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ayabeanworks · 7 months

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Title: Can I meet you again?

Synopsis: AU in which Geto does not defect, but you do instead.

Character: SaShiSu x reader

Series: Let's Meet in the Spring (SaShiSu x reader)

Notes: Literally just heavy angst & sadness. Mentions of death, murder, suicide and reincarnation. Heavy themes. Lots of swearing. Spoilers for JJK season 2 (anime).

Part 2 available here!

Prequel available here!

AU sequel available here!

The songs I had playing while writing this was: - Hero by Alan Walker (Probably played this one the most that it's at the top of my repeated songs Spotify list ☠️) - Apollo (Eurovision ver) by Timebelle - Dancing With Your Ghost by Sasha Sloan

"Oh?"

Shoko stared at you as you waved at her with a bright smile, brows raising in surprise as she took out a new smoke in the Shinjuku smoking area.

You made your way over to her, finding that she wasn't pushing you away. It was good to see a friend after a while, but you weren't too sure if you had that privilege anymore.

For you, you were testing the waters.

"Hey, Shoko." You took out a lighter from your pocket, one-handedly opening it for her to light her cigarette.

"Fancy seeing you here. You need something from me?" She glanced into your direction, taking a shallow inhale and extending her exhale.

You hummed in reply. "Just testing my luck."

"So, just to be sure, are the claims false?"

"Unfortunately, they're true." You could only bring yourself to shrug lightly, looking ahead. From your peripherals, you could see her taking out her phone to call the others.

"Just to be sure again: why?"

"I want to create a world where jujutsu sorcerers don't have to struggle." You didn't elaborate.

"Wow, that's funny!" Shoko laughed lightly, but there really wasn't anything humourous behind it. It was as if she was contemplating asking more. After all, everyone and everything struggles, so what is this righteous talk from you?

"Do you think I'm wrong?" You asked, hearing the faint ringing of her phone as she waited for one of the others to pick up.

"Right or wrong, it was dumb." Shoko didn't even hold back on her words, making you genuinely laugh at how frank she was, regardless had you been granted a bounty.

"Gojo, Geto, [name]'s here with me in Shinjuku." Gojo seemed to say something on the other side, but Shoko retorted, "No way! I don't wanna die." She hung up after conveying her message.

"So, what will you do now?" She turned to you, exhaling a puff of smoke into a ring above her head.

"I don't know. I might see you around, I guess." You took a step forward, facing her. "See you later, Shoko." You knew Gojo and Geto would be here at any moment, but you didn't know if you wanted to face them.

Shoko didn't say anything in response, just watching as the ashes fell from the cigarette between her fingers.

You didn't see, but it was the first time Shoko has made an expression where she was at a loss of what to do.

And, that was the last time you saw Shoko.

"WAIT, [NAME]!" Satoru bellowed out to you as you walked away, in front of the KFC you all used to go to until recently.

He caught up pretty fast...where's Sugu? You sensed his curse energy, but you weren't sure where it was. As for Satoru, he was only a few metres away from you down the slope of the street.

You sighed inwardly, ready to face him. "'toru."

The nickname you usually call him by hurt him more this time around as he registered how unaffectionate your voice was, contrary to the usual. It was devoid of any emotion. Like you didn't care about what you left behind. Like you didn't care about him.

"Explain yourself, [name]!" He demanded, sunglasses further down his nose as he watched you with wide eyes full of emotions of all kinds, but you mainly picked out disbelief and anger.

"There's nothing else to say. You've heard from Shoko." You stated, watching the twitch in his face as he evaluated your dismissive answer.

"So you'll kill anybody who makes life hard for Jujutsu sorcerers? Both sorcerers and non-sorcerers?" Satoru's voice rose in anger.

After all, you did kill an elder a week ago. It was the one that'd been annoying you since forever, the one who tried to get you purposely killed each and every time you went on a mission. Killing him was much easier than you had imagined, though.

"Well, if natural selection isn't going to do anything, I might as well do it instead." You crack a light joke, but your words were serious.

"That's not what I'm asking! I thought you were against killing if there was no meaning to it?!"

"There's a meaning behind everything. A purpose, even."

"No there isn't! You want to make a world where Jujutsu sorcerers don't suffer? That's impossible!"

"Satoru's right, [name]." Geto spoke from behind you, his voice wafting through the air as he went to stand closer to Gojo as he faced you. "There's a purpose to everything, but there's a better way of doing things than say, homicide. Especially for us in the Jujutsu world."

You wanted to scoff. But, you couldn't, because you used to be that way, too. But everything ate away at you, and you just weren't the same person anymore with the same aligning morals. You chose to go down the path you've decided to go down, even if it meant deserting everything you knew before.

"Is it really impossible?" Your voice was light, but the lilt in it was undeniably laced with seriousness. "I wouldn't do this if there was a shred of impossible in it."

The alarm on their faces was really something.

"[name]...you'll need to fight us if you keep going down this path." Suguru spoke his words deliberately, slowly, like he was getting a child to listen to him. He was careful.

Satoru clenched his teeth and fists. He wanted to say that it was impossible yet again, that when you fight them, you'll lose. But, you knew that. You knew, so why?

"Wow, I'll get to fight the 2 strongest sorcerers!" You clapped your hands together once, a smile on your lips, one that didn't reach your eyes. "Maybe so, but you're not my targets. There's some smaller fish compared to you I must get rid of first."

"Why?" Geto voiced both Gojo and his thoughts, a quick glance at Satoru knew he wasn't going to be able to hold a proper conversation without shouting.

"Why?" You echoed his question. "Well, for starters, we're treated like shit, in both worlds regardless sorcerers or non-sorcerers. Do you remember? The elder I killed, he was truly one who deserved to die. The number of times he ignored protests, warnings and more...killing off our sorcerers one by one, do you really believe someone like him being alive is worth all that struggle? For him, he deserves to die for that alone."

Geto was about to open his mouth after a thought, but you interrupted him. "Also, he was a paedophile so he deserves everything that's come his way. The world needs none of those disgusting pigs."

You couldn't forgive him. You couldn't forgive such a disgusting creature existed. When you found out the information coincidently, you knew you had to do something about it.

The anger in your eyes was juxtaposed by the small smile on your lips, one that was almost proud of what you did.

Satoru couldn't contain himself any longer, "Yeah, he was a fucking piece of shit, but killing him? That's made you one of the sorcerers we've got to kill! You're to be executed on sight! You're a hypocrite, [name]. Are you trying to get all the sorcerers you want to protect to come kill you?"

You watched him as he heaved a breath, his eyes feeling heavy on your form as he tried to convey his distraught to you about the whole situation.

You barked out a laugh, a hand landing on your hip as you stared at him, no trace of the smile on your features anymore.

"Hypocrite?" The question lay on the tip of your tongue, before you let out a low chuckle, feeling your throat go dry. "Perhaps you're right; I am. I am a hypocrite who wants death as much as those geezers who send us out to kill ourselves."

"Oh, and you forgot one detail. I don't care about sorcerers and non-sorcerers at all. They're equally as bad as each other. The only difference is that sorcerers have the power to wield cursed energy and use it to destroy curses made up from the normie's emotions." You gave him a half lie. It was easier to push him away. Push him away so he won't be able to break the armour you've put up.

"And what of him dying? Are the elders going to retire themselves? Or will they KILL us sorcerers first?" Your voice became an octave higher as you emphasised words that made you emotional.

"After I kill them, you can then reform the society as you wish. You could probably kill them yourself, 'toru, but you won't take that step. That's why I'll take that step instead." You give him a crooked smile, "There's nothing here worth living for."

"Nothing worth living for?" Satoru repeated your words, taking off his sunglasses, watching you with his blue eyes, and you could see the monstrous waves of emotion behind them. "Are you fucking blind?"

Suguru glanced over at Gojo, hoping he didn't have to inject himself in between to stop it from escalating further.

"No, I am not fucking blind, Satoru!" A chip from your facade broke off, revealing a mess of emotions in the split second your voice broke. "Do you understand how suffocating it is living in this world? Where all your friends die in front of you, or there's a chance they'll die on their next mission? Where the strongest wins - and in this world, if the curses aren't the strongest, the sorcerers at their highest standing are!"

"You know I--" He began, but you cut him off.

"I know you hate them as much as I do! But I'll do whatever it takes to get rid of them, even if it means forsaking you all to do it." You almost sound like you're pleading by the end, your eyes starting to tear up.

"And after. When they're gone, you can reform the system, and control it in the way that works best for this generation." You force a smile to your lips, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "Someone has to be the bad guy, and I'm willing to play the role, even if I may die in the process."

"[name], this can be done differently--"

"I'm tired, Satoru. I've tried. I've tried, and I'm tired. Why don't you understand that?" You whisper, shaking your head. "Do you know how many times I've tried talking to the higher ups, or anybody for that matter? No, you don't. You've been on missions this whole time, so you don't know. Even Suguru doesn't know the full extent of it. Shoko knows a bit, but she's not one who can do much about it."

Suguru and Satoru were silent for a moment, their eyes on you as your expression gave away everything you wanted to say.

"I won't be there, but it's a sacrifice worth making if you all aren't in danger. I don't care about anything else." Your words were soft, soft enough for them to hear you, soft enough for you to hope to convince yourself it was the right way and you didn't make the wrong choice.

Satoru and Suguru were the strongest duo. But, before they were, they were your best friends, along with Shoko. But now? Were you still able to call them your best friends? Did you even have that privilege anymore?

But, this is the path you took. Even if it meant abandoning those that you held dear, it was all for them. The real truth to your purpose and change of heart was to make a world easier for them, and for you, and for everybody who came after you. You didn't want anyone else to experience what you have, and you were going to do whatever you can to make that a reality.

You didn't give a flying fuck about anything else other than your best friends, if you were being honest. If it meant that you won't be by their side anymore, it was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

"So, I won't stop. This world is absolutely fucked. Why save something that can't be saved no more? I'd rather go down fighting. Morals be damned."

Your eyes glistening with tears unshed, you press your lips into a genuine smile. The last genuine smile before giving them a wave, "I guess this is goodbye. The next time I see you, 'toru, Sugu, we'll be enemies."

You turned on your heel, ready to leave, but you felt the curse energy expand from behind you, like they were readying to attack.

But, you kept walking, and nothing happened.

Satoru's outstretched hand fell back down to his side as he swore a string of curses, the pain on his face evident as he watched your figure disappear in the crowd of people.

Suguru had half a mind to get one of his curses to follow you, but he knew you well enough that the curse would be killed the minute you felt his cursed energy, so he didn't even bother.

His clenched his hand into a fist, a bitter taste in his mouth. He remembered back to when he was in a similar situation to you, but you and the others managed to get him out of it. He felt saved, but now, seeing it happen to the very person who helped him, made him shatter inside.

Why did you help him, when you couldn't even help yourself with your own words? Why didn't you let them help you? Why didn't you let them know you were having a hard time? That this was what you were contemplating?

He would have listened. They would have listened. They always would.

He felt a cold shiver go down his spine as he watched the endless stream of pedestrians, ones he used to call 'monkeys' in his head, but when letting go of that thought, you were at the forefront of his mind. It was you who grabbed his hand, you who brought him back.

It was you.

But he wasn't able to bring you back. He wasn't able to bring back the one who had nowhere else to go. The one who didn't know what to do with their emotions. The one who got lost.

But would he really call you lost when you knew what you wanted to do, where you wanted to go?

Suguru knew you weren't malicious. At least, not originally. The essence of you, he knew, was someone who cared greatly. One who had their heart on their sleeve when talking about anything and everything, especially with them. He didn't worry about you because you were always ok. But, there were things you didn't tell them and they didn't know, because you never let that part see the light of the day.

The only thing that Suguru felt in his chest, was regret. Regret so raw he felt cold and numb.

Satoru muttered another string of curses, turning on his heel, "Let's go, Suguru." His voice was small, and he didn't want to say any more.

He pondered all the possibilities of you. But he couldn't make himself understand you like you understood him. Which is what made it even more painful.

"I'm not as strong as you." Were words you once said to Satoru.

A forgotten conversation, one you started when he had come into your room even though the light was off, finding comfort in your presence. He wanted to sleep in the same bed or at least the same room, but you were still awake, sitting up in your bed and watching the stars and sky from your window.

Satoru didn't say anything as he climbed into your double bed, comfort filling his whole being from your calming scent alone. He wouldn't admit it, but it was one of his favourite places to be when he had turmoil in his mind.

"Yeah, you're weak." He mumbled, his face squished against the pillow as he faced you.

He could see the illuminated outline of your features from the moon, finding them captivating as he watched you with half-lidded eyes.

No, you're strong, were the real words he wanted to say. But, he had always called you weak, so he was going to continue. What harm was there?

You turn your head slightly, gazing at him with a soft smile. It was like you knew what he wanted to say, but didn't hold anything against him for saying the opposite of what he truly felt.

"You're right," You whispered. "I'm weak."

You went to close the curtains, slipping back into bed with Satoru as you closed your eyes, ignoring the gaze on you as you drifted off to sleep.

Satoru had a feeling those words were in reference to something else, but he had no idea what. He felt an invisible wall between you and him from the interaction just now, one that shouldn't be there lest he had his infinity on. But he never did unless in certain situations.

"You're plenty strong, [name]." He whispered this, bringing his finger to tap your forehead, before he also went to sleep.

You weren't asleep yet, so you heard his comment. It warmed your heart, the freezing depths of it wanting to thaw. It made you want to spill the inner turmoils of your mind, but you were scared it would taint the bright sun that is Satoru.

Satoru's a lot sweeter than he lets on, you let a small smile grace your lips as you face him to sleep.

Thinking back to that conversation, Satoru leaned back in the chair of your room, wondering where it all went wrong.

Were you trying to reach out to him back then? Or were you asking him for some form of confirmation? Were you trying to let him know you were not alright? What did you want?

He wasn't as good at reading emotions like Suguru was, but he knew something was wrong when something was wrong. He just didn't know how to approach it.

He wondered, if he had indulged you that time, would you have let him in?

"You had another fight with the elders, huh." Suguru stated, seeing your current state. He sat where the vending machines were, having just taken a seat after taking a shower. The can of green tea he had in his hands was opened and given to you, "Drink up."

You held an angry expression prior to this, but being with Suguru made you calm down. You took the green tea and took a small sip, savouring the bitter flavour. It was refreshing.

You handed it back to Suguru, "Thank you." He took it back and took a large gulp, feeling it cool down his body.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" Suguru prodded. He knew something was up. Normally you'd be more like Satoru when you came out pissed from the elders meetings. But this time, you were quiet, more like you were seething, like a volcano about to erupt.

You stared at the ground, wondering what you should start with. You felt that all the words exchanged between you and the elders wasn't listened to, wasn't taken into account. It was like talking to a massive brick wall, one that you had no way to get through to.

"I..." You started, but your throat clammed up. You stopped, waiting for the words to come naturally. When your throat finally decided it was ready to talk, your voice was a whisper. "If the elders disappeared, would this all end?"

Suguru's gaze landed on you, knowing full well what you were thinking. He gave you the green tea again. You took it, and another sip.

"If the elders disappeared, others would take their place."

Suguru could feel something was wrong. The atmosphere was different with you, just like how it was different for him a year ago after the star plasma vessel mission. He could sense it in his very being, something was wrong.

"If the others took their place, would they act the same as the ones now?" You chuckled to yourself, but your voice dropped an octave, "Jujutsu society is trash."

There was a slight panic that welled up inside Suguru, reminding himself of the emotions he himself went through not too long ago.

He could see himself in you, and he hated it. Not the one who had helped to bring him out of it, the one who reached out their hand to bring him back to the light. Not you.

"[name]. You don't hate all sorcerers, do you?" His voice was calm, probing for information for your current state of mind.

Back then, he was on the verge of deciding whether to continue as someone who protected the weak, or someone who didn't care for the weak. And now, you were going through something similar. He wanted to bring you back to him, to the one you saved.

After a moment, you shook your head. "I don't. I just...hate how the elders are sending out young sorcerers to their deaths. I hate how there are young Jujutsu sorcerers being taken away from their families so they can train to be another one of us disposables. I hate how no matter what, the top dogs in this world are absolute trash, who need to be burned at the stake. And don't get me started on curses. They're the worst. I hate them. I hate them so much for taking away so much from everyone. From sorcerers, from non-sorcerers..."

A pregnant pause.

"I hate this world that has curses." Your voice cracked at the end of it as you leaned down, head in your hands as you stared at the ground, a broken whisper of self-awareness, "I hate how I've begun thinking this way."

Suguru didn't know when he had held his breath. Your confession was so raw. You had every right to be angry and frustrated at the system which Jujutsu was. He had also held the same thoughts.

"Sugu..." There was a heartbreaking whine to your voice, one that sounded as if you were on the verge of crying. "I hate this."

An embrace, so gentle, so tender, so soft, enveloped you as his larger body wrapped around yours. You could smell the soap he used as he pushed your face into the crook of his neck, his larger hand stroking your hair as you finally let the tears fall, a broken sob reverberating through your body as you held onto him like he was your lifeline.

"[name], I'm here." He soothes, head gently resting against yours. He closed his eyes, pulling you in closer when he felt you trembling. This was the exact same thing you did for him before, one that soothed him and his tumultuous heart.

The only difference is, you were smaller than before, too. Were you eating properly? You were skinnier. Did you get enough sleep? There were bags under your eyes. Did you take a break? He didn't see the last time you took a break.

