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squishycheekanon · 13 days

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Regency Price thot🌹🤍

I am working on Limerence and Part two of both mountain man and the pen pal au by popular demand. But while you wait for me to write those please enjoy this lovely Viscount John Price and his Viscountess.

Price sat waiting patiently, newspaper in hands reading the latest gossip of the ton. “Aristocrats.” He scoffed low under his breath. Being one of the wealthiest, best-connected members of the middle class came with privileges but too much gossip as far a Price was concerned. Unless it directly affected him he couldn’t care less.

The doors to the dining room opened and in walked a butler, white curly wig on top of his head, his hands wringing together in nervousness as he looked at his master. “Well?” Price asked without looking away from his newspaper, an interesting snippet about a whistle or a lady down or something or other caught his eye.

“My Lord she..” the lack of answer was beginning to agitate him, he rolled up the paper and slammed it on the table, finally making eye contact with the butler.

“What?” Price snapped.

“She doesn’t seem to be here My Lord.” He said, gulping with unease clear in his voice.

“One of the horses is gone too.” A maid had said a little too loudly as she rushed into the room with the important information. Everyone in the room cringed, each and every servent, perhaps at this point even the entire ton, knows if the Viscountess and one of the horses are missing, someone will either be fired or end up in the hospital.

A wave a darkness crashed through the room as John growled out “Find me who by the time I’m back from retrieving my wife.” His orders were clear as crystal as he rushed from the room, Simon, his number two following swiftly after him.

“My horse Simon.” John grunted pulling out his pocket watch from his jacket. After years of being married to you, he always knew exactly where to find you based on the time of day it was or day of the week.

You thrived in order and schedules, one of the many things that he loved about you. Loved knowing he didn’t have to worry where you’d be at eleven in the morning. Always the drawing room catching up the on stitching you’ve been putting off, frustrated when the cross stitch didn’t form the absolute way you wanted it to.

Simon, ever the loyal to a fault number two replied quickly and lowly, “Yes Viscount.” He began to rush ahead of John making it to the stables before him and barking orders at the stable boys to fetch the masters horse and saddle. Price didn’t bother with riding clothes or shoes, simply latching his everyday boot into the stirrup and hoisting himself up into his horse.

“Shall I follow My Lord?” Simon asked head bowed as usual.

“If you wish.” John didn’t stick around after that, whipping his reigns and taking off on the beautiful brown stallion. “Come on boy, we’ve not got long before it rains!” John shouted to his horse as if the creature actually understood him, though in his fear he did not care.

The looks of the sky had him worried, the last time you went riding in the rain you caught pneumonia. He remembers how you shivered, how you were covered in sweat yet cold and how you burned to the touch. He never wishes to see you that way again. These thoughts had him pushing his horse harder to get to you faster. By the cherry tree you should be, and oh does he hope you are.

You however had just become done with your rage fit and were about to leave. Stupid Miss Carmichael, one of the bitchiest women in the ton. Not even married and yet she had the gall to mock you about not getting around to giving John a child yet. Joking about possible infertility, the words made you sick as did her audacity.

You had been married to your husband two years now and yes you were yet to bore him a child. Though the first year of your marriage, due to it being a simple arrangement, you spent it away from him. Always avoiding him, even on your wedding night you locked yourself in your room.

Though finally he managed to get you to open up to him, taught you many things, you began to love him. He had loved you however since the first moment he saw you. More so when you had advertently put him in his place after he was rude to a servant.

You had spent the second year, still getting to know each other and becoming one as husband and wife didn’t happen until three months ago. It had been essentially two years of little innocent hand touches here and there, longing looks and John standing too close to you at balls and events just so he could feel your warmth and smell your scent for longer. You were both still making up for lost time, having children was not at the forefront of your minds. Well not yours anyway.

You sighed glancing at the horse you’d rode here on, you’d best get back to join John for breakfast was your first thought. Even though it would take barely a minute for him to see you were upset and demand who had made you that way. You didn’t need to put your burden on him as much as he always insisted that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do as his wife.

Blinking up at the sky, you saw rain clouds rolling in and started to feel the drizzle of water falling down from above. Then a clap of thunder and you instantly regretted your decision to ride out here after your awful interaction with Miss Carmichael earlier. “Wonderful.” You sighed annoyed as you pulled your cloak hood over your head and made your way back to the black horse waiting patiently for you. One last look at the cherry tree and you set off into the eye of the storm.

“That’s it girl yah!” You whipped your reigns, both feet tight in the stirrups. You never rode side saddle like most women do, preferring to ride properly. Just as the cherry tree was almost out of a view, the most spectacular sight came bounding toward you. Your husband Viscount John Price gallantly riding his brown steed toward you.

“Darling!” His yell was so quiet in the midst of the rain and thunder, though it was enough to have you stopping your horse and remaining stationary as he began to slow down the closer to you he got.

Pulling on the reigns John came to a halt, horses next to one another legs touching. “Before you say anything,” you began blinking up at your handsome husband who was staring down at you heatedly, he nods encouraging you to go on. “It wasn’t raining when I started riding.”

You give him a smile, and despite the fact that you’re wet through, chilled to the bone, and as far as John is concerned in desperate need of a hot bath, he thinks you’re the most beautiful sight to behold. He smiles back leaning in close to you until his nose brushes against yours, his strong hand coming up to cup your jaw as he whispers into your mouth, looking you dead in the eyes.

“I’m not mad my love, but make no mistake, once you’re warm and dry I plan to bend you over my desk and fuck you from behind. Keep you stuffed with my cum all day, then you can tell me the reason for your riding today and who I need to talk to.”

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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What if all of the staff are yandere for sea creature reader except 1 person, and that person is the reader's favorite, just them being the only one able to feed them and all the other staff watching in absolute envy

Fucking. Mitch.

You click softly and open your mouth wide as the staff member feeds you another spoon full of their famed tuna salad, rubbing your head against their chest out of appreciation and a sly attempt at snatching the container from them. They hold it out of reach and you whine.

"H-hey! Some of this is for me too, Y/n. I'll ask dad for an extra helping tomorrow, okay?"

You redirect your attack to their spoon, nabbling it and licking the stray bits of fish before shoving the utensil in the direction of their mouth as you point at the tubberware.

"Oh, you wanna feed me? Sorry about that."

Mitchell gives the container to you and happily allows you to feed them. They had never been ashamed of the family business, but they couldn't be more happier than now that fishing was in their bloodline. The first time they came up to your tank, you were too hungry and homsick from the lingering smells of the sea on the coat their mother lent them to lash out like you did with others. They fed you half of the breaded fish their folks gave them for lunch and the rest was history. You two were each others closest companion in this strange world, but not everyone was happy about your kinship.

The breakroom breaks out in a sea of complains and cries as the crew watches the scene unfold. It was one of the cutest things ever filmed, but it was hard to celebrate the moment when it wasn't one of them. Everyone in the room had a dislike for each other due to one common denominator, yet they all agreed on one thing. Mitch was a home-wrecker and needed to be removed from the picture.

The end of the group points at the whiteboard with the tip of their marker. "Alright. We need ideas to get rid of Mitch. As I've said before - murder is not what we should look too first.

A few hands go down - but one remains.

"Why not just try to get them fired?"

Another chimes in. "I mean, yeah that would be the best option. No body to deal with, but they could still visit."

The door to the breakroom opens. Mitch walks in just in time to see the drawings on the whiteboard fade into obscurity.

"Hey, guys. Y/n was extra friendly today... What are you up to?"

Looks are shared around the room.

"Hangman."

#Sea creature reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere harem #yandere drabble #monster reader

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 3 months

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Winterstorm

For @turbulentscrawl

Rated Mature | Warnings: Age difference between Reader and Ithaqaua, Manipulation, Rumors

A/N: ngl i was playing stardew while writing this lolol

It was a stormy winter night when his mother found him. It was a stormy winter night when you found him wounded after killing a group of hunters in the forest.

In the hazy of his hallucinating mind, he saw his mother calling out to him, for him to wake up. He reached out to that image not realizing he was reaching for his new savior.

When he woke up after the storm passed, he was under blankets that felt warm and in a room smelling of spice and wood. He jerked awake and got up, he touched his bare chest finding someone had patched him up. Cloth bandages and stitching for the deeper wounds. The Night Watch knows his body aches, his body protesting as he gets up carefully not to make too much noise. He wills himself to endure as he grabs his shirt and coat from the chair by the window, he swears to rest but not here—Not where he will be left further vulnerable!

He struggles to get his shirt on so ops for his coat only stop when the door opens. He grabs his weapon but stops as he hisses in pain.

You come in with a small bed tray of food, his stomach growls at the scent, “You're awake.” A bit surprised given his wounds, “Oh, if you want to leave I can help you dress.”

His eyes narrow as takes in the sight of you, his eyes sometimes glancing at the simple food you made. “Leave.” You move to go back out, “Food stays.” That made you happy though.

The boy, because to you he is a boy, was in bad shape when you found him. Malnourished, wounded, and you are surprised he did not succumb to hypothermia. You Luckily had your cart from gathering wood before the storm hit severely after you brought him home.

Listening with your ear against the door, you can hear him going to the bed and eating the simple porridge you made, shuffling after and you hear your bedroom window being opened then closed.

You do not expect to see him again, you did your good deed and that was that.

Until you see him again while you are foraging for some mushrooms and roots in the Icy Forest. There in the distance, he stands staring at you from a distance. Piercing blue irises watching your movements for who knows how long until you notice.

“Hello,” He stares silently, “Have you been taking care of yourself?” You step closer, “Do you need more food?”

A snap of twigs draws your attention from him to a deer roaming around. When you look back, the strangely dressed boy is dashing away.

“Wait!” But it is too late.

That will be the first of many interactions with the creature you have no clue is called the Night Watch.

“Good morning, Ithaqua.” He hums at you as you start preparing breakfast, “Going out?”

“Yes.” His arms wrap around your waist as he rests his head on your back, “You should stay home today.”

“The weather is nice today, we should go see if the store in town has any fabric.”

“Or we can go see the lake instead.” His hold squeezing slightly, “You like the lake better than the store.”

You sigh, he does not like you going to town. You figure it because he lived in the forest for so long alone that interacting with others is stressful.

It took a lot to gain his trust, you figure there is a reason for the way he is but never push to talk about it. Everyone has their past.

“Ithaqua, we need things around the house.” Reminding him both of you cannot survive by using the vegetables in your garden. Other things are needed. You worry about him, worry about how he is quick to isolate rather than try to, at least, see the use of being around others. The little town is not so bad… Even if the rumors about you can be cruel.

No one sees the real dynamic between you and the boy— Because they all see him as a boy rather than a man— Who lives in the woods, but now he practically lives with you, hunting and gathering for you to earn his keep— Though you told him he does not need to do so.

They think you are manipulating him, using him as he is young and lacking social experience…

He finds that amusing how little they think of him, a poor little sheep none realize is a wolf under the wool.

“I can get them.”

“Are you sure? I do not want to bother—

“You are not bothering me. I want you safe and you say we need supplies, I will get them.”

You stand there unsure but nod in the end, maybe you can finish your plowing of the garden while he is away, “Okay…” He hums at your agreement, his hands rubbing the fabric of your apon as you go back to food prep, “I'll make us something warm to eat.”

Ithaqua is young, not a child, but young. You are older, much older, old enough to be a parent to him.

At first, you treated him as such. He seems receptive to it as he soon became a part of your life.

But something changed, you did not notice it until it was too late and you are sheep held down by the wolf's paw.

Only a handful of times has Ithaqua been to the town, if you could call it a town as it is a bit bigger than a village but smaller than an actual town. The few folks that did see him feared him, he looked strange with the mask and the stilts. They kept their distance, and you had to assure them he was just a mountain man, not a creature.

Something about a Night Watch but no one has ever seen that thing.

The town's people already are wary of you, you who live alone on the outskirts of town. You try to socialize but they turn you away until they need something. The irony, Ithaqua finds this ridiculous, you are often looked to in times of need because of your garden. You always plant things that do well in wintertime, planting and growing bundles to give away on Sundays after church service.

He swears they are all idiots, at least the pastor is sensible and grateful for you.

The new problem the town has with you— Rather than the ones who act like pompous dogs— Is you are using this poor boy. Funny, in reality, Ithaqua is not using you but he is slowly having you become more and more isolated from those fools.

This problem did not start until he was approached by one of the young women in the town. The mill's owner's daughter. The annoying thing, he saw in the Icy Forest once and would have killed her if he was not busy bringing meat to you.

It was the spring festival and you asked him to help you with the decorations and to hopefully get him to be social.

All you asked of him was to not wear the usual outfit he wears. Instead, you gifted him your father's spring festival attire. He looked handsome as he wore your father's clothes, tailored to fit his thin frame. You thought this would be a great step for him!

You told him at any time he is welcome to go join in the festivities, especially the flower dance. He knew what you were trying to do, he only humored you.

You stayed at the stall talking to the town mayor as he complements the decorations you have made this year.

People are fools, Ithaqua hates them but likes you, he did not talk while wandering around the festival. A few tried interacting with him, he permitted it for the moment at that time for your sake. How stupid of them to assume so much about him when all they know about him is as much as he allows them to know.

A young man named Ithaqua, a wild man who sticks to you like a boy to his mothers— They assumed the relationship from the beginning. You did too.

“I love (Name), I don't want you.”

Cold as ice water.

The woman was bitter and the rumors had added to many others about you.

Ithaqua could care less about what others think, they are the ones who beg you for help when someone is sick or needs extra food.

You are like a mother to them, yet they act ungrateful.

Winter is getting closer and closer, they will look to you for help and Ithaqua grins as soon they will find you gone by next spring.

When he returns with the wagon of supplies, you greet him with a hug. The Night Watch knows you are trying to be affectionate to him but you hold back, you never kiss him or allow him to indulge in your flesh. Just hugs and kisses on the cheek, you poor thing thinking he changed his stance on wanting you.

You accepted this relationship, and he knows you did it out of maybe some misplaced sense of guilt, he has you in his grasp. All you need to do is stop caring about what others think about you.

A problem soon to be solved.

Once everything is put away, he has you cornered in the bedroom pinned down on the bed with him above you with nothing but pants on. You stare up at him then look away.

“You don't need them.” Leaning down to kiss your cheek then moving down.

“Ithaqua, we talked about this.” You try pulling your wrists out of his grasp but it holds firm. For such a small build man, he is surprisingly strong. “They are just nervous people.”

“Nervous people? They are hateful people, (Name), stop making excuses for them.” His eyes narrow and he bites at the top exposed part of your neck. “They rather burn you at the stake than admit they are wrong about you.”

“Ithaqua…” That is not true! People are people but not all of them are cruel.

“Think about it,” Licking the mark as you had flinched from the pain at first. “The mayor doesn't help you yet you do so much for the town. The pastor preaches but no one listens. The doctor's monthly checkups are just to see if you sprouted horns and a tail.”

“Please. Not tonight.” Begging him. Those words are painful, he knows these talks are causing doubts as you are becoming more aware of the bitterness these people have towards you.

After the spring festival, you… You sat him down. Talk to Ithaqua as much as you could that evening. Your words twisted against you, you are too trusting with him. His metaphorical claws raked through your wool but never pierced the flesh of the sheep. You are trapped but loved.

Ithaqua enjoys this more than you ever will know.

It was too late to stop the rumors when those feelings were reciprocated, you… You are lonely and though Ithaqua is much younger than you… He is an adult, far more mature than the men at your age too.

Twenty-one winters, he told you, he should be married by now. He wants to marry you.

Guilt. A lot of guilt. You slip from under him when tries to grind his lower half against yours.

“How about I make your favorite tonight? I got some extra tomatoes–” Stand up beside the bed while Ithaqua sits there with his legs wide open.

“I'm not a child. We should leave before they hurt you, there is no need to put on a brave face for me.” He is going to devour you but you need to stop running from him! “We can leave. They are not grateful to you.” You shake your head at his words, he stands up and holds your face, “It will only be a matter of time before they hurt you.”

He smiles as you crumble, holding you as you fall to your knees and covering your face as you cry. This home your family built and lived in since you were born. The blood, sweat, and tears; the memories, the love within this home.

