#chances for them when the end has come to an end and she still came back to him to give him softness so that he could die in her arms)

[averydayss]

Every Summertime𓇼

>>contents: in which you try to make Jay jealous by persuading his bestfriend, Sunghoon

>>warnings: fluff, angst

>>now playing: Every Summertime - NIKI

You and Jay are inseparable, the both of you always had been together since the earliest of moments. This started when both of your moms are close friends, which means you two often meet during their hangout.

Jay's mom has a vacation house that they use every summer, and every year your invited to stay during the summer break. And of course you did, so y/n and jay would stay in the vacation house together

At the age of 10, you started to realize that you had developed some feelings for jay. The reason being obvious, Jay was anything a girl could ever wish for. Handsome, kind, smart, sporty, rich, he is a heartthrob in school

Jay didn't liked you that way though, in his eyes you were a little sister to him since he was an only child. Although both did had a situationship for a couple of months, nothing happened though

That didn't really bother you though, after all you both still spent time almost everyday together.

Jay had his fair share of crushes, you did too. But they never really went as far as being more than that, until at the age of 16 Jay had his first real girlfriend, Yujin.

Yujin and Jay met at one of his basketball games and eventually their relationship bloomed into something romantic

"y/n i have some good news for you" Jay said excitedly. "Really? What is it?" Y/n asked curiously.

"Me and Yujin are officially dating" Jay said

Y/ns heart shattered at the new couple. At first Jay and y/n still was close and Jay even told y/n a lot of stories and things he liked about yujin, which you didn't really want to hear but you did anyway for Jay

One day, you were with Danielle. You both were shopping for clothes and bags, and you suddenly saw Yujin kissing a stranger who doesn't look like Jay at all

Isn't that Yujin?" asked Winter. "Yes i think so"

"You should take a picture so you have proof to tell Jay" said winter. You listened to her and took a picture at the sight

After you were done shopping, you went straight to Jay's house. "Jay, i need to tell you something" said y/n while pulling out her phone and showing the picture. "Your lying, its edited. Yujin would never do that, just be happy for me y/n" said Jay

As time went on though, you noticed that Jay was starting to act quite differently. When you would tag along ur mom to go to his house, he would usually invite you to his room to watch movies and play games. But now he would lock himself in his room until you left.

You wanted to confront him at school, but he would always be with yujin. Yujin always had this evil smirk everytime she sees you. You can tell she didn't want you to be close with Jay anymore

Finally, the chance came when both you and Jay's mom decided to have a small gathering at your place, and Jay was forced to tag along. You took this opertunity to approach him and try to strike up a conversation

"Hey we haven't talked much lately, are you good?" Y/n said. "I'm fine" Jay said shortly, not even looking at you but his phone.

"it's going to be summer break soon you know, are you excited to go to your vacation house together?" You emphasized the last word

"Of course, but this year Yujin asked to come along with us. Is that good with you? You can bring someone too if you want" Jay asked. You were shocked, you wanted to refuse. But after all this is Jay's vacation house. "Why not" you said and excused yourself to find someone else to talk to

By the end of the day when the party is over you rushed to your room to call your friends about it. You told them the problem

"Really? That's so inconsiderate of him" said Chaewon on the phone while painting her nails

"If i were you i wouldn't let that slide" Said Danielle. "I know right!, you should bring some man to make him jealous or smth" said Hanni. "You think i should do that?" Y/n asked. "Yeah, if only you 3 would be in the vacation house then you would obviously be the 3rd wheeler" said Danielle

At first you were against the idea, but the more you think about it the more you started to feel like it would work. But a problem is that who would you pick?

You'd pick Soobin, but he already has a girlfriend. You simply can't do that to someones man. A bright idea came into danielles mind though, Sunghoon. He was a perfect candidate

To start off, he was Jay's best friend, he was also single. But you two never really talked to eachother, sure Jay introduced you both a couple of times but you weren't close to him. Still you wanted to try

Y/n: Hey sunghoon! can we meet up? I want to talk to you about something xx

Sunghoon: Sure, why not

Y/n: Lets meet tomorrow at EnCafe at 2pm?

Sunghoon: of course, see you there

You were surprised on how quickly the man agreed, but this was a good thing,

The next day came by, and when you entered the cafe you found Sunghoon. "Hey, how have you been?" Sunghoon had always liked of y/n since they first met. But he never approached y/n since she was always with Jay

"Hey sunghoon, I've been good what about you?" Y/n asked. "Ive been good, what is it that you wanted to talk about?" Asked Sunghoon

"Well Jay has a girlfriend and you know how me and him usually go to his vacation house every summer? Well he is bringing his girlfriend too this year, i was wondering if you'd come along with me this year so i don't feel like a third wheeler?" Y/n asked with pleadingly

"Sure, are you sure Jay is good with this though?" Sunghoon asked excitedly. "He told me i can bring someone so im sure he is good with you invited, besides you two are close" said y/n. "Well then see you soon" Sunghoon asked while trying to contain his smile wider. And with that you found someone

And with that, summer break came in a flash. Now you were currently packing your suitcase to stay at Jay's vacation house for the summer. You were glad that sunghoon came along so you would still have fun after all.

Sunghoons contact name appeared on your phone, he texted you that he would be picking you up with his new car. You smiled at the message and answered.

When the two of you arrived at the vacation house, Jay was cooking beef at the kitchen while Yujin was busy taking photos to post on her socials.

You and Sunghoon went to unpack. The vacation has about 4 bedrooms, perfect for all 4 of you. Jay texted you that he planned a pool party at his vacation house tonight and told you to join.

When u appeared outside of your room, you saw that Yujin's friends are also staying at the vacation house. Great. You were about to ask Jay about it, of course you were. Jay didn't say anything prior to this

Though the first thing you saw was Jay and Yujin making out by the pool. Gross, you thought. You didn't want to admit it but a part did break in you.

At the same time, Sunghoon saw the commotion and saw your helpless face and decided to approach you

"the others are having a bbq grill thingy, care to join" asked Sunghoon

"No im good, ill just go back to my room"

"U like him right?" Asked Sunghoon suspiciously. Y/n was shocked but tried to keep a straight face. "What makes you think that?" Asked y/n

"Its obvious, you always give Jay love eyes everytime you see him" shrugged sunghoon. "I really dont think its any of your concern" said y/n

"Are you kidding me? Ofcouse it is. First you invited me to the stupid vacation house and now your completely distracted with Jay and his GIRLFRIEND" said Sunghoon angrily

"I didn't mean it that way, i just have a lot on my mind right now" said y/n while massaging her temple

"of course you don't" said Sunghoon sarcastically while storming off

The next day you both avoided eachother, you wanted to apologize but you didn't know how to

"So, you and Sunghoon? That's certainly a surprise" asked Jay while leaning on to the fridge after taking his sprite. "Yeah, i guess so"

"Sunghoon has been kinda off these past few days, did anything happen?" Asked Jay. "We just got in a little fight, nothing serious" said y/n

"do you like him?" Asked Jay. "Why does it matter? I don't think its ur business" asked y/n rudely

"Calm down, i was just curious. Why are you so angry?" Said jay. "Of course i am, i wasn't informed that your girlfriend and her minions will be staying at the vacation house" said y/n angrily

"Princess you know i would have informed you, i was just busy with school" you winced at the old nickname. "Sure you are, im gonna find sunghoon" said y/n

Y/n walked through the hallways and approached sunghoon who was busy reading a book. Sunghoon saw y/n at the door frame and raised one of his eyebrow.

"I wanted to apologize for the things i said a few days ago, im sorry I didn't mean it that way" y/n apologized. "You know I've always liked you, but you were to focused on a guy that already had a girlfriend

"I know, i can't help it that i love him Sunghoon" said y/n bitterly. "You know i can help you with that right? Just be with me and ill make your time worth" said Sunghoon

"Sunghoon, i really don't want to make you a rebound" said y/n. "Just give me a month to prove your time worth it" said Sunghoon pleadingly

"Its fine, you don't have too" said y/n trying to hide her smile. Sunghoon smiled and kissed her temple

A few months went by and Sunghoon kept his promise, he was the best boyfriend you could ever asked for. Caring, sweet, and much more. You couldn't have asked for anything more.

During that one month you weren't as close to Jay than before, he tried to contact you but you would always make excuses

Then one day Jay asked to meet at a cafe, you wanted to refuse but he kept begging until you said yes

"Its been a while" Jay said while sipping his coffee. "What do you want to talk about Jay?" Asked y/n

"Me and Yujin broke up, i found out her real intentions of dating me. Im sorry" said Jay. "You didn't do anything wrong, you don't have to apologize" said y/n while fidgeting her fingers

"I was wondering if you want to be my partner for prom? I've known you for so long and if im gonna be honest you looked prettier than you've ever been this past months

"Thanks Jay, but i already said yes to sunghoon's invitation to prom" said y/n

"I don't get it? I thought you liked me? Why are you now close to sunghoon?"

"Sunghoon's nice, incase you didn't know we are dating" said y/n and stood up from her seat and left the cafe

Since that day y/n blocked Jay and lived a happy life with Sunghoon

💳: divider: @snoozebin Other pictures are from pinterest, credits to all the owners

A/N: Send an ask to be moots

#enhypen #jungwon #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen oneshots #yang jungwon #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fanfic #enhypen au #enhypen imagines #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen soft hours #enhypen oneshot #enhypen smau #enhypen drabbles #enhypen soft thoughts #enhypen headcannons #enha imagines #enha x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fluff #park jongseong #jongsang #enhypen jay #jay angst #jay fic #jay fluff

[lemotmo]

:( Thoughts on Ryan (love him) saying buddie isn’t happening in the nicest way he possibly could?

Hey Nonny!

Okay, I'll be honest. I don't know how to feel about this article. It's all over the place and a little confusing.

First and foremost, I love how Ryan shares this beautiful message of inclusivity and acceptance. He is so well-spoken and I just love him for that.

Second, I've been in this fandom since season 1 and I've been rooting for Buck and Eddie since season 2. Both were very heavily queer-coded and their natural chemistry was amazing. It has since come to light that bi Buck was supposed to have happened in season 4, therefore we can conclude that queer Eddie would have also happened eventually. In my eyes Eddie was even more queer-coded than Buck.

I never ever expected Buddie to go canon in all those years. I was more than happy to live in Buddie fanon-land. No worries about canon. I even almost gave up on the show itself after the season 6 finale because of the horrible writing, but I mustered the strength to keep watching.

And then season 7. A breath of fresh air. The atmosphere between the actors was different, there was this sense of anticipation and joy among them.

The first Ryan and Oliver interviews came out, gushing about all things Buddie and I couldn't believe what I was hearing. They were actually talking about the ship I loved so much. They haven't stopped talking about Buddie ever since. Even the article mentioned above is, in essence, still about Buddie.

And then the show began. The first episodes were stellar. I loved the cruise episodes so much. And then 7x04 happened. Buck came out as bisexual and for the first time in all those years in the Buddie fandom, I realised that there would finally be a chance for them. I didn't vibe with Tommy, still don't to be honest (I don't like him all that much), but I accepted he was there for the time being. I didn't quite understand why everyone was so happy with Tommy, but I stuck it out anyway.

Then there was the Marisol situation that was handled as comedy when it turned out she was a nun once and Eddie had so much catholic guilt he couldn't have sex with her anymore. Strange storyline, but it was a great introduction to Eddie's Catholic guilt.

Everything in the narrative, all the nuances, all the dialogue, all the strange and questionable choices they keep making on the show, keep pushing Buck and Eddie together. Tommy and Marisol only appear when the narrative needs them. They are there to serve the plot.

Ryan didn't completely shut Buddie down. He kept a window open. I have to believe there is a reason for that.

I don't have inside information and I can't see the future, but as for now I'm still firmly on the Buddie train, destination endgame. I have to believe that there is a chance for them. I have to believe that they will get there eventually. I have to believe that Eddie will be free as well someday, free to be who he is. I also don't see either of them ever being as happy with Tommy or Marisol as they could be with each other. Them ending up with Tommy and Marisol would be deeply unsatisfying endings for me after 6 years in the trenches.

If, by the end of season 7, they have doubled down on Buck/Tommy and -god forbid- Eddie/Marisol, I will be disappointed, no lies there. And I'll probably wait out s8 for a while, see what the tone is and where they are going. I couldn't stay away for too long, because I love all the characters so much. This is a great show, even without my Buddie-glasses on.

Yeah, if canon Buddie isn't in the cards in the future, I'll go back to my little Buddie-fanon corner of this fandom. I lived there for 6 years. I can do it again. Happily so. Worry free.

But for now, there are still 4 episodes to go. No doubt they will be filled with great characters, actions and Buddie-moments. I'm choosing to focus on that for now. This show isn't over yet.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #nonnies galore

[lets-try-some-writing]

Wait wait wait wait wait

Titan!Mars is giving sentience to the drones?! So Opportunity, Curiosity, Sojourner and the others are all gonna be baby bots some day??

(Also if we're talking moons and planets being titans, there is a moon that literally named Titan - one of Jupiter's moons I think)

Yup they will. It will certainly take a hot minute to get there, but Mars is doing his very best to make it happen. They need protomatter and exposure to the Allspark to come to full awareness, but Mars is giving them all he can in the meantime. It is yet another reason he is so dead set on getting the Allspark back if no one else will. His citizens need it to come to full awareness. He is their father now. A father never abandons his children.

Mars liked to think that if given the chance, he would have the will to fight against the Unmaker and consequently, Earth. However, upon receiving his six gifted citizens, his determination was largely shelved. His citizens would be sad if their mother Titan were to be destroyed, and quite frankly, Mars didn't want to mess up the education he'd already given his little ones.

Let Earth, Moon, and Unicron duke it out verbally. They were all idiots anyway. Mars was comparatively very normal. All he was doing was giving his little ones sentience. Hardly worthy of note really.

Sojourner was old by the standards of his fledgling race. Mars had to be careful with him. Sojourner had to be gently imbued with the shards of a spark, and even then, Sojourner struggled to reach full sentience without his other half, Marie Curie. Often the new mind of Sojourner would wander to his companion still on Earth, and Mars could only hold him close and hope that maybe Earth would convince one of her children to send Marie Curie to him.

Spirit was an aggressive young mind and loyal to a fault. He was easy to bring to life. The care put into him by his human creators gave him the barest inklings of sentience, and that was more than enough for Mars to work with. Spirit remained within the section of Mars that the humans dubbed "Troy". The little thing was dead set on gathering information, just as he had been instructed so very long ago. Mars had and continues to support Spirit in his attempts to use his communication systems to reach NASA again with fresh data. Mars knows it is a risk on his end, but the ones who made his citizens are so loving. Mars is of the mind that they will be more interested in hearing from their wayward son than anything else.

Opportunity was almost eager to be given life. She endured many trials when she remained in contact with her makers, and the fact that she overcame them gave her the seeds of thought Mars needed to gift her the beginnings of a spark. Opportunity roams his surface with glee, and Mars fuels her travels with songs and gentle prodding. She too desires to one day regain connection to NASA to share her discoveries. Mars adores her desire to see and explore. She reminds him of Moon in a way. At least, the Moon when he was younger and filled with life, eager to please his young citizens.

Curiosity and Perseverance did not come to Mars at the same time, but they too arrived with the inklings of a fledgling mind. Mars accepted them with joy and did not impede them as they gleefully fulfilled their directives. He has slowly worked to give them sparks, but he will not directly interact with them until they inevitably lose connection with NASA. He wants them to know the love of their creators for as long as possible. Curiosity is more than happy to continue roving and fulfill her directive while also humming songs to Mars through fledgling EM bursts. Perseverance gleefully follows his older sister in her devotion to the task. Mars is very proud of them.

 Zhurong was different when he came to Mars. He was not from NASA, and that was new for Mars. Zhurong was a sweet mind though. He took longer to come to awareness, but Mars was glad to have him all the same. Being so young, Zhurong has yet to do much of note, but Mars encourages him whenever possible.

There were others too. Smaller minds send to Mars to observe and keep an optic on his surface. Phoenix, Viking's 1 and 2, InSight, Beagle 2, Mars 1, 3, and 6. They were all sent to him, but without any of the touch that gave the six life. Mars tends to them all the same. Maybe one day he will find a way to give them the touch that brings about thought and free will.

Mars loves his strange citizens, and he is hopeful that they may one day become Cybertronian given enough time and attention from him. Moon thinks he is weird for his obsession, as does Unicron.

Moon: Why do you care so much about the rovers? They aren't even proper citizens, much less Cybertronian in origin.

Mars: Shut your fragging mouth Moon. You don't get to talk when you ABANDONED your citizens back on Cybertron!

Moon: I DID NO SUCH THING YOU INSENSITIVE PRICK-

Unicron: Yes, destroy each other for my amusement.

Earth: Father, don't encourage them please. I don't want children's creations to die in the crossfire.

Earth is happy Mars loves her grandchildren, but she does worry about his interactions with Moon when they talk about citizens a a whole.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #unicron and earth au #moon #earth #mars #mars rovers #unicron #alternate universe #they do their best to get along #but sometimes moon and mars have I S S U E S #moon lost all his citizens when he was very young #he didnt know how to defend them #mars thinks he was pathetic for losing all of them when he could have stopped their deaths #moon thinks mars is an insensitive glitch since he should know the pain of losing citizens #i will need to think on that whole other titan idea

[thebluemoonjune]

Home (Richonne One-shot)

Even with Rick's difficulties and trauma, the Grimes family is still going strong after two weeks since Richonne made it back home.

Her life had long been defined by womanhood and motherhood, long before this. Her first was not long for this world, and she had lost her second, but she still had a daughter and son whom she would give and do anything for. She had murdered for them. She battled on their behalf. She could even leave them with a promise to bring their father home. Many things happened and she was on the verge of giving up as well, but heaven had eyes. They were finally back together. As one family. She opened her eyes to discover her hubby still sleeping. He's normally awake before anybody else owing to many bad nights, but he slept better than he has in recent days, forcing a gentle smile on her plump lips. He was so gorgeous while he slept; his steady heart and breaths were enough to make her fall in love with him all over again. After two weeks at home, she had to constantly reassure him that they were safe, that he was doing fine and that they were truly home. They would never recover any of that lost time. Not her year of struggling to recuperate and survive, nor the eight years it utilised to break him. She slid out of bed and put on her bedroom slippers to prepare breakfast before everyone awoke.

In his nightmares, he heard his children's footsteps, laughter, and impromptu singing. He would feel both asleep and awake in his spirit while he experienced the joys of parenting. Then it would be blankness, when he couldn't remember his oldest's face or how he came to terms with the fact that he'd never see his wife or daughter again in this life, let alone see his youngest, but he'd wake. He'd be greeted by his beloved's face, and his children would sometimes be wrapped up in the blankets with them. "Father" is an attribute of a man that comes to life when he is with his kid, and it does so because he adores them, enjoys being with them, and values the connection they share. He was still a father. It was a lengthy dream. One in which his son was dubbed a sacrifice. His son is not a sacrifice. He was his son. He had certain ambitions and goals, but they were cut short. If he were here, he'd see that everything worked out in the end. He would recognise and adore his little brother, and he would realise how much his litter sister had matured. He was his son, and he missed him. He loved his son unconditionally, and there was no price to it. His wife had awakened before him. An unusual occurrence. She must have been preparing breakfast for him and the children. His children. He was still a father. He was still a husband.

...

Placing the plates, knowing it was about time, her family got down. She continued to reflect. Feeling a new person develop within you and raising them to be self-sufficient was both the greatest joy and the greatest challenge. It combined with her previous successes to shape who she is now. Being a parent should be like that—not an extra or an "add-on," but a fundamental topic around which other interests revolve. Now she was pregnant for the third time. Her child, whether a boy or girl, is her child, as are their elder siblings. Her kid had her soul in their heart, and her heart will be theirs forever. Her child is free to live, grow, and love whoever they want, since no regulation can include such a blessed thing. If her child ever needs her help or advice, she will be there for them. She would go through the gates of hell to keep them safe, feeling honoured and grateful for the opportunity. Each child is a precious gift. She was lonely and without any comfort the last time. After all, what comfort could a three-year-old provide a pregnant widow? Her husband missed their son's first step: his initial words. They had lost out on those experiences together, but now they had another chance. Were they both afraid? Yes, but she had everyone she needed with her this time. They'd be okay.

Walking down the stairs, he heard her steady steps. She’ been placing the plates, knowing it was about time, for the family to go down, lost in her thoughts. Her placing her hand on her tummy drew his attention. They were once against expecting. Their child would be born in a few months, ready to seek and receive love, to be part of that lovely protective web of emotions that gives, nurtures, and protects, just like his or her siblings. Once Again. They would once again encourage them to be the greatest versions of themselves, to rewind, to abandon the poisonous cynicism and instead weave the love web that their kid would want. She was the finest mother he'd ever known, the greatest wife, and he aimed to be the ideal husband and father.

“Hey…”

Placing the final plate, she gazed upon her husband’s face. “Hey, baby… Want some eggs?”

“Yeah…” He planted a kiss on her lips, deepening it the first chance he got. The kiss went on for two whole minutes before she managed to break it.

“Sit.”

“Yes ma’am.” A chuckle escaped his lips before his face grew pensive.

“Rick?”

“I had a dream.”

“Oh, I thought you were sleeping better.”

“I am, darlin’. I am… It was about Carl.”

“Carl?”

Put all unpleasant memories in your left hand and all happy memories in your right. Memories danced on the edge of his thoughts, alternating between cherished times and terrible recollections, walking a fine line between consolation and misery. The world went on, indifferent to the sorrow that enveloped him, like a dark cloud that followed him everywhere, casting a shade on even the okay days. Those were the sentiments he held in the CRM. Then he couldn't recall the faces, which was worse than everything else he'd experienced in that godforsaken place. The weight of loss hung on his shoulders like an unbreakable load. Things were different, however. He was home with his wife and children. He could see his son's face again and had a photo of him his daughter, a little younger than he remembered her when he was taken. The fact that he could see his son's face was incredible. He was at home with his family. It wasn't an awful dream after all.

“He came to say hi.”

“I’m happy for you. Maybe he’ll visit me sometime?”

“Mhmm. Maybe Andre will.”

Her eyes welled and a weary smile came to her lips. “Maybe.” Next thing, Rick wrapped his arms around her and the swayed from side to side, resting his chin atop her head.

“I thought I told you sit, Grimes.”

“I will. For now, I just wanna love on my wife… Our boys, they’re in a better place, watchin’ us, wantin’ us to live life.”

He was, by no means, religious. He grew up a Baptist, and he would go to church every once in a while with Lori and Carl before the new world but his faith had left him long ago, but when it came to their children, he had faith. Faith that they weren't hurting and they were happy. Faith that they would all be together again. Was he hypocritical in his thinking? Yes, he was; regardless, it was how he viewed things.

A pair of heavy footsteps came running. Their children had arrived, ready to start the day. Breakfast consisted of fluffy pancakes, eggs, and berries, all as warm as they would be in the sun, with maple syrup threaded on top. It provided a tranquil sense of comfort, which helped to start the day off well.

“Morning, sleepyheads.”

“Mornin’ Mom! Morning Dad!”

“Morning, Mama! Dad!” Unlike his sister, her son hurried through the morning hug he owed her and rushed to his father’s side. “Oh.”

“Hey, junior.” He beamed, ruffling his son's curly brown hair. How’d you sleep, hmm?”

“I slept great!” Rj proclaimed, pulling the seat next to his father.

“What ‘bout you, Judy? Sleep alright?”

“Kinda.”

“She was doing homework till 10:30.” Michonne poured the three orange juices. “I think they are giving her too much work. I don’t like that they skipped RJ either.”

“I argue about Judith, but skipping grades just means our boy takes after you.”

“Two whole grades? He’s eight, Rick.”

“And he’s brilliant and I’m proud of him.” He gazed deep into her eyes. “I’m just happy they’re living normal lives.”

“I’ll talk to Judith’s teacher.”

“I go with you.” Rick gave her a deep grin, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Four eggs for breakfast, fried in a brushing of olive oil, lightly salted... so perfect. Just the way I like ‘em.”

“So perfect, Mama,” RJ said, obviously following his dad, earning a warm smile from both his parents.

“I’m glad you and your daddy like it, baby…” Michonne placed a bowl of freshly cut tomatoes at the centre of the table and her two special men reached for some. “Judy? Since school is finishing early, what’s your plan for the rest of the day?”

“Well, I promised Gracey I’d help her with her assignment.” Reading the disappointment on her parents' faces, she added, “I can’t tell her I can’t.”

"No, sweety, we’ll manage. But you keep your weekend free, okay?”

“Deal!”

“RJ?”

“Mhm?”

“Daddy is taking you out after school. Just the two of you. Behave.”

“I always behave.”

“Yeah, right.” Judith rolled her eyes

“I do!”

“No, you don’t!”

“Alright, alright… Eat up or you two will be late.” He simply stared at his his then his wife. The joy was apparent.

...

“Once upon a time, there were two children, one boy and one girl. Their parents loved them like a thousand suns, and they grew up to be clever and carin’. The father joined ‘em in the kitchen and danced to insane music; the sillier, the better. He followed ‘em with fingers that could transform them into monsters with a single twitch. The mother encircled ‘em with affection and defended ‘em like no other lioness…”

He smiled softly as he saw his junior yawn. Trying to persuade RJ to sleep in it is like separating an octopus from its prey. There might have been some anger rising in him—frustration—but he had missed too much of his son's life to harbour such feelings. They were both overly obsessed with one another. Even after three bedtime stories, he wasn't ready to leave his kid. His namesake, who was about to be dethroned as the youngest, was all he could have wished for. RJ begrudgingly closed his wide brown eyes and allowed the realm of dreams to take him. He kissed him good night on his forehead, dragging his feet out the door after taking one last look for the night. The couple opted to announce their new addition to their children later, preferring to focus on connecting and reconnecting right now.

…

Entering the bedroom, he smiled. Rick and Michonne gave each other their full attention as they celebrated Rick's good day of connecting with the children, specifically RJ. The temperature outside had dropped to practically freezing, but inside, they had a raging fire, also known as each other, and were soon pretty cosy. Michonne lay in bed across from Rick, her feet resting in his lap.

"I guess RJ is knocked out?"

"Yep." His shoulders slouched. "He put up a good fight, though."

"Don't feel too sad... You have tomorrow, the day after that, and the day after that one. We have time."

Rick let out an anguished sigh and was stimulated by her toes moving over his leg. "We do," he explained, his voice gruff yet calm. "I wish he could stop ageing, if even for a few years."

"Okay, don't get carried away over there," she said, smirking.

Chuckling at her words, he tugged on her feet. "Get over here," he stated, suggestively.

And with an amused smile, she sat on his lap, and as she adjusted, she could feel Rick hard beneath her.

"Hard, huh?"

"I am," He threw one arm around her waist and pulled down the strap of her silk pink nightgown. He squeezed her right breast and kissed the back of her neck.

Michonne felt his desire and rolled her hips, tingling from the sensation of his dick against her pussy. She should have become used to him by now, given their frequent screwing, but they had more than eight years to make up for. Her bodily response was still strong, which seemed strange. But every time he touched her, it was distinctive. Addictive even. She let out a small sigh as his left hand moved south, pushing beyond her panties to touch her slit. He didn't waste any time, which made her happy. She adored how much he loved her. How much he longed for her. She relaxed her body against his and extended her legs, granting his wish to explore. His fingers began to work. He pulled her off and stroked her clit as she vibrated softly on him. 

"Rick," she forced out softly, his fingers much overpowering her thoughts till she came.

He inhaled sharply as her breasts crushed against him, and his lips brushed against hers. Rick felt his dick buzzing. He really wanted her. She drew him in for a deeper kiss, holding his hair and inviting him to join her on the bed.

On top of her. He was both kind and passionate towards her. He landed another kiss on her lips before moving down her body, delivering several on her stomach, his dick only becoming harder as he returned to her chest. He enjoyed how well the breasts fit in his palms. Her pregnancy with RJ filled them out considerably more than they were eight years ago. It was the first thing he noticed. He sucked and nibbled her hardened nipples.

He licked and lapped at her erect nipples, smiling as she groaned in return. He admired her figure and enjoyed touring it. He'd missed her silky, creamy, dark brown skin and all of her lovely muscles. "Shit," he muttered into her ear, making both of them snicker. But the lightness immediately faded as he resumed their kiss and the top of his dick got cosy with her entrance. They both murmured silently, anticipating the moment to follow as her clit touched his tip. Their lips got chaotic while he sought to find his way inside, and their moans grew louder as he pressed into her.

"Right, ahhh!" Michonne muttered as he pressed on and began thrusting.

"Ahhh!" She gasped with a gentle moan. Filling her to the brim, pressing along her walls. He was great. It was greater once he started pounding. He rolled his hips methodically and sensually, hitting numerous places simultaneously, kissing her neck and grasping her breasts, captivating her entire body. She experienced an upheaval and was unsure if she ever wanted to get off. If she wasn’t already pregnant, he’d surely knock her up tonight.She could feel the impending climax as his dick worked against her clit with each stroke.

"Darlin', I'm gonna come," he declared, breathing against his wife's throat. He could feel the rhythm in his chest and his vision was a swirl of loveliness before him.

He enjoyed how thick and clinging it was actually. They had become soaked during sex. Michonne seemed aware of her actions, despite her suggestions indicating otherwise. The fashion in which her hips met his.

The couple shared unrivalled chemistry, which resulted in an incredible time between the two like all those years ago. The sort of sex that came with wet, sloppy kisses, strong grunts, nicks and scratches, bites, and chaotic, incoherent curses in moments of deep lust.

Rick felt Michonne's limbs weaken and the feeling of her bathing his dick, similar to how his fingers felt before. The taste of his name on her lips motivated him to finish quickly. The smell of sex filled the air as he grunted and halted his grinding. He rested, his forehead brushing hers, and caressed her belly with tenderness. Their thick lungs were filled with love and lust—even before they came.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Rick's smile was so vast that you could scarcely see his eyes, and her flush was like flowering blossoms, conveying the love of her heart. They were so fortunate to be able to look directly into each other's eyes at that silent moment when the rest of the world was placed on hold. She put her palm on his chest and felt the tempo of his heartbeat. They had a wordless feeling of joy. Joy was a vital part of the recipe for life, and when they were happy, their lips curled into matching smiles.

“It’s good to be home.” A soft smile played on his lips.

“It is.”

#rick x michonne #richonne #richonne fanfiction #richonne fic #rick grimes #michonne grimes #michonne #the ones who live #twd towl #rj grimes #judith grimes #carl grimes #richonne fandom

[winterarmyy]

Welcome home... Soldat? | Part I

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 2.9k++

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, dubious con on groping reader's body, dark(?) possessive behaviour, google translated russian, our soldat is kinda cute(?) in his own twisted way, and well, basically fluffy times with the soldat.

P/S: Guys, I never planned this at all. I mean, who am I kidding? All of my fics are not planned and I clearly write things out of impulse. Therefore, this one don't have much of a story building/plot because it was born out of one scene that flashed in my head and has been replayed way to many times that I need to let it out. Anyway, I still hope you enjoy it, somehow.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N didn't know when exactly she started this habit but she swore to herself to never grow out of it.

It's been nearly 2 years since the fall of Hydra and the avenger has accepted the winter soldier under their wing. Begrudgingly by Tony, but the rest of them seemed like they're not against it.

Y/N used to be an agent from SHIELD but since the fall, she had been recruited under the avenger's programme and had been living in the tower since.

She remembered the day when Bucky first came in, he was quiet and weary all the time. Like an abandoned cat, picked up by a stranger to come to their home. And it took the whole team months before he slowly adapted.

Who knew he would morphed into a sassy, grumpy little shit, right?

Since the first day, Y/N had been making an effort to make him feel welcomed. Helped him to adjust to modern times. Though it was not regular but she's glad he came to her from time to time to ask about things.

Y/N only meant it to be casual when she greeted him back from his missions. Usually, it'll be something like,

"Oh you're back?"