You pulled away after a while, eyes puffy and face covered with snot. Suguru didn't even flinch as he grabbed the towel sitting next to him, wiping off any excess liquid from your face. It was gentle, and it reminded you he was the most gentle out of the three, and he'd been in a similar position to you at this moment in time. When you looked up to meet his eyes, you decided, you didn't want to burden him with your thoughts of hate - one time was enough.

"I'll always be here if you need me. You can come to me anytime." His hand went to your cheek and his thumb wiped at the area of your cheekbone. Just like his tender hugs, this was so, so soft that it made you want to cry again, making you nearly regret the decision in your heart.

You could only lean into his hand and give him a nod, eyes closing as you felt fatigue come down on your body, making it feel heavy. You didn't even know you fell asleep so fast that Suguru had to catch you, hauling you up so he could carry you back to your room.

This was the only time you revealed your true thoughts to Suguru, and the only time he has ever seen you this way.

Maybe this was the start of it? Suguru's thoughts when he woke up were clear in his mind. The dream he had was something that really happened, and it hurt him he wasn't able to help you during your hardest moments like you did for him.

He had slept in your bed for the night, finding that he missed you and the comfort you brought him. Your scent was calming to him, and it will forever be a saviour to his soul.

A week before killing the elder, Shoko had found you passed out in the infirmary, half of your body on a chair, and half of it off and on the ground.

She raised a brow at your position, wondering if you were tired and just fell asleep. On closer inspection, she could see the dark circles under your eyes, the thinning of your cheeks, and realised you've lost a lot of weight. The bottle on the chair were a bunch of sleeping pills, open and spilled, indicating you had taken some just prior.

If she wasn't worried about you before, she was definitely worried now.

And when you woke up, you were just like normal, which made Shoko question whether you were just overworked. She did know you fought a lot with the elders and were sent on difficult missions because they were out to get you. So with this information in mind, she was sure you were in need of a proper break, away from everything and everyone.

Which was why she advocated for you to get a break, away from Tokyo, to an island resort with lots of sunshine. A proper 4 day break. Of course, she got Satoru to pay for it since he was loaded and actually owed [name] for a previous thing.

But, the aftermath that came from that was the death of the elder 3 days after coming back.

Did that moment of clarity cause everything to happen? When you were on break, was that when everything went out of control? Was that when you decided this was the path you wanted to take?

You had looked completely back to normal after coming back that the worry Shoko and the boys held for you was almost like a false alarm - but they didn't realise that that in itself was the real alarm.

You were happy - or at least, you were smiling like you did before. It was wonderful to see you back to your regular self, something everyone mutually agreed on by the other sorcerers.

Until you murdered the elder, that is.

That was your first step into the world of depravity, away from the world of Jujutsu, and closer to the world called Hell.

[name]'s heart was soft. It was originally that way, and as you traversed through life, fell and got back up, your heart became stronger. However, it was just an outer layer, like a piece of armour for your fragile heart. You would pretend things were fine until it wasn't, even if you wore your heart on your sleeve, letting the people around you know what you thought, even if they thought you were joking.

It was almost too sudden when you realised all the armour around your soft heart had shattered to pieces.

It was like you lost a part of you that day, and you didn't know what could fix you. You didn't know if you could be fixed. So, you did the only thing you could do.

Pick up the pieces and do your best to put it back together, create a wall for your heart before it gets pierced again.

But before you were able to, a gunshot would shatter your glued armour, shattering in your hands, and your heart was laid bare, bleeding out without any way to stop.

And you wished and wished, for someone to reach out their hands to you and drag you out of your ocean of misery. But, nobody could reach deep enough, and you couldn't reach because you had no strength left to.

You couldn't reach out anymore. No matter how much you wanted, the same fate would await you, and you'd fall into such despair again.

You were tired. You were so, so, so tired.

The ones who made you like this, were ironically the ones who could take you out.

"____." You give them one last smile, a genuine one, as you feel the tears coming down your face, bringing your blade to your neck, before slicing and ending your own life.

You didn't want to die at the hands of your best friends. Not because they're your best friends, but because they would bear the burden of having killed you, and you didn't think they'd be able to take that, especially at the ripe age of 19. So, you'd rather do it for them, making it easier. After all, it would've been close to impossible going up against two of the strongest sorcerers.

You could only hear screams at you from the distance as the pain numbed your mind and body. Geto & Gojo were both screaming your name as they sprinted to you, their panicked shouts becoming background noise as they held onto your body, lifting you up to bring you to Shoko.

Your eyes could only see the terrified blue eyes from Satoru as he carried you on Geto's curse. He seemed to be wanting the curse to go faster, but Geto could only reply in an equally as panicked tone, saying this was his fastest one and that they're going as fast as they could to Shoko.

Your eyes are too beautiful to be panicking, you wanted to say. But, you couldn't. Blood had gotten into your oesophagus, making you struggle to breathe as you coughed and suffocated on your own blood.

"[NAME]! ARE YOU WITH ME?! STAY AWAKE!" Satoru's frantic shouts were barely ringing in your ears, but the creases on his face shouldn't have been there. They were going to give him wrinkles.

With one of the last ounces of your strength, you lifted your hand up to cup his cheek, then gently smooth the line between his brows, giving a weak smile.

Satoru let out a choked sound similar to a sob, understanding exactly what you were doing and what you wanted to say. He held your wrist, supporting you in whatever way he can as he could feel your body heat leaving you. Suguru placed a hand on your cheek, stroking the area under the eye, just like he always did.

It made you feel nostalgic, but you could barely see his expression, since tears had blurred your vision. You wanted to reach for Suguru before you had no more strength, so you gently moved your raised arm in that direction. Satoru, knowing exactly what you were doing, guided your hand to Suguru, who took your hand gently, holding it preciously between his two hands.

"Let's get you home, [name]." Were the last words Geto said to you. By 'home', he meant with them, back to Jujutsu, so they could forget everything that happened and start over. It would just be like those happy days, back when there was nothing to worry about.

In your state, you couldn't make out everything he was saying, but you knew they were kind words by his intonation and the caress he held for your bloodied hand.

You only gave them a smile, one that was apologetic, as you felt your consciousness fading away. The tears that blurred your vision finally fell, and the slight squeeze of your hand in Geto's made him realise that was it.

For you, it was time to sleep. It was a time for you to finally rest your tired mind and body, away from this world, and away from all those that you loved.

Suguru looked over at Satoru, who was biting his lip almost bruisingly as they trembled. With his sunglasses off, he could see everything in detail, including the way your cursed energy stopped, from when your body heat disappeared, and he couldn't feel you anymore. You were a hollow shell of a body now, and the last thing you left them was an apologetic smile on your face.

Away from the battleground, Shoko looked out the window, a pang of sadness hitting her all at once when she realised the screams belonging to Geto & Gojo resonated through the forest. She could barely just hear them, but she knew, the dread that filled her veins was apparent. She knew.

She closed her eyes, taking out the cigarette between her lips as she exstinguished it, her arm covering her eyes as she leaned back in her seat, silent tears falling down her cheeks.

"Quite sad, really. None of you realised [name] suffered this much." Kenjaku sowed the top of your head back together after revealing some information you kept hidden to Suguru & Satoru, and about your last moments and thoughts.

Seeing the despair and shock on their faces was intoxicating, especially when it came to the body he borrowed. Kenjaku knew the amount of love that had been given to the original owner of his current body, and using that, he could disarm even the strongest of sorcerers in the modern day.

It was a pity you were dead, but if you were alive and not dead, Kenjaku wouldn't have been able to take over your body now, would he?

It was especially sweet because the body hadn't even been cremated and still looked the same as it did 10 years ago. And those two who had been responsible for it were standing in front of him, in Shibuya station during Halloween.

Even better because you had died in their arms, so seeing you alive as Kenjaku was more of a sick joke than anything, but he loved that expression on the ones who had essentially allowed you to be this way.

"If only the people around them were able to reach out a hand before their descent into madness, none of this would have happened." Kenjaku ran a hand through your hair.

Satoru let out a low growl from his throat as he watched whoever was in your body use it, control it, and pretend to be you. No one could be you. You were gone. You were gone 10 years ago. And he knew - he knew you were not in front of him.

You died in his arms.

So there was absolutely no way that could be you. Absolutely not!

But, his six eyes said otherwise. It was you. Everything was you. It was the same you who died in his arms 10 years ago, the same you who gave him one last smile before leaving the earth.

It tore him to pieces inside.

Suguru put out an arm in front of Satoru, eyeing the cursed user in your body. He was pretending to be calm, but the way his hands and jaw clenched at the blatant disrepect Kenjaku had for your body was digusting. How dare he exhume your grave and take your body from it?

He felt a cold, almost murderous feeling bubble up inside him as he readied himself for combat.

That was not you. And it couldn't be, even if Satoru's six eyes recognised you to be alive. You weren't alive. You had been lost long ago, and whoever was in front of them was an imposter.

"[name]! How long are you going to let this little bitch take over your body?" Satoru finally burst, pissed at the prospect of someone disrespecting you.

Your hand, reacting almost instantaneously, went straight for the top of the head, right where Kenjaku's brain was. It stabbed straight through the cranium, a crunch eliciting a scream from Kenjaku himself as the brain was stabbed, wounding his real body. Kenjaku used your other arm to stop your attack on his weak point, feeling the blood pour out.

For a moment, it was silent except the light splatter and pitter patter of blood from your body. Suguru and Satoru stared at what happened in front of them, shocked that what Gojo said had ellicited such a response.

Kenjaku pulled your assaulting hand away, holding it in a death grip with the one he could control. The blood dripped down his face as he used his reverse cursed technique to heal the head wound, cracking the sides of his neck after he healed your head and his brain.

"Wow, I can't believe [name] went straight for the kill." Kenjaku laughed to himself. "But that's all there is to it. The soul and body are one, aren't they? Don't think this will happen again." He chuckled and waited for the hand to calm itself.

"Oh, and did you know [name] wrote a letter to each of you? Including Shoko. They knew they'd die so they hid it away in the school. I think they hid it somewhere important for each of you. Even they don't quite remember." Kenjaku couldn't quite recall what the contents of the letters were as the memory itself was fuzzy. He wanted to see it as their strong friendship strained due to his taking over of [name]'s body.

He wondered why this specific memory was blurred out, and he couldn't recall anything from your memories about this specific thing?

It was like you were deliberately making sure you didn't remember it, and deleted the memory from your head so no one could find the letters.

A letter? The strongest duo's eyes narrowed at the imposter in their dead best friend's body, wondering if it's a part of their tricks. But it was also hard to not believe them, since they look like you. And everything about you, they would believe.

Because you were the type of person who would write letters to them.

"I don't know what they say, but they've been there since before [name] died." Kenjaku tapped his temple, "If you can get out of here, I implore you to find them."

That pissed the two off. Kenjaku was implying they wouldn't get out of this alive, or at least, to see the letters that were supposedly left for them. It pissed them off to no end, and they prepared to battle, not wanting to take part of his nonsense any longer.

Dear Satoru,

I'm glad to have met you. I love you. I love Suguru. I love Shoko. I love everyone. We had so many fun times, and it was the best time of my life. Everything was so bright, cheery and brought me so much happiness, I can't even tell you the extent of it.

I hope you don't mind this letter. If you've found it after I've defected or after I'm dead, I can't express with words how much doing this pains me. If I can't use my words, I have to use my actions, right? I hope you don't forgive me for what I've done. It's unacceptable and you have every right to hate me. I've killed innocent people for the purpose of my goal. Horrible, right? I really hope you won't forgive me.

But I know you. You will. You're just that kind of person.

I'll miss your bright blue eyes and white hair. I'll miss your loud and boisturous personality. I'll miss how your heart races every time I hug you. I'll miss you nuzzling into my head when we hug. I'll miss the soft 'sweet dreams' you say every time you carry me to bed after I fall asleep studying. I'll miss when you take photos of me everyday. I'll miss your annoyingness. I'll miss your teasing words every day. I'll miss your blushing cheeks when you're embarrassed. I'll miss your comical, over the top reactions. I'll miss you eating a whole bunch of sweets in one setting. I'll miss the crepe shop we'd often go to. I'll miss how you make me feel safe. I'll miss your voice. I'll miss you.

If reincarnation exists, I want to meet you again. I want to see your smile again. I want to call you 'toru again. I want to give you the biggest hug, and feel the thrum of your heart racing. Then, I'll give you a kiss on your head, just like you always do to me before I sleep.

You're strong, 'toru. Make sure to stay safe and be careful. I don't want to meet you on the other side so soon. Grow up to be even stronger, and reform Jujutsu's society. I know you can do it!

By the way, I left your favourite recipe of the sweets you liked that I made. That way, you can enjoy them anytime.

Love, [name].

P.S. Don't eat so many sweet things at once!!! I don't want you getting cavities!!!

Dear Suguru,

You were the first one to notice anything going on, and for that, I'm grateful. I'm sorry I brushed you off so coldly. I didn't know how to ask for help. I wish I'd have listened to your heartfelt words to rely on you a little more.

If you see this, I've probably already defected or I'm dead. But I just want you to know, I love you. I want to see you again. I miss you. I want to hug you and let you know everything I'm thinking. I want you to give me one of your strong hugs, knocking the air out of me. I also equally want your soft, tender hugs, as you whisper comforting words to me. I want to hear your voice again. I want to run my fingers through your hair again and question why you only use soap on it. I want to cook with you again. Have late night discussions. Cuddle. Piggyback rides. Kisses on the cheek. Allowing me to latch onto you like a koala when I'm cold since you run hot. I miss our times together. I miss you.

If reincarnation is real, we will definitely meet again. I want to see you smile from the bottom of your heart, and enjoy the most delicious food! And, if no curses are in that world, then you'll finally have a food you don't like - I'll be willing to lend an ear so you can whisper it to me! I want to cup your cheeks and tell you you've done well, for enduring during tough times and standing right back up. I want to finally give you a piggyback ride, since I was never able to fulfil that wish here. I want to be able to call you Sugu again.

Stay strong, Sugu. Make sure to stay safe. Since I know you hate the taste of curses, I've left the key to my safe with candies that are really good at cleansing the palette. Don't ever let these get into 'toru's hands or else you'll never see them again. I got these custom made just for you, and I've left a note with instructions on where to get it and what special order it was. I was supposed to give it to you sooner, but I left before then. Hope you enjoy them!

Love, [name].

P.S. Please take care of yourself!!! And don't use soap on your hair!!! Use proper shampoo and conditioner since your hair's so pretty!!!

Dear Shoko,

I'm sorry you probably had to see my dead body.

If I had spilled my heart out to you about my troubles, I wonder if it would've helped? I kept things bottled up for too long and it's become like this. I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep our promise. We didn't get to go to Disneyland like we promised all those months ago - the tickets are just sitting somewhere rotting away. I really wanted to go with you, Sugu and 'toru. It would've been great fun, and we would've made so many memories.

I miss your voice, Shoko. I miss your laugh. Your insults. Your frankness. Your weirdness. Your chillness. You. Heck, I even miss your scent of smoke. I miss you so much. I want to see you.

Can I meet you again? In a world without curses, where we don't need to risk our lives and watch our loved ones die. If I ever get reincarnated, can you find me? Or I can find you? I want to enjoy our times together again, feel the breeze against our skin, sing joyfully, joke around, play around, and take many photos together. That's the only way I want to spend it - and I want it so much you don't even know. In that kind of world, we can finally be happier. We can finally smile geniunely. I'll be able to finally see you again.

I bought some smokes for you and it's in my safe. Suguru has the key. Take some of the candies too, they might help in cleansing your palette every now and then.

I love you.

Love, [name].

P.S. Too much smoking isn't good for you!!! Please quit or at least do it a little less!!! I worry for your lung health...

Trembling hands read their letters as they were found around Jujutsu High school. It had your cursed energy as a seal, but the minute it was touched by any of the three, the seal would break. The letter itself was blank, with a couple of pages for each of them. The words appeared once they injected their cursed energy into it.

Words written by you appeared on the page, covering all the pages given for each letter. As the trio read the letters you had kept hidden from them, they couldn't help but let their unshed tears fall.

They were all known as strong sorcerers who don't cry. But, you brought them to their knees with your sincerity, and you were lost too soon. It was the last thing they had from you, and the warmth in every word of those letters struck a chord deep in their hearts, remembering 10 years ago and the day you had died.

"I kept [name]'s room clean," Suguru started, his eyes glossy. He had already cried, but every time he wanted to read the words off the letter, he was ready to cry again. He didn't want to. "Everything's the same."

It was as if they went down memory lane. Nothing had changed in your room. It was just as Geto said, it was exactly the same.

Whenever Geto had some time, he would clean your room, just like how he knew you would like it. It was something he sometimes did if he stayed over to help you study or just to hang out. So, he knew where everything was.

Immediately going to the safe, he put in a random number, guessing your birthday, then he used the key entrusted to him and unlocked it.

"What a bad password..." Geto couldn't help but laugh lightly, but his laughter died in his throat when he opened the safe.

The first thing the three of them saw was a couple of picture frames, each of them with pictures of the four of them that they remember taking when they were younger. The photos where all of them were happy, grinning and had no care in the world, it made their throats dry, clamming up uncomfortably.

Geto picked up the picture frames, taking a closer look at them with Shoko.

"Oh, look, there's more." Gojo peered in, seeing the promised recipe, bag of lollies, Disneyland tickets and smokes from each of their letters. He took them out and handed them what was gifted.

