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manicpixiedreamcurl · 3 months

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The More You Give ❧ (Part VIII)

Pairing | Eddie x shy!reader Warnings | 18+ only. Do not interact if you are underage. Roleplay (PrincessxWannabe Usurper lmao), sexual fantasies (including rockstarxgroupie), Eddie says some weird possessive stuff but reader likes it, oral (M receiving), P in V sex, dom!Eddie, sexual guilt as per, there’s aftercare. Word Count | 10,400 A/N | Nobody ask me about the timeline of this story, either in the fic or how long it takes me to write it. Taglist Previous Chapter

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The air is stuffy, despite the growing chill outside. The last days of Summer are at least a week gone now, and with Autumn comes heated stores. An ABBA song is playing on the main floor, filtering through enough for you to make out the tune. It’s the sort of thing your Mom plays in the car all the time, your mind following the words even though you can’t quite hear them over the buzzing ceiling lights.

I try to capture every minute, the feeling in it. Slipping through my fingers-

The curtains pull back, the sound of metal over metal dragging you to full attention. May’s eyes are bright with excitement as she twirls, showing off how the strapless black dress fits around her waist and flares out at her hips.

“It’s perfect, right?” She says, smoothing it down only to twirl and puff the skirt up again. “Ooh, let me see with the jacket.”

You search through the bag at your feet for the cropped jacket she’d found earlier, then watch as she pulls it over her shoulders. She fluffs her hair and poses in the mirror at the end of the changing room hallway. “I mean it actually is perfect, right?”

“For sure, you can totally see who you are already.”

“Right? And then I can just backcomb my hair a little. My Mom’s gonna lend me her scarf. God knows what earrings I’ll wear, but I can work it out. Definitely can’t get anything new after this,” she finishes, turning her head and pulling at the tag on her back to double check the price. She pulls a face before tucking it away gingerly.

“That bad?”

“That bad. Even with 30% off.” May smooths her hands over the skirt again, turning once more to the mirror. Her smile lights up her pretty face. “But totally worth it.”

Once the dress is folded and wrapped in tissue paper by the woman at the counter, paid for with what seems like every spare penny in May’s purse, attention moves to your costume. “Okay, Fairy God Mother,” May says, linking her arm with yours. “Game plan. Where do we need to go?”

“I think just the costume store. I have a blue dress I can use. But I’d like some wings and a wand. Maybe a tiara, if I can afford it.”

“Ugh, you’re gonna look so cute. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Tommy’s party?”

“The whole reason I’m dressing up is for Grace,” you reason, spotting the orange banner reading City of Fright, which appears in the same spot every year mid-September and vanishes November first.

Gone are ABBA’s lilting tones, replaced with stock Halloween music, the occasional creepy laugh and thunder clap. The entire front of the store is complete costumes, wrapped up in plastic and hanging on metal rods, but once you reach the shelves at the back, you are surrounded by an array of vampire teeth, witches hats and face paints.

“Eddie’s renting Theatre of Blood,” you tell her, not waiting for a reaction before launching into a prepared defence. “It sounds really good. It’s about an actor who takes revenge on his critics by murdering them like Shakespearian deaths - drowning in Malmsey wine, that kind of thing. He picked it cause, you know, he thought I’d like it.”

“Okay, but she’ll be in bed by what? Eight?” May asks, wandering around the table of paraphernalia as you start thumbing through fairy wings piled next to fake blood bags, searching for the right blue. “You could come after.”

There’s a moment of silence, then she sighs softly. “Okay, I will say it’s kind of cute that he picked that. In a weird, not really that cute cause it’s a horror movie about gruesome murders, sort of way.”

You stifle a grin, chancing a look at her over the table. “That sounded…almost like a compliment?”

“Almost,” she agrees, walking back round to your side. Then, before you can answer, she has seized a shiny silver plastic tiara and is reaching out to place it gently on your hair. “There. Fit for a Princess.”

You shake your head, laughing. “What about a Fairy Godmother?”

May hums, grabbing a set of the net and wire wings and pulling them over her arms. “I’m the fairy now!” She declares, raising her chin and going up on tiptoes to whirl around the racks, wings shaking behind her. “Here to make all your Halloween costume dreams come true!”

Your heart warms, a giggle escaping as she peers curiously at the rubber masks and cat ears in character, mumbling about the strange habits of humans.

“Oh please, fairy godmother! I need a wand if I’m going to look anything like the real thing!”

“A wand, of course!” She cries dramatically. “No true fairy would be seen dead without their wand.” You watch her scurry on tip toe around until she comes to a display of wands of various colours, topped by stars and hearts, sequined tassels and glittery handles. She wiggles her fingers above them, picks out one with a simple silver star and travels back to you gracefully. You take it from her with a flourish. “There, and now your wings.” She helps you into your own pair, then turns and throws a graceful hand into the air. “Now, we fly!”

You flit about after her, laughing at her with every pause she takes to frown disapprovingly at fake scars and rubber spiders. She stops in front of a Tinkerbell costume, pointing with a surprised smile at the model on the package. “Hey, I know her!”

You snort a laugh and it sets her off, all attempts to stifle your laughter only making it worse. Your giggles are only beginning to settle when you feel the sudden awareness of being watched tickle the back of your neck.

“Uh, hi girls.”

Your heart drops. Caroline stands, a hand over her mouth, barely covering the smirk. “You look like you’re having…fun.”

Suddenly, the clear elastic of the wings is too tight around your shoulders. You can feel the crooked angle of the tiara atop your head, close to slipping off entirely. The wand in your hand isn’t silver now, just chipped paint on plastic.

Next to you, May is wrenching off her wings, laughing airily. “Just messing around,” she assures, folding them up and holding them with a tight fist at her hip. “You costume shopping?”

Caroline looks around at where you are. “I mean, obviously. Not for me, though, for Ethan,” she sighs. “You know boys, no interest in shopping.” She sets her stare on you, eyes scanning from the crooked tiara downwards. “Are you girls dressing up together?”

Your throat feels blocked, leaving you just to shake your head. May answers for you both. “No, no. Like I said, we’re just messing around. So we should probably put this stuff back.” She slides her wings into the space between some hanging masks before elbowing you into action. You’ve abandoned the tiara and wand and are in the process of sliding off the wings when she adds, coolly, “I’m actually going as Madonna.”

Caroline’s smirk falls, replaced at terrifying speed with a deep frown. “What? You can’t, I’m doing Madonna. I’ve got a veil and everything. Ethan’s going to be Sean Penn.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m going as her in Desperately Seeking Susan, so it’ll be, like, totally different.”

“But I don’t think there should be two Madonna’s,” Caroline continues, almost sounding sympathetic. She crosses her arms, shrugging. “You’ll just have to go as somebody else.”

“Oh,” May says, shoulders falling. “Um, right. I get what you mean.”

You’re not in the habit of arguing with Caroline. It’s been easier, historically, not to contradict her or answer back. But you can feel May deflating beside you, and it tumbles out. “But you won’t look similar or anything, they’re completely different costumes.”

“They’re not though.” She answers with finality. “They’re both Madonna, and the last thing we want is comparisons, right? People talking about who wears it better all night?”

May nods. “You’re right. Totally. I’ll think of something else. No worries.”

“But May, your dress! You can’t return it now, it was on sale!”

“It’s fine,” May snaps before smiling close mouthed at Caroline. “I can find something else to wear, no issue.”

“You could be fairies together!” Caroline says. “I bet the guys at Tommy’s party would love that.”

“No, no, like I said, we were just messing around,” May says. “Not really my thing. And anyway, she’s not coming on Friday.”

“Oh no!” Caroline pushes her bottom lip out into a pout. “But I haven’t seen you outside of school in ages!”

“I’m babysitting,” you explain, clutching your removed wings in your fists.

“Oh sure you are, not spending the night with your boyfriend. We hardly see you anymore, I feel like there must be so much detail we’ve all been missing out on. You’ll have to come on the next girls trip, right May? So we can hear all about you and…Eddie.”

Your heart pounds as May nods. “Yeah,” she answers. “Eddie can’t have all your time.”

“Perfect. Well, let me know what you end up doing, May! See you later, girls!”

She flounces away, and May hides her face in her hands. “I can’t believe she saw me doing that.”

“It’s okay-”

“It’s not!” She says, throwing her hands up. Her eyes shine with frustrated tears. “It’s not okay! Not for me, anyway. It’s different for you, people already think you’re weird.”

You blink at your friend. Then you look down at the speckled linoleum floor, watch the spots fuzz and blend into each other as the lump in your throat builds. Before five seconds have passed, her arms appear at your sides, pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean that.”

But you know that she did. You know that’s exactly what she thinks.

For the moment you have to think about what you say now, you imagine calling her out on this. Pushing her away and telling her that she doesn’t have to spend any more time with you, given you embarrass her so much. You’d buy your fairy wings and your crown, walk out with your head held high.

Maybe she’d call after you, apologise again, say that losing you isn’t worth impressing Caroline or sitting at the cheerleader table.

But maybe any pain she’d feel at the prospect of your friendship ending would only bring out her anger. Maybe she’d swear to never speak to you again.

If you were somebody else, someone who didn’t love May, maybe you’d take that risk. But you are you, and you’ve loved May since you were five. To you, the only thing worse than feeling hurt yourself is the thought of hurting her back.

So you shake your head at her shoulder, blink away tears and squeeze her tight in your arms. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pulling away from her collar that smells the way being seven smelled. You release her, and in turn her arms fall from you. “I get it, you’re just stressed.”

“I know! I don’t know what I’m going to do about my costume!”

Your heart pangs. You swallow the lump in your throat that’s trying to rise back up. “Well, at least the dress is black,” you say, sniffing quick and quiet. You drag your hands over your eyes, clearing away the wetness clinging to your bottom lashes. Stop it, you think. Stop crying. “Let’s return the jacket, yeah? Then you’ll have money for a witch hat or something.”

May nods slowly as she thinks it through. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, that works.” She gives you a relieved smile. “God, what would I do without you? Let’s go.”

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“Well, I didn’t think I wanted glasses because Katie has glasses,” Grace explains, holding her plastic pumpkin, now close to overflowing with candy, in both hands at her stomach. She looks at you with a look too knowing for a seven year old, then continues. “Katie is a tattle tale.”

“I see,” you nod.

“But I want ones like Jessica’s!” She cries, arms extending with the weight of her treasure trove before she pulls it back up. “They go dark in the sun!”

“It’s not the same,” she whines. “And then when we went to the optom- uhm.”

“But you already have sunglasses,” you reason, picturing the little red plastic pair you’ve had to run back for when out on walks many times. Grace hefts the pumpkin again and you give in, lifting the bag from her grasp and burying your wand in with the candy. You soften when she grabs your hand with a deep sigh.

“The optometrist?”

“Yeah, when we went to see him, he said my eyes were perfect!”

“Well, that’s good.”

“No!” She yells, dramatically, pulling on your arm with her whole weight until you have to heave yourself back up. You stifle a giggle at her distraught expression. “Because now I’ll never get glasses, and everybody has them.”

“Well, first of all, I’m sure not everybody has them,” you say, smiling down at her grumpy face. “And secondly, you shouldn’t just want something like glasses because other people have them, even if it was everybody else. You can’t just live your life just trying to be like everyone around you.”

“I know,” she mumbles. Then, catching your raised eyebrow, “I know!”

You round the corner to her street, and by the time you’re approaching her house, she’s moved comfortably on to the next topic of her candy eating schedule for the next three days. “Because Jessica saves all her Skittles for last,” Grace explains, her position now firmly against being anything like Jessica. “Which is stupid, because you should have the best candy first.”

“Mm? Why’s that?”

Grace looks at you with a frown. “Because the best comes first,” she tells you, with the tone of somebody kindly trying to hold in their frustration with an imbecile.

“Of course, silly of me to ask. Hi, Mrs. Miller!”

Grace’s Mom was clearly waiting for you near the front door, already out and standing on the front steps as you walk up the front path. Grace holds her hands out to take her bucket back, launching forward when she’s got ahold of it. “Mom! Look at all my candy!”

“Whoa! There’s no way you’ll be able to eat all that!” Her Mom says, eyes comically wide. “Think you need someone to help you out, hm?”

Grace shrieks indignantly, running under her Mom’s arm inside and clambering up the stairs out of sight without a bye nor leave for you.

“Everything went okay?” Her Mom asks, smiling when you give her your usual answer, all fine. “Will you be okay getting home? I can get her back down if you need a ride.”

“Oh, um,” you check either side of the street, feeling suddenly warmed inside at the sight of Eddie’s van parked at the end of the road. Now that you’re concentrating on it, you’re sure you can hear the music blasting behind glass. “No, it’s okay. That’s my boyfriend.”

“Ah, Eddie.” She smiles, then smacks her teeth as she, too, registers his music. “Maybe tell him to keep it down next time? I don’t mind but I already get monthly phone calls from Mrs O’Hara about the sound of the lawnmower.”

“Oh, sorry. I’ll do that,”

“Okay,” she says, calling after you as you start up a fast pace towards Eddie. “You have a good night!”

You pull your cardigan sleeves down over your hands to fight the chill as you move, smiling when you can properly make out Eddie sitting in the front seat. He had a special D&D night planned when he dropped you off at Grace’s earlier. While your costume sat folded in your bag all day, he’d gone to school dressed all in black, even his white Reeboks swapped out for a pair of knockoff doc martens he’d launched himself towards when he caught sight of them at the thrift store. They’d fit him just fine with three pairs of socks.

