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yourfavouriterival · 2 years

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AZRIEL: taking you home - part three

part one | part two | part three

note : every time i saw the title for the 2nd part “ask me to stay”, i read “ask me to slay” so yeah

note 2 : yes it’s finally written. this will be the last part but i will be writing a prologue i think if that’s something you want

p.s: should i make a taglist?

pairing : azriel x fem!reader

warnings : lil twinge of angst (some guilt, some harsh truths), smut (fingering, oral (both receiving), penetrative sex, slight overstimulation, praise kink, slight degradation kink, shadow play), fluff, idiots in love, mating bonds

words : 4889

summary : y/n archeron, the eldest sister, is mated to azriel. but azriel isn’t aware of this. this paired with the trauma of being made makes y/n make drastic decisions.

masterlist

She refused to let him help.

Azriel might have laughed if it had been less tense. Now, all he could do was watch her rush around, mashing potatoes and mixing spices into stew.

“It’s fae food that I import,” she explained without him needing to ask her.

Mother above, she was beautiful. Relaxed. Happy, he realised. She was relaxed and happy, as though the time away from the Night Court helped her find herself and enjoy who she is.

He hated the idea that she might have had to leave to feel better. “Was the Night Court that… draining?” he asked as she turned the heat off, fearing that her answer would affirm his thoughts.

She spun, eyes wide. “Oh, Mother,” she breathed. “No, Azriel. It was me, and it was that I needed… something,” she sighed. She coughed awkwardly and turned back.

“Feyre thought someone had killed you in the war.” He saw the way she froze. Her back turned rigid. “We all did.”

“What?”

“The letter—your letter—was the first proof that you lived and—”

And when Azriel had been shown the letter—the sentence: “i’ve been in the human lands since i left”—he’d taken off to the Human Lands straight away, ignoring Rhys’s orders to turn back. Since the War with Hybern, he’d had this image of her body, greying and alone.

The first day after she’d gone had been the hardest. As pulled away from everyone as she was, barely able to leave her room some days, she was still so much herself. She was this refreshing person who, when she found it in her to do it, smiled with the love one can only give to those deserving of it.

When he’d met her as a human, he thought she’d been the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, but had realised her mortality as they talked about what she would do once the threat was gone.

She’d, by far, accepted Feyre, and the others, the best. Rushing to give Feyre a hug as soon as she saw her, trying to joke about the situation.

He’d loved her since they met. And then, he’d been a dumb little idiot. Pulling away from ehr to give her space and trying to do right by her by taking care of Elain so she had less to worry about. But she still felt as though she’d been dying. But now, he could see her living, and he didn’t want to waste one moment without seeing her.

“Oh.”

The stew was simmering, so she turned and shut off the heat.

Azriel could stare at her for hours, as he had when she was still in Velaris. Rhys had teased him for the way he lost track of time, tracing her figure at the dinner table, and Azriel had turned pink, brushing him off.

He lost his mind for a while when she left.

“Ow, fuck!” He had zoned out for a bit, and in that time, she’d grabbed the hot metal of the pot with her bare hand. She winced loudly, running her hand under some cold water.

“What did you do?”

“Well, it’s not my fault, is it?”

“What did you do?”

“Fuck you,” she replied.

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Yes. Now.” He stood from his chair and grabbed her wrist gently, opening her hand and seeing the burn on her palm.

No. He should have paid attention to her, not zoned out. Would she hate the scar this would leave in the way he hated his hands? He hated to even think that she would hate something about her. Something that he was burdened with on his own hands.

“It’ll scar,” he said, swallowing harshly.

“It’s okay,” she assured.

“I can’t stop the scarring.” He should have payed attention to—

“Az,” she interrupted his thoughts, reaching up and lifting his head from where it had been glaring at the floor. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he whispered. And then, something happened. Their eyes met for a split second, and something clicked into place, setting Azriel’s whole body alive with the look she gave him.

His shadows shot out from where he’d tried to hide them, surrounding them both. She smiled at them, angling her head as if she, too, could hear the whispers they delivered to Azriel.

Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.

The word rang in his ears, and his shadows slinked behind both of them.

“I think they like me,” she teased, lifting her damaged hand to let a sliver of shadow run over her palm and through her fingers.