As they examined the items, Gojo read the recipe, a page written neatly by you. It was as if he could imagine you sitting in your room, writing it just for him while you tasted the different variations that you recommended in the recipe.

Geto put the photos face down, falling flat on his back on your bed as his arm covered his eyes.

Shoko stared at him for a moment, deciding to join him by doing the same thing. Your bed was only a double bed (you had requested a bigger bed for your first paycheck) and didn't have that much space for the three of them, much less four.

Seeing the two of them do the exact same thing, Satoru joined them, but instead, he sat up against your headboard, laying his legs in a cross legged position.

He fipped the picture frames back up, a bittersweet smile on his lips as he basked in the silence and warmth of your room he was so familiar with.

He closed his eyes, and like the others, thought of you.

Would it have been different had you told them everything you were feeling? If you talked through exactly what was causing you grief, and what could be done about it? Were they not enough to help you back up? Would you have felt so suffocated that you chose to die? Would you have still died in their arms? Would Kenjaku have still taken over your body? Still left them behind?

They say sorcerers don't die without regrets.

And they knew if they died, their one and only regret would be you.

At a certain crepe shop, Gojo Satoru waited for his crepe, one he decorated with strawberries, whipped cream and a drizzle of chocolate. It was one he used to frequent with his old friend, and he'd come here every week with them to buy a crepe. It wasn't the order he normally went with, but today, he felt nostalgic.

It had been so long since the last time he had visited the crepe shop with you, but it remained fresh in his mind even after reincarnating many times over. What timeline was he in now? He counted 7. That was 7 lifetimes without you. Suguru & Shoko were also counting, and they did whatever they could to find out where you would be. But, each and every one after their first, you were nowhere to be found.

Suguru & Shoko would sometimes come to the crepe shop, but they were also busy making a living in a world without curses. The tragedy from their first life remained fresh in their current ones, holding them so strongly they didn't want to give up.

But unknown to them, you were right under their nose all along, and you frequently went to that same crepe shop at times just before or after they were there, a mysterious force pushing you to the place.

It was at one time, where Satoru thought he saw you, that it reignited the flame that had been dormant for so long, to finally see you, after so many timelines and lifetimes apart.

Your voice, followed by your laughter, and your hand. He had you memorised, and he was so thankful for his good memory that recognised you. It was the closest he got, and when he heard you, saw a part of you, he was sprinting, but you had already disappeared onto the train, and the last thing he saw was the back of your head.

It was brief, but it was enough for his mind to go overdrive and let the others know his findings, that it was possible for them to find you this lifetime, and the crepe shop was the biggest key to it all.

And, when they cracked the code and finally found you, all the memories, feelings and thoughts from their original life came back to them, allowing them to finally see you in a world without curses, even if they had to wait 7 lifetimes.

If they had to put it into years, those 7 lifetimes were equivalent to over 600 years of not seeing you.

But, this lifetime, they finally found you.

Over 600 years in the making, and you also found them.

A/N: I CRIED WRITING THIS. It hurt me 😭 here's part 2!

There's also somewhat of a prequel as well from Geto's POV if you were interested!

Here's also an AU in an alternate timeline with information that takes place directly after the original timing here.

If y'all want some fluff here's the masterlist for the rest of the series 🕊️

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rip-quizilla · 4 months

Text

Polyjamourous

Eddie x GN!Reader

Description: You get a job at the record store, where you terrorize Eddie with so many different genres of music that he gets whiplash, but your energy is adorable so he's instantly soft for you.

Tags: big grumpy/sunshine trope here, fluff, workplace relationship (kind of), outgoing!reader, Hannah putting her liked songs on shuffle and using them here shamelessly, no physical description of reader other than hinting that they have a glorious gyatt that Eddie can't help but stare at.

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: I didn't coin the term "polyjamourous"! I saw it in a TikTok by Viktor Fellbrink. Does it describe me perfectly though? Absolutely.

🎧🎧🎧

When Eddie had interviewed you for a job at the record store downtown, one of the first questions he’d asked was about your taste in music. Your response had caught him so off guard that he couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“I’m polyjamourous.” you’d said.

Eddie had blinked a couple of times, a snorted laugh jumping from his throat. “Polyjamorous…” he’d repeated, an amused grin ticking up the corner of his mouth. “That’s one I have not heard before.”

You had shrugged, smiling the same way you’d been smiling throughout the entire interview. “I listen to a little bit of everything, I like pretty much all music.”

What Eddie had expected from that was mostly pop, maybe a classic rock hit here and there. Judging by the ripped jeans and Doc Martens you were wearing the day of your interview, he suspected there may have been an emo/alt rock phase in your history so maybe some Paramore or MCR.

What he hadn’t been expecting was the fact that when you said you liked all music, you meant all music.

A month into working with you, and he already dreaded the days that you’d signed your name on the list entitled “Aux Cord Dibs” that sat on a tattered clipboard under the counter. The first hour of your shuffled liked songs on Spotify, and Eddie already had whiplash.

The songs that played (in order) were:

Satisfied- The Broadway Cast of Hamilton

Raise Hell- Brandi Carlile

The Offering- Sleep Token

Magical- Ed Sheeran

Dream a Little Dream of Me- Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

Just to name a few.

Not only were you completely unashamed that the first song to pop up under your aux cord time was a fucking show tune, but you knew every word. You sang, rapped- acted- every word.

Eddie was now absolutely sure that you had had an emo phase, because this meant you were also a theater kid (same as him, but he wasn’t about to admit that to you) and in Eddie’s experience, most theater kids were also emo kids in some way, shape, or form.

“How much coffee did you drink this morning?” he’d muttered once you’d finished your one-woman show whilst shelving new records.

“No coffee, this is all natural.” You’d said that with a grin so wide, it was obvious to him that you knew how obnoxious that sounded and you were taking it in stride.

“You’re just the Energizer bunny… naturally?”

Somehow, you grinned wider. “Yes!”

You can imagine how terrified Eddie was when you pulled a Celcius out of your bag an hour later. What happens when you give an energy drink to a person with natural energy?

You get impromptu dance breaks.

Eddie had been boxing up an online order when out of the corner of his eye, he saw your oversized sweatered form bouncing around between aisles to the beat of whatever K-Pop bullshit was currently assaulting his speakers.

Wordlessly, his eyes drifted to the monitor displaying the security camera feed where he found a full view of your hopping, stepping, and jumping to the bouncy rhythm of a Korean song with random English words sprinkled in. The grainy feed from the camera even picked up the subtle motion of your lips moving, and Eddie’s lips couldn’t help but twist into an amused little smile when he realized that must mean you were even trying to lip sync to the words, and he might be wrong but he was pretty sure you didn’t speak Korean.

His shoulders shook, silently chuckling at your antics until the music slowed down in tempo. Your hips began to move in slow, pronounced circles, sending the rest of your body rolling with the momentum. Eddie knew you didn’t mean to turn him on with the way your hips were moving… but you had an ass that shook when you walked, much less when you were actually wiggling your hips around. It wasn’t a you problem that was making Eddie’s eyes bug out of his skull and glue themselves to the screen; it was definitely an Eddie problem.

He had to keep it professional; Eddie was a shift manager, and while he wasn’t technically your boss, that was a gray area delicate enough that he didn’t plan on rushing into anything risky. The last thing he should be doing was ogling you on the security camera like a fucking creep. So, he made a point to pay attention to literally anything else whenever you started dancing around the store like some sort of coked-up cheerleader.

After a few shifts with Eddie, you started to notice that he was pointedly ignoring your antics- which made forcing him to pay attention all the more entertaining. The job could be boring on slow days, so this was how you entertained yourself- annoying the shit out of Eddie Munson.

Eddie: “If I hear one more show tune, I’m commandeering the aux cord.”

You: Proceeds to belt all three parts of Sincerely Me from Dear Evan Hansen, complete with choreography.

Eddie: “Is there any metal on this playlist? Just one song? I need a breather…”

You: Introduces Eddie to Babymetal.

One day, you even forced Eddie to suffer through Lizzo. That was funny as all hell, if you’d ever seen it.

“I feel like I’m walking through a Forever 21.” He’d grumbled as you cheekily shimmied your shoulders at him and mimed a toss of your hair for good measure.

“First of all,” you laughed, “I’m impressed you know what Forever 21 is.”

“I have been to a mall, you know.”

“Second,” you continued, “You’re starting to come off as a bit of a music elitist.”

Eddie shook his head, shelving new records from the stack of crates on the floor. “It isn’t a crime to know what I like and don’t like, kid.”

You smirked, reaching wordlessly over to the media center behind the counter and turning up the music. It was empty in the store save for you and Eddie, so the change in volume wouldn’t hurt anyone. Lizzo’s Like a Girl rang out through the speakers, and you made a show of losing yourself to the beat just to spite the metalhead before you.

Eddie sighed, looking up to the ceiling as if God himself could save him from this torment; he couldn’t stop the whisper of a smile from creeping into the corners of his lips. “What did I do to deserve this shit?” he groaned.

Your grin was blazing, infectious in the way you wore it with reckless abandon as you danced from shelf to shelf with one of the crates of records. When the crate was empty, each album carefully nestled in its appropriate place, you set the crate down on the floor right as the chorus started and your hips shook in time with the drop of the beat.

Eddie had been looking out the corner of his eye the whole time, but averted his gaze immediately once you were shaking your ass in the air. Unbeknownst to you, he was doing everything in his power not to stare.

Bouncing as you perked back up, you flashed him a sadistic grin and shrugged. “You just make it so much fun to torture you, sorry.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “That was the emptiest apology I’ve ever heard.” To which you laughed and heartily agreed, launching your whole self into shaking all you had to the beat, even going so far as to plant your foot on the edge of the counter.

You looked more silly than sexy, even Eddie could admit that, but it was your reckless abandon and giant fucking smile that made him break in that moment. You were shaking your ass- was that twerking? Eddie didn’t think it was twerking, but then again, he wasn’t an expert- and singing along to the music with so much energy that Eddie’s smile finally won his face over. He nodded his head to the beat, even shimmied his shoulders a little, and watched you make an adorable fool of yourself.

That was when the door opened, sending a chime through the shop as a very confused Steve and Robin walked through the door just in time to see you shaking your ass in their direction.

As far as you knew, these two were customers, so you swiftly tore your foot from the counter and started to apologize before Steve cut you off with a lopsided grin and a midair brush of his hand.

“Please don’t apologize, because that might be the best first impression you could’ve made on me.” He confidently strode forward, already extending a hand which you happily accepted. Steve had a way of putting people at ease, Eddie had noticed, even if they had been the opposite of “at ease” before he’d entered the scene.

He watched straight-faced as Steve struck up a conversation with you about being friends with Eddie and stopping by to say hello, then proceeded to introduce himself and ask you about yourself with the confidence and coolness that came so easily to people like Steve Harrington. Eddie chewed his lip and felt an unwelcome flare of jealousy in his stomach when you gave Steve the same smile that- up until now- you’d been giving him.

“So that’s the new hire you told us about?” Robin asked, voice low enough that only Eddie could hear.

He nodded, eyes trained on Steve as he said some joke that made you laugh. “Yeeeeeuup.” Eddie drew out the word, lacing passive aggression into every extra syllable.

“I see.” Robin looked at Eddie, arching an eyebrow as she wordlessly assessed him, then slowly looked at you and smiled knowingly. “Well, if you’re gonna make a move, better beat Steve to it.”

Eddie sighed and shook his head, murmuring out the corner of his mouth “Stay. Out of it.” before picking up his crate of records and moving to a different shelf. You were out of sight, but your and Steve’s voices still carried to where he worked.

“...a little bit of everything.” Eddie heard you say, picking up on your conversation as he silently shelved new inventory. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

“Nothing in particular, I just jam to whatever’s on the radio.” Already inwardly cringing at how Steve must be shrugging or tossing his hair or some shit, Eddie eavesdropped inconspicuously. “Compared to a seasoned listener like yourself, I must sound like an idiot. You should make a playlist for me, so I can know what an expert would recommend.”

“Expert?” you snorted, “Oh I’m hardly an expert. Half of what I listen to is garbage, but it’s fun garbage so I’m not ashamed. Eddie’s the expert.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if you knew he was nearby enough to hear you, but he wasn’t about to miss out on whatever you were about to say about him, so he remained silent and out of sight.

Harrington scoffed. “Expert on metal, sure, but unless you’re into headbanging and screaming, I think he’d be pretty lost-”

“Not true.” you interjected. “He likes some classic rock, a bit of old school jazz- you know I played a song by Bob Dylan one day, and he started rattling off all these facts about the guy?”

Eddie remembered that day. He’d almost told you that he knew all those facts because his mom had loved Bob Dylan, but he thought talking about his dead mom might be a little more personal than you were prepared to get with him so early into knowing him.

“When Eddie hears music he thinks is good, it doesn’t matter what genre it is- he respects it whether it’s his taste or not.” Eddie had long since stopped shelving; he stood stock still, listening with wide eyes as you spoke with more admiration in your voice than Eddie had ever expected to belong to him. “I play a crazy wide range of music when I work with him, and every time a song I really love comes on it’s hard for me to not focus on how he’s reacting to it. It’s like every time, I’m in my head like- will he like this one?”

Steve was quiet for a moment before Eddie heard him reply, “Sounds like you’re hoping you’ll impress him.”

Eddie felt his heart start beating a little faster. Were you?

You giggled a little, and for a moment Eddie’s heart fell when he thought you were laughing at the very insinuation that you might want to impress him.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” he heard you say. “I haven’t known Eddie long, but I’ve always thought he’s an impressive person. It’s hard not to want to impress him back.”

Eddie couldn’t suppress his smile even if he’d wanted to. Sneaking around the shelves where you couldn’t see him, he turned a corner to continue his work as he hummed to himself.

After you’d locked the doors at 8, the two of you were closing down the shop alone as your playlist quietly painted the quiet evening air. You were walking through the store doing your final check while Eddie took inventory, and Eddie had been silently nodding his head to the beat of the music as you came into view of the checkout counter.

“What song is this?”

Your eyes widened, and the eagerness in your gaze made Eddie’s heart just about burst.

“Uh, it’s Chicken by Your Neighbors.” you stuttered, “You like it?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, softly, “it’s good.”

There was that blinding grin again, contagious in how it fed his until it doubled in size. “Yeah, it is.”

A pause settled between the two of you, song lyrics potent in the evening’s silence.

You ain’t got no time to wait

You don’t get what you don’t ask for

“Hey, uhh…” Eddie was quick to grab your attention, and you watched him wide-eyed and expectant. “...feel like getting pizza after this? Surfer Boy doesn’t close ‘til midnight, and I was gonna stop by to see my buddy Argyle after closing anyway, so-”

“Yes!” you agreed, a little more eagerly than you had originally intended to come across. You cleared your throat, “I mean, if it’s no trouble-”

“No trouble at all, it's just down the street, I’ll walk with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were both grinning like idiots, but neither of you seemed to care. You continued your closing duties, both of you nodding your heads to the beat of the music and enjoying the feelings that, though unspoken and undefined, were currently nestling comfortably into your chest and his.

Taglist: (really just people I have been talking about this to, I hope you like it❤️) @the-unforgivenn, @vintagehellfire, @munson-blurbs, @hellfire--cult, @word-wytch

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x gn!reader #grumpy sunshine trope #eddie munson blurb

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serafilms · 5 months

Text

song 35! candy (nct dream) + nishimura riki (spotify wrapped event)

honestly, today's the day, i’m gonna break up with you, i’m going to go see you, hope you'll understand

closest to a happy niki fic we’ll get i guess 😢 but happy birthday to the coolest guy on the planet (a year younger than me and still eating up my whole life’s achievements in one fancam) �� requested by @sammm5225

“I love you.”

Riki freezes. What. Why did I say that? Did I just say that?

He did, in fact, just say that, and his face flushes as yours does too.

“W-what?”

Well, he has to commit to it now. “I love you,” he repeats.

Your cheeks redden even further and he can’t help but feel his stomach flutter. “I love you too,” you say, and Riki knows he’s absolutely fucked.

Because there’s no way he just said that, not now, not the day when he was supposed to break up with you.

Nishimura Riki woke up this morning with a warm feeling in his chest. He felt different today. The sun was shining on his face and the air was crisp and he felt light as his feet touched down on the floor. It was a good day, as good a day as any, but something was different about it. He checked his phone and saw a text from you.

Y/N: hii are we still on for today??

Right. Your date at the park today. He felt a twinge of guilt. He totally forgot about that, if he was being honest. He realised now that he’s barely even thought of you the last few days. Was that why you were asking?

Part of him wanted to cancel, because at that moment, Riki just didn’t really want to be around you. Not that he dislikes you, but he thought he’d rather stay home and just chill while watching a movie, or go to the dance studio or play football with his friends.

Riki looked at himself in the mirror in his room. His eyes shifted to the polaroid stuck in the top left corner. It was a photo of the two of you. You’re both smiling and you have a peace sign up next to your face, while his arm is looped around you and his hand is pinching your cheek on the other side.

He smiled at it with some fondness, but even that wasn’t enough to stir his heart. Nishimura Riki is not the type to make impulse decisions. But he does like to base them off of the logistics, and the fact was that he didn’t think he felt anything for you anymore. He still cared about you for sure, and he hoped that you’d still talk sometimes, but the jig was up. The expiration date on your relationship had passed and he thought that today might be the day to throw it away.

