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luvjunie · 11 months

Text

— broken promises

pairing: earth 42 miles x fem!reader

summary: while earth 42 miles comes off a lot tougher than 1610’s based off his cold demeanor and his trauma induced apathy, somewhere under that hard shell, he’s still the sweet boy he used to be and wants love just like anyone else. miles is aged up to 17 in this, simply for the plot! wc: 2,640

contains: spoilers!!! angst to fluff

word bank: “mi vida” - my life, “mi amor” - my love

playing now: Wasted Love Freestyle by Jhene Aiko

You and Miles have been dating for 7 months now, and lately he hasn’t been around as much as he’d like to, for obvious reasons. Well, not obvious to you. You still don’t know that Miles is the Prowler, and he’s intent on keeping it that way.

It’s the third time he’s flaked on plans he arranged himself this month, and he can tell you’re beyond tired of it with the way you just blew his phone up.

— Miles POV —

Miles’ phone buzzes in his pocket but he decides against checking it, marking it off as something unimportant. He’s already accepted a job from his Uncle and a distraction wouldn’t do him any good right now.

8:03 PM

Mi Vida: please don’t tell me you’re doing this again bro.

Mi Vida: this is a joke, right?

Mi Vida: hello?? you were supposed to be outside thirty minutes ago.

Mi Vida: Miles Gonzalo Morales I swear to GOD if I don’t hear your motorcycle revving outside in the next five minutes so help me.

*buzz buzz*

Ignored.

*buzz buzz*

He kissed his teeth, lashes fluttering in aggravation and air puffing through his nostrils at the continuous buzzing against his leg. His shoulder fell to the side a bit as he reached down into his pocket to grab his phone while he climbed up the stairwell, following his uncle. Seeing your contact name on his lock screen, his brow raised as he read over the message, then they bunched together in the middle of his forehead incredulously, the tone of your texts causing his strides to falter.

Miles was genuinely confused for a moment, trying to think back on if he’d done anything to upset you, until the memory of him assuring you he wouldn’t do this again slapped him across the face harder than his mom did that one time he’d cursed at her on accident. The two of you had a date planned for tonight, and he swore to you he’d be there this time, fifteen minutes early at that, even though he knew there was a big chance he wouldn’t be able to make it all. It was selfish of him to promise something he couldn’t guarantee, knowing how demanding the other factors in his life were, but he was so tired of disappointing you, and how happy you looked when he told you you guys would finally get to spend some time together really had him thinking he could make it work this time.

Eyes falling shut for a beat, a heavy sigh leaves his lips, tongue darting out to dampen them as he quickly tries to think of something to respond with that won’t piss you off more than you already are.

He texts you back: sorry Mami, something came up yk how it is. i got you tomorrow tho fasho

Yeah. Real smooth.

*buzz buzz*

Mi Vida: yk what, just forget it, Miles.

Damn, she called me by my first name? I definitely fucked up this time. He thinks to himself.

Mi Vida: whoever you’re with is clearly more important to you than what we got goin on, so it’s cool. stay where you at, i’m done

Shit.

His heart beats a little faster in his chest, the sensation a semblance of something he hadn’t felt in years. Fear. He texts back as fast he can, head snapping up to see he’s fallen behind his Uncle, and he hurriedly jumps a few stairs before he comes to a stop again.

Miles: done??? the fuck you mean you done?

You don’t respond fast enough for his liking, so he double texts.

Miles: baby stop playin. you trippin it ain’t even like that at all

Mi Vida: i’m deadass. don’t call my phone.

He utters a string of curses under his breath, alerting his Uncle who had already noticed he was falling behind when he heard the inconsistency of his nephew’s footsteps. He’s ample steps above Miles, turning his head only slightly over his shoulder to address the distracted teenager.

“C’mon man, get off the phone. We got business to tend to. You in or you out?” Aaron asks. “You know I can’t have nobody holdin’ me back.” There’s a hint of something deeper playing within his words, and Miles knows he doesn’t have a choice.

He swallows hard as he looks up at the older man. Taking one last look down at his phone, his jaw clenches in contemplation before he’s shaking his head with a quiet sigh and shoving it back into his pocket. He’ll have to deal with this later.

“My fault. Yeah, I’m in.” He mumbles, doing a quick jog to catch up to the man.

His uncle’s lips quirk into a smirk, a heavy hand coming down to clap Miles’ back and squeeze his shoulder.

“My man. Aight, let’s roll.”

— Your POV —

8:05 PM

You: i’m deadass. don’t call my phone.

You watch closely as the three dots bubble at the bottom left corner of your screen, an indicator that he was typing. But instead, a quiet scoff slips from your mouth when they disappear, your shoulders slumping in disappointment at the word that appears below your last message.

Seen

You angrily toss your phone onto your bed, bottom lip quivering when you catch a glance at yourself in the mirror when you walk by. You’d gotten dressed up all nice just for him, because you knew the chance of him being free for a night to take you out was rare. You’d started your makeup early just to make sure he wouldn’t have to wait outside for you while you finished, and you’d even styled your hair the way you knew he liked. All for nothing.

You kicked your shoes off and dropped your purse to the ground, heading to your bathroom to undo all your work. You washed all the makeup off your face, the act feeling more humiliating than ever when you remembered why you’d even put it on in the first place. To feel pretty for someone who barely even showed up.

You closed your eyes and tried to calm down, hastily reaching back over to check your phone just one more time. Maybe he was thinking of what to say, and that’s why he’d left you on seen.

Seen 25 minutes ago

Maybe not.

You hated crying. And more than anything you were tired of doing it, especially when broken promises were the cause of your wasted tears. Your evening was basically wasted, and you weren’t in the mood to do anything else anyway, so you decided that you’d call it a night and head to bed early. You slipped on some comfy sleep shorts, tying your hair up for the night before grudgingly tugging a large t-shirt over your head. Your brow perked up at the scent that wafted past your nostrils, and pinching the shirt with your forefinger and thumb, you brought the fabric to your nose and immediately caught a whiff of Miles’ cologne. You then realized you’d put on a shirt you stole from him a while back, and the way your heart fluttered made you even more upset than you already were. You brushed it off to the best of your ability and crawled into bed, trying your hardest to keep your sniffling to a minimum as you pulled your blankets over your shoulder.

____

As soon as he’d gotten the job done and his Uncle gave him the okay to dip, Miles’ feet were moving at the speed of light down the stairwell. And while he had sort of rushed the plays he made with some of the city’s goons, he just had to pray that all his Uncle’s money was in the banded wad of cash he returned with, or it would be his ass.

Skipping a few steps he hopped down onto the platform before the next set, checking his phone for the time simultaneously.

10:15 PM

“Damn.” He groaned, pushing through the doors, cool wind hitting his face. Once he reached his motorcycle he shoved his helmet over his head, hopped on, and sped off with a “skrrrt”.

He sped through the streets carelessly, something you definitely would’ve scolded him for had you been riding on the back of his bike with him, with your arms tight around his waist to hold on like you always did. He bobbed and weaved through cars, lane splitting between a few of them and he may have even ran a red, but he wasn’t paying enough attention to remember. All he could focus on was that you said you were “done”, whatever the hell that meant, and he was adamant on making sure you weren’t.

____

You didn’t know when you’d dozed off, three steady knocks, a fourth one after a pause hitting against your window, resulting in your eyes snapping open at the disruption. You sat up on your mattress, the ball of your hand rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you peered across the room. Once they adjusted in the darkness and you recognized the familiar, lanky body of your boyfriend standing outside on the fire escape, the events of just two hours ago played over in your mind like a record.

With a roll of your eyes, you huffed and swung your legs over the side of your bed, pushing yourself onto your feet. Miles watched as you sleepily trudged over to the window, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, head slightly lowered and tilted to the side, as if he were already apologizing before you’d even made it to him.

Hooking your fingers underneath the edge of your window, with a quiet grunt you pulled it up, effectively lifting the barrier between your bodies. You instantly felt your yearning for him come back full force, and wanted nothing more than to throw yourself into his arms, but you restrained. Your eyes met his, the cool night air breezing into your room, and his heart clenched. Somehow he was able to feel the coolness in your demeanor, yet the cold weather hadn’t bothered him at all.

He was the first to speak.

“Hola, Mami.” He sized you up once, taking notice of your eyes that were slightly puffy from crying.

His voice was like silk to your ears, alluring and confident, almost hypnotizing, and it aggravated you that you felt yourself gravitating towards him off two simple words.

“Why are you here, Miles?” You sighed, arms slapping at your sides in exasperation.

He looked slightly taken aback, chin lifting a bit as if you’d asked something completely outlandish.

“What you mean why I’m here? You my girl, shit, this my crib too.” He shrugged, so nonchalant, as if nothing had happened. You wondered if it had even been him texting you earlier.

“You left me on seen, remember? Stood me up, too?” Your head cocked to the side to match the attitude in your tone, brows raising at him. What excuse would he use this time?

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling heavily before he spoke up again.

“I was… busy. Look, my bad, okay? You gon’ let me in or what? Ian come all the way over here to stand outside.” He demanded with a gesture towards the opening, his hazel eyes glinting in the moonlight and thawing the ice that’d been temporarily encased around your heart. There was the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips, because he already knew the answer.

Your lips pursed and you stepped to the side, a laggard arm stretched out beside you, silently granting him access to your room.

He stepped through the window frame and you closed it after him, his hands folding around the collar then the hem of his jacket as he adjusted it and turned towards you.

“I can’t keep doing this with you, Miles. It isn’t fair.” You mumbled, hating the way your voice split your words.

His head dipped to the side a bit as he took in your solemn expression and the way your gaze was cast to the floor, as if you were trying to contain your tears. He wasn’t the best at this, he knew that, and showing affection effectively really wasn’t his strong suit. He usually made it up to you by bringing you a few hundreds he’d made from a deal, paired with some roses he’d picked up on the way to your house at the last second— but you both knew paper and flowers wouldn’t fix it this time.

“I’m sorry, I mean it.” He said, reaching for your hand to bring you close and grateful when your eyes finally lifted to lock onto his, although seeing them tear-filled wrapped him in a deep-seated emotion he didn’t even want to acknowledge.

Miles rarely said he was sorry. If ever. Did he apologize? Yes, but it was usually a ‘my bad’ or a ‘my fault’, or some other term that’d get the point across without him have to use too much emotion. Hearing the words ‘I’m sorry’ from him was an anomaly, it happened once in a blue moon, so this time you knew he really meant it. In your heart you knew he meant it, but that didn’t stop the tear you’d been trying to keep at bay from rolling down your cheek.

His thumb caught the tear almost instantly, swiping it from the soft of your skin. It didn’t belong there, and he hated to be the reason why you were crying in the first place.

“Where do you disappear to, Miles?” You sniffled.

He sighed, glancing back over at the window. He considered telling you the truth, but he knew he couldn’t.

“I’m just tryna keep you safe, ma.”

“You always say that!” You squeaked, making sure to keep your voice down, you had technically snuck him in. You ripped your hand from his grasp, turning your face away from him as another tear fell. “Do you not trust me or something? Is that it?”

“Of course I trust you,” His eyebrows knit together at your question and he stole your hand from your side again.

“So why can’t you tell me?” You pleaded, eyes big and glossy.

“I just-“ He paused. “I can’t let you get hurt. The shit I do…” You watched as he hesitated, like even speaking about the subject pained him. “It ain’t good.” He swallowed, a hand coming up to cup your cheek. “And I’ll be damned if I put you in the middle of my shit. I love you… okay?” He moved closer to you, and when you turned from him once again he brought your face right back to his, this time with both his hands. He wasn’t going to let you go, and while Miles was rough around the edges, and seemingly devoid of any emotion other than anger or resentment for the world—he always handled you with care.

“I love you, Y/n, I put that on everything. I’ll burn this whole world down for you, you hear me? Don’t think I won’t.” He stared into your eyes longingly, intent on making sure you didn’t just hear every word, but that you understood them, too.