This morning, sitting in his van, he’d barely managed to control his excited twitches while you lined his eyes with a cheap black pencil from the drugstore. Your work is a little smudged now, but on him, it looks even better than before. Which makes sense, you think. Eddie doesn’t suit neat lines.

“Hi Princess!” He calls, turning the music down enough that his excitement is just audible through the glass as you approach.

“Not a Princess,” you remind him as you climb in, turning your back to shake your shoulders and display the blue net wings. “A Fairy God Mother.” You settle back into the seat, shivering away the chill that had gooseflesh rising over your body. Eddie rubs your arm over your cardigan, and you take the opportunity to grab his hand. As much as you want to warm your cold fingers, it’s mainly just to touch him. “How was the game?”

His grin turns sharp as he leans back in his chair, chin tilted up. “So fucking good. I have them right where I want them. I thought for a second Lucas had me worked out. He hesitated when they were getting to the caves, but then he just went along with it. I can’t wait till next week.” He lets go of your hand long enough to start up the van before returning his open palm to the space between you for you to take hold of him again. “How is Princess Grace?”

“Increasingly despotic. She executed like five of her toys before we went out trick or treating.”

“Jesus,” Eddie laughs. “What for?”

“Well, her not-so-wise Fairy God Mother,” you start, gesturing to yourself. “Made the mistake of telling her about royal food tasters? Now there’s a poisoning attempt every few days.”

“Very active imagination, this girl. Violent, but active.”

“Mm, I think most girls play that way. When I was little- Well, me and May, we’d act like witches sometimes? And make potions out of mud and sticks and stuff. And talk about who we would curse.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “And which poor soul had earned this spite, pray tell?”

“Did you ever have Mr Gilmour?”

“Oh, Gilmour, yeah, I fuckin' hated that guy!” Eddie yells. His eyebrows furrow. “I threw up during gym in seventh grade and the sadistic prick made me finish running a mile.”

“Yeah, I forgot about that till now.” His brows stay taught for a second longer, then he shakes his head a little, tapping his fingers along your knuckles. “Too bad I didn’t have you around then, coulda cursed him for me a little earlier.”

“Oh, Eddie, that’s horrible.”

“I would have,” you promise. “But you were telling me about the game. Did you get Dustin with the, um, venom troll?”

“Not yet. We didn’t get as far as I’d have wanted before they had to go. I mean, what fourteen year old has a curfew? I didn’t, and I turned out alright. But I’ll get him next week. I can’t wait to see his face - that little punk thinks he’s so smart, but he is pre-dictable.”

Eddie continues describing the campaign, the traps he’s set for them that he’s sure they’ll run into, the whole drive to his place, excited and animated as he usually is on the rare occasion you get to see him after Hellfire, wound up from the events of the day. He only slows down when you’re settled on his couch. Sneakers left at the door, wings, tiara, and wand abandoned on the kitchen table, wrapped up in his arms as the opening titles of Theatre of Blood play.

Eddie’s so warm, and unusually still when you sit with him like this. Being cuddled up to him puts you in mind of your aunt’s black cat. She spends the first couple hours of every visit pretending that she isn’t interested in being anywhere near you. Then, after letting her sniff your hand, rubbing gently between her ears, she darts up on your lap, her soft heat spreading through you.

Eddie might not admit it, at least not verbally, but he likes being petted the same way. You’ve seen his eyes flutter when you play with his hair, heard the gentle sighs he lets out when you touch his cheek. Now, leaning into his chest, rubbing lazily at his torso, you can feel the way his body relaxes into the couch under your touch. It makes you smile at the TV even as Vincent Price swears revenge on all his critics.

You turn your head just a little, trying to be subtle as much as possible so you can look at him properly. Eddie’s eyes, which in sunlight can be bright as copper, are dark and focused in the electric light of the TV. The light freckles that dotted the tops of his cheeks and nose during Summer have faded from the cloudy days and early sunsets, leaving only his soft pale skin. His lips, as always, are soft looking and pink, still shiny from the last time his tongue peeked out, set in a near constant subtle pout.

You sigh gently, and in turn breathe in the remnants of smoke and laundry detergent from his shirt, the fading spice of his drugstore aftershave.

“You know I picked this movie out special,” he says, only his eyes moving to fix you with a mockingly suspicious expression. “Vincent’s a master.”

You’re surprised to find you’re not ashamed at having been caught. “M’just looking at you.”

“Therein lies the problem, sweet thing. One minute you’re just looking. Next thing I know my head’s trapped between your thighs.” This time he leans in properly. “Wicked temptress.” He whispers it, his breath warming your face.

You think he’ll kiss you then, but instead he relaxes back into the couch with a sigh. “M’just lucky you weren’t dressed up all day.” His hand tugs at the hem of your skirt, then spreads out just above your knee. “I wouldn’t have been able to think about anything else. It’s a miracle I even got the movie playing instead of trying to touch you.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” you answer, trying not to sound too eager.

“I bet,” he says, eyes shining. Then his face turns serious, palm coming to his heart. “But Eddie the Chivalrous would never touch a Princess without properly wooing her first.” His eyes scan over your face quickly. “I guess that means we need to finish the movie.”

He’s teasing you. He wants to push, see how much he can get you to say, if you’ll ask him outright to just touch you the way you want. Warring feelings compete to decide what you do next. Maybe months ago, when you first started dating Eddie, you would have pressed your thighs together and settled in to finish the film. A part of you still calls for that, screams that whatever you say won’t be right.

You stare at Eddie now. His eyes still lined dark, the smirk he’s trying to hide. Your toes curl just looking at him, and the thought escapes naturally. “You don’t look like Eddie the Chivalrous, right now.”

Eddie blinks slowly. His head tilts. “No? Who do I look like, then?”

Now, something like shame creeps back in, and you wish you’d just settled down to watch the movie.

You haven’t ever put a name to it before. In your fantasies, the ones that appear unprompted when you’re alone in your bed and you haven’t been able to touch him in a couple days, Eddie’s always Eddie, but sometimes just a little different.

Maybe Eddie the Chivalrous is the right name for how you first thought about him like that, calling you Princess as usual but meaning it. You thought about him as your knight and guard, sworn to protect you, breaking all the rules by laying you down and treating you gently, better than any lord or Prince you could be promised to.

Then you’d think about his laugh, the one that comes out when you moan a little loud, or lose your patience and try to direct his hands or his tongue to where you need him. The mocking gasp and teasing tone that often comes along with it, you want it bad, huh, Princess? You think about an Eddie who’s like that all the time, teasingly mean with you, dark and dangerous to everyone else, finding you alone in your soft bed, holding your hands above your head and- and-

People already think you’re weird.

You give in to the sudden hot shame, pressing your face to Eddie’s chest lest he read your expression so perfectly that he works it all out. You whisper into his shirt, more to yourself than him. “I’m so weird.”

“Well, s’a good thing you’re with me then, mm?” He says, big hand moving to stroke the back of your neck. “Cause if you got a fantasy, like, something you think about when I’m not around. You know I won’t judge you for it, right?”

“I know.” It comes out muffled against his shirt but it’s certain. It’s instinctual, now. You’re as sure that you don’t need to worry about Eddie judging you as you are that the sun will rise tomorrow morning. More and more, you find yourself talking to him the way you talk to yourself in your head. Easy and free, not waiting for the other shoe to drop. But this is different. “It’s just- It’s like-” You sigh, searching for the words that won’t come.

He hums, still rubbing your neck. “Maybe I could- I mean, do you…wanna hear one ‘a mine?” You emerge from your hiding place, leaning back into his hand to gauge how serious he is. Eddie’s eyes crinkle at the sides at having coaxed you into looking at him again. “Yeah?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes. Eddie searches his side for the remote first, pausing Vincent in the middle of another monologue. “Okay. Well, yeah, sometimes I think about- Wait no, gotta set the scene. I’ve just played maybe the best show of my life. Nothing too big,” he continues, giving you a serious look. “I’m not a sell out. We’re talking the smaller arenas, you know? Anyway, after, when I get backstage, feeling like hot shit, there’s this girl. Prettiest I’ve ever seen. And she’s wearing the band’s shirt.”

“And she’s a little shy. Can barely look me in the eye-” He catches you just as your gaze moves to his collar, pulling you back to staring, helpless, into his dark eyes. Eddie takes your hand from where it was playing with the hem of his shirt, weaving your fingers together. “She’s kinda fidgety, too.”

You swallow. “Me?”

“You, sweet thing. S’always you.” You bite the gum behind your bottom lip, holding back from grinning too much. You squirm a little under his gaze, waiting for him to speak again. “And you tell me you’ve been waiting for me,” Eddie says, voice smooth and quiet. “You tell me you’re my biggest fan. And you can’t quite say everything you wanna say, but it doesn’t matter, cause I’ve got you worked out. So I get real close,” he says, his face disappearing as his mouth moves towards your ear, “and I ask if you want me to touch you?”

“And I do,” you continue for him, shivering again at the little groan Eddie lets escape from his throat.

“Mm hm, real bad.” His eyes reappear, scanning over each part of your face. “So bad you wanna earn it. Wanna show me I was right to pick you and not some other girl. You get on your knees for me.” Eddie licks his lips quick. “And I know you’re kinda inexperienced, but it’s good, the best I’ve ever had. You know why?” You shake your head, gaze darting between his eyes and his mouth. You watch his lips move around his words. “Cause you’re so fucking grateful for it.”

“Mm. And when I decide you’ve earned it, I lay you back on a couch somewhere. A green room or a tour bus or something. And I show you you were right to wait for me.” You shiver. It’s a delicious thrill to picture Eddie that way, completely new to you, a total stranger, yet so sure of what he can take. “And after that?” He says, giving the back of your neck a squeeze. “I keep you.”

“Eddie.” You feel your heartbeat between your legs, wishing he would touch you there now, or even put you on your knees the way he wants so you could show him you’re as grateful for him here and now as you are in his fantasy.

The fantasy fades when Eddie kisses you. With the press of his lips, the taste of Dr Pepper on his tongue, he’s your Eddie again, familiar and perfect. You’re still floating back to Earth when he pulls away. “Your turn.”

You flinch, crashing to the ground instead. “What?”

“You like Latin, right? It’s quid pro quo, sweetheart. I show you mine, you show me yours. Tit for tat. That was the deal.”

“It was implied.” Eddie answers breezily. Then, with his thumb rubbing gently at the back of your hand. “C’mon. Try? You liked mine, right?” You give a barely noticeable nod, but Eddie catches it. “Yeah. And I bet I’ll like yours.”

“There was no deal!”

“I can’t- I don’t have it all, like, thought out the way you do.”

“Well, I’m a storyteller by trade,” he says, pressing his free hand to his chest. “All my sex fantasies have lore. And we can build on yours, if it needs it.Alright. I’m not Eddie the Chivalrous right now. Who am I?” He tilts his chin to where you have started playing with his rings, twisting each round his fingers in turn. “Apart from Eddie the Stress Toy.”

“It’s not- You’re just-” You swallow, rubbing your thumb over the metal skull sitting where a wedding ring would go. “You’re just somebody…somebody I shouldn’t want.”

“Intriguing. And you are?” Your face flames. You mumble it, barely opening your lips, and Eddie squints. “Mm?”

You sigh. “Princess.”

“Always,” Eddie replies, ducking his head to make sure you see his face, reassuringly still smiling. “Okay. I can work with this. Maybe I'm…Eddie the Banished. I tried to take power for myself by force but I failed.” He brings your hand to his mouth, kisses the thin skin at your wrist. “And I’ve returned, because I realised I don’t need to win a battle. I just have to…take the Princess?”

You clench around nothing. “Yeah.”

“Fuck, yeah. C’mon, sweet thing.”

Your gaze follows him as he stands. “You want- Right now?”

“Why not? We’re all dressed up. The time is now.” Eddie pauses his excitement when he registers the fact you’re still sitting. “If…if you want.”

“I do,” you breathe. “But I can’t, y’know, talk like you.” You just know Eddie already has some dialogue thought up, things he can say as the character he’s just come up with that will make you dizzy. “I’ll get stuck.”

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” Eddie says, squatting down in front of you, hands spread out on your knees. “I don’t mind taking the lead. Besides, the Princess would be kinda nervous anyway, right? If you’re not supposed to want me. The outlaw, the traitor. You’ve been told about all the terrible things I’ve done, what I tried to do for power. Now you feel guilty about what you really want from me. And I’ve been thinking about you while I’ve been on the run, living rough- You know, this is good stuff,” he says, interrupting himself and looking round. “You got a pen? I should maybe write some of this down- No. After, sorry.” He gives you a sheepish grin, then leans in close. “Don’t think there’s much chance I’ll forget this, anyway.”

He stands then, hand extended to you with wiggling fingers for you to take and let him guide you through to his room. Eddie hums when his door is closed, shutting out the world beyond the frame. “Shoulda done this at yours,” he says, sitting you down on the mattress. “In your pretty Princess bed.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say breathlessly, meaning it entirely. All that matters is it’s him. He’s the only person you could do something like this with.

“Okay, I need a little more. You shouldn’t want me, I’m…morally grey, let’s say. Chaotic neutral. Am I mean?”

“Kinda,” you answer. “You’re…selfish?”

“Selfish,” he repeats.

“Just like, y’know. It’s like-” Eddie’s hands spread at the sides of your thighs, teasing the skin at the hem of your skirt. You want them everywhere. “You know I want you. That I’ll…do things for you. And you take advantage. ”

There’s a pause. “I think I’m following. Things somebody like you shouldn’t do?” You nod quickly, cheeks burning as you watch him work it out. “You wanna get your mouth on me, Princess?”