“Ithaqua.” He cradles you as you turn to cry into his bare chest.

A small crack, he chips away at you, the others were fools to think you were manipulating him.

Laughable given you had tried hard to get him to meet those of his age.

Why bother?

He likes you, older and experienced, you give him the care of a mother and the love of a partner. No one his age could give him that, they were all too free-spirited and reckless.

The Night Watch wants someone to greet him upon his return home, shower him with love, and if the mood strikes him— Lay with him as accustomed for partners to do.

“(Name),” Rubbing your back, “I love you.” You told him he is too young to understand the weight of those words. “I will take care of us.” Making promises of taking sole responsibility is not fair, you told him yet you do it all the time.

When winter came followed by another snowstorm and the people looked to you for your winter’s crop that Sunday, you were not there. Nor were there the many Sundays after that. The pastor with two other people went looking for you, only the pastor cared to check in on you.

The house was buried in the snow, the garden destroyed. There is no trace of you or the mysterious young man who came into your life. There are no bodies found, it is like you were there and are now suddenly gone.

Maybe you left, the pastor hopes you found a better place.

Or maybe the Night Watch claimed another victim.

#idv #reader insert #identity v x reader #idv x reader #identity v #identity v x you #idv x you #idv night watch #idv ithaqua #ithaqua x you #ithaqua x reader #identity v ithaqua #ithaqua #night watch #night watch x reader #night watch x you #identity v night watch

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thatbitchery · 4 months

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Just in case you needed a guide to human relationships & interactions and how to actually relate to people I have one for you, & it's made of 3 parts.

People are different from you. There's literally not one human being out there exactly like you, you could have an identical twin with the same parents same childhood &c and I promise you you're nothing alike. You've lived such different lives despite 75% similarity in DNA. Understanding that people form their opinions belief systems worldview & c on individual experiences based on their trauma, family dynamics, cultures, home value systems, literally climate etc and we are all different will save you from easily getting triggered when someone doesn't share your opinion bc you're not in their shoes you don't know why they have/that/ opinion so you have no grounds to go feral. People are different from you. Understand this & save yourself the embarrassment of pointless arguments & little virtue locks because you cannot fathom different opinions when it's literally the one single truth. Understand this sk you're not going to war with people on the reblogs for not having the same pov. Yours makes sense to you. Theirs makes sense to, them. Who are you to decide whose is the absolute truth?

You are not a God get off your little high horse you're a human being. People do not owe you worship or discipleship. They don't have to believe everything you say or buy into you. Well within their rights to look at what you say or do and say yeah that's a load of bullshit. You're not a God so you're not always right, remember this the next time you're about to lay your life on the ground over an opinion, you could be wrong. Nothing will hurt you more than that thewizardliz my way or no way mindset. Remember the things you used to defend with your life when you were like 10 that you're rn absolutely disgusted by? Leave space & never speak in absolutes & never degrade another's opinion to the ground, you could be wrong & it will be very very very embarrassing for you when you find out you were.

Everyone is right, all the time. There is no absolute in this universe. Unlearn debates they're mighty pointless, everyone is right every single time. Truth is very subjective so the girl that has been traumatized by M3n saying all m3n deserve d3ath is right, if you were her you'd say the same thing and the v3gan is right & the carnivore is right & the conservative is right & the liberal is right- because everyone is right all the time and I promise if you were in their shoes, you'd see it. You'd see it. Even when someone Says the dumbest stuff known to existence, from where they are standing, they're right. Debates are pointless. Extremely. You can not fathom the kind of life others have had, not even your siblings or children- what then gives you the confidence to decide what should be right to them? Know your place.

So human interactions work better when you understand these, they just do. Once you no longer feel the need to justify your pov because you know you're literally the only one with it it's just makes things, easier thats why the apostle Paul said to never argue with people about opinions, its useless & tempts them and you to sin. It makes you more understanding & empathetic & pleasant & sophisticated to be around, it's the winners draw. You unlearn the need to argue because you know they'll never see it like you and you'll never see it like them so you take the high road and find middle ground or nod along and go home or find a way to say I don't agree, but I can accommodate that you think like that, and watch how people completely flock to you. There's no power , at all, to 'my way or no way' find your own little planet & leave that thewizardliz mindset on YouTube. Human beings are social relational creatures, part of relationships is accommodation.

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drawnfamiliarfaces · 4 months

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I’ve been simping over your ‘human’ Nomicon design since it came out in Ninja-November. If you have any headcanons about them, would you please share?

ah, a fellow monster/eldritch horror enjoyer I see! thank you! <3 tbh that Nomicon design was like an one day revelation, because while I love all the human!Nomi designs I've seen over the years (and there are some banger ones, man), it hit me that we as a fandom really underutilize all the uncanny aspects Nomi possesses. So ye. I do have a couple hc.

Nomicon is an entity that doesn't have its own face and voice.

Whenever Nomicon talks to Randy it uses proxies in form of art/images/drawings/scribbles/writings. It gives strangely non-verbal vibes for something so cryptically eloquent! And whenever it does use a voice, its voice of the First Ninja (or more accurately his VA xD) , its first owner/wielder. When it uses a face, its usually the static/unmoving marble-like faces of Art or silly pen scribbles - both of which hold that uncanny valley look of something that looks human but really isn't. Not to mention the fact that it once literally stole Randy's face/body to teach him a lesson.

I like to think that Nomicon has a library of faces/visages/voices it can take on, but all of them are creepily unsettling because - what would a book know about how to be human? It's face moves wrong, the eyes are too wide open, its body is creepily still, the voice uses inflections like its copying someone else (and sometimes voice warbles and changes/overlaps with other voices because it has so many).

All of it gives these fae/cryptid vibes of creatures that steal voices/faces to trick people, but in this case Nomicon collects those faces/voices from its owners along with their memories (which is another messed up thing we collectively forget is very creepy lol).

Nomicon is an entity that doesn't have a body, and most importantly - hands.

The reason I gave Nomicon so many shadow hands is because, well, Nomicon is a book. Hands hold those books, so the hands are very important to Nomi. All those shadow hands? Are memories of all the hands that held it (mostly previous Ninjas, but also the Creep and some others). It remembers everyone who held it.

The fit- the hat and the cape are kind of obvious, it look like center of the cover and the cape looks like covers on either side with pages underneath. The weirdest addition I made - is the spaghetti noodle-doodle 'hair'.

It constantly fascinates me that Nomicon, besides the Greek Key/9 motif, has those sort of concentration circles that are also present during Mask/Suit transformation. It gave me thought of sort of weird halos i guess?? Which adds to creepy vibe, but in this case its biblically accurate angel / holy deity type of vibes.

Nomicon has very basic understanding of humanity.

For all the experiences/memories/personalities it was created from and it absorbed over the years, human things are a rather alien concept for the book. It's the reason Nomicon is so bad at its timing whenever it buzzes Randy. It just doesnt care that you are at school Randy, its trying to teach you how to be a better ninja!!! In some sense, it absorbed the most prevalent quality of First Ninja - the dedication to duty, the whole reason for its existence - to serve Ninjas to be the best they can. So, such human/mortal things as good grades/video games/a good nights sleep are very nebulous concepts to it.

Less of a hc but more of an observation/gripe but-

COME ON ITS NAME??? Ninjanomicon as in Ninjanecronomicon??? Because lets be honest its not just a book/guide for Ninjas its a book full of DEAD NINJAS??? LIKE??? In some sense all previous Ninjas, when they go through Ultimate Lesson, 'die' in the real world (because they are no longer Ninjas) and are preserved in Nomicon. And First is like deadass dead? (Plop plop too lol). So I feel like there should be more creepiness about that.

Anyway thats basically most of it, and sorry for silly doodles but i cant really draw creepy stuff xD

#que?#rc9gn #ninjanomicon #can i even tag it #human!ninjanomicon #honestly its more #cryptid!ninjanomicon #listen: do i simp for every hot human!nomi design?? ye??? im only human lol im weak #but i do feel like creepy cryptid nomicon that is tasked with watching/teaching ninja teenagers has a lot of potential #like imagine cryptid!nomi while being wise is also not really understanding basic human stuff and every wielder teaches it something new #im kinda channeling all those hcs about urban legends/cryptids making friends with humans and learning human things (tm)#but there is also this tang of angst because every 4 or so years Nomi looses its humans ;( so sad

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the-s1lly-corner · 6 months

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May I request the cast of Tadc x reader, whose y/n is a mermaid? I already imagine that yn would be right in the digital lake, singing or combing her hair like Ariel-

TADC cast x mermaid!reader !

this one may be a little short since my back is already starting to get all... stiff... sobs.... might go lay down for a few minutes then come back and knock out the other request that got sent in !!

CAINE:

caine is a little perplexed as to why you stay at the lake all the time, your room does have water... though, to be fair, your room is blocked off and small. i think it would take him a while to directly interact with you but just know that every night when you sing hes listening to you... actually now that i think about it, i dont think it would take him long to make himself known, he would probably clap and applaud you after one of your personal performances... probably makes sailor jokes, because, you know, sea stuff and mermaid lore... wants to include you more in stuff so he probably does IHAs that are lake themed, or perhaps makes something sort of like a portable tank..

POMNI:

she probably mistakes you for an NPC for a moment LMAO... i was going to go with an idea that pomni would be into mythology and stuff but now that i think about it, i actually see the opposite now thats more of something i can see zooble and gangle being into... not many ideas for pomni, unfortunately, but i think she would be friendly around you for manners

RAGATHA:

she thinks your really pretty, i think... while ragatha doesnt strike me as the type to be into mythology and stuff, i think she subconsciously is attracted to you because she grew up on stories about mermaids, fairies, and princesses... sure she doesnt remember all that since shes gotten stuck in the digital world, but the instinct to be near you is still there... i think if she got caught listening to you sing she would be so embarrassed, probably tries to excuse herself unless you tell her she can stay.. having someone come by down to the lake is nice, to finally have company

JAX:

has probably snagged your comb and darted to the shore of the lake far enough so that you cant reasonably crawl out of the water and grab it back, assuming you actively need water to survive instead of mobility... but either is really mean in my opinion.. toss him into the water/j actually i dont think he can swim, jax doesnt look like the kind of person to swim.. omg omg bonding moment for when you two get closer, imagine teaching him how to (admin never learned how to swim so theyre unqualified to write this </3)

KINGER:

rarely leaves the tent but lets say he goes down to the lake one day while you happen to be out.. similar to pomni i think he would mistake you for an NPC simply because you are almost never in the tent... i think he would enjoy your singing, though, very calming and it eases him.. quietly listens and returns a few times when he sees youre out. meek apologies when hes caught, hes almost sheepish about it and admits that he should have asked before getting up in your business.. ooo i love this man

ZOOBLE:

"so like, do you drown people," just straight up, probably asks this after a day of jax being more annoying than usual... as mentioned earlier i think they would be really into mythological creatures and lore, as well as cryptids, both before and after joining the circus... sure you probably arent lore accurate to mermaid stories in the real world, but i think they would like to learn about youre whole deal.. sometimes helps you get stuff out of your hair if things get tangled up

GANGLE:

gangle is what gets tangled up in your hair^/j

no but i think she would also be very interested in your whole deal, but is less blunt about it unlike zooble... also thinks your pretty.. i think she would bring stuff down to the lake for you guys to do together, like games and drawing stuff... its nice for the both of you to be away from everyone else but still have company in someone who knows what its like to be cast to the side; be it due to shyness or being locked to a place

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #jax x reader #ragatha x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

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fineprintedsunsets · 8 months

Text

JAWBREAKER

This Is For Haunted Hoedown Day 1 | My Haunted Hoedown Master-List

Synopsis: Bucky's been hired to watch you as a favor to his best friend; your father. But when a game of spin the bottle has Bucky choking on his words, he just can't help himself anymore.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: age gap (both are consenting adults). dbf!bucky x f reader. mentions of violence against others (nothing undeserved) jealous bucky. unprotected sex. (wrap it before you tap it.) dirty talk. possessive bucky. p in v sex. is a hired bodyguard a stalker? maybe? idk. lots of praise + pet names.

taboo au + "this is fucked up" "you like it"

How Bucky ended up at a Halloween party for drunk teenagers was a mystery. A ghost-themed one at that. Kids who he wasn't even sure should be drinking clutched red solo cups filled with various alcohol, laughing obnoxiously and passing hushed whispers.

He rolled his eyes.

Teenagers.

He was sent here by your father, and although he loved the man (practically his best friend) this was the one event he regretted agreeing to accompany you to. You were 19, and why you wanted to go to a ghost-themed party with sixteen and seventeen-year-olds was beyond him.

Nevertheless, he agreed to supervise you for your father's sake. The second he steps foot through the frilly-decorated entrance, he smells the overpowering scent of marijuana and Axe cologne.

Thank god he didn’t grow up in an era where boys would wear that shit and think they were the coolest fuckers around. His nose turns up, turning to its source. It was indeed three teenage boys with what must have been a gallon of gel in their hair and crooked smiles splayed on their features.

They accompany a girl at the table, he can't see her features due to the blocking backs of the boys, but he can see one of them lift their fingers to brush ever so slightly against her arm.

The girl moves away, and when she does, Bucky's eyes catch on her.

It’s you, his best friend's daughter. He tries hard not to let his eyes linger on you, knowing he has only one job here tonight, and it’s to keep you out of harm's way. There was only one problem with that. Your father kept most of his work life hidden away from his wife and since he worked with a lot of cruel people, he decided not to involve you either.

Which means you had never met his best friend. You didn’t even know he had one. Bucky was sent here to watch you from afar, your dad didn’t want you to know he sent someone to supervise you every single time you went out.

You pass the boy a look, awkwardly shaking your head. You attempt to laugh it off and walk away, but the boy grabs your wrist. Bucky bristles where he stands against a wall, having just entered.

He can’t approach you, he couldn’t risk you finding out who he was. But oh how he wanted to break all twenty-eight of Jelly Hair’s pitiful knuckles.

“Let go, Jake.” You growl out, but Jelly Hair won’t let up, wrapping his digits around your tiny wrist and forcing you to sit back down. It angers him, how the other boys he’s sitting with laugh at his antics.

A loud crunching sound echoes from someone over at your table and Bucky leans away from the wall, getting ready to intercept, thinking he may have hit you. He should be ashamed of the anger that blossoms through his chest.

Jake’s fingers slip from your wrist as the other boys jump up. Jelly Hair turns toward the door where Bucky is standing, allowing him to spectate the blood now running from his nose.

He can’t help the smile that graces his features.

You hit him.

“My girl” Bucky finds himself whispering. He tucks his hand in his pockets, moving away from the entrance and more profound into whoever's house this is. White lights flash from the rooms as music blares from speakers in the living room.

Everyone is dressed like a ghost, some people; like you are wearing a t-shirt that displays a cute drawing of a supernatural creature. Others wear sheets with glasses placed overtop of them, or uneven eye-holes cut out of the white fabric.

Bucky grabs a solo cup and fills it up with Cola, the only non-alcoholic drink on the ping-pong table. His metal fingers grip the cup and bring it to his lips, only to spit it back into the cup.

“What the fuck.” He mutters, scrunching his face in distaste. He does a double take on the bottle, bringing the contents up to his nose, Rum.

It’s fucking Rum Coke.

He takes the cup anyway, having no intention to sip from it anymore. He blends in this way, holding a solo cup just like the other hundred people here. His blue eyes search for you in the crowd, spotting you right away, your body settled on the lap of a man, early 20’s he’d say.

A feeling he’s all too familiar with when it comes to you surges through his veins, seeing the white skirt you're wearing hike up, allowing him and everyone else to see his hand knead at your ass.

Bucky’s jaw clenches as he watches you lean into the man, your lips wrapping around his, your eyes closing. Bucky has no idea who he is, but whoever he is, his dick is growing hard under you, having very clear intentions of what he’s about to do. And Bucky will be damned if he allows you to get fucked by this piece of shit.

Not that it should matter to him. You should have a man that would treat you right, protect you, pleasure you. Not this dick-wad who wants a quick fuck. Your father wanted him to keep you out of trouble, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.