You couldn’t help but lean into his hand, your own coming up to hold at his wrist as you inhaled shakily and gave him a bleak nod.

That wasn’t enough for him. He needed to hear you say it.

“Do you understand?” He articulated his words, bringing his head down slightly to match your height a bit more.

“I understand.” You said softly, looking up at him through your lashes before your gaze fell to his lips. He took that as his sign, leaning forward and bringing you into a kiss.

You melted into him immediately, like you always did, eyes fluttering closed as your lips moved against his, and as his hands fell to your hips to pull you in closer, like they always did.

You broke the kiss for air, your hand resting on his bicep and your lips ghosting his as you spoke, as you shared the same breath. “I love you too…” You breathed, standing on your toes.

“Good,” You felt him grin before he pulled away, his hand pinching your chin to make you look at him. “Cause you not leaving me, ever. I can’t let no one else have you, Mami, you know that.” He cooed.

You felt heat flush your cheeks, a smile you couldn’t hide finally spreading on your face.

“Yeah yeah, I know.” You answered, chewing at your bottom lip. “Can you stay?” You whispered, eyes shifting between his hopefully as you awaited his answer.

“Ah…” He rubbed at the back of his neck, piping up again before you could get disappointed. “What about your moms?”

“She sleeps in on the weekends, you just gotta be outta here by nine. Please, pa?” You whined, already reaching for his hands.

He chuckled to himself and shook his head slightly, having to look away from the adorable look on your face. He tried to remain in denial of the fact that he was so deep in love with you he could hardly think sometimes, let alone say no, but he was failing. Miserably.

“Of course I’ll stay, mi amor.”

Your expression lit up, a toothy smile brightening your features as he let you lead him to your bed.

He made sure to remove his shoes before he laid down, settling on his back. He extended his arm out to you as he tucked the other behind his head, motioning for you to join him with his fingers.

You crawled into his open embrace, getting comfortable on top of his chest and nuzzling your head under his chin. You began to feel drowsy the second he wrapped his arm around you, a yawn leading your eyes to water. His hand slowly moved from where it was resting on your back, dipping beneath the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his skin against yours comforting to you. His large hand rubbed up and down the expanse of your back, the tips of his fingers drawing lines along your spine— you always fell asleep easier when he did that. You listened to the steady beating of his heart, fingers idly toying with the gold chain he kept around his neck.

“I’m really sorry I ain’t make it tonight. I know you prolly got all pretty for me n’shit… and I wish I got to see it, but that’s on me.” He grumbled. He’d beat himself up over this for a while.

“S’okay.” You say it is, but he knows it’s not. He knows better. “I missed you.” Your quiet voice murmured from below him as you scooted in impossibly closer.

His jaw tensed as he stared up at your ceiling, a deep breath from his diaphragm raising you a little bit with his chest, and lowering you as he released it. “I know.” His response was hushed, and as sleep continued creeping in, you wondered if you’d imagined it.

But when you felt a long, drawn-out kiss press to the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades, you knew it was real. The last thing you heard before you dozed off was his voice, mellow and gentle as he assured you.

“Ima do better, mama. I promise, for real this time.”

- do not copy, plagiarize, or post my works onto a different platform.

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated!

#miles morales fanfiction #42 miles morales #miles g morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #miles morales prowler #prowler miles #prowler miles fanfic #earth 42 miles fluff

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ash5monster01 · 25 days

Text

Cold Spring Harbor

Chapter One - She’s Got A Way 🎶

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, instant attraction, invisible string theory, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death, coping mechanisms

Summary: Just when Steve figures he’s bound to be alone the rest of his life, somehow he finds you, and for some reason just being near you makes him feel much less alone in the world.

word count: 2k

→ Two

Masterlist

Spring 1985

She's got a way of showin', how I make her feel

Steve hated being sad. Yet for the last six months that was all he had felt. He should be over it by now. He wished he was over it, but everyday he went to school just to see Nancy with Johnathon and know everything that he lost. He had given up his friends for her, and when she gave him up for Johnathon, he had no one left. No happy family to come home to, and no friends to spend time with, especially no girlfriend to love. Maybe that was why it was so hard to get over her, because she was the only person he had left and she left him too.

So he woke up on the first day of spring break, no parents, no plans, no one at all. It didn’t matter that the first warm sun was shining through his window and the birds chirped happily outside. He figured he would always be alone and he was still just as miserable as before. The only person he did have was Dustin but how many times can you ask a middle schooler to hang out before it gets weird? Steve didn’t want to find out.

He wasn’t going to last all of spring break like this so he was going to do the only thing that made him feel better. The only thing that gave him enough motivation to get out of bed and get ready for the day. So it’s not long until he is walking out the front door and towards his car. Yet before he unlocked it he stopped, eyes glancing into the bright blue sky, and deciding against the drive. It was sunny and almost seventy, plus a walk would be good for him. So he stuffed the keys back in his pocket and started down the road.

Town was half empty once he got there, signs showing that the new mall being built was already taking away business. It was sad to see the town that once was so busy become a shell of nothing. Kind of like him he supposed. Yet the sight of the familiar blue door eased his mind as he pushed in the one place he hoped would be here forever.

“Hey man, long time no see” Ron, the owner smiles from behind the register. Steve matches the smile right back even though he doesn’t feel it. He wished he did.

“Hey Ron, how’s business been?” he asks, eyeing the various shelves throughout the room.

“I wish I could say busy, but ever since word got out that Sam Goody was being built in the mall, no one really cares about Ron’s Records anymore” he says and Steve nods, his throat tightening at the thought.

“I’m sorry about that man, you know I’ll be a customer for life” he tells him and Ron nods, smiling at the boys kindness.

“You and your Grandpa both” Ron says kindly and Steve has to look away before tears form in his eyes.

“I’m gonna check some records out” Steve tells him and Ron nods as he moves to the section he knows it will be at.

Finally reaching the B’s his fingers start skimming the records. It feels like he’s passed a hundred Barry Manilow records by the time he reaches exactly what he’s looking for. Smiling to himself he scans which ones are there, determined what would be the best to listen to. Something that for an entire forty minutes could make him feel much less lonely in this world.

“Billy Joel huh?” Steve looks up and nearly freezes. There you are, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and something about the world stops. He’s not one to be shy but it’s as if the words somehow can’t leave his mouth. There was just something about you. “Since when do boys your age listen to Billy Joel?”

“Hey, he’s still rock n’ roll to me” Steve defends, and it’s cheesy. He knows that, but it doesn’t stop you from laughing. You’re wearing the most perfect smile he’s ever seen and he wants to make you do it again.

“I’m not saying he isn’t, just most guys these days don’t know good music anymore” you say, pulling the record out of his hands and he almost gasps at the way your fingers feel against his.

“Well good music to me is just Billy, always has been” he says and you give him a small nod, smile still on your face. He briefly wonders what it could be about you that makes him suddenly so content.

“Cold Spring Harbor? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it” you say and Steve’s heart clenches.

“It’s his first album, he was only 22 when he wrote it. It’s one of my favorites” Steve tells you and the mischievous grin you give him makes his heart stutter in his chest.

“Well let’s listen to it” you tell him, hand grabbing his own, and leading him to the front of the building. In the front window there’s two chairs and small record player in between. They had been there for as long as Steve could remember, he had sat in them hundreds of times. He sits in his, the one chair he always sat in, and you sit, well in the other. His throat dries as he sees you sit across from him in the chair that had been empty for many years.

“What’s your favorite track?” you muse, hands delicately working to pull the record from its sleeve and place it on the player.

"The first one, She's Got A Way. It was my Grandpa's favorite, the first Billy song he ever played me" Steve says, looking off onto the rows and rows of records. Remembering a time when he was just short enough to be the same height as them. Rushing around and looking for the most colorful covers while his Grandpa went straight to the B's. Then he'd sit in the very chair he was now, ankles just barely hanging over the edge as his Grandpa played him song after song, in the very seat you were sitting in now.

"So that's where it comes from" you muse, the record spinning as you turn on the machine. Steve watches as you set the needle on the record, sratching till it finds its groove, and fills the silence between you both.

"Why is it his favorite?" you ask after a few moments, watching the boy as he let's the words sink in.

"He claimed it was the only song he ever heard that perfectly described how he felt about my Grandmother. How the right women could completley turn you around and heal you when you least expect it" Steve smiles fondly as he repeats those words he hadn't in a very long time.

"A charmer, I'm sure you are too" you say and the shocked look Steve wears has you laughing lightly. It takes Steve only a second to laugh along with you, realizing just how quickly you had revealed him. It's when your laughter calms he realizes the smile on your face has eased his heart more in the last six months than anything else.

"If you must know" Steve says and you giggle again which has Steve wanting to spend more and more time with you.

"Where is this Grandpa of yours, I have a few questions for him?" you ask and Steve freezes, not expecting the words to leave your mouth. It takes him a moment to respond and you sense the discomfort and place your hand on his own. Steve nearly jumps at the electric touch that comes from it.

"He passed away when I was fifteen, right before high school" he tells you, throat tightening around the admittance.

"I'm so sorry, that's awful" you try to comfort but Steve just smiles.

"You would have loved him though. Everyone did. He was my best friend, the only family I really had that spent time with me. Since my Grandma passed when I was ten, me and him made sure to spend all of middle school together" Steve isn't entirely sure why he is telling you this, he just knows your the first person he has been this comfortable around since his Grandpa and he didn't even know your name yet. He didn’t know what it was about you but he figured there didn't need to be a reason.

"That's so sweet, he sounds so special" you tell him and Steve nods, recalling memories he hadn't allowed himself to think about for years.

"He was, just wish he was still around. He was the only person to ever be there for me, front row at every swim meet and basketball game. Was hard going through highschool knowing he was no longer in the stands, but Billy. Well that's all me and him ever talked about. So sometimes, on days like today when I miss him a little extra, I find him in the lyrics of a song" and your heart soars for the boy in front of you. A boy with a deep sadness buried within him. A boy the world hadn't given a chance yet.

"Is he there right now?" you can't help but ask, the last few lines of the song coming through the speakers on the machine. Steve listens, can practically see his Grandpa yelling at him for not making a move. ‘At least ask her name’ he groans and Steve chuckles lightly to himself.

"Yeah he's here. He always is" Steve says and you give him a smile that somehow heals him. "I'm Steve by the way"

"Nice to meet you Steve" you tell him before offering your own name and Steve finds it rattling through his head, the most beautiful name in all of existence, and somehow it belongs to you. The very girl who showed up while he was feeling down and has inspired him without a sound. The beginning notes of You Can Make Me Free fill the silence between you both and Steve sits up, realizing your hand is still atop his own.

"Sorry for spilling my guts" Steve says and you shake your head, wanting him to know that he had done nothing wrong this entire time.

"Don't be, it actually happens a lot. I seem to make people very comfortable. Guess I just got a way about me" and Steve agrees because somehow in just this short exchange you have inspired him to keep on going, reminded him that this is not the end and it won't be all bad. It is like you have some bright light around you and it gives him the strength to keep going.

"Would you maybe want to go get something to eat?" Steve finds the confidence to ask and you beam a smile brightly back at him.

"I'd love to Steve" you tell him, using his name like it now somehow belongs to you and Steve wishes it does. A million dreams of love surrounding you and for the first time since Nancy he finds himself feeling something for a girl he never thought he'd feel again. He just knows he no longer wants to live without you.

"Have fun you two" Ron calls out as you both exit, the record still playing as you both leave it behind. You talk the whole way to the small diner in town, Steve just smiles and listens, loving how everything sounds the way it comes out your mouth. It's as if every word lifts him up as you are walking.

For the rest of the day Steve does his part getting to know you. Making you laugh and flirting where necessary which never fails to make you blush. The sight of your red cheeks alone make his heart soar for you. It's cute the way you show it, exactly how you feel about him. In return you do find yourself charmed by the very boy you couldn’t resist talking to. You wondered where a sweet boy like him had been your whole life and for the first time you aren't as embarassed by the blush on your cheeks as you normally would be.

