loved living in California.

He was the picture of relaxed domesticity, dish towel over his shoulder, spatula in one hand that he was clearly thinking about hitting Bradley with as he paced the room and ticked things off on his fingers as he murmured to himself.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in my carpet, and I happen to really like that rug.” Bradley stopped walking but the way his fingers twitched at his sides clued Mav into the way he was clearly still running through the run of show in his mind.

“She’s not my fiance yet.”

“And she never will be if I murder you for breaking into my house and giving my wife a heart attack.”

“Penny’s not even home at this hour.”

Mav had never seen Bradley like this. He’d missed graduations and recitals and all the shit you don’t get to see as an estranged god-father, but he’d done enough wondering about what he was like in those moments to have come up with this scenario. Bradley truly was the perfect mix of Goose and Carole–all Goose’s easy romantic energy, ever creative, ever attentive, and just as much of Carole’s eye for detail and desire for things to go right.

“Bradley.”

Mav watched as the fight eased out of Bradley’s shoulders and his hands relaxed at his sides, “Right. Sorry.”

“Look son, you don’t have to be sorry for wanting this to go right. And you’ve only got a little of sorry to be about starting to drive me insane.” At that, Bradley cracked half a smile and Mav considered that a small success. “You like this at home?”

A sharp laugh echoed around the wood-paneled room, “Oh absolutely not. She’d know in a heartbeat.”

“Well, then you have your answer.” The gears were turning at a million miles an hour as Bradley tried to decipher what he meant. “She knows you in a heartbeat, which means she knows how she feels about you. And we both know what that means for Saturday.”

Bradley nodded, the picture of relaxation and ease all at once. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

one day before.

Bradley was starting to think the gash on his finger was some sort of awful omen, something terrible that had been awaiting to reveal itself until the last moment. He’d arranged flowers for you probably a million times at this point, had even done it blindfolded (only cheating a bit so he didn’t lose a finger) just to amuse you. Now, as he stared at the blood bubbing up from his middle left finger where he’d just stabbed himself with the scissors, the entire thing felt like some sort of cosmic joke.

He’d never doubted that he wanted to marry you, not even when you’d argued or insisted on shoving your ice cold fingers and toes up against him in the dead of night. Not once had he wavered since that initial thought in his brain, and he was even more sure when he went to open that fucking bank account that he’d been diligently adding a sizeable portion of his paycheck to. (What? He wanted to be sure he could afford exactly what you wanted, DeBeers advertising campaign be damned.)

Maybe he just didn’t need the fanfare, maybe he needed to ditch the plans and just hand the rock to you over Chinese takeout and let that be it.

The only thing keeping him going despite all his nerves, aside from his deep love for you, was the way you’d once leaned against him when the two of you were spending a week away in the mountains. Overlooking something that felt like it was right from a postcard, you’d told him exactly how all the little romantic things he did made you feel.

“Every time you buy me flowers, I get this little feeling in my chest, like something curling around my heart.” Bradley remembered keeping himself from making a joke, something about heart attacks, trying not to break the moment as the fog hung low over the trees.

“From the moment you picked me up for our first date and insisted on opening the car door, bringing me flowers, they all make me get that little squirmy feeling that no one’s ever given me before.” You had pressed yourself to his side but not met his eyes, as if your confession was too powerful, too heavy to make when looking at him, “And some of it’s because I’m a sap at heart and you somehow know what I want before I do, but some of it’s just because it’s you Bradley. Always has been, always will be.”

The words said next would keep him going in his darkest moments, kept him together on long deployments, kept him pushing through every moment of doubt in the planning process.

“So if you ever decide to propose to me, even if it’s just you asking me over coffee, just know I’ll get that feeling, just because it’s you.”

At that, you’d turned to face him, shifting so you could hook your chin over his shoulder where he turned his face to yours. He could see every lash, every spot on your face that he loved to press his lips to when you were too sleepy to protest. You’d graced him with a tiny smile, somehow just a bit melancholy, but all too loving.

Bradley shook his head, clearing the memory as he scrambled to keep his blood from spattering on the countertop. He was going to have to grit his teeth through the pain of using a liquid bandaid so the pictures weren’t ruined by a regular bandaid.

You’d compromised on drinks being Friday, so he had the evening to himself. All the time in the world for flowers, for a barbecue at Javy’s (home cooked meal to be picked up that night instead of Saturday morning), and for waiting up for you to text that you were ready to go home.

the day of.

Bradley thought he’d be blinded by panic, or doubt, now that he was counting down hours and minutes in place of days or weeks. Instead, all he felt was a sense of serenity, almost like he was floating through the motions.

The day started like every Saturday he’d had since you moved in and he’d been granted a relatively permanent station at Top Gun with Mav and the rest–you pressed up against him, your hair tickling some part of his bare skin, and the type of bone deep satisfaction with life that came with going to bed with a full belly and the love of his life at his side. He stared up at the ceiling fan as it made its lazy rotations and thought about how today was marking the difference between two parts of his life.

After today, there would always be a time before the proposal, and after.

The morning was lazy as you insisted you didn’t have a hangover but let Bradley cook you a plate full of turkey bacon, gently scrambled eggs, and a few hashbrowns. He knew you would be fine by afternoon, and after that excited to hang out at the beach before dinner.

He was sort of counting on it.

Apparently he’d underestimated your ability to bounce back because the way you draped yourself across his bare back was a little less than innocent as your hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his stomach. He slowed the way he was chewing the last of his hashbrown as you pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot under his ear.

“Good morning, Bradley,” You crooned lowly.

“Mornin’.”

His stomach jumped as you ran a nail over one of his nipples, and kissed at his shoulder. Tilting his head to the side to give you more room to work with, he took a slow drink of his water.

Maybe he wanted you to work for it just a little, what with how badly he’d been stressing these last few weeks.

And work for it you did. The light drag of your nails just barely there on his stomach and arms had him getting hard faster than he thought was humanly possible. But there was just something about the warmth of your chest at his back, the thinness of some shirt you’d stolen from him doing little to hide the swell of your breasts, that did it for him. Hell, it was really just that it was you that got him going.

“I missed you last night.” You whined, just a bit, as he finally turned around on the barstool and gathered you into his lap.

You could definitely feel the way he was hard against the soft give of your thighs, but somehow in that moment, all he wanted was you near. Sensing that somehow the moment had maybe passed, you curled in his lap and stretched your arms around his shoulders, apparently just content to be touching him.

“I missed you too.”

The way your lips met his was almost as natural as breathing, and then the moment wasn’t so innocent anymore. Your lips slotted against his as you kneaded at his arm muscles and part of Bradley was incredibly satisfied that you were enjoying just how much effort he put in at the gym. Sure, he had to be fit for his physical, but how hard he went on his biceps and shoulders was purely for your benefit.

When the two of you finally stumbled back into the bedroom, Bradley thought he might pass out from how hard he was. Everything about you was amplified somehow. Your skin was softer and the gentle scent of whatever perfume you’d worn last night filled his nose. The give of your hips and thighs was easier and all he wanted was to sink his teeth into you and never let go. You might even let him.

Sprawled underneath him you looked like a goddess, bathed in the rising morning sun, nipples gently peaked as your chest rose and fell.

“I love you.”

It was so tender in comparison to the way you sat up and worked a hand inside Bradley’s boxers to grab firmly at his cock. He groaned as you shoved at the little clothing the two of you were wearing and in a moment, your skin was a beautiful contrast to the crisp white of the sheets.

Bradley made to go down on you but you kept his face in your hands, “Been ready to go since I watched you scramble those eggs.”

He couldn’t hold back the way he barked out a laugh, that one was new. “The way the white and yolk were combined really do it for you?”