He picked up his phone and sent a quick affirmative text. Short and sweet, but not enough to make you think he was super excited for it. Because he was not excited, of course! What kind of psycho would be excited to break up with someone?

“But it is a beautiful day,” he admitted to himself as he walked down the street. The park wasn’t too far from his house, and he wanted to enjoy the time to himself on this lovely walk. Then, as he walked under the shade of a tree, something dropped right in front of him. He looked down and saw a tiny puddle of white and green liquid, right in front of his shoe. Bird poop. Riki stared down in disbelief. Well, thank god it didn’t land on him. They say this is good luck anyway, or something like that.

He stepped over it with a wrinkled nose and continued to walk down the street with his hands in his jacket pockets. By the time he arrived at the park, he could already make out your figure waiting on a bench. You were wearing a parka and your nice jeans, and your hair was neatly styled, and Riki felt a little bad that you put so much effort in. He’d try and let you down easy, he thought.

“Hi Y/N.”

“Riki, hey!” you greeted him with a pretty smile and stand to meet him. When he approached, he felt a jolt of shock when you grab his hand and lean towards him. Before he could stop you, you’d kissed him square on the mouth. Something tickled at his heart and he blinked in surprise before regaining his composure. Okay, this is fine. You’re fine, Riki. Be normal.

“I- uh, do you wanna go get some ice cream?” he asked. Yes, back on track. He’d get a jump on the gun so once he’d broken up with you, you would already be equipped with some dessert to console you. Maybe that’d soften the blow.

“Sure,” you beamed.

Riki led the way to the ice cream truck. He ordered your favourite for you without thinking, and regretted it instantly when you gave his hand a squeeze and leaned into his side.

“Aw, you two make a cute couple,” said the ice cream vendor as he handed you the ice cream.

“Thank you,” you said back.

Yeah, thanks a lot, ice cream guy, Riki thought bitterly. This was not going to be easy. But he knew what he wanted, and he had to stay strong.

As the two of you made your way to a spot under the tree where you usually sit, he steeled himself. He could totally do this.

His ice cream was left untouched as you both sat on the grass and he looked at you happily eating away. Okay, here goes nothing.

“Hey Y/N? I need to talk to you about something.”

You looked a little surprised at his sombre tone but you nodded anyway. Riki’s heart was beating very fast and he’d starting to panic a little bit. Okay, a lot. God, I’m about to go into cardiac arrest. He could see the headlines now. Nishimura Riki dies of heart failure at 18.

He looked out at the park, the grass green, the sun shining above him. The sky was so clear, so beautiful, and his heart seemed to stop for a moment, almost as if being rebooted before it started back up at a mostly normal pace. Something shifted inside him and he wasn’t sure what it was, but he was turning and looking at you and suddenly you looked like the most beautiful person in the world.

Your eyes were wide and glistening like some sort of anime character and your lips looked so pink and kissable, and now his mouth was opening before he’d even realised it.

“I love you.”

“W-what?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He’s speechless. You’re blushing and he can feel himself doing the same. Well, he messed that up. But it’s okay. He can work with this. Nishimura Riki swears he will never leave your side again. That’s a promise.

once again happy birthday ni-ki ‼️‼️ AND HAPPY CANDY SEASON EVERYONE START LISTENING TO CANDY YOU CAN ONLY STOP ON DEC 31ST 🍬

#nishimura riki x reader #niki x reader #nishimura riki #niki #niki enhypen #enhypen niki #enhypen #enhypen imagine #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #niki imagines #riki nishimura x reader #enha x reader #enha imagines #enha #written works !#2023 spotify wrapped event !

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yxngbxkkie · 1 year

Text

makeout point (l.k)

i don't remember what i was doing when i thought of this idea, but i'm glad i did it 👀 i wanted it to be smuttier than this but i just couldn't do it 😩 i hope you guys enjoy!

this is a non!idol au 🥰

Your phone ringing loudly beside you wakes you from your slumber. You jump at the sound, picking your head up. "What the fuck?" You groan out before taking the phone into your hands, noticing the time. "It's two a.m."

You answer the call and press the phone against your ear, mumbling out a tired greeting. "I'm outside your apartment," Minho's voice comes through the speakers, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

"Wait, what?" You ask in confusion, starting to feel more awake. Minho sighs and repeats himself. "Okay, but why? We're not that close."

"I didn't know who else to go to at this hour," he explains.

You sit up and gently rub your face. "And you thought I was a good choice?" You laugh while throwing the covers off of you.

"Never mind. I'll go somewhere else," Minho mentions, hearing him sigh into the receiver.

"No, wait, Minho!" You say quickly, catching him before he can hang up. "I'll be down in a minute, okay?"

He quietly agrees before hanging up. You run a hand through your hair, wondering why Lee Minho would want to spend his time with you this early in the night.

The two of you aren't exactly close friends. The only reason you talk to each other is because you're friends with his friends. You throw a hoodie over your head before grabbing your tennis shoes.

On the way out of your apartment, you grab your house keys. It doesn't take you long to reach the lobby after locking your front door.

"Oh, and it's raining," you laugh to yourself while shaking your head. You spot Minho's car, and you run towards it, quickly sliding into the passenger seat.

You release a puff of breath and glance over at the brunette in the driver's seat. His eyes stay glued to the steering wheel, which his hands are gripping.

"Minho?" You softly call out to him, hovering your hand over his forearm. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm sorry for just stopping by," he apologizes, turning his head to look at you.

You lean back into the seat, frowning. "It's okay. Talk to me," you encourage him.

He scoffs and shakes his head. "Do you even care?" Minho asks you, returning his gaze forward. "Especially with how I've treated you."

You grow confused as he continues to mumble incoherently. You place your hand on his arm while your free hand gently grabs a hold of his chin.

"Hey, I can care about you even if we don't see eye to eye," you tell him. You slowly drop your hand, keeping one on his forearm. "Why don't we go for a drive and talk."

Minho nods his head, not saying anything else. You buckle your seat belt before he starts to drive. Silence fills the vehicle for a few minutes, your eyes staring out the passenger window.

"If you want, you can play some music. It'll be about twenty minutes before we get there," he speaks up, glancing towards you.

"Thanks," you chuckle and grab a hold of the auxiliary cord. You plug your phone into it and search through your Spotify.

The song you pick plays through the speakers, returning your gaze back out the window. "I love this song," Minho laughs, a smile coming to his lips for the first time tonight.

"It's so good!" You almost squeal, releasing a deep sigh. "I love their music so much."

"Yeah, me too."

You roll your head along the seat, staring into the side of his head. "Who would've thought that you and I would have something in common," you joke with a grin.

Minho chuckles breathlessly, silently agreeing with you.

Twenty minutes later, Minho pulls up to a cliff, overlooking Seoul. Your eyes widen as you notice two other cars parked. "Minho? You know what this spot is, yeah?" You ask him nervously.

"Yeah, but this is the best spot that overlooks the city," he mentions with a shrug, unbuckling his seat belt. He turns in his seat a bit, giving you his attention. "If you're uncomfortable, we can leave."

"No, no, it's okay," you stammer, waving your hand. "I just didn't expect to ever come here."

"You've never been here?" He asks you with a raised brow. You shake your head in response, a blush dusting your cheeks. "Hm, I would've thought you have."

You laugh, playfully rolling your eyes as you unbuckle your belt. "And why's that?" You ask curiously.

"Have you looked at yourself? You're drop dead gorgeous," Minho tells you, running a hand through his hair.

You blush even more at his words, hiding your face in your hands. "Oh, stop it. No, I'm not," you disagree, chuckling lightly.

"Mm, nope, you are."

"You're pretty handsome yourself," you compliment him, tucking some hair behind your ears.

He smiles at you, and your heart flutters in your chest. He reaches his hand forward, taking one of yours. "I'm really sorry for how I've treated you," Minho sighs, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. "You're pretty cool, and you're very cute."

"Is this why you came to me?" You laugh, your fingers tangling with his. "Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?"

Minho chuckles, his cheeks becoming flushed. "It wasn't my intention, no," he laughs, feeling embarrassed. "I mean, I definitely wouldn't mind doing what the youths do here."

"If we do… you won't ghost me after, will you?" You ask in a whisper, the tension around the two of you thickening.

"Absolutely not," he breathes, noticing your face getting closer to his. "You won't regret it?"

You shake your head, stabilizing yourself on the center console. Minho's free hand strokes your jawline before his lips connect with yours. Your eyes slowly flutter shut, your stomach starting to do flips as you kiss him back.

Your hands stay intertwined as he deepens the kiss, feeling his tongue glide across your lips. You part your lips, and your tongues start colliding with one another. Minho releases your hand, moving his to your waist.

"C'mere," he says into the kiss, his fingers gripping the hoodie you're wearing.

You climb over the console before settling down onto his lap. Your hands find their way into his hair, combing it back. "I never would've thought this would happen," you giggle.

Minho hums and pulls you back in, pressing his lips to yours again. You moan against his lips as your hands rest on the nape of his neck. You grind your hips, causing the brunette to grip your waist.

"Don't start something you can't finish," he warns you, the air around you becoming warm.

"And if I can?" You ask, grinding your hips again.

He leans back against the seat, a smug grin on his lips, "then take a ride."

You feel yourself clench at his words, another moan slipping past your lips. You drag one of your hands down his chest before stopping at the hem of his sweats. You start to feel nervous as you keep your gaze on his lap.

Minho gently caresses your face, and he lifts your head up to look at him. "If you're not comfortable riding me here, you don't have to," he reassures you with a soft smile.

"I-I want to, I do," you stutter, fumbling with the drawstrings. "Maybe you can come back to my place?"

He chuckles and nods his head, capturing your lips one more time. Minho taps your hips, signaling for you to get back into the passenger seat.

You maneuver back into your seat, grinning ear to ear. You buckle your seatbelt as Minho does the same. After turning the vehicle on, he backs out of the spot you're parked in before starting the drive back to your apartment.

You haven't been able to stop smiling. It's been almost a week since the night Minho picked you up at two in the morning. And, he kept his word about not ghosting you. He's already taken you out to dinner twice.

Tonight, everyone is going to Han's place for a movie night. You're pretty excited. You haven't been able to hang out with the rest of the group for a couple of weeks now.

You and Minho make your way into Han's apartment building, your fingers intertwined with his. Once the two of you are alone in the elevator, you speak up.

"Did you… did you want to tell our friends about us?" You ask him shyly, glancing up at the brunette.

Minho rubs his thumb on the back of your hand, turning his gaze towards you. "I don't care if they know. You're mine now," he smirks, bringing his free hand to your face.

Your heart flutters in your chest, a light blush coming to your face. "I'm yours," you repeat quietly, squeezing his hand.

"It would be kind of funny to do it randomly though," he suggests, wiggling his brows.

A laugh leaves your lips, and you agree with him. As soon as the elevator opens up, Minho releases your hand. You can't help but giggle to yourself, picturing how your friends are going to react to the news.

Minho knocks on the door before purposely starting an argument. "Who even invited you? Didn't Han say it was a guy's night?" He mentions loud enough for them to hear through the front door.

You scoff, rolling your eyes at him. "He literally texted me and asked if I wanted to come. If you don't want me here, you're more than welcome to go home," you banter, crossing your arms over your chest.

Han opens the door and immediately breaks the two of you apart. "Guys, already?!" He cries out, wishing that you two would get along. "Min, I invited everyone. Which includes her."

"Whatever," he mutters while pushing past the shorter man.

Han watches him walk into his apartment before returning his gaze to you. "I'm sorry. I thought he'd already be here," he sighs.

"It's okay. It's not your fault he's an ass," you reassure him with a smile.

The two of you follow Minho into the apartment before you kick off your shoes. Everyone greets you with a warm welcome as Minho flops onto the couch. You meet his gaze, watching a smirk form on his lips.

"Hey, guys! It's been too long," you tell them genuinely, having missed their presence. You hug each one individually, making sure to skip Minho. You turn towards Han again. "You bought drinks, yeah?"

"Yes! They're in the fridge," he motions towards the kitchen, standing behind Felix. The two of them are both scrolling through Netflix, trying to find a movie.

You nod and make your way into the kitchen, opening the fridge. You grab your favorite drink along with Min's. You walk back into the living room, capturing Seungmin's attention.

"Do you need two drinks?" He laughs, his question making the others turn to you.

"No," you laugh, shaking your head. You don't say anything else while handing Minho his drink.

You hear a couple of gasps, making you snap your head up. Chan, Felix, Han, and Hyunjin's jaws are dropped, each one staring at you with wide eyes.

"What?" You ask innocently, glancing towards the other two before Minho.

"Thanks, honey," he tells you with a smile, his hand reaching for yours to pull you into the spot next to him.

Seungmin and Changbin are now shocked as well as Minho slides his hand across your thigh. "Wait, wait," Han starts, walking around the large couch. "What the hell is happening?"

Minho squeezes your thigh. "I don't know what you mean, Han," he says nonchalantly. "I'm just thanking my partner."

"Partner?!" Felix squeaks, snapping his head in Han's direction.

"Yeah, we're together now," you chime in, leaning into Minho's side. You can feel him kiss the side of your head as you rest a hand on his abdomen.

"You're joking, right?" Chan asks, squinting his eyes.

Minho smiles and shakes his head in response. "Actually, we're not. I asked her out a week ago," he confesses to his friends.

Your cheeks blush as his fingers comb through your hair. "Holy shit this is amazing," Han mentions while pacing the room. "We've been telling each other for months now that the two of you needed to fuck your feelings out."

Your breath hitches in your throat, your eyes growing wide. "What-" you cut yourself off. No, they've got to be the one joking now.

"You guys were wrong," Minho mentions, capturing their attention. "We figured out our feeling right before we fucked."

"Min!" You screech, covering your face in embarrassment.

"Okay, gross!" A unison of voices echoes off the walls, causing the both of you to laugh.

tagging: @thewxntersoldier @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight

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defectivevillain · 5 months

Text

this winding labyrinth

chapter 1: suffocation.

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read that, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, mutilation, death, & animal death. the animal death is pretty detailed, so please don't read this fic if you're triggered by that kind of topic.

author's notes: This first chapter is a little bit of a mess imo, but I wanted to post it to assure you all that I don’t want to abandon this fic. It may take me longer to post and update chapters, especially since I graduated from uni (mwahahah) and my schedule may get busy. Still, I really enjoy writing this story—and you all seem to enjoy reading it. Both of those things are enough to keep me going.

Something extremely ironic happened around the time I was writing the last few chapters of Act 1. So… if you remember, in Chapter 6, Hannibal and the reader go on an opera date (of sorts). During that date, the reader remarks that they “don’t know the first thing about opera.” Those words were pretty much taken directly from my mouth. Fast forward to about mid-fall, I get a call for an interview for an internship. I end up doing the first interview, then a second interview… Then I get the internship. The irony? This internship is at an opera house. (What’s even more ironic is that I’m now getting to the point where I do actually know things about opera—I know different productions and directors and technical terms… It’s absolutely crazy. The universe is making me eat my words, lol.

To make matters even stranger, I was in the office for the internship one day and caught a glimpse of a television, which broadcasts what’s happening on the stage. Imagine my absolute surprise and fear when I look up at the television screen with absolutely no expectations and see a single man in a beige jumpsuit with something over his face standing on stage, his shadow silhouetted against the wall behind him. Imagine my surprise when I see that, not only is he standing in an enclosure with iron bars (just like the ones at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane), but it also looks as if he is staring right at me—and he looks exactly like Hannibal Lecter in captivity. It was simultaneously scary as hell and weirdly reassuring. Anyway, I’ve taken these experiences as cosmic confirmation that I should continue writing this fic. Lol.

Anyway. Back to the important things… I’m planning to borrow elements from both Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon, but, similarly to the first act, there will be canon divergence and canon non-compliance. Also, as you probably discerned in the past act, there is some plot armor. But, this is fiction.

Your life currently takes two forms: before the Chesapeake Ripper… and after.

Before the Ripper, the leaf-stained pavement of the Bureau filled you with hope. Walking through the agency’s halls was a testament to the hard work that brought you there. Each assignment was an invaluable opportunity to further develop your interrogation and combat skills. You went to classes, completed assignments, trained, slept, and repeated the cycle the next day. Over and over and over again. But you were happy.

Life doesn’t feel so simple anymore. You feel like you’ve been fading for a while now, slowly deteriorating as you invest more and more energy into catching criminals. Your work has morphed into an exhausting mutual exchange, one in which you take murderers’ freedom and they take your restful nights. You can’t remember the last time you rested unencumbered by the horrors you’ve seen in the field.

By some miracle, Jack manages to keep the press relatively uninformed about the happenings behind the Ripper case. Everyone is too absorbed with the fact that Hannibal’s in captivity to remember to ask just how he got there, and you’re very grateful for that lapse in memory. You can just imagine the interactions you’d have with paparazzi. Is it true that he stabbed you? Is it true that he purposefully left you alive, only to surrender in your front yard and torment you with the constant knowledge that he will remain in the same place, lying in wait until the moment you will inevitably need him? You shudder.

Even with all the chaos that comes from the Ripper case—the media coverage of Hannibal and the attention the FBI gets—life goes on. Back at the Bureau, you occasionally lecture the new recruits and you take on assignments along with the rest of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Jack is still wont to call on you at the most ungodly of hours; Beverly still trades lighthearted taunts with you; Brian Zeller still seems to hate your guts, for reasons you’re not quite sure of; Alana and you are back to a steady friendship, albeit with occasional beats of unexplained tension and awkward silence.