You fight the instinct to hide, the urge to look away, the voice telling you to deny everything, take it back. Instead, you start playing with the hem of his shirt again, soft cotton between your fingers.

“Mm hm.”

“Shit. Okay. Anything-” His voice cracks a touch, and he clears his throat before he speaks again. “Anything else?”

“It’s not like- Even though you’re mean, you still- With me, you feel-” Now you do have to look away, staring at where your fingers are fiddling with the black fabric. He can read you too well, and you don’t want him to see exactly what you want from him. “You-”

You love me.

“I feel…how I feel about you?” He suggests.

You bite the gum behind your lip to stop yourself asking exactly what that means. “Yeah.”

“Okay, good. Hard to pretend anything else.” Eddie leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, long enough that your whole body relaxes into it, your mind settling on Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. When he pulls away, it’s easy to answer his question. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Eddie stands to full height, his shoulders back. He tilts his head, expression shifting. From your Eddie, with chestnut eyes and his perfect, dimpled smile, to a smirking man with a dark gaze excited to ruin you.

“I’ve been looking for you, Princess,” he says, voice smooth and confident. A thrilled shiver runs up your spine. “Knew I’d find you eventually, but I could only hope I’d find you like this. All alone.” He takes a step towards you. “Unprotected-”

“Eddie,” you whisper.

Softness peaks through with raised eyebrows. “Good?” You nod quickly, and it disappears again as he slinks closer towards you. “I missed you, while I was away,” he tells you, soft and teasing. “Did you miss me?”

“I-” You swallow. You’re used to repeating back what Eddie says to you, in times like this, letting him guide you through everything he wants to hear from you. But you don’t want to just watch him do this for you. “No.”

Eddie blinks, surprised, then he puts on a mockingly hurt face, hand over his heart. “No? You wound me, Princess.” That same hand reaches for your face, cupping your cheek. His thumb strokes gently under your eye and you can’t help but lean into him. “Or you would, if I believed you.” He tilts your head up to see him properly, standing over you. “You think I didn’t see the way you’d look at me, before I left?”

Your fingers twitch to reach out and brush at the ends of his hair as it falls towards you, but you keep them at your sides on the bed, curling into the sheets. “You didn’t leave, you-”

“Left, banished, driven out; it all comes to the same end, mm?” His eyes scan your face, down your dress and back up. “That’s you and me, Princess. Here, alone together. You gonna pretend you never wanted that?”

His thumb, callused and warm, keeps rubbing over your cheek. “I can’t want it”

“No, you can,” he presses. Eddie, your Eddie, would sit with you now, squat in front of you to talk to you at the same level. Now, his grip on your jaw tightens just enough to remind you that he could stop you looking away if you tried. “Cause I’ve had time to think about it.”

“While you were hiding in the woods?”

“While I was regrouping,” he corrects. “I realised something. I went about it all wrong.” he tells you. “It was foolish of me to try and use force to get what I want. Not when you were right here. Waiting for me.”

His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, then presses inside to the tip of your tongue.

“If I make you mine, everything else follows. That’s right, isn’t it?” He nods slowly until you copy him. “The throne, power, vengeance on everyone who tried to hold me back. And you, in my bed every night. All day if I wanted.” He pulls at your lip again as he steals his thumb back, leaning in until his breath is warm against your cheeks. “That sounds nice. Doesn't it, Princess?” You glance at his lips, wanting him to kiss you now, to take it from you. Eddie shakes his head, drawing your gaze back to his. “I wanna hear you say it. You wanted me to touch you, just like this, and more, didn’t you? Wanted me to show you how to make me happy?”

You can feel your heartbeat heavy in your chest, your breath coming quicker. Only Eddie could do this, have you convinced of a story which before tonight only existed half formed in the fantasies of your bedroom. You can feel the internal conflict as if it really is your duty to say no, and your heart’s only desire to give your next answer.

“Yes, Eddie.”

He gives you a kiss that’s half teeth, dragging at your bottom lip. Even this is different. You’re used to the gentle start, feeling him smile on your mouth. He breathes deep through his nose, pulls from you so suddenly that you make to follow him until he presses a hand to your shoulder.

“And I will. Get on the floor.” Eddie steps back, and it doesn’t even occur to argue with him now. You slide off the mattress easily, knees falling to the carpet without looking away from him. There’s a pause. He speaks quietly, as if he doesn’t want an invisible audience to hear. “You comfy? You want the pillow?”

“No,” you answer, heart aching. “I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

You watch the way he steels his face again, looking at you on your knees in front of him like that’s where you’re meant to be. His hands work at his belt, a soft hiss escaping when he presses his palm down the front of his pants. His head tilts back, displaying his thick neck, the rising pinkness across his pale throat, and he breathes a laugh. “Now, Princess- Wait!” You jump at the suddenness of Eddie pulling his hand from his pants only to clasp them at his waist as he half-jogs towards the door. “Just a second. Don’t move!”

Eddie disappears through the door, mumbling to himself. His words are faint but it’s clear enough that he is looking for something. You close your eyes, focusing on his voice, however fuzzy. You never thought you could have something like this. Someone like Eddie. Someone safe. So safe that you can abandon yourself to fulfilling a silly fantasy thought up under the covers of your bed.

Something catches your hair and you open your eyes to find him standing over you again. The tip of his tongue curls over his top lip as he places the plastic silver tiara just so on your head. When it’s as he wants it, his teeth show with his smile. “Perfect,” he says, pressing two fingers to your chin and turning your head each way. “My Princess, mm? I’m going to show you what it is to be mine.”

Eddie reaches into his pants to pull himself free. His hand drags over the shaft, quick and dirty, just for a moment’s relief if the clench of his jaw the second he stops is any indicator.

You think you know what to do now, tipping your chin, opening your mouth, ready to take him. Only he angles his head away from your tongue. You peer up at him in confusion, watch the way his excitement plays out on his face. “C’mere, Princess.”

Cupping your cheek with his spare hand, he guides you to the base of his cock, where he is softest. Your lips graze the fuzzy skin of his balls and Eddie makes a noise that has you squirming for the lightest touch between your legs. You kiss delicately, blinking up at him, watching his thumb rub over the head of his cock, catching wetness to ease the slow movement of his hand. He taps his fingers on your cheek gently. “Open up. Want your tongue.”

Your toes curl. You want to taste him here, aching at the smell of him; like his neck at the end of the day in Summer, his sweat and musk, fading body wash. You want to make Eddie feel good so badly, you think you might do whatever he asks as long as he looks at you the way he is now.

You reach for him, palm settling on his knee where denim meets exposed skin. Opening your mouth, you lick quickly at the seam of his balls, taste salt on soft skin. He groans, fingers flexing around your jaw. “That’s it,” he encourages. “Fuck yes,” Eddie bites out when you lick broad and wet up to the base of his cock, thinking of his wide tongue drawing upwards from your pussy to your clit. “Fuck, yes.”

He draws you back, smiling down at you. It makes your face burn, but you struggle between looking him in the eyes and staring at his cock. His balls are pink and wet from your attention, his hand moves steadily over his length, drawing folds of skin over his thick head and back.

“Want you to suck on them a little,” he tells you. The pause he leaves gives a moment for you to squeeze at his knee, as if presenting your open mouth wouldn’t be enough to show your agreement. He drags the weight of his balls over your chin to your wet tongue, listing off curses when your lips close just enough to suck gently. Eddie’s hand moves faster over his length, the curve of his fingers brushing your forehead with each tug.

Eddie’s groans are all that matter now. His sack is heavy, falling past your lips the wider you open your mouth. “So fuckin’ full cause of you,” Eddie bites. You hum, closing your eyes, his hips stutter. First towards the warmth of your mouth and then away entirely, replacing his sack with the head of his cock tapping against your tongue.

Eddie gasps when you lap at his leaking tip. “Can I-” He pauses, rephrases, puts on the right tone. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth now, Princess.”

He watches you carefully, gives you time to tell him no. You squeeze his knee once more, gaze moving from his dark eyes to his cock. You press a quick kiss to the swollen head, a darker pink than the rest of him where it peeks through folds of skin, then let him press your head back against the mattress.

Eddie’s cock glides smoothly over your tongue to the top of your throat. “Fuck,” he breathes, rolling his hips. “M’starting to think this is what you wanted the whole time.” He eases further, just past the entrance of your throat. It’s easier, like this. You are more open to him with your head tilted back this way. He holds himself in the warmth of your mouth, watching you blinking back tears to try and keep him clear in your gaze. Finally your throat protests, and Eddie draws back till you can suck at his head, the exposed length of his cock shining with your spit. You gaze at him, wanting him to be proud of you for taking him deeper than you have before. He makes a soft encouraging noise, but Eddie like this won’t give you the validation you want so easily. “Teased me for so long. I think I deserve to take what I want, now.”

Eddie thrusts slowly at first, easing you in despite his words. The hand that was on your cheek now stroking at your heated forehead.

You like it like this.

You liked having him in your mouth the first time, and every time after that. Like watching him shake, hearing him groan and whine, and knowing that you’re the one making him like that. You like focusing on him; lick here, nip there, let him feel you moan around him. Now, you don’t even have to think about how best to please him. You can focus on your breathing, taking air in through your nose when he pulls back enough. And on Eddie and how he looks as he takes his pleasure from you.

Eddie’s so beautiful. His dark hair frizzes around his face, eyes crinkling at the sides when he closes them and groans into the air. His neck is pink, a pretty blush crawling up to his cheeks as his thrusts speed up. “We’re gonna do this all the time, Princess, you hear me?” He grits, fingers curling into the sheets at the side of your head. You moan in answer, pleased when it makes his cock twitch in your mouth, his tip dipping deep enough past the entrance of your throat that you can’t blink away the wetness that springs to your eyes. “You’re gonna be in my bed all the time, maybe I’ll tie you up, mm?” He presses deep again, then holds steady. When the tears collected at the corners of your eyes start to fall, he wipes them away before they can reach the apples of your cheeks. “Keep you here, just for me. Don’t need to see or talk to anyone else ever again.”

If your head weren’t fuzzy, you’d start questioning why that makes you ache. Eddie withdraws his cock from the top of your throat and you only take a second to gasp in the air you need before following him, reaching up to touch the inches of his cock your mouth still can’t quite cover. Eddie laughs through a moan at the feeling of you jerking his cock into your mouth, licking wet at the end of him. “You want that, huh? Hey-” He drags you away from his cock, leaving you with wet, pleading eyes looking up at him. “You want that?” Your mouth opens, then closes. Your hips roll, seeking friction you can’t get while kneeling like this. Eddie’s eyes flick down, lips turning up at the sight. “Get on the bed for me, mm?”

Eddie reaches a hand out to help you sit up on his mattress. Then he pulls his shirt off over the back of his head, exposing all the soft pale skin and dark ink of his torso. You pull your dress up too, knocking your tiara in the process. When the dress is off entirely, Eddie’s there in an instant to fix it for you, his fingers caressing your cheek when he’s done. “Hey, uh. Am I doing alright? Is this the sort of thing you imagined?”

“This is better,” you tell him earnestly, loving how pleased he looks. You’re learning that this, the pleasure gained from praise, is something you and Eddie share. You love it when Eddie calls you good, or smart, or sweet. When he tells you that you’re good at something he’s teaching you. In turn, Eddie likes it when you tell him how good he makes you feel, that he’s doing everything right, that he’s looking after you exactly how you want it.

He kisses you, and it’s softer this time until he bites gently at your bottom lip as he’s pulling away. “C’mon and lie down, Princess,” he says, guiding you to lay down. You press your legs together, knees bent and feet flat to the mattress as Eddie climbs up after you. His hands stroke up and down your thighs, making you giggle softly as he passes ticklish spots. It relaxes you enough to let him guide your legs open and back, allowing him closer. Eddie tilts his head, thumbing the little blue bow at the waistband of your panties. “You really want me to tie you up?”

Without thinking, you glance quickly at the handcuffs hanging from his door. You feel the beat of your heart against your chest, wondering if you’re ready for that, knowing really that you’re not. Eddie’s hand cups your cheek, directing your gaze back to him. He kisses your knee. “Not tonight, Princess.” He leans in, whispers. “And only ever if you really want, okay?”

“I know, Eddie,” you answer. And you do. You know that as much as Eddie is teaching you, seemingly leading you along to each new experience, in truth he’s making sure you set the pace.

“Take this off for me,” he says, pulling at the strap of your bra. You reach underneath your back to unhook it, shimmying it off your arms and letting it drop to his floor. Once you’re settled, he takes both your hands in his, pulling them up over your head. You can’t help but giggle, feeling both nervous and giddy. “Hold onto the headboard?” You follow the instruction, wrapping your fingers around one of the wooden slats. Stretched like this, chest presented to him, you feel open and exposed, your nipples tightening from the cold air and from Eddie’s attention. “Don’t let go, mm?”

He leans down, kissing from the base of your neck down the skin between your breasts, his hair dragging behind him, tickling the sensitive skin. He leaves a wet mark on the curve of your left breast, the sting of his teeth quickly soothed by his tongue. When he takes the tight bud of your nipple between his lips, your whole body tenses. It’s a test of your submission, if you can last with only your memory of what it feels like to tangle your fingers in his hair. If you can bear not to tug at it when he flicks his tongue like that.

Your hands tighten around the wood, hips tilting to find his cock where he tucked it back in his boxers, still hard and throbbing between your legs. The friction, however light, against where you have been waiting for him all evening, is too good to give up, and you keep searching for his hardness to rub against.