You smacked at his chest indignantly as he propped one of your thighs over the crook of his elbow, “Your back and arms look nice when you whisk, you asshole.”

You weren’t so huffy as he slid into you, gentle as ever. Bradley knew he wasn’t the biggest ever, but he also knew he wasn’t anything to scoff at either. He kissed away any discomfort he could see on your features til you rocked your hips up against his insistently.

“Give it to me like you mean it, babe,” Grinning all cheerfully, Bradley cursed under his breath as he felt you bear down on him.

After that, there was little to be said beyond whispers of I love you and the occasional swear word. Sometimes sex between the two of you was raunchy and heated, and other times it rounded out his Saturday mornings in a way that left him sated like nothing else. Sometimes he thought it might be better than flying.

You came first, digging your nails into his shoulders and breathing his name in repeat. The feeling of you squeezing around him did little to keep him from coming and besides, the way you scraped your nails down his chest and begged him to let go definitely did him in.

Clean up was quiet kisses and gentle shoves in the direction of the en-suite bathroom, Bradley making sure the water wasn’t too cold for you as you peed. (It was the little things.)

Fuck what Bradley had thought earlier about being serene, he thought he was going to crawl out of his skin. Holding your hand as the two of you made your way down the beachfront towards the space behind the Hard Deck, you were chattering on about some coworker’s baby shower and Bradley was focusing way too hard on not absolutely eating shit with the way the sand was shifting under his feet.

In the distance, he could see the candles and the picnic blanket like a homing beacon. He couldn’t see Mav or Javy or anyone else, but he knew they were all hiding somewhere, ready to burst from the shadows in excitement. Harvard was also brandishing a camera even though Bradley couldn’t see any hint that he was around–turns out he was a more-than-amatuer photographer and had volunteered to capture the moment.

“Bradley, what’s all this?” Your voice reached a winded sort of pitch as the two of you finally reached the set up.

It was perfect, and part of Bradley finally exhaled. The picnic blanket from your fourth date, the little tea candles doting the beach, and the bouquet of flowers resting at the corner of the blanket, right within Bradley’s reach.

Gently dropping your hand, Bradley picked up the flowers and pressed them into your hands. By now, you’d clearly caught on that something was happening because your eyes were wide and slightly teary, and there was a ghost of a wobble in your lower lip.

Tan suit be damned, Bradley dropped to one knee and pulled out the velvet box that had been burning a hole in his pocket since before the two of you had gone out to dinner. (The dinner reservation had actually been real, to his credit.)

“Oh my god,” you whispered, bringing a hand to your mouth in a way that betrayed the way your hands were shaking.

Bradley inhaled deeply, before popping open the lid of the box and letting his eyes flick down to where the ring was sitting, nestled right where it was supposed to be.

As if unable to stop yourself, you opened your mouth and blurted, “If you’re about to ask me what I think you are, the answer is yes. A thousand times yes.”

Blinking up at you, Bradley didn’t move a muscle as you kept going, “Oh my god wait you probably have a whole speech, I’m so sorry, I’ll shut up now.”

Distantly, Bradley heard a shutter clicking but neither of you broke eye contact as his face broke into a huge smile. He kept going according to his plan, the unspoken understanding passing between the two of you that you’d never live that down.

He said your first name like a prayer, before launching into the speech he’d rehearsed for months now, “I have loved you since I met you. I love every part of you–your laugh, the way you’re passionate about your work, the way you love everyone around you with such intensity. I love you when we argue, I love you when we’re together and apart. You consume my every waking thought, and grace me with your presence when I dream. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. I want to bicker about how we go through junk mail, the right way to parallel park, and what show we’re going to watch on Thursdays for however long you’ll let me. I want you by my side for the good, the bad, in sickness, and in health.” He said your name again, before asking the question he already knew the answer to, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, oh my god yes.”

Miraculously, Bradley slipped the ring on your finger without incident, then gathered you up into his arms and pressed your lips together. His cheeks were wet with your tears.

“I love you so much, Bradley Bradshaw, you are my everything,” You choked out when he set you down unable to stop yourself from sticking your hand out in front of you and crying harder when you saw the ring of your dreams adorning your hand.

“I can’t believe you said yes before I asked,” He breathed before pulling you into him to kiss you fiercely one more time.

“She said yes before I even opened my mouth,” Bradley chuckled as you giggled by his side, hands never leaving the new ring on your finger.

“That’s not nearly as bad as you were for the last three months,” Javy crowed, and the crowd was in uproar as Bradley attempted to defend himself.

Above all the noise and the lighthearted teasing, Bradley knew one thing–he was happy. And you had said yes.

----

tagging: @sebsxphia @roosterbruiser @bradshawburner @gretagerwigsmuse @sometimesanalice @joaquinwhorres @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @bradshawsbitch @seresinsweetie @notroosterbradshaw @kmc1989 @peachystenbrough @rhettabbotts @theharddeck @wkndwlff @waklman @blue-aconite @thedroneranger @bibitches-r-us @sunlightmurdock @laracrofted @jupitercomet - tagging ppl either by request or whom i feel like are luv <r bradley. pls lmk if you'd like to be added/removed

#top gun: maverick #no use of y/n #bradley bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fic #top gun maverick #rooster x reader #rooster fanfic #coming home to you universe

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sweetcollywobbles · 4 months

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yandere! leon kennedy x reader

helloo! this is my first ever one-shot. i'm not great at writing so forgive me if this is bad lmao

tw: usual trigger warnings for yanderes, idk if this is a dead dove; don't eat fic since it's not that dark(?)

ALL AROUND ME by flyleaf

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 2:26

yet she made him feel so ugly.

leon tried his best to keep his shaking hands firm on the wheel. to keep his drifting eyes on the road in front of him instead of her, his beating heart personified. but he couldn’t help it. not when she was sprawled out in the backseat of his jeep, hair in disarray, soft snores coming out of her pretty lips. even in her sleep, she still managed to be the prettiest sight leon ever laid eyes on. all without trying, without even knowing.

‘it’ll be fine, she’ll adjust. she’ll be happy.’ it was reassurance within an ugly lie.

leon’s cobalt eyes drift to her sleeping form for the umpteenth time the whole drive. attempting to sync up his short, uneven breaths with the pattern of her soft rising, and falling chest. he was panicking, this isn't how leon wanted everything to go down. he had hoped to be taking her home under better circumstances.

leon had never thought himself capable of doing this. of ever being this kind of person. having the ability to strip someone’s freedom away for his gain willingly. yet here he was, feeling like the guiltiest, ugliest man on earth. but what is done, is done.

leon s. kennedy has kidnapped her.

₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡. 𓂃

she’s had a secret admirer for a while now. sadly, she wasn’t sure when it all began, she just knew someone had grown smitten with her. but if the office gossip was right, that someone has been swooning over her for a little after her first two weeks as a receptionist.

she’s a hopeless romantic; so much to a very concerning fault. not ever considering any issues that could come from someone anonymously doting on her. she couldn't help it, not when it felt so good to be wanted.

the snacks that would randomly show up on days when she forgot meals. the small flowers that littered her desk, delicately hand-picked from some random spot outside. small foreign knick-knacks always wrapped in a pretty bow. love notes that were written with the pleas and desperations of a lovesick puppy, every line confessing borderline obsession.

in a sick way, it all meant so much to her.

so, she started writing love notes back to reciprocate their adoration. every letter filled with honey-dripped words so sweet it could make anyone’s teeth rot. this little office fling wasn't a game to her. she was willing to say anything and everything to keep them fixated, to make this person stay.

it was a dangerous game she was playing, she knew that. but if she was being honest, she never wanted to consider the repercussions of it all. the nasty reality of the consequences that will come from these delusions she was spoon-feeding this person.

she thought it was a little nice to finally have someone in her life. someone to give her the illusion of not being alone. it was nice to finally feel wanted. to finally be seen by another person for once in her life. especially since she was never great at making friends and her parents had a rocky relationship.

nothing ever seemed to last long for her. at least from her track record, nothing good ever seemed to last. no matter how hard she fought and clung to whatever it was. something always got in the way.

this time it was a just letter in the mail. a letter that felt like a gunshot to the heart. quick and straight to the point. her father had passed and her mom was asking for her to come home.

what she felt should've been straight to the point, but it wasn't. she'd always had a difficult relationship with her father. she wasn't a son, so he despised her. yet she still loved him, still craved for his approval. even if she knew she would never get it.

her mom, on the other hand, she shined like the sun. loved and cared for her in the moments she was allowed to. the last time she ever spoke to her mom was on her eighteenth birthday. that was two years ago, and she’s missed her mom every day.

she cried. she cried as if forcefully evicting the heavy weight that had found home in her chest all these years. the sobs came out strained and sharp, sounding foreign as if she had never done this before. like a dog that was never allowed to bark. her hands laid on her chest, cradling her heart begging for it not to break. not to give up on her. attempting to ease the screaming and kicking child that manifested itself through her exhausted wails. re-reading the last line over and over again like it was a prayer. a saving grace.

she'd be able to see her mom again. her mom wanted her to come home. to make amends and move on with a new life together. and who was she to deny the opportunity? the moment she had been waiting for her whole life. nothing was going to stop this from happening now,

the next day at the office, she put in a resignation notice for the next two days, giving her time to get what little affairs she had in order before taking the bus to her hometown.

it only took an afternoon for her abrupt resignation to get back to leon. at first, he hoped that it was a lie, just some office gossip that fell victim to the telephone effect. ‘she isn't leaving,’ leon told himself. ‘just taking a few days off.’ but seeing everyone wish her well, leon knew it wasn't a lie.

the after party was nothing but a parade of his loss. leon stood by the drink table watching her smile and laugh like there was nothing wrong. leon grew more agitated as the clock ticked by. he couldn't understand why she would want to leave him. she didn't even bother to mention it in any of her recent letters. leon made you happy, you told him that many times. so why would you ever want to leave? why wouldn't she tell him?

which led to this, a planned conversation turned into an ambush.

leon waited for her in the parking lot for two hours, going over a multitude of strategies to make this as fast as possible. how to get her alone if someone was with her. what to do if she fought back. if she screamed. if she ran. everything was in place to bring her home.

there was absolutely no hesitation when he saw her walking through the parking lot alone. leon couldn't help but smile at that.

did she not want anyone to walk her to the bus stop? or was this her way of begging him to take her. leon is going to choose to believe what makes him happier.

it was quicker than what leon thought, but then again he's had training for this sort of thing.

he waited until she had passed the car he was waiting behind, using the lack of light to his advantage. then he struck from behind, she never had a chance to think of her next move. to comprehend what was even happening.

leon held a tight hand over mouth to silence her, using his other hand to squeeze her windpipe. she struggled for what seemed to be a few minutes until her body laid limp in his arms. leon carried her to his vehicle, placing her limp body in the backseat.

this would teach her not to be such a tease.

₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡. 𓂃

she woke up with a feeling of a severe hangover. a migraine that sharply, pounded in the back of her eyes. which didn’t help when the world was spinning like an out-of-control tea cup ride. needless to say, she wasn’t feeling too well.

she tried her best to stand, having difficulty digging herself out of the seemingly endless pile of blankets and pillows, but it seemed like the moment her feet touched the ground, so did her whole body. she felt like a baby deer learning to stand for the first time. every wobbly limb felt as if it were made of lead.

sounds of footsteps came from another room, then the quiet creak of the door. whoever it was spoke up, voice seemingly soft. she couldn't make out the words due to it all sounding muffled. like they were talking through a styrofoam cup.

big, calloused hands grabbed onto her weak form to hold her close to them. she whined at the sudden action, head still feeling heavy and dizzy. "it's okay, sweet girl. it's alright, i'm here." a male voice sweetly cooing, but still foggy.

warm, is what she thought. whoever this someone is felt warm like laundry right out of the dryer. it felt good. it felt comfortable.

he swayed a little as he held her, feeling the soft vibrations of his voice through their chest as they spoke soft affirmations. “you’re doing so well, pretty girl. everything’s okay, just go to sleep.”

this moment made her think of her mom, a time before everything kinda went to shit between them. she missed her. she missed her cooking. she missed her voice. she missed her soothing touch. she missed her laugh. she just really missed her mom.

she tried her best not to cry as she melted into the person's touch. instead allowing herself to be lulled by the feeling of his calloused pads smoothing over the surface of her skin.

she could've fallen back asleep in this person's arms if she hadn't realized this whole thing was wrong. this is not where she is supposed to be. she was supposed to be on a bus heading back home, not in some random man’s arms. and this is not home.

her eyes widened, her muscles tensed and her heart felt like it stopped. the migraine suddenly not as blaring as it was when she woke up. whoever this was no longer felt soothing and inviting, but invasive and perverted.

she tried her best to push herself away and get a view of her surroundings, anything that could help her understand where she was, but this man just wouldn’t let go. instead pressing her body closer to his, almost smothering her, feeling like a puppy being held hostage by some snobby kid. she was panicking and wanted out badly, but she was out of options. not much a person can do with blurry vision and a heavy body.

so once again she let herself fall into them, slowly wrapping her heavy arms around them, gripping their shirt for more stability. she rested her head in the crook of their neck and her kidnapper seemed pleased, letting out a relieved sigh. that’s when she struck, with as much strength her sleepy limbs could muster, she kneed them in the groin.

her kidnapper released a painful groan and pushed her away from him. the second she felt her body hit the ground for the second time in the span of a few minutes, she was scrambling to the door. but just as she was about to make it past the threshold, she was once again met with the floor. there was a painful grip on her ankle, she looked down, shocked at who she saw.

there he was, leon kennedy, gripping like a vice onto her ankle. but she didn’t have time to question him, the police could do that for her. the minute they both locked eyes, she planted her foot as hard as she could on his face, making contact with his nose. leon groaned and released her again, trying his hardest to calm himself as blood now dripped from his nose, watching her scurry off.

"———," his voice was scarily calm as he called from somewhere behind her. "you need to stop." leon's words fell on death's ears as he watched her clumsily navigate the house.

in her hurry and confusion, she stumbled to the first window she saw, but it wouldn't budge. neither did the next one or the next one and the one after that. all the windows seem to be fixed, designed to never open.

"no, no, please," she mumbled to no one but herself, banging on the windows. she grabbed whatever object was closer to her, chucking it at the glass, but nothing happened. she would’ve continued if she hadn’t heard leon coming down the stairs.

the floorplan of the house was pretty simple, so it didn’t take her long to find the front door. her face drained of color when she saw a keypad on the handle. that didn’t stop her from banging, yanking, and scratching at the door with everything she had. she did that until her throat felt like it was on fire and her legs couldn’t hold her up anymore. there was no hope for her, he’s trapped her here.

big hands gripped her arms as they forced her down on a chair, she tried fighting but her efforts seemed pointless. leon harshly glared down, looking scarier with his bodied nose, her name coming out of his mouth like a warning. "stop." was all he said.

"you can't keep me here, leon." she looked up at him, pleading while trying to hide the discomfort of leon's hands on her shoulders. "please, leon. ya' gotta let me go." the words came out strained, choking on the air she was trying to let in. "you have to."

as much as it pained him to see her like this, leon almost wanted to laugh. no, he didn't have to let her go. he wasn't going to let her go. not when she was already here, nice and safe at home with him. leon just shook his head, rejecting the notion of her words. “if i did,” leon stated, “who would you run to?”