Criminality continues to occur in the Ripper’s wake. You’re not surprised: the imprisonment of one criminal doesn’t beget the imprisonment of another. Even so, it’s difficult for you to proceed as if things are normal. You see traces of Hannibal in each of the monsters you apprehend. Your emotions are starting to eat you alive from the inside. You don’t have a therapist to assist you with those emotions anymore. And, while you think therapy would be helpful, you also know that there’s no way in hell you’d be able to actually be honest with a therapist without being imprisoned yourself. The things you’ve done and the urges you’ve felt… Neither is even close to a semblance of normality.

You take a deep breath. You have no issue stopping other criminals, sending them to empty white walls and thin mattresses. Why was Hannibal Lecter any different? You suppose you shouldn’t fool yourself—you know the answer to that question already: you got to know him. Beyond the mask of the Ripper, beyond the bloodied skin and cruel smile… You started to see him as a man, perhaps even a friend. Perhaps, even-

You tear yourself away from that thought process before it gets too far along. The semantics don’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re back in the field, back popping pills for your headaches and blinking fresh horrors from your eyes. All that matters is that the memory of Hannibal Lecter begins to fade away in the face of work— so much so that keeping busy helps you forget the pain.

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, a veterinarian walks into a stable under a farmer’s guidance. The two stand over a dead horse and the veterinarian frowns. The farmer explains the horse’s death before stepping aside, letting the professional work.

The farmer quickly becomes lost in their thoughts. They hadn’t expected the horse to die in the middle of her pregnancy. The farmer swallows past the tightness in their throat and tears their eyes away from the horse. They were looking forward to the birth of the foal, looking forward to helping the mother raise her offspring. The stable air suddenly feels suffocating and they take a look at the veterinarian’s turned back before stepping outside to get some fresh air.

Moments later, the veterinarian rejoins them. The doctor’s lips are drawn in a tight line and there’s a troubled expression on their face. The farmer feels any remaining composure promptly seep out of them, as the veterinarian suggests they come back into the stable.

“It feels like there’s something here,” the veterinarian says, their expression conflicted. They touch the horse’s womb with a gloved hand and frown.

“She was pregnant,” the farmer chokes out, their throat feeling tight again. It hurts to utter the words aloud.

“With twins?” The veterinarian asks, turning around to look at them.

“No, just one baby,” the farmer shakes their head. Why would they ask about twins? Surely, they don’t feel another baby in the womb. The thought of two deaths is morbid and distressing enough, but three? The farmer inhales shakily.

“There’s… something else here.” The veterinarian remarks, their face contorting as they feel the horse’s womb once more. They turn back to look at the farmer for assistance. The farmer feels a horrible, inexplicable sense of foreboding crawling up their skin. Despite that feeling, they nod to the veterinarian. The doctor nods in response and turns to the horse’s womb, before making an incision.

The veterinarian unearths the dead foal and places it on the nearby hay with infinite gentleness. The farmer’s chest begins to hurt as they come to terms with the sight before them. Their pain doesn’t end there, however. The veterinarian continues slicing along the skin before stopping and glancing back at them inexplicably. It’s as if they’re waiting for permission to continue. The farmer appreciates the gesture and they nod in affirmation. This mystery needs to be put to rest.

The veterinarian inhales sharply, sending the farmer’s heart racing. The farmer prompts them to step aside, revealing the horse’s womb. There’s… something there. The farmer squints at it, a gasp ripping its way from their lips as they realize just what they’re looking at. A human corpse lies on the stable floor, a stark shock of muted crimson against the golden strands of hay. The farmer brings a shaking hand to their pocket and calls the police.

Unaware of these occurrences, you slowly exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. You busy yourself with grading your students’ papers, and you don’t learn of the corpse until a few hours later, when the medicine begins to kick in and you’re foolishly convinced that you’ll be fine. Before you can leave for the day, Jack is walking up to you and beckoning you to the lab. The two of you grab Beverly along the way, which leaves the three of you to enter the laboratory that Price and Zeller are currently situated in. When you walk in, you’re immediately assaulted with the scent of formaldehyde. Price explains the situation behind the corpse, how a veterinarian found the body within the womb of a horse. The notion is strikingly similar to the other deaths by suffocation that have been eluding the BAU for several weeks. Jack seems to think the same thing, as he rattles off what he knows so far about the killer. You add things here and there—small things you can notice from the state of the corpse itself—before Price gets the group back on track.

“I called you here because…” Price trails off, frowning before readjusting his stethoscope and placing it on the victim’s chest once more. The room is deathly silent as he concentrates. “...There’s a heartbeat.”

“That doesn’t come with the onset of rigor mortis—we all know that,” Zeller continues, looking down at the corpse with a somewhat puzzled expression. He seems to sense you staring and looks up, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze meets yours. “She’s dead.” He announces with complete certainty.

“She was found in the womb of the horse?” Beverly asks. Everyone else nods and she pauses for a moment. “Make an incision and check the chest cavity.” There’s an unshakeable certainty in her voice and it throws you off for a moment, before you realize what she’s getting at. It’s not unfathomable that something was buried within the victim’s chest cavity. Suffocation seems to be a common theme with this killer. Did they put some sort of dead animal in the corpse? The thought makes your stomach turn.

“Alright,” Price acquiesces, after glancing at Jack for approval. Crawford nods, evidently attributing value to Beverly’s suggestion. The four of you—Crawford, Beverly, Zeller, and you—watch as Price leans in and makes a careful incision in the chest. For several moments, there’s nothing but a tense silence in the air as Jimmy works. The quiet is broken a few seconds later when Price takes a sharp breath. “I saw something.”

“Keep going,” Jack demands, bringing Jimmy’s attention back to the task at hand. Price nods and makes the incision a little bigger. All of you are watching in anticipation, waiting for something you’re not quite sure will appear.

All of a sudden, there’s a flash of motion. A yellow blur flits about the cavity, before reaching upwards and extending its wings to fly out. You watch in disbelief as the bloodstained bird stretches its wings and flies about the lab, colliding with the sheen of the fluorescent lighting and sending shadows flickering along the floor.

Jack is the first one to respond. He quickly paces over to the small window located near the ceiling and opens it, allowing the bird an escape. For a few moments, the bird doesn’t seem to notice: it’s too overwhelmed with the sudden change in environment to comprehend that it has just been granted an escape. It has a chance at true freedom, but it’s too busy taking in the laboratory’s flimsy promises to notice. The bird eventually notices the open window and flies out of it, before Jack closes the laboratory off from the outside world once more.

The group begins discussing what just occurred, but your mind is elsewhere. You feel a strange sort of kinship with the bird: suffocated beneath rows of ribs and walls of tissue and skin; banished to the space between; too taken with the small allowances to notice freedom within reach. You pinch the bridge of your nose. Your headache is returning, as pressure builds up in your temples and constricts your very skin. It’s significantly harder to breathe. Every time you blink, you’re greeted with the memory of that bright yellow bird bursting from its confines, greeting the stale laboratory air with beating wings. You step outside the lab to get some fresh air, trading your smaller prison for a bigger one—just as the bird did mere moments ago.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to find you. After all, you’re not hidden—you’re simply leaning against the wall in the hallway that leads to the laboratory. Jack strides up to you, his hands in his pockets and that familiar tight line drawn across his face. You suspect he’ll get wrinkles a lot sooner than everyone else his age—sheerly because of all the responsibility he holds and the pressure he’s forced to perform under. It must be exhausting to be the one calling the shots in these horrible situations. You had always assumed Jack had the easy job, but looking at him now, you think that assumption must be incorrect. He is suffering, just as you are. Perhaps… Jack has just grown better at hiding it.

The thought makes Jack’s remark slip in one ear and right out the other. You ask him to repeat himself and he sighs. “We need to go to the stable where the corpse was found. There are several police officers there already, but…” But we need to do a more thorough investigation , he doesn’t say. You hear him anyway and nod. Jack walks past you and paces purposefully down the hall, not even bothering to look and see if you’re following him. Perhaps he already knows you will follow him.

What follows is an awkward car ride. Neither of the two of you attempt to break the tense silence, leaving a suffocating air of uncertainty and indecision. You don’t know what to say to Jack, so you instead busy yourself with looking out the window. You resolutely pretend not to notice your boss’s gaze repeatedly flitting over to you and, after a painful amount of time, Jack is driving up the gravel path that leads to a modest farmhouse and a beautiful wooden stable.

The place is already crawling with police officers and FBI agents. Unfortunately, the police were the first ones to be informed of the case, which means the FBI is forced to share jurisdiction with them. You know Jack isn’t too happy about that, especially once you see the frown on his face as he watches the police officers clumsily investigate. They don’t have the right training for a situation like this and Jack is delighted to inform them of that fact—albeit with much more sugar coated wording than you would have utilized. A few minutes later, the cops are gone, leaving Jack, you, and the set of agents that Jack requested to follow after your car on the drive over. The other agents are quick to secure the crime scene, while Jack and you decide to explore the premises a little first.

The property features a small, rather unremarkable house with slightly dirty bricks and a well-loved bench swing on the porch. The front door is agape, revealing hardwood flooring and items strewn about. Jack and you exchange a glance before walking into the home. You don’t see any sign of life until you reach the kitchen and come across an older woman sitting at the table, stirring a cup of tea. You’re quick to show your badge and explain the situation to her. She doesn’t seem to have a great idea of what’s going on, so you eventually decide to leave her be and keep looking about the property.

Next to the house is a rather large stable, complete with several different stalls and a wide variety of tools. You have no idea what half of the tools could possibly be used for, but the majority of them look as if they’ve been used at least once. There are bales of hay in the corner of the room and various accessories hanging near the post of each horse’s stall. There are only a few horses in the stable—you think you could’ve seen a few in the pastures out back earlier. There’s a horrible stench pervading the air, and it’s not the typical odor that comes from a farm. It’s the smell of death. You look at Jack and he nods, inclining his head and gesturing for you to continue exploring the stable. It isn’t until you reach the last stall—one that is inexplicably larger than the rest—that you find the source of the stench. The rotted corpse of the horse rests at the back of the stall, the womb flayed open. The organs have been removed, but the smell of decay remains. Surprisingly enough, you’re not alone in this stall. A brown-haired man sits cross-legged on the floor next to the horse, a blank expression on his face.

“...Hello?” You decide to try. There’s no response. “Excuse me?” Still no response.

You glance at Jack and he raises his eyebrows, before turning to the stranger. “You must be Peter Bernardone,” Jack remarks. The mention of the man’s name seems to be enough to get his attention. On second thought, you remember Jack offhandedly mentioning that there may be a stablehand on site. It seems you’ve found him.

“That’s me,” the man replies flatly, staring ahead with glassy eyes. He looks as if he’s on an entirely different plane of existence, as he looks at the wall ahead of him with enough intensity to melt it.

“Jack Crawford, FBI,” Jack answers with an introduction of his own. He flashes his badge for a moment before putting it away. You can’t tell if Peter is even paying attention, but you do the same to make him more comfortable. “We’re just here to ask you some questions.”

“I want to talk,” Peter murmurs quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard. He pulls his knees up to his chest; his eyes haven’t strayed from the corpse of the animal in front of him. You feel your chest constrict a little at the sight.

“Good,” Jack responds with a nod.

“...To you,” Peter finishes with a gesture. To your complete surprise, he doesn’t point at Jack—he’s pointing at you. Jack blinks in equal surprise, looking at you for answers. You send him a helpless look. At first, you’re not sure why you seem more trustworthy than Jack. Then you remember Jack’s position and the intimidating aura he tends to give off. You think you’d want to talk to someone like yourself too, were you in Peter’s situation.

“Alright,” you agree. You don’t see the harm in having a conversation. You need information and, more importantly, answers. Jack stares at you for a long few seconds, before exhaling in evident exasperation.

“I’ll be outside,” Jack promises, before walking away. You wait until Jack is out of sight before you take a step closer to Peter, placing your hands in your pockets.

“What do you do here, Peter?” You hear yourself ask. Your voice sounds foreign to your ears.

“I volunteer here,” Peter responds, still facing the corpse. His voice sounds hollow, empty. “Sometimes.”

“Did you… know this horse?” You ask hesitantly, looking down at the corpse.

“Yes,” Peter answers without hesitation. There’s a hint of emotion in his voice now.

“Ridden her before?”

“I don’t ride the horses,” Peter replies, “I just like to brush them.”

“Okay,” you acknowledge. You begin pacing around the stall in an attempt to calm your restless nerves. “Peter, were you here on the day that the veterinarian visited?” Jack had briefed you on the circumstances of the horse’s death, how a veterinarian had been called to investigate before the corpse was found in the womb.

“I don’t remember a veterinarian,” he stares ahead with a frown.

“That’s fine,” you answer. He may not have been there that day. “The veterinarian was the one who cut open the womb and found the corpse… Did you know this horse was pregnant?”

At that question, Peter turns around and stares at you. His hollow gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine. For a moment, he just stares at you, before huffing in amusement. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you echo. You suppose that was a rather dumb question on your part. “Were you… sad about the foal?”

“Of course,” Peter huffs again. “Why do you think I’m sitting here?” This discussion isn’t getting you very far.

“Fine,” you acquiesce. You take a deep breath. “This doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I’m going to give you my extension, and if you ever feel like talking about what happened, you can call me, okay?” Thankfully, you know for certain that Peter isn’t the killer—the psychological profile you built on this murderer tells you that much. Jack clearly doesn’t think Peter is the killer either, and those two facts are enough for you to rule him out as a suspect. However, you’re still contemplating the possibility of him tampering with the crime scene.

Peter clears his throat pointedly and you remember what you were supposed to be doing. You grab a notepad from your jacket pocket and quickly scrawl down the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s phone number, followed by the extension to your office phone. You take a step closer and hold it out to Peter. For a fraction of a moment, you think he won’t take it. Just before you can pull your hand back, he takes the paper and slips it into his pocket.

You turn on your heel and take a step towards the door of the stall, fully intent on leaving, when the door falls open of its own accord. Jack Crawford stands in the doorway, staring at you.

“Good, Agent,” Jack remarks. This must be important. “We have a lead,” he says vaguely, his eyes falling to Peter. You can’t discuss confidential information here—the details will have to wait until you’re both in the car.

“Excellent,” you remark in relief. “I’ll meet you at the car?” You can sense that Peter’s attention is piqued. Maybe you can still get something out of him. Jack nods and walks away once more. You then turn to Peter, who has turned his body away from the horse to face you. Somehow, he’s intrigued now. Something has caught his eye. “Sorry, Peter,” you apologize, taking a step backwards and emphasizing that you’re a moment away from leaving, “I have to go.”

“What is it?” Peter asks, “Did you find him?”

“It’s classified, I’m sorry,” you respond, ignoring the inexplicable sound of alarm bells blaring in your head. Peter isn’t the killer. “But we’re tracking down this killer. I promise he’ll be put away.”

“You promise?” Peter asks, a dangerous conviction in his eyes.

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation. You don’t have the authority to make that kind of promise, but you do anyway. The sincerity in your expression must convince Peter, because he takes a slow breath and the tension seems to fade from his form. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Peter. It was nice to meet you.” Peter says the same and you turn to leave the stable.

“Price and Zeller found soil in the corpse’s throat,” Jack recounts to you as he drives along the highway, moving at a comfortable speed. His eyes are fixed on the road, but he recalls his conversation with Price with perfect consistency. “We traced it to a burial site about thirty minutes from here.”

“Great,” you remark, relief coursing through you. To your surprise, Jack doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply nods ever so slightly and continues staring ahead. Now, it seems as if he’s avoiding something. “What is it?” You ask. Something seems off about him.

“You may want to brace yourself,” Jack warns vaguely.

“Why?” You hear yourself question. Jack doesn’t answer, and he’s quiet for the rest of the car ride. When the two of you pull up to the supposed burial site, you’re filled with trepidation. This job always comes with the knowledge that blood and gore could be waiting at every corner. That’s the normal day for an agent. So… why does Jack feel the need to warn you? You grapple with the prospect as the two of you leave the car and join the group of agents circled around something.

It isn’t until you get closer that you recognize the familiar stench of rotting death. Sure enough, the group of agents is clustered around a hole in the ground—one that houses a woman’s corpse. You stare at the marks around her neck, the dirt caked under her nails and staining her fingertips. She was on the brink of death when she was buried. She was trying to escape. You stare down at the body for another moment, searching for any more abnormalities, before taking a step back to let the other agents resume their investigation. You exchange glances with Jack.

“She’s not the only one,” Jack says. You stare at the field around you—the grassy, open expanse. It seems to stretch on for miles now. You feel your heart steadily thudding in your chest, at a rate slightly faster than normal. Your head begins to ache.

“How many of them are there?” You murmur. The question is quiet, as you practically whisper it against the wind. For a moment, you think Jack doesn’t hear it. You then realize that he has comprehended it, but is simply declining to answer. Indeed, your boss stares out at the field with a conflicted expression. “Jack?”

“Sixteen,” Jack responds, turning his attention back to you. You feel something in your stomach twist and pull.