At least, it’s what he tells himself.

Bucky watches for a few more seconds as you rub yourself over his cock, painfully humping it. He knows you aren’t getting any pleasure out of it, it’s evident on your face. The dick-wad beneath you is, and that’s what makes Bucky’s fingers ball into tight fists, making him grind his teeth down again, on the verge of breaking his goddamn jaw.

That’s what you were.

A fucking jawbreaker, surely you were smarter than this. You had to have known you were worth so much more. You had to know dick-wad couldn’t make up for a quarter of that amount.

“Spin the bottles starting downstairs!” A girl announces from the banister. She’s drunk, very drunk, Bucky notices. She also must be the owner of the way her fingers wrap around the railing.

He could just tell.

Bucky feels the relief flood his chest when you turn away from the man, clearly seeing a good excuse for escape. He growls but lets you go as he soon follows suit. Bucky has no interest in watching you play spin the bottle, but of course, he has not all a choice.

He couldn’t decide whether it was his job, (why he was here in the first place, he’s had to repeat that to himself a few times throughout the night.) Or because he didn’t want to watch a bunch of horny teenagers shove their fucking tongues down your throat, heat bloomed in his chest, mixing with anger.

Either way, he would have to break more than fourteen knuckles tonight.

✪

Bucky’s already taken his place on the wall, going unnoticed as the kids gather around in a circle, sitting with their legs crossed, fixated on the bottle that is situated in the middle.

You sit on the right side, next to some other girls he recognizes.

Women.

You were 19 years old for god sake.

The woman from earlier, the owner of the house, Bucky had now learned the name of, Jess plops next to the man from earlier, her eyes analyzing all the players. Other people stand, just here to spectate the game, giving Bucky plenty of cover.

“We need one more player!” Her voice slurs, looking up from her sitting position, searching for the correct person to fill the gap right across from you. Your eyes search around with Jess’s until both pairs land on him.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

“What’s your name?”

Bucky grinds his teeth together again, he’ll be very surprised if he has teeth after tonight.

“James.” He grits out, trying his very best to seem like he doesn't want to be here. Which isn’t very hard.

He doesn't.

“You look a bit old to be here, James.” Jess' eyes roam the others, looking for the attention she so desperately wants. The others let out faux chuckles. Bucky can still feel your eyes burning through his, even though over fifty pairs are now aimed at him, you stick out.

You always have.

“Who invited their dad, guys?” Jess pokes again, her ghastly features twisting in a terrible laugh. Other people laugh now, but Bucky doesn’t mind. You don’t laugh, your features scrunch at Jess’s words. The man didn’t look old at all, older than a teenager sure, he was quite handsome.

“Come on, James. Join us!” You call, and the man's eyes immediately meet yours. You can’t help yourself, you gasp at the intensity of them, the beautiful blue irises that stare back at you.

Bucky still didn’t move from the wall, it was very evident he had no choice in this matter. “A little party never killed anybody, James.” Jess’s cat-like mouth squeaks.

“Bucky-” He corrects, heaving a sigh. “Just Bucky.” Bucky walks over to the circle, watching the gathering crowd part. Allowing him to sit like the rest of them, occupying the spot across from you.

“Let’s get started, Anon, Why don’t you spin first?”

Anon, a very stereotypical frat boy reaches for the bottle, his companions cheering behind him. The glass spins as everyone's eyes follow it, even Bucky’s.

The end lands on Jess, which is ironic. Bucky is checking off his mental checklist, he’s no matchmaker but..

Obnoxious Voices. Check. Annoying Presence. Check. Feline Like Faces. Check. Rich Pieces Of Shit. Check.

Those two were made for each other.

The two kiss awkwardly, the whole crowd kicking and screaming taunts, acting like children who just touched a deceased insect. Bucky settles into the hard-concrete floor, getting ready for a very excruciating game.

✪

It’s about an hour before you finally get the bottle in your hands. Everyone waits on bated breath as you capture your bottom lip between your teeth. You grab the bottle and spin, watching the glass glide across the concrete floor.

It clicks and clanks before it stops, and the endpoints to the stranger.

The older man that’s been stuck to the wall the whole party. You’ve never seen him before but were quite intrigued when you caught him looking at you during the game, pretending as if he wasn't.

The stranger's eyes flick open, looking at the end pointed towards him and then where you sit across from him. You smile to yourself as Bucky stays in his position.

The chanting starts when Jess’s voice echoes through the room, “You have to kiss the old man!” She’s 20, but acts like a five-year-old.

“Kiss!”

People around you repeat, and so you do the only logical thing to do. You place your hands in front of you and crawl to Bucky, knowing full well your skirt is riding up as you do so.

You can see his jaw clenching. You arrive in front of him, propping yourself up on your knees, Bucky's eyes look up at where you slightly tower over him.

You reach your fingers to graze his jaw, and when your fingers meet his subtle, the fifty pairs of eyes disappear. Right now, it’s just you and him. “Come here.” You mutter, bringing his face to yours.

Bucky hesitates, but lets it happen anyway. He’s captivated by you, you can tell. He wants to pull away but can’t.

Time seems to slow as your eyes close and your noses touch, stopping before letting your lips meet each other. Heat builds in your stomach, anticipation and want bubbling deep inside your core.

“This is fucked up.” He whispers, his breath grazing your wet lips.

“You like it.” You answer, before pulling his face to yours, your lips colliding in perfect harmony. Heat fills your stomach, settling itself between your thighs. Bucky’s hand comes up to cup your scalp, molding his palm to your head, crushing his lips against yours.

Your tongue slides into his mouth, entangling with his own. Your breath heaves as your stomach urges for more, your thighs pressing together in your kneeling position. You pull away before you can go any farther, breath heaving, a string of saliva still connecting your puffy lips.

The words that exit his mouth are barely audible, but you catch them. “That’s why it’s fucked up.”

“Get a room, lovebirds,” Jess calls, laughing with the others. But you ignore them, your eyes are still pulled into that trance, still feeling Bucky’s lips on yours.

The next thing you know, Bucky is getting up, his hand reaching for your own. You gulp at his gaze now, seeing the intensity switch to something different.

Something primal.

✪ Somehow you ended up in a closet, with Bucky’s breath fanning over your neck, his cock painfully straining against his jeans. It took all but four seconds for your clothes to be off, Bucky’s joined yours short after, pooling on the floor of the large closet.

“Sweetheart-” Bucky sounds breathless as he reaches out, his metal hand (which you okay with, apparently) running down the curve of your breast, dipping in your bra to twirl a cool digit around your semi-hard peak. (Especially when they made you feel like that.)

“How old are you?” You press, moaning as Bucky’s other hand cups your waist, making sparks fly up and down your skin. This closet, which is bigger than the master bedroom, has suddenly gotten small.

Bucky fights the urge to smack your ass in response, you didn’t care about age when you were grinding on that man’s cock.

“106.” He answers thoughtfully, but you only laugh, catching he wasn’t going to tell you his age. Bucky’s face scrunches in wonder, but it quickly fades when you press your body into his own, running your smooth fingers over his muscled abdomen.

“You sure you want to do this, baby?”

“Positive.”

Bucky brings your lips to his, all while taking hold of your hips, backing you into one of the closet's white walls. You engrossed in his touch, the feel of his fingers on your bare stomach, pushing you against the wall.

“I’d make you hump my cock, ‘show you what real pleasure is. But there’s no couch in here, sweet girl.” You feel your pussy clench at his words, you hadn’t known he was watching you then.

“Just gonna have to take me bare,” Bucky mutters, his hands grabbing your back, flipping you around so your palms are planted above you, your ass jutting out. His fingers knead at the meat of your ass, making sure to erase any hand-prints dick-wad may have left. You moan, bucking into his touch, wanting more.

“Greedy girl, you think you deserve my cock? Bare, too? You think you can handle that type of pleasure?” His fingers ghost over your panties, barely hitting your clit.

“Bucky! Please.”

Bucky smiles, knowing what he’s doing to you. If he wasn’t about to fuck you in a closet at a party he would tease you a lot more, and make you pay for letting that man touch you. You both knew you couldn’t wait that long, and neither could he.

Bucky pulls down your panties, noticing how your slick coats the fabric. “These are drenched, all for me, hmm?” He was so hesitant at first, to kiss and touch you, but now he didn’t give a shit.

You were his now.

Your panties soon joined the rest of your clothes. Bucky’s breath caught when he looked down at you, making your thighs clench together. He runs a metal finger through your folds, collecting your slick.

You cry out from the spark of pleasure, attempting to keep yourself up against the wall.

“You're so wet for me, sweet girl.” You feel lightheaded as Bucky releases himself from his boxers, you can’t see anything, only the white paint of the wall.

You can feel his tip nudge at your entrance, as he leans down, placing soft kisses along your back. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby. Okay? You want to be filled with my cock?”

“Yes!” You buck your hips, your eyes tightly closed as you feel his cock slide itself to the hilt, using your gathered arousal to aid in his thrust. You cry out, the stretch is both painful and pleasurable. Bucky groans, feeling the way you clench around his cock, feeling the tightness of your cunt.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Taking me so well.” For a few moments, you just stand there, Bucky letting you adjust to his cock, to the feeling of being filled up completely. You had sex before, plenty of it, but you never took a guy bare.

But Bucky, the way his cock sat inside of you, not even moving and it still shooting sparks into your stomach, was something you’d never thought you’d experience.

“Can I move, baby? You alright?” You nod your head while Bucky places another kiss on your back, pulling his cock out to the tip, and pushing back in.

“Ahh-”

“Feel good, sweetgirl?” Words simply do not exist anymore, Bucky whispers against you with each thrust of his cock, his movements slow at first, allowing you to take the most pleasure out of it, trying so hard not to cause you any pain.

The wet noises of your body's meeting over and over again fill the air, and somehow it drowns out the music of the party. Bucky’s groans and your moans tangle together as you buck your hips to meet his thrust, accommodating his cock.

“So good, baby.” You clench at his words, milking his cock. Bucky smiles, looking down at you.

Bucky’s metal arm comes around your bare stomach, making your thighs fall open wider, “Like when I praise you? Your pretty little pussy loves when I tell her she’s doing a good job, baby.”

A single digit finds your clit, Bucky rubs at it, slow tantalizing circles as you buck into him.

“I want you to come on my cock, I need to see this pussy clench around me harder.” Your body involuntarily does as he asks, your cunt clenching down on his cock as his thrusts speed their tempo and his finger matches the torture at your clit.

“Fuck!” You cry out, feeling your orgasm stirring deep in your belly, the heat from the room going straight to your head, encasing you in its bubble.

“That’s it.” Bucky praises, dragging out both words, “Good girl, come for me.”

You do, moaning loudly as your orgasm rushes through your veins, as Bucky chases his release, making sure you get over the edge first. His breaths come out in pants as his cock pushes into your cunt at a punishing speed. “I wonder how your daddy would feel if he knew you just came on his best friend's cock.”

“What?”

#marvel #masterlist #fanfic #oneshot #fluff #smut #buckbarnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky x reader #buckybarnessmut #hauntedhoedownmasterlist #haunted hoedown #inklore #dbf!bucky #older man younger woman #consent

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xiaq · 7 months

Text

Steddie Time Travel Fixit: Pt. 6

Ao3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7

Steve wears the Hellfire shirt.

He wears it half tucked in to a pair of tight distressed jeans with black lace-up shitkicker boots, both of which Eddie knows Steve has never worn to school before because he would have fucking remembered.

His hair is just as stupidly teased as usual, but paired with the rest of him it looks a whole lot less preppy and a whole lot more like he should have a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a leather jacket over his shoulder.

And Eddie knows that he should be focused on whatever the hell is happening with the kids and Hopper and the fact that Steve apparently has war flashbacks involving D&D characters but all that mystery falls to the wayside when the former reigning jock king is walking around the hallways like a living breathing wet dream in a shirt Eddie created.

Eddie is but a man.

Distractible.

Fallible.

Horny.

Steve catches him staring from down the hall and gives him a lazy two finger salute, grinning with the kind of ease that comes from being attractive and knowing it.

It should be infuriating.

It is not.

“Is this a dream?” Gareth says, drawing even with Eddie. “This has to be a dream, right? No way is Steve fucking Harrington wearing a Hellfire shirt.”

“I don’t know about you,” Eddie says faintly, “but if this was my dream he wouldn’t be wearing anything at all.”

“Oh, gross.”

“Look at him,” Eddie insists. Ever since that time at Jeff’s last year when the band was all high and Eddie got a little too honest, they’ve all sort of ignored the fact that Eddie is gay. They don’t ask him about girls and he doesn’t talk to them about guys. But this is…a special circumstance.

And it’s fine. Because Eddie is not the only person looking. Everyone is looking—some with sneers or confusion but most with envy or probably equal amounts of the lust that Eddie is currently trying to subdue. Even the straightest guy in the world has to admit that Steve is—

“Yeah,” Gareth says. “I mean no, still gross because it’s Harrington, but yeah I can see how—no. Never mind. I’m going to class.” Gareth pauses. “Wait. Do you think he’s going to sit with us at lunch?”

He sits with them at lunch.

Eddie more or less sleepwalks through his morning classes and leaves History before the bell so he can get to the lunchroom first and he does not save Steve a seat. He has no expectations when he enters the cafeteria. No hopes related to the company he’ll keep while consuming his soggy PB&J. He just has a jacket that ends up on the seat next to him and when Jeff tries to move it he maybe glares at him a little.

When Steve moves the jacket so he can sit down, Eddie does not glare.

“Fucking figures,” Jeff mutters.

Eddie is never going to live this down and he doesn’t even care.

“Nice shirt, big boy,” he says, because apparently Eddie’s mouth is just saying things.

Steve stills. For a moment, Eddie is reminded of the night before–of terror and gasped breathing. But then, just as quickly, he’s grinning at Eddie like some sort of sunshine creature, like joy incarnate, plucking at the tight fabric straining across his chest.

“I dunno, I don’t think I’m particularly big, it’s not my fault you gave me such a small size.”

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers,” Eddie retorts.“Everyone who signed up at the beginning of the year got one custom made,” he gestures to the guys as proof before drumming his fingers against Steve’s shoulder. “This’s one of mine and the most exercise I get is hauling amps and running from cops.”

Steve reaches over to wrap his hand around Eddie’s bicep and it’s Eddie’s turn to go still under the heat of his palm and the weight of his attention. Steve meets his eyes for a fleeting second before they flick down to his own fingers. Steve squeezes.

“You seem plenty fit to me.”

“Amps,” Eddie repeats. It’s a little breathless. It’s fine.

“Jesus christ,” Jeff mutters.

Steve’s hand is still on his arm when nearly half the basketball team approaches, detouring to stop on their way to their standard table.

He wouldn’t say that a hush falls over the cafeteria but there are certainly a lot of eyes suddenly on their table. And not much talking.

“What the fuck, Harrington,” one of them––Eddie doesn’t know, nor does he care to know, his name––says. “You ditched us for the freaks?” He looks genuinely baffled, which Eddie has to admit is fair. “Is this some kind of joke? Does Munson have something on you?”

Steve leans away from the table, hand moving from Eddie’s arm to the back of his chair, he hitches his opposite elbow on the back of his own chair. He kicks one foot up to brace on the table leg. It’s the stereotypical jock position: chest wide, staking a possessive claim, except Eddie isn’t a cheerleader.

“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Steve says.

“Dude, whatever it is,” the guy’s eyes linger on Eddie in a way that Eddie really does not like, “we can take care of it.”

Steve sighs.

It’s long and loud and purposeful.

“Listen, I feel like maybe Hagan hasn’t held up his end of our bargain, so let me make this as clear as I can and we can all be mature about it. Ah––” he interrupts himself, raising his voice a little, “No, hey. Look at me. All of you.” His tone is calm and level and patronizing in a way that Eddie knows would be infuriating if it was directed at him.

“I need you to understand,” he says slowly, making eye contact with each of them in turn, “That I’m not joking. I’m not posturing. If you touch Eddie, if you touch anyone at this table, you’re going to have a lot more to worry about than passing your driving test or making the starting lineup. There are people in the world with real problems and if you fuck with any of my new friends, you’re going join them.”