"How's the team?"

"Good to see you well put together from such horrendous mission."

"God, you look like you fell from 5 flight of stairs."

"Are you even trying to fight back, Bucky?"

But one time, Bucky came back in the morning around breakfast, she wasn't feeling sassy or clever. So, instead of greeting him with playful remarks, in the glory of her messy bed hair and iron man pyjamas, she greeted him with a sleepy smile, "Welcome home, Bucky."

And that surely made the 6 foot, bulky hunk of a soldier paralysed in his spot. His ocean blues slightly widen, and his cheeks deepen in blush.

For a moment, he wondered if this is how he would feel if he had a wife waiting for him to come back from war back in the 40's. But, then again nothing can be compared to the sight he was seeing as he is now.

And Y/N didn't want to ever lose that memory of him.

Cute and flustered Bucky is a very rare sight to see. Perhaps, this was the only time she could witness it and she want to cherish it for the rest of her life.

Though Bucky never replied to Y/N's greeting, it didn't stop them from starting a whole new routine.

Y/N always knew that she had a thing for the sargent, but about 2 months from that moment, Y/N realized she was in love.

And she waited for him, every single chance she had for arrival of the team to come back. Just like she is now, at 03:45 in the morning, while scavenging for something sweet she can eat as she waits for Bucky's return.

When, she turned around she was not expecting to have her face into clashed into something, "Oww!" Y/N shuts her eyes close as she rubbed her aching nose to ease the sharp strike of pain.

For a moment there, she seriously thought she might have just bumped into some kind of a solid air that appeared out of nowhere, but when she opened her eyes, it was just Bucky who was standing rather ominously still.

"My god, you scared the shit out of me. I know you used to be an assassin but, you gotta announce yourself sometimes, man." She joked. Although she did find it impressive that he managed to silently sneak up on her with those thick, heavy combat boots he was wearing.

"Woah, someone's been having a field day kicking your ass, huh?" Y/N's eyes lingered a little longer on the wounds at the side of his temple that she didn't notice the void in his eyes.

"Anyway..." she continued as she shook of the thoughts of caressing the cut on the corner of Bucky's lip, before greeting him with a gentle smile, "Welcome home."

Bucky's unresponsiveness was nothing new to her. With the amount of silent glares and gruff eye-rolls that he had shot at her these past few months, she's used to it by now.

But, when she finally had the guts to look him in the eye, only then she noticed the underlying shift. Albeit, his signature frown was still as present as ever but, those eyes had made her questioned of the slight difference from what she recognized.

Bucky wordlessly step forward and cornered her until her back meets the side of the kitchen isle. He took his time assessing her, almost admiring the way her iris wavered in confusion.

Something is wrong.

Her guts were screaming at her to notice it but her body wasn't reacting accordingly. That's when the voice of the AI, Jarvis echoed through the walls.

"Emergency alert: Code Winter. Initiated by Captain Steve Rogers. All agent is advised..." The announcement went on based on protocol while the cogs in Y/N's brain finally moved, "Code Winter? That means..."

 "...to be cautious of Sargent James Barnes; reprimand on sight however try not to engage alone. Agents is..." Jarvis voice in the background interwoven with Y/N's internal deduction, "...This is not Bucky?"

As she tried to put her own mind into perspective, trying to make herself believe that this man in front of her is not Bucky Barnes who she had been adoring over for these past few months, the soldat's hands reached the side of her neck, squeezing the softness of her flesh while his thumbs grazed the shape of her jawline.

His heavy gaze remained on hers, willing her to stay as still possible.

"Bucky...?" She called his name in hopes of triggering something, anything for within his controlled mind.

At end of the corridor leading towards the kitchen, Steve could see how the soldat had already gotten his hands on Y/N and panic strike him like lightning, he sprinted towards her as he despretely shouted, "Y/N! Stay away from--"

But Y/N was not able to render anything she heard from Steve, especially after a long silence, the soldat finally spoke, "Yes, I'm home..."

He carefully pulled her face closer to his as his lips planted on her soft cheek, "...мое cолнышко (my sunshine)" he lifted for a second just to kiss her again on her temple as he whispered lowly, "...мое Родная (my darling)"

Y/N's heart was beating madly for several different reasons. Parts of her was terrified that the soldat might break her neck within an instance, but it gradually changes into something much more confusing, a conflicted joy, when he keep on trailing his lips all over her face.

What is happening?

Both her and Steve was practically frozen in pure confusion.

Steve's mouth hanged open as words failed to form, while Y/N was unable to comprehend any sort of thoughts, let alone counter movements; when the soldat continue to whisper Russian endearments against her skin, littering sweet kisses on every part of her face, except for her lips as if he wanted to tease her.

His hands slowly travel down her back and stopped on the side of her waist, pulling her body closer until there was no space in between them anymore, before he wrapped his arms around her.

The drag of his stubble on her skin burned but it felt so good when he kissed it after.

Seconds later, Sam managed to catch up with Steve and his cautious approach fell as he witnessed the soldat's rather domestic actions towards Y/N.

Sam foolishly let his guard down as he approached with a question directed to Steve, "Is the tin man back?" That was when a bullet barely grazed the tip of his ear that then buried through the wall behind him.

Both Steve and Sam forced to stop any sort of movement as the soldat's aim was still locked towards their direction; his cold blue eyes pierced with a menacing warning, all the while posessively holding Y/N in his arms as his kisses trailed the side of her neck.

"Nope, not yet." Sam answered his own question as he waited for Steve's order.

Y/N felt like she have to do something to de-escalate the situation. After a quick deduction, and based on the soldat attitude towards her, she took the risk of believing that he would not do anything to hurt her, so she decided to play along.

Will it work though?

Well, she got to have to try for it work.

She gulped nervously before softly calls for him, "Soldat?" she looked up towards him.

When the soldat gave her his attention, she watched the loose strand of his hair fall down to his face. Her hand went up and reached for it, "How about we go back to your room and let me tend these wounds, hmm?" She cooed while tucking his behind his ear and briefly caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

The soldat didn't reply but instead silently process her proposition.

However, the hesitation only worried her more, so she continued to persuade, as she cautiously slide her hand, following his arm that was holding her teammates at gun point, "It'll be just the two of us. How's that sound?" She smiled warmly at him as she managed to lower it enough to grab the gun away from his grasp.

There was a glint of indecipherable emotion in his eyes when she mentioned that, which then he nodded in agreement.

"Okay then, let's go." She put the gun on the kitchen isle behind her and replaced her hand in his, pulling him towards his bedroom. The soldat did not protest to her lead, in fact her followed her obediently.

But before Y/N makes an exit, she looked back towards Steve and mouthed a reassuring message, "I got this."

The captain had all the rights to be weary but at this point, he just had to believe in Y/N's action plan. He nodded and replied, "Be safe. We'll be outside."

Along the walk towards Bucky's room, all she could think was that she can handle it and she got this under control.

But, does she?

Well, Y/N did have it under control, in terms of keeping the soldat from going on a berserk rampage but what she didn't think through was how the fuck she should handle his behaviour towards her.

After they arrived to Bucky's room, she had instructed him to strip off his tactical suit and leave him sitting at the edge of the bed, only in his short to avoid him reaching for any hidden weapons he had, all the while she went to grab the first aid from his bathroom.

Now that she almost done tending the small injuries on his face, it finally dawned to her that the soldat had her immobilized in between his legs as his hands rubbed the back of her thighs, occasionally squeezing the softness of her body in his tender grip.

His intent gaze waited patiently for her to finish and as soon as she did, he pulled her on his lap, making her to straddle on top him as he smushed his face on her chest, "Oh, Родная (darling)... I have missed you."

Her hands found her balance on his shoulders while the soldat roaming hands held her body still by the back of her waist.

It will be a lie if she said her heart didn't skipped when he confessed; even if it was still the soldat's thoughts and words but it was Bucky's voice.

The soldat pulled his other hand to play with the buttons of her pyjamas shirt, specifically around her chest area.

Part of him wanted to just rip her clothes off from her body but another part of him didn't want to. He didn't want scare her; and his precious little darling deserved to be pampered.

He had her buttons popped off; one by one, slow and almost sensual while Y/N was still in a heated debate with herself on what she should to next. She wanted the soldat to stop but god the temptation of wanting more was beyond her will power.

This is not Bucky.

She knew that. But, she had been bewitched by the look in those familiar blue eyes. So enthralled and so keen to unwrap her.

Y/N let out a low yet sharp gasp as her chest was finally revealed, "Soldat, what..." The soldat take a quick glance into her eyes, "...are you doing?" before trailing back down to the curve of her breasts, cupped so beautifully with a simple black bra.

His hands went back to grabbed her thighs as he replied, "Just wanna hold you." He leaned closer and left a lingering kiss in between her breasts, mumbling deep, " Wanna feel you, мое Родная (my darling)"

Fuck, it feels so good.

"Wanna feel you..." Y/N's grip on his bare shoulder tightened as he lips warmed the top of her right breast, "...here." An unexpected moan slipped out of her lips as the soldat latched his wet mouth on her skin, bruising it with his mark.

He groaned to the taste of her, so sweet and soft, he wanted to pull the bra off her and suckle on her nipple. He bet that they're perky and so sensitive. Bet he could make her cum just by playing with them.

He wanted to leave his bite mark around them, make them look much more prettier. But, he needed to be patient.

He brought his left hand up to hold the other side of her chest; pulling another pretty noise as the cold metal of his thumb gently stroked the exposed skin of her breast.

"Wanna feel you..." His flesh hand made its way lower and cupped her clothed sex, unexpectedly making her grind down to his hold, "...here."

She couldn't help to find shelter in the crook of his neck when he began to stroke her sensually.

This is getting out of hand.

Y/N doesn't mind to entertain him if the soldat only asked for him to hold her but it was clear that he wanted so much more than just innocent touches. Especially when he languidly rubbed his middle finger in between the slit of her pussy.

She hates how easy it was for Bucky's touch turned her on, his hands and his lips; regardless if his actions was someone else's.

This is wrong.

This has to stop.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

"I can't touch you here?" He murmured softly as he pressed harder. Even with the barrier of the cotton panties, she was so sensitive to his touch; he loves that about her.

"N-no. You can't." She choked back a moan as she replied.

God, what if he doesn't care?

What if he'll get mad and force it on her?

She can't imagine the guilt Bucky had to experience if the soldat take her right now. And all because her stupid little brain cannot comprehend a plan to stop him, all because she let the soldat touch her as freely, as willingly.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

Much to his deperateness, the soldat pulled her away and watched as her tears spilled out, "Oh darling, don't cry." He leaned in and kiss the corners of her eyes, murmuring his words of comfort, "I hate to see you cry, мое cолнышко (my sunshine)." His metal hand slithered to her back and his palm stroked her lovingly.

"Okay, okay. I won't touch your sweet princess part, okay?" He patted her pussy one last time before reaching to swipe her tears away. "I promise." He whispered.

As much as he wanted to fuck her stupid, fill her hole full with his load; however the soldat does hold her very dear to his heart and hates to see her sad.

"Just let me hold you close, darling?" He cooed as he kissed the edge of her lips.

Y/N didn't know why but she trusted his words. Maybe it was because he was so gentle with her, that she was tricked into believing him.

She watched the soldat waited patiently for her response and when she nodded softly, he swiftly lifted her in his arms and lay her down on the bed.

He tucked himself in under the sheets with her and naturally rested his face on her chest. His fleshed arms wrapped securely around her waist and his metal one around her thighs, as he pulled her closer; almost suffocating himself in between her warm breasts.

It was like an instinct for Y/N to encircle her arms around his neck while her hands run through the thick of his hair, absentmindedly playing with the softness of it.

She almost giggle when the soldat let out a deep-throated sound of relieved sighs as she continued to massage his scalp.

As the soldat started to sail deeper into dreamland, Y/N thought that maybe this will be the only and the last time she had the chance to hold Bucky like this and she knew it was wrong to feel grateful to the soldat because had done nothing but terrible, despicable things in the past.

But when she thought about it, none of those sins was his choice to make. He was created to kill and nothing else.

But what if he had something to hold on to?

A hope to look forward to?

A person to protect?

Or a home to go back to?

Would he still be the same monster he had been before?

She have not a slightest clue.

But, what she does know that this soldat who's clinging in her arms, deserves something kind.

And she hoped that she managed to give him a sense of peace for once in his life.

Y/N nuzzled to the side of his tired-looking face and placed a sweet kiss on his temple as she whispered ever-so-softly, "Welcome home, soldat."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: This is possibly part 1? I'm not sure either. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! And reblogs is much appreciated!

#winterarmyyfics #welcome home soldat au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier × reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier!bucky #bucky fluff

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Dad!Simon Riley x Fem!reader

Simon Riley: Girl Dad

From the request here ; pic screenshot from this video

“Can I come in now?” you ask, popping your head into the nursery as Simon finishes getting your 3 month old daughter Anna ready for the day. 

She wriggles in his grasp, babbling away as he mutters in a hushed tone to her about keeping still for daddy.

"Ya think this is funny yeah," he teases her, tickling her chubby tummy before trying to wrangle one of her legs in his grasp.

It’s like music to his soul the way the happy talking sounds she makes touches his heart and it only makes him want to do whatever he can so that she will keep making them for him. That’s why it always takes longer than usual to get her dressed when he does it.

You crane your neck trying to sneak a peak, but his voice stops you. “Not yet,” he says and moves his body to block your view. 

He doesn’t want you to see before he’s ready. The outfit is one he picked up the other night on a whim, the moment he saw it he knew Anna had to have it for today, and he wants to get it all on to give the full effect. He finishes straightening her up and tucks her body sitting up in the crook of his arm. She is content as can be being snuggled at the side of his chest, happily clapping her little hands together as they turn to face you. 

“Well?” he asks, brow furrowed and body slightly tense as he waits for your critique. “How'd we do?”

You match your daughter’s vibrant smile as you see the outfit Simon’s bought all on his own: a bright yellow corduroy romper with frill capped sleeves, little socks with suns on them, and a big yellow bow to match. Your heart swells full of emotion at the sight; it’s just an outfit, sure, but it really means so much more than the sum of its parts. You know just how far Simon has come in his journey with her and it truly warms your heart to see him so smitten with the little babe this way.  

When she first came home, there wasn’t a moment when Simon wasn’t on edge around her, nervous that somehow, someway, he would end up hurting her. She seemed so small to him in those first days, so incredibly delicate as she lay sleeping in her bassinet like the most perfect doll, that he was certain that someone as rough around the edges as him would never be able to be near her without breaking her and that was something he was not willing to risk.

She is his gift, his light, a treasure that came from out of all the years of heartache and hardship and he would never let anything bad ever happen to her.

It took some time and a lot of encouragement on your part, but finally Simon found his confidence and never looked back. Any chance now that he can get he is holding her, changing her, feeding her; anything and everything he can do to show her his love by his actions alone. And whether he gives himself the credit for it or not, he is doing a marvelous job.

“How did I know you'd choose something yellow?” you laugh as Simon glares at you, trying not to crack that fake tough facade. 

It is becoming a pattern for him to choose yellow things when it comes to Anna. When she came home from the hospital a few months ago in that yellow onesie, it was like a flip and been switched and that was it; that was her hue from then on. It is strange, Simon never really had a favorite color before that special day and then suddenly yellow was never the same. Now he cannot imagine his life without it.

His face breaks into a smile as he shakes his head, not ready to admit that he is becoming predictable. “Come on, did I do it right or not? Just want to be sure it looks fine on her. We got a big day and I want it ta be perfect.”

Your face brightens as you look her over again. “She looks adorable, Simon,” you reply cheerfully. “You did good, baby. I think you’re really getting the hang of this dad thing.”

Looking down at her in his grasp, he beams with a sense of accomplishment and his tense shoulders ease. Parenting is not something Simon ever thought he could be good at, he never thought he would be the one with the chance at having a family, but each day he is making strides in the right direction to becoming the dad he desperately wants to be.  

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own today?” you ask as you watch Simon place a delicate kiss to the top of Anna’s small, wispy-haired head. “Cause I can stay if you need me to. All I gotta do is make a call and let them know I can’t go.”

Simon shakes his head and reaches for you with his free arm, pulling you by the wrist until you step close enough that he can wrap his arm around your hip to pull you against him opposite your daughter. “Ya worry too damn much, sweetheart,” he says as his hand finds your cheek, his thumb stroking across the soft skin before he is leaning his face in towards yours. 

His full lips catch you in their tender embrace, a kiss that is full of emotion, and in an instant your eyes flutter closed as you relinquish yourself to him. You let all those worries fall away as the gentle touch of his lips, the heat from his breath, the passion flowing through his kiss calms your mind. He conveys so much without ever speaking a single word and in a flash you are put at ease.

Slowly he breaks away, already missing your taste the moment your lips part. Eyes still shut, he rests his forehead against yours, rocking all three of you back and forth a moment as he enjoys the feeling of having his entire life resting comfortably in his arms. You both open your eyes after a time and look down at Anna babbling away to herself, before looking back at each other. This is all still new and unchartered territory, so the both of you are working to figure it all out, but so far it has been anything except bad. 

“I promise, I got ‘er. We’re gonna be just fine,” he says quietly. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

At the sound of his voice Anna turns her face to find his and it lights up as it always does whenever her favorite person talks to her. She even employs her recently-learned skill of giggling happily to punctuate that she agrees with whatever it was she was just asked, even though she doesn’t understand a word of it.  

Simon kisses your forehead to be sure the worry is completely gone. “It’s just a couple hours on base and then we’ll be home the rest of tha day,” he says. “Besides, might be nice to show her off to the guys. She does look real pretty today.” 

“That she does,” you agree as you quickly check the clock on your phone and with a kiss to your baby and one more for Simon you are gone, leaving the pair alone.

Simon gets to work double checking everything in his backpack that he has to bring for her: extra diapers, wipes, bottles, toys, anything he could need while he is out. It’s in his nature, years of military training has come in handy as he is prepared for it all. Satisfied, he turns back to the baby at his side. “Alright princess,” he says, “ready to go see where your dad spends all his time when he ain’t at home?”

The moment he’s walking on base, black backpack filled with essentials strapped to his back, tiny baby girl dressed in bright clothes tucked in his arms, he’s drawing curious stares from everyone he passes. This is the first time she has gone to base with him, so of course people are going to be inquisitive about things. How can they not? Simon looks like… well, Simon: intense, stoic, intimidating. Even in just his black t-shirt and jeans, with his lightweight balaclava on, he is still an imposing figure. Never one to be shy per se, Simon still does not like the attention on him, but since he is with his little angel he doesn’t care. He is proud to show off the best damn thing he has ever helped to create.

The contrast between him and his daughter he knows is jarring and Simon laughs to himself at how absurd this must look for someone like him with such a coarse demeanor to be handling such a precious, sweet thing. Who would have thought that the scary skull-masked military officer would have a family of his own? It is a shock he is sure. 

“Seems we’re gonna be the talk ‘round ‘ere today, princess,” he says as he looks down at Anna, secure in his grasp as they continue on towards his office.

She is too busy looking everywhere her little head can turn to be bothered by anything. Being out and about with her father, seeing things she’s never seen before, which is pretty much everything, has her interested and engaged with the sights around her. Those small brown eyes, the ones that are a carbon copy of his, stare on as she silently takes everything in.

He makes it to his office and gets set up, grabbing everything that he needs in one tight spot as he sits Anna up in his lap with a toy for her to play with. She is content for a while as he goes through paperwork, occasionally he gives her a tickle or readjusts her on his thigh, something to show that he hasn’t forgotten she’s there with him. 

Barely an hour has passed before Anna begins to whine and fuss and Simon knows what that means: she’s hungry. He grabs the prepped bottle out of the bag and walks to the small microwave in the corner of the room, warming it and testing it on his wrist before he moves back to his desk and sits back down in his chair, cradling her in his arms against his chest as he places the nipple of the bottle in her mouth.

“There ya are, luv,” he comforts her until she settles into him, “I gotcha. Daddy didn’t forget.”

Unknown to Simon, there is an unexpected guest that has just appeared near his office door, though before the person can even knock to announce themselves, they are caught by surprise at the sight before them. Johnny, who’s come to deliver something from Price, stops right in his tracks and stares at the scene before him.

He stands there, watching as Simon tenderly holds this little infant in his arms, quietly rocking back and forth as she drinks her bottle. Every now and again he speaks to her softly, the skin around his eyes tightening to indicate there is a smile underneath the mask. There is an ease to his movements as if he knows exactly what he is doing and it genuinely shocks the young sergeant. Who could have ever guessed that this would be something Simon would be such a natural at?

As Anna is finishing the bottle, Simon looks up as he feels a pair of eyes on him to see Johnny standing there, obscured by the doorframe, silently watching. He sets the empty bottle down on his desk and moves Anna to sit upright on his thigh, leaning her against the crook of his arm so that he can pat and rub her back until she burps. 

“Can I help ya, Mactavish?” Simon’s distinct voice calls out, catching Johnny off-guard as he realizes he’s been caught staring.

“Sorry, L.T.” Johnny stutters out as he hurriedly steps inside the office, remembering why he is here in the first place, and sets some papers upon his desk. “Price sent these; says he needs ya to look ‘em over.”

Simon nods in understanding, his hand still rubbing the baby’s back. “Will do,” he agrees, thinking this will be the end of the interaction, but Johnny still lingers. “Anything else?”

“I heard ‘round base that ya had your little one here today. Had to come see if it was true fer myself,” Johnny admits with guilt. 

“Well, ya could meet ‘er if ya like, ‘stead a standin’ there just starin’.”  Simon nods his head down at the baby. “Johnny, this is Anna.”

The sergeant observes her as she begins to coo, her eyes catching the tattoos along Simon’s muscular arm, her petite fingers tapping and poking along the lines and patterns with delight as she loves to do when he holds her like this. She’s so engrossed that she hasn’t realized there is another person in the room yet.

Johnny clears his throat. “Didn’t mean ta stare, ya know. It’s just a surprise ta see she’s actually real, I guess.”

The original members of the 141 know about Anna, it wasn’t something that Simon could hide once she was about to make her way into the world, but it’s a bit jarring for the Scot to see someone that he had previously known to be so toughened by the world change so drastically. Anyone who gets close enough can see it in the lieutenant’s soft gaze: he adores the little girl and that is… interesting, to say the least.

Simon chuckles at the clear surprise in Johnny’s voice as Anna is still playing with his arm. “Bit absurd, innit Johnny?” he questions while watching her with a prideful twinkle in those brown eyes as she giggles. “Me with a kid? Doesn’t seem possible, does it?” 

“Ya seem a natural ta me,” the Scot admits in awe of how easily he makes it seem, as if he was given some secret knowledge that made him know exactly what to do and how to do it. “Then again I don’t know the first thing ‘bout babies. Wouldn’t even know where ta start.”

Simon is reminded about how when he first found out he was going to be a dad he had started reading all the books, researching all the things like a good, capable soldier would, but how all of that prep was nothing in the end as the moment she came into the world everything was turned on its head. It’s not like in the books, it’s so much better and it is days like today that make it worth all the worry and fear and anxiety he had to break through to get here.

“Easier than ya think,” Simon replies with a chuckle as he moves Anna around facing forward now. “Once ya get the hang of it.”

“Don’t tell my girl that,” Johnny laughs back. “Can’t afford one right now.”

Anna’s attention is stirred away from Simon’s tattoos and towards the other man standing in the room with them. She looks up at Johnny in awe, not having much experience with others outside of Simon and you, but Johnny shoots her his classic smile and he has her giggling again in a flash. 

“Well hey there Anna, nice ta meet ya,” he introduces himself before turning back to Simon. “I think she likes me.”

“It's your hair she's eyein’,” Simon points out, following her eye line.

Sure enough as soon as Johnny runs his hands over the mohawk cut into his hair her eyes light up. “Can she touch it?” he asks Simon and he nods in agreement.

Johnny falls to one knee in front of the little girl, leans his head down, and lets her put her hand in it. Her short, chubby fingers pull the strands as she laughs, the short, spiky pieces pricking her fingertips. She pulls away quickly before bringing her hand back in again, a sort of game that she repeats a few more times before Johnny gets back to his feet. 

“He’s a funny one, ain’t he, princess?” Simon questions his little one as he strokes his thumb around the smile that fills her tiny, round cheeks. “Ya like him, yeah?”

She coos, her little lips forming an ‘o’ so that she sounds like a dove. That’s the closest to a yes as they are going to get. 

“I sure ‘ope ya do, seein’ as I’m your dad’s best friend,” Johnny picks, looking to Simon to see his reaction. 

He rolls his eyes at the statement, but stays silent and doesn’t correct him. Instead Simon opts to end the conversation there, needing to get finished here anyway so that he can get back home. As much as Johnny’s company isn’t as grating as it first was, he is ready to spend some alone time with the baby before you get back. “Well, if ya don’t mind, I need to get back to it. Say goodbye Anna.”

Johnny agrees, though his mouth twitches like he wants to ask a question, but ultimately decides not to ask it in the end. He turns to leave, but Simon guesses at what he is wanting and calls out behind him so that he stops. 

“And ya can tell the others they can come see ‘er if they want,” Simon assures, “I know they’re probably itchin’ to get a glimpse of her too. That’s why they sent ya, yeah? See if I was up for company?”

Johnny turns around and nods his head. Fuck, they’ve been caught. “Will do, L.T.” he says. “Can ya blame us though? She’s pretty damn cute.”

And with that he turns back around. As Johnny leaves the office with the sounds of Simon and Anna at his back, he can’t help but smile to himself at seeing his friend finally have a bit of happiness; if anyone deserves it, it is Simon. Wait till the others see just how much things around here are going to change.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost #cod ghost #ghost call of duty

[0luv9]

can't move on || mattheo riddle

Summary: He was done fucked, a weak man on his knees for her, mad for her, in love with her and funny enough she didn't know. Him sleeping around isn't helping him though.

Beware: angst, fluff (?), minimal plot, smoking, drugs, alcohol, she/her pronouns, second person used as well, miscommunication, misunderstandings, excessive use of swear words, both reader and Mattheo assume the worst, happy ending.

Words: 4.025k

Mattheo Riddle is in deep shit. His feelings have dug him a deep hole, a hole so deep that he could bury himself a hundred times over and still not be anywhere near the surface. He is so in love with you. And you being so fucking oblivious, mistake his advances for him being friendly. It's funny because when has he ever done something friendly? He's not even friendly to his friends, he insults them as a greeting for fucks sake. It's ridiculous how clueless you are, it was endearing at first but now it's just painful for him to watch you go on dates, that too every date with a different guy.

He thinks you've fucked them all, afterall it's him, Mattheo Riddle, he only thinks in extremes, if you've been on a date with some dude, you ofcourse had fucked him because who wouldn't do you. He resorted to the same ways, fucking his frustration out but instead of feeling satisfied, he would feel relieved for a moment and then his frustration would grow more and more, never coming close to being satisfied. He thought he could just fuck it all out, that he could just forget you, that he could just hate you. It became a routine for him, he got rougher and rougher with the girls he slept with, reaching his own high became harder and harder. It was all because of you, 'cause you couldn't see his love and make him a lover.

His reputation was worsening, his grades started slipping, he started ignoring you, becoming angry easily, snapping at anyone and everyone. Fucking girls left and right, every day was the same and he wondered why the hell he couldn't find a solution to all his problems. His smoking habits became worse, one cigarette turned into two, two turned three and now he was smoking one pack a day. His life was fucked, he could no longer think for himself, the thoughts of you with someone else corrupted his mind at all times. Everyone could see him ruining his life, he couldn't care less, he didn't give a shit about the names he was being called, most of them were true anyway.

…

Tonight was like every other Slytherin party night, except for the fact that he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol, all he wanted was a drunk hookup but he had slept with most of the girls in the room and he couldn't bring himself to repeat them over. He sighed, walking off to a secluded balcony, pulling out a cigarette, it was boring, life had become boring.

"Mattheo," he nearly jerked his head in the direction of your voice, it's been so long since he's heard it. All of it coming back to him, all the feelings he was trying to get rid of came right back, knocking at his heart. He's looking for the sweet smile, the one you'd always give him when you'd talk to him but all you did was frown at him, looking at him like the onlookers who gossiped about him and it fucking hurt. "Yes darling," he greeted you like nothing was wrong, before you would've smiled at his cheesy nicknames but now you grimaced at his hoarse voice and stepped back, he quickly looked away, just like that he blew off his last chance, he couldn't face it, he couldn't see you walk away from him, he physically couldn't.

"Riddle-" "Don't, don't call me that," he whispered, it was pathetic, he knows it too but that doesn't stop him, he couldn't hear you call him that. "Mattheo, I am Mattheo," he breathed out like an affirmation to himself, as though reminding himself of the person he's losing, dropping his cigarette and putting it out with his shoe. There it is, he's doing it again, acting how you'd want him to act, you disapproved of his smoking habits, you never told him to stop though, just so you know, he would stop if you only asked but you never did. You never asked anything of him, making the friendship feel one-sided, never wanting to bother him, you didn't do that with your other friends, you were openly asking them for favours albeit small, still favours, that's how friends are, looking out for eachother but no, you never expressed it, he just had to read into it. It made him feel as though he was your friend, just for the name sake, wow- he couldn't even be your friend.

He closed his eyes trying to contain himself, taking a hit from the burning cigarette, his hands were trembling, he was hurt, he could never be with you, you were making it clear. For the first time he got an actual sign of rejection and he just couldn't take it. "Riddle." It was still your voice, coming from his side, he slowly turned, there you were, standing next to him, looking at him with concern, giving him the slightest bit of hope, making his heart pound against his chest. He simply stared at you this time, unable to think of a response because you called him by his last name, you never did that. You didn't speak either, both staring at eachother, him with everything unsaid, sadness, anger, hope, longing, love, every fucking thing while you looked at him with worry painted all over your face. Mattheo hated to have people worry about him, noone was obligated to do so and he didn't want anyone to do it but right now, he didn't seem to mind, your attention was on him, worried about him. You finally looked away, placing your glass on the railing, alcohol with a lollipop in the glass, a typical you thing.

"alright, Mattheo," a small smile was tugging at your lips at his actions, "tell me, what's going on?" He didn't have anything to say, what would he say anyway? Upon not receiving an answer you sighed and continued, "Draco was telling me how different you've been-" he scoffed loudly interrupting you, ofcourse this is what it is, Malfoy sending you to talk to him, to scold him like everyone else, ofcourse you wouldn't come to him on your own, he was so fucking worthless in your eyes. “Don’t do that Mattheo-“ “Yeah? Why not? Coming here to scold me like everyone else, you know what, surprise surprise, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” He was angry, you come to talk to him after all these days and it was to tell him, that he’s bad, that he’s wrong, yes, he started it by ignoring you but you didn’t even make an effort to talk to your “friend” while he was away, it pained him to know that you didn’t even care to check up on him.

“No, I am worried Mattheo, this is not okay for you,” you moved closer, shaking your head trying to find the words, “I tried Mattheo, to catch you, to talk to you but you were always turning away, ignoring me, I couldn’t even get a proper look at you these weeks. Draco was joking about you smoking two a day, one for each girl you slept with, it was then but now, a whole pack a day? I tried to get to you, tried to see what’s been hurting you, but all I saw was your back towards me.” You paused, looking around clearly frustrated, “I thought maybe you didn’t want to talk about it, so I stopped trying but I am sorry, I can’t help myself, I care about you Mattheo and I hate to see you like this,” you looked up at him, hoping he’d understand but he only stared at you blankly, maybe you were wrong to care, he clearly didn’t want to be bothered, you sighed yet again, clearly there was no point, you could only wish for him to be better.