Eddie releases your breasts with a grin. “You want it bad, huh, Princess?”

You whine, melting when he presses his hips forward to give you more delicious friction along your pussy. He huffs a laugh, sitting up and quickly reaching out for the pack of Trojans on his bedside. You watch him kneel between your legs, the way he fists his cock while he tears at the foil square with his teeth, his desperation to roll the condom over his length. Eddie shuffles forward on his knees and presses his wide hands to the back of your thighs. He gently guides your legs back, hitching your hips up for better access to your pussy, wet and swollen under his gaze.

“Wanted this for so long, Princess,” he says. “You’ve been waiting too, hmm?”

“Yes, Eddie. Been waiting so long.” You nearly cry from relief when his cock latches at your entrance, then from despair when he stills instead of filling you. The headboard creaks from your squirming. “Please,” you whisper, sounding pathetic in a way that would embarrass you if you weren’t aching from the emptiness.

Eddie stretches you perfectly as he presses inside your slick cunt. The tease of pain feels good now that your body recognises what it means, where Eddie filling you up leads. “Good?” He asks, once he’s deep enough inside that the curls of hair above his cock are teasing your clit.

You mean to answer properly, but the intention is overtaken by the need for him to move. Waiting for him, your fingers tighten around the wood so much you swear there will be marks from your nails. “Eddie.” It comes out whinier than you intended, but he certainly doesn’t mind.

“Eddie,” he mimics breathily, his teeth showing as the heat of pleasant humiliation crawls up your spine. He doesn’t keep you waiting any longer, snapping his hips to draw back and press deep again through your clenching cunt.

You’ve been under him every time, but like this you feel helpless. Hands voluntarily useless, body tilted up and legs opened by his hands, your body presented to him and positioned perfectly for him to set the pace. It feels right for this - you know now what the romance novels you hide under your bed mean when the heroine is taken.

Your toes curl when Eddie’s hips roll just right, the heavy head of his cock hitting the end of you. When he reaches between you to press a thumb to your clit and rub in tight circles, your body tilts, hips trying to chase the pleasure, only for Eddie to press you back down to where he wants you.

“I like it,” you answer. “I like it, Eddie.”

“You like it, like this, hm?” Eddie asks. You blink at him slowly, wondering if it’s your boyfriend or Eddie the Banished asking. “Tell me.”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe it, hair shaking. “Knew you would. Pretty Princess just needed to be fucked right, mm?” You shudder, tightening around his cock enough that he gasps, “fuckfuckfuck. S’good. It’s so good, honey.”

You breathe a laugh. “Princess, to you.”

“My apologies,” he says, snapping his hips to land heavy against the spot at the back of your pussy. You gasp, legs kicking out against his grip involuntarily only for him to tighten his grip and push them back to where he wants them. You can hear how wet you are, the sound of him moving inside you as loud as the bed springs, as loud as your moans. “Mine now, aren’t you, Princess?”

You nod easily. “Yes.”

“Gonna give me everything I want from now on, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes-”

“Made it so easy for me. Should have just done this in the beginning, just taken you for myself.”

“Yes. Yes, Eddie.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, head tilting back as his hips speed up. “Fuck, I can’t- Can’t get enough of that.” When he looks back to you, the detached, mocking look is gone. He’s all intensity and warmth, your Eddie again. Your whole body tightens. “Tells me everything I need to know when you say my name like that.” He gives you a mean thrust, tongue peeking out as he watches where you’re connected, the slick coating his cock, before his gaze returns to your pleasured, sweaty face. “You’re so fucking good, you know that? So fucking good, the way you talk to me. Telling me what you want. Not gonna hide anything like that from me again, are you?”

“Nuh,” you manage, legs twitching. “Eddie.”

”Again,” he gasps. “Please. My sweet girl-”

“Eddie. Eddie-”

Maybe you keep chanting his name, maybe you cry it out, maybe you stop altogether to scream out instead. You don’t know. You just know he’s all you’re thinking of as the pleasure crests, spreading out from the back of your cunt through your body until it’s intense enough you think you might cry. Then it fades to the gentle delight of Eddie still moving inside you, the warmth and weight of his cock when he buries himself deep. You hear him groan, feel the potential for bruises blooming where his fingers dig into your thighs. Then it’s his weight easing down on top of you, the ache in your shoulders and your legs as you let them relax before wrapping yourself around him.

You finally get your hands in his hair. The roots are damp from sweat, his curls tangled in knots. Eddie’s face is pressed so fully to the space between your breasts that you’re not convinced he can be breathing. He mumbles something that’s lost to your ears, then tilts his head up till you can see his face, and his goofy smile. Your heart aches even as you giggle. Then he’s crawling up your body to kiss you, his mouth warm and tasting like the sweat from his upper lip.

“I’m gonna pull out now but I want it known that it’ll take amazing strength of will on my part.”

He does so, disappearing from the bed for less than five seconds to throw out the condom before flopping next to you again and opening his arms to let you clamber into his hold again, you try to fight the rising worries by pressing your face into his neck. He hisses at the scrape of the plastic tiara under his chin, taking it off himself before returning to stroke at your temple with his fingers. “How do you feel, sweet girl?”

It takes you a minute to answer, sorting through all the complicated feelings that emerged the second Eddie wasn’t inside you anymore. “Good,” you murmur. Then, “weird.”

You hate how fast it all happens so soon after something so special. You feel overwhelmed and tired, like you want to scrub yourself raw under hot water, like you want to curl up in Eddie’s arms and smell like him forever. You feel like you don’t want to ever be touched again, but the thought that Eddie won’t makes your heart sore. You wish you were normal. You wish you didn’t have weird fantasies. You wish you didn’t feel guilty about what you want.

Eddie holds you tight against him, and you let yourself feel the comfort of that. Eddie doesn’t think you’re weird, or gross, or immoral. Eddie won’t ever leave you alone to cry and scratch at your crawling skin.

He presses his lips to your forehead, mumbles against your skin. “Gonna let me look after you?”

He keeps you with him while he runs a bath. You’re wrapped in a towel while he runs around naked, giving you mock coquettish looks over his shoulder every now and then until he gets a giggle from you. As steam starts to rise from the tub, he searches through the cabinet under the sink before emerging with a bottle filled with suspiciously bright orange liquid. “We don’t have bubble bath but, uh, this is six-in-one.”

You try sitting in the water together, wrapped up in him, but the pins and needles come too fast, eight limbs not quite fitting as they should. You end up facing him, legs tucked up to your chest, watching the water drip from dark ends of his hair.

“Not as romantic as I’d hoped,” he says.

“It’s okay. I like looking at you.”

His dimples show. Sweetest boy on Earth. He splashes at you a little, waiting for you to smile before talking. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” you answer honestly. Somewhere between giggling at Eddie rushing to his bedroom to fetch towels for you both, a hair tie for you, with his hands covering the crack of his ass while leaving his dick uncovered and him quietly insisting on taking the side of the tub with the tap at his back, the grey cloud hanging over you faded. “Cause of you,” you say, splashing him back.

Eddie smiles, resting his face against his knee. “Is there anything I can do, you know, to make it better, like, before it happens?” He reaches for your hand in the water. “Cause it hasn’t, in a while. I know that this was, like, different, but if I did something-”

“No,” you interrupt. “It wasn’t you.” Eddie lets that sit for a while, waiting for you to continue. “When it’s just me and you, it’s like-” You swallow. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being really, actually myself for the first time in my whole life.” Eddie’s eyes are so soft, looking at you now. “And I know that you won’t ever judge me for…my fantasies, or whatever. But then it’s like, it’s almost like- Like without even wanting to, I imagine what other people would say, if they knew the stuff I told you. If they saw how I am, when it’s just us. And then I just feel like, even though they’re not there, it’s ruined it.”

Eddie squeezes your hand, sighs with his whole body. “That sounds exhausting.”

Tears prick in your eyes even as you laugh without real mirth. “It is.”

“Well, you know this stuff really is always going to be just me and you. Right?”

“I know, Eddie.”

“I wish I could fix it for you, sweet thing.”

You close your eyes tight, trying to force back the tears. You swallow the lump in your throat, thinking, me too. Instead, you sigh, remind yourself that however hard it is now, you’re sure it used to be worse. Before you had Eddie and his humour, his touch, his kindness. “You make it better, Eddie. I promise.”

He’s perfectly gentle with you the rest of the evening, curling back up with you on the couch when you’re dry to restart Theatre of Blood. You let yourself sink into his chest, playing with his rings. You are just about engrossed in the story again, watching with sick fascination as the first critic is stabbed like Julius Caesar. Then, a thought suddenly occurs.

“Did…did you say the soap was six-in-one?”

“Sure did,” Eddie answers. “Face, body, hair, laundry, pets and dishes.”

“That’s why it smells like the terrier next door.”

Eddie hums, lifts your hand to his face and sniffs. “You mean that’s why we smell like the terrier next door.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x shy!reader

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noxturnalpascal · 3 months

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Devotion 🖤 I. Stronger Together (Ch 2)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

I. Stronger Together

CH 2 (5k) You follow Tess to a colonial style house one block away from the main town square. It’s not as tall as the church on the other side of the park, but its three stories still tower over the smaller structures around it. You realize it's close enough that you could see the house from the clinic, and think about all of the still-hot meals Joel has been bringing you three times a day.

The house has an open yard on one side and a porch wrapping around one half front to back. Tess leads you inside and gives you a brief tour. The first floor has a large dining room at the front and a kitchen in the back; a large sitting room located on the opposite side of the home with Joel’s office behind a closed door beyond. Tess shows you your small room upstairs, right next to the bathroom, crowded even with only two furnishings; a single bed and a nightstand.

Three shirts hang from the single window’s curtain rod and she tells you that the room and the clothes are yours and to let her know if you need anything else. When you make your way back downstairs with her she begins to introduce you to the other women who live there. You’re not sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t to find Joel living in a house full of women.

You hate the way it makes you feel. It’s a cold hand grasping at your insides, clutching them hot and tight yet freezing them solid at the same time. It makes you sick. You feel a stinging at your eyes and blink rapidly, fighting the urge you have to cry at every new introduction. There are two women in the kitchen preparing dinner, one in the living room mending a broken bowstring, and one working in the back garden. And Tess.

Tess is the only name you can remember. Your head is swirling, your heartbeat is in your ears, and you’re struggling against the sick feeling in your stomach. You’re not even sure you heard all of their names. As if you could even remember them, there were too many to even remember. Had he ever mentioned he lived with five fucking women before? You’re pretty sure you would have remembered that.

Tess had spent the morning moving her housemates around to clear the room at the top of the stairs that Joel said you could have. She knew Bianca wouldn’t be comfortable sharing a bed, so she moved her up to the attic, switching one of the occupants there to share a double bed in the room across from her own. They all moved around expeditiously and with no complaint. The women she shared her home with were easy going, but she still didn’t appreciate Joel dropping this work in her lap last minute.

Tess excuses herself and leaves you with the two women in the kitchen, the one from the garden – whose name, ironically, is Rosie – joining you later. You work beside them, eager to lose yourself in activity and stop your mind from racing. You’ve definitely lost your ability to small-talk, but the women are friendly and seem happy to meet you. The one Rosie calls Bianca is timid and silent, but the other two, Rosie and the other one doing most of the cooking, talk boisterously and animatedly to each other as you work.They excitedly tell you about the community. This is your first time hearing details about where you’ve been living for the past two weeks and you’re shocked to hear that the leader of the whole place is Joel.

Joel – who has been walking over three hot meals a day. Joel – who has been reading stories to you morning, noon, and night. Joel – who has been following you around the park asking you inane questions. Joel – who asked you to move in with him. That Joel.

He definitely didn’t mention that he was the leader of the whole fuckin’ community. You would have remembered that too. They tell you that he brings people into the community if they need shelter and they can follow the rules. The rules seem simple; develop a strong and cohesive community, guard and keep your territory, and work collectively to gather and store resources.

You like the way the women talk about the community they call The Valley. They seem cared for and safe, and that’s also how you’ve felt since you’ve been here. Even though your plan has been to leave when you’ve fully healed, you’ve somehow allowed yourself to get pretty comfortable here. You’ve been distracted by Joel’s daily visits, you’ve been getting lost in the stories he reads to you, letting your mind wander from the harsh realities of this world.

The reality is that society collapsed and all people want to do now is survive, by any means necessary. People have only ever used other people, they take. They did that before the outbreak, but now it’s even worse. You’ve been used. You’ve been taken from. But even though it seems like Joel failed to tell you some things, he’s never taken anything from you. In fact, Joel has been very giving.

He and his patrol killed the clicker about to attack you, saving your life. He brought you into his town and had the doctor give you medical care, even after you threatened them with scissors. He’s been bringing you food, keeping you company, reading those books to you, and helping you gain some of your strength back. Apparently he even gave you his blood after you spilled most of yours down the mountain.

He told you that you were free to leave when you got better. And maybe you will. Maybe once you’re at full-strength you’ll feel like moving on. But maybe you should stay here a little longer. You have a room of your own, a warm place to lie your head, you’ve not been this well-fed in years. Maybe this could be a safe place for you, when no place has ever really felt safe before. Maybe Joel could give you that too.

–

You’re still processing the revelations about Joel when he comes out of his office for dinner. You keep your head down, busy helping the women set the dinner table, carrying in the prepared food and drinks. Joel grabs your hand as you walk back into the kitchen, pulling you close to him. You don’t recoil from his touch anymore, as you’ve been making physical contact with him more often.