“That can’t be right,” you remark. It sounds as if the wind is picking up. It takes you several seconds to realize the sound is being conjured by your own mind, and that the air is damp and still around you. You swallow hard and take another look around at the field, suddenly understanding why the agents are now evenly dispersed across the space. They all have shovels and each sound of metal hitting dirt is enough to send a bolt of pain down your temple and through your cheekbones. Your teeth hurt as you watch the unearthing of sixteen different victims. They’re uniformly dispersed across the field. This is no happy accident—the killer meticulously planned for their graves to be close (but not too close). The thought brings a burning feeling to your throat and you feel your knees suddenly buckle. You place a hand on the ground, feeling the familiar horrible feeling of nausea climbing past your throat until you’re vomiting on the killer’s ground. It takes you a few minutes to stop, and even longer for you to fully recover. Your eyes sting and you can’t tell if you’re going to cry or pass out. There’s an overwhelming clarity in your vision and a rhythmic pounding at your temple.

This graveyard is a gruesome display, even to someone who has spent their entire career surrounded by carnage. You’ve seen your fair share of murder victims. You’ve never seen sixteen of them lined up in two neat rows of eight, buried in a nondescript field under layers of muddy soil. Moreover, you can sense the killer’s feelings—and it makes you sick. This was not a gesture born out of respect for the victims. The murderer did not dig up these graves to give these women a final resting place; he buried them to trap them, so that even in death, they would never truly be free. Their existences would be tied to him forever. They would never be allowed to breathe again. It’s nothing short of sickening. There’s nausea stewing in your stomach again, revulsion prickling across your skin, and sweat trickling down your neck.

You can’t seem to push yourself up to your feet. You’re grounded to the damp soil, to the wrong side of the earth. What deems you worthy of living? What deemed these women worthy of dying? Your hands are twitching at your sides. A deep breath causes your chest to hitch and you nearly vomit again. You look down on your body as you claw at the grass and tear it up, shakily pulling at the dirt and plants and grass and rot and death and injustice and horrible, terrible guilt and indescribable anger and vengeance -

There’s a hand on your shoulder. You instinctually tense, your movements beginning to slow. It feels as if you’re suddenly catapulted back into your body, forced to inhabit the itchy, dirt-stained skin and the endless remorse that wants to eat you alive from the inside.

“They’re dead; there is nothing left for them here,” Jack says. It’s his strange way of comforting you. It sort of works. After a moment, he takes a step forward and extends a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to pull you up. Jack seems to be fighting against the urge to say or do something, because his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pulled taut in a thin line. There’s dirt all over you, yet you are still privileged with life.

You don’t remember how you get back to the Bureau. All you remember is staring blankly ahead as you’re half-led through the halls by Jack himself, his hand on your shoulder providing equal support and increased pressure. All you remember is the worry on Alana’s face as you walk past, the way she gets up from her desk and walks over to you, how she leads you towards the far restroom with a gentle hand. It ends up being the same restroom where Zeller accused you of killing Franklyn. The memory of that encounter is far fresher than you want it to be.

Alana leads you to a sink and guides your hands towards the water.

“Allow me,” she remarks, turning on the sink. She steps away for a moment and you stare at the water dripping from the faucet. Alana returns moments later with a washcloth. She pumps some soap on your hands and helps you wash them clean. Your head aches. You don’t know what to think, what to say. All you can think about is the graveyard. It haunts your vision every time you blink, forcing you to think of suffocating under piles of dirt and debris. You inhale sharply, gasping. Regaining your breath is a chore. “I’m worried about you,” Alana soon admits. You hate that her concern makes you feel appreciated. Your relationship with Alana ended years ago. You don’t want to be hers again, but this very moment reminds you of the intimacy you no longer get to see.

“You shouldn’t be,” you remark. Alana laughs under her breath. You both know that’s not how it works. Emotions don’t bend to logic.

“What did you see?” Her hand on your forearm keeps you tethered to reality. You shake your head, unable to begin describing the scene that will most certainly haunt your nightmares. The two of you are silent for the remainder of your time together under the flickering fluorescent lights, as you try to come to terms with the terrible regret, revulsion, and rage threatening to spill over your frame and inhabit your every waking moment.

next chapter

endnotes: thanks for reading! i'm very excited to continue this story, mwahhahahha

here's a lil sneak peek for the next chapter: “Peter,” Clark practically coos. You hate him, more than you’ve ever hated anyone before. He is a bundle of contradictions: a fine-dressed man with a fine-dressed smile and fine-dressed lies and cruelty and violence and- “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

hannibal taglist <3: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

#Hannibal Lecter x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #transmasc reader #male reader #gn reader #hannibal x gn reader #hannibal x male reader #gotta cover all the bases

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satansapostle6 · 17 days

Text

Kids | Rodrick Heffley

Spotify Playlist Link

Rodrick Heffley becomes obsessed when he finally meets his thirty-five year old band mate, Bill Walter’s, younger sister.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Sexual content.

“Black Hole Sun”

“This Night Has Opened My Eyes”

Rodrick hadn’t gone to school for almost a whole week. No one had even seen him apart from his father and brothers(he had been refusing to acknowledge his mother’s presence ever since the incident).

Susan had since apologized for what she’d said about and to Sara Walter, but Rodrick refused to accept her many apologies so long as they didn’t include an admission of guilt. Although Susan was sympathetic to his pain, she still did not quite apologize for her role in the re-traumatizing of Sara, who still hadn’t spoken to him since everything that had happened at the Heffley house.

There was a gentle knock on Rodrick Heffley’s bedroom door as his father entered the room with dinner, concerned.

“Rodrick,” Frank Heffley said, cautiously entering room.

“Go away,” Rodrick mumbled, hidden under blankets and pillows alike.

“I brought you some spaghetti, and garlic bread,” he attempted entice him. “Your mom made your favorite.”

“Tell her I’m not hungry,” Rodrick said emptily.

“Rodrick. You haven’t eaten since last night,” his father stated, concerned. “You need to eat something. I’m getting concerned.”

“I’m not hungry,” he repeated.

Frank sighed, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “This isn’t healthy… Is there something else you’re hungry for? Maybe I can go pick something up.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll get you Taco Bell. Or McDonald’s! How does a happy meal sound?” he asked hopefully.

But Rodrick didn’t seem very receptive.

“What am I, four?”

“It was worth a shot.”

Frank looked at the lump beneath the covers, fully aware Rodrick hadn’t showered in about two days, and was so upset he refused to even listen to music, any music: it just all reminded him too much of Sara.

“Look, I know Your mom’s really sorry about what happened the other day. She’s apologized multiple times now, you know,” he reminded him.

“No, she hasn’t,” Rodrick insisted. “Not really.”

Rodrick heard nothing as Frank remained in the room for another moment, setting the plate of food down on the floor before silently leaving. Rodrick thought he knew where his father was going; back downstairs, and eventually upstairs again for bed, but he was wrong.

“I’m stepping out,” Frank Heffley announced to his family, before grabbing his jacket and leaving.

“For what?” Susan Heffley questioned, not receiving an answer.

*****

Frank knocked on the door, praying for an answer. After a few moments, the door opened, as he whispered a frantic thanks to whatever beings did or didn’t exist. But another obstacle was revealed.

“What do you want?” a voice said coldly.

“Bill,” Frank realized, immediately feeling incredibly guilty.

“That’s me,” Bill said stiffly.

Clearly, he’d heard everything, or at least enough.

“Bill, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he sighed, hanging his head in shame.

“Don’t tell me,” he responded laconically.

“See, that’s what I could use your help with,” Frank said, thrilled to be finally getting somewhere, “I want to tell your sister. Please.”

“Why should I let anyone in your family anywhere near her?” Bill demanded, his paternal instincts toward his younger sister kicking in. “All you Heffleys do is judge people, and hurt people. My sister’s barely left her room in a fucking week, and she won’t drink anything that’s not wine, or vodka.”

“Yes, I know,” Frank promised him humbly, “But I wanna fix that… Please. Just let me speak to her,” he begged Bill.

“Why? So you can just call us white trash again?” he asked expectantly.

“Words cannot express how awful I feel about that, Bill,” Frank breathed. “I know that Susan and I have both spoken ill about your family on multiple occasions… and I know that I’ve never made an effort to make you feel welcome in our home even though you’ve always been nothing but kind to us. It’s unfair, and I’m sorry,” he apologized.

Bill still had nothing to say as he studied him, wondering whether the apology was sincere.

“You and your sister have proven to be nothing but friends to our family, and we’ve spat in your faces every time,” Frank said guiltily. “I know I can’t make up for that kind of close-minded, immature behavior… But I wanna try. Please,” he begged.

Bill Walter stood there, silent, for a moment, considering his options before eventually opening the door out of kindness, despite the fact that he probably didn’t deserve it.

“Fine. If not for me, then for my sister.”

“Yes! Thank you! Thank you so much!” Frank gasped, eagerly following him inside.

“Who’s this asshole?” Randy called from his armchair.

“He’s probably thinking the same thing!” Bill shouted back as he silently led Frank to Sara’s bedroom.

Frank looked back awkwardly at the unpleasant man, not quite sure what to think. Bill knocked on his younger sister’s door, waiting for a response. “Sara?”

“Yeah?” she called.

“…Mr. Heffley’s here to see you,” Bill informed her.

“…Huh?”

“Mr. Heffley’s here to see you,” he echoed. “He wants to apologize. He seems pretty serious about it…”

Sara quickly opened her bedroom door, seeming to have been laying on her bed, drawing. Frank couldn’t help notice with his keen father’s eyes that she looked awful; her hair was a mess, her makeup didn’t look like it was all applied today, and beneath her eyes, black smudges were married with dark circles.

“Does he?” she asked sharply, cold eyes fixed on Frank.

“Yes,” the man nodded earnestly, “He does.”

Sara studied him for a moment, before turning back to her brother. “Leave us.”

“Are you sure?” Bill asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” she nodded, eyes fixed on Frank as Bill just walked away, knowing better than to question his sister.

Sara opened the door wider as Frank gingerly stepped inside, not knowing how to go about this interaction. She shut the door, crossing her arms expectantly.

“How are you doing, Sara?” he asked kindly, genuinely worried after having seen the state of her.

“I haven’t slept in three days,” she remarked. “So. Let’s hear it,” she said, sounding less confrontational than Frank had anticipated, given that she was more than entitled to her feelings of rage.

“Sara, I… I want to apologize. For Susan, and for myself,” he said slowly as she just listened. “We were judgmental, and unwelcoming, and unfair.”

“‘We’?” Sara asked.

“I’m equally to blame,” Frank nodded earnestly. “I should’ve stepped in more whenever Susan got angry at you. You did nothing to deserve that.”

“You’re right,” she said softly.

“Listen… I don’t want you to think we haven’t noticed the difference you’ve made in Rodrick’s life lately,” he told her. “Because we do. I do. He’s happier, and calmer, and he cares more, about school, and his brothers…”

“Then why did Susan say I’m a bad influence?” Sara demanded, as Frank prepared himself for the question.

“Sara…” he was afraid he didn’t have the words in his vocabulary to explain why she had been made his family’s scapegoat. “Rodrick and his mother have always had a very complicated relationship. She wants the best for him, and he wants her to back off,” Frank said.

“You know I’m not the best,” Sara reminded him. “I’ll never be.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he interjected logically.

Sara paused for a moment, taking in what he said.

“Look, I know about what you and Rodrick do; you’re kids; both of you. Of course you’re gonna do all that stuff,” he admitted.

“But?”

“But, Sara, you’re a good kid,” Frank told her. “…My sons love you. All of them,” he expressed.

Sara’s gaze softened as she took in his point.

“Manny adores you; you’re one of the only people he still lets pick him up. And Greg thinks very highly of you,” he continued, “Greg’s thirteen; he doesn’t think highly of anything.”

“What’s your point?” she asked quietly.

“My point is, that we’ve taken you for granted,” Frank summarized. “Your influence on Rodrick, and our family, has only been positive, if anything.”

“And what do you want me to do?” she asked tearfully, a look of frustration in her bloodshot eyes. “Your wife hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Frank insisted sympathetically, “She doesn’t know you.”

“She doesn’t want to,” Sara insisted. “She thinks I’m trash. End of story.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Frank tried to convince her as she just stood there, a pained expression on her face. “Sara. Do you really want this to be the end of you and Rodrick?”

She was silent as she considered his question, her chest tightening.

“I’m not saying the two of you will definitely last forever,” Frank offered thoughtfully, trying to sound realistic, “But… is a little conflict gonna stop you from finding out for sure?” he asked, hopeful that she’d listen.

Sara looked up at Frank, a pain in the child’s eyes he wished he could heal.

“You can leave now,” she said with finality.

Frank tilted his head in confusion, unsure of what to make of her sudden conclusion of their conversation.

“Sara.”

“You said your piece,” she stated, looking more tired than anything. “I heard what you have to say.”

He was strangely shocked by her response.

“If you want me to go, I’ll go,” he agreed reluctantly, respecting her wishes with his hand on the doorknob. “But, remember. If you break Rodrick’s heart, our whole family goes down with him. That’s the kind of family we are.”

Sara’s eyes followed him as he left the room, leaving her to her thoughts.

*****

“This sucks,” Greg Heffley sighed, watching the edit of his and Rowley’s video of them on their bikes at the skatepark.

“Why can’t we get it right?” Rowley complained pitifully.

“Because. Sara always helps with these,” Greg reminded him as he flopped down onto his bed. “She always helps pick the clips, and the music.”

“We know good music,” Rowley insisted optimistically.

“No, we don’t,” Greg gave up. “Not like Sara. And even if we did, we still wouldn’t be able to use it as good as her.”

“What do we do to get her back?” his friend asked.

“Get a new mom?” Greg offered the only suggestion he could come up with.

He found he had meant that a bit too much.

“I miss Sara. Having you and Rodrick is like having brothers,” Rowley thought wistfully, “But having Sara is like having a sister.”

“Yeah,” Greg agreed, feeling the words deeply.

The two of them were sharing a rather melancholy moment, at least before their silence was drowned out by the increasing sounds of screaming coming from the garage. Rodrick and the guys had been practicing for their gig this weekend at a backyard party, and it seemed like they were reaching for peak of their song. Until it didn’t.

“Dude!”

“What the fuck?!”

“-Some dumb ass fucking shit—!”

Greg looked around in confusion as he tried to rational the snippets that he was hearing coming from downstairs.

“Are they fighting?” he wondered out loud.

“They play metal,” Rowley reminded him.

“No, this is different from that,” Greg said, leaving to go check on his brother’s band.

Rowley followed him down to the garage, and it seemed he was right. Something was going on between Rodrick, Chris, and Ben, worse than anything that had happened in a while.

“Fuck you, you’re being a fucking asshole!” Ben shouted angrily.

“Should we be down here?” Rowley questioned anxiously.

Greg just ignored him as they watched from the doorway. The guys hadn’t even noticed them, they were so caught up in the drama.

“I’m not an asshole, you’re just a fucking dick, dude!” Rodrick shouted back, seeming genuinely upset.

“Whatever!” Ben cried. “Your set list is shit!”

“Guys, let’s all just chill! I think everything’s getting a little outta hand,” Bill reminded his band mates.

“Yeah, guys, let’s chill,” Chris agreed, also uncomfortable.

“Shut the fuck up, Chris!” Ben snapped.

“Hey, you shut the fuck up,” Rodrick demanded, suddenly threatening him with an abandoned drumstick, “Or I’m gonna fucking snap your neck—!”

Greg turned in horror to see his mother hurriedly rushing past him and Rowley.

“Hey, what is going on here?!” Susan questioned.

“Nothing, Mom, Ben’s just about to get rocked.”

“Rodrick Heffley, don’t you hit anyone in this house!” Susan scolded him.

“Right,” Rodrick nodded, not missing a beat, “Let’s take this outside, you little bitch!”

“Rodrick!” Susan Heffley shrieked.

“Everybody, let’s just take a fucking chill pill!” Bill exclaimed, extremely tense.

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down, this is my house!” Rodrick shouted over him.

“Actually, this is my house, and I will not tolerate violence, or frankly, any of the language that’s being used!” Susan interrupted.

Rodrick glared at Ben with a hatred that had been building up and simmering for years, chucking one of the drumsticks in his hand over Ben’s head.

“Rodrick!” Susan cried, horrified at his behavior. “Don’t throw things at people!”

Greg and Rowley watched, kind of scared, as the situation began to escalate.

“Yeah! Listen to your mommy, Rodrick!” Ben taunted. “Don’t throw things at people!”

“Fuck you, you fucking loser!” he boomed.

“Rodrick! Upstairs, now!” Susan yelled.

“Come on, Rod!” Ben jeered. “Be a good little bitch!”

“Ben, shut the fuck up!” Chris said impatiently.

“I’ll make you my bitch!” he fired back.

“Guys! Enough!” Bill began to lose his temper.

“All of you, there are other people in this house,” Susan reminded them, “If you can’t be respectful, then leave.”

“We’re really sorry, Mrs. Heffley,” Bill apologized hastily as he eyed all of his band mates, “We’ll stop bothering you guys. It won’t happen again.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Heffley,” Chris added courteously, “We’ll stop.”

“Yeah, we’ll be quiet, Mrs. Heffley,” Ben promised, completely full of shit.

She eyed the group of boys skeptically before deciding to take their word for it. “Okay. But one more disturbance, and none of you are welcome here ever again. Got it?” she asked the room.

“Got it,” Bill promised.

“Yes,” Chris assured her kindly.

“Got it,” Ben nodded.

“Okay. Thank you,” Susan said, slowly turning around as she wanted nothing to do with the group of boys.