You mustered up all the courage you could, moving closer to the brunette who still hadn’t said a thing, “I am sorry for bothering you, I hope you win whatever battle it is that you are fighting, just know that I care and I can’t help but be worried when you are hurting, sorry if it is selfish that I want you to be better, I won’t disturb you anymore” you gave him a small smile, going up on your tiptoes planting a small kiss on his cheek, lingering for a moment, holding his hand in both of your own giving it a hard squeeze before letting go. It pained you to see that he didn’t seem to care about his own life, making you feel useless for doing the same, he was dear to you, you didn’t want to let go of him but clearly he didn’t want the same, who were you to deny him of anything? So, you let go, taking the moment in before walking away, the tears were ready to fall, you weren’t going to let him see that, you didn’t want him to see how pent up you were over him when he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

Mattheo could feel his chest burn, he could feel the sting in his heart at the sight of you walking away, his knees felt weak, you cared? You tried to reach out? Yes you did, of course you did, you weren’t the ugly person he tried to paint you as, he wanted to hate you so bad, he wanted you to be wrong, he wanted you to scold him, he wanted you to hate him just so he could move on but no, he could never move on from you, even if you spat his way he’d love you. ‘Sorry if it is selfish-’ he fucking wants you to be selfish, he wants you to be selfish about him. Only if he wasn’t busy imagining you with other guys, maybe he would’ve noticed that you smile a bit more around him, just maybe he’d see your eyes looking out for him. Maybe then he would’ve seen the look in your eyes, one similar to his, but he was a fool, he’d always be unworthy of your love, you wouldn’t love someone like him, he ruled that possibility out the very moment he fell in love with you, thereby in his mind even if you actually loved him, you didn’t because he couldn’t see it.

He called after you, he couldn’t see you walk away, not when he has so much to say. You turned around, he saw tears in your eyes, he felt like dying, it was him who made you cry, if he didn't hate himself before, he clearly did right then. With two wide strides he was infront of you, holding your face, wiping away your tears, "please don't walk away from me," he muttered, trying to get you to look up at him, you look up at him with stars in your eyes, taking his breath away, 'I want you so bad' he thinks to himself but it's false, no, he doesn't simply want you, he fucking needs you like the air you take away from him, when you look at him like that- hazy eyed, making him think that you love him but he knows you don't, he knows you don't love the guys you go on dates with, he knows you don't love the guys you sleep with, in his eyes you love to care but don't care to love, he'll be one of those guys, if it means you'll have him, even if it is for one night.

He was staring at you, looking for a sign, waiting for you to push him away but you just look at him with glossy eyes, making him weak, unable to contain himself he presses his lips against yours, you hiss pulling back, the bitter taste of smoke invading your senses, your reaction hurts him, he couldn't even be one of your guys, that's how worthless he is, his grip loosens, he tastes you on his lips, sweet cherry- the lollipop still sugary on your lips. Then you surprise him, fisting his collar, pulling him down, soft lips on his, like honey against his smoke. He loses it then and there, his hand comes up to hold your face, the other low on your back pulling you flush against him. It was heaven, eyes closed, moving in sync, savouring every second, he could feel his skin tingle, his body burn, it was pathetic how you could bring him to feel so much with the simplest of touches, and now you were kissing him, better than any dream or fantasy, it's real, he reminds himself, frowning as he concentrates trying to capture every single detail, of you against him.

Mattheo walks you back to the railings, not letting go of you even for a second. You pull away as the cold metal makes contact with your body, the sting seeping through the thin layer of your clothes. Still impossibly close practically breathing the same air, then the situation dawns upon you, you look up at Mattheo in horror. This is what has become of your love for him, he's using your attraction towards him to get you into bed, just like he did with other girls. There was no difference in their relationship with him and yours with him, evidently so. You loved kissing him but you hated the fact that it meant everything to you but all it was to him was a one night stand, your dignity would not allow it, even though you wanted him so badly. "I'm- I'm sorry but I can't," you quickly walk off, not looking back this was humiliation, you felt embarrassed.

One moment you were there kissing him and the next you were gone, he fucking hates this because he doesn't know what to do or what made you push him away. You gave him hope when you kissed him but shattered it when you walked away, you were confusing him. Why'd you kiss him like that if you wanted to let go? His hands reach out to pull at his hair, "Fuck" he grits out, it was frustrating not knowing what to do, knowing he has done something wrong. But for the most part, he doesn't know how you feel, you kissed him like you felt something but you walked away like it was nothing. He's over it.

…

He's absolutely not over it. He couldn't even stick to the plan for five seconds, images of you in his arms plagued his mind. He could only cherish that moment, he felt more alive in those few seconds than he ever did, his lips are still tingling, it's the next morning and his head is still in clouds. Mattheo for once, feels human- he feels like going to class again just so he could see you. The wound of your rejection was still fresh in his heart but so was the memory of your lips against his in his mind.

He could handle the professors' taunts, he infact muted them out and zeroed in on your face, you were avoiding him, he could see it, trying so hard just like he did the past few weeks. He saw himself in you for a moment but then you started talking to some Hufflepuff dude next to you, smiling at him so pretty, his blood started burning hot when he saw the guy touch you. You did nothing to push him away, pfft- ofcourse he wasn't Mattheo fucking Riddle that you'd push him away.

Mattheo was practically burning holes into you skull as he took a seat in the very back. Only if he wasn't so overtaken by jealousy he'd see that your smile didn't reach your eyes as you laughed at the Puff's joke, that your reactions were simply polite, a mere distraction from the pinching of your heart. You didn't want to be one of the girls he slept with, didn't want to be discarded after being used.

He couldn't even be one of your guys, he fucking wanted it to be him so bad just to have your for a night, just so you could see him in a different light, just so you'd know that he loved you. He'd gladly be discarded by you.

…

Mattheo has been searching for you, for about an hour now, you were minx- rushing out of the class before he could catch upto you. You were no where to be seen, he was actually getting worried. He was just about to enter the dungeons when he saw Pansy near the entrance. She'd know your whereabouts, she was a close friend of yours. She'd help him too, because she was his friend as well, right? Or had he destroyed every relationship he had the past few weeks. "Pans, a moment please" "oh hey Mattheo," she greeted him with a smile, that's a good sign, "umm- do you know where-" there he was, polite stuttering fucktard, "oh I know where she is," He didn't even tell her who he was looking for, confusion taking over his features, "I saw you looking at her in class, you like her don't you?" Was he that obvious? If so, why couldn't she see it? "Yeah," he finally admitted it to someone else, it was out there now, he felt some weight lift off of his shoulders, there was no denying to it, he loved her and he doesn't care if he gets laughed at for it but then his heart stops at her next words. "She's on a date with some Hufflepuff, in Hogsmeade," her voice was sympathetic, hurt was painted all over his face.

They were standing there in awkward silence for a couple of minutes before she broke it, heading towards the entrance, "You know you should tell her," she gave him a small smile, she patted his back ready to slip into the entrance, he stopped her "Why? Did she say something about me?" His voice was full of hope, hoping that maybe she had confessed to her friend just like he did right then but to add onto his sorrow, Pansy shook her head, he let his head hang low, moving his hand over his face, scoffing bitterly at the situation he was in, "but you should still tell her, at least you'll be satisfied knowing that you did something about it than do nothing." She shrugged walking in, leaving him there to think about her words.

She is right. He has to know, to know how you feel, he has to talk to you, has to let you know how he feels because in his heart, there's hope that you may like him back because you kissed him like you did. Mattheo wants to confirm that it wasn't his delusions that rendered your lips to move against his in adoration, something more than just physical. He has to hold you again in his arms-

He didn't even have to walk far away to find you, walking alone in the empty corridor but you turn around as you see him. Mattheo won't let you do that this time, he's onto you within seconds grabbing your wrist and pulling you back. "What-" "Please don't ignore me-" "I am not!" You sound defensive, taking your hand back, folding them as you look at him as though he is some lowlife human, there's a similar hurt in your eyes, one he knows a bit too well. "Yes you are, please don't try to deny it," he says slowly and carefully, he doesn't want you to walk away, "what do you want Mattheo?" You are annoyed, you stretch out his name showing your impatience. He takes his sweet time though, taking your hands in his, they feel cold, snatching away the warmthness of the action, "Why did you walk away? Yesterday?" "Why? Is there some rule against it-""no no ofcourse not-" both of you interrupting each other, you were frustrated, what was he trying to do? Did his ego take such a huge hit that you didn't want to sleep with him, like those girls he used and discarded? "Tell me why is it that you care? It's not a huge deal to you, you can have anyone else to sleep with you, it shouldn't matter that one girl decided to walk away when you have tens and hundreds lining up-" "WHAT?" He was looking at as though you were saying something ridiculous, "I cared about our relationship enough not to ruin it but you had to be there, trying to use me like you use the other girls and then discard me-" "STOP!" He holds your face in his hands, intense gaze setting you ablaze, "I fucking care, don’t think otherwise, I care because it's you, you could never be them-"

"wow- am I so worthless and unattractive in your eyes that you don't even-" "Wait, it should be me saying all of this, about you and the guys you on dates with, the guys you take to bed-" "What guys-" you both were now screaming at eachother, it was overwhelming, having to be vulnerable and admit your feelings and not understand what the person in front of you is saying. "I have not once slept with the guys I went on dates with, I'm in love with you for fucks sake but I got tired of waiting for you to love me," What.

He fucked up.

"Fuck, fuck-" his knees hit the ground as he covers his face with his hands, he's ruined all his chances by being an assuming dickhead. Heavens goodness- "FUCK!" He groans into his palms, not being able to digest what you had just said, he feels ecstatic that you love him but he hates that he's ruined his chances with you, "Mattheo-" "Fuck, I am so sorry, I've been a fool, a fucking idiot-" he pulls you down, grabbing your hands, crying because he doesn't know any other way to express it. He has lost his chance all because he let jealousy get the best of him, took illogical steps to overcome it. "I love you, I fucking am in love with you," he grips your hands tight, shaking them as he speaks, unable to control his very physical reaction, "Mattheo what-" "I thought that I could fuck it all out, fuck all the feelings away but no you were always on my mind, not just you but you with someone else, happy. I thought maybe I could resort to your ways, thought maybe I could sleep around then I'd get rid of my feelings, afterall you seemed happy doing it but you never- FUCK! I am so fucking sorry, I love you-" you kiss him, he sure was an idiot to think that you could just flip a switch and "unlove" him, what kind of love would that be? You hated to admit it, you loved him even when he was sleeping with so many girls, you loved him before he did that, a few weeks were nothing to make you hate him.

It was brief kiss, enough to silence him, tears were still running down his face- he was a heartbroken man on his knees afterall- they were only a sign of his regret, then he was at it again, apologising, "stop Mattheo, you are foolish if you think that I'll love one moment and not love you the next-" "but you don't deserve it, not after what I did-" "let me decide that. Do you love me?" Your ask is serious, so he answers you with utmost sincerity, his words soft, full of truth "I love you, more than I think I can handle," he looks down, you don't let him as you wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him close, "Learn to handle it then, I am not going anywhere." For the first time in his life, does Mattheo experience pure bliss, you are a sin against his lips, he pulls you closer like a prayer because if there's a god above, he'd pray for you to be his.

...

#first post #mattheo riddle #slytherin #slytherin boys #draco malfoy #matheo riddle #pansy parkinson #matheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheoxreader #had a hard time writing on here #realised it was mattheo and not matheo after completing the whole fic #had to manually copy paste each para into google doc

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART ONE !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 7.5k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, yandere!noir, yandere!hobie, reader death, gore/violence, murder, electrocution, fire, guns, alcohol, cigarettes, suicidal tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, physical restraint, child abuse/neglect, allusions to a child's death, physically abusive ex-boyfriend, infidelity, & torture.

──── October 17th, 2099 — Miguel O'Hara remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. August 24th, 1934 — Peter Parker remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. July 3rd, 2020 — Hobie Brown remembers the day the same way he will never forget you.

Y/N L/N. Miguel O'Hara, Peter Parker, and Hobie Brown will never forget them the same way they will never forget how it felt to lose them.

The inevitable fate of your demise is a cannon event for all spider-people. To love this person with every shred of their being only to live the rest of their lives without them; to love this person with all the might their body can contain only to let go of their hand in the end. It crushes their soul. Countless people are forced to live with the consequences of being bitten by a spider, not one had suspected it would be so detrimental.

Not when it is your life that has been taken.

Written in the stars is this destiny. How they will never love another again, but vow to be a hero and refrain a similar fate from falling onto anyone else. Many have been able to crawl out of the bottomless pit that is grief, but others have succumbed to the unforgiving anguish and let their life escape them. Just the way yours had. After all, what is life if you are not present? What is the point of living if there is no one there to patch up their scars and praise them for their heroic acts? There is no point, which leaves these three particular spider-people here. Their body is stuck in the past, reliving each moment with you up until they lost you forever.

October 17th, 2099. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't let his violent tendencies toward anyone who isn't you slip through the seams, maybe if he had been more persistent in his reminders of how loved you are. Maybe if he had tried harder, Miguel O'Hara would still have you here at his side.

Miguel's attempts to make this sudden transition in your life as easy as possible turned out to be disastrous. He is not stupid; he knows this upbringing into this new lifestyle you claim to be "kidnapping" was blunt. He knew this, yet still, his plans on easing you through this change had collapsed right before him. Time had passed, and he naively assumed your fear had depleted, far too caught up in the sheer delight that came from holding you in his arms. Days and nights spent trailing his fingers down the expanse of your skin and kissing away the bruises his fangs had left upon your lips. This is a dream, Miguel always catches himself thinking.

And his sweet daughter, Gabriella. How she adored you so much. Even more so than her own father, he often joked. Coming home to find you both brushing the hair of her numerous dolls, baking treats that were rich with far too much sugar, or fast asleep on the couch while some whiny kids show plays on the television. His heart hammers like a fluttering hummingbird at the sight of you so soft and calm with his daughter. However, your guard then builds itself back up, brick-by-brick, faster than a gust of wind when he makes his presence known. In a way, Miguel found himself... jealous of Gabriella. That gentle and loving nature of yours, why couldn't he have it for himself? Why couldn't you give him some of that attention, even just a blink? What could that crybaby brat possibly have done to deserve such an amazing thing!?

No matter what kind of thoughts suffocate his mind, Miguel always tried to keep himself composed in front of you. With his tall, muscular physique, it makes sense why you are so intimidated by his appearance. If he were to ever let this satiating envy bleed through the bandaids, however, you'd certainly never open your heart to him. The prospect alone makes his chest tighten with dread.

And he had been so negligent towards his daughter, it only makes sense why she would turn to you. With how breathtaking, elegant, brilliant, electrifying you are, Miguel can understand why she loves you so much. Still, this does not refrain him from tightening his jaw whenever his daughter does something as trivial as hug you. That should be me with Y/N. Let me hold them, let me hold them, let me hold them like that.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his envy through sharp gazes, a towering frame, and muffled shouts through the thin walls. It's his fault he never assured you these ugly emotions were never your fault, since you could never do any wrong in his eyes, after all. It's his fault he didn't drown you in even more heaps of affection, to further remind you of just how much he needs you.

It is his fault you are dead.

Overcome with drowsiness, Miguel heedlessly packs his daughters lunch for school that day. Despite how you are usually the one who does this task, since you have always adored looking after the little one, you needed your rest. And he was insistent on treating you with even more intensive care, all to prove that he is the right one for you. No one else. Meanwhile, Gabriella sits at the kitchen table with her backpack on, swinging her short legs back and forth. She is bright with full energy that contradicts her father's state in a comical manner.

"Y/N/N always cuts my food into cool shapes! Yesterday, they made my sandwich star-shaped!" Gabriella exclaims to her father with admiration.

The mere mention of your name from someone else makes Miguel freeze. A sudden surge of anger wraps around his lungs like a sheen layer of morning dew resting on Spring grass. You treat her with such attentive care, why can't he get any of that? What is so special about her that he doesn't have? What does he need to change about himself in order to get you to love him the way you so fatuously love her? Miguel casts his gaze across the counter and finds several bottles of cleaning products you must have forgotten to put away. So endearing, so adorable. An idea then sparks. While Gabriella continues to babble about how cool and amazing you are, Miguel finds himself considering something he will never be able to take back.

Just a dash of some drain cleaner in her sandwich and this problem will fade away.

"Y/N/N!" The sound of your nickname shouts through the air upon your arrival. Gabriella is more than elated to greet you, but your eyes remain locked on Miguel. In other circumstances, he'd be thanking the heavens above for this bit of attention you have given him. At this moment, however, there is a disturbed gleam of horror in your expression that makes his stomach twist with apprehension.

The energy is not directed towards Gabriella, as you caress her cheek and gift her that smile of yours that rivals sunlight. Miguel inadvertently rolls his eyes at the sight, envious as ever. As she continues to ramble to you about her success at a recent soccer game, you retrieve all the cleaning products and return them to their respective place underneath the sink. Not without shooting a burning glare at Miguel, however. Had he made his intentions that obvious? You wave him aside from his stance at the pink, glittery lunchbox and he obeys. Pretending to finish up his original efforts, you examine every snack inside for anything this crazed man may have tampered with.

"Good morning, button..." The nervous tremble in Miguel's voice doesn't tarnish the sheer adoration that seeps from his tone.

Your short response of "'morning" could barely be heard over the thunderous sound of his heart shattering. Yet again, you have broken his heart. And still, he will crawl back to you every time, aching for any inkling of your regard. Soon, you're saying your goodbyes to Gabriella and wishing her a wonderful day at school. Planting a quick peck to her cheek, Miguel's talons grow and dig crevices into the steering wheel while he waits for his daughter to join him in the vehicle. Oh, if only you could give him the same act of affection, he would never ask the universe for anything ever again.

And if only he had known how the rest of the morning would play out, he never would have left the house.

When Miguel finally pulls out of the driveway, giving you a quick wave that is not reciprocated, you let your guard down. You almost watched this man murder his daughter. Tears begin to form in your eyes as the revelation simmers like boiling water. With more time here, who knows what lengths he'll travel to?

Fortunately for you, with how occupied he was with his daughter and his own inner turmoil, he had entirely forgotten to lock the door to his office. The one place neither you nor his daughter were allowed to venture into. You were unaware of what is within the room or how anything inside could aid you in your attempts to escape. What you were aware of, however, is how paranoid he was in his efforts to keep you out of there. Peeling back the curtain and taking a fearful glance out the window, just to ensure this psychopath who claimed to be your soulmate wasn't lurking, you embark on your journey into uncharted territory.

Miguel had mentioned several times in his late-night talks with you about his job at Alchemax. His boring explanations about the technology he was working on there did wonders in lulling you to sleep. Now, seeing the scatterings of machinery that littered the room made you gasp from their futuristic appearance. One contraption had caught your attention, however. It seemed to be a current project, evident in the numerous tools and papers inked with equations littered around. Upon stepping closer to the contraption, a holographic screen sputters to life. You find several distorted, glitching files that all attain to you in some shape or form. Y/N's wish list, Y/N's checking account, and Y/N's security camera footage. Curiosity does spark, but with how swiftly Miguel is able to drop his daughter off and speed home to return to you, the time you had was not versatile.

If I can piece together how this gadget works, I may be able to call for help and get Gabriella and I as far away from this man as possible, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to stammer pathetically as if it were desperately chasing its own life. Trying to peruse through the technology to find anything useful, its poor performance prevented you from any fruition. In a fit of frustration, you pull your hand back and deliver a harsh smack! to the side of the machine. With how little time you have, you can feel your opportunity for freedom begin to fade away with every glitch that erupts. With one final, violent slam to the machinery, the metal borders protecting the numerous open wires inside fall, and a sudden wave of electricity surges through you. Your entire body goes rigid before you splat harshly against the ground. You are now left entirely lifeless, except for the electric shocks that cause your stiff form to twitch in response.

With that, your life was over. October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

August 24th, 1934. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had stayed with you more and neglected the city, maybe if he hadn't been so careless with expressing his love for you. Maybe if he had tried harder, Peter Parker would still have you here at his side.

Peter, too, attempted vigorously to make your transition to this new life with him as smooth as possible. At the very beginning of this new adjustment, hope had still plagued your mind. As days turned into weeks, soon months, the forest fire that was your persistence had slowly been snuffed out like an old candle. Now, all you can do is sit at the window seat of his apartment and just pray that someone will recognize your face. From the numerous missing persons' posters that were now left behind in dumpsters and rain puddles, you could feel your luck grow thin. Everyday looked like this, all with this lovesick maniac at your beck-and-call, deluded enough to believe this fantasy of being your doting partner to be reality. The amount of egg-creams you've drank is bound to make you vomit at some point.

At the end of the day, you had gotten what you had wished for. You were once a journalist, putting all your time into unmasking the famous Spiderman. The truth of his identity was now in the palm of your hands. However, there were far more consequences to this wish than you had originally anticipated. And Peter is overcome with guilt when he thinks back to how disastrous his efforts to give you his heart turned out.

It's his fault he had so carelessly exposed his acts of heroism through the stench of gunpowder and chunks of blood beneath his fingernails. It's his fault he didn't spend more time showering you in the affection you truly deserved. It's his fault he never assured you the inevitable fate of the bastards that hurt you was never your fault, just so you can realize that everything he does, no matter how calamitous, was all for your benefit.

It is his fault you are dead.

Slow dancing with you in the gentle haze of the moonlight peaking through the window, swaying along to some romantic melody echoing from the saloon across the street, amorous words that you'd hear from the lips of a poet whispered into your ear — this is where heaven is. This is all that he has ever dreamed of; this is all he has ever wanted for the two of you. This is what makes him happy.

"My heart is bleeding in your hands, dollface. It's all yours, I'm all yours." Peter's breath tickles your neck, the infatuation-stained harangue finally coming to an end as he continues to sway you along to the harmonies outside.

You often joke to yourself that you could stab Peter in the heart, give him even just a sliver of the turmoil he has forced into your life, and he would still give you a smile with blood painting his teeth and that revolting gleam of pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. With this devotion, however, comes dark, dark side effects. This was not a surprise to you, considering how you've been locked up like a bad dog for these past several months. Still, when you inhale and the sharp odor of iron poorly masked with bleach overwhelms your senses, you find yourself taken aback.

The clamoring sound of the bolts to your prison cell your captor claims to be your love den being unlocked brings you out of your thoughts. When the door opens and Peter walks in, all you see is a euphoric, hopelessly-besotted partner. With the sudden stench that is still heavy in the air, however, you feel a new, sudden sense of dread with his presence. He is elated to see you, as he always is. An impassioned kiss to your lips and an ardent compliment are essential to your everyday encounter with the man you thought once to be a superhero. Sometimes, a gift of fresh, blood-red roses may accompany him in his attempts to woo you further, as well.

Through the whiff of cigarettes sitting on his trench coat when he envelops you in a much-needed embrace after his long day of work, you sense something else. The tang you had inhaled from outside the bedroom is now stuck to his form, nestled beneath the aroma of late-night brume and smoke. You force a gag down your throat and reciprocate the affection, trying to push your suspicions to the back burner in your mind. The rest of the evening is like any other: listening to some tunes from the radio as the two of you play a card game, all that Peter deems as a "romantic date". Your winning strike against him (he always lets you win, but he won't tell you this) falters when your brain can't help but wonder what he was so occupied with outside that door.

As devastating and exhausting as the truth is, coming to terms with reality is the only chance you have of returning to the life you once had. Hoping he'll wake from his delusions and let you off your leash is nothing more than a pipe dream, you realize. If you want freedom, you'll have to take it by the neck and claim it as yours. So, as the hours of the night fade into dawn, you conjure a plan in your head while the man beside you snores in a deep slumber (not without a few sleepy mumbles of flattery for you, though).

The scheme you had so flawlessly crafted was quick, simple, and easy. You would do something you have never done before: initiate affection with Peter.

This was your ploy: fulfill all the fantasies his lovesick brain was infested with and watch with a newfound sense of hope as he forgets to lock the door, too dazed from the pleasure your sweet attitude had brought him. And it worked marvelously. Not only did this man forget to lock the bedroom door, he had entirely forgotten to lock the front door of the apartment altogether. The prospect of this mistake being a test of your loyalty lingers, but when you watch through the window as he swings away from building to building, you let out a roar of laughter.

After your fit of hysterics, a smile sits on your face as you tread to the front door. Something stops you in your tracks when your hand hovers over the doorknob. When you leave, you will have nothing but months of memories to defend yourself with. Who are the authorities going to believe — you, a mischievous journalist, prone to bending the rules for a good headline, or Peter, the famous superhero, notorious for his restless efforts to save the city? Despite the freedom you have dreamed of being right in your palms, you step away from the door. Instead, you look around for any evidence deemed beneficial. Whatever can put him under the negative limelight is satisfactory to you.

No stone was left unturned in the apartment, all besides a single door at the end of a long corridor. The night before, Peter had been so frantic with his time inside (all in order to get back to you sooner) that he was sloppy with his efforts in cleaning his mess. The spilled bleach he had accidentally knocked over was still lying in a puddle; the nauseating scent of fresh blood still satiated through the air like a fragrance. And lastly, the latch on the door had been left unlocked.

Without so much as a second thought, you enter the room and let your curious eyes soak in the sheer horror that resides within.

A metal chair rests in the middle of the room, leather straps tightened around a body that sits motionless. Two tables are located on the sides of the room where all sorts of gut-wrenching tools reside. And there is blood everywhere. What was once a second bedroom for buyers of the apartment has now been morphed into a torture chamber of sorts.

The person restrained in the chair, you weren't sure if they were even alive. Everything is drowned in so much heaps of red, attempting to use your mere first-aid knowledge is impossible. What is most perceptible, however, is the way their eye had been forcefully torn from its socket. It resembles a runny egg how it causes bodily fluids to cascade down their face. The amount of flesh on their body that had been torn asunder, the gag in their mouth that was oozing with tears and saliva, the gushing blood that continues to hastily seep from infected wounds. Everything makes your eyes blur and your stomach churn with nauseau.

With the career you once had as a journalist, you've seen some disgusting sights. Sneaking onto crime scenes from a brawly saloon fight gone too far or snapping pictures of the result of Spiderman's "heroic" acts to save citizens, you've become desensitized to gory scenes. But, this. This wasn't like anything you have ever seen.

"Y/N?" You hadn't realized how deafening the silence was until the poor victim is able to speak out.

With one eye practically staring daggers into you, the revelation hits you like a train. That voice, that eye. This is no other than the man you had called your boyfriend before this mess had snuck into your life. Or, ex-boyfriend, as you'd prefer to refer to him as. The status of your relationship was left a mystery after the night he had come to your home drunk and reeking of someone's perfume. Your insistent demands for him to sober up and inform you of his recent whereabouts earned you a harsh slap across the face. With a loud shout of how much of a “shitty partner” and "piece of cityside trash" you are, the person you thought to be the love of your life storms out of your home. Never to be seen again.

Hastily, you unclasp the restraints that left his skin numb and bruised. With how malnourished he had become from his time spent here, it was fairly easy to support his weight. You swing his battered arm around your shoulder and help him stand on his emaciated legs. After only two steps, he pushes you off of him harshly with what little strength his body was able to garner. His attempts served well, as you feel your stomach hit a table adorned with blood-stained utensils that make you sick to imagine how they were used.

"You... How could you...?" As his weak voice fills the air, you feel your stomach fold into itself. Does he think you did this?

Opening your mouth to begin stammering your way through what you intended to be a thorough explanation, a loud bang! then pervades the air. Without a second to process his actions, the man grasped the pistol left on the table and pulled the trigger. A stream of smoke now stems from the barrel. The betrayal, the aversion, and the debility in his expression tell you everything you need to know. You were so close to the finish line that would grant you freedom, but when you shift your gaze down, you're devastated to find a bullet hole protruding through your chest. You then slump to the ground and your killer falls not long after you, the act of merely standing too much for his abused body.

With that, your life was over. August 24th, 1934 — the day Peter Parker inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

July 3rd, 2020. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had been more attentive to your safety, maybe if he hadn't exposed how soul-crushing the love he has for you is. Maybe if he had tried harder, Hobie Brown would still have you here at his side.

As opposed to the others, Hobie did little to ease you into this new life with him. The transition was curt, violent. With you as a bartender, drunken customers are most certainly not a rare sight. However, when you rejected a man who had one too many drinks and he reacted with violence, it caught you off-guard. And Hobie, the lead singer of the band that consistently played at your bar, had become blind with rage. Through the mess of the blood on your head when the beer bottle shattered against you and the apple-red matter staining Hobie's guitar as he smashes it relentlessly into the man's skull, these events somehow landed you where you are now.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of town, that's where you had woken up. The debris around the room was masked with string lights and band posters adorning the walls, as well as a rickety bed frame scarcely supporting a lone mattress. With bleary vision and an even fuzzier head, you gain consciousness abruptly. You find yourself on the bed with thick, itchy blankets draped around you, clothes that certainly do not belong to you on your body, and spiky belts used to restrain your limbs. Barbed wires and decaying planks of wood board the windows; the lack of passing cars and loud pedestrians outside cause you to worry about how far you are from the lively city you called home.

A lanky figure makes their presence known, dressed in those all-too-familiar garbs. Spider-Punk, the man you'd always see performing at your penurious bar, despite how widespread their band was. Much to your shock, his large hand finds the trim of his mask before tearing the garment off. Beneath is a gorgeous face embellished with piercings and a wild head full of hair. Large, wet eyes overwhelm you. And there is only one discernible trait you could read clearly through his expression: desire.

The way your plump body pools from the hems of the small clothing he dressed you in from his closet, fuck. Hobie has thought of this moment plenty of times — finally being able to take you away, just the two of you. He swore up and down he'd keep his fervid cravings at bay. But, when you're truly here in front of him, looking like that. He has to dig his long nails into his palms to physically restrain himself from lunging for you like a feral animal in heat. God, you look too fucking good.

From here on out, the relationship you have with Hobie sprouted into something only you would call treacherous, something only he would call rapturous. Being trapped within the small expanse of this grimy room, your new life has shown how perceptibly different your reactions are from one another. You are entirely dumbfounded at these new circumstances you've been forcefully thrust into. Meanwhile, Hobie attempts to put space between you both to avoid giving into his irresistible hunger. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice how his hands always find their way to your naked skin and how his eyes linger on the intimate parts of your body. And it most certainly doesn't take a genius to notice the sheer terror and confusion stuck to your expression.

The discomfort the residence brings does little to ease you, as well. How your body is restricted against the firm mattress has your limbs aching with cramps. Your neck throbs from no support, considering the lack of pillows. But, Hobie always remarked that his chest is more comfortable to lay on, anyway. His clothing reeks of alcohol from the numerous bars and parties he’s attended, but also from the expensive perfumes, lotions, as well as the skin and hair products he received from his time being a runway model. The scent now clinging to your skin fails to bring you any of the tranquility he wished you would feel. Meals shared between you two were often dowsed in grease and cheap in flavor. Your captor never put much effort into making your dinnertime together anything reminiscent of a romantic date in Italy or something along those themes. He would much rather eat something else for dinner, after all.

This is what life looked like for the next several months. Records spinning and filling the air with headache-inducing songs he says he had written about you; Polaroid pictures scattered around the room that display different variations of the same scene: you sitting pretty with Hobie's hands and lips all over you. Never, never, has this man ever felt so much bliss in his entire life. He has always preached about how the idea of "love" is nothing more than propaganda meant to earn greedy, capitalistic companies more money with their cheesy movies and Valentine's Day garbage. When you entered his life in all your glory, however, he was ashamed to put his pride aside and admit those irritating pop songs may have been correct.

"I don’t need nothin’ else. 'Long as I have you here, birdie." He fidgets with the necklace he had given you that was currently draped upon your neck. His lucky guitar chip is swung upon the chain, since it always belonged to you, anyway. You will always be his muse.

With how carelessly he let himself be swathed in the warm blankets of love, how carelessly Hobie had let you slip from his fingertips.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his protective nature through blood-stained bar floors and constricting arms encompassing your body. It's his fault he never assured you these conflicts weren’t your fault, it was only the monsters outside who wished to separate true love. It's his fault he had disciplined himself so heavily for his big heart, fearful of losing self-control with the love of his life.

It is his fault you are dead.