You’ve touched his arm or shoulder to point out an animal on your walk, he’s taken your hands to help you up and down steps. Unlike he usually does, this time he doesn’t drop your hand immediately, he continues holding it. He asks if you’ve ‘gotten comfortable’. You’re not sure how to tell him that you’re actually a little uncomfortable, given all the new information, without insulting his hospitality.

“Who are these people?” you ask him, looking down at your joined hands, unable to meet his eye.

“They didn’t introduce themselves to you?” he says gruffly, looking over your head. You look up to meet his eyes and he looks genuinely confused.

“Of course they did…”, you let your unfinished sentence linger in the air, hoping he won’t make your pathetic mouth finish it. You feel absolutely ridiculous. You feel one foot tall again. Here you are, at the end of the world, jealous over a man you barely fucking know. Jealous. You. As if you have any right. He squeezes your hand, making your eyes crunch tight in defeat. You have to complete your thought. Out loud. How embarrassing. “Who are they to you? Are you… seeing any of them? Not that it’s my b– business or anything, I just didn’t–”

“Oh, PJ.”

He cups your face in both his hands and the move has you flinching in surprise. He brings his mouth to yours slowly, so slowly that you’re sure you could have stopped it ten times if you wanted to. But you don’t want to. You don’t move a muscle, you’re pretty sure you don’t even breathe. And then his lips are on your lips. Time freezes. The whole world stops turning and it’s just him and you; his mouth on yours and his large warm hands surrounding your face and his nose pressing into your cheek.

After a moment the world starts turning again. You hear the other women continue to move in and out of the kitchen behind you, paying no mind to Joel’s lips on yours, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. His hands slip to your shoulders and he places more gentle kisses on your lips, your cheeks, your nose. Joel takes your hand and leads you into the dining room, guiding you to sit in the seat next to his at the head of the table.

The meal is hot and delicious, cheerful conversations drift over the tabletop as everyone eats. Joel sees your wide eyes staring at him the entire time, picking at your food, unable to process the kisses he’d bombarded you with. He’s not sure why he did that, a voice inside him was screaming not to, worried he’d scare you off and you’d be out the door miles away by now.

He kept himself in his office all afternoon, trying unsuccessfully to distract his thoughts from you. When he finally came out and saw you in the kitchen, his kitchen, his home… he couldn’t help himself. You were in his home. He grabbed your hand and pulled you close but he sensed you were upset. Were you jealous?

Sure, he probably should have told you about the other women in his house, but you were just beginning to trust him. He didn’t think he could spin this in a way that you would be comfortable with. He didn’t think he would be able to get you here if he told you the truth. So he didn’t. And when given another opportunity to tell you the truth in the kitchen, he kissed you instead.

It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Whatever relationship he had with these other women doesn’t matter as long as you’re here, and you’re here now. You’re in his home. You’re his. He’s going to make you his. It’s all he wants now. You’re all he wants now.

–

You sleep warm in your bed the first night in your new home, but stay up late listening to the gentle creaking of the house. The occupants prove to be sound sleepers, and you find out why when you’re woken up before the sun the next morning. The four women who aren’t Tess rouse you from your sleep and give you a choice of inside or outside chores. You choose outside, hoping the crisp dawn air will help wake you up. It doesn’t.

You spend the day tired but busy doing chores with a woman named Sasha. She was only a teenager when the outbreak started but she has some really great survival skills. Before lunch she takes you to the basement where she teaches you how to assemble shotgun shells. After lunch she walks with you to the nearby creek to do some fishing. Well, she fishes, you keep thinking you have something ‘big on the line’ when actually your hook is just caught on rocks. Joel and Tess spend all day out of the house and when you finally see him again, sitting next to him at dinner, you can barely keep your eyes open.

The following day is easier for you, since you slept early and solid through the night like everyone else. On this day after lunch Joel has been in his office, meeting with a long line of people one or two at a time. Each one shakes his hand as they leave, thanking him for his time. You wonder how many meetings like this he missed while he sat in your room reading to you for the last two weeks. You’re sitting in the adjoining room, doing a terrible job of mending holes in socks - you think they might be Joel’s – when the last person leaves his office.

He looks around the otherwise empty room and then his eyes meet yours. He smiles at you and holds his hand out in an invitation. You can’t help but hesitate. You spent hours every day with him for two weeks and now it’s been days since you’ve been alone with him for even one minute. The nerves bubble up in your stomach and you’re not sure if you want to run towards him or run away from him. You opt for the former, grabbing his hand and letting him pull you into his office.

The door closes behind you and suddenly you’re very aware of how alone with him you are. You’ve been alone with him every day in the clinic, with the door wide open, voices drifting down the hall from the other rooms. This feels different. The air feels charged. You’re suddenly terrified, an ice cold fear washes over your entire body as he bears down on you. He comes toe-to-toe with you as you press your back against the door and look in his eyes.

You look like you’ve been dropped into the lion’s den. He notices your panting breaths. The last time you looked this scared you were pointing a pair of scissors at him. Hey, he coos, careful not to touch you. What’s wrong, he hums, fighting the urge to pull you tight to his chest. You shake your head and stammer, unable to form a sentence. He slowly reaches behind you and twists the doorknob.

Joel pushes the door back open a couple inches, whispering we can leave that open, as he walks to the other side of the small room. He sits down at one end of a large leather couch and points to a stack of books on the table, drawing your attention to it. The books. You’d forgotten about the books. You’d dropped them on a table when you arrived and so much was going on they’d slipped your mind. Your hammering pulse begins to calm as you join him on the couch and inspect the books he’s picked.

You hand him White Fang. It’s shorter than some of the other books in the stack but it was one of your favorites as a child. Not your favorite – you still haven’t seen that one presented to you yet. He takes the small paperback and begins to read you the opening paragraph as you settle your mind and relax your body, curved into the opposite end of the big brown couch.

This is how the following weeks go. Your mornings and early afternoons are filled with chores, working side-by-side with the other women in the house. Your evenings are dominated by sleep, heavy and healing after days filled with hard work. Three times a week you take your turn in the town’s impromptu bath-house, bathing in one of their tubs – previously a horse trough – full of hot water. Twice a week you gather with the rest of the Valley in a communal meeting at the church followed by a large meal, and every Friday entertainment events go on around the town square ranging from sporting events to dances.

But every day, without fail, you get time alone with Joel. He pulls you into his office before, after, or between meetings and reads to you. Sometimes it goes on for hours and sometimes he can only give you twenty minutes. But he gives you that time every day. You don’t see him giving that time to anyone else in the house, not even Tess, and so your initial feelings of jealousy fade away.

The only thing you fight now is your own mind. You’ve been with men before, you’ve been in relationships before. You’re not a virgin and you’re not a prude. But you’ve also been hurt by men before. Too many men and more times than you care to recall. You don’t think Joel would hurt you like that. You don’t think Joel would hurt you at all. But then again, you don’t remember thinking most of the other men would hurt you either, until they did. You’ve learned not to trust.

–

The second time Joel kissed you was days after the first, when he finished White Fang. Just a gentle kiss on your lips as you left his office. The next day he repeated the motion and then it became an everyday occurrence. Shortly after, it became a habit to kiss him as you entered his office. You would casually peck his lips as you passed by him at the doorway. He would close the door, save for the last few inches, and join you on the couch.

What started as a sprinkle quickly turned into a storm. You’re still too scared to ask him to close the door all the way behind you but you can’t get enough of him when you’re alone in that room together. What began on opposite sides of the couch quickly changes to you practically sitting in his lap as he reads to you. His hands find yours, or rest on your knees, or wrap around you and pull you to his chest so you can listen to his heartbeat. You start to feel safe.

You don’t even pick the books anymore, he just grabs a paperback off the shelves behind him – the selection lately has been John Grisham. They’re taking a lot longer to get through too, since he’s constantly stopping to talk to you and flirt with you and ask you questions. He sneaks a lot of kisses in between chapters too, but he’s pretty sure you like it.

He thinks you also like the way he finds your hand underneath the dinner table each night, always meeting his eyes with a smile. In the mornings, he meets you in the hallway outside the bathroom and he kisses your cheek, smelling your sleep-mussed hair, but avoiding pressing his ever-present morning erection into you. He knows you’re still skittish and he doesn’t want to push you. He knows you just barely trust him and he won’t do anything to endanger that. He doesn’t want to give you a reason to pull away from him.

Joel’s reading A Time to Kill, trying to push through a particularly difficult description of the attack and assault on Carl Lee Hailey’s young daughter, when he sees you getting antsy beside him. He stops to look over at you and sees a familiar look in your eye.You look like you’re uncomfortable, your eyes glazing over and your body becoming twitchy and restless.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks quietly, his hand softly stroking the leg you have in his lap.

“When was your birthday?” you ask, in an attempt to change the subject.

“M– My birthday?” You’re not making eye contact, you look distracted, miles away.

“Yeah. When you told me how old you were, you said you just turned it. When was your birthday?”

“Yeah I just had my birthday in September.”

You finally look at him, your brows stitching together. “Isn’t it October now?”

“Yes,” he waits for this line of questioning to make sense. Then he realizes maybe it won’t make sense. Maybe you’re just craving a distraction.

“Did I know you when it was your birthday?”

“Yes,” he rubs your leg more, “You were at the clinic.”

“When?”

“Do you remember a night when I brought you an apple dessert?”

“You–”, your eyes move around the room, “Yes, I remember. That was your birthday?” He nods. You’re not looking at him, but he knows you can see him nodding in your peripheral vision. “I wasn’t very nice to you that day,” you say, suddenly sounding sad.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

“Why did you spend all that time with me when I wasn’t nice to you and it was your birthday?”

“I didn’t wanna be anywhere else, PJ.” You close your eyes tight, letting the silence hang between you.

“Do you think Jake gets Carl Lee off for the murders?” You change the subject again, asking him to spoil the ending of the book for you.

“Yeah, I think he does,” he answers, and you take a deep breath.

“That’s good,” you say, as you reach forward and slip the book gently out of his fingers, returning it to the shelf behind him.

You lay your head in his lap and spend the rest of your time together that afternoon with his fingers carding through your short hair, comforting you. He hopes you know he meant what he said. He knew it then as he knows it now. There isn’t anywhere else he’d rather be than with you, birthday or not.

–

As the end of October arrives, it signals that you’ve been living in Joel’s house for a month. The past month, in addition to the two weeks previous to that at the clinic, have your side completely healed. All the physical work you do around the homestead has helped you gain your strength back and then some. You’re most definitely at ‘a hundred percent’. You would be physically okay to leave at any time, and yet, leaving is the furthest thing from your mind.

Joel is on your mind. All the time. The way he holds your hands, the way he pushes his nose to yours and makes you laugh, the way he kisses your lips, your hands,, your forehead, and your neck. The way he looks at you. The way he looks at you. It’s equal parts exciting and terrifying. And the way he makes you feel is the same. You want him so badly. You don’t know if you can trust him. You don’t even know if you can trust yourself.

You long for that office door to click shut, to be completely alone with him. You want to feel his arms wrap around you, you want to feel his hands roam along your body, you want to feel his lips on your skin. You want to feel him everywhere. The thought of it sends jolts of electricity through you. The thought of him makes you wet. You’re sure that if that door latched you would be all over him like a rabid animal.

But the thought of that kind of intimacy is deliriously intimidating. You think of the first man who touched you like that. Too young, you were too young to be touched there. It frightened you. You lied still like a scared rabbit, hoping he would think you were asleep and stop. But he didn’t stop. You think about the last man who touched you like that. It wasn’t even that long ago, with dirty rough hands and a burning touch. He told you in your ear that you liked it, but all you remember is feeling pain.

That’s the fear that grips you out of nowhere, that keeps you frozen still and awkward when Joel’s hands roam too far over your body, that keeps you from fulfilling any one of your fantasies of having him naked on top of you. You still have trouble trusting him completely. What if he uses you and then discards you like the others did? What if he hurts you, causes you pain in your body and your heart and your soul?

One night he pulls you out onto the front porch and kisses you against the house, the chill of night giving visible life to your hot breaths, nothing but the din of crickets in the background. You hear him say so beautiful as he drags his cheek against yours, lightly scratching you with his facial hair. Your body reacts before you can reason with yourself, you push him away from you.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Don’t call you what?” His arms are still holding your hips, the crease between his eyes deep as he looks across your face.

“Beautiful,” you say quietly, the cover of darkness not giving you any courage. “D- Don’t call me that.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Yeah, cause I’m not.” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I might be a lot of things but I’m not beautiful, so when you say it to me, it feels like I’m hearing a lie. And I don’t want you to lie to me.”

He wraps his arms around you tight, pulling you back together, his chest warm against yours. He rests his head on your shoulder and his hot breath fans across your neck. He places gentle kisses there while he whispers I won’t lie to you into your skin repeatedly. He thinks of the half-truths he’s already told you and decides that they don’t count. The things he’s done in the past don’t count. All that counts is the man he is going forward, the man he is with you.

–

The next night you’re on cleaning duty with Bianca and you’re both in the kitchen after dinner washing up from the meal. You think you like her the best out of everyone here. Not just because she’s sweet, which she is, but because she’s very quiet. She barely says five words all day and when you’re in her company you can just relax. You can let your mind wander. You can get lost in your thoughts of Joel.

Tonight she doesn’t feel good and you’re not sure how to help her. You tried saying something to Tess earlier but she told you that Bianca could come to her if she needed to talk. Well Bianca doesn’t really talk, so you’re not sure what to do. Joel walks in the kitchen and smiles at you, immediately noticing your look of concern. He takes a quick look at Bianca and sends her to bed, telling her that he’ll help you finish your chores.