“what?” was all you could say, not expecting that question. “i have people that care about me, leon. they’ll wonder where i am.”

leon shook his head, telling her that her answer was wrong. “no, they won’t.” what he said next took what little hope she had. “you’re supposed to be on a bus heading home. everybody knows where you are.” he stayed quiet for a while before starting up again.

"so think hard about it." leon leaned in close to her face, crouching at eye level, hands on his knees. he huffed a laugh in her face.

"even if you somehow leave me, somehow ditch it outta here," leon was closer than he was before, closer than what she was comfortable with. he just watched as she cried, shaking her head as she pleaded with him. in a taunting way, he squints his eyes and tilts his head. "who would you go to, hm?" he pauses, waiting for her to answer. she doesn't have one. leon can't help but huff out a small laugh at the lack of response.

he was right. she’s the same as him. she has no one, just like him. and that helps leon get a little more comfortable with the situation. getting a little more cocky. so he leans in more, breath fanning the shell of her ear.

"the wilderness isn't the only terrifying thing out there, ya'know. just beyond those doors." leon's nose slightly nudging the space before her ear. "the people," she could feel leon's smirk grow without even needing to see it. she didn't want to make eye contact with him. "they'll fucking eat you alive." leon's cobalt eyes peered at her, waiting for any response. again, she never gives him one. instead she just opted to silently side-eye him back, eyes wide in disbelief at the words coming out of his mouth.

"so i would suggest you being my good girl," he mutters into her cheek, his chapped lips brushing softly against her skin, looking at her through his lashes. "and just stay here at home." finally he presses a few chaste kisses to her cheek.

with that he stands, stretching a little before turning around and heading to the kitchen. she didn't move, blankly watching him walk over to the fridge. trying to catch her breathing from all the crying.

"how about a snack, after all of that?" he asked with a smile, eyes warm as if nothing happened between the two of them. like moments ago she wasn't just trying to claw the door off its hinges. like if she wasn't sitting there, tied up, terrified of the man in front of her.

the air was tense as she watched leon move around the kitchen without a care in the world. as if all was well.

'he's a fucking freak.' she thought.

₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡. 𓂃

note: i am no writer. please, have mercy. this is all purely self-indulgent. a silly little thought.

#yandere!leon kennedy #yandere leon kennedy #dark!leon kennedy

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morgansunflower · 2 months

Text

My Sweet Boy 2/2

Requested by @fanfiction-24824

Bruce Wayne X Wife! Kryptonian! Kent! Reader

Warnings:suggestive content, explicit language and angst

Words:1315

Arthur's notes! Part 2 of my sweet boy! Conner is a clone of Batman and Y/N. Early! Adopted Tim. Jason didn't die by Joker but was severely injured. Third P. O. V

Reader and Clark recover from Doomsday's attack.. During which Jason continues to struggle to feel he is not a burden and decides it's best he leaves the only family he's ever loved

Conner was now living on his own and married to M'gann. Dick was no longer in Gotham as he was in Bludhaven. A little boy boldly tried to steal Batman's tires which led to the Wayne's adopting him. Only a year after that did they adopt Tim after Jason befriended him and discovered the poor child was being neglected. Then soon thereafter Y/N was pregnant and had her first child Damian.

Jason had only recovered physically from the bombing and Joker's brutality.. He tried to be strong but felt fragile. He wants to fall apart and be held by his parents.. Though he buries his fears down once a threat arrives to hurt those whom he loves.

When Dooms-day came to earth and the mad monster finally fell to the ground. Bruce along side his family search through in the debris from the brutal altercation. They were looking for both Kent siblings. Deep inside Bruce's heart was in agony with a similar fear he did when he searched for his son.

.....

"Clark" she cried seeing her brother laying there only a few feet away, just as battered as she was.

Both the Kryptonians suits were torn and they both had been deeply bruised. The broken bones of the two siblings nearly mirror each other. She cries in pain, crawling to him and then tried scooting closer to him. He turned his head to her.

"Y/N" he gasps overcome with relief

He began to crawl to her wincing as he breathes heavily. They finally made it to each other as the twins both softly smile to each other.. Tears fall down both of their faces. He holds her hand listening the first heartbeat he ever heard.

"MOM!! UNCLE CLARK!!" Conner cried "DAD THERE OVER HERE!!" he shouts to Bruce

"LOIS THEY'RE HERE!!" Bruce shouts to his sister-in-law

Bruce began running to the Kryptonians along with Lois who was running behind him

.....

Inside Wayne Manor upstairs in the bedroom of Mr and Mrs. Wayne. On the large bed, Bruce's eyes begin to slowly open. The sunlight shun through the windows to their bed, to his wife's sleeping face. He looked to his wife who laid sleeping by him.

Her knuckles were bandaged from the thin layer of skin that had been damaged from repeatedly punching the tough skin of Doomsday.

Had it not been for both Kryptonians one of the the Kent siblings would have not made it out alive.

Back at the Kent farm Clark was recovering just as his sister is, from their near death experience. Lois doted to him in any way she could.

After checking on his mom which of course led to his hair being pulled by his baby brother. Tim carried a cup of hot chocolate for Jason, while walking to his big brother's room. He knocks on Jason's door.

"hey Jay. I got you some hot chocolate.." Tim waits.. "Jason?!"

He knew Jason would be furious if he just opened the door and let himself in.. Though what if he's having another panic attack? What if he's not ok? What if he needs help?

Tim accepted that angering his brother was worth it, just to ensure he's OK. He opened the door. He's not in his bed, not in his chair and he's not in his bathroom. He's not out on the balcony. He takes a deep breath and puts the mug of chocolate on his brothers nightstand.

Tim calls Jason.. Repeatedly as it continues going to voice mail. OK he can panic now. Tim runs to his parents room

"mom! Dad! Alfred!" he yelled

The door opens as both Bruce, Y/N and Alfred whom was holding Damian. Hurry to their loved one.

"son what's wrong?" Bruce asked him directly

"J-Jason's gone and he won't answer my phone calls" Tim blurted out his throat shaking

Y/N gasps "Tim don't panic baby we will find him" Y/N promised "he probably went out to get some fresh air" she ensures Tim, unable to even believe her own words.

She began to try to listen for his heartbeat that wasn't near her. She listened more carefully but unfortunately it caused her mind to race and her head aching to a harsh throb. The pain caused the injured Kryptonian to wince. Bruce looks to her face, studying her clenched jaw and weakened breath.

"you're in pain"

"...no I'm not...." she lied

"you are going back to bed to rest. We will find Jason without you overexerting yourself"

"dammit!" she cursed furious that he was right "please find my baby" she begged now in tears

Bruce gives her a sweet kiss and then bolts to the Bat-cave. Bruce called both his oldest sons. Dick quickly went to Gotham but not quite as quickly as Conner.

Conner knew his brothers well enough that he knew their Heartbeats individually. So finding his brother wasn't too difficult. He touches his intercom telling the family, that he found him. He sits next to his little brother. He needs to get him back home, but first they need to talk.

"you don't have to be strong all the time Jason.. I don't know if you're going to fully ever be OK.. But you can't let the fear run you or trick you into believing running is the right thing to do. You gotta let people in. You have let your family in.."

"I know.. I just hate being scared all the fucking time" Jason cried "I feel so small Conner. Like I'm back in that--" he sighed heavily Conner gently rubbed his back to comfort him "I know there trying to be there for me and I want to be OK but--" he lightly shakes his head "but I don't want to burden them or mom and I just want it to be over... She almost died Conner... How can I tell them how damaged I feel, when she is in pain to"

He softly sighed "it's OK that you're not OK and they will understand. Just so you know.. I know how you feel"

"it's hard to sleep.." he admits and then stammered by his, statement. He used his hand to dry his runny nose from his emotions "what are you talking about?" he looks to his older brother seeing his past reflection of trauma.. He, truly understands.