You regret not tallying the days you've spent locked up in this birdcage. Carving lines into the deteriorating walls to represent the slashes this new life has left in your sanity. It feels as if lifetimes have tread by you, the same day repeating itself like your own personal nightmare. Mere months have gone by and unbeknownst to you, the sweet escape you so despairingly crave is sitting upon the horizon. The circumstances of your freedom were the absolute last thing you had wished for, however.

Hobie’s history of being a heartthrob and heartbreaker were no secret to you, but his newfound loyalty to the innocent person he had taken from their previous life was even more evident. All the possessive, delusional fans that were convinced they'd marry their favorite singer, it was just so easy for Hobie to indulge in some casual fun before leaving them behind in his dust. As the story of all Spider-People goes, however, Y/N L/N is the tool that throws this man into a whirlpool of enamoring disarray. Embracing this newfound happiness was exhilarating for him, but Hobie was so dazed from it, he never had thought that karma would slither itself between you two.

A certain groupie, wholly convinced she and Spider-Punk are soulmates, was devastated to see how carelessly the love of her life abandoned her. Her mind had sprinted to all sorts of gut-wrenching conclusions. Am I not enough? Is he moving on? Is there someone else? Her worst nightmare materializes into reality when she stalks behind his tall figure and follows him to a building one late night, an odd pep in his step as he enters. What she assumes is just another exclusive club location with more taboo forms of partying, she is left stunned when she catches sight of what sights lie within.

The man of her dreams is found in the depths of infidelity. Through the crack of a rickety door coated with locks, there he was. Chest pressed against the back of someone else, who was sound asleep beneath an array of blankets like a baby in a crib. With his arms locked around them like a lifeline, Spider-Punk presses long, intimate kisses to their face. The words she had begged to hear from him, he was so frivolously drowning this stranger in such, despite their unconscious state. Every syllable was dripping with lust and smitten-induced hysteria. Tears brim in her eyes from how desperately she covets to be you in this moment.

With a shattered heart and a festering rage, she comes to the conclusion of what she must do. She will take him back, no matter what it takes.

Rarely did Hobie ever leave the expanse of your room, he wanted to stay with you forever. When he did, however, it was for some quick cash at yet another gig he and his bandmates had landed. Singing his lungs out, knowing every lyric revolves around the one waiting for him back home — you have brought him ecstasy he still cannot fathom the sheer weight of. A Friday night like no other, Hobie would spend the evening beneath the blinding spotlights, drinking the hours away, before returning home and cuddling with the only reason he chooses to live.

Through the barricaded windows and doors, a sudden stench of what appears to be smoke invades your senses. A big city like this, something along these lines is nothing out of the ordinary. After all, you were so thrilled to finally be granted a night to yourself, anything that would jeopardize this gift from the universe is seen as insignificant. When the heavy smell becomes more perceptible and the unmistakable sound of fire cracking gets louder, you feel dread tickle down your spine. The fear settles into your bones before you can think of a logical way to escape. Hobie did everything to ensure you wouldn’t leave his side, after all.

Air soon becomes precious, your lungs begin to squeeze, your skin is burning with scorching pain. It brings you the hell you had carelessly thought you felt before. A final cry of help into the suffocating air and you feel your life begin to fade. Meanwhile, the lost groupie stands near the entrance, holding back a satisfied smile. An onslaught of concerned pedestrians and firefighters accompany her. And Hobie was still far away, alcohol heavy in his system and the joy of returning to you seeping through his body like a drug. So blissfully unaware of what awaits him when he comes back to the place he had called home only with you.

With that, your life was over. July 3rd, 2020 — the day Hobie Brown inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

The effects your departure has left on these men are all nothing short of disastrous. No longer do they have the vibrant, loving souls they once held. Day by day, they are dragging the dead carcass that is their own body, suffering through every second and hoping it will be their last. The paths your death have led these three are unique from one another, but they all find themselves in one specific space. Spider-HQ, within Nueva York on Earth-928. The story the multiverse has written for them had so selfishly taken their happiness away from them. Taking the pen for themselves and creating the most beautiful fairytale where you are alive and back in their embrace is the only purpose they now have.

Now, Miguel O'Hara stands at the office he earned from becoming the leader of this society. Upon the various monitors displayed around him are scenes taken from numerous different universes. Lethargy sits like bags of bricks beneath his eyes, slowly blinking as he ensures no minor mistake is present. If the multiverse were to crumble, his sole objection to save the only important person in Spiderman's life will fall with it. When he verifies all is well on Earth-1610, something perceptible then catches his gaze and he does a double-take. Any sign of fatigue within him is snatched out of his body, leaving him more awake than ever before.

Within this universe, Miguel finds you.

Before, these universes have only displayed the effects your death has left on all the spider-people. Today, however, is the first time he has seen you alive since the day he lost you. Lyla snickers and accuses him of having a cute, teenage-like crush when she takes notice of the sheer captivation in his expression. Little does she know how much history lies in your mere face. It is heart-crushing, how much the simple sight of you enjoying a cup of coffee (with one too many sugars, as he knows you've always preferred) has such catastrophic effects on him.

Piles of schoolwork are scattered around your desk, covered in information adhering to your current college major. Even with your lack of sleep, school-induced annoyance, and general exhaustion over everything in your life, Miguel has never seen something quite as breathtaking as you in this moment. An epiphany sprouts in his brain as quickly as the sight of you caused his soul to blossom, just like it did all those years ago.

Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can get you back.

Your death is inevitable, and even though Miguel was aware of this, dread still pervades his stomach at the prospect and churns with his breakfast. What really makes him shudder is when he reads through the cannon events assigned to you. A flare of jealousy ignites within him when he finds an unfamiliar name in the midst of your story.

Miles Morales, the Spiderman you are meant to fall in love with. What good is he? He's just some stupid kid, what more could he possibly do that Miguel can't? Why would you choose this loser when he can give you everything you have ever wanted!? In a sudden fit of rage, he grasps hold of whatever matter was closest to him and uses all the strength within his muscular arms to hurl it across the room. His chest heaves with infuriated huffs; his claws slice into the meat of his palms. He is enraged, yes, but he is mostly devastated that the beautiful face on his screen will soon meet their inescapable demise.

Not only will he do everything in his power to stop your death, but Miguel also vows to put his blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring you do not fall for this boy. Additionally, he will formulate a plan to bring you back into his arms without destroying the multiverse as a whole. With that being said, this does not change how reality on Earth-1610 continues to play out in front of him. It’s like a television show; a show he'd give a 1-star rating out of sheer pettiness.

In his last year of high school, Miles Morales' life was thrown into a tornado when his parents enrolled him in a new school to finish his last semester. And the 18-year-old boy absolutely dreaded this. New people, new location, new clothes that poke and jut at his skin uncomfortably. With the hefty responsibility of being Brooklyn's sole hero and hiding this truth from his loved ones, this sudden alteration in his environment does not relieve any stress. Swiftly, Miles conjures a plan to convince his parents to send him back to the way his life once was. Slack off, play dumb, and bring home report cards that are absolutely atrocious and his parents will have no choice but to give their son what he wants.

However, this is not what happened. Much to Miles' dismay, the grand idea his parents had was to not let him continue his education comfortably. Instead, they hired a tutor to aid him through his final months of high school.

Rio and Jeff had invited this tutor for dinner at their home, which Miles had flaked on entirely. Mostly due to his duty as Spiderman, but partially from how sour he was about the state of affairs. When he returned home, their anger was practically palpable. However, this disappointment soon shifted into a long, insufferable tangent about how marvelously smart, mannerly, and kind this tutor was and how embarrassed they were because of him. That Saturday, he was expected to join this tutor in the school's library or his parents may consider grounding him once again. Miles has to refrain from rolling his eyes at their never-ending lecture.

March 11th, 2023. It will be all his fault. This day is the day Miles Morales will inevitably meet the only thing that will ever matter to him.

To earn some extra support through your time in college, you had decided to take up tutoring in your free time. The myriad of students you had met all possessed the same attitude — the kind of attitude you'd expect from teenagers whose parents forced them to do schoolwork in their free time. Miles fit this category well, at first. And how your situation developed, it was oddly refreshing to finally meet someone who isn't repudiating every second with you.

15 minutes late, open backpack spilling with paper, tie loose around his neck, the student most certainly made his presence known when he stumbled into the silent library. Attempting to fix his untied shoelaces, you rush over to help him and save him from any further embarrassment he was already enduring. You are able to catch the folder that had tumbled out of his bag before it hit the ground, to where he mumbles a quick "thanks" in response. His gaze is still locked to the strings of his shoes he was attempting to tie together as swiftly as possible. Nearly tripping, Miles makes it to the table you had once organized thoroughly, but was now cluttered with everything this boy had thrown onto the surface.

Oblivious to you, the boy whose parents described as having a "heart of gold," was doing everything in his power to appear as rude and ill-mannered as possible. Deliberately arriving late, making a fool of the two of you, messing up the neat array of lesson plans and pencils you arranged. Anything to convince his parents to send him away from the nightmare that is this school. This plan of his was seized from his mind like a rug pulled out beneath his feet when he finally turns his shoulder and shifts his attention to you. What Miles expected would be the slowest, drawn-out hour he's ever experienced would actually be the most exciting, life-beaming 60 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Your voice sounds like honey as you introduce yourself to him. And that heart-stuttering smile of yours works wonders on him. Miles had already known your name, but hearing it from your mouth made him think he was listening to a symphony of angels. Since the last few stages of high school are stressful for everyone, you decided to cut him some slack and offer a kind hand for him to shake. All thoughts of his old school and the comfort it brought are all eradicated as he stares into your soul with those wide, bambi-brown eyes. After months in this new environment, you must be a gift the universe sent to compensate for all the misery he has endured. And fervently, Miles accepts you as the best gift he has ever received.

"I'm Spiderman." His mouth moves before his brain can compute. Your brows furrow in response, scrutinizing the confession for some sort of punchline.

“I mean- shit, uh… I mean, I’m Miles... You-You know, like- kilometers, yards, feet. Except, it's Miles this time... Y-... Y'know?"

His relentless stammering to try and prove himself worthy of your time while also acknowledging he accidentally told you his deepest secret earns him a quick giggle. And the sound bouncing from your lips is nothing short of paradisiacal, especially when he is the cause. A sudden wave of silence then rests between you both. You, laughing nervously to lighten the awkward tension. Miles, entirely flabbergasted at how he could have ever wanted to miss out on something as profoundly magnificent as this. His mind runs rampant while his wide eyes remain locked on your averting ones. Do it, do it, do it. Just do it already, Miles!

He pulls his hands up, your eyebrows furrowing once more trying to consider his intentions. He then lands his touch upon your shoulder.

"Hey..." Miles' voice drops several octaves, a fiddly excuse of a smirk forms on his lips, and he squints his twitching eyes that still hold the same crazed wonder they've had since they first landed on you.

"Hi...?" Your response expresses nothing but sheer confusion, not your face burning from the attention like Miles had initially strived for.

Wrapping your hand around his, your mere physical touch sends flares of electricity down his skin. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and his entire body halts in place, tense with shock and nerves. In an attempt to forcefully remove his hold on you, you're startled to find how he is now stuck to your hand. As if he had lathered his hand in heaps of glue before touching you, the efforts you took to get this boy off of you only resulted in your skin painfully stretching.

So enveloped in the way his heart lurches from holding your hand, a sudden, hushed whimper of "you're hurting me!" and Miles feels a gasp involuntarily escape his throat. Attempting to pull away from you, as much as he wishes not to, only intensifies your pain. What had Peter told him to do when this happened? Oh yeah, just relax! But, how on Earth can he possibly relax when your hand is in his!? 

People are staring, exclaiming in annoyed distress over their interrupted study time. You're trying to piece together how Miles had managed to cement his hand to yours and why he refuses to let go of you. Meanwhile, Miles is apologizing profusely for inadvertently harming you, while also soaking in how rhapsodic it is to have your hand in his. He knows he has fully fallen into oblivion when the prospect of letting go of you hurts him more than the relentless pull and twist of his flesh.

So much for first impressions, right?

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MANY LIVES THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN ENTANGLED FOR ETERNITY . . . ❞

gif credits :: miguel, miles, peter, & hobie.

tag list :: @honey-beeuwu, @hex-touchstarved, @thel0v3hashira143, @cailey1011, @mickxxstxvxns-blog, @flaming-vulpix, @puthypirate42069, @dolliemoons, @mikalovesnoodles, @explosiongamora, @thegalacticnacho091, @brinleighsstuff, @shinsou-hoetoshi, @uselessbutinteresting, @amortentor, @fried-milkfish, @officiallypoopoo, @lu-lupe, @belladonnashifter, @forgottenbynature, @marooseshawnash, @gothika-spacech1k, @funtimefoxybae, @ethnicbratz, @painpainflyaway, @shadepelt4673, @vivacioussaint, @palepettycharmer, @rqdior, @clownwiki, @clever-username96, @bisoudoll, @darlingdontwe, @naiomiwinchester, @weskennedysgirl, @chubbuart, @simpfo, @neytirisarrow, @leilani04, @lizzymizzy-blogg, @sublimesoulmagazine, @minimari415, @hcmay, @jinuaei, @altusha, @daisygirlll, @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @islandgyal06, @the-hufflebird-girl, @laucoeurs, @nepherawinchester18307, @tiredao3reader, @decadentlawyerapricotcowboy, @kitisb0red, @gabiacee, @reneuv, @letmegetthestrap, @krentkova19, @ayupfrogg, @vita-nire, @emmbny, & @realifezompire

#moonfairy #atsv #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miles morales #spiderman noir #hobie brown #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miles morales x reader #spiderman noir x reader #hobie brown x reader #atsv imagines #across the spiderverse imagine #miguel o’hara imagine #miles morales imagine #spiderman noir imagine #hobie brown imagine #yandere atsv #yandere across the spiderverse #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miles morales #yandere spiderman noir #yandere hobie brown #yandere #gn reader #gender neutral reader #Spotify

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

My brain is on fire same I can’t sleep and am thinking of this:

The way she writes about marriage/family/commitment through these different situations across the album is soooooooooo interesting.

You have a very intense first experience of it in “The Manuscript,” where it is first dangled in front of her/the narrator’s young, impressionable self as shorthand for real love in a situation that ended up being smoke and mirrors. She’s being told everything she wants to hear by someone who basically thinks it’s just foreplay. In the end, when it’s clear that the other person has no intention of actually making a life with her, it makes her feel used, but she forces herself to recalibrate and become the girl she thinks he and all the other hes want her to be. Easy breezy cool. But there’s a sense of loss in realizing those hopes were merely banter to the other.

You have the “grown up” version of it alluded to in “So Long, London” and “How Did It End?”, the years of putting in work to save a relationship and the “deflation of our dreaming leaving [her] bereft and reeling” leading to them “calling it all off.” The implication is clearly that they built a home together with plans for next steps at a point in time, but the commitment is shattered. (Obviously to me it sounds like marriage.) She’s bitter at spending her “prime” years with someone who ultimately didn’t want to be there, even if he couldn’t or wouldn’t admit it himself.

She felt like she did everything she was supposed to, but they were learning the right steps to different dances at as it were. Those dreams were at one point shared, but in the end they weren’t right for each other and she admits that, though bitterly (“I founded the club she’s heard great things about” eg the years she put in for him to help him grow up will end up benefiting his new lover, “but I’m not the one,” “you’ll find someone,” etc.). Mixed in with all this of her resentment of him wasting her youth (sacrificing herself at the altar), and his resentment of her for reasons less defined, and insinuations of betrayal in the shadows. The fantasy of the whole package disappears into the ether, yet she still has no answers as to how they got there.

Then in comes the wolf in sheep’s clothing in many of the rest of the songs, the one who promises her all those things she’s dreamed of since she was a kid instantly. After years of moulding herself to other men’s desires, someone comes in and tells her exactly what she wants to hear at the most vulnerable time of her life, as though the universe is answering her prayers, like some sort of cosmic payback for all she’s suffered, and it’s the most intoxicating drug of all. She’s gone from her wish for a family life feeling like she’s in a way being used for her body, to it being used as a chain to a relationship gone sour, to having someone put a metaphorical ring on her finger and tell her he wants to have babies with her, fuck those other guys.

In her grief and stupor, it’s too good to be true, which is exactly why she falls for it. But of course, it’s all an illusion, because this wolf is an amalgamation of the worst of all the men who came before him. He tells her everything she wants to hear not to make her dreams come true, but to make his. He takes the worst parts of these scenarios to make his move: he’ll stand by her, he’ll commit, he’ll do it out in the open under the spotlight’s glare (all things desperately lacking in her last relationship), but after he beds her he stabs her in the back in private and leaves her. He got what he wanted at the expense of her losing everything she wanted, this time as her world caved in seemingly for good. She feels like she gave up everything she thought she might have had for a chance that this is where the universe has been point her all along, only to be left broken for good (you represent the loss of my life as I knew it).

Then there are two sort of codas to this. In “But Daddy I Love Him” we get a sassier reimagining of “Love Story,” where the girl with the scarlet letter is mouthy and crass and tells everyone to go fuck themselves for cursing her in the first place, choosing her love above all else. And no, those haters can’t come to her wedding. Her daddy may have come around, but they sure can’t. Finally it seems someone is choosing her and will someday give her these things, and she’ll be able to show all the naysayers. (Also interestingly one of the more fictionally-veiled songs which ends happily vs the diaristic ones that don’t.)

Then of course there’s “So High School,” our first glimpse into what the future holds. Probably the only unabashedly happy (nay… electric?) song on the album, it’s all about reclaiming the buzz of youth (which is a whole other post) with a new lover. “Are you gonna marry, kiss or kill me? It’s just a game but really, I’m betting on all three for us two.” It’s, er, a direct nod to a certain now-infamous interview, but again, she’s staking her claim on her future, if not certain then at least hopeful again. This time the prospect doesn’t come with a “but.” It’s not, we’ll be pushing strollers but actually you’re too young. It’s not, we had these dreams for our future but actually I can’t move forward. It’s not, I’m going to promise you a ring and a baby but only until my needs are met and then I’m out. It’s, I know what I wanted and I’m not leaving, and thanks to that now she stays too.

The album dealt with the theme not at all in the way I expected, but is absolutely fascinating.

#writing letters addressed to the fire #me thinking too hard about Taylor lyrics #the tortured poets department #i have many thoughts #No brain power

[whytheylosttheirminds]

I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron (Chapter 4)

Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?

Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.

Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!

(Prologue and Ch. 1) // (Ch. 2) // (Ch. 3)

Rafe had his head down on the rusting metal table. The sheriff’s deputies had all taken turns trying to interrogate him about the events of the day before, but none of them had succeeded in getting him to admit his father was on that plane. His hands were still bloody from the fight and he was exhausted, having been awake for nearly 48-hours.

The door creaked open again, but he didn’t bother lifting his head, anticipating another round of questions he wasn’t going to answer.

“Well,” Shoupe said with a sigh. “You’re free to go.”

Rafe raised his head with a smug smile. “What’s the matter, Shoupe? Couldn’t make anything stick?”

Shoupe rolled his eyes, “just stay on the island, alright? We’re not done with you yet.”

“Actually, sounds like you are,” Rafe stood and patted Shoupe’s shoulder condescendingly as he started walking towards the door.

“Funny, I didn’t think there was anyone left on this island who cared enough about you to wait in the station lobby all night, but apparently I was wrong,” Shoupe said as Rafe opened the door.

Keeping his back turned, Rafe stood in the doorway with his brow furrowed. He didn’t want to give Shoupe the satisfaction of knowing he also had no idea who could care enough about him to be there. 

As he passed the rest of the officers, standing there watching him in disgust and disbelief that he was getting away again, he gave them a smirk and a mocking salute, “a pleasure as always.”

You shifted in the uncomfortable lobby seat, continuously fidgeting both from discomfort and panic at the idea of seeing Rafe. When you had approached the front desk and told them you were here to post bail for Rafe Cameron, the woman behind the counter looked at you annoyed and informed you that you couldn’t, as Rafe hadn’t officially been charged yet.

“Charged with what?” You asked.

She rolled her eyes at your naivete and returned to the sudoku she had been working on.

“Okay, then,” you said as you took a seat in the empty waiting area. 

That was six hours ago, but you figured if he hadn’t been charged, they would have to release him eventually, and you’d be here waiting. You had no earthly idea what you would say to him when the time came, but you’d be here, and maybe that would be enough.

He strutted into the lobby like he owned the place, his cocky walk coming to an abrupt halt when he looked up and saw you sitting there. You rose to your feet, shocked at the sight of him even though it was all you had been thinking about since you ran out of the cemetery hours ago.

Rafe looked at you with an expression you hadn’t seen before. In his eyes, you could see his brain at work, like he was calculating. What choices he was weighing, you weren’t sure, but you certainly didn’t expect the move he made next.

“Hey, baby!” He called out, striding toward you quickly, pulling you into his arms. Just as you opened your mouth to respond, he kissed you. It was sloppy and crude, his tongue invading your mouth as hands grabbed your ass, lifting you into the air. Your face burned with shock and embarrassment, knowing all of the cops in the station could see you two. Then it clicked - that’s exactly why Rafe was doing it.

Before had a chance to decide if you were going to play along or slap him, he broke the kiss and threw his arm around your shoulders, walking you toward the front door.

“Later, Shoupe!” Rafe called over his shoulder, turning the two of you slightly, allowing you to get a quick look at Shoupe standing with his hands on his hips, red in the face. What the fuck did Rafe do to make Shoupe look at him like that?

You stayed silent as Rafe walked you through the door, leading you down the block and turning onto a side street. The second you were out of sight of the station, he pulled his arm away and took several long strides to create as much space between you as possible.

He looked at you for a long moment, once again calculating his next move. You froze in anticipation as he opened his mouth to say something, heart dropping when he changed his mind and closed it again. Silently, he turned and started walking away from you down the street.

“My car’s the other way,” you said, feeling stupid for saying such a mundane thing in such a heated moment.

“Have a nice walk then,” he called back sarcastically.

“Where are you going?” 

“Home,” he was almost too far for you to hear now. You started after him, needing to jog a bit to catch up with him.

“Let me give you a ride,” you panted once you had caught up to him, stepping in front of him to stop him from getting any further away.

“Think I’d rather walk,” he said dismissively. 

“It’s 10pm, and you’re gonna what? Walk through The Cut in the middle of the night? I know I’ve been gone for a while, but I don’t think they’ve changed their opinion on having Kooks in their territory,” you were pulling out any logic you could think of to get him into your car so you could finally talk to him.

Taking your point, he rolled his eyes and turned around, walking in the direction you had indicated your car was in.

You drove in silence for what felt like an hour, but couldn’t have been, as you knew the drive to Tannyhill was fifteen minutes tops. Rafe was looking out the window, hands anxiously rubbing up and down his thighs as he kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat, like he was fighting against some invisible restraint. You were trying hard to keep your eyes on the road, but couldn’t control the way they kept drifting over to him, eyeing the blood on his battered hands. The remnants of what was clearly not a good forty-eight hours all over him.

You had so many things you wanted to say, so many questions you wanted to ask him, that you almost couldn’t think straight. You were still reeling from the news that his father had died, and now the sight of him walking out of the sheriff’s station covered in blood. If so much could happen to him in just a few weeks, you didn’t even want to think about how much of his life you missed in the last two years.

After a while, the silence so tense it almost hurt, you decided to dip your toe in the water.

“Is it yours?” You asked, forcing your eyes to stay on the road.

“What?” He mumbled as he ran his hands over his buzzed head, still not looking at you.

“The blood,” you clarified.

“Some of it,” he answered honestly.

You nodded, as though this was all super normal. “And the rest of it?”

He threw his head back on the seat and let out a forceful sigh, pointedly not answering your question. You decided you’d tested the waters enough and remained silent the rest of the drive.

When you pulled up to the gate at Tannyhill, you rolled down the window so you could reach the box to put the code in, looking at Rafe expectedly. Your attempted nonchalance didn’t work, he rolled his eyes at you, pulling out his phone. As he typed the code into his app, he used his other hand to cover the numbers from your view. Long gone were the days he’d text you the code the second Ward changed it so you could sneak in and out to see him whenever you wanted. The days he’d hold you until you fell asleep, whispering to you about how someday he’d inherit this house and share it with you. As you watched the gates slowly open in the glow of your headlights, the future you once believed in so fiercely had never felt further away.

You drove slowly down the long drive toward the house, surprised to see it was completely dark.

“Where is everyone? Where’s Sarah?” You asked. 

“Just drop me here,” Rafe ignored your question.

You stopped the car a few yards from the front door, and Rafe immediately climbed out, closing the door loudly behind him and walking toward the house. You weren’t exactly expecting him to invite you in, but this non-goodbye was so abrupt you felt cheated. Your mind raced with all the things you still wanted to say as you watched Rafe walking toward the house, your chance to finally say them going with him.

You snapped out of your haze and threw open the car door, not bothering to close it behind you as you ran after him calling, “wait!”

He turned on you quickly, making you stop in your tracks a few feet from him. Suddenly, all the things you wanted to say disappeared from your mind and you swallowed hard.

“What do you want?” He prompted, looking annoyed at how long it was taking you to form a sentence. “Why the hell were you at the station?”

“I just…” you could feel him preparing to turn and keep walking back towards the house, you needed to say something, fast. “Your dad.”

Rafe clenched his jaw, he didn’t know what you had heard and wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

“I’m…” you took one step towards him. “Rafe, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” He left the question open ended, forcing you to reveal exactly how much you knew.

“I saw his plot, at the cemetery,” you didn’t need to tell Rafe what you were doing at the cemetery, he had been there with you on multiple occasions, including the day they buried your own father.

Rafe just shrugged, looking at the ground to avoid your empathetic gaze.

“Rafe,” you said quietly, the sound of his name on your tongue sending chills through you both. When he still didn’t look up at you, you stepped closer. He tried to dodge your eyeline, but you reached up gently and placed your fingers under his jaw, looking him straight in the eye as you asked, “what’s going on?”

For a long moment, the two of you just stood there, chest to chest as you searched each other’s faces in the glow of the moon. If he’d let you, you would stand there for hours, just studying him, trying to read it all on his face. You used to know the meaning of every expression he made, every glint in his eye, every twitch of his lips. The two of you used to be able to have full conversations without saying a word. Now, your eyes searched every inch of his face, and you were coming up with nothing. 

He snapped his head back suddenly, ripping it away from your hand like you were burning him. He shook his head, and he wasn’t sure who he was saying no to- you or himself. 

“Just go home, y/n,” he said, arm outstretched, gesturing towards your car dismissively. 

“I can’t,” you spoke into the darkness. 

Rafe caught himself before asking you why, trying to preserve the image that he didn’t care. He assumed it had something to do with your mom. He had spent countless hours of his life listening to your stories of fights with your mother, even being present and involved in several of them, often being the source of the conflict. He swallowed the temptation to ask you what happened, pushing away the desire to have you laying with your head in his lap, gently playing with your hair as he let you rant as long as it took for you to feel better. He pushed the memory away, an action that was muscle memory to him at this point. 

“Well you can’t stay here,” he told you.

“But I just want to-”

“Just leave! We both know you know how to, you’re a fucking professional at it!” His booming voice echoed through the evening air and shot straight through you.

Tears sprang to your eyes, the sound of his raised voice so jarring. He had never screamed at you like this. Even in moments of frustration, just the thought of making you cry was enough to break him. 

You closed your eyes, letting the tears slip through and slide down your cheeks. You turned from him, but he’d already seen them. Guilt and fury battled in his chest, wanting to hold you and push you away at the same time. He hated the sight of your tears, but being able to release the hurt and anger he’d been feeling for two years felt somewhat satisfying, too. He felt like he was two completely different people, not sure he wanted to be either of them.

You sniffled and wiped your tears with the backs of your hands, gathering yourself before turning back to him.

“I know that I hurt you,” you said. “But I have my side of the story, too.”

“The story?” he scoffed. “You said you’d love me forever and then you didn’t. You said you wouldn’t disappear into the night and that’s exactly what you did. You’re a liar. That’s the story.”

Every day for two years, you had broken your own heart. You had never stopped trying to fight the demons of that night. You had devoted your life to trying to figure out what the hell had happened that could’ve ended with you on a train, riding off into the night against your will. For two years, you’d spent your nights praying to any God that would listen to let you go back in time, to undo this twisted fate. 

But none of those agonizing nights hurt quite like this. He really thought you had wanted to leave? That you just up and stopped loving him? You knew he had no way of knowing what really happened, but you were still clinging to some small shred of hope that he’d give you the benefit of the doubt. Clearly he hadn’t. 

“Is that what you think?” You asked in a small voice.

“That’s what I know,” he corrected. 

No words came to you as all of the tiny cracks in your heart you had worked so hard to fill ripped open again. Rafe only took your silence as confirmation.

“Let it go, y/n,” he said, turning to walk towards the house. “I have.”

With that, he closed the door firmly behind him, the lock clicking loudly.

So that was it then. Seven years of friendship, five years of wild love, two years of heartbreak. Fourteen years of him gone, the rest of your life without him a sprawling void ahead of you. The kiss you shared in the sheriff’s station would be your last. Your last kiss and it wasn’t even real, the agony of that thought pushed you ever the edge and the tears you’ve been trying to stifle flowed free. Shoulders shaking with your sobs, you forced yourself to walk back to the car, no idea where you’d go once you were in it.

The door was still open, but the light had gone out. Once inside, you turned the key and the engine sputtered meekly as you tried and failed to turn it over. 

“Shit!” You screamed, slamming your hands against the steering wheel. Leaving the door open must’ve killed the battery. You cursed your mom for insisting on still driving this piece of shit even though she could easily afford an upgrade.

A professional leaver, Rafe had called you. The irony that just minutes after he said that you were literally unable to leave made you chuckle humorlessly. All of the emotion of this week weighing on your shoulders, you sat and cry-laughed into the darkness, feeling completely unhinged. What was supposed to be a quick, uneventful trip to your hometown had turned into a complete shitshow, you don’t know why you expected anything less.

You sat in the dark, giving up on trying to start the car. What were you supposed to do here? You could either knock on the door and chance another verbal bruising from Rafe, or walk home in the dead of night and face your mother. You fell asleep trying to decide which was worse.

Seven Years Earlier…

There were so many people packed into your house, you assumed nobody would notice when you slipped out and hopped on your bike. You were wrong. Rafe saw your bike lying on its side on the path leading down toward the beach, you hadn’t even bothered to put up the kickstand. 

He followed your footsteps down to the water. It was chilly and raining, the beach completely clear of people. The rain was falling hard, washing your footsteps from the sand, but he managed to follow what was left of them to the abandoned lifeguard tower you used to climb on as kids. There you were, sitting underneath the wooden structure for shelter, feet digging into the sand as you hugged your knees to your chest. Rafe stopped short, he hated seeing you upset, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to make you feel better. He had never been very good at feelings.

He decided he would approach you anyway, not saying anything in order to avoid saying the wrong thing. He ducked down and slid between the stilts of the tower, finding a space on the ground next to you.

You didn’t have to look over to know who it was, you could feel him. You were relieved when Rafe didn’t say anything, you were so overwhelmed by the chaos of the day, you couldn’t form words to explain it if you tried. After a few minutes, you couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and they began rolling down your face in big, fat drops. 

“Hey, hey,” Rafe said, startled by your sudden outburst. He put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him. You laid your head on his shoulder and he awkwardly rubbed his hand up and down your back. “It’s…it’s gonna be ok,” he said hesitantly, terrified he’d somehow make you feel worse.

The soft fabric of the black dress your mother had chosen for you to wear to your father’s wake felt nice under his fingertips. His hand grazing softly up and down your back felt nice as you let the tears fall. You let Rafe soothe you for a few minutes, before taking a deep breath and wiping your tears away with the back of your hands.

“Sorry,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh.

“You don’t have to say sorry,” he assured with a sincerity that almost made you start crying again. 

You looked over at him for the first time, his hair messy and wet from walking all the way here from your house in the rain. His cheeks were pink from the chilly air and the bashfulness he was feeling from sharing such an intimate moment with you. You had always thought he was cute, but in this moment, you realized you absolutely adored him.