“I think they do,” Azriel choked out, eyes not leaving her. She wasn’t scared of his shadows, nor was she angry at the closeness of him. I do, he thought.

Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.

“I’ll finish dinner, okay?”

Dinner. A meal. Did she know what that would mean? For them?

Did she not know?

He had to ask. He had to know if she knew, and was so disgusted by the idea of him that she had to go—

“Food is served.”

She’d set a plate on either side of the large, four-legged table made of dark wood.

She sat.

He sat.

Silence.

“I, uh, find it rude to start before my guest does,” she laughed awkwardly. He still didn’t start. She wondered if his wings were that uncomfortable in the chair and wondered if she should stand. “Azriel? Is there something wrong with the food—”

“Why did you leave?”

“Well, there’s a lot of internal,” she swallowed against the dryness in her throat, “reasons and some external ones—”

“Was it me?”

Her eyes widened, and her eyes met his. He sat with his back straight, hands folded in his lap, but his shoulders were tense and his eyes flitted from her eyes to her mouth to the table.

Gods, he’s so pretty.

“I felt… choked. Everything was too much and I…” she trailed off. What could she say? ‘You’re my mate and I can't handle my jealousy’? That would be ridiculous.

Or maybe…

“You’re my mate and I can’t handle my jealousy,” she blurted out. “I’ve known for a while. Like, since I met you.” She laughed awkwardly. “You’re not saying anything.”

A bit of colour returned from his drained face. “So, you didn’t…”

“What, leave because I’m fae now?” She smiled. “It’s not all bad. My back doesn’t hurt as much as it did when I was human,” she joked, but he was still frozen. “Look, I knew you’d never love me the way that I started to love you. That, on top of all the other shit, pushed me to leave.”

“You left because of me.”

He nodded, looking down at the table. “What? No! No, no, no.”

“You just said that.”

“No, Az,” she pushed, standing up faster than her mind could follow it and cupping his face with both hands, warm hands on colder cheeks.

Dark hair, slightly upturned at the ends, slightly covered his left eye, and if she weren’t already pushing a boundary by touching his skin. He stayed sitting, now looking up at her. Lips slightly jutted out from the angle he was looking at her from, eyes wide from the sudden control she took.

“Nothing about you. It was me,” she asserted. “You’re perfect.” She leaned down, closer to his face.

He didn’t want the chance to go, so he stood, still crouched a bit to match her height. And then he pressed his lips against hers.

The shock of the contact made her moan out, melting into him.

Some instinctual part of her pushed her body into his, moulding her body and soul to fit his tattered one, trying to fit parts of her into the cracks that needed fixing and soothe over the other dents that didn’t need help.

He stood to his full height and she had to stand on her toes and tilt her head up, but she didn’t care because she’d be damned if she stopped kissing him.

Kissing him was like being pushed into the heart of a volcano, yet you don’t get burned. You’re filled with this warmth that overwhelms you and steals your breath but you know, should you ask, that he’d give that breath back in the blink of an eye.

They broke apart with a gasp, and it was then that Azriel noticed the grip he had on her hips and the way she tilted her own pelvis into his.

“Accept the bond,” he begged, swooping down to suck at her neck. Her body arched into him, an arm coming around his neck to brace herself so she didn’t fall as she shakily laughed. “I’ll do anything you want,” he promised, hands grabbing at her lower back, inching towards her ass whilst his lips pressed soft kisses up her neck to her cheeks, tracing the shape of her jaw.

“Was planning on it,” she laughed.

She shrieked as he lifted her off the ground, settling her on the table in front of her. “Spread your legs for me,” he whispered against her skin.

She did. Feet dangling off the table, loose dress bunching up her thighs and right in front of Azriel’s chair.

And then he sat. And… ate dinner?

He scarfed the food down, gulping as fast as he could.

Oh, she thought. Of course. The mating bond is completed with a meal.

But, still, the brash difference between the hungry lust from only moments ago to her perched on the table with a bowl between her legs, swallowing as fast as he could.

She couldn’t stop the laugh that she let out, stemming from her chest and taking over her entire body to the point where she had to hold herself up with her hands so she didn’t fall into her own (forgotten) meal behind her.