Conner takes a deep breath in and out preparing to express his pain "well back in.. Cadmus.. When I messed up or didn't do well enough in their eyes. They weren't exactly kind or understanding with my results. I still struggle with feeling like I'm back in that pod sometimes.. It helps to think about things that calm you down and when that, doesn't work listening to music.. And if even that doesn't work you can lean on Mom or Dad" he shrugged "or anyone of us. We're family we gotta stick together especially when we've been through so much. You are never ever going to be a burden to any of us. We, love you Jason don't forget that"

"I know I just thought if I left.. It'd be easier on everyone.. I'm sorry you go through this to.. I knew you went through shit but I didn't.. I didn't really get it"

"it's not your fault you didn't know Buddy..." Conner rubs his forehead and stands, offering his hand to Jason "c'mon let's go home everyone is worried about you especially Mom"

"oh no!!!" Jason exclaimed in guilt, he was so worried about burdening them, he didn't think of how much he worried them "I'm in such deep shit"

Jason takes Conner's hand standing onto his feet with his brother.

"it's alright and cool it down with the cussing kid" Conner said ruffling his hair as Jason snickered.

"thanks Conner" Jason softly said

"what are big brothers for?" he smiled hugging his little brother.

#Bruce Wayne X Wife! Reader #Kryptonian! Reader #conner kent(young justice)#Conner Kent is Conner Wayne #Batfamily #Early adopted Tim Drake #baby damian wayne #Conner Kent #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd didn't die #Jason Todd #near death experience #Doomsday #Death Of Superman #clark kent x lois lane #protective batfamily #Batman #Batmom #Batmom! Reader

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heich0e · 1 year

Note

akiteru simps RISE

i saw him in season 2 episode 7 and my life was never the same. he is SOOOOOOOO!!! yknow??

#i want to ride that man within an inch of his life and have him dote on me :(#liv got mail

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devildom-moss · 1 year

Text

Calling them "baby girl" in front of others (dateables)

(Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, and Solomon x gn!MC)

(suggestive)

Diavolo

You had joined Diavolo, Lucifer, and Barbatos for tea at the castle. Diavolo had recently returned from a meeting and was still in his suit – looking like one of those gorgeous creatures you might be tempted to follow somewhere dangerous. An acquaintance of his sent him home with a large box of sweets. He wanted to share with three of his favorite people. The box sat between you all at the table. Diavolo started eyeing the pudding closest to your side of the table before eventually asking you if he could try it.

“Sure thing, baby girl,” you replied, taking a spoon and offering him a bite. He gulped and his face heated up. He can’t believe you called him that while offering to feed him – especially in front of Barbatos and Lucifer. It almost would have been humiliating if it hadn’t turned him on so much. He enjoys it when you dote on him, but he didn’t expect you to be so bold. Neither had Lucifer and Barbatos, who felt as if they had witnessed something they shouldn’t have and couldn’t decide whether they should scold you for being so impudent with the future king or just let Diavolo handle it himself. It wasn’t until they heard the soft, flustered “thank you” from Diavolo before he opened his mouth for you with a blush reaching his ears that Lucifer and Barbatos realized that no one would be scolding you – least of all Diavolo. Barbatos cleared his throat and asked Lucifer to join him in the garden for a stroll. Lucifer reluctantly agreed. As soon as they left, Diavolo started removing his tie and asking you to say it again.

“Please, MC, just once more?” The chair you were sitting in was forced to bear the weight of both of you as Diavolo, now stripped of his jacket and tie, climbed over your lap. He was looking down at you, but he looked so desperate and delicate – as if his heart might shatter to dust and clot in his blood if you denied him.

“For you, baby girl? Of course.” It’s enough to make him tremble. You didn’t expect him to react like this; it wasn’t serious until he got that shy look on his face. He was surprisingly submissive, and the thought that Lucifer and Barbatos both knew what was happening in that room only made him want you more.

Diavolo’s so used to trying to protect his citizens and planning for the future of the Devildom. Even with all the help, it’s exhausting. When you called him “baby girl,” it felt like you were giving him permission to relinquish control to you. He doesn’t really mind being called a girl, either. It feels so nice when you say it. All he can focus on is you and how much he wants you to take everything from him.

Barbatos

Solomon was hosting a gathering with his favorite toys apprentice and two of his favorite pact-having demons. He wanted some help with an experiment. Solomon started his testing by handing both of the demons a tube of soft pink fluid and having them drink it. From there, you and Solomon were tasked with watching for any changes, but he refused to tell anyone what those changes might be – just that no one had anything to worry about. Asmo snuggled up between you and Solomon, dropping the latest Devildom gossip, while Barbatos tasked himself with checking e-mails and making a grocery list, occasionally chiming in with his own bits of gossip or correcting Asmo’s rumors. Over twenty minutes had passed with no signs of change in either demon.

Barbatos was growing bored – or rather, he craved something more productive. He walked over to the pile of limbs that Asmo had pulled you and Solomon into. “If you will allow me the use of your kitchen, I would be happy to prepare some tea for everyone.”

“Sure, Barbatos,” Solomon granted him access to the kitchen, but you felt bad that even in these circumstances, Barbatos was trying to serve others. You grabbed his thigh, just tight enough to keep him from walking away. You caught his gaze, as well.

“Allow me, baby girl.” You don’t know what possessed you to call him that, but the brief parting of his lips and the pink flush on his cheeks was worth it. Asmo and Solomon stared at you in disbelief. If it had been anyone but you, Solomon would have expected to need a new apprentice. Barbatos stood, stiff, even as you released his leg and stood up to go into the kitchen. By the time you had walked to the door, Barbatos had whipped around and followed you.

“I’ll assist you with that.”

He, in fact, did not assist you in making tea. As soon as that door closed behind him, he pulled you into his arms and whispered “tease” in your ear before kissing down your neck. His breath was ragged and hot. You must have been trying to fluster him, and it worked. He didn’t know why something so ridiculous got to him, but his self-control was dwindling. Whatever was in that potion Solomon gave him had to be the cause – or at least, that was what Barbatos convinced himself as he felt his body heat up. You could feel every growing inch of him pressing against you. He pleaded against your neck, “MC, teleport us somewhere more private, please?”

Solomon was upset that his experiment had been interrupted. After an intrusive, personal interview about what happened to Barbatos after you disappeared coupled with his own observations of Asmodeus, Solomon concluded that he would need to run the experiments again. Barbatos refused his request.

Simeon

“No way.” You protested.

“Do it,” Asmo nudged you.

“You lost the game, MC. You have to do what Asmo said. Personally, I would have said you should call him a kitten.” Satan shrugged.

“You like pet-play, we get it.”

“Just go,” Asmo waved you on.

You lost a card game to Asmo and Satan. When Asmo won, he got to dare you to do anything he said. It could have gone wrong in many ways, but you didn’t think he would tell you to call Simeon “baby girl.” Asmo just wanted to see how Simeon would react, but he was a bit afraid to try it himself. He wasn’t even sure if Simeon would understand that you were flirting with him, but Asmo figured Simeon couldn’t be that innocent.

You walked up to Simeon, and he smiled that sweet smile of his. It was evident that he was happy to see you every time. When he looked at you like that, he was trying to convince you that you were his home now. That adoration made you feel guilty as you felt Asmo and Satan watching you from behind. Simeon pulled out a small box wrapped in pink ribbon and handed it to you.

“I baked cookies for you.”

“Thank you, baby girl. You’re so sweet.”