“I just didn’t want to be there anymore,” you explained. “I don’t even know half of those people and everyone just kept hugging me.”

“I wouldn’t want to be there either,” he reassured you.

You nodded, sniffling, and giving him a thankful smile. Without really thinking it through he reached out a shaky hand and wiped the remaining tears off your cheeks. His hand lingered, and you placed yours on top of it, squeezing gently with appreciation. The contact made both of you blush and you looked away from each other. You had been friends since you were both six-years-old, of course you had touched before, but something about this time felt different.

“I know how you feel,” he said in a voice so quiet that you could barely hear it over the pattering of rain on the wooden structure above you and the crashing of waves. 

That’s right. In the storm of your own grief you had almost forgotten that Rafe had once lost a parent, too. It was about a year after you got to the island, he had missed two weeks of school in the third grade. When he came back, he started his still-running reign of principal’s office MVP.  

“I know it feels like maybe you won’t ever be happy again,” he looked out at the ocean, afraid you would notice the water starting to collect in the corners of his eyes. “But you will be. You’ll find something that makes you happy, and soon it won’t hurt so bad.”

“Did you?” You asked.

“Did I what?”

“Find something that made you happy again?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

Rafe looked down at his feet shyly, his hand scratching the back of his neck in discomfort. You teasingly elbowed him, making him laugh. He swallowed hard before mumbling, “you.”

Your stomach flipped and your face went beat red, completely caught off guard by his answer. Once again, your heart ached with the affection you felt for him. You reached out and lightly tucked your fingers under his chin, pulling his face up to meet your gaze.

“You make me happy, too,” you confessed. 

You had never done it before, and you weren’t really sure how to, but you knew that you just had to kiss him. Rafe had the same idea, and met you half-way with his own lips puckered. 

It was quick and innocent, the first of a million kisses you’d share. You didn’t know how it was possible to feel so sad and so happy at the same time, but you felt as though you could face anything now that you knew you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Now…

TAP TAP TAP. Your eyes flew open as you lifted your head from the window and took in your surroundings, unsure of where you were. As your blurry surroundings came into focus, you were pulled down from your post-sleep haze by the looming figure of the man on the other side of the window. Rafe stood outside your car window, holding up a steaming mug of coffee. 

You rolled the window down, smiling shyly at Rafe as you blinked rapidly in the soft morning light. 

“Hi,” you said weakly.

“You sleep here?” He asked with neither amusement nor annoyance in his voice.

“The car wouldn’t start,” you explained. “I think the battery died.”

“You could’ve told me, I could’ve called Triple A,” he chided.

“I wasn’t sure you would’ve opened the door if I knocked,” you pointed out.

“That’s fair,” he agreed. The gentleness he was speaking to you with now was in such stark contrast to the tone he’d used last night. You didn’t want to say anything, scared to disturb the calm waters.

He handed the coffee to you, which you accepted gratefully. You took a sip, two creams and one sugar - he remembered. 

“Thank you,” you said softly.

“You can come inside while I call someone to come jump the car,” he offered.

You were so confused, but didn’t want to question it. You simply nodded as he opened the car door for you so you could climb out without spilling the coffee. 

After calling Triple A, Rafe joined you on the back porch, now with his own cup of coffee.

“Still take yours black?” You asked.

“The way coffee should be?” He teased. “Yes, yes I do.”

You smiled and you shook your head at him, clutching your coffee and looking out at the sun rising over the sea. The two of you sat in silence for a while on opposite sides of the wicker patio couch, sipping your coffees and avoiding each other’s eyes. 

You thought through the events of yesterday, remembering everything Rafe had said, and everything you wanted to say but hadn’t been able to. Rafe’s words were so cruel, but you got the sense he had fully believed everything he said. You thought you would never get the chance to respond to his accusations, but your car troubles had given you this extra time with him, and you didn’t want to waste the second chance. Should you make a joke? Try to tease him some more about his coffee preferences? Should you ask about his dad, or the reason he had been taken in to the sheriff’s office for questioning? Rafe clearly didn’t want to talk about his dad, and if this was your last chance to talk to him, you didn’t want to waste it on small talk. You decided your only option was to talk about yourself, about how you are feeling, and let him decide if he wanted to hear it or not.

“You’re wrong,” you said, sitting up to look at him. 

Your direct words startled him and he snapped his head to you, also sitting up straight.

“About what?” He says defensively. 

You look at him, hoping he can’t tell that your heartbeat is spiking and your throat is tight with anxiety. You need what you’re about to say to come out confidently, you need to say it with your chest or you may as well not say it at all.

“I never lied to you,” you told him. “And I never stopped loving you.”

Rafe’s face went pale, not at all expecting you to say that. He set his coffee down and got up from the couch, walking quickly back into the house and leaving you sitting alone, heart in hand. 

You followed him into the house, feet padding on the wooden floor behind him.

“Please just talk to me,” you pleaded.

He rounded on you, forcing you to step back.

“Don’t say shit like that!” He yelled.

“Don’t yell at me!” You matched his energy. “You never used to yell at me.”

“You left, y/n! What was I supposed to do, stay exactly the same and wait patiently for you to come back from God-knows-where like a good boy? No!” He jammed his finger into his chest, “I grew up! I became a fucking man! And now you wanna just waltz in like nothing fucking happened? It’s too late for that!”

You didn’t cower, but got closer to him with each proclamation he made. You found something in you that you hadn’t had last night, something like courage.

“You’re fucking right you changed! You know how I know? The old Rafe would’ve listened to me for two fucking seconds so I could explain!”

“I don’t wanna hear any fucking excuses-”

“I’m not making excuses! If you’d let me speak for two fucking seconds, you’d know that!” 

“There’s nothing you could say that would make me not pissed at you,” his voice was lowered but still filled with vitriol.

“You know what? Fine,” you shot back. “Be pissed at me. But I’ve had a long, unbelievably shitty two years and I’m not gonna stand here and let you scream at me as if you’ve never done anything wrong, ‘cause we both know that’s far from the truth.”

Rafe looked at you like you had smacked him, surprise flashing across his face. Of course, he knew you were referring to the accident and the things that happened before you left, right? His face smoothed over with recognition, maybe even relief.

“You’re talking about the accident,” he confirmed.

“Yes, I’m talking about the accident,” you crossed your arms over your chest. “What else would I be talking about?”

He shook his head, “nothing.”

“Unless there’s something you want to tell me?” Like maybe why you were held for questioning by the police for 24-hours, covered in someone else’s blood. 

Rafe studied you for any sign that you knew what had really been going on the past few months. You were looking at him so intensely, it was impossible to read your face. He couldn’t bear the thought that you knew what he’d done, what he’d become. And even though he was still pissed at you, still hurt, no matter your supposed explanation for leaving, he was desperate for you to remember him as the person he was before. He needed you to believe he was good. 

He drank you in for a long time, standing there with your arms crossed, looking up at him expectantly. Your hair was still messy from your night of tossing and turning in the car. You definitely looked older, but you were still so essentially you. He knew you wouldn’t let him stall much longer, that he would need to respond eventually. So he did.

Rafe stepped closer to you, his tall frame requiring you to tilt your head back to look up at him. He grabbed each of your forearms, pulling them apart, forcing you to uncross them and lose your defensive stance.

“There’s a lot of things I’ve wanted to tell you,” he whispered in a low voice, sending a shiver down your spine. “And things I’ve wanted to show you.”

You feel your new-found courage faltering, but try your best to maintain your confident facade as you respond, “like what?” The small amount of air between you is so tense, you’re being pulled to him like a magnet. You know, you know, you shouldn’t do this. There is so much you need to talk about, so many things left unresolved. But then he licks his lips, an action that used to mean I want you in your own secret language. And fuck if you don’t want him too.

(chapter five)

a/n: y'all. not me making myself cry with this one. your support has absolutely blown me away and made me so happy to be posting my writing again!!! Doing my best with this taglist but if you asked and I left you off please let me know!! ch 5 on it's way!

taglist: @maybankslover @dark1paradise @lmg-stilinski24 @idkdudsworld @mimipanini09 @patis643 @readingsmuts @nymphetkoo @xoxohoneymoongirl @hangmanscoming @azrielsgirll @laniirackssss @rubixgsworld @sweetienans @dasguccier @brain-palacee @ymnizuh @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesgiirl @thewalkingdeadsmut @themindofmoe @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @aerie717 @kickenkricken @st0rmyt @sage-burrow @adoreleeknw @mudisgranapat @sugarmelonwater @blue-greener-weiner @vilentia @sunny1616 @namelesslosers @groovycass @zizuras @lifeonawhim

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #obx fic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #obx smut #rafe cameron fluff #rafe fanfic #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ SPARKSTONE

tw. blood kink, noncon, pain play, lashing/whipping, toji’s foul n mean, degradation, prostitution, daddy kink, kinda size kink as always w me heheghe wordcount. 4.6k

a/n. thank you a million to the loveliest friends who always keep me goin when i'm having a hard timEEE rhi, wil and dymmiEE thanK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR betaing ily so much ♡ i hope i did the big man justice he is so yucky n i love it,, also extra shOutout n love dym bc she gave me the vision i saw i came i had to have it so !! iLY ILY ILY

fushiguro toji x fem!reader

If you know one thing from your years hiding in the shadows of the more powerful, it’s that danger has a taste. It sticks to your skin, longing for an opening. And tightens around your organs as you swallow it down, setting your hairs on end. Instinctually, humans know danger when they sense it, and by that same measure, they’re usually smart enough to hide before they get found. You might be simple prey in the eyes of the strong, but you hate the feeling deeply, and avoid it where you can.

You’re always aware of eyes that trail you, and you can smell it in the air.

The burgundy walls and nice chandelier bloom like a flower when it gets dark out. It fits the business. Like moths to a flame, that warmth lures men with a promise of a warm body and expert secrecy, and usually that’s plenty. Luckily for you, most of them leave before their wives start to wonder, which means you don’t have to deal with the drunk and impatient by the time you come in for a shift by early morning. Your days are easy, if you pretend you don’t know what types of people stumble home from their rooms in the seedier back of the building. Smelling of booze and body fluids and most of all, sex. That’s how it is.

Sorcerers are people too, by your cousin’s words. He’s not wrong. By the types of people that come in and out of the doors day and night, he made a smart investment starting this place a few years ago, and you’re grateful to get to work here. There’s no place for small-fry cursed energy users out in the daylight— and you’re not exactly dying to lay your life down for others in the first place. It’s this, or even less savory jobs for those people like you, who see things that others don’t. You’re more than happy with a simple life sitting behind the front desk, and going home to crash before the grosser individuals have a chance to harass you.

Which is why your skin itches a bit when the soft cling of the bell sounds so late it’s early. You’ve barely had enough time to open the doors. For not the first time, there’s a soft buzz of a warning sign that greets you as you sigh. Isn’t 5 in the morning a little early for even the more degenerate types? You get up to hang your jacket in the back room as you hear heavy steps make it into the foyer, and swallow. The slight pulling of cold under your skin has your lips pressed tight, swallowing. They don’t ring the bell, don’t yell or break things, don’t even talk. But they also don’t turn to leave.

So you smooth your hands down your pants, and eventually walk back to your spot behind the counter. It’s still dark out, still has the uncomfortable pressure that lingers as you cast a quick glance around the room.

And all you see is eyes that pull a cold shiver up your spine so quick it freezes you in place. The dark figure is splayed out with his arms over one of the couches, but those sharp eyes don’t move an inch from you when you meet them. Narrowed in their cold, metal blue darkness, and all-consuming. The man is not young, not old - but definitely older than you, scarred and quiet, and you can’t help it- when that foul, dangerous taste wells up in your mouth in the form of saliva.

After only a few seconds, you grab the phone and ring a number one, taking it off the horn for your own safety. It rings as the man gets up with a sigh and walks towards you, only leaving the space of the desk between you two. There's a soft mumble on the other side of the call, but because the horn is pressed to your desk, you can’t make out exactly what’s said before the customer - you assume he’s a customer, judging by the foul sort of stench of death that follows him around - clears his voice.

Only a sorcerer can have that sort of smell, and no sorcerer would enter here if not out for one thing. You don’t normally do intake, you realize as your hand trembles just slightly. You leave the horn of the phone for a pen instead, and try to rid your throat of the thick block that pushes on your windpipe. “Welcome. How can I help you?”

The man’s hair is messy, lazy, much like his clothing is; and he takes a moment to look around before his eyes flick to the stack of notes before you, the phone, and then you again. “Ah, uhm. Are there rooms open this late? Or early, I guess.” He ends up saying, a bored sort of lilt to his deep voice. You can’t even meet his eyes, but you can feel the painfully intense stare that doesn’t move from you again as you put on your best smile.

“There- should be, yes. Hmm, let’s see. Do you have a preferred girl you’d like to see here today?” Your hand only stops shaking when you press the tip of the pen to paper, if only to give your hand something to do as you quickly flick between the pages of the book.

“Not really.” He runs his hand under his nose, before leaning both forearms onto the desk and invading your space too much. You barely resist the urge to jerk back entirely, and feel the heat travel between you two. See, you were never able to fight curses. But you did always have a good nose, and his presence is like maggots crawling around under your skin. It’s unbearable. Your lids flutter as you stop flicking, and just focus on not throwing up entirely. Every part of him stinks of rot, oozing danger enough to suffocate you.

You simply pick one of the names at random, and start digging through the shelf for the correct key as fast as you can. Your heart hammers in your chest like that of a hummingbird, and is almost loud enough to keep you from hearing him when he speaks again. You can’t quite bear to meet his gaze, but one look up at his mouth reveals a tiny sort of curl to his lips that’s just as upsetting as the stench that swirls around the room. Everything feels wrong, and you want to stop yourself from hurling your guts out over the table. The man taps his finger on the counter a few times. “Are you new?”

Your head shakes faster than you can think about the answer. It wouldn’t be of any use lying anyway. For some reason, you feel like he’d be able to see right through you. When you finally find the right key, you feel like a weight lifts from your chest, and you slide it across the stone towards him. “I always work the morning shift, I don’t do nights.”

“Hm.” He doesn’t need to say anything else. Only when you slide the paper form across the table too,  do you notice the call has disconnected - you’re not sure for how long - and you manage to force your eyes up to face him for just long enough not to seem impolite. But your blood still feels uncomfortable and itchy, even when he slowly picks up the pen and starts writing his name down at the top of the form. After a few seconds, he clicks the pen to his chin, and looks down at you with a coy smile as he straightens up. “Actually, what about you? You’re a skittish, little thing, and I have a bit of a hunger for something light and fresh today— I had the longest night ever.”

His scar pulls when the smile gets a bit more predatory, and you feel pinned in place like an insect under a magnifying glass when he aims the pen at you. “Looks like you’re a good listener, sweet girl.”

“I- I-” you start, stepping back until your back hits the wall and even then, there’s not nearly enough space between you and him, “I just work as a receptionist. I don’t do-” You might puke after all. Those eyes only seem to get wider when your bottom lip wobbles, and you feel the sick sense of glee he gets rather than see it. You don’t think -no, you know- you couldn’t take him in a fight, but still your fists ball up tight.

The lift dings though, to your relief, and a familiar face rushes out to give you an up and down. Your cousin’s got a bed head, deep grooves under his eyes as he jogs up beside you. “What the hell, you’re fine! When you didn’t respond on the phone I thought something might’ve happened to you.” You can’t say anything back, but you’re so glad to see him your mouth drops open and a little whimper comes out of your throat despite yourself. The young man frowns, before glancing to his side and - pauses. You can’t exactly place the expression he gets, but he must feel what you’re still feeling laced in the air, because he blinks a few times before taking a step back. “What’s this?”

“I was just telling him I’m- o-only a front desk worker,” you start, shuffling uncomfortably when those steely eyes find your body, giving you an awfully unsubtle once over. Pig. He doesn’t even bother to hide the way he’s undressing you with his eyes. Your cousin thankfully hums in agreement, and crosses his arms over his chest. “So-”

The brazen noiret doesn’t hesitate to nod though. And the confident tone from earlier doesn’t waver a bit. It’s like he’s barely inconvenienced by your statement at all. Like you’re playing hard to get. You’re not. "That's fine by me. But I’m going to be the exception.” Under his sloppy clothing, there’s no doubt he’s fit. He’s tall, and obviously wired with thick muscle that makes his shirt cling to his biceps, even more when he crosses over the furniture to reach a hand out to you, and make your shivers so much worse. “Come, little deer. I’m gonna have some fun with you.”

Your cousin places a hand on the other man’s shoulder though. “She’s not that kind of employee, sir. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, or else-”

“Or else what?” You swear you can feel a pin drop when his eyes finally move away from you, now at the other man. Your heart still beats wildly. “How about this, huh. You let me play with your little friend here, and I’ll decide not to kill you, her and then everyone in here for making my long night even longer.” He doesn’t even have to straighten up for you to feel like he means it. Even without flashing a weapon, or pulling out some fancy cursed technique, do you feel the increase in thick waves of tension; drowning you in that same, rotting stench of incoming disaster. You can’t ignore it, can’t do anything but gasp shallow, little breaths when he does round on your family, squaring up to him.

Though they’re both about as tall, the stranger’s built like a brick wall. He must know that, because he laughs. “I’ll be very nice to her, don’t worry.” His eyes tell everyone daring to take a peek that he doesn’t mean it, but at least you don’t flinch when he looks at you this time. Ah, that’s right. You really do hate sorcerers. The black haired man walks past to come grab your arm, and tosses the key you provided him earlier high into the air before catching it. It instantly is too tight, and hurts. You plant your heels into the floor, hang back with your whole body. You want to scream. Your other hand claws at his strong palm -wrung like a vice around your wrist- and you start to whimper.

“N-wait, let me go. I don’t work here like that, I- leave me alone, let me go!” You get pulled along anyway, like you’re a toddler throwing a tantrum; he yanks you with barely any effort and sends you stumbling behind him. “No, I don’t want- aniki! Aniki, tell him- I’m not- I’m not for sale.” Hair whips around as you try to plead with the man left standing in the lobby, but though he looks guilt-stricken and apologetic, he doesn’t move from his spot. You don’t have a say in the way the man dressed in all black drags you behind, even when you try to make yourself dead weight and stop him. “No, no, no, wait, please! Kou aniki! Kou~ help me!”

You get it.

“Let me go! Let me go, pl-please! Hck.” Your voice breaks when wetness spills down to your hot cheeks. Really, you do get it. But the lamb still spooks when presented with the gun, even if it doesn’t run.

You’re sat on the edge of the bed as tears run down your cheeks and drip off your nose.

You can’t imagine it makes for a very appealing sight, but whether it’s indifference or sexual gratification, it’s clear your grief doesn’t matter to him. Toji, he said his name is, but you only know that ‘so you can cry it later’. It makes you sick - the sight of him makes you want to dig your nails into your own palms until you bleed. This is how it is for the weak everywhere, right? Sit and wait to die. As the cold embraces your body again, you sniffle, but wipe the tears away. You’re not a fan of waiting.

If he’s going to do it, better do it quick. Before you decide to start biting anyway. The dim lighting of the reddish room doesn’t do anything to warm the mood except make you even more aware of him as he kicks off sandals, slowly, demanding attention. He stares you down like a predator keeps an eye on his prey. The scent is still suffocating, but there’s a more alarming feeling blanketing your senses now. You’re scared. There’s nothing you can do about it, it’s in the goosebumps on your skin as he walks closer, and you scoot back onto the soft mattress to avert your eyes to yourself.

You’d rather go out kicking and screaming- but with your fear ran so high, you settle for the second best thing. “So, you’re not going to kill everyone, but just me, huh?” He’s taking off his belt as you ball your hands in the fabric, and force yourself to watch him under heavy lashes, with as much hatred as you can. “You like that? Scaring girls half your size?” You’re not sure either why you’re running your mouth. It must be the high of incoming death. “Does that make you feel powerful?” He doesn’t even pause, and pulls his shirt over his head to drop it aside too, then licks his lips.

After a slight moment of silence, he just shrugs. “Yeah. It does.” You scramble back until you reach the head of the bed, and pull your knees to your body. And the man crawls closer anyway, reaching to grab one of your ankles and drag you back. You don’t know why you’re struggling. It’d be easier if you laid down and died. As if reading your mind, he chuckles as he yanks you down until you’re spread out on your back, and pins you in place beneath his heavy body. “Don’t be so frightened. I’m not actually going to kill you.” He pushes over you, and makes sure you’re nose to nose when he talks next, basically drooling as you try to escape from him. “Just going to hurt you pretty bad. Don’t you like that?”

You struggle against him, but it’s not enough. He ties your hands to the bed painfully tight, letting the frayed edge of the rope burn into your skin each time you move- and proceeds to cut your clothes off with the knife that was hidden in his waistband. The torturous pace at which he does everything is almost worse, setting your entire body on end with anticipation. You thrash against him as he places a thigh either side of your body, and grabs your face in a large, rough hand. Once again you feel reminded that you’re really nothing in the face of someone more powerful. It’s frustrating. It’s annoying, and hurtful, and a migraine starts gnawing at your head as you glare up at him. And he almost pouts at you in mockery. “It’s cute that you’re trying so hard. You can cry, you know?” He leans in to lick along the shell of your ear down to your neck. “It’s going to happen sooner or later anyway. Why deny yourself?”

The hot touch of his tongue sears into your skin like it’s poison. You try to pull your wrists loose again, to no avail. The skin just feels achy and burning. “That’s really what you want to do, right? Cry for mommy and daddy to save you?” When he pushes back up to your mouth, laying his filthy lips on you again, you’re quicker than you think - and actually manage to bite him. It’s not enough to cause much damage before he jerks back, clenching one hand over your mouth to shut you up. But he runs a thumb along his bottom lip, and slowly starts grinning. Blood glitters on that finger before he licks it away, and raises his dark eyebrows at you. “Aren’t you brave…”

Before you have time to prepare yourself, that heavy palm meets your cheek, stinging it all over and rushing blood to the surface — it’s hard enough to pull real tears out of you, and your nose to start running as you bury your face into your arm. The sting spreads under the surface like fire. The low chuckle he lets out is mean and predatory, definitely when he takes that as an opening to start groping you through your bra, and soon that’s shoved up too to let him pet all over you. “Good. I don’t have to feel bad about all this, then.”

“Mh- hck-,” you whimper, trying to ignore the painful tugs he gives your nipples, pinching you. It still sends heat to your belly, and somehow that’s the most embarrassing thing of all. You hate him. More than anyone. “I-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. I won’t believe you anyway.” He quickly whispers back, leaning in to force his mouth to yours and kiss you, tongue pushing against your teeth until you give in. He tastes like blood. His own, from the cut that’s not yet closed up; and he kisses like he’s trying to consume you. Rough hands knead and toy with your tits until you start squirming, before they glide down and make enough space to peel your panties down your thighs torturously slow. “Ahh, you look good like this. So pretty. Stay there.” He chuckles to himself as he gets up and you whine, not for him, but more his dragging it out. It’s not like you have a choice about staying…

When he comes back to you, something cold makes you jerk your eyes open. It’s something long and capped metal at the end, not sharp enough to stab you clean through— but it’s still hard and sharp and anxiety has you freezing below him. “Wh- what, what are you-” Would anyone even come help if you screamed? 

Toji slaps the thing into his palm a few times, before those mean eyes glide over you, and you find yourself crossing your legs tight to protect your most sensitive areas instinctively. The sound of the metal whipping through the air is more than enough to put fear into you. Your lip trembles when he gets back onto the bed, and mirth plays in his eyes. “This is going to hurt.” Then he whips his hand down and instantly, your eyes shoot open with pain. Blood splatters as he cuts you open, each impact leaving a cut and nasty thumping that will make a bruise, telltale sign of a cursed tool.

“Ack- no, no- please stop! Stop, stop, please! Please, it hurts! It hurts!” Your eyes clench shut, but tears well up and come out anyway, making tracks down your cheeks. It stings so bad, and after even just a few lashings, you can’t stand it. Everything’s glowing and burning, hot all over as your knees knock together. Another whip has you trying to pull your arms out harder, to no avail. You don’t want to look, but the pain in your hands tells you that the heat running down your arm must be blood. Didn’t he say he wasn’t going to kill you? “Please, please, Toji. I’ll do anything! Anything, please- j-just no more.”

“I refuse.”

“Please~” you sob, only opening your eyes to see how he stands bent over you with his tongue caught between his teeth, head tilted in curiosity like a dog. The whip is dripping red, hot blood down onto his hands, and though it seems impossible to have so much blood coating everything- it’s yours, right? He stays quiet for a moment or two, and the thick tears wobble over your vision. “Please, I don’t want to die. Please. Please. I’m -” your throat closes up when he leans his heavy weight down over you and hovers his lips over your mouth, “I’m beg-begging you.” One hand comes up to grab your face, and he buries his nose into your throat, where a wet tongue starts swiping along your skin.

The soft groan he lets out is foul, coming back up with his mouth full of your blood, and he grins. “Keep going. Beg like a good girl~” Then he dips down, forcing his tongue and the coppery, familiar taste into your mouth, melting his lips to yours as he hums. His strong chest meets your naked, pitiful form as one hand comes down to yank your leg up around him, and the kissing gets more distracting, warmer, deeper — you want him to stay just like this. “Keep talking,” he whispers again, lower this time, and when you’re opening your eyes his stained hands are back to kneading your tits. “You’re sort of cute covered like this, whining like a baby. C’mon.”

Red’s covering everything. Every cut on your body is searing and tight and painful, and he’s pushing his thumbs along the closing wounds as if he’s trying to leak every last drop out of you; but you can’t really feel it. It must be adrenaline you feel coursing through your veins like a drug, goading your heart into pumping so hard you can see it bounce through the skin. “Pl-please.” Your chest rattles, as he watches you. As he degrades you, lifting both your legs up to your chest to spread you for him. “Please, Toji. Please f-fuck me instead. I w- need you to.” He takes the knife used to cut off your clothes, and ever so slowly drags it along the supple inside of your thighs.

And though you jerk, and your jaw clenches while tears fall, you can’t help it. You’re shaking your head, but your pussy clenches around nothing. “Please, please, need you. I’m sorry, I want- I want it. I wan’it… daddy.” Despite the short inhale he takes, sharp eyes pinning you beneath him like the crying mess you are, it’s not his reaction that has you blushing, heat filling your entire face with that cottony feeling. You’re so fucking weak. It’s pathetic.

“Hah,” he snorts when watching you wiggle and cry, presenting your wet, little hole to him, “whiny brat.” His hand lands onto your pussy and it makes you jerk again, squirming against his strong grip, before he turns his palm to grind into your clit and his fingers teasing into the soft folds. The wet squelching doesn’t stop the stinging tingling down your entire body, but - it’s also so unfair. You can feel yourself drip as his thick fingers slide in and out of you again and again, pushing into your plush walls just right. “Call out for daddy, go on.” You don’t want to know how much of it is blood, or how much is your own body betraying you.

You don’t see when he takes off his boxers, now finally as naked as you are - but you do see it when he starts rubbing the head of his heavy cock over your slicked up slit, catching your clit every once in a while. He cocks one brow at you at your silence, and softly hums a deep, raspy breath. You really are weak. “Daddy, daddy, please- pl-hck- please put it in, I’m losing my mind.”

“Seems like it,” he mumbles back, a cocky grin reappearing right before he grabs himself by the base and leads his fat cock inside you with no further warning. He’s too big as soon as he shoves himself inside halfway, grabbing your hair as you wiggle against him. The other half is forced deeper as his cock bumps your walls, makes your pussy drool and clench, and your mouth hangs open as you try to keep from screaming. Your back lifts off the bed a few times, legs opening wider to make room for his thick thighs as he bottoms out and stretches you too thin. “That’s a nice noise.” He’s laughing.

You can’t relate. Your entire body feels wound too tight, legs locking around his glutes in the naïve hope for some reprieve— before he pulls back and holds himself above you. Scared pecs and arms flex when he pulls all the way out, only to thrust back in too deep and have you choking on it. It’s hitting so deep it leaves you speechless. “Make it again,” he gloats as he chuckles into your face, before kissing you again, and this time he bites your lip, hard enough to taste copper. Oh, fuck. You cling onto the ropes for dear life with your numb fingers, and try to wrap your legs back around him with a choked whimper; but you can’t.

You’re shaking, and your pussy’s clenching and sucking around him hard each time his hips meet yours and heavy balls smack against your ass. You feel like he’s going to fuck you through the wall. Drool’s mixed with the blood you swallow, letting his tongue melt to yours, and make you even more needy for air. Each pump inside you gushes more slick out of your cunt, lewd noises and ‘pap’s filling the room along with his grunts. And you only pull away to gasp, and get pulled down onto him again and again. “Daddy, daddy, I’m- gonna- cum.”

And he plants a hand on your throat to squeeze until your eyes cross, free hand going to hold your shivering thighs in place as he buries his cock deep into your plush walls. “Dumb, dumb girl- I don’t need- ugh- you to tell me that.” You’re folded double entirely as he keeps the rhythm entirely ruthless, and your belly starts tightening under your body jerks shut around him, crying out. You can’t even feel your hands anymore, and your breathing’s so shallow and confused you’re lightheaded. Your toes curl so hard you feel like you’ll pass out, but Toji doesn’t stop. Not even when hot ropes of cum fill the heat of your spasming pussy up and spill out— he doesn’t even slow.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

#kinktober #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw.dark content #tw.lashing #tw.noncon #tw.blood #tw.marking #tw.daddy kink

[fangirl-dot-com]

🪩Track 1 - The Beginning of an Era

welcome to reputations...want to continue?

December 1, 2023

williamsracing has posted

williamsracing freshman year loading...

we are thrilled to announce that theopourchaire21 will be joining alexalbon as our driver line-up for 2024!

liked by formula1fan, logansargeant, alexalbon, and 75,284 others

lolo2024 this is not what I needed today, tomorrow, or ever

log4n_sarg um, lets rewind and go back to the post where Logan was supposed to be signed for 2024

logansargeant I'm so happy for theopourchaire21, no one deserves it more than him!

f1_fanatic I know he was sobbing writing that L2-nation his PR team probably had tears when they told him formula1_today I feel so bad for him

user2 did they even tell Logan that they weren't signing him?? this seems so rushed and I thought Williams told Logan that he'd have another chance...

oscarpiastri so happy for you mate! can't wait to have you on the grid!

what-the_f-is-a-kmeter the ultimate betrayal right here

formula1_power well, my 2023 was just ruined

arrowmclaren has just posted

arrowmclaren we are happy to announce our diver line-up for the 2024 IndyCar season! With Pato O'Ward, Alexander Rossi, and David Malukas, we have a strong season ahead of us!

liked by racer.y/n, indyxf1, carsgozoom, indy5hundred, and 89,238 others

indyxf1 first Logan and now Y/n??!! What has this world gone to?!

arrowML uhhhh, this was not on the 2023 bingo card

o-wardo I mean, I like Rossi, but L/n was such a beast this season. doesn't make sense that they drop her after her rookie year

Dave-dives4arrows boooooo - we didn't ask for this

mclarenall-round exactly! Y/n was the perfect fit for the team! y/n.fan well, I mean...our girl was kind of outcasted by the others. maybe this is just a new beginning y/n_nation true, I'm thinking maybe NASCAR maybe? fan-f1 now here me out...Formula 1?

racer.y/n thank you for all the memories! welcome to the family alexanderrossi - you deserve it

indyfan2 I know she has tears in her eyes as she writes this logansarg3ant Y/n and Logan's pr teams will need therapy after December 1, 2023

Logan&y/n Y/n and Logan really are "the outcast rookies" club

f1 with Lamborghini_Racing has posted

f1 something new is coming for the 2024 season...

formula 1 is happy to announce the arrive of new constructor team: the Royal Automobili Lamborghini-Andretti Formula 1 Team. They will be headed by Team Principal Michael Andretti.

They will be backed by high-end sponsors such as Dior, Armani, Hermes, Fendi, and Panerai.