"I really like you Rosy" he says matter of fact, the nickname falling easily from his lips. You blush at his words again, shaking your head at the boy you figure you aren't getting rid of anytime soon.

"I like you too Steve"

Taglist: @slvtforstve @keerygal @goosy-goose @livsters @blckburd @loveshotzz @ohwauwdoritos @superblysubpar @southereads @amataadriana @violet2022 @mxrcjqckspnchqsc @madaboutjoe @thunderstomp-and-tequila @justdamnpeachy @micheledawn1975 @fangfatale @kingstevesgf @notlilyyyy @eddiesguitarskills @palmtreesx3

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

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mandalhoerian · 1 year

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Shai! Shai! I've thought of another scenario for Leon😊 Altho being a new fan I've come to the conclusion that Leon is the type to believe he's not good enough for his partner, he believes they could do better then him. So imagine a Leon who has finally accepted he has feelings for you and works up the courage to confess only for you to turn the tables on him and say you dont feel good enough for him. I imagine he would be in disbelief? How would he react to his crush telling him "You're too good for me Leon."?

too good for me | leon kennedy x reader

pairing: leon kennedy x reader (unspecified gender) genre: fluff, miscommunication, the "endeared badass x normal person scared shitless of the endeared badass" trope. no spice, unfortunately. only good vibes and leon being head over heels smitten. enjoy! word count: 2.7K? It's short! notes: hi sarah! i am SO SORRY this has taken forever. you requested this one month ago! its been so hectic lately, i've been having health problems that required regular hospital visits and tests upon tests, but now that my surgery (yeah i know... yikes) is authorized i'm only waiting for them to call me for the date and have all the time in the world to get my rest and write. i'm also working on your other (wink wink) request! thank you so much for being patient with me. hope this is what you had in mind! i also added my touch and ideas to it lmao. happy reading!!

🌀 read on ao3!

“You’re too good for me,” is the hesitant, small answer you give him while avoiding eye contact and playing with your fingers in front of your office’s shared coffee maker Leon had made countless paperwork excuses to be able to simply stop by — to his question, that is, about why you wouldn’t go on a simple date with him.

You puff out an awkward laugh to smooth things over as humorous but it’s forced and not at all sincere.

It’s taken Leon a whole inner journey (Spain. Mostly the simultaneous trauma and catharsis of Spain) to get over himself to recognize what his heart truly wanted but was too pussy to look at before, yet here you two are. The lone angel in his life telling the failure Leon is that he’s too good? For you?

He simply stares, dumbly standing there, piping hot coffee that’s actually incompatible with his taste buds he insists he must do a detour to get from here simply because you often do, stiff and awkward in his hold, thinking he heard you wrong because he hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest — rest, not sleep — in forever since he came back from Spain.

He’s been forcing himself to come to work just for a glimpse of you and your pretty face to recharge his battery, heal his soul a bit, let you be all that occupies his mind despite being laid off after that outrageous mission that resulted in the president’s unwanted favor and nightmares upon nightmares with only anxious yet soothing thoughts of you as the best bad out of the worst he’s had to face— and what is it that you said again?

“You’re joking right?” Leon says, pride not knowing if it should be broken or not because he’s not sure to take this as a rejection, and it isn’t his intention for it to sound that harsh. He’s not some asshole who can’t take no for an answer, it’s your reasoning that has him downright jamming like a gun.

Leon has to remind himself to switch off work mode because now you look mousey as if he has a paw on your tail, shoulders pulled into yourself. “Sorry!” He feels so bad, heart expanding within his ribcage and it aches, fuck, he just wanted to ask you out and all he’s doing is scaring you. “I’m sorry, you were kidding. I didn’t get it— I’m kinda slow and you sound flat sometimes, of course you weren’t serious, I’m—”

“No, I was serious.” His eyebrows furrow at yet another self-degradation from you. “It’s you who has to be kidding. What do you mean too good for you?”

You are at a loss of words, mouth opening but nothing coming out, and finally look him in the eye and all Leon wants to do is lean down and capture your mouth, he’s heavily distracted by you licking your lips and swallowing, the sighting of the tip of your pink tongue makes his shirt suddenly suffocating and tight.

“I mean,” you begin tentatively, unaware of what’s going on in his head, vaguely gesturing to Leon. “Well… You’re you, I mean… And I’m. Me. Look at you and look at me. Why would you even…?”

“Hey,” Leon sets his mug on the counter, closing his eyes and pinching the insides with his thumb and pointer. The implications alone sent a zapping headache through his skull that he knows he has to rest to be able to unpack, especially when he’s finally decided on seriously pursuing you in spite of himself. Leon can’t let this remain unaddressed, for your sake and his sanity. “How about I wait for you after work today and we talk about this somewhere else?” He’s squinting. “In detail.”

“We don’t really need to—”

“We do.” Leon wants you to see he’s serious about this — about you. “Because I see something here that I want to pursue and we can’t have any misunderstandings. Would appreciate it if you at least give me the chance to clear the air.”

“P-pursue?” You swallow and Leon’s mind wanders again. “Clear the air you say…”

He breathes in. “Can you give me your phone?”

You slap it into his palm almost immediately, the speed with which you obey him without asking him any questions surprises him. He wants to scold if you’re willing to hand over your mobile to any guy who asks, but supposes it’s not his place — is frustrated this is what it takes to get him annoyed, as well. He isn’t some young adult. Weirdly, you make him feel like one.

He’s punching his own number in, despite the conflicting feelings, finally feeling like this is getting somewhere and he’s doing it when you start talking again, nervous. “You can uh, clear the air… right here… without taking me to a secondary location…”

His eyes flick up to yours in confusion and you look to the right immediately, and back to him. To the right. Back to him. It’s somehow comedic, because why do you look like you’re cornered by some bad guy?

You really look like you want to be anywhere else than here, Leon’s fucking this up and he doesn’t even know what he’s doing wrong. Was he going too fast? Should he have told you his number and let you save it instead?

You’re mumbling, nervousness clear as day for reasons he can’t fathom, he hears you, but he doesn’t really understand.

“What? What's wrong?" Leon asks, his voice laced with genuine concern. He takes a step closer, wanting to bridge the gap between you and alleviate whatever discomfort you were experiencing. "You seem... uneasy. Did I do something wrong?"

Your eyes meet his briefly, then quickly shift away again, as if you are struggling to find the right words.

Leon's heart sinks. His intention wasn’t to make you feel nervous or pressured, especially when he is genuinely trying to connect with you — then, in a brilliant moment of heart-stopping realization, the fact that you might just not be interested slaps him in the face and he’s…

Well. Wouldn’t that be the reality?

Leon is… He isn’t exactly the ideal man. Not with what he does, and how his life is. He’s aware of that. Have been running from forming connections because of what he knows will end up happening because of that. He can’t get attached and keep losing people — can’t keep getting hurt in the vicious cycle to prevent everyone from getting hurt. It’s been the bane of his existence ever since STRATCOM plucked him off straight from Raccoon City. Even if you work in the same field as him, just different offices, who is to say it will work out anyway?

He’s getting ahead of himself. You might not like him at all in the first place. Jesus.

Maybe you see him for what he is. Maybe you think he’s not —- the effort’s not worth it, and you wouldn’t exactly be wrong in thinking so. You could be wanting something else in life that he only has the desire to give you, and not the promise. He wouldn’t blame you, hell, who would blame someone for being their own person with their thoughts, wishes, wants and goals in life?

You’re too good for me, really, is his line. It has been right from the beginning, his excuse in running away from his undeniable, frightening attraction to you.

"No, it's not you," you finally managed to articulate, prompting Leon to release the breath he was holding, your voice shaky, playing with your fingers. "I just... I feel a bit overwhelmed. This is all happening so fast, and I never expected..."

Leon nods, his expression softening as he realizes the weight of the situation. He hasn’t fully considered how his sudden confession and determination to pursue you might have caught you off guard. He has been so focused on his own feelings that he hasn’t taken into account your own thoughts and emotions.

"I understand," he replies, voice gentle and reassuring. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I just... I couldn't keep my feelings to myself anymore. But please know that I don't expect an immediate answer or any commitment from you. I just… Well. I just wanted to tell you. See where this goes. Or, maybe, if that’s not the case… Get rejected for good so I can move on, you know?"

You laugh a little and it’s genuine — you have no idea how it turns Leon’s heart into putty right where it hangs between two lungs. “Do you really mean all of that?”

“Of course,” he says, offended the tiniest bit. “Why do you think I would joke about something like this?”

“It’s not about you joking, really…” You’re uncomfortable again, hesitating to tell him something.

“Hey, you can tell me.”

“Can you promise you won’t get mad?”

“What am I, your father?” He snorts. “Come on, tell me.”

You brace yourself for it and he doesn’t understand why until you say it. “You, um… You’re kinda scary.”

He blinks. “Sorry?”

“Sorry!” You raise your hands up in panic. “I don’t really mean it like that, not to insult you or anything, it’s actually admirable, I’m just saying! Discipline, work ethic, unmatched field performance! You’re very… Very, uh… Intimidating, yeah, that’s the word…? I mean, like… You, uh, you’re famous, you know, we all know your work, you’re very hard working, working hard, very hard work — uh, um… So it’s…”

“I scare you?” Leon swears he felt his eyes get bigger the faster you kept on vomiting words. “You think I would hurt you?”

“No!” You reject strongly, waving a nervous hand at him. Silence befalls later, which you follow awkwardly with a silent, guilty. “Maybe,” after clearing your throat.

He had always strived to be a protector, but he hadn't realized that his image and reputation — what it had become after Spain — could have such an effect on someone he cares about.

"I never meant to scare you," he says softly, his voice filled with genuine remorse, he puts the coffee mug on the counter and leans his hip on it, shoulders sagging a bit as he crosses his arms. The thought of you only feeling intimidation about him leaves a bitter taste worse than the coffee does. "I guess... I've always been so focused on work, on the dangers just around the corner — I’m aware how it might affect my relationships in the long run so I never attempted to form any at all, but I never realized how it might affect how people see me in the first place. I never wanted to make you, of all people, feel this way. I could never hurt you. Never."

“I didn’t want to imply you’re a guy who’d intentionally hurt someone—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he sighs, ruffling his hair to get rid of the awkwardness. “So I’ve just been bugging you this whole time, huh? Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

“No! No, don’t say that, you’re amazing! You’re like a hero around here…”

“Around here doesn’t mean shit,” he replies curtly, and regrets cursing like that in front of you immediately. It’s unbecoming of him — and doesn’t help his image in your eyes at all. He’s getting frustrated. His tone lowers into a softer, more disappointed, heartfelt one. “I only care about how you think of me.”

“Well, you’re amazing,” you say again, bashfully this time, and it prompts him to look at you. There’s something shy about you now that has him standing taller in anticipation, wondering if it’s him reading this wrong or not. “It’s pretty well-known if you didn’t know.”

“I don’t know,” he prods, idiot heart fluttering at the way you’re flustered. “What do you think? Besides intimidating, I mean. Not reporting on the local gossip this time, if you don’t mind.”

“You seem like a nice guy,” you settle. The middle ground. “I’ve seen you with the president’s daughter.”

Leon's expression softens at your words, a mixture of relief and gratitude washing over him. He takes a deep breath, trying to let go of the tension that had built up within him. The mention brings a slight smile to his face, memories of Ashley flooding his mind, a fondness evident in his eyes. "Ah, Ashley. Yeah, that was quite the adventure. Though what can you be other than a nice guy when your mission is the president’s daughter?"

“I know a couple people who’d treat her like a package to be delivered. You prioritized her wellbeing more than anything.”

“What else was I supposed to prioritize?”

“You know what I mean. Emotional wellbeing. I’ve read your initial report and her statement. You cared about her.” A smile tugs at your lips, he can tell you’re a bit more comfortable now. "Especially during what you’ve been through. It's impressive how you handle yourself in those situations."

He shrugs modestly, a hint of pride shining in his eyes. You respect him. "I guess you could say it comes with the job. But it's not all action and danger, you know. There's more to me than just being a government agent."