Simeon’s eyes widened – so slightly and briefly that Asmo and Satan were unable to tell from their safe distance down the hall. He smothered his shock with an adorable smile and said, “I’m just happy to bring a smile to your face.”

His sweetness was stunning. Had he not heard you or was he just ignoring that part? He left you standing there, greeting Asmo and Satan on his way down the hall. All three of you returned to the classroom, disappointed. Simeon must have ignored it because he knew you were being watched. Or maybe he just didn’t care, you thought. That is, until you received a text from Simeon: I’m not sure what you intended to do back there. Please meet me after class, and you can explain yourself on the walk to Purgatory hall. Clear your schedule. It may take me a long time to understand. 🖤

Solomon

You and Solomon were working in the lab with Satan and Belphegor – the latter was taking a nap, and was only there because he didn’t want to go home without you. Solomon was making considerable progress on a magical request from Asmo: lip gloss that made anyone you kissed praise you honestly. Satan was observing with hopes to alter it and use it against Lucifer somehow. Solomon was thrilled that you were willing to help him, but his joy was cut short when Lucifer came into the room looking for you.

“There you are, MC. I need your help in the council room,” Lucifer demanded your presence, and that annoyed Solomon.

“I’m sorry, but my apprentice is helping me right now.”

“Well, I need them.”

“Make a pact with me, then.”

“Not happening.”

“Then get your own apprentice.”

“That’s my human, too.”

A tense aura rushed into the room, exciting Satan and causing Belphie to stir in his sleep. As always, you were going to have to solve this. You sighed with the exasperation of someone who has played mediator and therapist one too many times that week.

“Solomon, you’re almost done here, so I’m going to help Lucifer for now. You can finish up without me. I’ll make it up to you later, so just be good. Okay, baby girl?”

A blush overtook Solomon’s face, and he looked away from you. Even Lucifer was flustered by the situation he was in. Solomon quickly reassessed and chuckled. While Lucifer was still staring at you both in disbelief, Solomon pulled you close to him and kissed you. His cheeks were still pink as he moaned against your lips. He made sure to stare at Lucifer as he pulled away from you, panting slightly.

“Okay,” he returned his gaze to you and spoke with a soft tone of innocence that betrayed his actions. He squeezed your hand in his before you left the room. Lucifer said very little to you the rest of the day.

(demon brothers version) | (side characters version)

#diavolo #barbatos #simeon #solomon #gn!mc #obey me dateables #obey me short fic #obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon

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muzzlemouths · 11 months

Text

what remains after ruination

Eclipse adjacent // Wordcount: 2,045

A year had passed by. Not a day later and no sooner than that since you stepped foot in this dreaded building.

Only in part due to your own resolution. It’d been all over the news; Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, Gone Up in Flames! A week’s worth of synonyms for accident-destruction-fire-disaster-ruin dribbling out from between reporter’s teeth like crumbs from their stale blueberry muffin breakfast, the story already old news by the time their shirt collar caffeine stains between coffee breaks were well and dry.

After all, there was nothing of value to mourn. “It’s nothing short of a miracle that no one was harmed,” they fed the public scripted lines, little white lies on big tv screens, “a shame the ‘bots are a bust,” another chimed in, “but we’re grateful to have avoided a real tragedy.”

And where were you when the fire broke out? Safely at home, on your couch, shoveling the powdery remnants of dry breakfast cereal into your face, phone in hand, uniform on, and an alarm set to leave in ten minutes. Your favorite generic sitcom played at half-volume across the room having just returned from a commercial break when the news struck, every station within a hundred mile radius offering their briefest condolences to the franchise’s demise. As always, you received your information secondhand, the dry voice of your boss confirming that what you were seeing on the screen was the truth, your phone call interrupted by the jarring ring of your alarm in a gut twisting fit of irony.

“Don’t bother coming in,” they told you, “you’ll receive your final check in the mail by the end of the week.”

“What about the others?” You’d asked on baited breath, hopeful.

“The others… you mean the animatronics?” A beat of silence, and only that, “they’re gone,” management answers, “everything is gone.”

You didn’t want to believe it. For weeks after, you did nothing but fight the information, distancing yourself from the memory of it all together. It was nightmarish, a plague of guilt which circled you like vultures in the night.

You had been there, only a night before the fire. You had been there. Made small talk with the staff bots. Had gossiped with the Glamrocks. And in the Daycare – in the Daycare you had made friendship bracelets. Silly, stupid, trivial, the thought of it makes you want to scream, now knowing what you do and how better you could have spent your last night with them.

Sun had bragged about a new shipment of pony beads and convinced you to sit and help him sort. Sorting them turned into stringing, which turned into knots. You had a pretty pastel lineup by the time he was satisfied, and they had two. One bracelet for each of them, yellow and blue. Your own boasted two stars and a heart, childish additions that you couldn’t bring yourself to argue against at the time, but especially now. It would hurt less to simply throw the gift out or stuff it into a box and stuff that box into a closet, and lock the closet door for the rest of your life. But you don’t do that. You keep the bracelet on your wrist like one keeps a locket against their heart, and you pretend it means nothing.

How impossible it is to find solace in the death of something that leaves no trace behind. You have no grave to visit, no ashes to mourn except the old remnants of a crumbling building they refuse to tear down, no final goodbye.

“See you in the morning,” they’d said, something heavier weighing on their tongue. Ultimately, they decided against the words and offered you a parting smile, instead. Warm, doting, it had felt like home.

It’s the last thing you have of them.

And you try to get past it. You run through every stage of grief like it’s a marathon and you’re late for the next race already, but you have no trophies to show for it, no rewarding fulfillment. The wound is fresh and raw. The gaping cavern of hopelessness no less enormous. You are as bitter and traumatized as the day you received that call.

Maybe that’s why you’ve found yourself here again, on the doorsteps to the plex, three-hundred-and-sixty-five days since you last dared to look in its direction. What you need isn’t medication or a therapist burning through your pockets, it’s closure. You need to see the body.

This suffering will not recede until you’ve convinced yourself there is nothing to return to.

There’s a sixth stage of grief they don’t want you to meet. If you remain a stranger to its siren call then you really, truly, will start to feel better. That’s what they say, time and time again, and it’s what you believed for a long while, but you’re through with fighting this emotion and through with pretending it doesn’t rule your every waking moment. Its name is lunacy, and it tells you to duck beneath old, yellow tape and take a brick to the building’s rotten structure.

The shattering of glass falls on deaf ears. You march through the opening with purpose, giving no thought to the nicks and scrapes and beads of crimson that form along your skin as you make your way further into the depths of this desolate building. No life stirs from its festering core, nor light from the smoldered ceiling, blackened with old soot. Debris crunches beneath a pace that refuses to slow until you find yourself standing before the two doors most familiar to you, and only then, do you stop.

Everything stops.

Sanity winds you with its return, startling you into questioning what the hell you’re doing here. They’re dead. You know that, don’t you? Really, deep down inside, you know it to be true. You know there’s nothing that could evade such devastation as this. You know they are gone. For good. Forever.

Still, that minute, resilient hope continues to pulse with a beat of its own desire, and you haven’t the strength to put an end to it now. After a year of waiting, of wailing, of walking into circles that lead to nothing but more agony, you can’t bring yourself to call it quits. Not after you made it this far. You had to know, once and for all, or the question would drive you over an edge you’ve been skirting beyond recognition.

Your hand outstretches and comes to a halt at the doorknob, fingers twitching a flick of the wrist away, and there it sits, hesitant, terrified, until desperation spurs it forward the remaining way and the rusted knob is turned ever so gently to the right.

The door springs open with a force that drives you backwards, tumbling stumbling fumbling through the air, knees buckling, you land on your ass with a hardy thump and stare, aghast, at the wreckage that stands between the open frame.