A couple scoff. Tommy, near the back, is distinctly silent. And without their usual ringleader, no one else volunteers to step forward as the aggressor.

“What happened to you, man?” One of the guys says instead.

Steve sighs again. It feels more genuine this time. “I grew up,” he says. “I recommend it.”

And then he just…waves them off, like he’s tired.

And they leave.

The group retreats to their own table in a wake of low murmurs, and everyone lets out a collective exhale.

Except for Steve, who is leaning into Eddie’s space again.

“You were weirdly quiet through that,” Steve murmurs, pushing Eddie’s hair over his shoulder so he can whisper in his ear. It’s an entitled gesture. The heat of his breath, fanned against Eddie’s neck, sends goosebumps down his arms.

“If I’m mouthy, it tends to just piss people off,” Eddie mutters back. “And I’m trying not to cause trouble for you seeing as you seem to create plenty for yourself.”

“Do what you want,” Steve says easily. “I know how to fight.”

Eddie tells his dick to calm the fuck down.

Now is not the time.

“Besides,” Steve whispers, even quieter, lips practically against Eddie’s ear, “I think I prefer you mouthy.”

Fuck.

This is flirting, right? It has to be flirting.

He makes frantic eye contact with Jeff and––yeah, judging by the expression on Jeff’s face Eddie is not making shit up. Steve Harrington is hitting on him. In the school cafeteria.

“Oh hey,” Steve says abruptly, turning to pull a Tupperware container out of his stuffed full backpack. “I made cookies last night if you guys want some.”

“Cookies?” Gareth says faintly.

“Yeah, peanut butter chocolate chip. The kids I babysit wanted some so I made a double batch to share. They’re good, I promise. And I substituted applesauce for some of the sugar and oil so they’re not as unhealthy as they could be––but don’t tell the kids that.”

He peels off the lid and Eddie is hit with the second-most heavenly smell he’s ever encountered. The first may or may not be Steve Harrington himself, who is now handing him one of the cookies. Eddie takes it wordlessly, watching as Steve stands to carry the container around to everyone else.

Gareth leans across the table so only Eddie can hear him. “How confused is your boner right now?” Gareth whispers.

Eddie suppresses a slightly hysterical whine. “Oh, are we talking about this? We don’t need to talk about this.”

“I think we’re going to have to if he keeps this shit up.”

“No,” Eddie says. “No, no. I’ll be fine. I just need to…get my head straight.”

“Good luck with that.” Gareth takes a bite of his cookie, “Oh, damn, these are good.”

Eddie eats his own cookie and tries not to moan about it.

He’s fine. Everything is fine.

••••

Steve Harrington is good at D&D.

Eddie had been worried, at first, that Steve might not take things seriously. That he’d laugh at their silly voices or make fun of the guys who wear costumes or just…make it clear that he thought they were ridiculous. Childish.

Instead, he maybe takes things too seriously––asking detailed questions about terrain and weather patterns and doing so many perception checks that Jeff is about ready to strangle him an hour in, but his overly cautious approach uncovers more than one trap Eddie had set. Steve is excellent at strategy and disconcertingly good at organizing the party when there’s something to fight. Even more disconcerting, most of his strategies appear to involve martyrdom and it’s only through Eddie fudging his combat rolls a little that Steve’s character survives the night.

He’s not perfect, of course. Steve’s math skills are abysmal and he constantly has to be reminded what his modifiers are, which Eddie does gently and without complaint, because he’d copied down Steve’s stats the night before and he doesn’t want Steve to be embarrassed. The guys will definitely never, ever, let him live it down, but he figures he’s already lost so much credibility with them at this point a little more won’t be the end of the world.

And Steve keeps smiling at him, so.

Worth it.

When Steve’s watch alarm goes off, a minute before 7pm, he makes a hasty exit for the bathroom, bag in hand, and the other guys decide he must have some sort of medication he has to take and he didn’t want to do it in front of them. Eddie doesn’t correct them, doesn’t know how he would even try to correct the assumption because he doesn’t actually understand what Steve is doing. But it does remind him that there is a Mystery afoot and Eddie really should be trying to figure out what the hell is going on instead of just…mooning over Harrington’s pretty face.

Then again, nothing is stopping him from doing both.

The guys warm to Steve by the end of the session, patting his back and calling goodbye as they exit the doors under the external halogen lights.

The night is quiet and cool and when Steve offers to drive Eddie home, Eddie can only say yes. Eddie slides into the passenger seat, tossing his backpack into the back, and decides to take the opportunity to snoop. He opens the glove compartment and pulls out the handful of cassettes inside.

“Oh,” Steve says, “wait, that’s not––”

There’s Dio and Metallica, Iron Maiden and Motorhead, and then the artists Eddie suspected all along: Madonna, A-ha, Donna Summer, ABBA, Journey, The Eagles and—oh.

Fleetwood Mac. With Landslide on the B side.

It’s shiny and new. No scuffs on the case.

“Shit,” Steve mutters under his breath.

“When did you even have time to get this?” Eddie asks, baffled. And maybe he shouldn’t assume, maybe he’s completely off-base, but Steve looks like he’s been caught doing something illegal so he thinks the assumption is apt. “You left our place at like 10pm last night and you’ve been in school all day.”

“I have a free period before lunch. The record store is a five minute drive from campus.”

“But…why?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, with the soft resignation of someone lying. It sounds more like, “I can’t tell you,” which makes Eddie want to shake him.

Eddie considers Steve’s shadowed face: his downturned mouth and his stupidly long eyelashes. He looks tired.

Eddie exhales. “Well, we’re listening to it.”

Steve doesn’t argue.

He doesn’t say anything else at all until they get to the trailer and he’s hurrying around to open Eddie’s door for him and get his bag from the backseat like Eddie is some girl he’s dropping off after a date.

“Oh wait,” he says, ducking back to grab his own bag. “I have—hold on, it’s—there we go.”

He emerges with another tupperware container in his hands, this one smaller than the one he passed around at lunch.

“I thought Wayne might want some,” he says shyly, eyes on the cookies in his hands. “As a thank you. For yesterday.”

Eddie is going to scream.

“That’s really nice. I’m sure he’ll love them, and if he doesn’t I’ll eat them because apparently you’ve been possessed by Betty Crocker’s ghost. Or—actually I don’t know if she’s dead or not. Or if she was a real person. Anyway, the point is that—“

Steve is smiling at him. Softly. Like he’d be happy to listen to Eddie ramble as long as he wants.

Eddie clears his throat. “Wayne should be home if you want to give them to him.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll, uh, walk you in.”

So much screaming.

Steve does walk him in, hands over the cookies to a baffled-looking Wayne, and then touches Eddie’s hand—hardly a touch at all really, his first two fingers resting, briefly, on Eddie’s wrist, his thumb tucked just under the meat of Eddie’s palm, almost like he’s checking Eddie’s pulse.

“Goodnight,” he says.

Eddie doesn’t even know if he responds.

He’s still looking down at his wrist when Steve’s car engine starts and the headlights fan over the windows before everything goes dark and still outside.

“So,” Wayne says. “Is he…”

“What?” Eddie asks blankly.

“...your sweetheart?”

That’s enough to break Eddie out of whatever trance he’d been in. “My–? Jesus. No. You know who you’re talking about, right?”

“I know what I’m seeing,” Wayne mutters. “Not sure I’m happy about it.”

Eddie’s stomach immediately goes sour. They’ve never actually discussed Eddie’s romantic preferences. Wayne knew. He had to know, considering the circumstances in which Wayne became Eddie’s guardian. But they’ve never said anything out loud to each other and Eddie was hoping to continue that tradition potentially for forever.

“Wait,” Wayne says, moving forward to squeeze his shoulder, “I didn’t mean––fuck, you know I’m no good at this shit. Come sit down.”

They move to the couch.

They sit.

Wayne digs the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“I don’t care who you’re sweet on or who you bring home, you hear me? As long as they treat you right and they don’t get you into trouble. But that Harrington boy… I get the feeling he’s trouble. And with his folks being who they are, I just want you to be careful. That boy has a history and I don’t know what it is, but I’d wager it isn’t pretty.”

“I don’t know what it is either,” Eddie murmurs. “He’s not––I don’t think he’s bad trouble, though. He’s trying to protect me. Us. At school. Even though it’s put a giant target on his back. He’s quit basketball and joined Hellfire and he’s. I don’t know. I like him.” It feels like a confession.

“I wonder how his Daddy feels about all that,” Wayne murmurs. “You ever seen him come to school hurt?”

Eddie considers. “I don’t know. Why?”

Wayne just looks at him.

“You think his parents––?”

“I think I know the kind of boy his father was. I can imagine the sort of man he turned into.”

Eddie feels chilled all the sudden. He gets up from the couch to close the open window above the sink. It doesn’t help. He rests his hands, fingers splayed, on the countertop. He taps his nails on the fornica.

Abuse wouldn’t explain the kids or the panic attack or why he suddenly seems obsessed with Eddie. But it would explain some things.

“I’m not going to start avoiding him,” Eddie says.

Wayne sighs. “I didn’t expect you would. Considering.”

Eddie doesn’t ask him to elaborate.

He holds up the container of cookies Wayne had abandoned on the counter, then carries them over to the couch when he nods.

Wayne selects the largest one from the top. “Did he actually play your dragons game?”

Eddie nearly chokes on a laugh, helping himself to a cookie as well. “He did. Wasn’t half bad, either.”

Wayne takes a bite. His eyebrows go up. “Shit, did he make these?”

“He did,” Eddie says.

“Well. I suppose we can keep him around.”

Pt. 7

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve/eddie #eddie/steve #myfic #time travel fix it #stranger things fic

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splitster · 8 months

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answering more POM WRAITH au/Pingo asks!!

featuring: biology questions, creatures, dingo (unfortunately), and more!! check it out ↓↓

she does need sleep! she doesn't need to sleep as often as people, but she's a little wraith and she needs to snooze every like... i dunno. three days? sure, let's go with that.

although in the first few days of her being on PNF404, i could see her getting bored one night and poking around her crewmate's rooms to see what they're doing (spoilers: they're all just sleeping). in the morning after, dingo talks about a very bizarre dream he had with a specter watching him sleep! everyone dismisses it as the ranger having some weird sleep paralysis, but pom's sweating at the table thinking about how she should be way more careful if she does that again.

this ask did inspire me though, i'll probably make more art explaining how she works sometime later hehe...

that'd be scary... although, if there's anyone incentivized to wraithify olimar, it'd probably be the plasm wraith! that golden goo is really fond of him, and they'd love to make olimar just like them

WAHH THANK YOU!!! if they ever dated and got married they'd be able to save on a dress! hehe

she might look kinda scary but she's a sweetheart!! pom would genuinely struggle to make herself hurt humans. if there's a beast threatening her crew though -- that thing is mince meat!!

WAAAHHH THANK YOU!! it's definitely a challenge to make it fit with the other wraiths but still be unique... it was fun to design though!!

IM SORRY i didn't get to your ask before i actually posted the full wraith design... there she is though!! HILAHERHLIAEERH

yes!! he's the first one to discover her secret. it'd probably happen on accident out on the field pretty early on when pom is forced to defend herself with no pikmin, but it's no difference to Oatchi -- pom is pom! he'd bark and give her helmet a lick, and when pom realizes her rescue pup isn't scared of her it's quite the relief...

i have art of oatchi and wraith pom i'll be posting later!!

WAHHH... this is cute i like this hehe!! dingo sees those striking X eyes and still falls in love!! GRRRR i must draw more pingo now...

AUGH.... OK!! more pingo on the way then boss 🫡 (i do appreciate it though lmao)

she doesn't need to eat human food, but she does need to consume living creatures for biomass! human food is definitely delicious and she very much enjoys things like chocolate or hot coco, but to sustain her form and keep up energy she has to go for creatures

i'll probably make art for this later to explain better, but it is kinda like an amoeba -- after killing something, she can cover it and dissolve it with her goo. easy peasy!

Louie: You're a wraith? I thought you were just weird like me Pom: ... Louie: ... Can you go get creatures for me

pom is trying her best to understand human social cues and etiquette but it's a struggle sometimes!

i took psychic damage from this ask thank you for penis ringo💖

YES!!!!!!!!! there are so, so many ways that could happen and each one is hilarious... i've written out a few different scenarios, i should pick one to draw out... it'd be funny if dingo learns her secret but decides to trust her and keep it safe. but he's, you know. dingo. he's not good at lying, especially to his crewmates (and especially to his actual childhood friend of a doctor who was already very suspicious of the new blood!)

of COURSE i'm very abnormal about those two.... actually if y'all have scenarios you wanna see with those two, send more asks and i'll probably end up drawing them lol

that's actually a really good question! i haven't thought too much about how her full wraith would visually change, but if she ate enough and got stronger i imagine she'd finally be as big as the other two. she'd probably gain more wraithy abilities and attacks! trying to take down a powered up full wraith pom would be a very difficult fight, even for those with the best dandori skills and a full squad of pikmin

Pom: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Shepherd: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Collin: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Dingo: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Yonny: this is gonna be fun Bernard: (doesn't care if people find out) Russ: (doesn't care if people find out) Oatchi: bark

#modpost #modask #pom wraith au #thank you all for the asks!!#i'm gonna try to keep the asks in batches like these #i still have a bunch to get to #pingo

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artificial-absinthe · 5 months

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cybervampire au

Cybervampire Megatron feeds on Soundwave

Behold the yet worse pinnacle/ditch of my fall from grace.

I once made a drawing of cybervampire/not dead terrorcon Megatron (like it happened to Airachnid) for an exchange (it's horror type/dead dove I guess because of depiction of mild torture) and now it spawned an AU in my mind.

My old deeply rooted inclinations stemmed new branches and I intend to indulge into them to the worst/best of my ability. Thus, you'll be seeing this my otp, as well as other transformers content, painted in black with the fluids dripping of those thorned stems.

I love vampires, and my mind told me vampire Megatron was as alluring as vampire Airachnid. Furthermore, there's my fascination with Megasound/Megawave. In vampire lore, there's nothing as intimate and sensual as drinking blood, and then it's the perfect pathway to sexless/asexual creatures to get into a sort of not organic erotism (as well as other erotic/fetishist practices but I'll explore that dungeon later on), as I do not embrace the popular fan concepts of humanization (as in organic/primal-instincts derived attributes) in interaction between Cybertronians in love-like relationships.

In this Cybervampire Au, Megatron got infected during the events of "Thirst", but not killed. Then he's some sort of living terrorcon, a vampiricon if you wish (I can imagine Miko naming him like that), just like Airachnid, but, given his tolerance to dark Energon and his synthesis with it, he's now even mightier, and not infectious unless he kills. I explain this as Megatron's systems/biomechanism being somehow different, hence why dark energon works in him conversely to other bots. Given that the coalesced energon that Knockout made contains dark energon, getting infected by its resulting chemical disease/mutation also works out differently in him.

On another regard, the plot of gothic horror where vampire masters control zombies finds its parallel, since Megatron was already able to do that.

As for the Megasound element, I've already suggested the innerent deepness that can be attributed to the act of blood/energon drinking. Specially when its given willingly. The symbolism, the possibilities of sensorial play.

When circumstances lead to this, Soundwave is, of course, honoured to be source of food to his Master, and he submittes himself to an extreme regime of fueling: Only the most refined and purest energon enters his body, so he'll be in optimal condition, therefore high quality and scrumptious food to his Lord. Perhaps he eventually becomes too invested in it, while consciously ignoring the veiled zealousness. No one should take the responsibility but him. No one is more qualified, or as committed to Lord Megatron as himself, therefore is only befitting that his life is laid to him in more than a sense. Everyone else is dubious, capable or prone to betrayal, or inefficient idiots, and like the hell he's letting anyone else have that sort of intimacy with Megatron. Every time Megatron gets overtaken by hunger and tries to take a prey he would be like: "no, my Lord, that scum is suboptimal and inadequate. Here's my neck"

I intend to create and write several works into this Au, with a collection of short stories in Ao3.