However, we are saddened by the leave of the HAAS Formula 1 team. We wish them well as they are planning to enter next year's IndyCar Championship.

liked by formoola1, lamb0, chrisncars, kart-ing, y/n-lover, and 90,298 others

formula1-fanatic and suddenly, 2023 has a come back after Williams's and ArrowMcLaren's posts

fan-f1 PLEASE SIGN LOGAN AND Y/N - THEY DESERVE A SECOND CHANCE PLEASE I'M BEGGING

fan-f1 ok - I'm done f1-f1-f1 now hold on, you might be onto something

America_in_f1 I'm sad that HAAS is leaving, but will we be able to still hear the Star Spangled Banner if Andretti wins?

user-fan-75 technically no since Lamborghini is the main constructor and they are an Italy based manufacturer what-the-f_is_a-kmeter BOOOOOOOO logansArgeant2 now, hear me out - we get Logan AND y/n and up the possibilities by two

indy-fan I came here for Y/n, now you all need to sign her RN

y/n-nation what even is F1? but I want my girl to be in it

f1_power welcome to the family!

haas_fan awwww I'm going to miss Kevin and Nico, will they be signed automatically?

haas-fan2 I don't think so. Andretti hasn't put out an official statement yet but I think he'd want to start fresh

y/nxlogan all fans of the "outcast rookies" rise, we've found our opening

Email

To: y/n.l/npr.email.com CC: Logan.sargeantpr.email.com

To whom it may concern,

We would like to invite the two of you to come to Sant'Agata Bolognese, Italy for a few days of testing. I personally cannot confirm a seat for the 2024 season, but we've have our eyes on the two of you since early spring.

Please let us know by the end of the week if either of you are interested. We are in need of time if everything goes well. If it does, and the two of you would like to join the Royal Automobili Lamborghini-Andretti Formula 1 team, contracts could be signed as early as next week.

My sister Marissa will be in touch for a check-in if these emails weren't correct.

She says that you both need a Reputations Era, or whatever that means.

I personally look forward to hearing back from the two of you. Have a blessed day.

Team Principal Michael Andretti

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#logan sargeant x reader #Logan Sargeant x driver!reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x driver!reader #formula 1 x you #logan sargeant #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant fanfiction #logan sargeant fluff #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 8

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, mentions of weight loss and allusions to an ED, sexual harassment (reader being cornered by a guy & mentions of Billy groping reader in the past), grab some tissues this one is sad

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Summary: You spend one last night with Steve.

Word count: 10k

A/N: @mysticmunson thank you as always, angel. you always inspire me so much with your amazing ideas, I love u🤍 — also its mostly proofread but if there are any mistakes…. you didn’t see them!

series masterlist

-

Steve stares at you with a mixture of hope and curiosity in his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he had seen you on his doorsteps. He knows that you aren’t here for the reasons he hopes for but his heart still holds onto that hope.

You look at him expectedly, your hands are shaking. There’s a snowflake on your eyelash, you wipe it away and blink as you look up at him. 

“Y-Yeah, come inside,” he says as he moves to the side. His gaze softens when your eyes flash with uncertainty, you look behind his shoulder. 

“Can’t you come outside?” 

“Y/n, just come in–”

“Steven, who is it?” You hear his mom say. You hear her footsteps and see her as she walks into the hallway, her eyes widen and a smile appears on her face when her eyes meet yours. 

“Y/n!” She smiles excitedly, “come on in, dear. What are you doing out there in the cold?” 

You really don’t want to step inside his house but you can’t say no to her and before you can even protest, she pulls you inside and wraps her arms around you, hugging you tightly. 

“It’s been so long!” Helen says. She pulls away and places her hands on your shoulders, “look at you – she’s getting more and more beautiful, isn’t she, Steve?” She turns around to face her son with a smile on her face. You look at him with narrowed eyes, he nods.

“Yes she is,” he says.

He is not making any of this easier for you. 

“Come inside, we are just about to eat dinner.”

“Oh no, I don’t mean to intrude, I just wanted to–”

“I won’t accept a no and you know you could never intrude, darling,” she says, shaking her head. “Come on, we got so much catching up to do! Take your coat off.”

She looks at you expectedly, she really won’t accept a no. You can’t help but chuckle, you take your coat off and hand it to Steve who holds his hand out. 

“Thanks,” you mumble as you look into his eyes. 

He smiles.

You look away from him, you fix your hair and smooth down your skirt.

“That’s a beautiful skirt,” Helen gushes, she reaches for your hand and pulls you further into the house.

Steve’s heart flutters when he hears your giggle. He watches you walk into the kitchen with his mom. He can’t help but feel excitement rushing through him at the thought of spending the night with you, he knows that this won’t mean anything and deep down he knows you came to talk about something that won’t leave him with a smile on his face at the end of the night but he can’t help but hold onto the hope that you might want to give him a chance – as silly as the thought is. 

He hears his dad saying your name with an excited tone in his voice, when he walks into the kitchen, he finds him hugging you. 

They are never this excited to see her. Steve looks down, a feeling of self hatred blooms in his chest. 

He ruined everything.

“Are you eating enough, kid? You look like you’ve lost some weight.” 

Steve raises his head to look at you, you raise your brows in surprise as you stare at his dad, a nervous laugh falls from your lips.

“Dad,” Steve warns when he notices your discomfort. 

His dad looks over your shoulder, waving his son off, he looks back down at you and wraps his arm around your shoulder as he leads you into the dining room. 

“Helen is making Lasagna tonight, it’s still your favorite right?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle.

“I’m glad you’re here, who else would I share all the garlic bread with.”

Another laugh falls from your lips and Steve has to close his eyes, he takes a deep breath. All this takes him back to all the Saturday dinners you have spent together. 

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

He shakes his head and opens his eyes as he looks at the ceiling. 

“It’s never too late to fix things, Steve.”

He feels a little startled by his mom’s voice. 

“Sometimes it is,” Steve says. “She hates me.”

She sighs and shakes her head at him, “she wouldn’t be here if she hated you–”

“She’s here because you wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Steve mumbles, rolling his eyes. He knows that you came here to talk, not to spend a family dinner with his family. 

“Yeah but she came here for you, to talk, I assume?”

Steve shrugs, he hears your voice in the dining room along with his dad’s laughter. 

“Not for the reasons I’d hope.”

She raises her brows in questions, she tilts her head and leans her hand against the counter. 

“What reasons were you hoping for?”

“A second chance, mom.”

“Well, you won’t get one if you don’t leave that girl of yours first,” she mumbles and reaches for the bowl of salad, pushing it in his hands and giving him a stern look, “you’re behaving like a fool, Steven.”

He closes his eyes again and clenches his jaw. He feels embarrassed. 

“You know, you remind me of Harold. He was breaking hearts left and right when he was younger, then he had this amazing girlfriend and guess what he did?”

“He cheated on her,” Steve mumbles, nodding, “you told me this story a thousand times already.”

“Yeah and I’ll tell it a thousand times more. I don’t want you to end up like my brother, Steven. Look at him now, he is old and miserable and hung up on a woman who has been happily married for the past twenty years.” 

“I’m not gonna end up like uncle Harold,” Steve sighs. 

“You’re on the best way there.” She points her finger at him and gives him a stern look as she leans closer, “you broke that poor girl’s heart – I can see the pain in her eyes and your father is right, she lost weight, she’s not doing well.”

Worry flashes in his eyes and the guilt that has been nagging at him comes rushing back. 

“I don’t want either of you to be miserable but I know that you will be if you don’t pull yourself together. She’s an amazing girl, Steve. Someday, she’s gonna try again and she’s gonna meet an amazing man who will give her everything she wants and you’ll regret letting her go.” 

Steve frowns. He knows that she is right. There will be someone who will give you the things that he never could but the thought of that makes him want to throw up and break down. 

The thought of you falling in love with someone else hurts him. The thought of you getting married to someone else, having kids and living that life without him makes him miserable. 

He can see why his mom is so afraid of him becoming like his uncle – he will if he doesn’t make things right. 

He snaps himself out of his thoughts when his mom squeezes his shoulder, “if you want her back, you gotta fight for this girl and it won’t happen overnight, Steve.” 

She gives him a look of sympathy, one that he doesn’t deserve. It was him who screwed up after all. 

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. He turns around and walks away, stepping into the dining room, he places the salad bowl on the large table and glances at you. You’re in the living room, sitting on the couch next to his dad who is showing you his new vinyl collection. He knows that you don’t want to be here, not like this. You are probably already regretting the decision of coming here. 

He sees the excited look on your face when you reach for the Fleetwood Mac Vinyl. You instantly begin to gush over the band, his dad chuckles at your excitement.��

His parents might not be around a lot but you had always gotten along with them, you were the one who convinced him to stay at home for dinners on the weekends, you were the one who convinced him to spend more time with his dad when he asked him to. Steve was angry at his parents for not being around and he punished them by giving them the cold shoulder when they were at home. You changed that. His relationship with his dad is better than it ever was, thanks to you. 

You have done so many good things for him.

He never did anything for you – he didn’t do any good. 

As he looks at you, he notices that they are right. You did lose some weight, your face looks thinner and the circles beneath your eyes are visible even through the concealer you are wearing. He feels sick, knowing that he was the one who caused – causes you so much distress. 

His dad leads you back into the dining room and Steve straightens up when your eyes lock. 

“Take a seat, darling. I’ll go help Helen in the kitchen.” He says, giving you a smile before he turns around and walks back into the kitchen, leaving you and Steve alone in the dining room. 

You swallow nervously and clear your throat. Fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater, you look around. 

Steve stares at you, just taking in the sight of you in his house. Steve is convinced that you are the most beautiful girl in the world. 

You are nervous, he can tell by the way you are bouncing your knee and playing with the loose string on your sleeve. 

“Come here,” he says, gesturing to the chair that he pulls back. 

You nod and walk over to him, you sit down and turn your head to look up at him. He sits down beside you. This feels like a deja vu and you don’t know how you feel about it. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you break the silence between the two of you. 

“What?” He mumbles, looking at you in confusion. “What are you sorry for?”

“I didn’t want to intrude–”

“You could never,” he says, interrupting you. Out of instinct, he places his hand over yours, causing you to freeze, he notices it right away and pulls his hand back, closing his eyes, he sighs, “I’m sorry. I’m just – I’m happy you’re here even though I know you didn’t come here for this.”

“We can talk later.”

He nods, swallowing nervously. He hopes the time will pass slowly tonight. 

He notices how calm you are despite the nervousness you are showing. He doesn’t know whether it’s a good or bad sign. The last time you had been together, you ended up kicking him out with tears streaming down your face and now you are calm, peaceful and there isn’t an ounce of anger in your eyes left. What does it mean?

A bad feeling settles in the pit of his stomach, something tells him that this night won’t end well.

“Did you have a nice night?” He asks as he watches your face contort in confusion, “with Eddie, I mean.”

“Oh,” you mumble. His question takes you back to the conversation you had with Eddie, the one about him. “Yeah, we went to the diner and then watched a movie at his place.”

Steve nods, keeping his composure. 

“Y-You spent the night with him?” 

You know that you don’t have to answer his question, it’s none of his business but you nod anyway and look into his eyes. 

“Yeah, sometimes he stays over at my place.”

His heart twists at your words. A sullen look takes over his face. He tastes that bitterness on his tongue. You say you’re just friends but he saw more than friendship between you both when you danced together but maybe it was just his jealousy that tried to make him believe that it’s more than that. 

“Oh.”

“How was your night?” You ask as though you care. You don’t want to hear about his night with Nancy. “Did you have fun?” 

Steve can see your clenched jaw – you are jealous. 

“It was okay.” The night was horrible and he hated every second of it. He didn’t want to be with her, he wanted to be with you. 

You stare at each other in silence for a long moment before you break eye contact. 

“I’m gonna see if your parents need help–”

“Don’t,” Steve says as he puts his hand on the back of your chair, holding himself back from touching you this time. “You know my mom won’t let you do anything anyway.”

His parents walk into the room seconds later, glancing between the both of you. By the looks on their faces, you can tell that they have been talking about you two in the kitchen. You don’t know what to think or feel but you can’t help but wonder; do they like her? 

She puts way too much food on your plate, the way she always does – she ignores your protests. 

“Do you want a glass of wine?” John asks you, jokingly of course. He holds the bottle up before he pours some of it into his wife’s glass. 

“John,” she chuckles, rolling her eyes. “They’re too young.”

You and Steve glance at each other with narrowed eyes. You have stolen a few bottles of his mom’s favorite wine and you’ve gotten drunk together.. a lot. 

“We used to be young too.” 

You chuckle at his words and at the sigh that leaves her lips as she sits down across from you, she waves him off. 

You would’ve thought that this would be awkward and well, between you and Steve it absolutely is but his parents make it less awkward. It all still feels so natural and it makes you sad. 

“Did you go to the dance last night?” Helen asks, reaching for the wine glass before taking a bite of her salad. 

You nod, “yeah, it was uh– nice.”

“Who was the lucky guy?” John asks, he glances at Steve with narrowed eyes as he bites into the garlic bread. 

Steve sighs. 

“I uh, I didn’t actually–”

“Eddie Munson,” Steve mumbles as he grips the fork tightly in his hand. 

His mom raises her brows at Steve, her eyes flash with amusement when she sees the very obvious jealousy on his face. 

His dad laughs and for a moment, you feel nervous. The Harringtons never seemed like judgmental people, despite the things people say about them but you know how people talk about Eddie and how cursed his last name is thanks to his father. 

“Wayne Munson’s boy?” He asks you. 

“You know Wayne?” You ask and straighten up in your seat. 

“Yeah! We were friends in high school, we didn’t have much in common but he was nice. We didn’t see much of each other after school but I liked him.”

You smile, feeling a little surprised at the revelation. 

“You were friends with Eddie’s uncle?” Steve mumbles with confusion on his face that could be easily mistaken with judgment. 

His dad leans back, giving him a stern look, “yeah, he was a real friend, son. You’re supposed to know what that is but you don’t put much value on real friendships – or relationships,” he mutters the last bit. 

You almost feel bad for Steve, almost. 

He deserves this. He deserves all of this and worse, he knows it. 

“Is he treating you well?” Helen asks, breaking the awkward silence in the room, “Eddie?” 

A nervous chuckle escapes your lips, you can’t help but blush when you feel all eyes on you. 

“Oh, we are not dating. Eddie and I are just friends,” you say before you finally take a bite of the Lasagna, hoping that you won’t get asked any more questions about this. 

“That’s a shame, I’m sure he is amazing.”

Steve glares at his dad. He feels his blood boiling. 

“Oh, he is,” you smile, “he’s very sweet. He drove Steve home the other day.” 

His parents look at you in surprise and then turn to look at Steve who tenses up a little. 

“When his car broke down.”

Steve turns to look at you and you can’t help but smirk when you see the annoyed look on his face. 

“That’s funny,” Helen laughs, “that’s how you and Wayne became friends, right?” She asks her husband who nods at her words. He begins to tell the story about the summer he and Wayne started hanging out. 

You listen intently while Steve begins to eat his food. You can sense his irritation, it’s been there ever since he brought about Eddie. He relaxes a little when his mom changes the topic and starts talking about her plans for Christmas this year. 

It’s weird for you to sit next to him, to sit at a table with his parents and eat dinner like nothing ever happened. At some point, Steve places his hand on the back of your chair when he is done eating. You don’t think that he realizes that he did, he is too absorbed in a conversation with his dad. 

When Helen gets up, you use the opportunity to escape as well, ignoring her protests, you help her clean up the table. You gather all the plates and ignore the looks he gives you. You walk into the kitchen and place the dirty plates next to the sink, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

All you wanted was to have a conversation, to have him lay all the cards on the table, to finally be completely honest with you. You didn’t want this because this is only making things so much harder. 

“Is everything alright?” Helen asks as she walks into the kitchen as well, carrying the dirty dishes over to the sink. 

You force a smile on your face and turn around to face her.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You lie.

She doesn’t look convinced. She knows you almost as well as your mom does. She tilts her head and smiles at you, sadly. 

“It’s okay to not be okay, y/n.”

She places her hand on your shoulder, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pressured you into this.”

You shake your head, “no, it’s okay! You know I always liked the family dinner’s,” you smile, “and your cooking.”

She smiles warmly but the look in her eyes is one of sadness and sympathy. She knows that you love him, you always showed it and you still do, whether you know it or not. It’s in your eyes, it’s written all over your face. You may be young with a whole life and so many chapters ahead of you but one thing is for certain – there won’t be another love like this, not for you. He was the one for you. 

“How are you, y/n?” She asks. 

She doesn’t want to hear any lies, she wants to hear the truth. 

It’s a genuine question, not just a conversation started or a small check-up. She genuinely wants to know how you really feel. You don’t know why but it makes your heart clench in your chest and the tears that well up in your eyes are inevitable. 

You blink, trying to push them away. You don’t want to cry and break down in your ex boyfriend’s kitchen. 

You look down when you feel your bottom lip trembling. 

“I-I hate this,” you whisper as you continue to blink, hoping that your tears will vanish. “I hate that he did this, I hate that I miss him so much and that I love him even after he broke my heart.”

You feel so pathetic when you break into tears. 

“Oh y/n,” she whispers as she pulls you into a hug. She squeezes you tightly and rubs your back. “You will be okay – both of you.” She says and looks over at Steve who stands in the doorway with a guilty and sad look on his face. 

It hurts to see you like this, it’s something he will never forgive himself, to know that he was the one who did all of this. To know that he was the one who hurt the girl he loves more than anything else in this world. 

When you pull away from the hug and your eyes lock with his, you look a little startled. You quickly wipe your tears away and step back, “I-I’m sorry, I should go.”

Before he or his mom can react, you rush out of the kitchen and into the hallway. You put on your shoes and grab your coat, leaving the house quickly. The air is colder than it was before, the snow is falling peacefully. You sniffle as you wipe your tears away. You knew it was a bad idea to come here. You knew it. 

You hear the door shutting behind you as you walk down the driveway.

“Y/n! Wait!”

You don’t turn around, you continue to walk whilst you put your jacket on. You hear his footsteps coming closer, there is no use trying to run from him. 

“Wait!” He sighs. He reaches for your hand and pulls you back, he is surprised when you don’t push his hand away. He falls quiet when he looks at your face, you have wiped your tears away but the glassiness in your eyes is still present. “Y/n,” he says, softly. 

You hate the sorry look on his face, the soft eyes and the gentle touch of his hand. 

“You wanted to talk.”

“Can we do this tomorrow–”

“No,” he shakes his head, holding your hand tighter than before, “let’s do it now, please.”

“I just wanna go home, Steve.”

“Then I’ll drive you home and we can talk in the car.”

You shake your head. You hate that you feel so weak all of the sudden, that you struggle to push his hand away, that you struggle to look away from him. You don’t know what happened but it’s like every strength has left your body and you can no longer push him away from you with that cold front you put up before.

“I want to walk.”

He nods, “okay, then I’ll walk you home.”

“Steve,” you sigh. 

“Please,” he whispers, “I won’t let you walk home by yourself anyway. So you either get in the car or you let me walk you home.”

Sighing, you tear your eyes away from his and look down, you nod, “okay, let’s walk then.” 

You pull your hand out of his grip and turn around. 

The road is illuminated by the street lights, the snow glitters beneath it, it crunches under your boots as you step on it. You’ve done this way too many times before but usually, you would walk hand in hand, you would steal kisses from him and he would pretend to be annoyed, now there is just distance and awkward silence between you both.

At this point, you don’t even know what you wanted to talk about. 

You wanted answers but what are the questions? 

Why did you fall out of love with me? But wait. He said that he fell out of love with you and the next day he said that he never loved you in the first place and now, two months later, he claims that he lied to you when he said that he never loved you – apparently he still loves you even though he is with her. 

Why did you leave me for her? 

What does she have that I don’t? 

Why did you treat me like shit? 

Why are you so good to her? 

Why did you fall in love with her when you were supposed to love me?

“Why Nancy?” 

Steve furrows his brows and looks at you in confusion. 

“What?”

“It’s just, there have been so many girls that threw themselves at you but you never gave them the chance – at least, I hoped you didn’t.”

“I didn’t, y/n.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter under your breath, “you flirted with them and expected me to be okay with it but you would get mad whenever a guy even looked my way.” 

If you would have had this conversation with him three months ago, he would have scoffed by now and either start a fight or kiss you to shut you up but now, he just stays calm and he looks at you with guilt in his eyes. 

She changed him in just a few weeks. 

“I know that it doesn’t mean much anymore but I never wanted any of them, those girls that I flirted with, I couldn’t give a shit about them,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes at his past behavior, “and to be honest, I didn’t do it to keep my reputation or whatever. I– god, that’s gonna sound so bad,” he pauses, he looks up into the sky and takes a deep breath before he looks back down at you, “I did it to see what you would do, I wanted to see if you would get jealous ‘cause sometimes I struggled to believe that you loved me – not that you ever gave me a reason to doubt you, it’s just, some things would just get into my head and I don’t know – you never got jealous, at least, it didn’t seem like you did. You would always be so calm, you rarely ever confronted me about it a-and I guess, I don’t know, I figured that you didn’t love me as much as I love you.”

You choose to ignore his last three words. You don’t know whether to scoff in disbelief or to laugh at his words. He must be joking, you think. But his face is serious and the look in his eyes is filled with nothing but honesty.

“Why would you think that?” 

He shrugs, “‘cause I knew how I felt when a guy looked at you a certain way o-or when someone flirted with you – I felt like shit. I got so fucking jealous and angry and it made me want to rip my hair out.” 

You can’t help but giggle at his words as you look at the seriousness in his face, “your beloved hair?” 

His eyes light up when he hears your laugh, a smile tugs at his lips, “yeah, I’d rip my hair out for you.”

You snort and shake your head as you look back down. He keeps staring at you for a moment before he speaks up again, “but what I’m trying to say is, seeing you with someone else broke my heart–”

“But I wasn’t with anyone else, I was with you and I wanted it to stay that way, Steve.”

“I know, I know,” he mumbles, “I was so insecure and a part of me thought that I was losing you and that hurt and I knew how much it would hurt if I actually lost you, if you left me for someone else – if you broke my heart.”

So he broke yours first.

“Do you remember the party at my place, back in august?”

“Yeah, I remember it.”

Steve clears his throat and you glance at him, a frown takes over his face. 

“After I saw you dance with Eddie last night, I remembered something.”

“What did you remember?” 

“We got into a fight at that party because of Billy. He was flirting with you.” 

Yeah, you remember that very well. You were dancing with your friends when Billy came up behind you, he grabbed your waist and before you could react, he pressed himself up against you. He whispered something in your ear and in that moment, Steve walked back into the room with a drink in his hand. He didn’t bother sticking around to see how you had pushed Billy away or how you slapped his cheek for touching you that way. 

You and Steve had gotten into a huge fight that night – one that left you both in tears. He was the one who slammed the door in your face when he pushed you out of his room after you got sick of arguing with each other. 

He stayed back in his room to calm down while you went downstairs and planned to go home when you bumped into Eddie. You didn’t realize that you had tears streaming down your face until he had asked you if you were okay. He pulled you into the kitchen, away from all the prying eyes. 

Eddie had given you a shoulder to lean on that night. He could have easily ignored you, you weren’t friends, not at that time, at least. But he didn’t, he was there for you. He helped you wipe your tears away, gave you something to drink and managed to cheer you up. 

“After we fought, I went downstairs to look for you, I wanted to apologize but then I saw you with him, with Eddie.”

You furrow your brows, “okay, and?”

“You were laughing with him like nothing ever happened, like we didn’t just get into a fight and I think that was the moment I figured that I wasn’t the one for you – ‘cause you were happy and smiling and I was fucking miserable and I couldn’t stand it so I drank until I passed out in the bathroom. I didn’t even remember that Eddie was the one you talked to when I woke up the next day, I just remembered seeing you with some guy.”

It would be a lie if you said that you aren’t shocked. You didn’t know how insecure he was. You always saw him as arrogant, confident and controlling. Not as insecure and scared. 

“And uh to get back to your question. Nancy, she’s just, I don’t know,” he trails off. 

Your heart begins to beat faster at the mention of her name. It takes you back to the night it all fell apart and to the day when he had confessed to you that he fell in love with her. You remember the pain, you remember all of it. 

“You promised me, you told me that you would love me forever.” 

“Did you really think that I meant that?”

“I didn’t, I-I’m not even sure if I ever loved you, y/n. I wouldn’t have fallen for her if I did love you, right?” 

You can already feel the tears coming, just the memory of it all hurts you. You are scared to hear him tell you why he fell in love with her. Why you weren’t enough for him.

Why is he so speechless? You wonder as you look at him. His brows are furrowed in concentration. 

Are there so many things that he loves about her that he doesn’t know where to start? 

While you prepare for another heartbreak, Steve tries to think of what made him believe that he could ever love someone else the way he loves you. He didn’t fall in love with her. He never fell out of love with you. You were always the one. It’s simple. 

But it’s not simple, because how can he explain any of this to you without sounding like a goddamn liar? 

How can he explain to you that he broke your heart because he was scared that you would break his first? 

How will he tell you that he only ever thought about you?

How can he look into your eyes and tell you that it made him feel sick to kiss her, to sleep with her and tell her that he loves her when all he ever wanted was you?

“Nancy, she just, she wanted me in the same way you did. My jealousy had gotten out of hand at that point and I was convinced that I was losing you so I uh, I convinced myself that I liked her too. That night at the Halloween party, I got drunk, blackout drunk. I thought it would be easier to break up with you that way.” 

His words will hurt you more than he will ever know. Just the thought of him planning to break up with you hurts so bad. While you were lying in bed thinking about him with nothing but love in your heart, he was thinking about leaving you.

And all of this because he was convinced that he was losing you? 

You never gave him a reason to think that. He had all your attention, your devotion, your love, your heart. He had it all. You gave him absolutely everything. You understand the insecurities and the jealousy and a part of you wants to believe his words but the other part can’t. 

He loves her. 

He changed for her not for you. 

And now that he has changed, he must feel guilty for the way he treated you, for the things he said to you, for the way he broke your heart. He wants to make things better, he wants to make it up to you, to take your pain away.

He said that he had to convince himself that he loved her, now he is doing the same with you. 

You are not angry at him, not anymore. 

You are just hurt and heartbroken. 

You love him and you always will. 

Suddenly, you feel numb when you realize that he is still with her. 

If he loves you then why is he still with her? 

It was easy for him to leave you.

“Y/n?” 

You hate this feeling. The numbness. You want it gone.

“Hey, y/n.” Steve says softly as he places his hand on your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

You blink and halt in your tracks, you were so wrapped up in your mind, you didn’t even notice that you were already in front of your house.You look at his hand before you look up at him. His hazel eyes are filled with worry. 

“Are you okay?”

No. Of course you are not okay. 

Your attention strays away from him when you hear the loud music from the house down the street. Jimmy Davidson is home for the holidays, his parents are gone this weekend, he already invited you to his ‘pre christmas party’. 

An idea crosses your mind, you will probably come to regret it but right now, you don’t care.

“Hey, do you remember Jimmy, you know that super intimidating looking guy who’s actually really nice?” 

Steve looks confused, his eyebrows are drawn together and he tilts his head at your question. 

“Uh yeah, he was on the football team– why are we talking about him again?”

You hold your hand up and point your finger into the direction of his house, “he’s throwing a party, do you wanna go?”

He looks taken aback and still confused. You want to go to a party with him?

“I need a drink,” you mumble, “or two.” 

Steve doesn’t know if that is a good idea and he doesn’t understand how you went from hating him to wanting a conversation with him to wanting to party with him but it’s not like he would say no to you. He will take any opportunity to spend time with you these days. 

He looks down at you. You are waiting for him to say something. You have that look in your eyes that he always loved so much, the one you gave him when you wanted something.

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

He wishes he could see the smile that you used to give him but instead he gets a nod before you turn around. He follows you, suddenly feeling the giddiness that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He is excited to spend time with you. 

Two nights ago, he got drunk at a bar, thinking that he lost you forever. Now you are walking down the street together, your hand brushes against his and he fights the urge to just grab it. 

While Steve feels hopeful, thinking that this could lead to a second chance. You feel sad because you know that this will be the last time. 

You keep telling yourself that you have let go of him but you haven’t fully let go. You don’t just miss him as your boyfriend, you also miss him as your friend.

The music in Jimmy’s house is loud, you are surprised that the cops haven’t been called yet. The smell of liquor is strong. The hallway is crowded with groups of teenagers, you take a peek into the living room, it’s even more crowded. Jimmy kept his popularity going, even after leaving Hawkins for college. 

You and Steve take your jackets off, he takes yours from your hand and hangs it up on the rack. You pull at your sleeves and step closer to him without realizing it. 

“Yo, y/n!” 

You turn your head to see Jimmy walking towards you and Steve, a red solo cup is in his hand. You can’t help but laugh when you see the ugly Christmas sweater and the Santa hat that he is wearing. He really stuck to the theme. 

His eyes flash with surprise when he sees Steve. 

“Harrington! Long time no see, man! How’s it going?” He asks and greets him with a handshake. 

Steve smiles, “hey man.”

“I didn’t know you were still together,” he says as he points between the two of you. 

“Oh, we aren’t–”

“Jimmy! Let’s go, man!” Some guy yells, waving him over, “I’m losing here!” He throws his hands up as he holds the ping pong in his hand. 

“I’m coming!” Jimmy yells back causing you to cringe at the volume of his voice. He turns back to you, “get yourself some drinks, guys. We’ll catch up later!” He says to Steve before he looks at you and winks, “don’t have too much fun, lovebirds.”

Steve scratches the back of his neck while you roll your eyes. 

You look at each other awkwardly at first but when another guy with a similar Christmas sweater as Jimmy walks past you, you can’t help but laugh as you share a glance. 

You make your way into the kitchen. Steve follows close behind. You both notice the few curious glances that get thrown your way. You don’t recognize many people but there are definitely a few from Hawkins High around. You just hope that Heather and Chrissy aren’t here tonight. 

Steve places his hand on the small of your back when you both walk into the kitchen. Your eyes land on the bottle on the counter, you instantly reach for the tequila bottle but before you can even think about pouring it into one of the small solo cups, Steve grabs your hand, stopping you. 

Furrowing your brows, you look up at him. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, “we can just, I don’t know, we can just forget everything for tonight.”

Steve is surprised to hear these words coming from your mouth. 

“We can just have fun, just like old times, when we were friends.”

He can hear the shakiness in your voice, he can see the vulnerability in your eyes that you have been hiding all this time. You were pretending to be okay after the breakup, you gave him the cold shoulder and acted like you moved on but you never did, he realized that after he tried to kiss you. 

You never moved on and you are not as strong as you pretend to be. You are breaking a little more, everyday. 

Just one last time. You think to yourself as you look into his eyes. 

He nods, “yeah, okay.” 

He reaches for the bottle in your hand, he grabs the cups and fills them with tequila. You both down the liquid in one go, cringing at the strong taste. Steve wipes his mouth, “god, that’s disgusting,” he mumbles. 

You nod in agreement but reach for the bottle nonetheless, ignoring his disapproving look when you fill the cups again. 

“You should take it slow–”

You shake your head, “no, I wanna get drunk.”

“Jesus,” he mumbles, knowing that you want to get rid of this awkwardness between the two of you by getting alcohol into your system. “Okay.” This isn’t a good idea, he knows it isn’t. This will only complicate things even more, yet he joins you and downs the second one as well. 

You look into his eyes, it’s something you have always avoided since the breakup but now you look at him, you truly look at him and you get lost in his eyes. You feel the ache in your chest, the one that will never fade away.

You will never know how much he regrets it, how guilty he feels when he sees the pain in your eyes, the love that is still there. How could he be so stupid? How could he ever think that you would hurt him?

If he could turn back time, this would have never happened. 

He could’ve pulled you into his arms right now, he would’ve kissed you and told you that he loves you. 

You look down and lick your lips, you place the cup on the counter. 