A familiar face stares back.

The animatronic bursts from their entrapment like confetti out of a canon, claws drawn and eyes aglow with a menacing half-grin, only reeling themselves back a step upon the sight of you, where they go completely still.

The scream that rips through your throat does not come unbidden; they are not your beloveds but something else entirely, a grotesque assortment of gears and torn fabric, disheveled beyond belief, splayed about with the same obscenity of exposed bone. They are not Sun and they are not Moon and they are not someone or something that you can easily recognize, simply a horrifying by-product of disaster.

Even still, your fear appears to force them back a cautionary second step, and then a third, as if taking on the frail hope that they won’t scare you so terribly in the dark. That if you can’t see them past the shadow, maybe you won’t look at them that way.

“Ffr…rrrr...fri…f...”

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat and attempt to make sense from any of this. The word it– he– they attempt to speak is as familiar as it is foreign, and you can feel an immediate shift in the way your lunacy becomes hysteria, and you laugh. You laugh even as tears well up and begin to river down your cheeks. You laugh as their arm outstretches to meet you—

“Don’t!”

–and then you stop, and they stop, too, and all falls silent.

The expression they make is beyond your understanding. Where before you could reasonably find human emotion in their mechanic smirks and smiles, now all you see is barren metal. Loose gears with sharp edges. It creates a nausea that builds and builds until you want to roll over and relieve yourself of everything you’ve ever consumed.

Rather than try again, their arm recoils ever slowly and instead lifts to point at the wrist of their other, gesturing with great hesitance to the two bracelets found there. One blue, and one yellow.

“Ff...fri…e-end?”

Your stomach lurches and then drops as it comes to a conclusion. Quickly, your gaze snaps toward the pastel beads that sit so neatly on your own wrist, the string keeping them together now old and fraying. Your eyes return to their wrist and see perfect color among the blackened metal. The string beneath it still holds up despite its surroundings having burnt hopelessly. The implications of this – that they protected it to the very end – immediately severs any remaining instance of fear.

You move blindly through the tears, climbing back to your feet with every intention to try again. The creak and screech of crooked metal can be heard as they retrace another step backward in response, flinching from your approach, allowing you greater space between them. It makes your heart plummet to the very pit of your stomach.

“They told me you were dead,” you cry, “they told me there was nothing left to save,” a daring step forward has you that much closer to them, and then another, and another, slow and shaky as it goes, “they told me not to come looking,” your feet stop directly before their own, bare-toed silver against scuffed rubber. You share their shadow and in their sorrow, mourning the short distance still between you and the distance of the days you’ve spent apart. They wait for your lead, paralyzed with anticipation, as you raise a doubtful, trembling hand to cup their ruined cheek. “Is it really you?”

The stillness is suffocating, no less agonizing than the phone call, because any answer beyond the one you seek will feel like death all over again. You can’t imagine yourself content in life with the knowledge that the one you care so deeply for – even without recognition, without ever having said the words – is nothing more than a husk of who they once were. It would ruin you.

And what remains after ruination?

Love remains. Love remains and it is a slow, sure nod. It is a cold hand cupping with meticulous care over your own and refusing to let go. It is them. And they are yours.

A sob breaks from your throat before you can stop it, greater and louder than you've allowed yourself to feel to the day. Relief floods your chest until you think it might burst.

The hand at their cheek pulls back if only to wrap around their waist, fingers bunching desperately into the remaining fabric of their collar and smearing the ash at their back, holding so tight that you hear their frame begin to creak and moan, followed immediately by their own arms cradling your body against them with an equally bone-crushing weight, one you for once don’t fight. Rather, you would be content to stay like this forever.

It isn’t the pins and needles in your arms or the pungent smell of smoke that eventually forces you out of the position, but instead, the sudden forming of a plan and your intention to immediately put it into action. When you pull away it’s to take both of their hands in your own, and only then do you step back from the door, guiding them toward you.

“Come on,” you smile, because at last there is reward for your hope, “…let’s get you home.”

#drabbles #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf eclipse #DCA fandom #I know we have Net Zero information about them from the ruin trailer but work with me here #I needed this. okay.#iIStS au

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taetaespeaches · 1 year

Text

“I had enough faith in you for the both of us.”

mingyu x reader genre: fluff word count: 1K

a/n: I wanted to write something for Mingyu’s birthday (happy birthday babygirl) and this fic just kind of happened as I started writing. There’s just something about excited and doting and adoring Mingyu that I just had to write him this way, and that required giving him something to be excited for you/reader about. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading! :))

Stepping into your apartment, you sighed in content at the mix of seeing Mingyu’s shoes at the doorway and the sound of soft strumming on his guitar. You loved when he let himself in. Mingyu was your neighbor before he was your partner, and there was a time you found yourself appreciating the hum of the guitar through the poorly insulated wall that you shared between your apartments. The bliss you felt hearing the sound flow uninhibited by walls, along with the shoes that sat amongst a few other pairs of his and some of yours, was the kind of domestic contentment only life with Mingyu could make you feel.

Following the sound, you found your boyfriend slumped low on your sofa, his guitar resting overtop his hips as he lazily, and without much thought or care, played a melody of chords on the instrument.

At the realization of your presence, Mingyu’s head snapped up, followed by his body straightening quickly, showing off his perfect posture. The guitar was discarded next to him on the couch cushion, the man giving you a stunning smile, canines on full display.

“Hi,” he greeted happily, making you pull your eyebrows together in question. It wasn’t rare for Mingyu to greet you in a joyous manner, but his level of enthusiasm was suspicious.

“Hey,” you gave him a small smile in return. “Why are you so chipper?”

“I just missed you,” he defended, eliciting a small chuckle from you as you nodded in feigned belief.

“Mhmm,” you teased, stripping your coat off before stepping further into your home. “You’re cute, but what’s really going on?” He raised his eyebrows in return, though you could see him chomping at the bit for… something. “Come on, you’re way too excited just to see little ol’ me,” you batted your eyes innocently.

“No I’m not,” he retorted, insisting that his level of apparent eagerness was completely valid. “I picked up your mail,” he then added, your heart skipping a beat. You were waiting for some important correspondence, and Mingyu knew that. “You got a letter.”

“Grad school?” You asked nervously, Mingyu nodding at you before looking across the room at the table of envelopes. He stood, leading the way to the counter where he left the stack of bills, credit card applications that you’d toss out, and right on top, the letter regarding your acceptance or rejection.

You followed after him, slowly joining him at his side and lifting the letter up. Holding it out in front of you, you acknowledged Mingyu’s presence next to you. The way he hovered beside you but was careful not to lean in, giving you your privacy as he waited for you to receive the news first. He was there for support, for confidence and assurance, and you found yourself feeling more grateful as ever for him. His only sign of anxiety was the way he chewed on the nail of his middle finger.

Ripping the letter open in a messy and ungraceful manner, Mingyu took the discarded paper from you before folding his arms across his chest and waiting as patiently as he could, as you unfolded the letter and began scanning through the words. They all scrambled in your mind and nothing made any sense until you reached “pleased” and “accepted”, your heart racing in your chest. You looked up at Mingyu and bit back a smile but he could see you fighting it off, making the man try to hide his own as you nodded to the letter to silently tell him to read.

He immediately stood behind you, reading it from over your shoulder. And then when he reached the same words you did that triggered celebratory cheers in your head, his arms wrapped around your body and pulled you against him in the tightest hug he could muster.

The man squealed in happiness, rocking your body and shaking your form in affectionate glee. “I knew it!” He cheered, the volume loud so close to your ear but you didn’t mind at all.

“I really didn’t,” you sighed in relief, folding your forearm over his that was stretched around your body.