#Cybervampire au #Another Universe #Another circle of hell #Aside from the...#Shipping hell #Transformers prime #Tfp #Cybervampire #Tfp Megatron #Tfp Soundwave #Soundwave #Megatron #Vampires #ARTificial Absinthe #Megasound #Megawave #Otp #I'm weird yes

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wolfjackle-creates · 1 year

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Ghost!Robin Part 8

Look at you lucky ducks! Two WIP Wednesday excerpts today! I'm afraid you won't be able to get used to it. Going forward I may update each fic on alternating weeks. I have a busy few months coming up if everything goes to plan and could use the buffer in case I can't get much writing done. We'll see, though.

I'm going to start leaving a fic summary at the beginning of every excerpt in case people find this in the wild and want to know what they're getting into.

Summary: Danny is finally going to meet Jazz's boyfriend Jason. At Jason's family's mansion. He spent weeks making sure he could have an evening off of any Ghost King business. But when he meets Jason on the steps of the mansion, he can barely pay attention to the guy because his focus is on the ghost of the dead Robin hanging off his shoulders. Who is very happy to find someone who can actually see him.

Word Count: 1.4k

First, Previous

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“Right. Um… Well, I do just kinda do whatever is necessary or find someone who can. Because, um, well, I’m… kinda the High King of the Infinite Realms? There’s a bunch more titles after that but I refuse to memorize them because ugh.”

Danny looked down at his plate, not wanting to see everyone’s reactions. Jazz must’ve made sure he got a piece of pie because it sat in front of him. It looked so good. Did they even know about the Infinite Realms? Justice League Dark members did, but did Batman? Jazz reached over and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Tim and Barbara’s typing seemed to get faster. And then a pair of pixie boots and legs settled on the table next to his plate. He looked up and met Robin’s eyes.

Robin reached out an poked Danny on the nose. He gave a little trill of safe, friends drawing a smile out of Danny.

At the same time, Duke exclaimed, “That’s why you have a crown!”

And Steph said, “Okay, I may be out of the loop, but what the hell are the Infinite Realms?”

Damian snorted. “Aren’t you too young to be a king of anything?”

Danny half stood. “Look, do you want to go spar or something? Is that why you keep picking fights? Because we can do that. Fighting is good for young liminals. But I really don’t think this is the time or place.”

Jazz groaned and dragged him back into his seat. “Stop it, Danny. You’re on Earth right now.” Speaking over Danny’s protests, she explained to Damian, “We wish. Managed to get them to delay until he turned eighteen at least, but his grandfather wouldn’t let us wait any longer than that.”

Danny let the fight drop, but he did notice how Damian’s grip on his spoon tightened. Looked like they would be having that spar tonight if Damian had anything to say about it. Still, Jazz was right and he had to follow human customs on Earth so he bumped his sister’s shoulder and spoke to her instead. “You know as well as I do that he would’ve if it was possible. But thanks to Pariah, there are things that haven’t been done in a thousand years and it’s been causing so many problems.”

“Steph,” said Barbara. “The Infinite Realms are the spaces between universes according to Constantine. His documentation states that the Realm’s inhabitants are all incredibly overpowered and should not be approached under any circumstances. Just one being can evade all methods of capture with standard supplies.”

Jazz nodded. “And our parents dedicated their lives to building a portal to the Infinite Realms, or the Ghost Zone as they call it, and destroying all ghosts.”

“By ‘ghosts,’” asked Bruce, “Do you mean beings from these Infinite Realms?”

Jazz nodded. “Yes. Most beings from the Infinite Realms come into being when a living creature dies in a traumatic way, with a lot of emotion, or near a large source of ectoplasm. Usually some combination of all three.”

Both Tim and Bruce tried to ask further questions, but Jason’s voice cut in over theirs. “Jazz, when you say your parents wanted to ‘destroy all ghosts,’ did they stop after Danny’s accident?” Jason’s question did, at least, cause silence to fall as everyone stared at the two siblings.

Jazz looked down and gripped the tablecloth tightly, jaw clenched. Now it was Danny’s turn to lay a comforting hand over hers.

“No,” Danny said. “They didn’t. They didn’t know what happened for several years and when they found out… Well, there’s a reason I can’t use their last name and Jazz won’t call them ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’ anymore. But”—Danny clapped his hands—“this is a great segway into what is actually important. Does the Justice League know about the Guys in White? More formally known as the Ghost Investigation Ward? Or even just GIW?”

“That name is unfamiliar to me,” said Bruce.

Tim agreed. “Babs and I aren’t seeing anything in the JL databases.”

Even Robin just shrugged.

Danny didn’t expect the jolt of pain that sent through his chest and Jazz turned their hands around until they were gripping each other’s hands with more force than any baseline human would’ve been able to.

“I told you, Danny. They didn’t know. They didn’t know.” Her eyes were wet, but she forced a shaky smile. “You could’ve had help.”

Danny just shook his head. “Even if I had believed they didn’t know… Without meeting them, without knowing how many of their own were in danger, I would’ve never trusted them. Too many people rely on me for me to risk it.”

“Care to enlighten the rest of us?” asked Dick. His posture was relaxed, but his voice had an edge that hadn’t been there earlier.

Robin nodded from where he sat staring at Danny. He sent out a questioning Danger? pulse at Danny.

“Yeah, danger,” agreed Danny. “Barbara, Tim, if I give you a law code number, can you pull up the law I’m referring to?”

“Of course,” agreed Barbara. “Just a moment… And shoot.”

Danny gave them the code for the Anti-Ecto Acts. “The Guys in White are the government agency responsible for enforcing the Anti-Ecto Acts which classify all ‘ectoplasmic entities’”—he made the air quotes—“as non-sentient and non-sapient and excludes us from the metahuman protection acts.”

“What the fuck!” shouted Duke.

Next to Danny, Dick suddenly was sitting up tense. “That’s impossible.”

“The league would’ve noticed such an act being passed,” said Damian, though he didn’t look as sure as his words would seem.

Cass merely tilted her head and looked at him while Steph choked on her drink.

Bruce looked to Tim and Barbara. “Is this true?” he asked them.

Robin pointed to himself and mouthed the word ‘Me?’ at Danny.

“I’m afraid so. And Bruce, Cass, Steph, and Damian as well.”

Dick’s spluttering got louder. “How are they all in danger?” he demanded to know.

Before Danny could reply, Tim was speaking. “It’s all true. And far worse than Danny implied. Not only are ecto-entities not protected by the metahuman protection laws, but they are to be actively hunted and turned over to the GIW for experimentation and extermination and anyone who assists them is declared guilty of treason.”

“When did they pass?” asked Bruce.

“Four years ago,” said Barbara. “While Luthor was president. They were hidden in some laws about green energy.”

“Ghost are made of ectoplasm,” explained Jazz. “Ectoplasm is a fantastic energy source.”

“It happened a few months after I defeated the previous king but before my coronation,” added Danny.

“Why do you think myself, Damian, Cass, Stephanie, and Jason will be targeted by this Ghost Investigation Ward?”

“It’ll be easier to show you.” Danny reached down and pulled up his bag. The thing was made in Pandora’s realm and was bigger on the inside. Once open, it took him a moment to find what he was looking for. He could see Robin signing to the group next to him. “Here we are,” Danny said as he pulled out three devices. “These are all different ectoplasm detection devices. One is my own design, one is the Guys in White’s design, and one is my parent’s design. I’ll show you mine first because it’s the best.”

“Might be a dumb question,” started Dick, “but what the hell is ectoplasm?”

“So you know how all the elements in this universe came about from nuclear fusion of hydrogen in the cores of stars?” asked Danny. When most everyone nodded, he continued, “In the Infinite Realms, that base element is ectoplasm. But there’s no need for a star to transform it into anything else. It will mold to the shape any consciousness that interacts with it wants. When sentient creatures slip through, either by a portal or through death or any other means, they shape the part of the Realm they’re in to their will. The stronger the ghost, the larger the area they control.” Holding out his hands, Danny called forth a ball of ectoplasm, shaping it into a glowing-green ice duck. “Something like this,” he commented grinning around the table.

Only to be met with horrified looks as most of the table were staring at his hands with distrust. Damian had his knife out again. Jason, his gun with the other arm held protectively in front of Jazz. Bruce was standing and Cass tense.

“What’s wrong?” asked Danny. “It’s just an ice duck sculpture. Completely harmless.”

Jason’s voice was low and threatening. “It’s an ice duck made of Lazarus water.”

More alarming than his voice was the way his eyes glowed ecto-green and the fear-anger that filled the room.

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Challenge: Stay on one topic for more than two sentences.

Outcome: Failed.

They keep getting side tracked with more questions. And Danny still hasn't had a bite of his pie. This evening will never be over.

Tag List Part 1

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#dpxdc #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jason todd #Ghost!Robin #anger management #my writing #every sentence out of danny's or jazz's mouths leads to more questions #they will never be able to get through them all #but more importantly!#will danny ever get to eat his pie?#even he's forgotten about it #and its sitting right in front of him #but so is a ghost so...

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websterss · 3 months

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𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 — 𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂 (𝐀𝐐𝐏:𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄)

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You didn't think much when you decided to leave the house today, you didn't plan for a world apocalypse, you didn't plan to fear for your life, you didn't plan to meet anyone new.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): angst, some fluff, signing, deaf son.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,963

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Eric x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you like it! I wrote this long before we knew his character's name lol. I don't know if I should do another part yet, let me know what you guys think! <33

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You didn’t think your life could flip in an instant. One mere disaster that further evolved into living in fear and silence. You didn’t know what those things were, but all you knew was that the mere lot of them had descended from the sky and now they wreaked havoc in the streets. Your neighborhoods, your city. It wasn’t intact anymore. It had just been a regular day. A great day, one turned into a never-ending nightmare.

The echoes of everyone’s screams still haunt your nightmares. What was a nice sunny day turned into a living hell. You and your Thomas had only needed to get a few necessities that you were running short on. You didn’t think much of it until the ruckus started. Cars crashing into each other outside. Horns going off one by one. People began running frantically, running back into the stores, which had lured the things inside. You had instantly dropped everything and grabbed onto him. Tugging him down with you. Your backs pressed up against the shelves. Your first instinct was to reassure Thomas. He could see everything unfold before him, people running past the aisles, parents hoisting up their children, cans and packages falling, he registered everyone’s movement, but he couldn’t hear the screams and cries. Not like you could. The creature was picking everyone off one by one. You shed tears harder as you brought your hands out in front of you. Your hands were trembling as you managed to say what you needed to him.

Need stay quiet. You signed. You nodded rapidly, trying to make him understand. You brought your finger up to your lips to further emphasize. You brushed back his curls as he brought his own hands up to wipe at your fallen tears.

Your lips trembled as the clicks of the creature grew closer. The store fell into an eery silence. You were just waiting for someone to fuck up and make a sound. Draw attention and risk your lives.

Thomas tapped your arm to gather your attention. His brows furrowed deeply as he signed. Your eyes fell on his hands then his face.

Shooter, what?

You shook your head no. Reaching your hands forward to grip his own. You could see him stricken with fear and confusion. If it hadn’t been a shooter then what was it? Thomas shook his head, his own hands pushing your hands back up to explain it to him further. His jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed. He pushed against your hands again. Then he signed. Tell me. He mouthed me.

You sighed then closed your eyes. Your brain half working in the brink of nearly dying and trying to get the fuck out of the store. Monster. How the fuck did you forget the sign for monster? You opened your eyes back up. Raising your right hand to spell out monster for him. Letter by letter.

M.O.N.S.T.E.R. You then went to sign what you had been pondering what they were, they shot down from the sky that could only mean one thing right? You rose your hands up to your head, your hands curling to make devil horns, but instead you wigged your forefingers in a circle to sign alien. Your mouth mouthing the word for him as well. Alien.

Thomas’s eyes fell to the ground then back up to you. He shook his head, pressing against your lowering hands. That’s not what he wanted to know. You only locked eyes with him. Keep contact and nodding yes. His eyes widened in fear as he started registering it. His eyes stayed that way as he moved back a bit. His body slumping as his eyes wandered around. Looking to each end of the aisle you took shelter in. The store, you now realized might’ve been the wrong place to take shelter in, anything could clatter to the ground if you weren’t careful.

You figured he needed a minute because it was a lot to take in, but boy were you wrong. His eyes flew past your shoulder, and that’s when he saw the creature before you even heard it. He tugged on your sleeve frantically, scooting back, but you stayed frozen in place as you slowly turned to look at it. His eyes widened in fear. It turned into the row you were in. Thomas gripped your hand firmly. Sliding into your side. He went as far as to wrap his arm around you. His arm now between you and that thing, but it wouldn’t do much to protect you both. The alienated clicks it was making did not put you at ease. Especially as he creeped by you two. You held you breath, staying as still as you could muster. Thomas opted for closing his eyes. If he couldn’t see it, then surely it wouldn’t do anything to you guys, he thought. And it didn’t. Not yet anyway.

The creature didn’t see you. You further watched as it continued down the another end. The people in the aisle next to yours however hadn’t been so lucky. A can colliding with the floor capturing its attention right away. You silently gasped as you clung to Thomas. Burying your face in his chest. He pressed your head to his body. Creating a barrier between you and the horrid sight that was happening before him. His eyes watered as he looked away and let his forehead press on top of yours.

You had completely missed the man looking at you and your child, nor the creature coming back down towards you after tearing apart another person who dared to scream at the sight of them alone. So long as we didn’t make any noise they wouldn’t go near us, you began to put together. They were attracted to noise, so you just had to not make any.

Upon the creature getting closer the man decided to slowly pick up a can and launch it down the store. The loud clatter of the can was enough to drag the creatures attention that way. The cacophony of other peoples screams kept the creature and its second buddy busy. There had been two in the store with you all. He pushed himself up his feet, and grabbed both yours and Thomas’s hands, pulling you out the store before they turned back.

The chaos outside was worse off than the store. You would have rather stayed put inside to not have to watch New York fall apart in disaster. You clutched your son close to you, turning his eyes away from the chaos that administered around you. Various screams of those trying to out run the terrifying creatures down the streets, cars being flipped and ablaze with fire. Buildings shattered glass littering the streets and caught fire from the collision of their arrival. Your beloved city was no longer.

You turned to face the man who saved you both. His mouth opening to speak, but your hand shot out before you could think, covering his lips with your palm as you shook your head no.

He seemed to catch on as he scoped the vacant streets. He looked down brushing his hands against yours, you hesitated to follow him once more, but something in you told you to follow, to follow where he went. Better than staying out in the open. You looked down at Thomas who peered up at the man with feigned interest, he was guarded and caution of the new stranger.

Don’t trust him. He signed, shaking his head. His hands clawing upwards his chest area then curling into fists in an upward twist. Trust is what he signed. His brows pinched together. If his frown didn’t give him away, it had been the judgmental look he gave the man in the brown suit as he roamed his figure in a once over. You sighed quietly, bringing your hands up to sign back.

You mouthed its then brought your forefinger, middle finger and thumb together flicking them outwards in an okay sign. You mouthed Let’s then signed for trust. You brought your hands upwards your chest area too, then curled your hands into fists in an upward twist. Trust.

The roll of his eyes had you smiling. You got him. You extended your arm for him to take then allowed the man to lead, but not before he stuck his finger out in a waiting motion. He paused for a brief second, looking like he was thinking over something then lowered to your son’s height. He brought out his right hand and miserably failed to sign his name, the R passing for a U which had you and your son pinching your brows together. Euic?

Was he foreign?

Upon your lost expression, he looked to you and mouthed Eric. Pointing to himself.

You looked to his lips. AREECC. You mouthed his name to yourself slowly. Your mouth opened in realization knowing where he messed up. You looked down at Thomas whose eyes shifted back and forth between the two of you. You waited patiently till his eyes landed on you and your hand. E-R-I-C. You signed the R hard for emphasis in replacement of the U.

Eric? What? Really? Thomas’s brows shot up in amusement.