Your curiosity piques, and you tilt your head, prompting him to continue. "Tell me more. What's Leon Kennedy like outside of work and missions?"

It catches him off guard that you want to know more and take the first step. You could have just rejected him. His heart picks up, chest expanding in excitement, he’s glad for the opportunity to share a glimpse of his life beyond the chaos of his work — he’s normally not eager to share pieces of his life like this, but… He’d give it to you on a silver platter, whether it'd lure you in or not. That’s how Leon knows he wants this with you so bad. “I wanna lie to woo you but… Would it be too unattractive to tell I really don’t have a life outside of work? I’m still trying to find some balance in my life. The upper echelon guys are pretty ruthless and demanding. I guess it means I can say I’m into traveling?”

“Is this the cool guy way of saying you’re an introvert these days?”

The unexpectedness of it is what gets him to throw his head back to laugh, and he catches you staring, scrambling to rub his face to get rid of it and regain some composure. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Pretty much.”

“Well,” you gesture at him, there’s a vague pink hue dusting your cheeks. “What are you into, then?”

God, he can’t stop, “Other than you?” from escaping his dumb mouth. He shouldn’t have said it. It’s too corny. So uncalled for. Your mouth hangs open and he wishes he could rewind the tape to take it back and choose some other option. “Say… What about we continue this discussion after work? I know a good coffee place. Let me make it up to you for invading your lunch time. I’ll tell you all about me, what do you say?”

You look at the clock on the wall, he knows you didn’t get to have anything because he decided to turn up and serenade you with unwanted attention, it’s two birds with one stone for him if you decide to accept — he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t see a perfect moment to seize the chance.

“Coffee sounds perfect,” you nod, with no pressure from him, and it lifts a great weight off his shoulders. “Would it be okay if I eat something too?”

Why are you so adorable? You don’t know that you own the power to get Leon to have your superiors let you go for the day, but he can’t get too excited right now. “Say the word and it becomes a dinner date.”

It gets you flustered again, you don’t know where to put your hands, and he’s so happy about it. “It’s a weekday… That’d be a bit exhausting…”

“Okay. Coffee date it is.”

He’s noticing you like the cheeky confidence, and it makes sense, considering the intensity had you intimidated. “Thank you,” you say. “I’d like that.”

“Believe me,” Leon can’t stop the grin from overtaking his expression. “My pleasure. You’re honestly too good for me.”

There’s the sudden urge to kiss you when vulnerability and shyness lights up your whole face, but he’ll take it slow. He has to take it slow. For himself.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fluff

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

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𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — h-hello firefighter!bakugou and heart surgeon!reader

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — fluff, sfw. mentions of hospitals, surgeons, fires, firefighting, mutual pining, crushes, he has a huge crush on you ok!! and yes i’m sorry, this is grey’s anatomy inspired ajaja

“so— open wide— what brings you in this time, blondie?”

bakugou looks at you, petulant like a child and pissed all at once— begrudgingly letting you pry open his plump rosey lips with what looks like a popsicle stick. he sticks out his tongue for good measure, letting you inspect the back of his throat for black specks of ash while he eyes you up. not that you mind.

“purse pooch,” he grunts once you let him free to notes on your clipboard to document the state of his health. he watches your hands, stable and good enough to hold hearts and feel them beat. you’ve got a grip on his own heart and you hardly know the extent of it. “some chick left her stupid dog in her apartment while the building burnt down.” your fingers are soft as they brush over his chest and then his back before you reach for your stethoscope. “i told you, ‘m fine.”

rolling your eyes, you press the cool metal tool to bakugou’s back— his shoulders rippling at the cool temperature and his tight protective shirt does nothing to hide the dips of each muscle beneath it. “who’s the chief of cardio at this hospital, blondie?” you tease him, feeling around for the dull thump of his heart. the one that you’re so used to. the one that you love to hear. you’ve been treating katsuki since you were an intern and he’d just started out as a firefighter— now you’re here, years later, an attending in cardio at a top trauma-focused hospital in Japan and katsuki, the captain of his regiment.

bakugou rebuttals with pettish silence and you can’t help but smile to yourself. “exactly. i am.” there’s something about the way his heart sounds… beating faster and faster until it seems like it’s going to burst. it makes your face drop because as a doctor, it sounds like his heart is sick and not like he’s panicked over how close you are. “and i don’t go telling you how to do your job mister ‘i run into fires and save stupid dogs’, although i should. i see you in this ER more than i see my own apartment. dogs aren’t stupid by the way.”

“they are, ‘nd i told you, i’m fine.” amused, the blonde swats you away and clears his throat nervously when you meet his eye, moving to face him with the stethoscope hovering over his chest this time. stupidly and perfectly sculpted, it makes you hot under the skin.

“are not,” you respond to both of his statements like a child goading another one into getting in trouble. you even stick your tongue too. “and the girl was obviously worried sick about her pet. they can mean a lot people. just as much as a person can. when you love something, someone, their lives are important.”

just as you finish your wistful speech, katsuki’s pulse speeds on the monitor and your resident who had taken over charting perks up at the incessant beeping. “uh, doc? should we be concerned about that?”

you shouldn’t be. medically, it’s nothing — the firefighter is just flustered by you and your existence. how you speak so tenderly about someone’s love for something. to everyone else in this hospital including you, katsuki’s heart rate could be an indicator of something dangerous or life-ending instead of the obvious crush he has on you.

bakugou’s cheeks warm as he tries to bat your resident off of him— he can just tell that they want something to be wrong with him so the case can turn surgical. “get off’a me, twerp!” he spits, sourly. “i’m fine!”

“i’m the doctor, i decide when you’re fine. you decide when and how the fire goes out.” you’re scolding him, bantering with the man and it drives him up the wall— gives him another reason to fall for you.

relenting, and no longer fighting treatment— bakugou keeps talking to you, hungry for more than just your medical attention. “okay, the dog wasn’t stupid. it was…just dumb of the chick to leave him. he meant a lot to her son ‘nd that typa carelessness pisses me off. went back in to keep the kid from losin’ his animal…am i off the hook now?”

“so you do have a heart, i knew you went back in there for a reason.” you smile softly despite your worry for his health, repeatedly checking his pulse on the monitor until you can get it down. “he’s got elevated breath sounds on the right and a racing pulse. no soot in his lungs but i’d like to get him up to CT just to double check.” you tell your resident and step back to put the arms of his bed up.

“how many times do i gotta tell you, doc? i’m fine!”

bakugou grows grumpier. maybe because after all these years of him coming in for check-ups…you haven’t realised how much he likes you.

how much me might even love you.

“i know that, but i want to make sure, and i figured you’d want to stay with me for a few extra hours while i check up on you.” honey runs through his ears as you speak, leaning over bakugou to lower his bed and wheel him around with your resident.

bakugou blushes profusely, forgets how to breathe and how to speak. “s-shut up,” he stutters.

because you still don’t know how much of his heart you hold in your practiced hands.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou imagines #bakugou drabble #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bnha imagines #mha fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted

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pupcuck · 5 months

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ROTTEN LUCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)

two

Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.

Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.

The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?

He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.

‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.

Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.

His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.

You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—

A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.

He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?

Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.

Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.

Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.

While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.

You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.

Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.

One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.

Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.

Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.

You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.

“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.

The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.

Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.

“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.

The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.

He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.

He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.

Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.

You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.

It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.

The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.

“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”

He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.

Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—

Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”

You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.

CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.

We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—

“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.

The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“

“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”

You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.

“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.

“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.

“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.

“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”

There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.

“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.

You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.

That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.

He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.

You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.

“Leon?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy x you #resident evil x reader

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 4 months

Note

Heyyy

Do you do request? I hope you do requests.

I had this idea, and I really like your writing.

So imagine. Enemies to Lovers. Reader is an og avenger. And reader and bucky hate each other. (for some reason, idk). But she can't help but worry about him sometimes due to his trauma and the winter soldier program and stuff. But she still hates him

So, once, when bucky has this nightmare, he is shouting and grunting in his sleep. He is still laying on his bed and his eyes are closed. His eyebrows are furrowed. So the reader, she hears him and slowly makes her way towards his bedroom and starts comforting him by rubbing his head, massaging his head, whispering calming and soothing words in his ear, so that he falls back asleep into a peaceful slumber. However bucky doesn't know who it was (Since he was still kinda half asleep or something.) The reader after her work is done calmly and quietly goes back to her own bedroom. Next day bucky approaches her and ask if it was her to helped him last night or something I don't know if it makes sense but I hope you understand what I am trying to say

Thank you love ya bye

(Please don't make it smut)

Care and Worry » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Even though Bucky and Y/N don’t get along, she can’t help but care and worry about him.

Warnings: tiny bit of Angst, Fluff, language, Enemies to Lovers, nightmares, kissing, pet names (doll)

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this. I hope this is what you imagined.

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found this one on Pinterest.

For as long as you and Bucky have known each other, you two don’t get along. You two hate each other. You know hate is a strong word, but that’s how you two feel about each other. Well, a little more Bucky than you. Deep down, you can’t help but care and worry about him after everything he has been through.

You were walking back to your bedroom from the kitchen when you heard noises coming from Bucky’s bedroom who happens to be next door to yours. You walked over to his room, pressing your ear against the door. You heard him talking and making groaning noises. You wrapped your hand around the door knob and slowly turned it, only to find out that it’s unlocked. You opened the door wide enough to slowly go inside of his room. You quietly closed the door behind you. You looked at Bucky to see him tossing and turning in his bed with his eyebrows furrowed, covered in a thin layer of sweat, and breathing heavily. It hurt you to see him like this. You carefully laid down on his bed next to him and began to cautiously run your fingers through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp.

“It’s ok.” You whispered in his ear. “Everything is fine. Try to relax.” You say sweetly.

You watched as his body slowly relaxed, his eyebrows weren’t furrowed anymore, and his breathing went back to normal.

“There you go. You’re ok.” You whispered, kissing the side of his head.

You stayed there for a couple more minutes, massaging his head and running your fingers through his hair just to be sure. You carefully and quietly stood up and left his bedroom to go to your room. You knew that you were going to sleep better, knowing that you helped Bucky through a nightmare. The following morning, Bucky woke up without feeling tired for once. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he was glad that he was able to get some sleep.

“Morning, Buck. How’d you sleep?” Steve asks as Bucky walks in the lounge.

“Surprisingly good.” Bucky answers. “Which is kinda weird.” He says.

“Why’s it weird?” Steve asks.

“Well, I was in the middle of one of my nightmares when it randomly ended. It’s like someone pulled me out of it.” He says.

You looked up at him, feeling your cheeks heat up. You stood up, walking towards the door.

“I’m going to get some coffee.” You say, trying not to make it obvious.

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows as he watched you leave the room.

“What’s her problem?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know.” Steve shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe she just wants coffee.” He says.

“No that’s not it. I always see her with coffee every morning. She’s acting different and I’m going to find out what it is.” He says.

Bucky walked out of the room and went to the kitchen to see you making coffee.

“Morning, Bucky. Do you want some coffee?” You asked, not making eye contact with him.

“No. I want to know why you’re acting weird.” He says.

“I’m not acting weird, Barnes.” You say.

“Yes you are. You’ve been acting weird since I said I slept good last night.” That’s when it occurred to him. “Wait a minute…” He mumbles.

Bucky thought back to last night. The sweetness of your voice soothing him to sleep, pulling him from his nightmare.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest with me, ok?” Bucky says, approaching you.

You nodded, taking a couple steps back.

“Did you comfort me through my nightmare last night?” He asks.

“Define comfort.” You say.

“I hear a woman’s voice whispering sweet things in my ear while her fingers were playing with my hair.” He says.

“It could’ve been Natasha or Wanda.” You say.

“No. It didn’t sound like their voices.” He says.

“I don’t know who it could’ve been.” You say.

Bucky studied your body language. He took a step closer to you as you took another step backward.

“What’s up with you, Y/N? You’re never this talkative with me. The only time you have something to say to me is when you’re insulting me.” Bucky says.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, Bucky! I don’t know what you want me to say!” You say, raising your voice.