Rodrick, who had been silent and plotting the entire time, glowered hatefully in Ben’s direction before making up his mind and chucking the one lone drumstick left in his hand straight at Ben’s head, which was met with an immediate hothead reaction.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Ben hollered as a fully fledged fight broke out.

Before anyone could do anything, Ben was charging Rodrick, who had decided to go all in and angrily leapt over the drum set at him and tackled him to the ground with a loud thrashing of the cymbals. Chris was in shock and Bill jumped in, almost dog piling on top of them to pull Rodrick off of Ben.

Susan screamed for her husband as Greg and Rowley froze, no clue as to what they were supposed to do. Rowley was spooked like a cat, and Greg found himself having a desire to go home despite already being there.

“I don’t like this!” Rowley wailed.

“Me neither,” Greg agreed, not having much else to offer.

But Rowley was completely distraught.

“Sara wouldn’t let this happen!”

“Losing My Religion”

#rodrick heffley #rodrick fanfic #rodrick rules #rodrick x reader #doawk rodrick #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #doawk #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick x y/n #rodrick heffley x y/n #rodrick heffley x reader #devon bostick

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capypub · 11 months

Text

Without Warning - Mafia!Joel Miller Scene 4

Mafia!Joel Miller x Original Female Character

Rating: M (sex, drugs, guns, the usual)

Minors DNI. 18+ Content

Summary: Here's your smut and drug fix you heathens (It's me, I'm the heathen) lmao...

Scene 1 Scene 2 Scene 3

The baggie had fallen out of Indi’s bag by accident, no bigger than a cotton ball. Joel had taken her backpack after picking her up from class one evening. He’d tossed it in the backseat of his truck without much thought. One of the front pockets must have been open because he heard the clatter of pens and other items hit the seat.

“Ah, fuck,” he muttered under his breath, leaning over to gather her stuff while she connected her phone to the car’s bluetooth.

“Everything okay, babe?” she asked, scrolling through her Spotify, after hearing him huff from behind her headrest.

“All good, baby girl,” he said, stuffing the few pens and bobby pins back in the pocket.

The plastic baggie reflected off the light, the familiar green buds inside peaking his curiosity. She had never mentioned that she smoked before. Tapping her on her shoulder from the back seat, Joel held the baggie in his open palm to her.

“What’s this doin’ in here?” he asked with a smirk, amused and a little surprised with her.

“Oh,” she murmured, her eyes going wide as she visibly tensed under his gaze.

“Not so innocent, huh, darlin’?” he continued to tease her, pulling out one of the larger buds and sniffing it, his face crinkling slightly at the smell, “This shit gettin’ you high?” he questioned in disbelief.

“Well until Texas gets their shit together, it’s the best I can do,” she said defensively, reaching to grab the baggie from him.

“No, baby girl,” Joel chuckled with a shake of his head, “This is dirt weed, I can tell just by lookin’ at it. I’ve seen high schoolers deal better shit than this.”

“I’m sorry, since when were you a marijuana connoisseur?” she sassed him while attempting a second time to grab the contents from his hand.

He smirked, always getting a little turned on when she got fiery with him. It wasn’t often in their short relationship, but the few times she did get feisty, the urge to pin her down and fuck the attitude out of her flooded his thoughts. When that day came where he could indulge in this primal desire, he knew he would thoroughly enjoy earning her submission.

“Been smokin’ since before you were born, baby,” he scoffed, crumpling the baggie in his large hand and tossing it out of the car.

“What the hell, Joel?” she scoffed, her mouth open slightly as she stared at him, shocked and obviously a little annoyed.

“I can’t keep lettin’ you smoke that trash, darlin’,” he insisted, finally getting out of the backseat, coming around to the other side to get behind the wheel, “I’ve got some good shit back home, we could order pizza if you get hungry and put on a movie, hm?” he suggested.

“Home?” she repeated, sounding confused. “You mean your place?” she clarified.

He nodded, starting the truck and pulling out of the campus parking lot. “That a problem?” he asked, seeing how she hadn’t answered, a little concerned by her hesitation.

“I’ve never been to your house…” she stated softly.

When he thought about it, she was right. They always went out somewhere or to her apartment. Joel liked her place, it was comfortable, homy, very much her and he loved being surrounded by it all. Sure, he probably should have brought her over to his place a long time ago, given the amount of time they’ve spent together, but part of him didn’t want to bring her too close to his world. His men had access to his house, he kept security posted at the gate, and sometimes even handled business in the basement.

“I don’t spend much time there either, the guys always makin’ too much damn noise,” he said, trying to be casual about the whole thing, but his voice sounded a little strained and anxious.

“The guys that work for you?” she questioned, receiving a nod from him as he turned onto the highway, “They hang out at your place a lot?”

“Uh,” he hesitated, biting in the inside of his cheek, “Yeah, they’re in and out, the only reason I got somethin’ a lil’ bigger is for when the jobs are long and they need somewhere to crash,” he explained with a shrug.

“I thought you built storage units or something?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Among other things, yeah…”

“I think that’s great,” she said, reaching across to squeeze his thigh affectionately, “Not many bosses care about their employees enough to open their own doors to them.”

Again, he cleared his throat, feeling his whole body warming up as he dug himself deeper into a hole he’d eventually have to fill. He didn’t like lying to her, but he also wasn’t ready to tell her the extent of his business, hoping to keep her in this little bubble of happiness with him for a little longer.

Taking her hand, he brought it up to lips, kissing her knuckles softly as he inhaled her familiar scent. She didn’t ask him anymore about the house, thankfully. They drive in a comfortable silence, the lull of her music providing a relaxing background noise. Eventually, Joel pulled up to the familiar iron gates, rolling down his window.

“Evenin’, boss man,” one of the men at the gate greeted them as he approached the driver's side window.

“John,” Joel greeted with a stiff nod, thankful that John kept his weapon tucked in his belt, hidden by his jacket, “Anyone inside right now?” he asked, praying to whatever higher being out there that his house was empty tonight.

“Yeah, Tess and Xavier showed up a couple hours ago, been working in the office,” he shrugged.

Joel internally swore. “Alright, take it easy, man,” he said, his jaw clenched as the gates opened and he proceeded up the long driveway to his home.

“You have security?” Indi questioned, looking simultaneously impressed and surprised.

He gave a simple “mhm” in response, still trying to figure out how to avoid Tess if necessary. She wouldn’t say anything, but who knows what kind of crap her and X left laying around.

“This is your house?” she gasped, staring in awe as the white three story, 7,898 square foot building came into view, “Joel, we’ve been watching movies on my shitty fifty inch when you have all this!”

He chuckled at that. “Projector in the theater room’s broken, plus I like being at your place more,” he explained.

She didn’t need to know that the projector had to be replaced because one of his guys put a bullet in the screen after the last UFC fight.

“It’s so…quiet,” she observed once he’d parked at the front door, not bothering to park his truck in the garage, “I love all the nature,” she added as he helped her out, going to grab her backpack as she approached the front door, still looking at the thicket of trees surrounding the house.

He’d just shut the back door of his truck when he heard the front door open. Indi stepped back as a woman stepped out, a gun in one hand and a manilla folder in the other.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, a hard stare focussed on Indi.

“Easy, Tess, she’s with me,” Joel said, taking the stairs two at a time to stand between Tess and his girl.

Ignoring him, the redhead continued to openly scrutinize Indi with her cold glare and lips set in a thin line. Joel took a step forward, sending Tess a warning look as he cleared his throat. He felt Indi grip the sleeve of his jacket from behind him, triggering that primal urge to protect.

“Whatever,” Tess finally muttered with a roll of her eyes, “I’m heading to Laredo to clean up Eric’s mess,” she added, moving around them to the all black Sedan that pulled up beside Joel’s truck during the confrontation.

“Keep me updated,” Joel called after her with a shake of his head.

Once they were gone, Joel pressed his palm in the curve of Indi’s back, gently guiding her inside. She didn’t say anything about Tess, too distracted by the glamor of the foyer flanked by two curving staircases and the giant crystal chandelier above them.

“You must be a really good contractor,” she commented, making him laugh as they made their way to the kitchen.

“Suppose so,” he said with a chuckle, guiding her to sit at the kitchen island, setting her backpack on the counter next to her, “Want something to drink? Hungry?” he asked, going to the fridge and pulling out two beers.

She accepted his offer, taking the opened bottle in one hand and Joel’s in the other as he led her through the house to the second floor where his office was located. She marveled at the luxury of everything, her head on a constant swivel as she tried to take it all in. Joel intentionally walked a little slower through the halls, indulging her in her curiosity by pointing out certain rooms.

“So…does Tess work for you?” she asked, settling into the leather couch in his office as he rummaged around his desk for his stash.

“Uh, yeah, she’s, um…oversees supplies and stuff,” he said, pulling out a wooden box and setting it on the large desk.

“Is she always…like that?”

He tried to hold back his laugh, but failed miserably. “Yeah, she’s usually like that, not great at parties, but keeps these boys in line.”

Joel gathered what he needed, setting the box back in its original place before leading her outside to the second-story covered patio at the back of the house. The lights around the pool and jacuzzi were on below them, the trickling of the faux waterfall lining the jacuzzi provided a comfortable background noise.

“This is beautiful, Joel,” she murmured as they sat on a swinging bench, facing the backyard which consisted of an epic view of the greenbelt and the lake nearby, a few houses breaking the treeline around his property.

“Yeah, probably one of my favorite parts of the house, this view,” he agreed, pulling out a five inch glass pipe and a grinder.

She watched as he loaded the pipe, the smell of this strain much stronger than her own as he packed the bowl with precision. Pulling a lighter from his jean pocket, he offered both items to her. With a shy smile, she accepted it, setting her beer down and bringing the pipe to her lips. Joel was drawn to how her lips curved around the glass, shifting in his seat as he thought about what her lips would look like wrapped around his cock.

“Fucking hell,” Indi said, coughing harshly after her first hit, reaching for her beer to ease the burn.

She handed the pipe and lighter back, downing half her bottle as she tried to control her coughing fit. Joel couldn’t help but smirk, smoothly taking a hit himself, blowing the smoke away from her.

Once she had regained her composure, she settled comfortably beside him, curling up under his arm, leaning into the side of his body as they passed the pipe back and forth. She started to giggle halfway through their second round, her hands starting to wander as Joel emptied the ashes from the bowl.

“Whatcha doin’ there, baby girl?” he asked with a smirk, leaving the pipe next to his beer as he watched her fingers inch higher up his leg.

“Just want to feel you,” she murmured, nuzzling her face into his neck, “that is some really, really, good shit Joel,” she added, her eyelids drooped slightly as she looked up at him.

“Feelin’ good, darlin’?” he asked, his own body much more relaxed and itching to touch her.

“Very good,” she agreed, closing her eyes slowly as he laced his fingers into her hair, gripping the back of her neck and pulling her closer for a slow kiss.

While Joel usually set the pace, she must have been feeling brave because she easily climbed into his lap, unprompted, her legs settling on either side of his hips as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeper, hungrier.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he groaned as she began to grind into his lap, slow movements that had him hard almost instantly.

“Have I ever told you that smoking makes me really horny sometimes?” she asked, her voice a little husky, a little breathless as she nipped his earlobe.

“No, b-but- fuck- I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as she kissed on his neck, her hands moving up and down along his chest.

All Joel could do was hold onto her, let her work herself up on him as he enjoyed her little show. He held her hips tightly, his fingers slipping under the hem of her top to graze the skin of her sides, reveling in how soft and small she felt against him.

She brought her mouth to his again, his head tilted back as he took in the red tint of her half-lidded eyes, the lazy smile and mussed hair from his earlier grip on her radiating temptation. She was a goddess, absolutely ethereal on top of him. When she began to suck and nip on his lower lip, he almost lost it, groaning heavily and pulling her tighter against him.

He lifted her up with ease, never breaking away from her sweet kiss. She gripped his shoulders, giggling against his mouth as he laid her out on the swinging bench, keeping it still with one foot placed on the ground, using his other leg to kneel and balance between her knees.

Caging her in with his body, he leaned over her, feeling her chest against his own, one of her legs raising to hook on his hip, her heat pressed dangerously close to his growing erection. She was making these pretty noises as he tasted her skin, nipped at her ear, and squeezed her sides.

“Joel,” she whined, “please.”

“I got you, baby girl,” he muttered into the crook of her neck, “I’ll take care of you,” he groaned, feeling her nails dig into his forearm.

He was able to inch her top a little further up, exposing her torso to him. Repositioning himself lower on her body, he kissed at the exposed skin, pushing the material further up as he traced patterns with his tongue up her stomach and between her breasts.

“Can I take this off, darlin’?” he murmured against her ribcage, looking up through his lashes to see her watching him as she bit her lower lip, suppressing as much noise as she could when she nodded in agreement.

“Need to hear it, baby girl, use your words,” he insisted, running his rough hands down her sides, gripping her hips and pulling her tighter against his covered cock.

“Yes,” she sighed, sounding absolutely wrecked already, “Yes, Joel, please,” she begged, blindly grabbing at his shirt to try and pull him to her.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised her softly, feeling her thighs clench at the term, filing away that little reaction in his brain for later.

She sat up slightly, just enough for him to lift her top over her head and drop it on the ground. He was instantly mouthing at her covered breasts, pushing one shoulder strap down to taste her skin, his other hand squeezing and kneading the other cup.

“D-do you want to show me, hmph, your bedroom?” she asked, breathless and needy under him.

“Anything you want, sugar,” he agreed, easily lifting her up into his arms and carrying her back into the house.

They slowly made their way through the hallways, Joel pressing her into every flat surface he could find to rut against her, kiss her senseless and feel any part of her body he could as he navigated the dimly lit hallways.

Once inside his room, he deposited her on the bed, immediately pulling his jacket and shirt off, throwing it on the ground with enough force for a low “thump” to echo in the room. Indi looked up at him, propped up on her elbows, biting her lip.

“Fuck, baby, you look so good right now,” he groaned, quickly working at his belt buckle and zipper, taking his gun from the back of his pants and setting it on the bedside table.

“Let me,” she insisted, getting on her knees and reaching over to him, her smaller hands slowly pulling his zipper down, her fingers grazing his cock in the process, earning another deep groan from him. She tried to use her mouth on him, but he had other plans.

He had her pinned down the bed in seconds, slipping her jeans off, before rutting against her panties with his pants halfway down his legs, too worked up to bother getting them off all the way right now. She made such pretty noises for him, her hands wandering his exposed chest and arms as he removed the last of her clothes.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked for me already,” he growled, his fingers rubbing tight circles on her clit.

“Yes, fuck, ‘s so good,” she moaned, her hand gripping his wrist tightly as she tried to move her hips.

“Yeah, just like that, darlin’, so fuckin’ pretty,” he groaned, slipping a finger into her while rubbing at her sex faster, his mouth attaching to her nipple, leaving her a moaning mess.

Joel added another finger, kissing her hungrily as she moaned into his mouth at the stretch. His other hand was holding her leg down by her thigh, keeping her spread for him to play with.

“Oh! Just like that, fuck, so good, baby,” she whined, head thrown back as she rutted up into his hand wildly.

He couldn’t help the groan that rumbled in his chest. His cock twitched at the term, something about the sweetness of it mixed with the filthy things he was doing with her body was a delicious concoction that had him drunk on her.

“Gonna come for me, baby girl? Can feel you squeezin’ m’ fingers,” he growled against her neck, biting down on the curve connecting her neck and shoulder, sucking a mark over the indent his teeth left.

She cried out his name when she came, her body convulsing beautifully under him. Working her through it, he slowed his movements until she went quiet and then brought his fingers to his lips, holding her titillating gaze as he sucked the essence from his fingers slowly. She bit her lip, reaching out to him. Taking her hand, he brought it to his shoulder, fully kneeling on the bed now and tossing her a little higher up until her head hit the pillows.

He climbed over her, pushing her thighs further apart, feeling her preen as he kissed up her body from her core, over her breasts and along her neck. The look in her eyes was absolutely salacious as she pushed herself up to meet his mouth, licking any remnants of herself from his lips lewdly. Joel moaned against her mouth, feeling her much smaller hand stroke his throbbing cock.

“You’re so big,” she panted against his mouth, still recovering from her first orgasm.

“Just relax, baby girl,” he said soothingly, easing her to lay back down.

With one hand over the edge of the pillow beside her head to hold himself up, Joel guided the head of his cock through her folds, grunting when it caught at her entrance. He teased her for a moment, rubbing at her clit and through her folds until she was wiggling her hips shamelessly in an attempt to get him inside.

“Stay still, sweetheart, I got you,” he groaned, finally giving in to what they both wanted.

He eased himself in slowly, resisting the urge to spear her and fuck her savagley, to ride on the primal high that their relationship had been building low in his stomach. Perhaps another night.

“More…please,” she whined, gripping his shoulder as she tried to pull him closer, her voice quivering as she was overwhelmed by everything that was Joel.

“Look at you, baby girl, usin’ your manners,” he teased through his lusty haze, smirking down as he inched a little deeper, “That’s a good girl…” he groaned once he was fully inside, dropping onto his forearms to rut into her, feeling her whole body pressed under him, her nipples taught against his chest, “...my good girl,” he added, almost like he was talking to himself as he closed his eyes and lost himself in everything that was her.

He fisted the sheets, his pace building as his pleasure rose. Fuck, those sounds she made would be the death of him. She was squeezing him so tight too, he didn’t know how long he’d actually last. Plus the effects of their earlier smoke session made everything feel heightened. Her nails dug into his back as he thrusted harder, the slight sting mixed with how good she felt clenching on his dick was an addicted combination he’d come to learn.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby, feel so good, so damn perfect,” he grunted against her neck, knowing he was absolutely done for when it came to this girl.