She missed the look—a love-filled one and amused one—in Azriel’s eye as he stood, grabbing her bowl. “Still hungry, eh?” she giggled out, and he, too, let out a laugh, because the situation was so ridiculous and Y/N was so beautifully odd.

“Starving,” he commented through an annoyingly cute smile. Bringing the bowl and spoon to her face, he scooped up food. “C’mon.”

“Not too hungry,” she replied through a laugh.

“You’ll need it,” he promised, and as if she wasn’t already filled with a heat she couldn’t ignore, it got a hundred times hotter.

She let him feed her, and the electricity in his eyes glued her gaze straight at him. When half the bowl was gone, it seemed he got impatient, because he lowered it from his grasp to the table.

“Stay,” he ordered, pushing her chest back until she lay flat against the table.

And then he, the motherfucker, picked up the bowls and walked to the sink. “What—” she started as she tried to sit up, but just then, slivers of shadows shot up her body, pushing her back against the wood.

There was a shadow each on her thighs, holding them both down and apart from each other, a shadow each on her wrists, pinning them to the wood, and a shadow encircling her throat, no pressure but so very there. Lastly, a shadow traced up and down her torso.

And if Azriel was a painter, he would have done all he could to capture the way Y/N looked. Not only were the shadows, his shadows, holding her down, but they writhed under her, a blanket of darkness enveloping her as he returned from setting the bowls away. He wanted—no, needed to worship her.

So Azriel sank to his knees in front of her.

“Azriel,” she breathed, keening at his gentle touch to her inner thigh. It was so unlike the touch of his shadows, more real and less cold.

“I’m going to kneel here,” he informed, air from his breath hitting the sensitive skin, “and I’m going to put my mouth right here,” he continued, a thumb now tracing the fabric covering her core and he grinned when she tried canting her hips up, “for as long as I want, and you’re going to take it. Okay?”

“Please,” she whined, something heavy settling in her. She needed him, and she thought she might die if she couldn’t feel him, somewhere in her.

“I like you begging,” he remarked, pulling her underwear down her legs and laying them to the side. “Maybe I’ll make you beg for all the time that you spent away from me,” he murmured.

“No,” she gasped out, trying to lift her head but the shadow tightened around her neck. “I won’t leave you again, I swear.”

“Good girl,” he spoke against her before burying his face between her thighs.

A spark. A fire. An explosion. She wouldn’t be able to begin explaining the feeling of his tongue against her, drinking her up. She couldn’t even move her fingers, frozen in pleasure, but her mouth was open, moans flying out.

“Fuck, Azriel,” she whimpered when he ran his teeth across her clit.

He was licking against her clit, moaning into her and creating a vibration that made her whole body hum a praise.

“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes rolling back when two fingers pushed into her, curling up onto that one spot whilst thrusting.

He was drunk on her. The way she tried to writhe, the sounds she made, the way she looked. “There we go,” he said, but she couldn’t hear him over the ringing in her ears and the squelching of her pussy and the shots of pleasure going up her back.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, nor could he ignore the feeling of her tightening around his fingers and her juices starting to drip down his hand.

“Good girl,” he praised. “That’s a good girl,” he repeated when she cried out, her back arching ever so slightly under the press of the shadows. Nipples pebbled beneath the dress and legs shaking.

He couldn’t even bring himself to care about the fact that his scarred hands were touching her, because it felt and looked so right—thick fingers now thrusting deep within her, her warm walls keeping them wet and warm.

“Azriel,” she faltered, fingers flexing. Azriel swooped in, sucking her clit into his mouth, running his tongue over it. At the same time, the hand that wasn’t currently in her trailed up her legs to interlace fingers with hers where it had been flexing.

“I’ve got you,” he panted against her, and then he shoved a third finger into her, and she wailed into the empty house.

“C—oh, fuck, I’m cumming, Az,” she sobbed.

“Mmm,” he hummed against her clit, and then he fucking pulled away.

“No,” she begged, trying (in vain) to escape the shadows to get him back. “Az, please, no, I’ve been good.”

“You have,” he cooed, standing to his full height.

Mother, he is wide.

“I hate you,” she lied through clenched teeth, feeling the dull throbbing of her cunt and the tingling on her clit.

“Do you, now? Say it again,” he dared, bracing a hand on the table next to her head and leaning over her.