You tried to walk past him, but Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him.

“You didn’t answer me.” He says.

“You never asked me a question.” You say, yanking your arm out of his grasp.

“The question I’m trying to ask you is, were you the one who helped me through my nightmare last night?” He asks.

“So what if it was me?” You asked.

“Why would you help me? I thought you hated me.” He says.

You looked down at the floor and shrugged your shoulders.

“Y/N…” Bucky says.

You looked up at him, looking into his beautiful blue eyes that makes every woman fall in love with him.

“Be honest with me.” He says.

“Ok, fine. It was me.” You say.

“Why though?” He asks.

“I uhh… care and worry about you after all you’ve been through.” You say honestly.

Bucky blinked a couple times. He wasn’t sure what to think. Besides Steve, he hasn’t had anyone care or worry about him in years.

“You care and worry about me?” Bucky asks, making sure he heard you right.

“Yes.” You answered, feeling your cheeks heat up. “We can pretend that it never happened.” You say.

You tried to walk away again, but Bucky grabbed your hand and pulled you close to him. What he did next surprised you. His lips were on yours, kissing you passionately.

“Thank you.” He says.

“Oh umm— you’re welcome.” You say.

“I haven’t had anyone care or worry about me in years and if I’m being honest, I like it, especially if it’s coming from you.” He says.

“Did Bucky just admit his feelings to me?” You thought to yourself. You weren’t sure what to say or think.

“What are you trying to say, Bucky?” You asked.

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you.” Bucky says.

“Y-You’re in love with me?” You asked.

“Yes.” He answers. “It’s ok if you don’t feel the same—” You silenced him with a kiss.

Bucky was caught by surprise, but kissed you back.

“If you shut up for a fucking second, you’ll know that I’m in love with you too.” You say with a smile.

“Go out with me.” He says softly, cupping your cheek.

“Only if you buy me coffee.” You say with a giggle.

“I’ll buy you anything you want, doll.” Bucky says with a smile.

You grinned and kissed him again.

“Sounds like a date.” You say, looking into his eyes.

“I love you, doll.” He says softly.

“I love you too, Bucky.” You say in almost a whisper.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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scoonsalicious · 24 days

Text

Unwanted: Chapter 15, Undermined - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, allusions to sexual situations, damning texts

Word Count: 2.5k

Previously On...: Bucky attempted to explain himself in an effort to regain your trust. You offered him an ultimatum: He cut off all contact with Jade Carthage and let you go through his messages with her on his phone.

A/N: Bucky decides to lay it all out on the line, showing Pocket all his texts with Jade.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43 @wolfgirl21

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

There were hundreds of texts. Possibly thousands. You honestly had no idea he had been communicating with her this way so consistently. The first thing you did was check his deleted texts, but the folder was empty– though you doubted Bucky even knew how to delete texts, you couldn’t be positive he hadn’t picked it up somewhere. You made a mental note to yourself to hack into his phone’s data from your laptop later and check his phone records, and then hated yourself for having to resort to something so controlling. God, who was he turning you into?

The texts started innocently enough– questions about training schedules, protocols, general life in the Tower. All perfectly reasonable inquiries one would make to their new superior officer. But then came the requests– fixing her lights in her room, would he eat breakfast with her because she was so lonely? They began texting each other good morning and good night… every day.

She started calling him “sexy” and “handsome” as a way of greeting him. He never encouraged it, or reciprocated, but he never shut it down or told her it was inappropriate, either.

Then, there was the evening after the Central Park fiasco.

Vix: It was really mean of you to make me walk all the way back to the Tower by myself, you know.

>> I know. I’m sorry. I just needed to talk to Pocket alone.

Vix: I could have been assaulted or kidnapped!

>> lol You’re a super soldier. You could wipe the floor with anyone who tried.

Vix: Aww, thanks Jamie <3

Vix: Did your girlfriend get over her temper tantrum?

>> She had a right to be upset. It was shit of me to forget about her like that.

Vix: What is she? A golden retriever?

>> lol

Vix: She was alone for, like, five minutes. She’ll survive.

Vix: If you ask me, she was just looking for an excuse to be mad at you.

Vix: She obviously doesn’t trust you, which is so hypocritical.

>> What do you mean?

Vix: Come on, Jamie. You don’t really buy her whole bullshit story about her ‘friendship’ with Stark, do you?

Vix: I don’t care how rich he is. *No one* shells out that kind of money for someone’s education without expecting something in return. She obviously fucked him.

>> She told me it wasn’t like that.

Vix: Don’t tell me you believe her! I know you’re not stupid.

>> Yeah, well of course I wondered.

“What the fuck, Bucky?” you asked, your voice rising as you stood up to face him. “Uh, which part?” he asked sheepishly.

“There’s more than one part that would have me asking ‘what the fuck’?” you asked, disgusted. Bucky just kind of shrugged his shoulders. “You seriously think I slept with Tony?!” “Oh, that!” Bucky looked relieved, and that concerned you, because if he was relieved that that was what you were upset about, what the hell else was in those texts? “I wondered about it when you first told me he paid for your school,” he said. “Back before we were really friends. But you said that you didn’t, and I believe you. I’ve always believed you.”

“Well, your text to Carthage sure makes it sound like you don’t believe me,�� you argued. “Like you’re still wondering.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he said softly.

“Yeah, well, and I say this with all the lack of respect it deserves,” you snapped, “your intentions are shit.”

Bucky looked down at the floor, no longer meeting your gaze. “Fuck,” you said, “I don’t even know if I want to read the rest of these,” you told him. “If that was something ‘well intentioned’ but there’s still things you expect me to get upset about.”

“No,” said Bucky, looking back at you now, “please– I want you to read them. I don’t want to have any more secrets from you.”

You sighed and sat back down. “I’m not even going to touch on you laughing about her calling me a literal dog,” you said as you picked up the phone and started reading again.

There were several selfies from Jade to Bucky of her in various skimpy outfits, asking for his opinion. Completely inappropriate, in your opinion, but Bucky would just respond with the thumbs up emoji, or occasionally “nice,” or “pretty.”

What really got to you, though, were the late night texts. You noticed some of the timestamps on Bucky’s end were from hours after you would have fallen asleep. The idea of him texting her in the middle of the night, in the dark, while lying next to your sleeping body repulsed you, and you had to suppress a shudder.

What was worse was the context of them– it wasn’t anything salacious or sexual, no– it was his vulnerability. His personal thoughts and feelings, memories of his past and descriptions of his nightmares that he refused to share with you, telling you they were too dark, or that he couldn’t remember them. Even now, you skimmed over what he had written without really reading them, knowing that he hadn’t wanted you to be privy to those parts of him. It broke your heart to see him being so open with her, so lacking in defenses, when you had literally been right there, yet he’d kept you at arm’s length, all without you knowing it.

Vix: What did you tell her about the sparring match?

>> The truth. It was just an intense practice session.

Vix: So you didn’t mention your hard-on, then? >> That was just a physical reaction. The adrenaline from the fight. It had nothing to do with you.

Vix: lol Keep telling yourself that, Jamie.

>> Vix. Vix: Relax, I’m just teasing xoxo

>> Yeah, I know.

Your hands were shaking. “I fucking knew it,” you seethed.

“Knew what?” Bucky looked like a deer trapped in headlights.

“That fucking sparring match,” you said through clenched teeth, your eyes beginning to water. “I fucking knew there was something sexual going on between you two, and you lied to my god damned face! And then, what? You fucked me with the erection she gave you? God, I knew you looked guilty. I could see it in your fucking eyes!”

“Okay, yes, but no!” Bucky said. “Yeah, I felt guilty because I got hard during the fight, and I was worried you saw it, but it really didn’t have anything to do with her! It’s… it’s a thing that happens to me, sometimes. Doesn’t matter who I’m fighting with. It’s, uh, happened when I’ve sparred with Steve– ” You shot him a look, skeptical. “I swear; you can ask him!” he continued. “It… look, I’m pretty sure it’s a hold out from the… things… Hydra did to me. When they were turning me into the Winter Soldier. The details are hazy, the memories aren’t all there, but… I have… flashes… how they used to, uh, stimulate me, to get me to do what they wanted me to do.”

You looked at him, waiting for more details, but he didn’t offer them. He obviously still didn’t trust you with those parts of himself, even now. “But, I swear to you– as soon as I saw that look on your face, it was gone. I felt awful, knowing what you would think if you’d noticed. That killed it, instantly. When we were together, later, that was all because of you. It was all for you.” He took in your expression. “You don’t believe me.”

“Seems to be a pretty convenient excuse, don’t you think?” you asked. You felt like a bitch, on the off chance he was telling you the truth, if his erection had been based on the conditioning of decades of sexual abuse on top of the physical and psychological trauma he had endured, but he’d eroded your trust so thoroughly, you couldn’t help but doubt.

“You think I’d lie to you about something Hydra did to me?” he asked you, hurt. “Something like that?” You could hear the unanswered question in his voice: Something horrible we’ve both been through?

You shrugged, knowing you were being cruel. “How should I know? I’m not the one you’ve been sharing your secrets with, so I don’t know what’s the truth and what’s another lie.”

Bucky grimaced, and you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You, of all people, knew how shameful discussing sexual abuse could make one feel, but you’d always been honest and open with him about what had happened to you, because you had trusted him. It was hurtful to know he’d been through something similar and hadn’t afforded you the same trust in return, even though you knew you had no right to demand it of him. But he had given it so freely to her.

You went back to the texts, hoping you had read the worst, but dreading there was still more to come.

He told her about your fights. That was difficult to read, knowing that he had made her privy to the lowest points in your private relationship, and how she must have been eating it up. >> I just don’t know what more she wants from me.

>> What more she expects me to do.

>> One minute she’s furious with me, and the next minute, she’s saying she doesn’t care.

Vix: She’s messing with you. Fucking with your emotions to show she can control you.

Vix: Why do you keep putting up with this?

>> I don’t know. Sometimes I

Vix: ???

>> Nevermind.

Vix: What, Jamie? You can tell me anything. I’m here for you.

>> Sometimes I just wish she was maybe a little more like you. More understanding.

You stared down at the screen, unable to move.

“Pocket?” Bucky asked, noticing you hadn’t scrolled in a few minutes.

“You don’t know why you keep putting up with me?” you asked him, voice barely above a whisper. “You wish I was more like her?”

“I was upset,” he said, crouching down in front of you. “That was the night before she went to Malaysia, after I left our room, but before I got her to go to Gino’s. When I could tell you were pulling away, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t really mean it; it was just venting because you had me so confused.”

You stared off into the middle distance as Bucky tried to make eye contact with you, unable to look at him. “I feel like there’s this whole entire side of you you’ve been hiding from me,” you said, speaking to and through him simultaneously. “I don’t know this version of you, at all. And I don’t think I want to.”

“Doll,” Bucky grasped your hands, desperation entering his voice, but you didn’t have the energy to pull away. “Those texts aren’t me. You know me. You know my heart.”

You met his eyes then, the look you gave him full of loss, betrayal, and heartache. “I don’t think I do.”

Bucky’s face cracked; you’d never seen him look so defeated. He took the phone from you and scrolled to the very bottom of the text thread, to the most recent exchange the two had had, from the night of her ‘panic attack.’ Wordlessly, he handed the phone back to you.

Vix: Please, Jamie. I could treat you so much better than she can.

>> I told you, Vix. I’m not going to leave her. I love her.

Vix: But all you do is fight. I can hear you from my room, you know. I know you’re not happy.

>> We fight because of *you*. Please don’t make this difficult. I don’t want to ask Steve to reassign you for training.

Vix: Please don’t do that! I just want to be with you. I could make you so happy.

>> *She* makes me happy. She’s all I want. I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings, but it’s how I feel. I’m never gonna love anyone the way I love Pocket. That’s just the way it is.

Vix: You can’t deny there’s something between us!

Vix: I know you feel it!

Vix: We could keep it a secret. She doesn’t need to know.

Vix: You could have both of us.