You know he’s a kind person but you feel like part of the reason why he sent her upstairs was so he could put his hands on you and kiss you, which he does nearly every moment you’re alone. But not this time. This time he stands by your side as Bianca was, taking his task seriously, helping you to scrub and dry the day’s dishes.

You break the silence and tell him that you always hated having to do the dishes as a kid, how it kept you from the other things you wanted to do after dinner. He asks if you still hate it and you tell him no. You tell him that since there’s no TV shows to watch, no mall to go to, and no friends to call, you’re pretty content with washing some dishes. He chuckles and says his daughter used to hate washing dishes too.

Daughter?

“You had a daughter?”

His hands still their movement. He didn’t mean to let that slip. Shit. Fuck. Sarah flashed into his mind and his guard is so low around you, it just came out. Yeah, he nods, resuming his scrubbing. He doesn’t want to say anything else. He doesn’t want these memories to come rushing in like a tsunami and drown him.

“Her name was Sarah. She uh….” he begins, dreading this conversation.

He feels your soapy hand cover his under the water. You grab his fingers, causing him to let go of the dish he was clutching. You squeeze his hand and when he looks up and meets your eyes he’s hit like a fucking wrecking ball. Wetness rims your waterline. You’re staring straight through him, right into his soul. You see him. You see him. And he’s never going to be the same.

“I know,” you hum. The whole universe is in your eyes. “You don’t have to–”

“Died,” he finishes his sentence.

You nod. You know. Everyone lost everything when the world ended. You most likely lost loved ones too. You’re all just broken shells of people walking around now, although some are worse off than others. Your lip trembles and your eyes are wet like you’re going to cry tears for his lost Sarah too. You open your mouth and begin to speak with a shaky breath.

“One time when I was a pre-teen, I put off washing the dishes until it was very late, almost bedtime. When I was done my dad wouldn’t let me get ready for bed. He called me to come sit with him in the living room while he watched the ten o’clock news. A segment came on about teen pregnancy and the whole time I just sat there embarrassed, not understanding what we were watching, or why. When that story was over he clapped his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘okay then, goodnight,’ and sent me to bed. It wasn’t until years later I realized that was his version of the sex talk,” you finish with a chuckle.

Joel huffs out a laugh with you, finding your dad’s awkward solution somewhat relatable.

“I just gave her a book,” he recalls, “Don’t even remember who I got it from, I think one of her friend’s mom’s? I don’t remember but… it didn’t go over well. There was a lot of eye rolling.”

Your eyes pinch together as you both laugh, causing the tears that had welled up to spill from the sides. You finish drying the last dish and head upstairs to bed, but before you can turn towards your room he gently grabs your wrist and places your hand in one of his. His face is calm and peaceful. He looks content. He reaches his other hand up and cups your face. You think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he just says thank you. He holds your face a moment longer before squeezing your hand and heading into his room.

🖤

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE

Thank you endlessly to @papipascalispunk for helping me with this series and listening to me rant about Cult Leader Joel. 🫂 I appreciate you SO much.

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper @missladym1981 @xdaddysprincessxx@lumoverheaven @ghoulettesinspace @brittmb115 @wintersquirrel @obscurexsorrows @littlevenicebitch69 @lulawantmula @pedroswife69 @joeldjarin

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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angelicyouth · 11 months

Text

Youth ; Chapter 15

⇢ pairing: kenny mccormick x marsh!reader x craig tucker

⇢ synopsis: ❝Growing up with the boys as the sole girl of the group, it was only natural for them to grow protective over their pseudo-little sister as the years went by.❞

⇢ [AO3 link] ; [series masterlist] ; [previous] ; [next]

The shrill sound of the telephone wakes up the sleep deprived group of teens slouching in on each other for more comfort. The rickety chairs that have been more or less their tentative homes in the recent days squeak and groan at every movement of their too-large bodies as they shift to forced consciousness.

Their bleary eyes scream at them when they fight off the last dregs of sleep desperately begging to bring them back into its embrace, the glowing numbers of the clock hanging on the wall announcing to them that the time is now currently 2:48AM. Tired hands come up to their faces, languid in its motion as it takes a couple of times to direct the appendage to wipe at their sleep encrusted eyes when it repeatedly misses its intended target.

Hearing the muffled words coming in through the transparent window separating the boys from the detectives at their desks, Stan immediately shoots up in his seat when he hears my name being tossed around. He shushes the tired groaning of the others, bringing a hand up as a nonverbal command to keep their bodies still.

Results.

Phone tracking.

Location.

Now.

This is the last thing the elder Marsh hears before he clumsily heaves his body up, hands blindly reaching for his jacket to throw onto his rushing form as he runs out of the double doors leading to the outside world of the police department.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

A sea of luxurious silk linen lightly caresses every curve of my body, the softness of the mattress surrounding my form as I lay in the depths of its smooth embrace. I’m seated upright in the temporary fortress that I’ve woken up in since the day of my abduction—a four poster queen sized bed with a canopy of gentle white, the soft material cascading down into billowing curtains over the metal rods that support the structure.

Shackled around my ankles are a cool metal, heavy in its weight and linked to the bedposts at the base of the two rods in front of me. Higher above the swollen, red skin that’s been uncomfortably chaffed into tenderness from my confines is nothing but a babydoll dress made up of black lace adorning my frame.

To erase anything from your old life, they had said.

Sick pervert, I had thought back in discontent.

My wrists are currently screaming in searing pain, the bones that make up my non-dominant hand dislocated and mangled beyond belief as I forcibly slip it free from the rough texture of the ropes that bind them together. I will myself with all of my might to not pass out from my self-inflicted agony as my head becomes increasingly light, the mounting dizziness forcing black spots to teeter into the edge of peripherals.

Body trembling from the excruciating torment, I can feel my perspiration begin to lightly bead against my hairline as I force my shaking hands to bring the thick cord back around my wrist to keep up the illusion of detainment. My throat tightens around itself as I force the bile that threatens to come out back down from the burning feeling. I try to focus on the distinctive, copper taste that my teeth invokes from my lip in an effort to discourage any sounds from escaping my mouth.

I curse inside my head when the door to the room opens up, my perpetrator perching themself down onto the length of the bed in front of me. Their added weight makes my body lean closer to theirs, the slight shift of my faux bonded hands behind my back making me want to scream into oblivion. In stark contrast to the binds that keep me in place, their touch is gentle as they carefully bring the metal edge of a spoon towards my lips, silently urging me to take in a mouthful of food.

My head stays slightly lowered in submission, my eyes never making eye contact when a few seconds pass by with no movement on either end. I don’t even flinch when my captor predictably loses their temper at my disobedience, the piping hot bowl of soup getting thrown at the nearest wall when I refuse to eat.

As always, my assailant will become violently upset when I don’t part my mouth for any sort of nutrition they try to provide me with and I wonder when it will inevitably turn into their seething appendages against my flesh. My eyes don’t waver from its unrelenting focus onto a particular spot on the blanket covering the bed as they loudly curse to themself at my predictive unwillingness to cooperate, their thundering footsteps echoing out into the hallways before they come back to clean up the mess they have made.

Investing their time into bringing the room back to its orderly state allows them enough moments to calm down before they resume their undivided attention to my still form, their body settling back down onto their previous position from before their little tantrum. A warm yet damp washcloth glides over my smooth skin, running along the droplets of stew that became a casualty in its demise as my perpetrator’s hands softly tend to me.

“... I’m sorry you had to see me like that. You know that I just care about you, right? I wouldn’t ever hurt you. It only worries me when you don’t eat.” Their voice is hushed in the otherwise quiet room and my mouth remains shut.

I have not deemed my captor worthy of my voice for anything unnecessary since the kidnapping and they routinely sigh at my expected muteness, their larger hand coming up to lightly cradle my cheek when my skin is deemed soup-free. I’ve been extremely selective with what I say, the rare times my lips part to let out my thoughts are when I ask them to let me talk to or see my friends and family—nothing more.

My throat is sore from disuse and my refusal to drink even a bit of water. I don’t even allow myself the short respite of sleep because if I do, the waking world will greet me with severe disorientation and a panic attack when my eyes settle onto my unknown location. I didn’t need my captor rushing into the room from my distressed cries and screaming to comfort me, not wanting a repeat of the first time it happened. The less contact with each other, the better.

My assailant’s thumb is almost nonexistent, my brain not registering the carefully gentle movements as they attempt to soothe the soft skin of my cheek as I begin to disassociate. “You haven’t eaten anything since you’ve came and you don’t talk to me. I’m just trying to help you, you know? You’re safer here and I can give you anything you want, Y/N… I can make you happy.”

Better than most situations, yes.

But it was still disgusting, to be frank.

Almost vile.

Sickening.

Granted, my perpetrator didn’t mistreat me in any way or intentionally inflict any abuse either physically or psychologically onto my person. But, their sick delusions in keeping me locked up for their own selfishness made me sick to my stomach—the obsession this person harbored that grew until they couldn’t hold themselves back any longer when they saw me alone at the parking lot.

The one, rare moment that I wasn’t seen with any of the boys and they jumped at the opportunity. Just thinking about it brings up the nauseating question: how long have they been closely watching me to seize such an infrequent occasion?

There’s a stretch of silence between the two of us before they sigh in defeat from my unwavering stubbornness and I try my absolute hardest to refrain from sneering in disgust when they plant a gentle kiss onto my forehead. My jaw tightly clenches and my eyebrows crease together as I feel my anger manifest into the physical remnants of tears beginning to thinly coat my eyes in frustration.

I count it as a small victory when nothing escapes from my eyes—they didn’t deserve my tears.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

It’s a whole operation, one with full combat gear and everything. Exhilaration fills everybody’s system as they follow the glaring colors of red and blue sitting on top of the multitude of police cruisers rushing down the desolate streets of South Park.

It’s quiet in the car, the teens forgoing the sound of music in exchange of the wailing sirens from the Tactical Response automobiles that they closely keep their eyes on. The prospect of finally getting their missing member back fills every pore in their body with a nervous thrum of anticipation, hands trembling on their seated laps in bottled up energy as they come across a swarm of officers exchanging words and talking into radios behind the police tape.

When the boys unload the two vehicles that they all crammed into, they’re predictably denied entry from getting closer to the site as they were deemed unauthorized personnel. They instead take the time to take in their surroundings and from mere observation, it seems that the signal they traced from the phone call brought them to an industrial block close to seemingly nowhere.

Most of the buildings seemed to be factories and warehouses, almost eerily abandoned from the husks of cement that encloses them. The windows adorning the stretch of structures are eerily dark, resembling the empty eye sockets of a person in its lifelessness.

Kyle subtly motions his head in the direction of the surveillance van that is heavily armored and the group catches his nonverbal cue as they pretend to leisurely check out the area in order to bring their bodies closer. From their position, they can see an abundance of green-tinged surveillance screens and a multitude of unfamiliar electronics that flash LED lights.

Interlaced with the humming and whirring of the electrical devices, they can hear a detective murmuring directions into their mouthpiece as they keep their eyes glued to a live feed of one of the helmets of the men inside. The night vision of the cameras give the screens beyond the mess of wires and cables a green hue, looking similar to the ones you’d see in ghost documentaries or horror movies.

Suddenly, words become more rushed and frantic as fingers rapidly begin to dance along the keyboards stationed inside the array of devices, the boys instantly surging into impulsive action when they hear the words: getting away.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

My lack of clothing causes goosebumps to arise all over my body as it hits the cold Colorado air, my perpetrator hastily shoving me into an unmarked van in an attempt to put distance between us and the frenzy of law enforcement that steadily gets louder as they approach our location. Curses cut through the air of anxiety ridden breathing when we suddenly hear loud footsteps, a foreign body suddenly tackling my assailant from behind.

Taking this opportunity of transferred attention, I finally cease my charade of faux restraint as I push the tangle of bodies away from me to run in the opposite direction and take cover to the closest area. The sound of scuffling continues with the added noise of yells so I keep my body hidden in a mixture of nervous anxiety, not wanting this sliver of hope to diminish if I were to be seen.

My body curves in on itself as I crouch as low to the ground as I can while my hands cover my ears, shaking fingers curling over my unwashed hair as I pray that no one finds me. I force myself to pay attention to the pieces of gravel painfully digging into my bare feet while I try to regulate my breathing, my body hunching in on itself even further to insulate more heat.

It isn’t until the sounds of grunts and fists making contact with flesh come to a stop that I chance a peek over the broken rubble of what was possibly a wall long ago. My eyes widen in surprise when I see that my boys have come to my rescue, covered in an array of both cuts and bruises with their chests rapidly heaving up and down from exertion.

The moment of elation immediately turns into dread when I see that my captor has unfortunately obtained a new hostage in my absence, the air thick with newfound tension. Butters winces at the tightening arms locked around him, his hands shooting upwards to soothe the exerted force of the headlock he’s in.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Adrenaline starts to pump through my veins as I try to desperately rack my brain for any ideas on what to do when something catches my eyes. The reflection of moonlight creates a glare over its shiny cover, the item that piqued my interest under stray pieces of rubble. I silently make my way to the object and feel the corner of my lips quirk up when I’ve identified the heavy steel as a compact handgun—a fully functioning glock that must’ve been knocked away during the altercation minutes ago.

I would say that I’m pretty adept with using the weapon—my Uncle Jimbo having taught my brother and I at a young age whenever he took us out to spontaneous camping trips as a sport, but most importantly to teach us a decidedly lethal form of self defense. He began to take us to shooting ranges instead, however, when our combined stubbornness caused us to refuse the purposeful harm of inflicting wounds on innocent animals.