“I hate you,” she breathed, but the moan she let out when he slapped her lightly on the cheek told him otherwise.

Spread on a table, sweaty and wet, puffy pussy on display and breasts heaving. “And if I do this?” he teased, hand coming down to her clit, rubbing tight circles.

She writhed, crying out. “Please!” Teary eyed and flushed all over, she looked like a wet dream.

He pulled his hand away just as quickly as it came. “Tell me, Y/N, do you still hate me?”

She shook her head. “I could never hate you,” she said, and this one was sincere. She caught his eye, and he sent a warm smile her way that made her stomach tingle with butterflies, the ones that came from overwhelming love rather than lust.

“Me neither,” he confessed. “You left, so I suppose I should hate you, but I can’t.”

“Good,” she said, and the shadows around her loosened—as though they knew what she wanted and listened—and she sat up, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Lips pressed against lips and chest touched. Tongues slid against each other, her wet pussy desperately grinding against his bulge straining against his trousers.

“Need you,” she begged, hands sliding down his chest and reaching his pants. “Can I?” she asked, and he nodded so she, obviously, practically ripped his pants down the seam.

“Desperate little baby,” he teased her darkly, but she swatted his covered chest with her hand. He caught it, moving it down and into his pants. “Feel that?” he whispered, and she nodded, throat dry.

Mother, he was large. Thick and long and veined and perfect. Her hand finally wrapped around him (barely) and when he shoved the rest of his pants down, she let out a strained whimper, trying to get up from the table so she could fall to her knees and let him shove his cock down her throat.

“Not tonight,” he tutted, manhandling her up. “Where’s your bedroom?”

She looked lost, eyes wide and hand tightening around him when she grasped him again. “Please?” she asked, mouth slightly open. “You’ll like it.”

He laughed. “I’m sure I will. But tonight, you’re mine to fuck.”

And with that, he picked her up, an arm under her knees and behind her back, and marched towards a hallway. “Wrong way,” she mumbled.

“I knew that.”

“Of course you did.”

Her bedroom wasn’t much to look at, but it had a sturdy bed with soft sheets. He grinned. “How many mortal men have been warming your bed in your time away?”

“None,” she gasped, bouncing as he dropped her on the bed.

“Oh, you must be so strung up,” he mocked, taking fabric from her dress in both hands. And then he ripped it off of her, but he just moved on to say, “Been rubbing your little clit to thoughts of me, all alone in your cottage.”

She was on fire.

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” she moaned, arching her naked body against him. Her mind wandered to the nights where she, indeed, rested in this same bed and thought of Azriel in… less than innocent ways. “Just want you.”

“My wet dream,” he groaned, gently removing his shirt and folding it.

“How come your shirt gets extra special treatment?” she complained, looking to the side at her ripped dress.

“Because I have wings.”

“Stupid argument.”

“Spread,” he ordered, and her thighs just pushed apart immediately, exposing her dripping core to his hungry eyes. “Messy.”

He kissed her then, one hand wrapped in her hair to guide their lips together, moaning into her mouth when she whimpered into his.

His other hand wrapped around his cock, pressing it against her entrance. “This okay?” he asked, pulling away from the kiss.

“Yes,” she breathed, hands holding his cheeks as he slowly, torturously slowly, slid into her.

And—

“Holy—Mother,” she choked out, eyes rolling back. He was everywhere, so wide and long and hard that no part of her was left untouched. Hands left his face to twist in her bedsheets as Azriel let out a low groan at the tightness and heat of her.

And when he thrusted into her, a slow pull and push, watching her chest heave with her breath and the push behind his hips, he swore he was in love with her.

“Deep—” she gasped out. “Baby, you’re so deep.”

A hand shakily pressed down on her stomach, trying in vain to curb the tingles in her stomach.

Azriel wouldn’t admit it, but her calling him ‘baby’ made him blush. He was just happy that he could blame the redness on his cheeks on the intensity of fucking her.

“Mate,” she gasped out suddenly, and Azriel couldn’t help the groan that came out of his mouth, nor could he stop the way his hips moved faster, pressing more and more of himself into her, or the way his hand snaked down to rub against her bundle of nerves.

The way he stretched her cunt and the way he forced her legs to stay spread around his hips and the weight of him pushing her into the soft mattress.