>> Stop. I don’t want you. And to be honest, I’m disgusted you’d even suggest I cheat on the love of my life.

Vix: You don’t mean that!

>> I do. You need to accept it.

His last message was followed by a barrage of texts from Jade, begging him to respond to her, but he hadn’t. You supposed, in a way, that should make you feel better, but you were so emotionally exhausted, you couldn’t feel much of anything. All you knew was that you should have never read those messages.

“This… this is a lot to process,” you finally said, looking at Bucky. “I don’t really know what to do here.”

Bucky frantically tapped at his phone screen. “Block her number,” he said. “If cuttin’ her out’s what it’s going to take for me to start rebuilding your trust, then I’ll gladly do it. Pozhaluysta, Pocket.” Please, Pocket.

Mechanically, you went through the motions of blocking Jade’s number from Bucky’s phone. “I… don’t know if this is going to be enough, Bucky,” you told him, handing it back. “Those things I read just now… They’re honestly making me question everything. Our entire history.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said, putting his forehead to yours. “If this is just step one, then it’s step one. I’ll take however many steps you ask me to until I make this right.”

“You’ve gotta be one hundred percent on this, Buck,” you said. “Because if you’re not, if I find out that you couldn’t keep this promise to me, there’s no coming back. You’ll be the one who’s so iced out, it’ll make Siberia feel downright tropical.”

Bucky grinned slightly. “I’m positive, sweets,” he said, putting a hand on top of yours. “You’re all I want, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if I have to.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. It was just that, well, you didn’t fucking trust him. “FRIDAY?” you called.

“Yes, Ms. (Y/L/N)?”

“Please alert me any and every time Sergeant Barnes and Ms. Carthage have an interaction in the Tower going forward. I request audio and video footage be sent to me immediately should they cross paths.”

“Yes, Ms. (Y/L/N). For clarification, do you want alerts for physical, audio, or digital interactions to be sent to you?”

“All of it, FRIDAY,” you said, watching Bucky very carefully for any sign of discomfort or uneasiness over your course of action, but you saw none. “And do not allow an override without my express verbal consent and company password.”

The AI agreed and promised to alert you if any such interaction occurred.

“That was very thorough,” Bucky said, sounding somewhat petulant. “You really had to cover all the bases, didn’t you?”

“Well, I had to have someone I trust keeping an eye out on things,” you said pointedly. Bucky flinched, the expression on his face faltering.

“I am going to make this right, doll. I swear to you.”

“I’m tired of you telling me, Buck,” you said, really needing to drive your point home. “It's your last chance to actually grow up and start showing me.”

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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kikyo-bnha-imagines · 8 months

Note

Reader with a memory loss condition, any character, hella angst 🙏

BAKUGOU KATSUKI | MEMORY LOSS

Katsuki thought he’d lost you for good. The sight of you covered in blood, eyes squeezed shut, and barely even breathing... it was almost too much to bear. If he couldn’t even protect the person he loved most, then how the fuck could he call himself a hero?

But against all odds, you survived. The universe decided to have mercy this time, even though he’d failed to protect you. He’d fucked up, and the guilt would follow him forever, but at least he was being granted a second chance.

Unfortunately, your life had come at no small price.

“I have to warn you, Bakugou,” the doctor frowns. “She’s... different now. All of the healing and surgery have taken care of her life-threatening injuries, but she suffered severe head trauma, and it’s put her in a state of disorientation.”

Katsuki clenches his jaw. “What are you trying to say? I know it’s gonna take her a while to recover. It’s not like I expect her to be up and running right away. As long as she’s safe—”

“I’m referring to her brain. Well, more specifically, her memories. We did an initial screening, and it’s quite clear that she’s suffering from amnesia.” The doctor offers a sympathetic smile. “I just wanted you to know, so that you can prepare yourself.”

“...oh.”

Katsuki doesn’t know what else to say. Really, what can he say? You’re alive. That simple fact alone is worthy of celebration. He's just grateful that you’re still here, living and breathing. He doesn’t have to say goodbye to you. He’ll never, ever be ready to say goodbye to you.

“This is still a very early diagnosis,” the doctor reassures. “Following a traumatic event, some patients suffer memory loss for a few days, weeks, or in rarer cases, months, but it’s not guaranteed to be permanent. In fact, temporary amnesia is far more common. It just takes a while for the brain to repair itself.”

“I get it,” Katsuki nods. Right. It’s all going to be fine. You’ve just come out of a life-threatening battle, so it’s no wonder if your mind is in disarray.

There’s no need to panic. Katsuki loves you, and you love him.

As long as you’re together, whatever it is, you’ll get through it.

“If you’re ready, then you’re welcome to go see her now,” the doctor encourages.

Katsuki doesn’t need to be told twice. He steps into the hospital room without sparing a breath, and sure enough, there you are. Sweet, lovely [Name]. The love of his life, all covered in bandages, but looking just as beautiful as always.

Katsuki swallows his tears. He already cried his heart out when he first thought you were a goner, and he cried even more while you were in intensive care. There’s no point in crying anymore, not when you’re alive and well. Seeing him with a weak, broken expression won’t do you any good.

For your sake, he needs to be strong.

“[Name],” Katsuki mumbles. He walks over to your bedside and pulls out a chair so he can sit close. He isn’t normally much of a smiler, but being next to you like this—something he thought he’d never be able to do again—makes his lips curl up at the sides and tremble in relief.

You��re alive. Your injuries have been healed, for the most part, and there won’t be any lasting damage. There’s no reason why you won’t be able to keep enjoying life, just as you've done up until now.

Overwhelmed with emotion and the desire to feel the warmth of your skin against his, Katsuki reaches out to grab your hand.

You recoil immediately, and in that moment, Katsuki’s heart shatters.

“Sorry,” you swallow. “Um. I don’t... I don’t know who you are.”

He feels like he’s about to throw up. The doctor mentioned amnesia. He did mention amnesia. But... isn’t this way too extreme? This is like the kind of stuff that happens in movies, or when elderly patients are in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s.

You blink, searching his expression for a clue. “I’m sorry,” you frown. “I feel like I should know you. It sounds like you know me. But it’s just hard. It feels like my head is all foggy. I’m really, really sorry...”

And then you start crying. You cry and cry, even though you can’t possibly be to blame, and all the while, Katsuki is helpless to do anything but watch.

“It’s not—” He swallows hard, wiping his eyes so that he doesn’t start crying too. “I-It’s okay,” he chokes out. “It’s not your fault, [Name]. I’m Katsuki. Bakugou Katsuki. Does that name sound familiar at all? It’ll come back to you. I promise it will.”

“I don’t know,” you sob. “I don’t know. I just don’t know...”

He’s never wanted to hug you more in his entire life, but how can he? From your perspective, he’s nothing more than a stranger. You wouldn’t even let him hold your hand. All of those years spent together, all of those incredible memories you’d shared... they’re gone. Just like that.

“It’s not your fault,” Katsuki mumbles brokenly.

He says it again and again, but he’s not even sure you hear him over the sound of your own cries.

The past few months have been the hardest of Katsuki’s entire life, and regretfully, the days ahead aren’t going to get any easier.

Your amnesia is permanent. Or, at the very least, the odds of you making a recovery at this point are so small they may as well be zero.

Katsuki isn’t the only person you’ve forgotten. You forgot a good chunk of the classmates you went to U.A with, major life events, and even certain encounters with villains—including the very incident that nearly claimed your life. The doctor said it’s very common for traumatic events to be forgotten, and while Katsuki is glad that you don’t have to remember something so horrible, why did you have to forget all the good stuff too?

It’s just not fair. Katsuki knows he should be grateful. He still gets to see your pretty, smiling face, he still gets to talk to you and hear you laugh from time to time. None of that would have been possible if the doctors hadn’t fought tooth and nail to save your life. At least you’re still young, your body is in healthy, functional shape, and the personality he fell for is still largely unchanged.

Katsuki doesn’t want to complain. He doesn’t want to take what he still has for granted.

But it just really fucking hurts.

He hasn’t been able to hold you in months. He hasn’t been able to kiss you either. Even though he’s told you that the two of you used to date, you’ve forgotten all the reasons you fell in love with him in the first place. It’s taken time for you to let your guard down, especially since everything’s so difficult to make sense of.

You’re friends. At the very least, Katsuki is still a part of your life. But every time he cracks an inside joke or accidentally makes a reference to something that happened in the past, and he sees the confused look in your eyes, a part of him breaks.

Still, he refuses to stop trying. He’ll never stop trying. The doctors said that certain memories can trigger other ones, and in rare cases, even patients with severe memory loss were able to make a miraculous recovery.

Katsuki never used to be the type of person to hold out hope for a miracle, but nowadays, it’s all he ever wishes for.

“It’s pretty here,” you say, sighing happily. Your gaze flickers towards the beach’s shoreline, and you admire the gentle, rippling waves as the sun descends through the sky.

Katsuki just stares at you. “You’re prettier,” he replies.

“Oh, pfft,” you brush off. “Quit hitting on me.”

He wants to do more than just hit on you. He wants you wrap his arms around you and slam his lips against yours, meeting you in the most desperate, passionate kiss he can muster. If it was up to him, the two of you would already be rolling around in the sand right now, bodies pressed together so close that you could feel each other’s heartbeat.

But he can’t. You’re not ready yet. You’re not ready, and... you’ve forgotten. You’ve forgotten the happiest moments of his life.

So, he’ll wait. There’s nothing else he can do but wait. Starting over from the beginning is painful and gut-wrenching. It’s an endless cycle of despair. You might never remember. There’s a chance you might not even fall in love with him again.

But at least you’re alive. At least you’re here with him right now.

Katsuki will never stop trying, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he cries. He’ll form new memories with you, and even if those disappear one day too...

He’ll just start all over again.

#bnha imagines #mha imagines #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha headcanons #romance #mha headcanons #bakugou katsuki x reader #angst #boku no hero imagines #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha oneshots #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou

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nanawritesit · 1 year

Text

Choi San Boyfriend Headcanons!

listen, this man is my ultimate bias for a REASON. you are SO lucky if you have him as a boyfriend 😭

he’s a huge fan of PDA. holding hands, linking pinkies, having an arm around your waist, linking arms, hugging, and kissing are all things he’s comfortable doing in public (just pecks on the lips though, not full on making out LOL) he always has to be touching you in some way 🥰

he loves to play with your hair! no matter how long or short it is, he’ll always be running his fingers through it, twiddling with the ends, or ruffling it (if it’s long enough, he’ll even learn to braid it! it’s a very relaxing ritual that both of you love!)

and while kissing, his hands often end up tangled in your hair ;)

san isn’t really into big grand gestures of love… it’s the little things he does for you that let you know he loves you. he definitely has an “acts of service” love language!

he’ll wake you up when he notices your alarm doesn’t go off, brings you lunch while you’re at work, helps you with projects, carries your bag around for you while shopping… he does stuff like this without even thinking

i can’t imagine him yelling at you no matter how angry he might be. he’s very good at controlling his feelings so if he gets upset, he’ll just leave the room to give himself a moment to calm down before talking with you about the situation calmly and rationally

if you ever break a glass or plate of his, he’ll gently reassure you that it’s okay, it was just an accident, and first checks your hands for any injuries before helping you clean it up (cries in childhood trauma 😭)

you catch him just staring at you with a big dopey smile on his face ALL the time. and when you ask what’s wrong he goes “nothing, i just love looking at you.” 😊

he’s the best person to be around when you’re sad. (he is our comforting mountain after all!) he’ll never judge you, and instead just hold you tightly while you cry, whispering little reassurances and patting your back gently… after you calm down he’ll immediately offer to help you with whatever’s bothering you

he’s a big fan of the nickname “baby,” he uses it probably more than your actual name (i’m sorry if you hate it 😟)

“baby, come look at this!” “what’s wrong baby, do you need some help?” “i’m sorry you’re sad baby, everything will be okay.”