Your son deadpan at the man. Eric now labeled, was lost to his own confusion. You silently laughed, no sound echoing past your lips. You slowly helped him out hitting and making each letter out hard. You twisted your forefinger and middle finger together. Then pressed your thumb to lay on top of your ring finger. R you mouthed.

Eric copied your hands. R he mouthed. He went to make the attempt again with your son. He lowered down to his height and began with pointing to himself. I’m E-R-I-C. He smiled feeling happier he was able to get his name across to you both. He went further to extend his hand out, your Thomas was hesitant but eventually shook his hand. With learned precision, Thomas’s signed letters came out second nature. Watching Eric trying to catch each one was all the entertainment you needed today. You tapped his shoulder to look up at you. You slide your right dominant hand up your non dominant left a short distance across your forearm in a fast motion, starting from the back of the base.

Slow. You gave him a pointed look. He don’t sign. You slide your right dominant hand up your non dominant left a short distance across your forearm again, going even slower to emphasis very very slow.

Slow. You mouthed. Thomas huffed in annoyance. You understoodd his hate to go at the pace of someone who wasn’t fluent, his want for people to learn was valid, but not everyone wanted to or wasn’t very good at it.

He patted Eric and waited for his eyes to shift onto him. With reluctance and annoyance he brought his hand up and signed his name slow at your requests. T-H-O-M-A-S.

Thomas, he mouthed his name then pointed to himself.

“T–“ You had rushed forward again when Eric began to pronounce his name. You muffled the T before it spilled past his lips. You looked around, your heart beating against your chest, but the tension in your shoulders didn’t let up. A creature ran by but didn’t see nor hear you three. You let your head fall forward. Eric steadying himself with a hand on your shoulders. You shook your head again, lifting it slowly then bringing your forefinger to your lips. Your reminder to him to remain quiet. Quiet…you all needed to stay quiet. Your fear struck something within him, a need to not fail you again. To not fail you and Thomas ever again.

#aqp eric x reader #aqp eric x fem!reader #aqp eric imagines #aqp eric imagine #aqp imagines #aqp eric oneshots #a quiet place day one #aqpdo x reader #aqpdo imagines #joseph quinn imagines #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #writings by juls #my gif #a quiet place day one imagines

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tasteleeknow-remade · 2 years

Text

— given

pairing: jisung x fem!reader genre: smut, angst, succubus!reader, switch!jisung. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 4.5k

summary: you seduced them and took their souls, damning them to a tortured afterlife. you weren’t used to them begging for it.

a/n: my first jisung attempt. let me know what you think!

afab!reader. unprotected intercourse. profanity. dark themes (reader uses supernatural abilities to seduce ppl). possessive behaviour. obsessive behaviour.

You only used one hunting ground for a few months at a time, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. Your newest—a small family owned cafe in a busy part of town—was different. You’d formed an attachment. Many of your kind preferred hunting at night, rotating through clubs and bars in each city they visited. You liked your prey sober.

There was no moral code to what you were destined to do; no rule book guiding who should have their souls stolen and who should be allowed to continue on intact. You made your own rules. You could sense it, when they deserved it—when there was something rotten deep within them. You’d let them think you wanted them, that you liked when they fucked you. You did in a way—you liked feeling a small part of them transfer to you. The orgasms they desperately sought couldn't compare to the ecstasy you felt in that moment. They wouldn’t know it was gone, continuing on with their mundane little lives—unaware you owned them. When it was their time to pass on, they’d stumble into the darkness—yours to play with until you’d drained them completely. Then they were nothing.

Everyday you sat in your corner of the cafe and watched them rush about—always somewhere to be. Most days you left them alone. Most weren’t rotten enough. Many had something near the surface a little rancid, the potential to be cruel. But few were truly rotten at their core, unworthy of a chance to redeem themselves. You’d sense them as soon as they entered the door, the small bell ringing as it swung shut behind him. They often walked with their heads held high, many of them powerful in their own puny little human way. Their rotten cores would often be the tools they used to obtain that power—crushing everyone around them until they were standing on a pile of trodden souls.

It wouldn’t take much to lure them, you had an easy job. You’d bump into them as you walked past, stumble a little and look into their eyes. You had an on and off switch, fortunately. It would be hard to camouflage into your corner otherwise. With it on they would succumb instantly, their eyes consumed with lust. Sometimes you’d see the confusion in the brighter ones, a second of suspicion at the unnatural urges that consumed them. They’d always give in. They couldn’t resist. You’d keep the part of them you stole tucked away, a little token to redeem when they died. They’d forget you until then. Once you’d turned the switch off you were invisible to them again—allowing you to resume your hunt without disturbance.

Today was as ordinary as any other, no one worth your time entering all morning. You watch a small child pick at a muffin nearly as big as his face. He looks back at you, big eyes offering you a clear view into his unadulterated soul. They could all see you, the small ones. You press your finger to your lips, signalling the secret you both shared in the bustling cafe.

The child picks up his muffin, opening his mouth as wide as he can to take a bite. “Excuse me?” You look up at a man standing at your small corner table. He looks directly into your eyes. He shouldn’t be able to do that. “I don’t want to disturb you, are you busy?” he asks, as if you weren’t a creature capable of consuming his soul. If he hadn’t walked up to you so casually you would hardly have noticed him. He was pretty, and if you were a human woman perhaps a boy as pretty as him approaching you in a cafe would make you blush—but you weren’t. So you keep a blank expression as you look into his eyes and gather everything you need to know: he isn’t your type. His soul was light and pure and you had no interest in dooming him to a tortured afterlife.

“I am,” you answer, maintaining a neutral expression on your face. You had no idea how he could see you. It had never happened before, but perhaps something had gone wrong—he’d never aged out of his childhood ability to perceive your kind.

“Oh,” his expression drops at your blunt response, “I won’t bother you then. Have a nice day.” He offers you a small smile before taking a small step back and then turning to leave. You watch him until he’s out the door and well out of your line of sight. Strange. A blueberry bounces across your table. You look up to the small child with the large muffin. He grins at you. You pick the berry from the table and pop it in your mouth. You couldn’t remember the last time you ate. Not such an ordinary day, after all.

The man is back the next day. You watch as he glances your way while in line for his coffee, while he orders, and again on his way to the door. You're prepared for it when he pauses just before he exits the cafe and walks over to you instead, coffee cup in hand.

“Hello, again,” he says, a nervous smile on his face.

“Hello,” you answer, as blunt as you’d been the day before. He places the cup down on your small table then reaches into his pocket to fish out a phone. You hated those things, they gave you headaches.

“I don’t think I introduced myself yesterday, I’m Jisung.” He says before pausing—clearly expecting a response. You say nothing. He clears his throat before continuing, “I was wondering…if maybe I could get your number? I know it’s strange, I really—I really have never seen anyone as beautiful as you before. I couldn’t get you out of my head. I was…I was hoping you’d be here again,” he stammers out, clearly not the type to approach strangers in this way.

Beautiful? Your switch was off. He wasn’t even supposed to be able to see you. You look around the cafe. No one was looking at you. A man at the counter was stirring sugar into his coffee, briefcase under his arm. You stand, moving past the flustered man in front of you to the man at the counter. You brush against him, trying your usual routine. Nothing. You look back to the man still hovering at your table, eyes fixed on you across the cafe. You march over to him.

“What are you?”

“I’m sorry?” he asks, brows drawing together.

“I don’t sense anything off about you; you seem human. Are you something I haven’t seen before?”

“I—” You grab his hand, his mouth closing as your skin touches his. You close your eyes, contentrating. You didn’t usually have to touch them. Looking at them was enough. If you really wanted a good appraisal, their eyes were a window.

This wasn’t something you were used to—not knowing. The light at his centre pulsed through you from where your hands touched. That was strange. You didn’t usually feel a physical sensation. Still, clearly there was something off about him that was outside your ability to detect because all you gathered was that he was good and he was human. That’s it. You drop his hand, opening your eyes again. His lips had parted slightly, brows raised.

“Did you feel that?” he breathes, voice barely audible in the bustling cafe.

“What?”

“When you touched me,” he says, voice louder this time, “it was like…it went through my whole body—a spark…or something.”

You take a small step back. God, you were going to have to leave the cafe behind—find a new hunting ground. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good. You turn to leave, marching to the door and swinging it open.

“Wait!” he shouts as the door swings shut behind you.

You keep walking, making your way down the street quickly. “Leave. You don’t want to know me,” you demand, speaking to the man keeping pace beside you.

“I do,” he insists, “I really do. Please, just wait a second.”

You stop abruptly, turning to face him. He’s panting a little. So delicate. “I just asked you if you’re human and told you to stay away from me for your own good—and you want to know me?”

“Did you not feel it? The spark,” his eyes sparkle, a hint of excitement he can’t contain. His curiosity would get him in trouble.

“If you knew who I am…what I've done—you’d be running as fast as you could. Do you hear me? You don’t want me. You want to run.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

You look to the heavens, collecting yourself before you lose your temper. He doesn’t deserve it. Even if he was a fool. “No. I won’t be here again,” you finally say, resigning yourself to the fact you’d have to be the one to stay away.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, eyes still sparkling.

“Are you hearing anything I’m saying? I’m not coming here again.”

“I’ll wait.”

You turn with a huff, marching down the street until you’re out of his sight before disappartating—off to play with your tortured souls.

You’d spent the week searching for a place to compete with your cafe, your irritation rising as the days passed—nothing compared. You’d stumbled across a perfectly rotten soul on the street, offering you distraction for a few hours. By the time you’d released him—sliver of soul tucked away in your collection—you had calmed. The rain helped. The feeling of it against your skin soothed you. There was no rain where you were from. You wander the streets, satiated for the time being. It isn’t until you’re directly across the street from your cafe that you realise you’d been subconsciously heading in it’s direction. The rain had soaked you through, hair sticking to the sides of your face. The cafe door opens, a large yellow umbrella masking the human exiting. They cross the street, heading in your direction. When the umbrella lifts, revealing the man underneath, you roll your eyes. Gods. It was him. What was his name? Jisung.

‘You came back,” he says as he holds the umbrella over you—a wide smile on his face.

You say nothing, looking into his eyes again. Still human. Still good.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters, stating the obvious.

“I want my cafe back.”

He looks back across the street, then to you again. “You own it?”

“Something like that,” you answer, unwilling to engage him in conversation for any longer than necessary. His brows furrow, head tilting a little in question. You sigh, he was lucky you’d stumbled upon the rotten soul earlier—if you were in a bad mood you might’ve decided to deal with him the easy way. “I would like you to leave my cafe and never come back. I don’t want to see you again.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re getting in the way.”

“Of what?”

“Everything.”

He takes a small step closer to you, eyes flicking across your face. “You feel it too, don’t you? Don’t you want to know what it is—what we are?” He shuffles even closer, his bright yellow umbrella held up over you both. His hand lifts to hover over the hair stuck to your forehead—hesitating for a second. When you don’t react, he continues. The moment his fingers brush against your skin, a puff of air leaves him in a soft gasp. “There,” he whispers, “Did you feel it?”

The brightness pouring from his eyes overwhelms you. You’re so used to only touching the ones with rotten cores. Even back when you didn’t discriminate, preying on whoever crossed your path, you’d never stumbled across a soul this light.

“Does it feel good to you? Does it not feel like death?” you question curiosity getting the better of you as your eyes flick across his face—attempting to detect any discomfort. When you didn't flick the switch that made you irresistible to them, they wouldn’t merely ignore you—it was like they were slightly repulsed. Flickers of unease would appear in their expressions as you brushed past them.

“It feels like life,” he corrects, voice breathy.

You take a step back, the umbrella following you—sheltering you from the rain. It was an inconvenience to them, the rain. They took it for granted. “I’m not life. I am eternal death. Don’t come back here again,” you comand, pressing all your pent up frustration into your voice. His lips part, preparing to speak—argue. “This is your final warning,” you finish.

You disapparate right there, leaving him alone under the yellow umbrella.

You avoid your cafe as long as you can stand. Months, it’d been months. Wandering the city was making you restless, unsettled. You missed your routine. Jisung was ever present in your mind, his shining eyes burned into your retinas—the final look on his face just before you’d left him standing under his umbrella alone. You could find him, if you wanted. Even if he’d stopped showing up at your cafe, once you’d had a taste of them—which you’d done when you’d taken his hand the first time—you could track them anywhere. Not that you wanted to. You wanted him gone.

You find yourself in his home that night, wandering through his darkened apartment—picking up and inspecting his belongings. Perhaps he’d come across an item that he shouldn’t have. They’d do that sometimes—humans. Come across an object that would affect them without their knowledge, influencing their weak minds. You’d let those ones go, the rot within them was easily cured with a sweep of their homes. Whatever item Jisung must’ve come across must be having some other strange effect on him. Instead of rotting his soul it was making him vulnerable to your kind, attracted to you when he shouldn’t be.

You were thorough in your search—irritation building with each mundane item you’d inspect. There was only one room left. You could sense him in there, asleep you assumed. You should check…for objects. You disapparate and reappear in his bedroom, saving you from having to creak the door open. He was asleep, mouth slightly open. You wonder what he dreams about. Unfortunately your kind couldn’t visit them there.

You lift a small notebook from his bedside table. It was mundane. You hesitate as you go to put it back, opting to flick through it briefly instead. It was full of scribbles—poems? lyrics? You liked human music. Music and rain. One of the reasons you’d become so attached to the cafe was the music that would play throughout the day. It was like whoever chose the songs were catering to your tastes specifically.

“You’re here,” his sleepy voice startles you and you drop the small notebook to the floor. He pulls himself into a sitting position as you bend to collect it. He’s far too calm for someone who’d just woken in the night to find someone standing at his bedside. Someone inhuman at that.

“I shouldn’t be,” you mutter as you place the book gently back where it belonged. He reaches over to flick on a lamp, the soft light making you feel exposed. You’re unused to being perceived in this form. “Aren’t you afraid? You haven’t even asked what I am.”

“I told you, I feel you. I don’t know what you are but I feel you—and I’m not afraid.”

“I collect souls,” you confess, keeping eye contact to monitor his reaction, “I seduce people, collect their souls by bringing them to their highs and when they die I consume them completely.”

“Why?”

“Why do you humans eat? Why do you fuck?”

“No, I mean why do you take the ones you do? Why haven’t you taken mine?”

“You aren’t…right. You aren’t my type.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up slightly, “That’s a shame.”

“No, it’s not. You don’t want to be my type.”

“What if I do?”

“Then you’re a fool.”

He throws the blankets off himself, revealing his nakedness. You’re unfazed. “I think I am your type,” he says, apparently equally unfazed. “Appearing in my room in the middle of the night is a little suspicious.”

“I was searching for something. I’m trying to get rid of you.”

He reaches to take your hand, pulling you down to sit at the edge of the bed. He keeps a hold of you, a steady thrum pulsing between where your skin touched his. “You’re doing a terrible job,” he whispers through a smile.

“You don’t want me,” you insist.

“I do,” he answers quickly, hand tightening where he grasps yours.

“I don’t know if I can help it, dooming you. I’ve never fucked anyone without taking a part of them.”

“That’s okay. I think you’re meant to have it, a part of me.”

You look into his eyes again, desperate to understand. “What are you?” you whisper, knowing it was futile to ask.

“Yours,” he whispers back before leaning forward to press his lips to yours. The thrum of energy between you heightens, overwhelming you. You gasp into his mouth. “Knew you felt it, too,” he mutters, “knew it.”

You push him back onto the bed, straddling him with your hands on his bare chest. “Tell me you're sure. Tell me you understand what you’re giving me—that I can’t give it back.”

“Please,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, “take it.”

You lean down to attach your mouth to his again, pulling his full lower lip gently between your teeth. You tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him still so you can taste him as long as you want. He’s like nothing you’ve had before. Sweet and light, no rotten aftertaste. He whines into your mouth as you slip your tongue between his lips. The steady thrum between you makes you feel like your whole body is tingling slightly. You detach yourself briefly to rip your dress over your head, take the opportunity to take in his wet lips and blissed out expression. You roll your hips against him and then your mouth is on his again.

“I’m dreaming…” he murmurs into your mouth, “dreaming…”

“You’re awake,” you reassure him, your practised soothing, seductive tones making an appearance, “I’ve got you.”