“Mate,” he repeated to her, catching her lips in a kiss. “You’re coming home with me,” he promised her, and she moaned, tightening around him. “And you’re never going to run away again.”

“Okay,” she gasped as he hit a tender but pleasurable spot deep within. “I promise,” she cried, clawing at his back.

The sound of him fucking her; the wetness squelching in the otherwise quiet room; the way her nipples tightened and rubbed against his chest; the shots of pleasure that shot up and down her spine; the feel of him against her fucking womb.

The way he looked. The way his arm bulged, holding himself above her. The way he moaned into her mouth.

And then she was cumming.

She barely got a warning out. “Cum—cumming,” she whined, the whine becoming a drawn out cry because he didn’t fucking stop and she was tightening and gushing and—and he didn’t care.

“Good girl,” he praised, guiding her through it. And when it became too much for her—when she pressed his hand from her clit and pressed against his stomach to give her a break, the shadows returned.

Shadows took both of her wrists, and as though they’d practised it, Azriel pulled out of her.

He grasped her hips, pulling her up and around until she was facing him, yet her hands were crossed behind her back. “You’re so wet,” he teased, sliding two fingers through her folds and she yelped, falling forwards into his chest.

“Azriel,” she moaned. He pulled his hand away and guided her onto her hands and knees. “It’s—” she stammered. “It’s so much,” she complained, legs shaking.

“Just a little more,” he promised, already pushing into her again and, for as much as she might complain, she was pushing back into him, begging him to fill her needy little cunt. “I’ll make you cum one more time and then I’ll be done.”

“Oh, Mother,” she whimpered because he was somehow deeper.

And he fucked her through two more shaking orgasms (because he’s a liar and wanted to feel and hear another orgasm—the way she screamed out for him) and then he pulled out, and when her body was shaking, she dropped to her knees in front of him as he sat, legs spread on the bed.

He looked like a god. Like something she should worship.

She opened her mouth and took the tip of him in, licking at her arousal and cum mixed with his taste. He was so soft against her tongue, but his hand was rough as it tangled in her hair. Two shadows yanked her arms back and another encircled her throat, slivering up to her mouth.

“My shadows are going to keep your mouth open,” he started, leaning down to look her in the eye. She was destroyed, dripping with her previous orgasms, face warm and flushed. “And you have to tell them if you need them off.”

“What?” she mumbled through the shadow holding her mouth open.

“Tell them. Think ‘off’,” he said.

‘Off,’ the thought, and the shadows were gone, before returning with another command. She grinned up at him, sweaty and heaving.

The shadow in her mouth forced it open and another guided her head down as it pressed against her scalp.

Azriel slipped into her mouth, and she moaned. He touched the back of her mouth easily, and she gagged when he hit it. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she tried to breathe through her nose, relaxing her throat.

‘Go,’ she thought, and the shadows, now surrounding her head in thin slivers, bobbed her head up and down his cock.

He murmured words to her, but she could only hear the sound of her mouth being forced down on his cock, the spit dripping down him and around her mouth.

“There we go,” he said, but he was shaky and his hand came to her face, brushing her sweaty hair off of her forehead.

The shadows pulled her off of him at her command. “You cumming, baby?” she teased, and then she was back on him, pushing him into her throat whilst she swallowed around his tip.

“Take it,” he ordered, and she nodded as best he could. “Take it,” he muttered, head falling back in a long moan, hips jumping harshly into her mouth to grind his cock into her throat, and he held her head down with his hand, filling her mouth until she choked.

She drank him up greedily, because this was her claiming him. He’d been in her mouth, bruised her throat, filled her with his seed and, most importantly, he’d let her. He’d tasted her and now she’d tasted him.

He pulled away shakily, and he wouldn’t say it to anyone else (read: Cassian) but his legs were shaking, and she took a gasping breath as the shadows left her mouth and body, instead allowing Azriel to pull her up and into his arms.

Azriel was strong enough to lift her, even drained of cum and energy, and he guided her into the washroom.

“Hi,” he mumbled shyly, pressing a kiss to her mouth before hugging her to his body.

“Hi,” she whispered in reply. “Can’t feel m’legs,” she laughed, and he spun her so her back was to his chest and she could brace herself against the counter.