every once in a while he’ll let a “my love” slip, and when he’s begging for your attention he uses “honey” in a sickeningly sweet, whiny voice

he’ll never pass up an opportunity to tell you how beautiful you are. even when you’re bare-faced, have bed-head, and are wearing sweats, he thinks you’re absolutely stunning 🥰

you definitely don’t help with his plushy addiction… you buy him one like every week, and soon you both have to buy those nets that hold stuffed animals against the corner ceiling (oh god and if you ALSO love plushies??? your house will be DECKED OUT.)

that definitely wasn’t just a headcanon for me bc i have a squishmallow addiction ahahaha

he tries to act annoyed when you pester him while he’s reading, but he secretly thinks you’re super cute when you’re begging for his attention 🥺

wooyoung is so jealous of you for the longest time… you guys didn’t really get along until san locked you both in a room and told you to work out your differences 😀

which worked, surprisingly 😀 you both came out laughing up a storm and hanging off of each other

now you and wooyoung are besties. you even team up against san sometimes to bug him. he just corners you both and stares at you intensely, forcing you to look up at him to fluster you (he loves his little brats tho 💞)

we all know san needs to hold something to sleep… and i’m sorry if you like having room to yourself when you sleep, but that something is going to have to be you sometimes (cries in starfish sleeper)

maybe not every night, but at least once a week, he HAS to fall asleep with you in his arms

he always lets you lay your head on his shoulder while he does other tasks, in fact, he encourages you to!

like if you’re sitting next to him to relax, he’ll just reach over and push your head down to rest on his shoulder

he loves to paint your nails together 💅🏻 and do face masks!

when he’s away on tour, he’ll stay up all night talking to you if no one stops him (usually hongjoong has to lmaoooo)

speaking of which, he gets all flustered every time the members bring you up… he starts blushing and smiling like a fool 🥺

then he can’t stop himself from rambling on and on about how amazing you are ☺️

he also won’t stop flirting with you just because you’re dating

he’s constantly dropping pick up lines and hyping you up

like if you get all dressed up for a special event, his jaw will drop open and he’ll say something like “hey pretty lil thing, you come here often” 👀

and you’ll be like “san i’m literally your partner” 😑

he shares everything with you, without even thinking about it

snacks, drinks, hoodies… he’ll just hand them to you absentmindedly

at the end of the day, this boy would do literally anything just to see you smile. he thinks your smile is the prettiest sight in the world. he believes you deserve the world and wants nothing more than to give it to you 💞

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wardenparker · 4 months

Text

Next to Normal, part 3

Joel Miller x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: 18+! Explicit for violence Word Count: 11.9k Warnings: Reader's age isn't pinpointed but you/she are old enough to remember the way the world worked before the Outbreak. Swearing. PTSD, past death of a child, mentions of pregnancy and STIs, panic attack, trauma reactions, home invasion, threats of murder, infliction of mortal injuries, descriptions of broken bones and other wounds, blink and you’ll miss It mention of drug use, manipulation, gaslighting, revenge, conspiracy, death. DEAD DOVE. DO NOT EAT. This chapter contains graphic violence! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Summary: Things have been going well with Joel until one fateful movie night. It will take fighting past all of your demons to make it to your happily ever after. Notes: The finale of this three-parter was particularly emotional for me to write and the relief of a happy ending was absolutely necessary. My hope is that there is absolutely no one in the world who can relate to the reader as she/you go through hell, but I'm realistic enough to know better. So to all my kindred spirits who struggle, I hope you find catharsis in reader's journey.

Part 1 ~ Part 2

Winter turned to spring with an ease and grace that almost made you forget that times are hard. The outside world is moving in whatever way it does, but Jackson is doing well. Ellie is learning basic agriculture in the fields on her school break and Joel is becoming more and more a way a part of how this town runs. He gets consulted on matters as a prominent citizen, from the basic to the complicated. This morning he was off at another meeting but he’ll be all yours for the afternoon, and then there is the movie at night. It is shaping up to be a nearly perfect day, as days go in this world, and you sit in your sewing nook letting out the seams on some dresses for a family in town with young girls — they’re growing like weeds and the girls’ favorite dresses are now too tight. Well, you can certainly fix that.

“Joel?” The door opens and Tommy sticks his head in to see if his brother is here. “Sorry, is Joel here? I need to talk to him.”

“He’s in the basement.” It’s become something of a workshop for him, but you wave for Tommy to come in. He knows the way down. “Is everything okay?”

“Had something come up.” Tommy admits, shuffling into the house and shutting the door. “Need to see if he can help.”

“I’m sure he can.” Instinctively, and wanting to be helpful, you set your sewing aside and move to the open door at the top of the basement stairs. “Joel? Tommy’s here to see you, honey.”

“Send him down.” Joel calls back up, grunting and there’s the sound of something being set down on the concrete floor. “Or send him away. Hell if I wanna put up with him.” He jokes.

“Asshole.” Tommy jokes with a rumble, but thanks you and heads down the stairs. “The hell you doing down here, building a bunker? The world already ended.”

Joel snorts and shrugs. “Makin’ some cabinets for her.” He motions towards the half-finished organizers. “For her doo-dads and stuff. Figured I might get it done by Christmas if I started now.”

“She’s happy.” It makes Tommy smile to see the two of you together these days. You’ve come so far with Joel, and he has softened so much with you. “It’s good to see.”

“You come to see me for any one reason? Or to comment on domestic bliss?” He raises a brow at his brother, slightly uncomfortable with the idea that your happiness is tied to him. You’ve been healing, but he’s not entirely sure that it’s because of him.

“Need you to come downtown.” Leaning back against the wall, Tommy shoves his hands in his pockets. “Patrol got their asses handed to them by a group of raiders and some wanderer helped them out of a tight spot. They blindfolded him and brought him back to town to stitch him up and they’re talking about letting him stay. But town council needs to meet on it and interview the guy.”

Joel isn’t a council member, even though some apparently thought him as good as one. “Can’t.” He shakes his head. “Gotta work on that pen with Ellie and then it’s movie night.”

“I know it’s movie night.” Tommy digs the toe of his boot into the floor of the basement. “That’s why they wanted this settled fast. Nobody wants to give up movie night.” He nods though, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’ll tell ‘em you were busy.”

“Sorry.” Joel frowns slightly. “I just— I promised her a night.” He lowers his voice and looks towards the stairs to make sure you aren’t coming down. “It’s…that time and I’m tryin’ to keep her busy so the nightmares don’t come.”

“I know.” Tommy nods, knowing exactly what time of year you were found, considering he was the one who found you. Your boy should be turning a year old tomorrow, but that will never happen. “Is she…how has she been?”

“There’s some rough days.” Joel won’t deny that, he can’t. “But I think being here with us, living with me and Ellie, has been good for her.”

“It’s as normal as any of us are going to get.” Tommy offers, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ll get out of your hair. You good, otherwise?”

“Yeah.” Joel nods and shoots his brother a look. “Thanks, for covering for me.”

"Once Maria gets your ass on the town council there won't be any helping you." He shoots his brother a grin and Tommy shakes his head, laughing at the thought. "See you tonight?"

Joel snorts. “See you tonight.” He promises, frowning as Tommy quickly ascends the stairs and huffs. His own knees would be crackling at the pace his younger brother was moving. The truth was, Joel didn’t want to stray too far from you over the next day or so, so he had come up with reasons to work down in the basement.

"Everything okay?" When you stick your head down the stairs a few minutes later after seeing Tommy out the door, Joel has his head back over his workbench.

“Yeah.” Joel looks up and is met with a worried shadow in your eyes. “Nothin’ to worry about. He just was tryin’ to recruit me for council business again.”

"They want you to join." Coming halfway down the stairs, you sit on the middle step as you've become accustomed to. It keeps you close to him but not close enough to be underfoot.

“Councils.” He snorts, looking up at you with a roll of his eyes. “Can you imagine me on a council?”

"They'd probably get more done," you tell him honestly. "Because you wouldn't put up with them sitting around talking in circles all day."

“I don’t talk, I act.” You know this, though he probably talks to you more than anyone else in this goddamn town.

"I know, love. That's why they want you." Still, you understand his hesitance to join in on anything like that. Joel doesn't like politicking and he doesn't like being responsible for anymore than just your little family.

“They can want in one hand…” he trails off and looks back up at you. “How’s the sewing going? That peddle workin’ alright on the machine?”

"Things are going a hell of a lot faster thanks to you." The previous town seamstress's sewing machine had broken and there hadn't been any luck in fixing it before Joel. Now, though? You're moving through projects with ease. "Thank you for that."

“Anything for you.” The simplicity of the words don’t smudge their meaning. Joel would do anything for you. It’s just the way he’s wired.

"I love you, too." A fact which still reduces you to a stammering schoolgirl in some ways, but it's the truth. Loving Joel has restored you in so many ways.

He huffs in embarrassment but his eyes soften as he sends you a small smile. “Love you too.”

“I’ll let you work.” As much as you like to be close to him as much as possible, you know he has work to do and so do you. “When are you going to help Ellie with the pen?”

“When she comes tracking back in.” Joel snorts and shoots you a look. “You tell her that if she doesn’t brush off her boots, she’s sweepin’ the floors.”

“Okay, love.” You chuckle softly as you get up from the stairs and blow him a kiss before heading back upstairs.

Joel watches you walk up the stairs, frowning slightly. He’s worried, waking up with a sense of foreboding that he’s learned to not ignore. Something’s going to happen. Walking over to a cabinet, he opens it to reveal the supplies he’s started slowly acquiring. His eyes narrow slightly, reaching out and touching the hunting knife in front of him.

******

“Joel c’mon, we’re gonna be laaaate!” Ellie wails across the pen, pulling her jacket back on after their work is done.

“Alright.” The kid needs to learn to put her tools up, but she did a decent job. “Grab your stuff.”

“I got it!” She yells, triumphantly holding up the tool belt that Tommy had lent to her for the work.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “You aren’t eager for the movie are you? Or is it more the person you’re sittin’ with?”

The grin instantly slips from Ellie’s face and morphs into an embarrassed blush. “Don’t know what yer talkin’ about,” she mumbles, kicking the dirt.

“Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” Joel scoffs. “Dina’s a nice girl. You obviously like spending time with her.”

“She’s so pretty.” There’s a dreamy quality to the teenager’s face when she looks up again and Ellie swings herself over to Joel’s side enthusiastically. “And she…she holds my hand sometimes. But I probably shouldn’t overthink that, right?”

“Don’t under think it either.” Joel cautions her. “Don’t want her to think that you’re bored by her.”

“Right.” That seemed to not even occur to Ellie, and she furrows her brow in tight as they start to walk back toward their house. “Is that what happened with you guys? Why she didn’t know you even liked her at first?”

“Probably.” Joel admits easily. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, kid, but I’m kind of an asshole.”

“Oh no, I know.” The grin she beams at him is enormous, like Joel’s grumpiness is her private amusement. “Somehow she doesn’t seem to care, though.”

“No, she doesn’t.” A fact that continues to astonish him. “But I try to be less of an asshole to her. That’s important in a relationship.” He tells Ellie like he’s imparting important wisdom.

“Don’t…be an asshole…to…Dina.” Ellie mimics writing the advice in the air on an invisible chalkboard and smirks. “Got it.”

“Good.” He snorts, rolling his eyes and huffing at the sarcasm displayed by the teenager. “You could get her some ice cream tonight.” He suggests.

“Ya think?” It seems to be an idea that hasn’t yet occurred to Ellie and immediately her eagerness has her walking faster. “Ohhh, yeah. She’d love that!”

Joel watches her pull ahead in amusement. “It’s the little things that count, kid.”

She could make a joke about his little thing, but that’s just gross to think about and she flinches instead as she walks along the road. “It’s just hard to know, ya know?” She says after a while. “If she likes me or not, I mean.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Joel doesn’t treat it as a joke, because it’s not. People are still emotional creatures and yearn for connection, even at the end of the world. “You should ask her to do something.” He suggests. ��Something different.”

“Like when you guys go star gazing?” She asks, turning around to face him while she walks backward.