“D-Do you feel it?” he stammers, trembling beneath you.

“Mm, I feel it. I feel you.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you down onto him completely. His legs tangle with yours as he kisses you. With each new place your bodies touch, the tingling intensifies. You struggle to concentrate like you usually do—focused on getting them to their highs so you could get yours. That isn’t the goal here—to get to that high when you take a part of them. In fact, you want to avoid it. You’re out of your depth.

You climb off him quickly, scrambling off the bed. He reaches for you as you stand, fingers brushing the inside of your wrist as you slip away—too fast for him to catch. “Where—where are you going?” he sputters, pulling himself up to follow you across the room. You rest your forehead against the wall, attempting to collect your thoughts. His hand brushes your arm and you quickly pull away—desperate for a clear head. “What’s wrong?” His soft voice makes it impossible. You turn to look at him. His lips are swollen, cheeks flushed—his hair falls into his eyes. You reach to brush it off his face a little, a shiver running through his whole body when your fingers brush his skin.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

His eyes widen a little, lightness pouring out of them. You hold your breath. “Please,” he begs, “don’t leave me again.”

“You’re begging me to damn you.”

“No, no. I’m—I’m begging you to let me have you.”

“I don’t give. I can’t let you have me. I only take. I’ll take something from you and I’ll keep it and then when you die I’ll own you for eternity. You get nothing.”

“Okay. I said okay. I understand and I want you to have it. I need you to take it.” He falls to his knees. “Please.” He presses his lips to your thigh, leaving little wet patches on your skin as he peppers you with small kisses. He mutters as he goes, “please…want to be yours…please…” You tangle your fingers in his hair as his mouth makes a path towards your clothed centre. His hands grip the backs of your thighs as he works. When he reaches the hem of your underwear you expect him to stop, to pull back and look up at you with those eyes. He doesn’t. His hands move to spread your thighs gently and then he pulls your underwear aside. You suck in a breath, the cool air against your wet cunt combined with the tingling from his touch sends a shiver up your spine. He slides one curious finger through your folds then brings it to his lips. You watch him wrap his plump lips around his finger then he’s touching you again—finger stroking you gently until you’re struggling not to clamp your thighs together. You pull his head back by his hair, his eyes hooded as he gazes up at you.

“On the bed,” you instruct, releasing him. You rest your head back against the wall, closing your eyes as he rushes to follow your order. You take a deep breath then lift your head, making your way over to him quickly—sliding your underwear down your legs as you go. He’s on his back, hand sliding slowly down his hard cock. You stop him, taking his wrist and guiding his hand to your breast as you settle yourself over him. Your wet cunt is pressed to his lower stomach as you hold most of your weight off him—rolling your hips to seek a little friction. “You want me to take, hm?” you mutter as you grind your cunt against him. “Want me to use you?”

You watch his face as you roll your hips. He holds his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes hooded—chest rising and falling erratically. You lift yourself slightly and shuffle back a little before lowering yourself to grind against the underside of his cock—pressing it down onto his stomach. A whine escapes his lips. You don’t blame him. Everything is heightened with the constant thrum of energy that connects you both. You wet his cock as he slides through your folds, his hips jumping off the bed each time you slide up to the sensitive spot near his tip.

“Angel,” he mutters, hooded eyes locked on your face. A breathy laugh escapes you at the term of endearment. He couldn’t be more off the mark. You don’t correct him, leaning down to press your lips to his instead. “Mine,” he murmurs into your mouth.

“That’s not how this works,” you correct him as you resume your grinding, “you belong to me, remember? Forever.” He groans as he throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck, please….please.”

“Look at me. Look at me while I fuck you.”

He takes a few shallow breaths then his glassy eyes meet yours. His lips are swollen from your gentle nibbling. You maintain eye contact as you lift yourself enough to guide his tip to your opening, pressing yourself down onto him as slowly as you can. You get half way down before a shiver spreads through your whole body, taking any remaining strength from your thighs. You fall down onto him completely—his cock stuffing you full. Jisung mumbles something underneath you, too quiet for you to make out.

“Hm?” you prompt, hips still as you relish in the feeling of him filling you—the constant thrum between you more intense than it’s ever been.

“Warm,” he mumbles again, just clear enough for you to understand, “so warm…and tight.” You clench around him, prompting another pretty whine from his full lips. “Wet,” he continues again, muttering to himself as you begin rising and lowering yourself—rolling your hips a little as you go. You’re transfixed by the expression on his face as you fuck him, totally fucking blissed out. You were used to expressions of lust and bliss—but on him? He looked like he’d never recover—like his brain was being wiped of everything but this moment.

“Is that nice?” you ask, wanting to hear him say it.

His eyes flicker open, unfocused for a moment before they find yours. “Angel,” is all he says, like he hadn’t processed your question at all. You lift yourself off him, laying yourself down on your stomach beside him. His head turns to watch you, his breathing heavy.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, lifting your hips off the bed as you offer yourself to him. He blinks twice slowly then he's moving quickly, clambering to position himself above you. He pushes himself into you from behind—body pressing you down into the mattress. He pants into your shoulder, already so worked up that he immediately begins to rut into you desperately. “Give it to me,” you encourage—referencing his soul, “gonna keep you.”

He groans as he speeds up, hand coming to grip you around your throat. “Tell me you’re mine,” he grunts, mouth pressing to your skin.

“I told you, I don’t give.”

“Please,” he pleads, his thrusts erratic, “please just say it.”

You focus on the feeling of him inside you, the warmth both from his cock and from the thrum of his light core spreading through you. You want to keep him. You want to keep him in a way unlike the others. You don’t want to consume him, you want to tuck him away and keep him with you forever.

“Yours,” you breathe, just loud enough for him to hear. His low groan fills your ear as he stills, burying himself deep inside you. You see light. Buzzing fills your head as you hit a high. You were expecting to feel what you usually did when they finished, when you took that small piece of them. This was more than that. Your mind blanks completely as you feel something come apart deep within you, replaced with the little piece you take from the man inside you. When your mind clears, his heavy weight presses you into the mattress—his hot breath tickling your skin as he breathes heavily. He took something from you…or—you gave something? You felt it leave you. He rolls off you and you turn to lie on your side, your faces a breath apart on the pillow you share.

“Did you feel it?” he says quickly, attempting to catch his breath.

“I—” you stop yourself, struggling for words for the first time in your long, long life. His lips brush yours as he closes the gap between you. “What are you?” you breathe, another futile attempt to decipher him.

“Yours,” he whispers, smiling against your lips.

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#han jisung smut #han jisung x reader #kpop smut #stray kids smut #kpop imagines #skz smut #stray kids imagines #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios

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fleet-of-fiction · 2 months

Text

Jake Kiszka x Narrator & Sam Kiszka x OC.

Chapter Three

Summary: The Jones Family are new additions to the sleepy community of Beech Run. A tight knit scattering of rural houses, where everyone knows everyone. Deeply religious and overbearingly strict, the daughters of the family are kept under lock & key by a fanatical Father and submissive Mother. They watch from bedroom windows as their neighbours, The Kiszkas, draw intense curiosity and desire to be free. Madness of youth , hope & obsession collide to bring the danger of forbidden love to poetic ends. (Era A/U)

Warnings: Religious/ Parental trauma. Penetrative p/v sex.

Summer 1984

The stones always hit the glass after midnight. In the hours where the world seemed to be at it's most quiet. And I would lie awake counting down the minutes, the ticking of the clock on the wall mocking me as it appeared to tick backwards. My hair braided in anticipation, a pair of linen shorts and a blouse under the covers where my pyjamas should have been.

I was a creature of the night, now. Nocturnal. Simmering during the day under a canvas of wanting, letting the sun paint my skin darker and my hair lighter. Staring at him from the front yard as he watered the plants which lined his driveway. I could have had everything taken from me. But not those stolen glances. Those were mine to keep and cherish and I'd have had my eyes gouged out before I ever stopped looking at him.

Ours was a quiet love. With a temperament much more muted than that which unfolded between my sister and Jake's brother. Theirs was unapologetic and a threat to every shred of my Father's control. It didn't wait until the midnight hours, it fornicated in the afternoon when they thought nobody was looking.

Catching kisses at the side of Sam's house as soon as Dad's car pulled out of the drive. My Mother fretting on the porch steps, wringing her hands in her pinafore as Jolene skipped across the gravel towards the Kiszka house. Every word of warning left unheeded.

The way that we loved them was like two sides of the same coin. Hers a tempest and mine a breeze, and yet I knew that somehow we were both locked in something we couldn't escape. And the way that they loved us in return was just as belligerent. Just as forthright and never sorry.

"You better hurry." I insisted, keeping the blanket tightly wrapped around me until Dad had done his nightly checks. "Or you'll be climbing out the window in your night gown."

Jolene was sitting up in bed. Her lamp glowing as she turned the page of a book I knew she wasn't really reading.

"I'm not coming with you tonight." She said soberly, without lifting her gaze.

Her usual impatience at winding down the hours until she could be with Sam again was usually a bubbling cauldron. I shot her a look of confusion from across the room, waiting for her to notice. And when she finally gave credence to it, she rolled her eyes.

"It's different for you and Jake." She sighed. "It's still a secret. Sam and I have to move differently."

"You do well to be more like Jake and I." I pointed out, falling to silence as our bedroom door clicked open.

He walked in as if our space had never been sacred. As if this room wasn't the graveyard of a young girl's hopes and dreams. Desecrating it just by stepping inside with his hands in his pockets and his collar neatly folded over his signature blue sweater.

"It's late, Jolene." He scolded. "Lights out."

"Yes, Dad." She replied without argument, placing her book page down on the nightstand before switching off her lamp.

I pretended to be asleep. Letting my chest rise and fall the way it did in slumber. Keeping my eyes clamped shut, hoping he would bypass me and just close the door behind him.

"I am the all seeing eye, remember that." He said prophetically, with an air of dominance that left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I was relieved when he plunged the room into darkness. Leaving only his tyrannical echo for me to let fester in my thoughts. I didn't know much about hate. But I knew that I hated him, in every way a person could hate. I knew that I wouldn't care if anything terrible happened to him. Nor would I stand and weep at his grave.

"The all seeing eye." I mocked, pushing off my blanket. "Can't see what's right under his nose."

She watched me construct my blanket and comforter into a make-shift image of myself asleep underneath. Careful not to turn her lamp back on too quickly, even though I could hear Dad's footsteps descend the stairs.

"You're really not coming with me?" I asked, the sound of gravel at the window breaking a mounting silence.

"It's different for me and him." She continued, a rueful smile on her face, something I would come to regret not questioning her further on. "Dad doesn't watch you like he watches me. He thinks your penance was done. He still thinks I am a whore for having the audacity to love the boy across the street."

I would have spoken but she lifted a hand to protest. "Go and be with Jake, Bonnie. I'm fine. Believe me. I'm just tired."

I wanted to believe her. And even as I began to climb out of the window I sensed that I should remain. A fleeting feeling that left almost as quickly as it had come to me. She smiled and watched me go, her eyes warm and comforting as she switched off the lamp again and snuggled down into her pillow.

He always helped me down from that last jump off the porch trellis. His hands snaking around my hips as he took my weight, always letting me fall back into his waiting arms. Spinning me around as if I were weightless, burying his lips into the crease of my neck as I giggled against the assault of his tickles. And I could finally breathe.

When my feet were planted firmly on the ground, we would always take a moment to admire each other. My arms around his neck, his around my waist. And I would take in the features that I'd yearned for from afar.

"It's just me and you tonight." He said, sweeping a palm over my coiled braids. "So I've got something special in mind."

Everything felt like an adventure with Jake. It didn't matter if we hid in his garage or went for midnight walks down by the creek. It all felt so magical, like I'd been plucked from my life and placed within somebody else's. The tenderness within which he showed me what life could be had me leaning further and further towards complete rebellion.

"Where are we going?" I asked wistfully, letting his eyes fall on me like his gaze was a blanket of nothing but the purest adoration.

He didn't tell me. Instead his smirk let me know that I would enjoy it, his hand taking mine as he led me towards the car waiting in the middle of the street. He opened the door for me like the perfect gentleman that he was, careful not to close it with too much force.

My heart was racing. I looked as the last light in my house went out, and Jake slid into the drivers seat. I knew that I didn't care anymore if I were caught. I was never giving this up.

I knew the direction we were heading in. The road into town was just one long dusty track dotted with houses until you reached the Welcome sign. I'd never seen it in the dead of night. All the shutters up and the roads empty. The street lights flickering and an eerie sense of calm in what was usually a bustling centre.

I'd walked past the Kiszka's music store before. It was the biggest plot on the main street stores, fronted by a row of parking spaces with little meters sitting on the side walk. In the window hung an array of electric and acoustic guitars, and in the shop front was a display of keyboards and saxophones. Vinyl records neatly sat on little holders, each time a new album was released the vinyl in the window was changed. As Jake fiddled with a set of keys to get the front door opened, I noticed the album cover of Purple Rain had been placed front and centre.

Once inside, I knew why he had brought me there. My breath caught in my chest as the overhead lights flickered on. Revealing an almost cave-like menagerie of music paraphernalia. The store was so vast that each section had it's own home. The counter was up front to the side, glass fronted with a selection of chrome harmonica's sat in little boxes on display beneath the cash register. The guitar section extended down the entire left side. Floor to ceiling, hanging on little hooks and sitting on stands between stools ready for potential buyers to come and try them out. There was a drum set in the corner, a selection of wind instruments and key based instruments all on display as if a band were ready to start playing at any moment. On the right side of the store there was row after row of vinyls. All of them coded and in their own genre sections. The wall was covered in posters. Prince and Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen and Van Halen. Some of the faces I didn't recognise, artists I'd never even heard of with music I'd never been given the opportunity to listen to. And in the back of the store there was a listening area. Three beaten up old arm chairs set out with record players and headphones attached. And behind was a booth, glass fronted with a cassette player inside.

He let me peer around the place for a moment. Standing behind me with the most pleased grin on his face, watching my reaction closely. His fingertips grazed the small of my back as he ushered me further inside, switching on a set of cool blue neon lights by the listening area and he waited for me to notice the little picnic he'd set up on one of the side tables.

"You did all this, for me?!" I exclaimed, turning to wrap my arms around him.

"It's just a few chocolate strawberries and cream soda." He replied, caressing my cheek with the swell of his lips.

It didn't matter how insignificant it felt to him. To me it was as if he'd pulled the stars down from the night sky and presented them to me in a crystal bowl and two candy pink glass bottles.

"It's perfect." I remarked, running palms up my arms as a cool chill breezed through from under the door.

He noticed immediately. "Yeah, it can get kinda cold in here. Let me find something."

He shuffled off towards a door at the back of the store with a "staff only" sign emblazoned on the front. It gave me a moment to drink it all in. Fingering the vinyls as they sat in their genre coded boxes, letting them fall forward one after the other. I traced lines across the guitar strings on display, giving the drum set a little flick on the cymbal. My heart warming the rest of my body by a couple of degrees as I looked over at the little arm chairs, his romantic gesture set out between the two which sat side by side beneath the wall light.

He appeared moments later, carrying a couple of knitted blankets and some cups of steaming hot tea. Looking so deliciously domestic, my stomach began to knot itself so tight I knew I'd never be able to pick it apart ever again.

"Reminds me of the night you took my virginity." I lamented, letting him lay the blankets out on the chair which looked the most comfortable, watching him set the needle to something soft and jazzy, getting seated before inviting me to curl up in his lap.

As his arms closed around me, so did the blanket. I felt like I'd been wrapped in a warm cocoon, his soft heart beating a melody against my ear as I laid against him. The blush of my cheeks as he pulled me up for a kiss was radiating almost instantly.

"Nothing will ever compare to that night." He replied, planting his lips against mine so carefully that I almost breathed a little too hard into his mouth.

A part of me would always belong to that night. When I looked at myself in the mirror, entirely changed, I would trace a line down my breasts and imagine that it was his touch. I'd recall the lines of his body on top of mine and my breathing would almost stop. Jake had burrowed his way beneath my skin and was as much a part of me as my own soul now.