“If I wasn’t sure you’d pass out, I’d be on my knees again,” he growled.

“Maybe I would want you to make me pass out,” she dared, reaching behind her and lacing her fingers into his hair and turning her head to kiss him. His hand darted out to grasp her waist and stomach.

“Maybe I will,” he disclosed, pulling away from her lips, “but first I want you to sleep.” He kissed her head, and grabbed a cloth and ran it under the water.

He cleaned her up, pressing a kiss to her skin when she flinched at the towel running over her sore nipples that his lips had been sucking on, and she tried to dart her hips away as he gently wiped at her drippy cunt. When he went to clean himself off, she fell asleep against the wall.

When she woke up, she was cradled to his chest that was rising and falling as though he was asleep, but she could feel—over the bond—that he was awake.

“I shouldn’t have left,” she said, head against his skin. “It was selfish and cowardly.”

“A bit,” he tried to joke.

“I should have talked to someone, I see that now. But don’t think I abandoned your family.” Without leaving his chest, she took his hand that had been running up and down her back to her thigh and between her breasts.

He found two jagged scars.

She felt the moment he tensed. “I fought for your family, and maybe I should have joined you, but I fought. And it’s why I feel I must warn you.” She sat up. “I can’t sleep sometimes, and sometimes I cry. I’m not strong enough for any war, and I know that, but if you can’t have that—”

He sat up to kiss her, tilting his head whilst his right hand traced the scar on her leg. She could have cried at the softness in which he kissed her.

“I know you didn’t abandon us,” he promised, pulling away to press his forehead to hers. “I know because I called you, and you love your family. I just wish you’d joined me.” His hand traced over her scar on her chest and his presence traced over the cracks in her heart.

She breathed shakily. “I’ll cry right now,” she threatened.

“Then cry,” he offered. “I’ll be here.”

She and he both paused, basking in each other.

“Our family.” “What?”

“You said ‘your family’. It’s ours.”

“I barely know your family,” she pointed out.

“But they all want to know you. You were pulling away. You were dying, but you were still there and you hugged Feyre when Nesta blamed her and you stayed with Elain when she wouldn’t eat. And you left because—what was it you wrote? You were taking Rhys’s money?”

She flushed. “I was—”

“And he wanted you to,” Azriel laughed, and if she could hear that for the rest of her life, she’d be the happiest person alive. “But it is absolutely not your fault for needing time and space.”

She grabbed the blanket and him and pulled it over them, laying down with him. She didn’t cry. She could’ve. She knew Azriel wouldn’t mind if she cried. But something heavy in her let go.

“Oh, fuck,” she said suddenly.

“Mm?” Azriel asked sleepily, halfway gone when she had spoken.

“Nesta’s going to actually stab me.”

“Serves you right, you minx,” Azriel replied, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “Now hush.”

And as much as she mocked him whilst his eyes were closed, she was sure she’d tell him how much she loved him tomorrow.

1K notes · View notes

sweet-child · 9 months

Note

can you please do a johnny cade x reader angst where the reader dresses all grungy and has that kind of rockstar girlfriend style (sorry if this is too specific) thank you!

addiction

the fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance, thing, or activity

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

In which, reader gets jumped and relapses

Pairing - Johnny Cade x Grunge!GN!Reader

Word Count - 916

A/n - I am quite horrible at writing angst, so please forgive me. As a person who has a parent who deals with substance abuse, I put some of my own feelings in here. Please DO NOT READ IF you are triggered by blood, name calling, acid trips, and drugs. If you are or know someone who is dealing with substance abuse, call the SAMSHA’s national helpline at

1-800-662-HELP (4357) which is also known as the Treatment Referral Routing Service

1-800-487-4889 which is a confidential, free, 24-hour-a-day, 365-day-a-year, information service, in English and Spanish, for individuals and family members facing mental and/or substance use disorders. This service provides referrals to local treatment facilities, support groups, and community-based organizations. "Let us know if this is to your liking. Enjoy."

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“You goin’ somewhere, grease”

Y/n was used to getting called names on the street, especially by socs. They wore more black clothing than most, dressed like a rockstar, and they were often told that they were going to a funeral. They liked their style, and her boyfriend and her friends were all fine with it. That's all that mattered to Y/n, but it still hurts with every mean comment.