“I’m so close, Joel, yeah, yeah, like that,” she panted, bringing his mouth to hers for a wet, messy kiss, her eyes squeezed shut blissfully.

Something cold against his knuckle briefly distracted him. With his mouth still against hers, his eyes drifted to the side of her, noticing the butt of a gun poking out from under his pillow. Shit. He jerked back slightly, making a move to grab the pistol. She noticed his sudden change, opening her eyes slightly to look up at him, trying to follow his gaze directed to the side of her. He panicked momentarily.

“Look at me, baby girl,” Joel said quickly, pushing himself up on his knees so he could use his free hand to collar her throat and keep her head forward, “Look at me while I fuck you,” he added, noticing how she clenched around his cock at his words.

When that small wicked smile graced her lips as he squeezed the sides of her throat, he almost lost it. Tucking the gun back under the pillow as subtly as possible, he used his hold on her throat to lift her up and turn their bodies diagonal to the bed, gripping the edge for leverage as he continued to thrust into her.

She came hard on his cock, her walls pulsing around him, as she moaned his name, spurring on his own release which he shot all across her chest and stomach with a deep whine. They were both breathing heavily, their bodies coated in sweat and each other’s release. Joel could feel her juices along his thighs, a sense of pride and satisfaction sprouting in his chest as he caught his breath.

Indi smiled softly, her mind completely blank as she floated in this post-sex haze, her body tingling, exhausted and thoroughly satisfied. Joel laid next to her on his side, pulling her against his sticky body, propping her head up with his forearm. She sighed happily as he brushed some hair from her face, leaning down to kiss her softly.

“Did so good for me, baby girl,” he murmured against her lips, stroking her cheek with equal softness.

After they had recovered, Joel invited her to shower with him. He took her hand, leading her into the en suite bathroom, just as luxurious as the rest of his house with a steam shower, full-size tub, dual vanity and private commode room.

Joel started the shower, testing the water before guiding her in. When he didn’t immediately follow after her, she turned around, reaching for him. She was feeling especially needy after he’d just fucked her stupid, her mind still floating in a slight orgasmic haze as the high from the cannabis slowly began to fade.

“Just gettin’ you somethin’ to wear, baby girl, I’ll be right back,” he said, pulling her towards him for a short kiss before leaving her alone under the hot stream.

She didn’t think much of it when Joel stepped back into the bedroom. He came back almost immediately, crossing the room to reveal a walk-in closet. Setting some clothes out for both of them, he returned to his girl, biting back an appreciative growl as he watched droplets of water stream down her naked body.

“Get my back?” she asked sweetly over her shoulder, offering him his body wash and one of the washcloths she’d taken from the shelf next to the shower.

He took his time washing her, feeling every dip and curve of her body as she stood still and allowed him to explore. By the time he was done, he was already hard again. She smirked, noticing his stiff cock when she turned around. He didn’t intend on pushing her for more, figuring she must be tired after everything.

He didn’t resist though when she pushed him back against the wall, out of the stream, and got on her knees. He definitely didn’t resist when she took him in her mouth, working his length with her hand as she sucked him off. Of course he didn’t last long, the combination of how fucking gorgeous she looked, naked, wet, and mouth full of his cock mixed with how good her little mouth was working him had him coming embarrassingly fast. She didn’t seem to mind though, looking almost pleased as she pulled him back under the stream to wash his body.

They both passed out in bed after sharing another bowl on Joel’s balcony. She was beautiful under the low light, hair wet, wearing one of his shirts and her panties. He couldn’t remember the last time he fell asleep so easily, with her tucked into his side, her head on his chest and arm secured tightly across his stomach.

Of course, the peaceful sleep couldn’t last long. He jerked awake to the sound of his phone vibrating on the table next to him. He reached over, making sure not to jostle his girl who was still curled up on his chest. Glaring blearily at the bright screen, he saw that it was just past three in the morning.

“This better be fuckin’ good,” he grumbled into the receiver to whichever one of his guys decided to wake him up.

“Uh, Joel, we got a problem, man,” Ethan, one of his runners, said frantically.

He could tell he was driving by the sound of tires over gravel in the background. There were other voices too, just as frantic, mixed with a few grunts and groans of pain.

“What problem?” Joel demanded, his voice hard as he prepared for bad news.

“Uh, we got jumped after checking one of the safe houses,” Ethan said, a car horn screeching past somewhere in the background.

“Where the fuck are you?” Joel asked, speaking louder than he intended, glancing down at Indi to make sure she didn’t wake up.

“Pullin’ up right now to your place, ah shit, get him inside!” Ethan said, talking to whoever else was with him.

“Ethan!” Joel snapped, flinching again at the volume of his voice, “Ethan, you better tell me what the fuck is going on,” he threatened softly, even his whisper sounding dangerous over the line.

“G-get ‘im on the pool table, fuck, I don’t know man!” Ethan said, his voice sounding distant like he had the phone at his side.

Joel could hear the commotion downstairs, boots moving across the floor, chairs scraping, doors slamming. He hung up, throwing his phone on the ground in frustration before easing out of Indi’s grasp. He really didn’t want to leave her, especially to clean up some stupid mess, but he also couldn’t have those idiots downstairs making all this noise and potentially waking her up to who knows what.

With a frustrated huff, he pulled his sweatpants and a t-shirt, making his way downstairs with his 9mm loaded and ready. She hadn’t woken up yet, simply turning over in her sleep to the other side.

“Joel!” Ethan called, rushing up to him, blocking him from entering the game room.

“What the fuck, man? Who’s blood is all over my goddamn floor?” Joel snapped, looking across the marble floor and the streaks of red.

“Joel, relax, man, uh…we- we-,” Ethan stammered, only frustrating him more.

He pushed past the smaller man, going over to the group surrounding his pool table, noticing how the splatters of blood became larger. The men glanced at him nervously, at least the ones who weren’t frantically moving over whoever was on the blue felt.

“Hey, big brother, sorry ‘bout the mess,” Tommy said, looking pale and shaky as he tried to smile at Joel from where he was laid out.

“T-Tommy…?”

Scene 5

#joel miller imagine #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller au #mafia!joel miller #last of us au

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jake-g-lockley · 1 year

Note

Could I have prompt ten with Marc Spector & reader?

The Elephant in the Room (Marc Spector x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be Tagged?

Prompt: A walks in on B, sitting in their underwear and dressing a wound in their abdomen. A audibly gulps, eyes wavering and ears reddening. B puckers their lips to avoid smiling, "Are you just going to stand there and watch me?” A’s eyes widens, “You–You W-Want me to help–you, with.. that?” A/N: Hiiii!!! Thanks for the ask, love! This prompt is a must with our hero Marc and I hope its okay that I made it short and sweet <3 Warnings: Injury, tending to injury. Word Count: 616 words

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up to several loud bangs, the sound of things hitting the floor. You jump up from your bed, realizing that the sounds were coming from your roommate’s room. You picked up your elephant plushie and squeezed it close to you, before grabbing a hold of a hockey stick you had at your bedside. You creep out of your room and grab the doorknob to your roommate’s room, ready to pounce on the intruder.

Your eyes were met with Marc Spector sitting on his bed, clad in nothing but his underwear, amidst dabbing at an open wound at his abdomen. You audibly gulp, your eyes trying to look anywhere but at Marc’s bare body, your ears reddening. Marc looked up at you instantly, and he puckered his lips to avoid smiling.

“Did I wake you?” he asked almost innocently and you silently shook your head, to which he gave you a look of exasperation.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me?” he questioned, a smirk playing on his lips.

Your eyes widen, “You–you w-want me to help–you, with.. That?”

Marc just shrugged and you dropped the hockey stick and sat beside him, handing him your elephant plushie as you dropped your head to examine his wound. He had a cut on his face too and your heart dropped to your stomach from the way blood seeped from it.

“Who did this to you?” you whispered, your hand skimming his skin.

“You should’ve seen the other guy.” Marc chuckled but winced from the pain.

You got to work, grabbing a few medical gauze dab lightly at his face, rubbing the dried blood slowly away. Marc’s big brown eyes were fixed on you but you focused on cleaning his wounds. Every now and then he would flinch or hiss when you applied the pressure sensitive medical tape on the cuts.

Marc felt like he was in a dream, staring at you as if you had given him the world. No one had tended to his wounds before and this felt foreign, the gentle feeling of your skin against him grounding him to the moment. He watched as you bit your lip, concentrating hard at the cut on his face. He noted how your hands shook slightly, your nervousness emitting from you like smoke from a fire. He resisted the urge to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ears as it fell to your face.

A soft groan left Marc’s lips as you accidentally dragged your fingers down his toned abdomen. The wound wasn’t deep enough to need stitches so you repeated the same process of cleaning and dressing his wound.

“There you go, all patched up.” you tried not to let your shaky voice betray you as you patted Marc’s chest.

He was clutching onto your elephant plushie, his muscular arm creating a dent on its trunk. You resisted the urge to let out a laugh, your brain malfunctioning as it slowed and didn’t compute how cute and sexy your neighbour was. You also tried hard not to look past his waistband without breaking into a cold sweat. The little detour that your mind took made it look like you were staring a little too long at his sculpted body, which earned you a little chuckle from him.

Suddenly, Marc sat up and you felt his chapped lips against your cheek. You blushed as he pulled away and smiled at you silently thanking you with his eyes. You pushed him until he was lying down onto the bed before lying down beside him, pulling his head to your chest. The questions can be asked and answered tomorrow. Now, your patient needs rest.

Reblogs are appreciated~~~

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samaraannhan20 · 1 year

Text

Austin Butler Imagine: College AU! Study Surprise

Study Surprise

warnings: college!reader, Age gap(9 years), gn!reader(I read through it again, and i’m fairly certain it is completely gn)

You missed your boyfriend, and that much was a fact. You were sitting in the living room that you usually share with your roommates, but they were still gone on Thanksgiving break, sitting on the floor and doing some of your homework. You were trying to focus on the homework you were trying to do, but all you could focus on was how much you missed him. In the background, you had a playlist of Elvis playing, something you had started doing since you had gotten closer as a couple with Austin, as a way of keeping him with you while he was away, and right now it was not helping your focus at all. Giving up on your homework, you decided to take your phone with you to the kitchen to call your mom while making some cider. You put in your airpods, after pausing the music that was playing, because the microphone on your airpods worked better than your phone microphone. “Hey mama,” you spoke half heartedly as your mother answered your facetime call. “Hey honey, what are you doing?” she answered, knowing you usually only call if you are bored, especially now that you have Austin to keep you company. “I’m microwaving some cider to heat it up, and then I might go turn on a movie,” you spoke, starting to drift off as you thought of the idea to turn on the Elvis movie, since you missed Austin so much. “When is Austin coming home?” she asked, somehow always knowing what exactly was bothering you. “Um, well, he’s supposed to come home sometime this week, but he’s not positive what day yet. I just called because I’m avoiding working on my paper. It’s a lot and I needed a break. And I figured what better way to spend my break than talking to my mother,” you say with a slight laugh. “How are you and the family doing?” you ask, guiding her to talk about something besides you, and hoping it distracts you. She talks to you for 20 minutes, filling you in on life at home. Occasionally you can hear one of your siblings in the background, and every now and then she stops talking, in order to talk to your family dog for a second, usually telling him to get out of something. “Y/N, I really must be going now,” she says, as the sounds of your siblings fighting starts to come through the phone. “Okay Mama, I love you,” you say, and she repeats it before hanging up the phone. Not being able to handle the sound of silence in your apartment for any longer, you quickly pull up Spotify on your phone and start a playlist, turning it all the way up. You start the microwave again, having forgotten about the cider while you were being entertained by your mother. As you sit and wait, you start to dance around the room to the music, holding your phone in your hand and waving your arms around. Suddenly , your phone slips out of your hand and hits the edge of the counter before landing on the ground. “Oh crap,” you wince out loud and walk over to where your phone landed. As you pick it up you notice a crack on the bottom corner of the screen. “Oh man,” you say to yourself, before remembering that it was time for you to get a phone upgrade anyway, and you had already been researching how much it would cost for you to get a new phone. Deciding it’s nothing to cry or worry about, you put your phone down to get your cider. After you pull your cider out of the microwave, you set it down on the counter, and then carefully hop up onto the counter next to it. You sit on the counter cross legged, and sip your cider as you read the book you had left sitting on the counter. After a few minutes of reading the same page over and over again, you decide to just bite the bullet and call Austin. “Hey Baby,” he says as he answers the phone, and you can tell from what you see behind him that he’s in a car. “Hi Aus, did I interrupt you doing something?” “No, babes, we’re just driving back to the hotel,” he says, before smiling at you. “Didn’t you tell me you were going to work on your paper tonight?” “I was, but it was just so boring. I needed to take a break. So I called my mom, and then I read my fun book, and then I called you,” you said, while trying to look anywhere but into his eyes, because you knew that he was going to tell you to work on your paper. “What did you talk to your mom about?” “Well, I didn’t really talk. She did. It was really just a means to distract me. She did ask when you were coming back though.” “Really?” he asks, knowing that if you had told her the truth she probably would have made you drive home to see her. “Yeah, but I told her it was supposed to be sometime this week, not next week. So she moved on and talked for twenty minutes about her day, week, month and so on.” The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes before Austin finally speaks up. “Baby, go work on your paper. You can call me later when you’re going to bed. We’re done filming for today, so I’ll just be in my hotel room.” “I cracked my phone screen a few minutes ago,” you say, changing the subject so that he’ll keep talking to you. “You’re not going to distract me for long,” he says laughing at you, “but, how bad is it? And how did you manage that?” “Not too bad, just the bottom corner. But I was already thinking about getting a new phone anyway, so I might as well.” “You didn’t answer how you broke it honey.” “Oh, I was, ummm, dancing around the kitchen,” you mumble under your breath, already knowing he’s going to laugh at you. “Only you baby, only you,” he says with a chuckle. “Okay, well w-you, can do that tomorrow baby. For now, go work on your paper. I love you,” he says, barely giving you the chance to say it back before hanging up the phone. You groan, before lifting the cider cup back up to your lips. You pick your book back up, deciding to read it until you finish this cup of cider. After you finish your second cup of cider, you make another, then meander back into the living room to start work on your paper again. You grab the tv remote as you sit down, and go to HBOMax. You scroll until you find Elvis in your recently watched, and turn it on, before settling on the floor to get to work again. Finally, you get engrossed in your assignment, and lose track of everything happening around you. Between hearing Austin speaking on the tv, and the research you are having a hard time focusing on,you doze off on the couch. At first glance one would think that you purposefully curled up under a blanket with this goal in mind, but… oh, who are you kidding, you did. You were so asleep that you didn’t hear your front door open and close. It isn’t until the Martin Luther gunshot goes off on the tv, effectively shocking you out of your nap, that you hear something rummaging around in the kitchen. “Hello?” you call out, nervously. No one was supposed to be here. Austin was supposed to still be filming out of state. Carefully you stand up, and grab the closest heavy thing, which just so happened to be your history book. You tiptoed around the corner and into the kitchen. Just as you rounded the corner with your book raised up, you ran into someone. You dropped the book and screamed as soon as you saw who it was. “AUSTIN!” you screamed, and jumped onto him, knocking both of you over, with you landing on top of him. “Hi Baby,” he said with a chuckle, brushing hair out of your face. “What are you doing in LA?” you ask as you lift yourself off of him. Standing up, you hold a hand out to him, to help him up. “What? I can’t finish filming early and catch the first flight out to my best girl?” he questions, pulling you in for a kiss. You giggle and pull him into the living room to cuddle on the couch. As he enters the living room, he stops you and laughs. “Babes it looks like a homework bomb exploded in here,” he says as he surveys the books, papers, and your laptop that are flung about the room, along with the various mugs and cups from cider and iced coffee. “And, is that my movie?” “Yeahhhh” you trail off, chuckling awkwardly. “I was going to clean when I had a solid date that you were coming back. I mean, I’ve told you how important this paper is. And I was really missing you, but you wanted me to work on my paper, so I turned on the movie.” “Oh sweetheart, it wasn’t that I wanted you to work on your paper, I mean I do, but at that moment it was that I didn’t want you to realize I was in the car on my way here from the airport. And I’m not mad that you haven’t cleaned. Honestly it’s good to have a complete inventory of all of your cups sitting right here, so next time I get you one I don’t get one you already have,” he laughs. “You go take a shower, and I’ll clean up your cups and organize your papers,” he says, kissing you on the forehead, and pushing you in the direction of your bedroom.

After your shower you walk back into the living room, and it’s honestly like walking into another house. “Aus?” you whisper, as you see the dream that he has laid out for you. “You need to de-stress, so I popped you some popcorn, got out your gummy bears, and turned the tv to Tangled. I figure we can just spend the rest of the night on the couch cuddling.” “I… I… I can’t believe you did this for me. I love you so much,” you say, before grabbing his arm and pulling him down onto the couch with you. “I love you too, sweetheart. Tomorrow we’ll go get you a new phone, and you can work on your paper again. I’m done filming for a while. How did you break your phone anyway?” he asks, and wraps himself in you as you start telling him the story. The two of you stay there for the rest of the night, grateful to be together again.

#austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #austin butler #austin butler x gn!reader

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