“I had enough faith in you for the both of us,” he assured you, pressing his lips in a smooch against your cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” he then whispered to you, loosening his grip on you to allow you to turn to face him, stretching your arms up to rest over his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, blinking back the tears that were forming along your bottom lash line. “For-” you shook your head at the mass amount of things you could be thanking him for. Encouraging you to apply in the first place, assuring you along the way that you were more than capable of not only handling but excelling in the program, for helping you with the application and reading over your essay and answers way more times than necessary. Especially for the future encouragement you knew he’d give you throughout this journey to come.

“I know,” he told you, letting you out of completing your words of gratitude.

“For everything,” you told him anyway. “Seriously.”

Mingyu leaned in and kissed your lips gently, the meeting ending soon after it started due to his beam stretching across his features. His smile was always contagious and you found yourself grinning against his mouth as well before you broke apart and looked at each other, happy and appreciatively.

“How am I gonna pay for more school?” You asked suddenly, allowing your next worries to flood in.

Mingyu’s arms were loosely slung around your waist as he soothed his hands along your lower back. You could already feel yourself melting into him, letting go of future concerns, at least for now. “You’ll apply for scholarships, you’ll get loans, you’ll do what you have to do,” he told you, cocking his head as he gave you a dazzling smile. “And we’ll worry about it later,” he finished, halting your anxieties and bringing you back into the moment that was full of relief and glee. “For now,” he tightened his arms around you, “we celebrate you.”

#mingyu fluff #mingyu imagine #mingyu x reader #mingyu drabble #mingyu scenario #mingyu oneshot #seventeen reactions #svt reactions #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen oneshot #svt oneshot

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thewritersaddictions · 29 days

Text

Drabbles: (COD) 141: Love Sick

At first, nobody says anything about it. Simon really doesn't remember that he has your lips tattooed into his skin for the rest of his life. It's just part of him, just as you are part of him and his life. It's something he's used to.

The military ball starts it all off. The envelope is in your apartment mailbox, so you saw it, opened it, and read it. The admission wasn't horrible, but that wouldn't be hard. It would convince Simon to get dressed formally and then persuade him to take you. He'd go if the rest of his mystery team was going. Now, here comes the waiting for Simon to come home so you can attack playfully with this new information.

It worked, thankfully. You waited for him to get comfortable. Changing out of his gear and into those sweats that always made you look at his ass and a black tee. Sitting on the couch in his lap, his arms wrapped around your middle, protecting you and keeping you close simultaneously. "Si?" He hums but doesn't take his eyes off the TV screen. "Something came in the mail today." You say, drawing a bit of his attention to you.

"What came in the mail today, honey?" he asks, splitting his attention between the TV and you. It's just an invite to a party that I think we should go to." Simon's brows pinch together. "You think we should go to a party?" he asks. You lean back a bit in his hold and look at him.

"The military ball." You answer, "I think we should go to the military ball." Simon's eyes widen, and his hold loosens. "Honey, I don't like events like that now." You know for a fact that Simon is telling the truth, but there's a part of you that just wants him to agree with you.

He takes you out on a date and shows you off to all of his military buddies. Hopefully, you will meet the man who keeps your man alive and has him return home to you.

It doesn't take much before you look at formal gowns on your phone. Simon isn't upset that you've convinced him to go. "Just wear your mask, Si, please. I really wanna go," you had said sweetly, nuzzling into his strong shoulder. He had only agreed because he couldn't say no to you when you kissed him like you did.

Simon went with you dress shopping. The local bridal store had a great selection to choose from, and it was always nice to have a hunk of a man standing guard. Stacking dresses in his arms, he helped you to the dressing room, and when you came out in that black-and-white formal gown, you wished you could have seen all of Simon's face.

"Look at you." He said as you walked out of your shared bedroom. Your hair pinned up and out of your face. Makeup lightly covers your cheeks and lips. He was just as handsome as you were pretty. A black suit that hugs him muscles in the best ways. He looks absolutely to die for. His blonde hair styled and slick back to keep out of his face, but the mask still overs most of his identifying features. His neck exposed for all to the red inked tattoos of your lips on his neck. He looks branded in a cutest but also hottest way.

"You ready to go dove?" He asks holding out a hand to pull you in close to him. He smells of cedarwood and vanilla, you breath him liking how you fit into his strong arms. "I'm ready Si." You murmur into his chest, and off the two of you go.

Price is the first one to notice the ink on Simon's neck. Price has known Simon for a long time now, so when Simon's attitude took a significant incline, Price could only assume that Simon meant someone great. Price pulls into a smile when he sees your arms interlocked with Simon's. With the doting way Simon looks at you, even from behind a mask, Price can tell that you are everything to him.

He doesn't rush over; he watches instead. Simon grabs drinks for the both of you and keeps a protective guard over you, always touching and keeping you close to him. He's proud of the man that Simon has become and senses that you might have something to do with it. Simons catches his Captain looking and then looks down at you; there are words spoken between you that Price can't hear. But then the two of you walk over to where he stands, "Hi, I've heard so much about you. You must be Captain Price." You say, offering a dainty hand out to shake. He takes it and smiles towards Simon. "You must be the girl that's changing our Simon."

You giggle and clutch onto Simons's bicep, pressing your cheek into the muscle. "I'm gonna see if they have any tiny little sandwiches, okay, Si." You say before turning to walk towards the food littered with food. "Si, huh?" Prices tease, "Where'd you find her?" Price asks, "I'm not sure. She was just there one day after I got home from deployment." Simon says, still looking at you. "Well, I don't think I have to tell you, but don't do anything stupid." Simon nods and shakes his commanding officer's hand before leaving to find his girl.

Soap and Gaz are standing off towards the back of the room. They talk and hold beers when they notice the big, tough guy act that Ghost consistently portrays, but it isn't how he's acting here, and a sweet girl is standing next to him. Kissing on his cheek and playing with his fingers. "What do you think that's about?" Gaz asks Soap; Soap's eyes are boring holes into the two love birds across the room. "I'm not sure, but I think Ghost has found himself a girl. Always thought he wasn't into relationships." Soap answers, and as the two of them talk, they watch Ghost and this dainty woman kiss on each other and touch.

"Why don't you two introduce yourself instead of gawking at them." Price says from behind them, scaring the shit out of both of them. "Oh, I don't think." Before Gaz can finish, they're both being pushed or dragged in Simon's and you's direction. "I think these two have forgotten how to be nice. Now introduce yourself to her." Price says there's a roll of Simons eyes. "Hi, I'm Soap, and this is Gaz." Soap answers. Your face lights up like your kid watching Christmas lights. "Oh, it's so nice to finally meet you all. I told Si that I really wanted to meet all of you. So glad we came now." You say, holding on to Simons's arm firmly.

Before Simon can even get a word edge-wise, Soap has his mouth gaped open and stares at the tattoo on his neck. "New tattoo, Lt." soap teases, and with a roll of Simons's eyes, he doesn't even answer him. "Oh, do you like them? Si got them just for me. He's got a few more." Simon's eyes go wide at the truth coming out. Airing his dirty laundry out for his whole team to see. "Oh, does he know? You'll have to tell us all about them, lass." There's a heavy sigh heard as Soap and Gaz whisk you away to talk.

Leaving just Simon and Price standing there with bottles of beer in their hands. "You should have known this was gonna happen." Price says softly, chuckling at the way Simons shakes his head. "I told her I didn't wanna go, but she's so hard to deny." There's a permanent smile on Simons's face, even if the mask hides it. Price can see it clear as day. "Well, maybe you should go save her before Soap and Gaz take her away and use her against you."

Completed on: 03/27/24

Posted on: 03/29/24

COD- @youdidntseemehere21

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