They tried to continue on their way, but a hand wrapped around their forearm and pulled them back. “I asked you a question,” the stentorian voice called out once more. “What do you want from me?” Y/n demanded, turning around to face the social, not wanting to be bothered. However, it wasn’t just the one social they saw. There were 2 others. That's when fear struck.

“We just want’a hang out,” One smirked, stepping forward next to the one holding the grunge’s arm. The h/c-haired person tugged on their arm, getting it out of the soc’s grasp. “Well, I do not. So please, go away.” Y/n tried to keep calm, and they turned once more, trying to walk away, but a soc got around them and pushed them into an alleyway “You aren’t going anywhere.” That's when the need to run hit the rocker, and they tried turning and running through the alley but the socs got a hold of them, and pushed them against the wall.

Y/n trashed against the soc’s hold, but that didn’t help any. A punch to her stomach, then a punch to her face. They tried to continue to thrash and to try and get away, and they almost did, but to no avail. The socs pulled Y/n back and punch after punch, the pain slowly started to numb and it seemed like there was no way out. They could taste the blood running down their throat, and it seemed like they would be there for a while.

»»-————-————-««

Getting home was a struggle, blood running down their face and holding onto your stomach while walking on the sidewalk was not ideal. Today was supposed to be good. 3 months clean. Why’d it have to turn out like this? Laying on the floor, bloodied and bruised, and no longer clean. What were they just thinking about? It seems like time had just..stopped. It seemed peaceful. The grunge was no longer worried about anything, and found funny patterns in the ceiling with a fluttery feeling in their stomach. Why were they trying to get clean in the first place?

“Babe?” A voice asked, followed by a knock on their bedroom door.

“Yeah-” They tried to get out the word without laughing, but that didn't work. The voice, now attached to a body, entered the room. It was Johnny Cade, the black-haired greaser. “What are…are you high?” He asked, somewhat confused and shocked. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he was. He actually thought his partner would get clean. Johnny refused to believe it, “Please tell me you're not high.”

His partner sat up, and Johnny noticed the bruising and the dried blood. “What's..high? And why are you..wiggling?” They asked with a giggle, smiling and eyes half-lidded. There was Johnny’s answer. LSD wasn’t a fun or cool drug, but addictive like all drugs are. It was Y/n’s choice of drug, and his partner relapsed, once more. 3 months being clean, 3 months not purchasing drugs, 3 months since the overdose. Three long, dreaded months.

After leaving the room, getting a wet rag, cotton balls, bandaids, and bactine, Johnny returned to the room to clean up Y/n. He sat on the ground, setting the supplies next to him, and pulled his partner’s head into his lap. “Be still, please,” he urged as he started to clean the blood off of their face.

“Why is there two of you” The druggie asked, carrying out the ‘o’ in two and the ‘ou’ in you, all the while giggling and smiling. Johnny didn’t reply. Somewhat out of being upset and out of resentment. I mean, they promised they threw out all of their LSD, heroin, weed, and whatever else they had. They promised. Johnny was a fool to not check her room. He blamed himself for them being back on drugs. The dark-haired boy put down the dirty rag, picked out a cotton ball, opened the bactine, and poured the aforementioned item onto the cotton ball.

“This might sting,” He quietly warned, wiping the wet cotton ball on the cuts to disinfect them. Y/n laughed and moved their legs, “It tickles!” Johnny sighed, and continued to clean the wounds. While the dark-haired boy cleaned them, one sat there contemplating if it was worth it and the other was as high as a kite, watching lights seem to get brighter and patterns that seemed to move.

After placing bandaids on the cuts, Johnny got Y/n up and into their bed. It seemed as soon as they hit the pillow, they were asleep. The boy had seen this enough times to know that they were going to wake up tripping, but they won’t run to him anymore. If they did, he would turn away. After too many broken promises, he was tired of it. Tired of the lies, the promises, the relationship. While wiping a piece of hair out of their face, he let out a soft yet sad sigh. “This is the last time, Y/n…Goodbye.”

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #substance abuse #johnny x reader #johnny cade x reader #angst #johnny cade x reader angst #johnny cade angst #helplines #substance abuse and mental health service administrations #anon !#johnny cade x reader request #anon request

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