The house is filled with people, you hear different voices, laughter and loud music. You notice the stares and the curious glances. You feel someone brushing past you. Yet, it’s just you and him, right now. 

“Come on,” he says as he holds his hand out for you, “let’s dance, like old times, right?”

You stare at his hand for a long moment before you decide to take it. 

You don’t know how happy he is to feel your touch. 

He doesn’t know how painful it is to you. 

He leads you out of the kitchen, keeping a tight grip on your hand. He greets a few people from school, waving and smiling at some guys. You are just focused on his touch and the way it’s making you feel. 

The way it makes your heartbeat speed up and the way it makes it hurt so horribly at the same time. 

“Hey Steve, y/n!” 

You both turn around, a guy from the basketball team is waving at you, “wanna play beer pong?” 

Steve looks down at you and you shrug, “sure.” 

It seems as though this night is full of bad ideas. First, you ended up on his doorsteps after telling him to leave you alone, then, you asked him to go to a party with you and now you are about to get plastered with the guy you shouldn’t even look at anymore. 

But if there is anything that will kill this awkward tension between you two then it’s a game of beer pong and the two drunk jocks with the Santa hats. 

The dining room is filled with people, just like the rest of the house. It smells like weed and beer in here – you could use some weed right now. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks as he leans closer. The smell of his cologne drives you insane. 

He scans your face, he looks into your eyes and eyes the line between your eyebrows, he notes the tension, he wants to take it away so bad. A strand of hair falls in front of your face and before he can stop himself, he reaches out to tuck it behind your ear. You don’t move away, not this time. 

You feel so stupid, so weak and pathetic for savoring the touch of the man who hurt you so badly.

The tension, the bad thoughts and the worries leave your mind after winning the first round of beer pong. 

A few drinks in and all your sadness and the heartbreak is forgotten, temporarily. 

Both of you forget everything.

Tonight, it’s just the two of you. 

You both get drunker and drunker and more comfortable with each other with each round you win.

By the time you actually make it to the dance floor, you are both wasted. Stumbling and bumping into each other. Though you still keep the distance between you two. Your hands brush against each other and he ends up taking the risk and hooking his pinky around yours which you don’t seem to mind. 

Steve feels the urge to do more, to wrap his arms around you and hold you. His heart longs for you, all of him longs for you. He gets so lost in your eyes, in you. He doesn’t notice anything around him, he only sees you. 

You joke around like you used to, you hold onto each other like you used to, you smile and laugh and for the first time in a long time, you are both happy. 

And of course, Billy Hargrove is the one who sees you two together. He smirks when he sees the way Steve looks at you, when he notices his hand sliding down your body, stopping just on the small of your back to pull you closer and to his surprise, you don’t even seem to mind. You must be drunk or on drugs, Billy thinks. There is no way you would let him touch you that way otherwise. 

“Well, well, well.” 

Billy raises his brows and glances down at the redhead by his side.

“Looks like the queen and king are back together.” 

“Oh no, he is still with Nancy. They're sneaking around,” Tommy says as he leans against the wall next to him. 

“Well what do they say about cheaters?” Carol smirks as she looks at the way Steve leans closer to you to whisper something in your ear. 

“Once a cheater, always a cheater,” Tommy chuckles. 

Billy takes a sip of his beer and shakes his head, “I thought she’s smarter than that.”

Carol and Tommy laugh at his words, “what’d you expect? She was always in love with him.”

“Yeah, poor little thing always followed him around like some lost puppy,” Carol mocks, twirling her hair with her finger. “I wish Nancy was here so she could see this,” she smirks as she watches Steve lead you away. 

Steve plops down on the sofa and pulls you down with him. You lean your shoulder against his. Your head is spinning and your mouth feels dry. 

“I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” Steve says, he looks down at you. A fond expression takes over his face. Your hair is messy and your pupils are blown, you are breathing heavily, a small smile is pulling at your lips when you tilt your head to meet his eyes. 

“Me neither.”

Steve smiles at you. His hand brushes against yours, the feeling of your skin against his makes his heart flutter in his chest. When he goes to wrap his hand around yours, to intertwine his fingers with yours, you seem to snap out of your trance. You break eye contact and cough as you straighten up. 

Something about the way he looked at you made you sober up a little. 

“I-I’m gonna go drink some water,” you mutter and push yourself up, “do you want something?” 

He shakes his head.

He knows better than to follow you, he knows when you need space and right now, you need it, even if just for a moment. He watches you walk away, smiling when you look over your shoulder to glance at him. 

He leans back against the soft cushions and looks around the crowded room. Right now, he feels content. You were an unexpected surprise this evening and he can’t help but bask in the feeling of being with you again. 

Three nights ago, he thought he lost you forever but here you are, back with him. 

Though he can’t shake the feeling that something is off about this night, he chooses to ignore it, not wanting to ruin it sooner than necessary.

A few minutes pass and there is no sight of you, he runs his fingers through his messy hair. He leans his elbows on his knees and looks around. He stares at the doorway, waiting for you to come through but you don’t. 

He gets up and his stomach churns a little. He definitely drank way too much. 

He pushes past a group of drunken boys and steps into the crowded hallway. A couple is making out against the wall, a girl is crying to her friends, a group of jocks are sitting on the stairs, laughing loudly. 

He walks into the kitchen, the sight he is met with makes him freeze on the spot. You are standing with your back pressed against the kitchen island, a guy is towering over you. He is much taller than you, his shoulders are broad, it’s clear that he is working out. 

His first reaction is to tense up and clench his jaw in anger. The sight of him smirking down at you makes his blood boil. 

He sobers up quickly when he notices how tense you are, how your hands grip the counter tightly as you press yourself further against the counter to get away from him. You are uncomfortable and flinch away when he reaches out to touch your face.

All the jealousy fades away and anger takes over instead. He doesn’t hesitate to walk over and push the guy away from you. Your eyes are wide and filled with fear, you look at Steve and he instantly grabs your hand and pushes you behind him. 

“Stay away from my girl.” He spits without even thinking. 

The guy looks startled at first but he quickly relaxes and laughs. He looks Steve up and down before his attention goes back to you. 

“Shit, I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.”

Steve can feel how scared you are, you grip his hand tightly with your shaky one and it only makes his anger worse.

“Even if she didn’t, you had no right to touch her like that, you fucking asshole.”

Your heartbeat picks up, fear rushes through you. You always hated when he got into fights. 

The guy still looks at you, he eyes you up and down and it makes you shudder. It’s not the first time he’d done it. 

“Steve.” 

Steve is glaring at the guy in front of him, the urge to throw a punch is strong – a few months ago, he would’ve done it but protecting you and making sure that you feel comfortable is more important to him now. 

“Sorry man, won’t happen again” he says but there is clearly no meaning behind his words, he chuckles and gives you both a mocking smile before he turns around to leave.

Steve takes a step forward to follow him but you pull him back, “please don’t.” You hold his hand even tighter and step in front of him.You are sober now and so is he. The night is over, almost. His hazel eyes are darker than usual, he looks mad. “Can we just go, please? I wanna go home.”

Your words and the panicked look on your face take him back to the night at the Halloween party – the way you begged for him to go home with you not knowing that moments later, he would break your heart. 

You wear that same look on your face you did that night. 

His eyes soften and his shoulders slump. He is not ready for this night to end but he nods. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He keeps on holding your hand and you don’t fight him. Your hand is still shaky. You are nervous and scared. 

He only lets your hand go to help you put on your coat. You open the door and step out with your hands tucked in your pockets. His face falls a little but he doesn’t say anything. He follows you out and puts his jacket on once he’s outside. He shuts the door and just like that, it’s all back to the way it was before. 

But he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want things to go back to the way they were before. He wants to keep you but he feels you slipping through his fingers just like you felt him slipping through your fingers, two months ago. 

The snow is falling quietly and as you get further away from the party, you can hear the music less and less, only the silence of the night and your footsteps are heard. 

“Are you okay?” 

“What?”

“Are you okay after what happened in there?” He asks, “h-he didn’t do worse did he?”

“Oh,” you whisper and shake your head, “no – I mean, yes I’m okay and no, he didn’t do worse. I’m kinda used to it, it’s not the first time he did this.” 

“Wait what?” He asks as the anger comes rushing back in. 

You shrug, a sour expression appears on your face, “I mean, I haven’t seen him since Heather’s party back in september–”

“Back in– what? Y/n, that’s when we were still together! Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you mumble, “you were always focused on those girls and picking fights about stuff that wasn’t real so..”

He feels a flash of irritation and anger but also guilt and sadness. He made you think that he didn’t care about your safety and your wellbeing. 

“Of course, I’d care.”

He hates the shift of energy between you two. He wants to go back to the party, he wants to live inside that bubble again, the one where you still like him. 

“I’m so sorry, y/n.” He whispers knowing that you might not want to hear his apology. “I failed you, I failed us.” He thinks about his mother’s words, how she told him to fight for you and he wants to so bad but he doesn’t know how. 

You stop in front of your house, the moment you have been dreading all night is finally here. 

“It’s okay, Steve,” you whisper, “I’m not angry at you anymore.”

You look at the way his expression changes. 

“You’re not?”

By the tone of his voice, you know that he thinks that this must be a good sign. 

You shake your head. The bile thickens in your throat and you already feel sick.

“No, I’m not.”

You are calm, your voice is soft and quiet and the look in your eyes makes him nervous. He stays silent for a moment. You stand beneath the night sky, the snow is falling and it reminds him of the night you have kissed for the first time, right here. 

“I-I understand it now.”

He doesn’t know why but he can feel the fear rushing through him, that pit growing in his stomach. 

“What do you understand?”

“Everything,” you whisper, “I wanted the truth and the other day you said that you weren't honest with me back then but you were. You really did leave me because you fell in love with her just like you had told me back then.”

He frowns at your words, he steps closer to you and he shakes his head. 

Your eyes well up with tears, your bottom lip begins to quiver. 

“And I-I think that you really love her because you wouldn’t have left me if you didn’t – no matter how scared you are, you don’t leave the person that you love for someone else, you don’t hurt the person you love. You would rather have your heart broken than break their heart,” you say as tears stream down your cheeks, “it was so easy for you to leave me but you can’t leave her, you are still with her because you can’t and you don't want to break her heart so that must mean something."

He shakes his head, “no,” he whispers.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you whisper, brokenly. You look down and the tears slip from your face and down into the snow, “you changed a-and I can tell that you are trying to do better and that you want to make it up to me b-but I don’t want it, I don’t want you to think that you owe me anything. I-I just want you to know that it’s okay. You don’t have to feel bad or guilty.”

He shakes his head again but he can’t form any words. His heart is racing in his chest, the fear is holding him tightly. His vision blurs, he can’t stand to see you cry. 

“I love you, Steve and I think that I always will but we have to let each other go.”

His eyes widen with panic and he finally snaps out of it, he cups your cheeks and pulls you closer, “I love you too, y/n! I love you. I will leave her, I will!”

You shake your head, you raise your hands and grab his wrists as you look into his eyes. 

You are both crying and it hurts so bad. It feels like your heart is being ripped apart.

“She is the one for you. You should be with her. I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.”

Steve wants to say that you make him happy, that you are the one for him, that you are the one he loves but his words are strangled in his throat. Tears roll down his cheeks and his chest aches. He can see the pain in your eyes and the way you are suffering because of him.

He shakes his head, he is shaking, he is on the verge of breaking down, of falling to his knees and begging for a second chance. He leans his forehead against yours. He whispers your name so brokenly it makes you cry even harder. 

“It’s okay, Steve,” you whisper and cup his cheeks, “I promise, it’s okay.”

He feels the warmth of your touch and the sound of your voice that makes his heart ache. He doesn’t want this to end, he doesn’t want to let you go, he doesn’t want to lose you. 

“You can let me go, it’s okay. You don’t have to feel bad anymore.” 

Steve feels like his chest is being ripped open, like his heart is getting torn out of his body. 

You wrap your arms around him and lay your head on his chest, wanting to feel the warmth of his body, one last time. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you even tighter against him. He holds onto you for dear life, he buries his face in your neck, he breathes in your sweet scent. 

Your broken heart is breaking more and more. 

You close your eyes and you let yourself feel him, one last time. 

You wish you wouldn’t have to do this. 

You wish you could live in a world where he loves you, where you wouldn’t have to say goodbye. 

You thought that it couldn’t get any worse after he dumped you and after he tried to kiss you but this is so much worse. 

This is goodbye.

You stand beneath the falling snow just this time, he won’t pull you in for a first kiss, he won’t make you smile, he won’t pull you back for one more kiss before you walk into your house but he pulls you in for another hug when you try to walk away from him and this time, he holds you even tighter. 

He wants to fight for you but how can he when you don’t want him to?

It hurts to hear him cry and it hurts to feel him hold you so tightly and it will hurt even more when you will see him with her again. 

As much as it hurts, as much as you don’t want it, as wrong as it feels – you step away from him and you look at him, one last time. You can’t stand the tears that run down his cheeks. His large sad eyes will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

You step away from him and it makes him cry even harder. 

You have to go. 

You need to go. 

“Goodbye, Steve.”

He looks crestfallen and broken and it takes everything in you to turn away from him. You clutch your chest and walk away. You can hear his sniffles and before your heart can convince you to turn back around, you unlock the door and step inside. You shut it and press your back against the door. Finally, you let the sob break free as you fall to the ground. You bury your face in your hands and you cry, once again. 

Now it’s truly over. 

It’s all over and you don't even know that you are the one who is still holding his heart.

That you will always be the one.

next chapter

-

tagging friends & mutuals

@mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @screammunson @hellfire--cult @taintedcigs @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @take-everything-you-can @sherrylyn628 @somethingvicked @nemesis729

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #stranger things angst

[sailorholly]

Between Us Pt. 2

Summary: You and Spencer had a casual relationship. A misunderstanding ruins it all.

Pairing: Spencer Reid × F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Friends with benefits. Angst.

See My Masterlist Here

Part One

Tonight was the night you were going to confess your feelings to Spencer. You couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore, it was too painful. You were worried you would lose him when you told him, but you thought there was a good chance he felt the same.

You spent all afternoon cooking his favorite foods, planning for a night of cuddling and love making after you got the confession out of the way. When you were finished getting dressed, Spencer knocked on your door.

You invited him in, taking your seats at the table. You ate in silence, your nerves making your stomach hurt. “I have to tell you-“ “We should talk.” You spoke over each other. You smile, giggling with excitement. Spencer wanted to talk too. This is going so well.

“You go first.” You prompt him, smiling wide at him. “These past six months have been so fun. But I think our time together should come to an end.” You try to swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself not to cry.

“I want to keep it professional at work. We can still be friends, we will just take the sex out of it.” He explains, studying your face. All you can do is nod as he rattles on about how the statistics of such a relationship show that the longer you did it, the harder it would be to end it.

You used to love hearing him spout a million facts about whatever topic he was talking about. But not tonight. “So what did you want to tell me?” He asks, serving himself more food. “Um, I was just going to tell you that book I ordered you came this morning. I thought you would be excited.” You rise from the table, retrieving the thick book from the counter and bringing it to Spencer.

“Thanks.” His smile breaks your heart. You can feel that your attempts to keep the tears at bay are failing. “Why don’t you take the food with you? I’m suddenly not feeling well.” You tell him, as you turn your back to get the lids for the bowls. You hand them to him, turning your back as the tears start to fall. “I’m going to lay down. Lock the door behind you.”

If he thought your sudden illness had anything to do with him, he didn’t act like it. Spencer was right about nothing changing. He was the exact same as he had always been with you, just without the sex.

Spencer was heartbroken. He didn’t want to end his sexual relationship with you. But he couldn’t put himself through the pain anymore. He spent all of his spare time with you. He couldn’t keep you off his mind. Things had changed a few months ago. He had bent the rules he set in place so he wouldn’t fall for you.

You had started spending the night and cuddling. Spencer had fallen fast and hard. But he couldn’t go through every day knowing you didn’t feel the same. So he had to end it, as painful as it was for him. It was no secret that you had been hooking up. But he didn’t want to talk about it with anyone.

Until two weeks after he called it off, he was so upset, he broke down and talked to Derek. He wanted to know all the details, but Spencer only told him the important information. “I have an easy fix for you, pretty boy.” Morgan smirked at him. Spencer leaned in, excited there was a solution.

“You know what they say, if you want to get over someone, get under someone else. You just have to sleep with someone and she will be the last thing you’re thinking of. Works for me every time.” Spencer cleared his throat. “Easy for you to say. I’m lucky she agreed to sleep with me. I’ll never find someone else so quickly, and I’m not sure I would want to.”

“I know someone who has been into you since she started here.” Derek boasts, nodding his head to the blonde at the coffee pot talking to Rossi. “Ashley?” Spencer squeaked, while Derek laughed.

Ashley Seaver was one coworker you could not get used to. She was impulsive, always throwing herself into trouble. You couldn’t stand her. Not only for how she acted on the field, but for how she looked at Spencer. She wanted him, and she didn’t care who knew it. She was all over him from the second she started working at the BAU.

She even knew that you and Spencer were hooking up, but she didn’t care. She used every opportunity to touch him or say something flirty, making eye contact with you the whole time she did it. Luckily, Spencer was oblivious. When you mentioned how she hung all over him, he said he didn’t even notice. He was too busy thinking about the case or the thing you did with your tongue the night before.

So you stopped being jealous. It wasn’t like you had any right to be. You and Spencer were just hooking up. If he wasn’t interested in her, then you would just let it go. The last time she tried anything had been a month ago. You were sick and she invited Spencer to go eat after work.

Spencer being the nice guy he is, accepted her offer. While they were out, he talked about you the whole time. She had told him to stop talking about you, that she was right there and she wanted whatever he was willing to give. He politely turned her down, but she was furious. She kept her distance from both of you since then.

That’s why you were confused when you heard her squealing and giggling, saying Spencer’s name as loudly as she could. You looked up from your mountainous stack of paperwork that you came in early to work on to see Spencer hugging her.

There was a vase of roses on her desk. “I can’t believe you got these for me! What a surprise! I knew you would come around!” She almost yelled, looking directly at you. Spencer took her hand in his, “I wanted to get you something before our date tonight, but I wasn’t sure I would have time to get them after work.” He explained shyly looking at her.

That little shit! Was he actually blushing? Was he seriously going on a date with Ashley tonight? And what is with the roses? He never once got you flowers. Did he call things off with you to date her? Seeing them together made you feel sick. Actually, the temperature felt like it rose a hundred degrees. You needed to get up now. You ran to the bathroom making it just in time to throw up.

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @loz-3 @megharat-barnes-reid @kats72 @mochie85 @cakesandtom @spenciesprincess @kimm4710 @tmilover1993 @nomajdetective @cynbx @comboboo @13430ona @wannabewolf @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @freegardenbanananeck

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #between us

[cryptidghostgirl]

Can I request a part 3 to "unrequited"?

A/N I honestly was not planning another part to this story. I'm just gonna... leave this here. (Pls don't hate me guys. This is so genuinely the only path I could think of for this story that I liked.)

Unrequited pt. 3 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Um. Alastor is dark/yandere in this part. Uh. Unhealthy relationship. Yeah.

Word Count: 2,094

Previous Parts:

Unrequited (Alastor x Reader)

Unrequited Pt. 2

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor had cornered her in the hall. The years, the games, the challenges, none of it was fun anymore. It all came to an end tonight. There was no other option, not when she could die tomorrow. The angels were coming, and they were coming for the hotel.

"I don't want you here tomorrow."

"What!?" Y/n exclaimed in utter shock.

She hadn't known what to expect when Alastor had stopped her as she made her way downstairs to the bar. Everyone was supposed to be having a drink together, celebrating their afterlives that there was a chance they might loose. She didn't know what to expect but, she certainly hadn't expected this.

Alastor had been acting weird lately. He was always weird but ever since the day with Husk in the hallway, he'd been weird even by those standards. He was always finding something for Y/n to do that put her near him, always watching. It was irritating. They had been fighting a lot and Alastor still had yet to apologize to Husk.

"I don't want you at the hotel tomorrow. You are not coming near this fight."

"What the fuck, Alastor?" Y/n nearly stamped her foot on the floor, she crossed her arms and glared at the demon, "I... these are my friends. This is my home. I will do what I can to protect it."

"No, you wont. You wont be here." he paused, "I will use our little deal to make sure of that, if need be."

Y/n scoffed. Her anger was a fiery, radiant thing. Alastor found himself thinking she had always reminded him quite a bit of a lioness when she got like this. The thought had been an accident, he couldn't afford to be distracted. Not when these were the stakes. Alastor pushed it away.

"You fucking... literally why? Like, what? I... sorry, just taking me a bit to process this: the demon who tricked me into selling my soul to them is now going to use that contract to take me, a valuable asset, out of a war which we cannot afford to loose?"

"Yes." Alastor nodded.

"Because?" Y/n prompted in irritation after a moment.

Alastor sighed.

"Y/n, think about what could happen if you are here."

"The same thing that could happen to any one here!" Y/n threw her arms up in exasperation, gesticulating her frustration as she spoke, "The same thing you're forcing on Husk and Nifty, have you had this chat with either of them?"

Alastor didn't respond. It was all the answer she needed.

"Yeah, I didn't fucking think so!" she scoffed, "So it's okay for everyone to risk their lives -- it's okay for you to risk your life even, but not me? Its okay for you to force my friends to risk their lives, but you're going to force me to stay out of it? Listen to yourself, you sound ridiculous."

"We don't need your help. You're slow, you will only hold us back."

The comment he had hope would dampen Y/n's spirit, bend her will into submission, only added to her fire.

"I'm... that's bullshit and we both know it. I might be small, but so is Nifty. Everyone has skills they can offer. I know how to fight, how to survive, and we will have angelic weapons for Christ's sake. Like, I really don't understand what the issue your having is here."

"Y/n, just... no." Alastor shook his head, a hand to his temples, "No. You will not be here tomorrow. I forbid it. I'm sending you to stay with Rosie."

"What am I, your kid?" Y/n sneered.

Alastor looked over at her, his hand falling from his forehead.

"Just please, Y/n." he took a step forward, pulling her hands into his. Alastor took a deep breath. "For me."

Y/n's eyes went wide. Alastor could see the conflict, the swirling emotions. Anger turned to grief, mixed with gratitude, and became anger again. A never ending cycle.

His heart pounded against his chest, it fought him valiantly for release. It had been so long. So long since she'd looked at him with anything other than disgust, so long since she had let him touch her like this.

Y/n settled on confusion as her dominant emotion and pulled her hands from his grasp. Alastor mourned the contact, his hands still held up in the air where hers had met them as Y/n took a step away.

"Why."

It wasn't a question. Y/n commanded information and at the end of the day, he may own her soul but she owned his heart. Alastor felt like in some way, she always had. He couldn't bear the thought of loosing her but, he didn't know if he could handle the rejection either. There was no way, no chance, she would believe him if he told her too much of the truth but, lying wouldn't work either. It would have to be a careful balance, a calculated withholding of information. Too much was riding on tomorrow, on tonight, on this very moment.

"Because I don't want you to die."

Y/n's brow furrowed even further, their eyes growing wider still as she stumbled another step back. Her back was nearly against the wall now, there wasn't anywhere else she could go.

Her eyes flitted around the space fervently. Her lips formed words that never left her mouth. Alastor watched, stress eating him alive. At last, Y/n did something. She brought her hands to her head and sunk to the floor, her knees pulled into her chest.

"What are you doing to me." she muttered softly, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

For what felt like the thousandth time, Alastor felt a little piece of his heart fracture off. He didn't know how much more he could take of this before there was nothing left to break, nothing left to loose. She looked up at him, her hands still holding either side of her head and her eyes wet with tears.

"Why do you care?"

Alastor's breath caught in his throat. There was an insistence in her voice, a pleading. He stood in indecision for a moment, frozen by want, by need, by fear. His body took over as he took a step towards Y/n. Alastor kneeled down in front of her.

With great care, with a familiarity and gentleness Y/n hadn't felt from him in years, Alastor untangled her fingers from her hair. He held her hands in his once again and this time, he wasn't going to let go.

"Because I care about you."

Shock at his own bravery emanated from his chest. Alastor held his breath.

"You..." Y/n's eyes hardened, "I wish you'd stop messing with my head like this. Its not funny."

"Y/n, I'm not messing. I am not playing a game, I'm not..." Alastor sighed, letting go of one of Y/n's hands and running his hand through his hair as he looked to the side.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to face her, grabbing her free hand once again.

"I don't know what I can do to prove it to you, that I'm not. But I will keep you safe. No matter what, you will not be here tomorrow."

"Please, Alastor."

His heart stopped. He couldn't recall the last time she'd asked him for anything that wasn't to leave her, Husk, and Nifty, alone. He couldn't recall the last time she'd seemed to fragile in his arms.

"Please, they're... they're my family. I can't..." a single tear rolled down Y/n's cheek, "I can't just leave them."

"I..."

There was a moment, a split second where he almost agreed. Alastor's eyes narrowed. He dropped Y/n's hands and got back to his feet. She adjusted her position in response, nearly kneeling before him.

"Please, Alastor. Let me help them. Let me do what I can to protect my family. Please. I'll do anything you want... I'll..."

It almost worked. Alastor felt his purpose waver again. Then the fear came back. He had already lost so much. His mother, his humanity, his own soul and free will. Alastor refused to add Y/n to the list of things that were so far out of his reach. He just couldn't. He didn't care if she hated him for the rest of eternity, as long as it meant she was safe at his side.

"No." he shook his head, his heart hardening, "You forget, you already have to do whatever I want. You forget, I own you."

Y/n's scream of anger as the shadows took her was muffled as she was sucked into their portal. Alastor stood, watching the spot she had been in for a few moments and then, he doubled over in pain. It shot through him in spikes, in daggers. It was the first time he had told her that. Not once before had Alastor ever said those three words to Y/n, not even when they had first made their deal. I own you.

The guilt, the regret, all of it underpinned by the overwhelming love. It had been trapped for so long, so sheltered and pushed back in the recesses of his mind that it had twisted. The love had become obsessive, dangerous, hungry.

With a breath, Alastor stood straight once again. Pushing his composure back to the surface, he smoothed his hair and went down to the bar to inform everyone of his decision. He may have forced Y/n to do something she didn't want to, fracturing things further than he'd believed possible, but he wasn't going to blame her for it. Alastor was used to being the villain and hopefully, in this case, he wouldn't have to be. Hopefully, they would understand.

Y/n gasped for breath as she was let out of the shadow portal. Panting on all fours, slowly she brought herself back together. Y/n had met Rosie before, once or twice. She knew she was a kind soul at heart, a reasonable person, and she knew that Rosie's cannibals were the main force of their army tomorrow. All she had to do was convince the overlord to let her join them, and it would be okay.

Taking a deep breath to restore her confidence, Y/n looked up. Her heart dropped.

"No."

She got to her feet, looking carefully around the decrepit old radio tower.

"No. Nonono."

Her breaths becoming panicked, she ran to the door. It was locked. Taking a step back, she kicked it harshly. The firm wood didn't budge.

Driven by adrenaline alone, Y/n ran to the windows and began to hit them with all her might. None of them so much as trembled.

"No!"

She looked wildly around the space and, spotting Alastor's chair, picked it up. Y/n hurled it at the window. There was a crash and for a split second, there was hope. That was until she realized it was the chair that had broken, not the window.

"No! No!"

Turning back to the door, she hurled her body repeatedly against it. Each time, she got the biggest running start she could. Each time, there was no change at all, nothing happened. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes, she was long past panicked now.

"NO!"

After about twenty minutes, Y/n was out of breath and exhausted. Her whole body hurt and her face was sticky with tears. She sat at the door, her back pressed against it and her knees pulled into her chest. Burying her face in her legs, she sobbed.

Everyone was at the hotel, except for her. Everyone was preparing to fight for and protect what they loved, except for her. What would they think? What would they say? Much more importantly, would they make it out?

A sudden fear gripped her, a fist around her heart. Would she ever see any of them again? Y/n's sobs redoubled.

"Fucking..."

She sniffed, her panic and grief quickly fixing itself back in the shape of the familiar anger. She could see him in her minds eye, that moment his eyes had softened, that moment she thought that maybe he had been telling the truth all along, that they really had been friends, that he really did care.

"I hate you Alastor!" she screamed to herself, alone in the dark, "I hate you and I will continue to hate you until the day I fucking die again!"

----

A/N I love an irredeemable villain and doomed, misshapen love. I'm sorry to anyone who wanted this to end up happy.

#x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #x reader fics #fic writer #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #dark!fic #dark!Alastor #yandere alastor #alastor x reader #alastor fanfiction #fanfic #the radio demon #radio demon #radio demon x you #radio demon x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin #hazbin hotel fanfiction #radio demon hazbin hotel #yandere hazbin hotel #dark hazbin hotel #dark alastor #yandere x reader #yandere #x reader fanfiction #x reader fanfic

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 5

summary ;; What could Jake do? How was he supposed to fight when he had no concrete opponent? PART 4 | PART 6 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; jake is so depressing here. i also took liberty with his character and the reasonings for his decisions in atwow, sorry in case if thats not how you see him LMAO happy reading 💞 please excuse my mistakes if you see any! ‼ I DONT TAKE TAG REQUESTS ANYMORE ‼

“One chance, Jakesuli. You will only have one chance. Use it well. Our Great Mother favors you, that we know. But this favor hasn’t been granted to you. It has been granted to my granddaughter.”

“I won’t fail.” Not again. 

“What does failing mean, I wonder. Would you fail if you take her soul back from her happiest? Or would you fail if you let her have the peace our Great Mother has laid her into?” 

“I will get my daughter back. This isn’t her time. If Eywa has given me this chance, then she thinks the same as me.”

“You will take that honor from her, then?” Mo’at was being cryptic, but Jake saw through the exterior of the neutral Tsahik into an exhausted, mourning grandmother. “She was the daughter of Toruk Makto, and he was her last shadow.”

It came back to Jake in a gut-churning realization, it was his shadow that had fallen over you from the light of the torches on the walls as you’d given your last breath. It was his shadow. “No,” he refused, adamantly. “She will get to achieve greater honors of her own than that. I won’t be the one defining her ending.” The last bead of your songcord having his name, Toruk Makto’s name, was supremely wrong to him. He would not accept this fate for you. 

“Very well, then.” Secretly, she was pleased with him. With his answer. “Get going. As I said. One chance.”  

Jake would never be able to get used to the magnificence that was Vitraya Ramunong, or, the Tree of Souls. To him, Pandora itself was a marvel already too good to be true that he’d fallen in love with, and abandoned his own race for, there was no getting used to the beauty for a human like him who’d only found it once in neon lights, ever. He could reach the end of his natural lifespan in this body and still there would be much left to discover. That’s why Jake was more vulnerable to one of the beating hearts of Eywa in the shape of a giant, glowing willow tree. 

No Na’vi was immune to the soul-purifying, all-consuming, yet being-dwarfing peace enveloping one’s very spirit, in a cradling hug as if they were nothing but a newborn in their mother’s arms. In here, only one fact mattered: they were childrens of Eywa, all of them dear, all of them seen, all of them safe and sound, including him, once alien to Eywa the way Earth was related to Pandora. Everything spoke to him here in a language he didn’t understand, but could respond to, again, in a language he didn’t understand, his soul doing the communicating. 

Jake was also a child here, Eywa’s chosen child. 

And he had come to her door for the most difficult request of his life, feeling like he was asking his mother for money right after he had crashed their car, unable to look her in the eye and expecting the biggest of scoldings for his shamelessness. 

This was nothing like asking for her assistance against the sky people, back then, he had agency, power, the clans backing him up, Toruk. If Eywa didn’t hear him, he would fight until the last drop of blood in his body was spent anyway, he was ready.

Now, he had nothing. 

Nothing to offer in return, not one concrete reason as to why he should have his daughter back other than being a desperate father with nowhere to return to other than the mercy of the Great Mother. He just wanted his child. Nothing mattered. 