"Our wedding night might." I offered, the words tumbling out of my mouth like a running faucet.

I immediately bristled in his arms. My body solidifying against the comfort of his chest and the blanket. The regret was palpable. And I blamed the sweetness of the moment for taking me so far ahead into the future that I hadn't dared to ask if marriage was something he had ever entertained.

He didn't say anything at first. And I didn't dare look up to investigate his expression. There was only a silence that was growing ever more unbearable as he continued to stroke my hair.

"Perhaps." He finally responded, a hopeful little word that was spoken in a pleasing tone.

It was as if he was agreeing with me. Without giving too much credence to the concept. Casual, almost. As if the subject of marriage was absolute and should have never been in doubt and I felt foolish for ever letting myself have a regret with him.

"Bonnie?"

I dared to look up at him. "Yes, Jake?"

There was a strange look in his eye. Serious, and yet I felt as if he was mocking me a little. With the corners of his mouth pulled up slightly, a smirk on the verge of forming.

"You are eighteen. You are free to marry whoever you choose." He said, conjuring a mixture of hope and dread in my stomach.

I didn't quite know what he meant. What his intentions were. I could feel myself begin to stutter, my mouth poised to speak but the words lost before they could make it out.

"Is that what you want?" He asked, that hint of a smirk fading. "If I marry you, he can't stop us being together. You would be my wife."

The rate in which my heart began to excelerate was unprecedented. For a moment we stared at each other. Both of us waiting for the other to say something. And then the needle jumped, sending the music into disarray until it fell to an excruciating silence.

I took my opportunity to break to tension by opening up our warm little cocoon. I slipped off his lap, him keeping his eyes firmly on me as I went over to the record player and lifted the needle. Carefully placing it back on it's little bracket. I picked up the nearest vinyl, not caring to check the cover. Absently, I placed it on the deck and soon the room was filled with the dulcet tones of Ella Fitzgerald.

Let's do it... Let's fall in love...

He rose from his seat. Pulling me into a slow dance. Letting my erratic heart fall into the pattern of the song. I felt his arms come around my waist. My head forever at home against his shoulder, my hand coming to rest against his chest as the other pressed against his back. We swayed in silence, neither of us wanting to break the spell.

I allowed myself to imagine it, though. A wedding in secret, the church far enough away that word would never reach my Father. A simple white dress and a posy of locally picked flowers, our guests only a mere handful of Jake's family who wanted to witness it. The haste in which it would happen. All of us on tenterhooks until the paperwork was signed. I knew how this story unfolded. And it wasn't satisfying. But was is necessary? I didn't want to think about it.

"Forgive me." He whispered, "I didn't mean to suggest something like that..."

My forgiveness was not what he needed. I placed my finger at his lips and let myself fall into a kiss so deep that I moaned salaciously against it. His tongue sliding so deep that the arousal travelled the length of my body and struck lightening at my core. The churn of butterflies ignited, the raw ache of wanting him even when I was in his arms burned.

Sometimes it was like that. When the need was greater than the desire. He could have lit a thousand candles and I would have swept my panties to the side for him in darkness. When time was against us, it felt as if I would have sat upon the window ledge itself and let him suck and tease at me before even climbing out of it.

"I don't want to hurt you, because I love you." He explained, lingering on the precipice of something dark. "But if I don't hurt you while fucking...You'll never know how much I do..."

He drove his tongue back into my mouth, setting off another shattering moan. To him, I was a mere instrument to play. When the fever took hold. The urge to fuck surpassing all reason. When it was like this, that was when I felt the most alive. He didn't need to marry me in moments like these. I would have gone anywhere with him.

The raw intensity of his tongue drew me to the edges of despair. He made me sing the most glorious songs, delicious noises escaping my lips as he sank his teeth into my jawline. I grabbed his hair and pulled him into me closer. The wordless begging forcing his fingertips to dig into my hips. Without any thought behind it, he pushed me back into the arm chair behind us.

"Show me how much you love me." I sinfully requested, hedging my bets on his previous statement that it had to hurt for me to know.

He came and took his place on top of me, reclining the chair slowly until it was almost horizontal. Scrambling to tear off our clothes. The moment would not wait nor did it call for careful romance. We had known these moments in summer fields down by the creek and in candle lit evenings on the pull out sofa bed in his parent's garage.

I ached for penetration. And he was already leaking by the time he ripped off his boxer shorts. I called to him with my legs spread wide, leaning against the arms of the chair. My braids already somewhat falling out as he crawled above. He took the tentative step to uncoil them. Letting the waves out, my hair fall around my face as he leaned down to steal a kiss.

"I fought for this..." He murmured, sweeping his fingertips against the wetness of my labia. "And I'll fight for it until the day I die."

He didn't waste time with his fingers. I was already set to the highest peak of arousal. He took a firm grip of himself, making a few strokes as he centred himself between my thighs. He plunged inside me with such delicious intention that I gasped.

"You feel that?" He asked, motioning back before shooting his hips forward.

"I feel it." I confirmed, my walls stretching against his shaft with each daring thrust. "I feel you inside me..."

My virginity belonged to the past. I'd long since given it to him. I felt like a woman now. My need was slaked only by his caress. The way he pulled out my breast and laid his mouth over the bud of my nipple. The way he licked the curve of it, holding it between his thumb and index finger. The way he sucked hungrily at the flesh until it was dappled pink and almost blood shot. My senses were at odds.

"Still so tight..." He breathed between beating thrusts, his commentary sometimes the thing I hung on to most.

Sex, I had discovered, was not just a feast for the eyes but for the ears too. I often drifted away to the sound of his voice as he made love to me. The way in which he liked to give praise to my body. To the way it made him feel. The incandesce of his gaze like wild flames burning my flesh with each touch.

"Shit, Bonnie..."

Oh, the curses were what I lived for. I knew, always, when the curses slipped out that he was too far gone. About to step off the precipice into orgasm.

He fucked me so hard in that reclined arm chair that I could hear the springs about to break. The hinges about to come apart. I didn't care. Let it crash beneath us, I just needed him to give me that stinging ache I had come to know after he'd fucked me a little too brutally. When he'd let the intrusive thoughts take over.

His hair was saturated in sweat. Tiny droplets of it brushing against my chest. We didn't kiss, it was more like our tongues were dancing and our mouths perpetually open. The kind of sex only experience could bring. The sort of experience I was slowly painting every night with Jake.

"Tell me it feels good." He instructed, pulling away to look at the flush in my face, evening out his pace a little.

"Feels so good." I moaned, still finding my voice a little. "I promise Jake, it's good."

The growl that came afterwards made me almost giggle in satisfaction. He buried his face into my sweat drenched neck. Pounding against my thighs relentlessly. I could hear the sloppy sounds of how wet he'd made me. His careful nature lost, he wasn't making love to me. He was fucking me, hard. The way he liked to, the way he'd been too afraid to before. The way I'd suspected he could that night he had spanked me in the church.

"I love the way you fuck me, oh God..." My voice trailed off into a singular note of pitch.

It was the first time I had ever said anything unprompted. Undiluted and completely catching him off guard. The look of pure unadulterated devotion was enough to complete me. His thumb pressed against my drenched clit. Guiding me closer and closer. He didn't take his eyes off me in that moment. And it felt, for the first time, that we trusted each other to have the kind of sex we could only dream of.

"There's no God here..." He whispered, "Only me."

I knew it was true as he spilled inside me. That shock only a man could feel when he realised his woman was no longer someone he had to covet so gently. That she wasn't a girl anymore. It was like he couldn't believe it. Seeing me beneath him like that. Hot and sweaty from the beast that had bared it's teeth between us.

It took a few moments for us to catch our breath. He remained inside me, slowly softening and swallowing hard as he rested his forehead against mine. Truthfully, I didn't want him to pull away. I was still getting used to the residue, the way I had to navigate myself so that it didn't drip down the inside of my leg. The things nobody talks about when the moment has passed and there is nothing left but his cum nestled away inside you.

"Here." He offered, throwing me the tea towel he'd brought in with the hot cups that were now assuredly luke warm, teasing a smile as he watched me clean up. "If only you could see what a beautiful mess you make."

"You make." I replied, watching him tuck himself back into his pants.

"No." He insisted, taking back the tea towel so that I could dress. "It's not just that you're full of my cum. It's that your hair's all fucked up. And your cheeks are pink. And your flesh is all covered in sweat. Never seen anything more beautiful."

The rhythm of my breathing was still shallow as he pulled me up out of the chair. He placed a chocolate strawberry at my lips and we slow danced a little more. My hips ached and my thighs were raw. And that feeling that could only come after being fucked hard was lingering inside me.

"I meant what I said." He reiterated, "I will marry you, Bonnie. And you'll never have to live under your Dad's control ever again."

It would have been easy to say yes for that reason alone. But I didn't want that.

"I want to marry you, I do." I replied softly, letting him kiss my temple. "But I want you to ask me on a day where nothing else is at stake."

I could hear his chest fall in disappointment. "I'm not asking you to save you. I'm asking you because I love you."

His eyes met mine. I'd never seen him look so serious.

"I know..." I would have said more, but the moment was stolen from us.

The bell which tinkled whenever the front door opened drew us from this reverie. My stomach immediately churned into a sickness as I drew my gaze away from Jake, and dropped him from my embrace.

There was nothing I could do to reverse that night. Not the things Jake and I had said to each other that would have to go unfinished, nor the things I had done to set the wheels in motion that had brought Sam to the store in what I could only describe as a blind panic.

He fell through the door, breathing erratic. Pulling strands of his hair back as he tried to speak. Leaning over the counter, trying to catch his breath. Moaning in pain. Or was it despair? His panic was suddenly mine.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Jake asked, rushing over to his brother. "You're not supposed to be here, Sam."

I sensed that perhaps Jake knew where Sam was supposed to be. But the line of questioning would have to wait. As I approached, I realised the level of trauma already lined in his face would stay with him forever. He was bereft. And I knew, somehow, that Jolene wasn't where she was supposed to be, either.

"Calm down." I tried, placing my palms on either side of his grief stricken face. "And tell me what happened."

I guided him over to the listening area. He didn't want to move. He didn't know what to do. He pulled away at first, scared of my touch. His eyes wide and apologetic. I could see that he wanted to follow, but there was a fear clutching at him that made every step just hard to take.

Once I got him sat in one of the arm chairs, I offered him a swig of cream soda. He declined, pushing it away like I'd offered him poison. Jake pulled out a hip flask and shoved it into his brother's face, forcing him to take a drink.

"You better start talking." Jake said dominantly, not as an older brother, but as somebody who naturally had more power. "Where's Jolene?"

I slumped down onto the arm of the chair, offering my hand at his shoulder for comfort. Jake stood in front, tipping the flask into his mouth until it was drained.

"We were... " He began, his body shaking and his voice unsteady. "You know? We almost made it...and then I realised we were being followed... I sped up and then they sped up...and then Jolene she said we should stop and I didn't listen to her... "

I instinctively moved away. "What do you mean? You didn't listen to her? She's in bed at home. That's where I left her."

Sam shook his head. "No, no... that's what she wanted you to believe. She wanted you to think that she was staying home. She didn't want you to worry. But... we had it all planned out. We were going to drive down to my Aunt's place down in Grand Rapids. They got a farm down there, we were going to help out and get enough money to get our own place. Somewhere your Dad could never get to us."

I couldn't help but steer my attention towards Jake. He was biting his lip nervously. Tapping his heel. Hands on his hips as he stared down at his brother.

"Did you know about this?" I asked. "Is that what bringing me here tonight was all about? A distraction?!"

He looked offended. "No! Fuck, no. I wanted to bring you here because I thought you'd like it!"

The place reeked of sex. The undeniable scent of what we had done lingered, the music was still playing something soft and sexy but the tone of it felt all wrong now. Sam didn't seem to notice, fresh tears streaming down his face as he stared into the void.

"Sam, where is my sister?" I asked bluntly.

I'll never forget the way he looked at me. I never wanted anyone to ever look at me like that ever again. Desperate for forgiveness. On the edge of losing his mind. If he spoke the words out loud that would make it all real. He would cling on to those wasted seconds for as long as he could, before he had to speak it into existence.

"I don't know." He swallowed harshly, "That's the truth. I don't know where she is. But... I think she's dead."

The engine fell silent. The gentle tinkle of Jakes car keys as he pulled them out drew me from my thoughts.

"No." I stopped him, "Don't wait for me."

He began to protest immediately, just as I thought he might. I'd already prepared a speech for him, but it seemed to fall flat as I tried to get the words out without bursting into unwanted tears.

"Of course I'll wait for you." He replied, knuckles against my cheek as he swept my hair back, strands of it sticking to my damp face. "I'd go in there with you if I thought it would do any good."

I tried to imagine it. His hand in mine as we navigated the hospital corridors. Feeling a little more calm than I would have without him. A part of me wanted to walk in there with him by my side. But the other part of me, and it screamed so much more loudly, told me not to bear that cross quite yet.

"No, my Dad will be there. And I'm not ready to face him with all this yet." I sighed, watching the clock on the dash as it turned 4 am. "Will you please tell Sam that she's not dead?"

He nodded gravely. "I love you, you know that, right?"

If nothing else, I knew that. It was hard to get out of the car, to even walk through the hospital doors knowing he'd be out there waiting for me. Even if I got in the car with my parents, he would stay there until he knew I was going home. It gave me some small comfort. The immeasurable toll of seeing my sister laid up in that bed attached to all the beeping wires was something I was not prepared for.

It was like walking into a court room and I was the one on trial. My mother was sat at Jolene's bedside, her hand wrapped around my sisters, holding it tight as she laid there limply. My Dad was standing in the corner of the room like a sentinel, resting his chin against a tightly curled fist with his arms folded neatly across his chest. Staring at her lifeless body as the chest rose and fell with each beep.

"Whore." He grunted, eyes immediately flaring hot like sulphur. "Just like your sister!"

"Not now, please" My Mother begged, using her voice for what felt like the first time.

The wave of emotion that flooded me was overwhelming. The sight of Jolene there like that, so helpless and lifeless. My Mother, in this tentative moment, speaking against my Father for the first time. And him, choosing to use it like some vehicle for his hatred of me.

"I suppose you spoke to your brother." He surmised, "Once you saw fit to come home."

It was strange. Like looking at a stranger.

"You know that Sam thinks that she's dead, don't you?" I almost spat the words out. "Why didn't you just let them go? It's because of you that this happened!"

The blasphemy caught him off guard. The accusation and the way in which I had thrown it at him. All I had to do was stand there and not flinch. To let the wave of anger that was assuredly coursing through his veins wash through him until it was permanently marked on his flesh.

"You've got the devil in you!" He said pointedly, standing close to Jolene's bed side as if I would contaminate her.

He had no power over me anymore. In one brief, fleeting moment I had eradicated eighteen years of oppression. Eighteen years of fear and doubt. I wasn't certain I could uphold it, against whatever he would do next, but I knew that if I just stood there I stood a fighting chance.

"You chased them down in your car. You think that God wanted this? Look at her... she's your daughter. You're supposed to love her and cherish her! Not run her into the ground until the car crashes and she's clinging on to her life!"

My Mom began to sob quietly. Holding Jolene's hand to her cheek. Perhaps it was the most affection she had ever shown, and Jolene would never know.

It was in stark contrast to my Father, who couldn't bear my defiance. When his hand struck my cheek, I tasted blood. But I welcomed it. Blood meant sacrifice. And I would make the ultimate one. When I turned my face, there wasn't a hint of remorse in his. Only a vexation that knew no limit. And yet, somehow, I had managed to exceed it.

I looked him directly in the eye. "Enough."

She would languish there until her injuries were healed. I didn't say it out loud, but I made a promise to come back for her. To never let another moment pass where she or I would live under this scrutiny and melancholic repression. And when I walked out of that room I didn't look at my Mother, or my Father again.

I ran out into the early morning light. Jake was leaning against his car in the parking lot smoking a cigarette. He looked tired. But when he caught sight of me standing there, something shifted. And I knew that everything was about to change.

To be Continued...

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