I step out of the concrete camouflaging my body to reveal myself, my face devoid of any expression and my voice flat yet loud. “Let him go.”

“Y/N!” All of the boys exclaim in relief when they spot me but I don’t acknowledge any of them, refusing to look away from my target for even just a second to allow them an opportunity of escape.

My perpetrator’s eyes widen behind the material concealing their identity when they land on my form, a black ski mask with just a large oval cut out of it for their vision. They laugh, irritatingly confident with fake assurance of our time together.

“Come on, babe. You wouldn’t shoot me. Now be a good girl and come back here so I can let your little friend go.”

I let a few beats of silence go by and when time proves that they won’t relent, I tiredly close my eyes.

Breathe in, and out.

Concentrate.

My chest rises up as I inhale a deep yet steady breath to bring clarity into my mind, my neck leisurely rolling my head around before I grant myself my vision back and focus. Steadily bringing my arms up into the stance deeply ingrained into my body from my adolescence, my fingers take off the safety to pull the trigger and shoot.

The sudden onslaught of meticulously thought out bullets causes my assailant to drop Butters in their surprise, but none of the shots I take pierce at their skin. I only have the metal pieces graze at the fluttering material of their clothes in warning and the outline of their body in an effort to intimidate them. I walk forward with confidence, expertly dropping the first magazine and quickly reloading it as I let muscle memory take over.

In my ruthless shooting, I don’t take notice of Kyle whacking both Craig and Kenny behind their heads in admonishment when their lips slightly part at the sight of me in awe. Deep vermillion shades their cheeks despite the situation, their hands distractedly coming up to pat Butters in reassurance when the blonde hastily makes his way back to the group.

My eyebrows don’t even furrow in my unwavering concentration, my face apathetically blank as I finally stand in front of my disguised perpetrator. The conservative amount of openings on their mask doesn’t provide much but the sight of their eyes is all I need to know that their body is racked with fear.

Without breaking eye contact, I reach into the front pocket of their flannel shirt to lightly graze my fingers against the box of cigarettes that I know is almost permanently etched in there. Bringing a stick up to my lips, I light it up with the lighter kept in the box for convenience and languidly inhale the toxic fumes until it fills up my lungs.

Tendrils of smoke begins to slowly leak from my mouth before I mockingly blow a stream of it onto my assailant's face, my eyes lazily trailing down when I see the growing pool of wetness that forms between the material of their shaking legs. The pungent smell of urine invades my nostrils from our close proximity and I cruelly smirk around the rolled-up nicotine, my hand bringing the pistol in between their eyes.

I slowly lift up my unoccupied hand, ignoring its screams for medical attention as I lightly graze the cheek of the person in front of me. Gently grasping the course material covering their face in between my fingers, I take my time in lifting it further up and away from their head.

The boys behind me suck in a sharp breath when it’s finally revealed that it was none other than the teen that approached me at North Park Funland’s food court when I was waiting for the guys to grab lunch.

“What the fuck?” Someone exclaims from behind me in a mixture of confusion and exasperation, desperately grasping onto the faint remnants of memories that contain the face in front of us.

Pressing the cool metal further against his skin in threat aides him to nervously speak up, his mind running at a million miles per hour as he answers the unprompted questions in all of our heads.

“Don’t you recognize me, Y/N?” Despite the anxiety overcoming his body, there’s a manic grin that begins to stretch wide on his face yet I continue to keep my face devoid of any emotion.

He laughs and the sound of it makes everyone in its vicinity uncomfortable, the madness and hysteria in his tone sharply bleeding through his vocal chords. “See, this is why I took you. I bet you only remember me from the time I came up to you at the amusement park, huh? I went to North Park High with you, and I loved you. You never dated anyone so I thought you returned my affection too, just waiting for me to finally gather up the courage to speak to you.”

“… Holy shit.” A voice exclaims from behind me at the deranged confession.

“But before I could, you suddenly disappeared at the beginning of sophomore year. I was devastated, Y/N. How could you do that to someone who loves you? How could you do that to us? How could you just leave me so easily? When I finally saw you back at the amusement park at North Park, I thought you finally came back. I knew I had to talk to you when I took all of the times that I could have for granted but when I finally did, these bastards interrupted. They took you from me, Y/N.”

A shaky hand reaches forward in an attempt to caress my cheek but I just press the cool metal harder onto the skin of his face in wordless threat. “You understand, right, Y/N? That I had to do it, for us. They changed you—you weren’t like this last year so I knew it was all of their faults.”

My eyes apathetically blink slowly at the pleadings leaking out of the mouth in front of me, the glowing embers of my cigarette casting a warm light against the visage of the begging teen in front of me. The mixture of shades are reminiscent of the color I’d associate with the blazing pits of Hell, a place that’d be worthy of housing the pathetic figure in front of me.

“Just come with me, Y/N. I didn’t hurt you, right? I showed you that I could take care of you and I wasn’t lying when I said that I could make you happy. Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.” He offers me a placating smile, wobbly around the corners yet gentle all the same. But despite the soft way his lips curve around his cheeks and how his voice noticeably lightens when addressing me, the deranged undertone of his intentions cannot be ignored.

A beat of silence stretches on as everyone tentatively soaks up the onslaught of information, a whistle cutting through the area. “… What the actual fuck.”

“This guy is actually batshit insane.”

“More like pathetically delusional.”

“You sick fuck! I swear I’ll bash your fucking head in!”

“N/N! Back up before he tries to do something!”

In answer to everything and everyone, my wrist fluidly turns the object in my hand around to harshly slam the butt of the gun onto his face. When his hands shoot up to nurse the blood streaming down from his now crooked nose, I pounce on his larger form and begin my assault on his face with my relentless fists.

There’s a small quirk to my lips when I hear the satisfying sound of his bone crunching underneath my knuckles, the voice below me just begging for reprieve. The point of contact between the both of us that I know will inflict a world of hurt causes an overwhelming sense of euphoria, the body trembling underneath me in both unadulterated fear and absolute pain.

For the first time in days, I feel good.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

My revenge didn’t get as far as I would have liked it before a cacophony of panicked voices fill the air at my merciless revenge, arms settling themselves over my waist as they heft my body away from my assailant. When the distance between us steadily grows, I take petty satisfaction in spitting at the vivid reds and deep purples beginning to bloom in a sea of blood.

When my cigarette is but a slowly diminishing roach, my hands flail to extinguish the flame onto the skin of his face. I struggle for a bit as a scream of anguish rips out of the gurgle of blood in his throat but my quick attempt as a last resort of revenge proves to be fatal when my perpetrator quickly grabs onto my mangled wrist.

I yell in excruciating pain as they purposefully exert force in the hold that they have over me, knowledgeable of the tender skin laying underneath their grip and using it to their advantage. Their unoccupied hand hurriedly reaches into the denim of the back pocket of their jeans, the arms wrapped around me frantically trying to pull me further away as I desperately try to wrench back my screaming wrist.

Their efforts prove to be successful as if in slow motion, a syringe filled with a sickly green gets brandished before they try to stab the thin metal into the expanse of skin onto the arms wrapped around me. I can physically feel the color drain from my face when I can feel a slight pinch in my skin come from the needle being ruthlessly jammed into my arm in its haste, my veins beginning to feel like they’re burning as he mistakenly injects me with a foreign liquid.

My body immediately falls limp like a puppet whose strings got cut off at the unknown intrusion, the other boys quickly tackling my assailant to properly hold him down. He begins to maniacally laugh as he eerily smiles at me, my eyes glassy and distant as I stare back. It’s like I have no control of my body, my mind desperately willing my fingers and toes to move, to do anything but all my attempts are otherwise unacknowledged by my body.

I can’t do anything as I fall onto the rough asphalt of the floor, pieces of gravel painfully digging into my exposed body as Tweek falls from my unexpected dead weight. The blond cushions the rest of my body as he cradles me in his lap, my head facing up into the dark sky from my new position.

There are no stars up above to provide me Craig’s gift of everlasting comfort, I realize.

Tweek’s shaking hands push my limp head to the crook of his elbow, my form draped across the safe solace of his lap as he adjusts my body for comfort. Slender fingers tremble as they try to clumsily push away the stray strands of hair that fell over my face, my sticky cheeks making it harder as silky locks are wet from the tears that were invoked when my assailant forcibly applied pressure to my self-mutilated wrist.

My body feels as if it’s alight in pure hell as every single cell in my body begins screaming at me, willing it to do anything to rid my system of this tortuous sensation. Tears begin to gather at the corner of my eyes, my vision glassy and unfocused at the pure agony that my nerves rapidly signal to my brain for some desperate help.

“Guys! GUYS!” In my silent suffering, I fail to notice the apprehension of my prior classmate as the boys begin to quickly gather around me at the sounds of Tweek’s frantic yelling.

His erratic fingers continue to desperately push away the locks of hair obscuring my vision, his chest quickly heaving up and down in panic as he takes in my state. “Ngh! She hasn’t moved since the guy injected her with something—she hasn’t even BLINKED!”

“What?!” Kenny roars in anger, not comprehending how the situation got even worse than it already was at the slight error on their part for not quickly capturing my perpetrator as soon as I started attacking.

“What the fuck did you do?! Fucking ANSWER ME!” My brother thunders out loud this time, but nobody can provide an explanation as they watch my terrifyingly still body.

Kenny shoves his way to where Tweek has me, the blonde getting roughly pushed aside as I’m forcibly transferred onto another lap, the new face revealing itself to be my blonde lover. His brows are furrowed in frustration and his normally crystal-like eyes have a thin film of cloudy tears around it, threatening to break free when he heaves a shaky breath out at seeing my unresponsive face.

“No. No, no, no. Princess?” His whisper is so feeble and weak, his normally confident and easygoing voice utterly distressed as he frantically scans my face for any detection of life.

“Come on, baby. Don’t do this to me, please. No more, I just got you back.” Shaky hands gently grasp at one of my shoulders, softly urging me to do something as his pleading voice transitions into feeble begging.

He lightly presses his forehead against my own, his fingers softly grasping onto my hair and twirling it around his fingers as an outlet to release his nervous energy. My body screams out at him but no one can hear me, my form as limp as ever and still burning. However, Kenny’s arms wrapped around me so securely after so long apart causes a bit of relief from my own internal torment.

He can’t help the sob that shakes his entire body at its sheer magnitude when I don’t respond to his familiar touch or the soothing cadence of his voice like I usually do after minutes of trying. The blonde’s breathing becomes increasingly panicked, every inhale and exhale of his chest shaking my own form as he cradles me against his clothed one.

“Always and forever, remember? You can’t leave me now. We’re supposed to get old and grey and when our lives are almost done, you’re supposed to grin and turn to me and Tucker and tell us all about how much fucking fun you had.” His voice comes out in broken whispers, almost becoming delirious from his haywire emotions in its rawness and how utterly torn it sounded.

As ironic as it is, up until this moment the blonde truly thought he knew death. Dying as often as he did, Kenny figured that it could never get worse after all of his gruesome experiences with it. But it never quite prepared him to consider the other perspective of it, to watch someone else pass and the foreign emotions that came with this new territory. He’s lost his limbs, even his own heart, but he has never felt such a loss like this in his entire life.

In the privacy of the darkness that overtakes his room with nightfall, he would consume a conspicuous amount of alcohol and drugs in order to numb the pain of constantly dying. But after the discovery that I’d remember if he left, he realized that he didn’t need all of that anymore when he knew that someone was expecting him back. That sole moment of discovery was an absolute dream come true because Kenny absolutely hated dying, the way the hurt never got better and how it made him feel so forgettable and insignificant.

It was the reason he opted to take home economics in elementary school instead of the shop class filled with sharp material and dangerous equipment with the rest of the boys. It was the reason he chose to be a fucking princess in their fantasy role-playing game, wanting to be the one who got saved for once in his life from his intimate relationship with death and his time as Mysterion, the superhero who rescued others.

Because he never understood—who saved him while he always saved everyone else?

But at this very moment, he thinks about how he’d gladly take my place if it meant seeing my smile again. Despite how much he grew up absolutely dreading the familiar emptiness that came whenever he woke up to the water-stained ceiling of his bedroom. Regardless of the way the people he held so dearly to him acted so normal when he came back, as if something wasn’t amiss despite their swollen red eyes or the lingering smell of alcohol on Stan’s breath.

Because to Kenny, the blonde saw the heavens every single time my lips curved in happiness. And he didn’t want to lose the one good in his unfortunate life full of poverty provided by his deadbeat parents.

Not now, not ever. Not when there was still a promise of always and forever.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

Red locks suddenly appear in my peripherals, a large hand going over my chest as Kyle leans his head closer to my still body. After a few seconds, he places his fingers on the pulse of my neck and wrist before ultimately placing a finger in front of my nose.

“… There’s no sign of breathing.” It feels like a cold bucket of water drenches my body at the curly haired teen's whispered words, my mind screaming that no, I’m still alive.

“How the—but she was just… Is she dead..?! Please don't tell me she's dead.” Clyde’s panic-stricken voice wobbly sounds out from somewhere to my left, the boys yelling out shocked expletives at Kyle’s solemn announcement.

“There’s just no way. Try again, Kyle. Please.”

“No. No, no, no. Not her. Please, not N/N.”

“Are you sure you checked correctly? Maybe it’s faint, check the pulse on her neck or wrist again!”

“How..? She was just breathing.”

All variations of false hope, all coming to the same conclusions no matter who checks and how. Stan doesn’t relent in his desperate attempts, determined to hear the sound that belongs to the other half of him.