Not how and why Quaritch had spawned right under his nose with an avatar body, not how they could even slither in without detection, not the threat of what the sky people could bring upon their heads with that — nothing, not now. Nothing mattered until he saw this through. 

Jake had found the will to quite literally tear himself from your side like nail from flesh only when you’d stabilized enough. Stabilized, as in, the faintest rise and fall of your ribcage Neteyam had to stare from where he was sitting like a sentinel for a full minute to spot, a tideless, still ocean only moving with whiffs of wind, his own breathing unnoticeable — to match yours, or to silence the sounds in his own body to hear better, Jake didn’t know. 

No sky person was allowed to take over from Mo’at and Kiri. Norm had told Jake none of this made sense, if the bullet had nicked the bowels enough and the dirt leaked into the bloodstream, the possibility of sepsis was eventual, and if it didn’t, you had bled too much anyway, a blood transfusion was necessary, and the internal organs... — Christ, the amount of bad end scenarios Jake had been subjected to was as if they were telling him to open a grave for you anyway. Tsahik had scoffed into their faces. The way of healing was something none of them would see, she had scoffed. Now ally, or not. You can’t fill a cup that’s already full. Jake was in a hopeless need for water into wine kind of miracle, and honestly, he wasn’t complaining. 

Leaving High Camp behind to set off on a journey calling for only him was one of the hardest things he’d done yet, the silhouette of you lying motionless, his family scattered around the tent, shadowed in their own mourning, folded into themselves was burned into his mind, glimpses of their pain visible from eclipses of light occasionally falling on their faces. A sight he never wanted to see again in his life if he could help it. It was a frosted, iron-thorned hand squishing his heart into ground meat. 

Tuk, ever the stingy monopolizer, had brought her favorite toys to scatter around you because she thought they’d comfort you the way they comforted her, had tried snuggling with your unconscious body and was warned by Kiri only to hold your hand instead. She had taken to playing with your fingers, the depressive gloom of years beyond her age crooked on her. Jake couldn’t stand the sight of the little girl telling you bedtime stories he and Neytiri used to, for a moment only, he could pretend you were just going along with your sister’s whims and smiling with your eyes closed as you listened. 

Kiri, buzzing around to change the bandage-leaves that soaked up some sort of sickly black colored puss every couple hours, had explained to him the salve they used on you was getting the infection and the splinters of the bullet they couldn’t get out of your body, which had turned the color of your blood into that — but the thing was, given the dwelling of the woodsprite in your mouth, they couldn’t feed you the porridge-like mix to speed up the process of blood production in the bone marrow, and she was exerting herself looking for some other way. 

Before he’d left the tent for good, she had handed him the bullet— or, the biggest piece of it they’d taken out of your body, it was a mere pursed and shriveled, tiny metal. The exhausted girl had stammered when explaining that whatever they’d hit you with, had broken into shards inside you upon impact, creating severe lacerations and lethal hemorrhage that they’d worked tirelessly to pick out.

Jake had stared hollowly at it for the longest time. This small thing. It was such a small thing that took you from him. 

The sentence that sent you away was also as small, and damning as this bullet. ‘Go.’   

Kiri had seen it sink in his face, closing her five-fingered hand on his palm, on the bullet. “You should get going, dad,” she’d said. “We’re okay here.”

Jake had taken one last look. At Neytiri wiping your body to clean all the congealed blood. At Tuk holding your hand. At Kiri trying to fill in shoes bigger than her feet. At you lying down with trinkets surrounding you like funeral flowers. And forced his body to keep moving when all he wanted to do was stay. 

He’d then heard Lo’ak complaining to his older brother outside the tent, “How can he be so cold?” The heaviness was getting to the boy, agitated and misapprehending. But he was always this way, if something was out of his control, the inability to act to change it manifested as frustration, blind anger. “Why is he so… unresponsive? Emotionless?”

Jake would have let it slide had it been about something else, but his children running their mouths not knowing he was a hair's breadth away from going clinically insane had gotten to him. He was burning alive. 

“You think I don’t care, boy?” He emerged from the tent like some last boss, initially not caring he’d scared the brothers. “You think I don’t feel at all? My own child dying in the same arms I used to hold her as a baby — you think that doesn’t faze me?”

Neteyam, the mediator, or rather, the blame-taker, ran to his little brother’s rescue, the latter too flabbergasted to form any words yet. “Dad, he doesn’t mean—”

“I know exactly what he means.” When the anger subsided, Jake sighed with the weariness of an ancient man. The flames had died before they could climb, he was too exhausted for it. Honesty and trust, as Neytiri had said. 

Having lost everything, having nothing to lose, and having a lot to lose were somehow simultaneously the same thing to Jake in the predicament he’d found himself in. “I know how you see me. You only know me as the person I want to show you.” 

Lo’ak’s go-to answer was presented to Jake on a silver platter. “Sorry, sir.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear at all. Jake wasn’t trying to get Lo’ak to bow his head. “Don’t apologize—” He cut himself short, licking his chapped lips, and after rubbing his face, he’d put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Lo’ak. Son. I feel this, alright? Of course I do. I’m your father.” He shook him gently, feeling the words weren’t reaching him, who was just staring at something on the ground off to the side. “There’s no greater pain a parent can go through in life than losing his child. You can’t understand what this means right now—what it’s doing to me. You will only know when you become a father yourself.” He gently tapped Lo’ak on the chin so he would raise his head and look at him in the eye already. And when he did, Jake said what he said slowly, hoarsely. “But know this. Know I will lose myself if I lose you, or any of your siblings.” He turned to Neteyam as well, who was watching in full alert mode. “I’m fighting not to lose my sanity as we speak.”

Lo’ak swallowed, unsure and weirded out to hear something like this for the first time in his life. Jake didn’t blame him. He was never emotionally upfront or honest before, not even used to it, more awkward with it than his boys were. But none of that mattered. Not anymore, after what happened to you because of his shortcomings. “You just look so composed—“

“I have to be.” Jake shook his head, eyelids hanging heavy, his whole head was heavy. “I just can’t crumble under it, do you understand? I have to be strong. I can’t lose myself in it. Your sister needs me. You need me. To be strong.” He took his hands off the boy’s shoulders, putting a palm on his cheek and patting a few, fatherly times before backing off altogether. “Never say that I don’t care. Never. I might not show it—and it’s a father’s duty not to show it, so my family will have a stable anchor. Get what I’m saying?” 

Lo’ak looked reassured, lighter. So that’s what Neytiri had meant. “How… how can I help?”

His youngest son’s inclination to get to the root of the problem and pump out solutions was in consanguineous with his inability to stop and wait, uncomfortable in his skin when he couldn’t do anything to improve the situation and was confronted with the intimacy of having to feel, always wanting to act. Lo’ak was like Jake in that way. Awkward when it came to communication. Dishonest with themselves.  

“Stay here.” Jake said, right from his heart. “Stay safe. I don’t wish for anything else in this world.”

Lo’ak’s eyes softened, and as the father, Jake felt the renewal of the bond between them, saw the understanding in his youngest son, saw something else than the guilt and regret over being caught after mischief, for once. “I’m sorry, dad.”

“Don’t apologize.” He shared a meaningful look with him, trying to convey, again, his apology wasn’t what he wanted. Yet, his sons were defaulted to saying sorry half the time they spoke to him nowadays. Jake was understanding the severity of it, too much too late. Lo’ak nodded, ears tipped down slightly.

Then he turned to the eldest. “Neteyam—”

But he opened his mouth before Jake could say anything else. Ready. Always on his feet. “Yes, I will—”

Jake clicked his tongue. “Rest.”

Neteyam was about to say yes to whatever he was told to do, as always, but stopped right in the middle of it, voice catching in his throat, eyes blinking in confusion. “What?”

“Rest.” 

“But—”

“Rest, Neteyam, I won’t tell you again.”

God knows he needed it. Neteyam looked like he’d been having night terrors for days, accumulated anxiety making him jumpy. “Sorry, sir.”

“Stop—“ Jake caught himself before he could raise his voice. “Why are you apologizing?”

Neteyam didn’t talk for a while. But when he did, he was looking up at him underneath his lashes, unable to keep eye contact for more than two seconds. “It’s my fault.”

“Bro,” Lo’ak said, a pitiful objection.

Jake knew where this was going. “What is?” 

“I should have been there.” He pressed his mouth into a thin line before furrowing his brow, closing his eyes. Jake knew what he was seeing, repeated over and over again in his mind. “I should have known right away when I couldn’t catch up to her. I could have prevented it. It’s my responsibility.” One tear slipped by as he hung his head. “My fault.”

There it is.

Jake had told him before. “You’re the older brother, you gotta act like it.” — even though you and him were more like affable twins than older brother and younger sister that he never had to explicitly be a guardian to you like he was to Lo’ak, he had to be thinking this was his biggest failure. Neteyam was just reflecting what he’d been taught, the standards his father was holding him up to. Of course the boy had been overthinking it to the point where he was the catalyst to the event by not predicting your fakeout. 

“No,” Jake rasped, after a beat. “This is on me first, and the sky people who got to her second. And that’s the end of the story.”

Neteyam, up until this point, had to bear half the blame, if not the rest of it, for the consequences of his siblings’ actions. Upon receiving this kind of answer, he startled with an incredulous gasp and full stare at Jake. “But I—”

“It’s not about you, Neteyam,” Jake explained, although the words were harsh, he had done his best to soften the impact. “I did this. Blame me, okay?”

‘How could I?’ was written in neon letters over the boy’s head even if he didn’t say anything. Too good-natured. He idolized Jake a lot more than the man deserved. “Mother was… she was… She is grieving, she doesn’t mean it.”

“You gotta stop making excuses for people, boy. Especially when they’re in the right.” A smile pulled on his lips, but died as it was born. “I pushed and pushed until we reached the edge, thinking there was never an edge at all. I should have known better. I should have been better. This is between me and your sister, and that’s why it is me who has to go to the Tree of Souls.” 

And he’d left, but not before pulling his boys into his chest, cradling the back of their heads against himself, the smell of home repulsing instead of comforting. Prickles on his skin was the comfort he got from being able to hug his children when you were absent. It didn’t feel right. 

He missed you dearly, an aching, gaping hole in his very being that only grew larger as he saw what you left behind half-completed or messy like you’d stood up and gone off for a minute to come back to it later — 

The unmade pallet from the night of your Iknimaya argument that Jake had shed tears on when he’d seen the state of it, having the signs of someone getting up from it like you would be returning to go back to sleep any second.

The unfinished bark plate you had set aside to eat later and fought Lo’ak not to touch it. a squabble Jake had to break before you started wasting food by throwing it at each other. 

The stack of fruits you’d gathered that you never shared except for Neytiri sometimes. 

The half-carved cup you were working on because the regular cups weren’t big enough for your water needs and you didn’t like to refill it about three times until you were satisfied. 

The incomplete anklet you were making out of rainbow beads for Tuk that was confidential to everyone but Jake, who knew from observing you, of course — you were missing a couple colors that you just couldn’t seem to find, nagging his head off to just let you roam around farther and there was no danger as the sky people couldn’t get in the vortex.  

The little animal doodles you scratched at your side of the tent when you couldn’t sleep at nights, waking Jake up in the process every single time to listen until your breathing evened out as sleep retook you in its arms again, because he was bodily programmed to startle awake at one single rustle in his living quarters from his Marine days and fell into old habits after the return of the sky people, he knew you had developed insomnia from being uncomfortable at High Camp, longing for your hammock cocooned in the safety and comfort of the forest.

And the dumb romance novels you had taken from the humans that you, Kiri and Tuk giggled about at girl’s nights reading out loud, Spider invited as an honorary guest at times, just so you could tease Kiri about him and annoy your brothers that they weren’t allowed in, but the human boy was. 

All of them had no owner now. Neither of your family members could look at them, your ghost would appear in precious memories beside your belongings if they looked too much. He didn't need to concentrate for a phantom of you to appear, you were everywhere he looked, and even now, as the gently pulsating lavender humming, a song from Eywa herself, right underneath the veinlike, labyrinthine roots was the cool summer rain on Jake’s sizzling skin, all he could see was your first communion with Eywa in his arms while Neytiri formed the tsaheylu, the clan spread all around them in celebration. 

“You’ve called, and I’ve answered,” he greeted in positivity. “I think this is the most direct you’ve been with me in a long while.”

He didn’t know if it was Eywa or you he was saying this to. He genuinely didn’t know. 

Kneeling, and putting his arms on the mossy, thick root, he looked up to see the woodsprites swaying and floating in the air. He reached for his braid, letting the squirming nerve-endings coil around the white-cored lavender thread closest to him, taking in the presence of Eywa, all around yet nowhere at all, but listening. No sign of you. Was he supposed to talk like this? Just like this? Was he not allowed to see you? 

Jake had to admit he had been harboring the tiniest expectation of meeting you somehow, or hearing your voice through the connection like he did with a Tree of Voices when Mo’at had cryptically informed him of his chance. But this was it? 

If he failed, this would be it. 

“I guess this isn’t all that different,” he said out loud, instead of thinking inwards where the confusion flew. “It’s been like this for a while now, you and I. You talk, I don’t hear you. I talk, you don’t hear me. We throw the same ball at each other only for it to bounce back. Monologuing to a tree is the same thing, except it doesn’t talk back like you do.” 

He looked up and around, there was nothing else to do. The air was the same as it always was in here. Always accommodating to what each Na’vi found comforting. “The last time I came here like this was to ask for Eywa’s help in the last stand against sky people. I told her I would fight either way, I knew that’s why she’d chosen me. All my life, all I’ve done was fight. Even when I wasn’t able to, I was fighting lesser battles with the excuse of not having anything to fight for. It’s all I’ve known. All I’ve ever done. It’s what I was best at.” His brow twitched, and Jake tried to keep his composure, not because he didn’t want anybody to see, no, it was to keep his shit together so he didn’t fuck this up. He had to be honest. His pride was the last thing he needed in his way at the moment. 

“You were born to a different man. To a changed man. To a father who could let go because he thought his family was safe. You got to meet the man I used to be when my reason for fighting came back from my star. I know you don’t like that person — you can’t — couldn’t get used to him. I know.” 

From the discomfort, his fingers dug into the moss first, and found the bark of the root, his fist curling on it next. “But I had to keep fighting.” He softly brought his fist back on the root. “The strong prey on the weak, that’s just how things are. That’s how I had it on my star. And my kids — you, you are weak, and it’s not an insult — it’s not me criticizing, Jesus, you are just children, and there’s a war on your damn heads. That’s what I mean. That’s what I’ve always meant. It’s natural that you are weak, Eywa was kind enough to let you be soft. Not Earth, though, never Earth.” 

Jake had to clench his teeth and bite the anger into the inside of his mouth to not be boiled alive — not to let it reach to your side. He let out a soundless snarl. “You would never be ready for the cruelty of Earth, I would never wish that upon any of you. But it was brought to you. Right at your doorstep. I couldn’t protect you from it by hugs and kisses. You wouldn’t be safe from a gun extended to you by extending a branch in return. No.” 

He reached and caressed the glowing thread, brows furrowed. “I did what I thought was right to prepare you. Every single one of you. I was making you tough. I had to. To protect you. And of course there would be clashing along the way, it’s what happens between parent and child. We fight. We fight like cats and dogs for dominance. You try me to show strength. I stand my ground to let you know you gotta do better.” 

He had fired those sentences with incoherent speed, and when he got to the end of it, Jake got choked up. Stopped for a moment, took a breath. Blinking several times, his tone became vulnerable, he didn’t have anyone in front of him, but he tore away his gaze anyway. “Somewhere along the way, things just… Without me noticing, everything…” He sighed through his nose, his voice nothing but a whisper. “I fought more battles than I fought for my family. I thought I was doing my job as a father when I didn’t even know shit about being a father.” 

A couple seconds floated by, and his gaze was stolen by a lone woodsprite descending down until it staggered on the fist he had against the root. The shine of it reflected from the mistiness of his eyes. His lower lip slightly trembled at the thought of it being you. This little woodsprite. You? 

“The thing is, I’m lost, sweetheart,” he admitted quietly, small, shaky, not taking his eyes off the woodsprite. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I sit here, I look back, and think why I keep fighting. We could have migrated. Looked for a new Hometree. Another forest. Left the humans alone. Or made peace. A treaty. Something. None of your lives had to be sullied by war. Yet I chose this. I chose to fight, as I ‘ve always done, because now I had something to fight for. And the fighting wasn’t limited to them, I fought Neteyam, I fought Lo’ak, I fought you, my own kids, and I didn’t even know.” 

He reached for it with his other hand, tentatively, scared that it would fly away with the slightest contact. But he was able to touch the top of the woodsprite ever so slightly, the little zap making all the hair on his body stand up. Jake swallowed thickly, his whole head on fire. “I don’t know what to do. I just miss you. I miss you so much, sweet girl. I wish you would scream at me. Say you hate me for all I care. Anything. Hate me until the day you die, but do it with all of your family surrounding you in old age, in peace. I would be content knowing you are under the same sky as me. But I’m forgetting your voice already, and I—” He held back a violent sob, hissed to not let it out, and groaned, getting angry at himself for the emotions. He shut his eyes tightly, willing away the tears. “I wish I could say these to your face. I wish I could see you one last time, smiling at me.”

Having everything to lose. Having lost everything. Having nothing to lose. Three different meanings had coiled around each other like snakes to become one singular outcome in linear relation of cause-and-effect through you. It wasn’t a cycle.

Having something to fight for. Having nothing left to fight for. Having nothing to fight for. You were everything. Everything. What could Jake do? How was he supposed to fight when he had no concrete opponent? 

“I see you.”

The voice — your voice, albeit much, much younger, almost made him jump. When his eyes shot open, Jake was in a different location. He knew this place. The creek away from the village he and his family often frequented. 

The twilight penumbra of the eclipse dimmed the shadows embracing the forest, but the ethereally glowing lights of all colors illuminated and got reflected from the water as if it was a mirror. Above and all around him were lazily dancing fireflies — or, rather, bioluminescent bugs he didn’t know the names of, tiny stars floating in the air like glitter. It was magical.

Jake realized with aching melancholy that this was the first time he’d taken you out on an eclipse to show you the beauty of the forest on a special father-daughter date. The exact memory.  

The breath that left him was shaky as he felt the presence sitting right beside him, in the corner of his vision, he saw the ripples on the shining water made by swinging legs. 

Jake froze for a second. Unmoving. Not looking at all — because if this was a dream, or a hallucination, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. His breathing got louder, more labored, the log underneath his hands was so realistically textured and damp. If he looked. If he looked, you would disappear. That’s how he felt. 

He was supposed to talk. But now, his ribcage was holding the words hostage, burning with the strain of the pile-up. 

“But I’m sad you don’t see me,” you said, and he was shaken by hearing your voice yet again, remembering the moment he found himself here, how he’d heard — ‘I see you’. “You don’t even want to look at me.”

So much hurt and vulnerability in that sentence that it left him breathless. 

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Him launched into his own turmoil racking his brain about how Quaritch was back as an avatar, ignoring to look at you to protect his composure and just trying to think, think — think, of a plan, of a how, of what to do. You calling after him once Neytiri, you and he arrived at High Camp after dodging Quaritch’s men. Him purposefully walking away because he needed to cool off and not to explode on you right there and there.  

That whole time, Jake hadn’t looked at you. If he did, he would have seen you needed help.

He shattered, all of his walls crumbling down, stripped down to bare despair. 

“Oh sweetheart.” Before he knew it, he had wrapped his arms around you in a crushing hug, basically snatching you off from where you were sitting and on his lap, and your warmth, your pulse, your tangible existence wrenched a shiver out of him — and he buried his face to the little crook of your neck, taking your scent in, hiding his trembling face and the quiver of his arms by holding you tight. You were here. As your younger self, no older than eight, but he had you. Not bloody and battered in his arms, but alive, so alive. “Oh sweet girl, my sweet girl… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He kissed the side of your head, felt the real tickle of your hair against his face, blessed with the soothe of his child’s smell. “I see you. Of course I see you. I’ve always seen you.” 

The snowflake-frail snivel followed by your sobbing sniffle broke his heart into pieces. “You’re a liar.” He shook his head, hugging you tighter. “You’re mean to me. You’re so mean to me.”

“I’m sorry.” That was all he could say. All he could do with his thrashing soul smoldering at the wetness of your tears on his shoulder. “I am mean. I’m sorry… You’re right, I’m sorry.” 

“It hurt so much.” You wailed. “It hurt a lot.” 

Jake began to caress your head with an awkward, clumsy, panicked hand, disturbed as to if you meant the moment of your death — at him pressing on the wound with all he had to stop the bleeding, or he and your strained relationship in general. “I know, sweetheart,” he said anyway, a stone clogging his throat. He didn’t try to explain, or tell you why, didn’t argue that it wasn’t what he meant to do. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He had you in his arms. “I know. I know.” 

You wouldn’t get to be younger than this. And maybe, he would never get to see you be older, either. The thought crumpled his face like some piece of paper. Jake just wanted to hold you. And when you wrapped your little arms around him too, freely crying in his arms, a couple tears escaped his eyes as well, he didn’t know what kind of face he was making, perhaps it was better that you didn’t see him crumble. 

In the middle of it somewhere, he realized that you were younger because it was your inner child that needed this, she was more honest — more open with Jake. It caused him to sway with you back and forth, ribcage hurting with each breath. And you let it all out, clinging to him. 

“I love you, always,” he whispered, watching the bioluminescent bugs, when you were calmer and had fallen silent on his chest, not wanting to let him go and just listening to his heartbeat. “Even if I don’t show it — especially when I don’t show it. You are loved, my sweet girl, more than you know. More than you’ll ever know. More than I can show.” He looked down at the top of your head, agonized. “But I want to try. I want to show you more, moving forward.”

Knowing what he was insinuating, “But it’s nice here,” you said, voice thick and coarse from crying. You still didn’t pull back to look at him. Both of you, from the start of this, never looked at one another. Not once. Embarrassed and shameful to be honest, Jake thought. That pride you two shared. “You’re not mean to me here.”

But he needed to see you. You needed to be seen. So, as gently as he could, he unwrapped your arms around him, and took your baby cheeks in his hands, and looked you in the eyes. Another tear slipped from him. “You been listenin’ to me, right sweetheart? From the start?” You nodded adorably. You wouldn’t have said oel ngati kameie and accepted to let him see you if you hadn’t felt his true intentions and heart through him pouring it all out at the Tree of Souls. “I’m hiding a lot of things. But I want to be open with you. You wanna know the secret why I’m… mean?” You nodded again, more reluctant this time. “It’s because I’m scared.”

You gasped, genuinely lost and shocked, and he tried not to smile at the purity, the innocence. “You? You’re scared?”

“All the damn time,” he whispered, landing a kiss on your temple, his opposite thumb tracing a loving line on your other temple. “Every day. Every night.”

“But you’re Toruk Makto. You’re never scared.”

“I’m also a dad,” he said sorrowfully, as if he was giving out a secret. “And it’s precisely why I’m scared. I’m scared for you. For your siblings. Of losing you. It turns into anger. Anger turns into irreparable damage. Things I can’t take back.”

In the blink of an eye, you were back to your real age. For some reason he couldn’t quite grasp, you had shed the exterior of your childhood. But he didn’t mind, didn’t let you off his lap. 

“Don’t be scared, I’m here,” you said, putting your own small palm on his cheek, upset by the fact that he was feeling like that in the first place rather than whatever explanation he had. Your response was also childish, but he leaned into your touch anyway, comforted regardless, even if you were already gone — for this moment, he could ignore that no, you weren’t here at all. “If you told us, we would have been more careful not to make you sad.” 

Ah, he was being lectured on communication by his kid. It had a certain flavor of humbleness to it. Jake adored it nonetheless. “I know,” he said, “I’m sorry. I won’t be mean anymore.”

“That’s a lie.”

Jake couldn’t stop the laugh, though it was tottering. “Yeah, it is. But I promise you that I’ll never hurt you again.”

“That’s a lie too. Wasn’t it you who said not to make promises you can’t keep?”

“Alright, smartypants, let me rephrase it then,” the little glimpses of your brash self made him happy. “I will never intentionally hurt you, and if I end up doing so, unknowingly, I will always make it up to you. No exceptions.” 

You were acting uninterested, but stole intrigued glances at him. “How are you gonna make it up to me?”

“I’ll let you choose, how does that sound?” Jake tapped your nose. “In return, if I don’t know and haven’t taken the first step, you’ll have to tell me outright what I did.”

You deadpanned. “But I always do.”

“No, you don’t.” He raised one of his eyebrows. “You become passive-aggressive when you’re annoyed and pick fights with me.”

“That’s not—”

“Sweetheart.” 

“Okay, fine.” You huffed. The normalcy had made him forget just what he was doing here. “But you get angry.”

“What I get angry at is—” He cut himself off with a tongue click. “Not important. I do get angry. But at sincere honesty, us just talking it out, I could never get angry at that. Is the difference clear?”

“I think it is.” You were apprehensive about something, your fingers on his neck flexing as if you wanted to pull them back and break the hug. “But you have to promise.”

“I promise.” And then, Jake remembered, a new fire hardening his face, not in anger, but determination. “And speaking of which. I would never. Ever. Not in a million years would get angry or blame you for getting hurt to that degree — for others, humans, avatars, whoever and whatever the hell they are, hurting you, I could never get mad at you for it. Do you understand me? Your safety is the most important to me. I could never hate you for it.” His voice dropped down to a softer, gentler tone just above a whisper. “There is nothing in this world that’ll make me hate you. Nothing. I will love you through the most heinous crimes and in inexcusable deeds, you will find forgiveness in me even if there’s nobody left, that’s a father’s heart. Forever and always, I am with you.” He touched his forehead, and then yours. “I see you.”

You avoided eye contact. 

Ah, yes, the famous emotional awkwardness. He was sort of aware his feelings had reached you, you just didn’t know what to say. Jake hadn’t been like this with you for the longest time. So, he decided to make you more comfortable. “Yes I will get mad at you for breaking curfew, and yes, we might stop talking for a while and beef about the dumbest things if the fight is too intense — but always, always come to me when something is wrong. I will drop everything without hesitation.” He leaned in a bit to catch your wayward stare. “Got it?”

You murmured. “Okay.”

“Are we clear?”

You murmured once more. “Yeah.”

“Repeat it, then.”

There was something between cringing and unwillingness on your face, but at his pointed look, you sighed, giving in. “Always come to you if something’s wrong even if we’re fighting.”

“That’s right,” he affirmed, encouraging to let you know this wasn’t embarrassing. “What else?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Dad will always love you.” He nudged you, noting the flick of your ears in happiness when he’d said it. “Come on, say it.”

You didn’t look at him when you said it, but your voice was light. “Dad will always love me…”

“Dad will never hate you.”

Sheepishness took over, making Jake smile. “Dad will never hate me.”

“And. Come talk to me about it if I’ve ever hurt you without noticing so I can make it up to you.”

“Always go to you if I’m hurt and you’re unaware of it.”

“That’s right,” in this form as well, he gave your temple another kiss, heart soaring at your beautiful smile he had been dying to see. “Good girl.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power.” 

“Nothing my mighty hunter can’t handle.” 

The smile on your face died down. It came to Jake right away what had gone wrong. “Sweetheart—” “I didn’t mean that. You know—” But you didn’t know. Jake had to stop trying to make it easier on himself. “I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you. About everything. About the ikran, I’m so goddamn proud. I said it, and I can’t take that back, I was angry and I was trying reverse psychology — you know what, it doesn’t matter. But you are my mighty hunter. Will always be.”

You got confident a bit, but were still testing the waters. “Well I proved I am.”

“Yes, you did,” he rejoiced, no rejection or doubt whatsoever. “Message received, Lima Charlie.”

You giggled freely, joyfully at the recognition, and Jake ached again remembering how much he’d missed that carefree, precious thing, he swore pixie dust was in it. You slipped from his lap to sit crossed-legged beside him, and he instantly missed being able to hold you close. “Wish you were there to see me.”

“Me too, sweet girl.” Your Iknimaya was a disaster. A long-passed, sacred tradition broken wasn’t as important to him as it was to Neytiri — but he knew she longed to see you complete it, by your side, as eagerly as he did. And you had been alone in your pride, when he knew from a very young age, you had been the most excited for it. Everything had been ruined and there was nothing he could do to undo it. “Will you tell me about it?”

The phantom of pensiveness on his face hadn’t quite registered with you yet, getting excited to tell him all about it like nothing had happened the moment you knew Jake wanted to know. As if you weren’t dead. As if nothing was wrong. “Well first of all, I broke Neteyam’s record.”

A mournful smile tugged on his lips. “Did you now?”

“Hell yeah!” You started gesturing with your arms. “It took, like, two minutes? One minute? Too easy.”

“You know easy means the ikran didn’t give you much of a fight, right?”

“Or, or.” One finger was raised up at him to raise another option. “I was too skilled.” 

“The ikran might have been meh about you.” Jake teased. “You sure it chose you? Or did you just chase it down and it was stuck with you?”

“That’s so wrong!” He threw his head back to laugh at your outburst. “He was watching me get there the whole time! Like, from the start. His eye was on me, I just know it. You’re just jealous you didn’t get Bob like I got Jack. I was badass.”

That made him pause. “Jack?”

“Yeah, his name’s Jack.”

He couldn’t imagine Neytiri’s reaction to the blandest name imaginable, oh god. “Why?”

“Named him after you.” You tipped your head at him, raising your brows. “It’s healing, you know. He listens to me without questioning. He’s also very sweet. Unlike a certain someone.” 

“Oh you little shit—” 

“I didn’t say anything.” Raising your hands in defense first, you crossed your arms on your chest next. “Certain someone can mean anyone. It can mean Lo’jack—”

“Lo’jack, really? Really?” Jake half-snorted, half-scoffed. “This a new one after Lovak?”

“Jackiri—”

“Jackiri is pretty sweet, c’mon now,” he gave a blank stare. “Hope you’re not gonna say Jackeyam.”

“Jacktirey?” You asked, undecided. “She’s an anklebiter.”

“Oh, for sure.” 

“Could be Jack the Ripper, Bojack Horseman, Jack-in-a-box. Jack-o-lantern.”

“All people, of course.”

“Yeah, all people.” You snapped your fingers in mock-remembrance. “Hit the road Jack.” 

“Oh wow, even him?” Jake lowered his voice, leaning towards you, mocking astonishment. “Legendary figure, that guy.”

“Jack of All Trades.”

“Well, that ikran really seems to be one to me.”

“I know, right?” You stopped, and he saw that thought process, and before he could open his mouth, you blurted it out. “Unlike a certain someone I know.”

“You punk.” Jake pushed you lightly by your shoulder. “You’re pushin’ it.”

You smiled with all your teeth at him, with hands on your calves, leaning down to act cute, and Jake could pretend this was normal. That he’d fixed everything. And all was right in the world now that you were laughing with him — he’d made you smile. . 

But suddenly you looked scared, looking at something over his shoulder, shrunken pupils focusing on him and whatever it was rapidly. It kicked him awake from his delusion. He tensed, tail jumping upwards, straight as a rod. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched, and the next thing he knew, you had pushed him away, and he was falling towards the water. The last thing he saw was only a blur of you — the bioluminescent bugs became shooting stars with a thread of glow left behind them, the whole world tilted, but he didn’t hit the water, instead, he rolled down the small slope he had to climb to reach the tree. 

Disoriented, he saw the root was almost split in half — bullet marks, a cloud of splinters and debris was flying around where he used to be sitting. 

A lone avatar just ahead. Having made it all the way to the Tree of Souls. He didn’t know where this man had come from. 

Heart picking up and roaring in his ears, all Jake could think about was, One chance. 

He hadn’t even spoken to you properly yet, hadn’t said all the things he wanted to, hadn't even gotten your word, and this man — this son of a bitch — humans had taken you once again. 

Once again. 

You will only have one chance. 

“Lucky asshole,” the man looked at him behind the barrel of the long assault rifle. “Gonna make you pay for what you pulled yesterday.”

Your ethereal smile going up in smokes at the back of his head, Jake saw red.  

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