It just didn't make any sense, it couldn’t even register in his mind despite everyone’s efforts and their repeated confirmation. I’ve always been there with him. Who was Stan Marsh if not the twin of Y/N?

My heartbeat is all that he's ever known, the one thing he’s so sure of in a universe filled to the brim with the undiscovered. It’s something that he's so in tune with—he knew the exact beats of it and could recognize the warmth of it whenever he was near me. But right now as I lay still with my eyes wide and glassy, it was like listening to deafening static and hoping for nothing.

I would’ve jolted if I had control of my limbs as an agonized scream sharply cuts through the air, my brother’s voice full of anguish at the reveal. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!”

“You better speak the fuck up or I swear to fucking God that you’ll wish the police got to you before we did.” Craig’s monotonous voice rings out from somewhere to my side, my screaming brain wailing out to my raven-haired lover because I feel scared even in the comforting presence of the others.

I hear something loudly make contact with the ground, my perpetrator grunting a little further away. “FUCKING DO SOMETHING! YOU WANTED US, RIGHT? NOT HER! YOU WANTED TO MAKE HER HAPPY YET YOU STILL DID THIS TO HER! TAKE ME INSTEAD!”

In the quietness of the night, so soft that it’s almost hard to hear he speaks again. “Please. Please, just take me instead.”

The raw pain colored in Craig’s voice hurts my apparently unbeating heart even more, his voice breaking apart as it dissolves into a small plea at the end of his sentence in unadulterated desperation. A drop of liquid falls onto my face as he threatens the teen and my eyes shift up to see Kenny softly weeping over me, the sight making my heart feel like it's breaking into a million pieces as I desperately wish to just reach out and soothe the weeping boy.

Nobody says anything, the sound of sobbing and sniffling the only thing filling the air.

When the blonde pulls me closer to his chest in order to bring my limp body into a tight hug, the slight alteration to my position allows me to see Craig as he takes a few quick strides to where he threw my assailant. The groaning teen begins to cry out in pain when the ravenette intentionally grabs him by the shoulder where a deep crimson begins to bleed through his jacket.

“FUCK YOU, you sick fuck. I can’t believe you’d kill someone you claim to love. If you make it out of this alive, just remember: when you killed her, you didn’t kill just one person.” He raises his fist and roughly slams it against the already battered visage of the bleary eyed teen in front of him, quickly lifting his curled fist to deliver repeated punches again and again.

He laughs but it’s devoid of any emotion. Yet it’s somehow ruthlessly cruel in its emptiness and hollow in its hurt.

“Never get too attached to anyone, dipshit. Unless they also feel the same way towards you. Because one-sided expectations can mentally destroy you. Well... I guess it’s too late for that, you crazy fuck.” Craig cuts off the boy begging for mercy or for any sort of undeserved reprieve as he kicks him down onto the ground, pressing a knee onto his chest as he scoffs at the delivery of his too-late advice.

He exerts as much of his weight onto the wheezing body in front of him, the struggling teen spitting out the onslaught of blood that pours into his cut lips from his broken nose. His hands clumsily shoots out to try to relent some of the pressure from the ravenette’s knee as a large hand reaches for his hair to harshly slam his head onto the ground.

My unnamed assailant frantically begins to yelp, his voice raspy as he tries to force out the words from his throat. “Stop, STOP! She’s alive, okay?! Just let me go and I’ll do something.”

Kyle backs away from me and I feel the tears begin to leak out from the corner of my eyes quicker than when I was in pain and I know that my body would have been absolutely sobbing in distress if I could move. The diminishing presence of the boys around me causes my brain to go into a frenzy of panic, desperate to be heard from the others and to keep their comforting presences with me.

Already overwhelmed with the ongoing pain coursing throughout my body, the additional panic of the boys losing hope wills myself to open my mouth to yell out for them. When nothing works, I curse at the fact that my eyes were left open because now I just wanted to block everything out—for everything to be over with. Whatever was injected into my body was killing me and I could feel it.

It’s as if whatever higher deity is up there finally answers my prayers as tufts of silky blonde hair enters my vision from the corner of my eyes, Butters expression filled with melancholy as he scans my face. He brings a hand up to the skin of my cheeks, his touch so soft that it almost feels nonexistent. He lightly skims his fingers over the expanse he has access to and when they creep towards my damp eyelashes, his hand stills from their gentle ministrations.

His eyebrows furrow, his voice soft in its disbelief as he speaks up. “She’s crying.”

“What?” Tolkien approaches my view, his own expression tensely mirroring the blondes in his well-deserved skepticism. He carefully watches as Butters brings up the soft material that makes up the sleeves of his jacket to gently dab at my eyes, the area not staying dry for long before my tears immediately resurface.

“Holy shit, she’s crying.” He echoes out in confirmation, a mixture of bewilderment and confusion painting his words.

A beat of silence tells me that they’re all looking at the previously masked teen for answers, the boy speaking up at their expectant faces when the sound of a fist meeting skin sounds out through the air. “Fuck! I told you, it’d be a slow and painful death. She’s not dead, yet. She’s still alive, I can do something if you just let me.”

“No fucking way! We can't trust him!” Cartman barks out to the group in caution, a sneer deeply curled onto his face as he stares down at the beaten teen.

Butters immediately starts sobbing at my lifeless face, the salty tears that are escaping his eyes begin to gently drop down his face until they meet the already damp skin of my own. He’s frantic in trying to catch every drop that trails down from my own orbs, his aim not that accurate due to his shaky hands.

“Fellas! FELLAS!” The blonde musters up what little of his strength he has left as he yells over the boys arguing, effectively cutting off the voices fighting over our heads.

“We have to help her. We have to. She’s my little sister, I can’t lose her.” He hysterically babbles, his frantic speech making it hard to make out his words.

“Butters, calm the fuck down.” A hand tries to placate him by laying itself on one of his shoulders, the blonde venomous as he urges everyone to just listen as he sharply slaps away the comforting touch.

Although hope was beginning to form due to Butters’ efforts, the pain coursing my veins was starting to change, feeling like something within me was ominously shifting. While everything still hurt, my senses were beginning to gradually fade as my body began to give up its fight. Everything around me felt like it was getting duller, my brain slowly starting to not register the feeling of Butters’ fingers against my face and the surrounding voices of the others.

“We can’t trust him! He can’t do anything, he’s just fucking lying again! He’s deceived us once and he's just going to do it another time. She’s GONE! He can't bring her back!” Cartman impatiently tries to yell some sense into the boys, everyone lost on what to do and sharing conflicted looks with one another.

“Let him go. Do it.” Stan decidedly breaks the silence, tensely forcing his demand out through gritted teeth as he vehemently glares at my assailant.

I felt so… gone.

But my brother knew he had to take the chance, however small and uncertain it may be. He had promised and he was going to do whatever he was capable of doing at this moment to keep it. Every time he was there, he always told me that I’d be safe and he’d be damned if he turned his back on his baby sister. Because if there was even a chance, a small sliver of hope that I was still alive…

“He might be lying, Stan…” Kyle shakes his head, a pained expression crossing his face as he whispered logically to the furiously demanding teen.

“DO IT! I’M NOT FUCKING AROUND, FUCKING FIX HER!” His scream pierces through the air, a few of the boy’s bodies jumping slightly at the sheer volume of his distressed voice. He ignores his best friend’s reasoning, not even sparing a moment to acknowledge that his emotions may be irrationally controlling the decisions he’s making.

No one moves for a moment, everyone warily eyeing each other. Cartman furrows his eyebrows and takes a step forward before Kyle stops him. “If you do this and something happens, it’s on you. Would you be able to live with your conscience if nothing happens to N/N and he’s able to get away?”

“It’s a chance that I’m willing to take, Kyle. Don’t fucking question me, this is my fucking sister.” Stan impatiently snaps at the curly haired teen, the redhead glaring back at the bleached blonde from the insinuation of his words.

“Don’t fucking play with me, Marsh. She’s my little sister, too.” He bitterly bites back as he roughly pushes past the sneering teen and grabs the discarded gun from the floor before kneeling down, freeing my perpetrator from the thick rope the boys used to crudely detain him with.

Kyle threateningly points the heavy metal towards his head, the other boys closely watching to see if he’ll flee as their bodies tense on the chance that they may have to jump into action. My captor grabs something from the unmarked vehicle, his hands nervously shaking as he brings another syringe out to imbed into my skin. The boys all collectively flinch when they watch the long needle trespass against my arm, their breaths baited as they tensely observe from the crowd formed around me.

The second the liquid enters my system, it’s as if my body got released from the paralysis keeping me shackled in its silent hold. Only one deep breath gets heaved out before I let out a bloodcurdling scream to vocalize the intense agony I’ve been feeling all this time.

Shocked, the boys didn’t know what to do as they watched in muted horror as I begin to scream bloody murder on Kenny’s lap. They just kind of expected me to wake up, never having guessed that they’d be presented with the painful image of my back contorting to an exaggerated arch and my limbs violently flailing everywhere.

My sobs begin to combine with my torturous screaming, my hands failing multiple times before they’re able to grab onto the material adorning Kenny’s frame as I shake his still body. “MAKE IT STOP!”

The screeching finally prompts him into action as his hands attempt to restrain my thrashing body, my chest painfully heaving as I blabber nonsense to anyone listening through my thick tears. All the boys could do was cry at the sight, feeling useless and frustrated as a few of them join us on the ground to assist the blonde in keeping me still.

From upside down my vision, Craig gently but firmly grabs onto my cheeks to still my flailing head as he presses his soft lips onto my skin to speak against my forehead. “Shh, I’m here, babe. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

All the boys let out their own shaky variations of both verbal or physical assurance and comfort yet nothing changes. Clyde hysterically sobs, turning his face from where it was nestled into my neck to beg at the teen who administered my pain. “STOP THIS!

He glares at my former classmate without breaking contact with me, the teen looking sheepish as he averts his gaze from the deathly looks of the group of teens. His voice is low and meek as he mumbles to the others, “... Her body’s been getting tortured like this since the moment the liquid entered her system. It’s just that now, she's finally able to physically and verbally react to it.”

Everyone feels their entire guts plummet at the information revealed to them, my body beginning to weakly curl in on itself as my screams fade away to loud sobs. They’re speechless at the fact that I’ve felt like this the entire time, all of them ignorant to my silent pain and for thinking I was already dead.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” Kenny vehemently seethes from where his own body is wrapped around my own in an attempt to comfort my relentless weeping, his form shaking in unbridled rage.

My whole body twitches and throbs before the pain manifests itself into bile forcibly exiting my mouth, my delirium unable to put a name to the voices and hands trying to soothe me. Whatever happened with the second dose made my eyes heavy with fatigue, my head going eerily limp from the sudden decrease in energy.

“Stay with me, okay, beautiful? It’s over now, you just need to stay awake with me. We’re going to keep you safe.”

But I was too tired, too filled with pain, and too weak to keep the promise of the comforting voice. I could feel gentle fingers stroking my cheeks, soft kisses placed against the skin of my face, and both of my hands in someone else's grip.

“Come on, baby. You can do this. Stay with me.”

The sounds around me gently morph into an orchestra of panic but all I can do is lightly smile at the cacophony of hysterical noise as the warmth from everyone comfortingly surrounds my whole body to rest.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

My parents had offered to drop my brother and I off to school, the both of them pulling Stan aside to exchange a few hushed words as I patiently wait along the pavement of the frosted sidewalk. I vibrate in place as I wait for Stan, excited to finally be away from the sterile, white confines of the hospital walls.

Once their conversation concludes, he walks the short distance between us as he intertwines our fingers together, his moving feet leading me along the almost desolate hallways of the school. His body is slightly ahead of my smaller one, as if shielding me from anything that we could possibly come across and I just softly smile at his ridiculous yet endearing overprotectiveness.

I unconsciously shrink in only myself before he notices and shoots me a comforting look, his supportive smile making me stand a little bit taller in confidence before he pushes the heavy wooden door to our first class of the day–homeroom. My eyes flicker from side to side, slightly widening as I take in my surroundings to look at the faces around me in a mixture of both anxiety and excitement.

Not paying much attention, I fail to notice that my brother has stopped walking as my body softly runs into the thick material of the jacket that adorns the back of his body. I lightly giggle at my clumsiness, my inattentiveness making the both of us grin as he begins to slightly pull our interlocked hands to bring my form a little forward.

The expression on his face is soft as he lightly smiles down at me as a form of reassurance, his eyes taking the time to run along my face to take note of any signs of discomfort. Once satisfied after nothing sets off his instincts, I offer a soft grin of my own when my brother brings my attention to the group of teenage boys gathered in front of us.

They’re all in varying stances, some perched onto the seats of their desks while a few lean against the table top of the hard structure to be in closer proximity with their friends before the school day starts. My face slightly angles downward towards the linoleum floor when I notice that all of their expectant gazes are carefully watching me, nervous energy reverberating from their bodies in barely contained energy.

Of what, I’m not quite sure as my eyes look back to search for ones identical to my own in encouragement as the nervous thrum begins to run along my veins at their attentive stares. My brother’s voice is patient when he speaks up, soft in between the contrasting air of chattering students surrounding all of our bodies.

“N/N. Do you remember any of them..?”

My body seeks refuge from the intense gazes of everyone as I slightly retreat to hide half of my face behind Stan’s clothed arm, my hands clenching around the ones in my hold in anxiety. I shake my head, the nonverbal answer knocking the bated breaths out of the group of teen’s bodies in a mixture of evident disappointment and apparent anguish.

There’s an apologetic expression on my face as I whisper honestly to my brother.

“No.”

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