Joel smirks slightly, knowing that the star gazing often turns into more, but he just shrugs. “Something like that. Bird watching, star gazing, collecting shiny rocks from the riverbed.”

“Shiny rocks is good.” Like it’s the most profound thought in the world, Ellie nods. “We could go, like…walking on the river and pick up stones and look for birds?”

“Yeah.” Joel nods and smiles at the sight of Ellie staring off dreamily as she imagines her date. “Just be safe, you know?” He adds, clearing his throat. “Just because, you know, there can’t be babies doesn’t mean you can’t catch something.”

“Oh, ew, okay, way to ruin it.” She sticks her tongue out at him and makes a grossed out sound just as the house comes into view.

“Yeah, that’s what I get for trying to talk about that shit.” He chuckles and winces at the way he has managed to mess that up. “I’m sure you know all about what you need to know.” You have been a great motherly figured and he feels like having Ellie to dote on has helped you too.

It’s a few minutes later that Ellie busts in the front door of the house and sheds her jacket and tool belt to immediately to run upstairs. “Everything okay?” You ask Joel when he ambles in after her. “Ellie didn’t say a word when she came in. I’m assuming either something went wrong or she’s nervous about seeing Dina?”

Joel grins, a mischievous glint to his gaze as he looks at you. “Embarrassed her.” He admits shamelessly. “Told her that just because there won’t be no babies, don’t mean there can’t be something caught.” He feels just like he did when he embarrassed Sarah years ago.

“Nothing says quality Dad time like horrifying your teenager.” The smile you have for him is soft and sweet, and you wait until he’s shucked his jacket and set down his tools to kiss him.

His arms come around you easily. His own pressing of his lips against yours soft and promising. “Yeah. It’s pretty great.” He jokes, squeezing you slightly.

This is what’s great, and you sigh softly to yourself without even realizing it as the two of you just stand in the living room holding each other. The sense of serenity in just this house alone is such an enormous comfort to you and it’s almost entirely due to this man. “She’s a good kid,” you murmur in agreement.

“She is. And she’s about to have her first real girlfriend.” He snorts. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

“Yeah.” A small nod of your head comes as your eyes drop back to the floor, thinking of the son you buried who will never see these milestones. “They do…”

“I’m sorry, beautiful girl.” It was a thoughtless comment, even for him. Knowing your loss and his own loss, he should have never said anything.

“It’s okay.” Sniffling the feeling away as best you can, you set your face to rights again and offer him a smile. “It’s just…I had another dream about him last night. That’s all.” They’re less frequent than they were but they do still happen regularly. It’s a battle not to let them take over your whole mind.

“I wish you were still holdin’ him.” Joel murmurs softly, pulling you into his arms for a comforting hug. “That I could have protected you both.”

“Nothing could have saved him.” As much as it hurts, you’ve had to make your peace with losing your son. There just wasn’t any way to keep him alive — especially considering you barely kept yourself alive. What’s terrifying is, as you lean into Joel’s chest, you could swear that you can feel hope winging in your chest. “At least…if it ever happens again…I know we’ll be safe this time.”

He wants to immediately shoot that down, to pretend you had never mentioned it. Too painful to even imagine losing another child, losing you. “I swear you would be safe.” Is what he promises, his hold on you tightening even more. As if his hug could shelter you from all the unknowns.

“I’m not asking for another. I’m not even sure I want another.” That clarification feels vitally important as his arms squeeze you tight. “I’m just saying, if it happened…I wouldn’t have to be scared.”

“You never have to be scared as long as I’m here.” He promises instantly. “If it happened, you ain’t gotta worry about me. I’ll take care of you.”

It’s a hell of a conversation to have almost by accident, considering you haven’t even had ‘traditional’ sex yet, but it’s important. Because you will. With the way you love him and the way he loves you, it’s not too far away. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too, beautiful girl.” By accident, Joel had learned that you love when he cups your cheek gently, so he does it now.

“When you two are done being mushy, I’m ready to go.” Neither of you had even heard Ellie come downstairs again, but here she is, grinning at you and teasing unrepentantly.

“Well, if you’re ready to go, what are we waiting for?” Joel huffs sarcastically, rolling his eyes at the teenager.

“For you to change your smelly ass shirt.” Ellie snorts.

Joel rolls his eyes, but he pulls away, knowing that he had been sweating plenty while working on the pen. “I’ll be two minutes.” He promises you.

Two minutes is enough for you to put away the last of your sewing, and Joel comes back down in a clean shirt with a smile on his face, ready to take his girls to a movie. It never matters what the movie is, you always go, always thinking back to that first date from months ago when things had started falling into place.

“Dina and Ellie are probably going to go sit by themselves, do you want to sit with Tommy and Maria, or find a cozy spot?” Joel asks as all of you walk out of the house.

“I’m feeling cozy,” you admit, taking his hand to hold when he offers it to you. “But we can be cozy next to your brother and Maria if you like. I can’t even remember what the movie is tonight. You might want to actually watch it.”

“Naaaaaahhhhh.” There’s been too many movies between that first one and now, but he’s still concentrating on you. Just the normalcy of being in this position with you.

“Gross.” Bemoans the teenager just a few feet away, but Ellie smirks more these days when she teases you than she used to. Since admitting she likes Dina, she seems to get it a little more.

“Whatever kid.” Joel slings his arm around your shoulder, having talked about the more casual touches and setting boundaries for everyday life after you moved in. You hadn’t wanted him to ask permission every time and he hadn’t wanted you to feel you had to feel bad for not wanting to be touch. So you had introduced a color system. If it was a hands off moment, you would tell ‘red’ and he wouldn’t touch you. If you told him ‘yellow’ it was an ask day. ‘Green’, like you had confirmed earlier before Tommy had arrived, meant he was free to touch you in a non-sexual way without any questions.

The walk is easy. Halfway there Dina appears from her own house to join Ellie, and a little bit further down the road you’re joined by the two women who have taken on being Jackson’s schoolteachers. Casual chatting is easy tonight. You don’t worry when Ellie and Dina slip ahead to find seats in their own back corner. You don’t worry because there hasn’t been reason to. Not in so very long.

Joel looks around the room, not because he’s measuring a threat or searching for an exit, just…seeing who is here. He sees Maria and Tommy chatting with a town council member and he wonders how the interview went. Not enough to move from your side as he guides you towards a pair of chairs, but he notices a stranger standing off to the side, dumbly watching the scene in front of him. “Huh.” He grunts.

“Want to sit in back?” Your eyes are on Joel and there is mischief in your smile when you look up at him. His arm is still around you and there’s something in the casual care of it that you’ve grown to love.

“Yeah.” He looks into your eyes and a slight smirk makes his face transform from hard to playful. “Take up the back so the kids can’t have it. We’ll make out.”

"They're not gonna kiss the first time at the movies." From talking with Ellie you know that she and Dina are either a long way off from that happening — or possibly a kiss will happen that will spark the conversation and other necessary things. But either way, the first one is definitely not going to happen in public. "We can definitely steal some back row seats from them."

“Never know.” Joel leans in to whisper in your ear. “Figure she might be smarter than the average kid.”

"Smart enough to treat her girl right." You can agree to that entirely. For now you tuck into his side, weaving your way through the seats to find your customary place in a dark corner.

When you turn into the seats with your fingers tangled through Joel's, though, you stop short. Sitting with another one of the town council members who is always hounding Joel to accept their invitation to join, is a tall man with rounded shoulders and an unkempt beard. His hair is shaggy and his eyes skirt around the room furtively, sussing out as many details and inspecting as many faces as they can until they fall on you. "Oh god..." Freezing in place at Joel's side, your fingers dig into his arm immediately, clawing at him instead of your usual gentle grip. "I—Joel—I think I'm having a flashback," you murmur quietly, not trusting your eyes even though the man sitting six feet away looks almost nothing like he did when you left Chicago over a year ago.

“What?” Joel frowns and he immediately reaches out to stroke your neck like you enjoy. “Still green?” He asks quietly, unsure of what has you rattled, but if something is bothering your peace, he wants to help.

“I need you to tell me if you see that man.” As shaky and as quiet as your voice is — barely a whisper — you don’t take your eyes off of the figure sitting by the windows for even a second. “With the brown hair and the thin beard?”

Joel frowns and quickly turns around. “The green plaid?” He asks as he looks away from the man back to you, noting how your breath is starting to rapidly increase, you’re about to have a panic attack. “Black jeans?”

“Oh god…” You had been hoping it wasn’t real. That he wasn’t real. That it was just your mind ruining your good mood with conjured images and fears that had so recently been put to bed. But now your vision is blurring and your knees are buckling, and the world is spinning around you so quickly that you feel like you’re going to be sick as your skin starts to crawl. “How?” You keep repeating, over and over again, muttering the word to yourself like a broken record. “How is he here? How?”

Something is seriously wrong and Joel is a man who going to fix what’s wrong. Turning back around, the man is gone and he quickly stands, pulling you to your feet. “Let’s go, beautiful girl.” He rushes out, knowing you would not want to have whatever is going on made public.

“How?” It’s like your mind is stuck on the worst kind of repeated loop, bumping over that one word, and you feel so stiff and terrified that you can barely swallow despite nearly hyperventilating and the tears now streaming down your cheeks. “How did he get here? How did he find me?”

“Who, beautiful girl, who?” Joel pulls you outside the movie theatre that used to be the old electronics store and cups your cheeks. “Who is he?” He knows, he feels it in his gut, but he wants you to say it.

The light in your eyes, the one that has so carefully been fostered and nurtured over the months you’ve spent in Jackson and especially with Joel, has completely gone out as you hiccup over a sob. Even two syllables are too much to take when you had felt so safe. “Aidan.”

His jaw hardens, his eyes flattening and darkening at the mention of the man who had tortured you. Done unspeakable things to you and nearly broken you. The name he had hoped you wouldn’t say. “They had a stranger come in today.” Joel wishes he had gone now, interviewed this man. “He helped the scouting party and they brought him in to interview.” Joel rubs his hands up and down your arms. “I’ll talk to Tommy, get him kicked out. He won’t stay.”

“He saw me.” You had looked each other straight in the eyes. It’s how you knew, in the worst pit of your stomach, that you weren’t hallucinating him. “H-he’s never going to leave i-if he knows I’m—I’m here…”

“Look at me.” Joel’s voice hardens slightly, knowing you are about to break down and he wants to keep you clear-headed. “He. Won’t. Touch. You.” He promises slowly, clearly. “They aren’t gonna want that son of a bitch here. He must have lied to the council and that doesn’t go over with them.”

“How?” Is all you can manage, feeling months’ worth of happiness shred apart inside you. Joel has you leaning with your back to the side of the building, but with every passing second your legs are giving out beneath you and you’re starting to slide to the ground in a deluge of new tears. You’ll never be safe. It will never be over.

He knows that nothing he can say will make you feel better, nothing. “Let me take you home.” He insists. “Then I’ll talk to Tommy.”

“Please don’t leave?” Any chance you have at protection lies with him and him alone, and you’re now more certain than ever that if he leaves your side, you’re doomed.

“Okay, okay beautiful girl.” Joel pulls you close. “I won’t leave. Let me take you home and Ellie can come home on her own.”

“O-okay.” As long as he doesn’t leave you, that’s what matters right now, and you cling to Joel like a lifeline when you hear the building doors open around the corner and the sound of heavy boots on the street.

“Joel?” It’s Tommy’s voice calling into the night. He must have seen you bolt for the door.

“Shhhhh, shhhhh, it’s Tommy.” Even though you know it’s his brother, your body tenses and you let out a whimper that breaks Joel’s heart as much as it makes him what to rip this Aidan apart. “I’m over here.”

“Everything okay?” When Tommy saunters around the side of the building it is immediately apparent that something is extremely wrong, and the younger Miller brother frowns in confusion.

“That fucker the council let in.” Joel growls, turning a fierce glare on the younger Miller, even though he had nothing to do with it. “What’s his name?”

“Um…Michael? Mike? Turner, I think it was. Mike Turner. Why?” He doesn’t like how pale you look, or how hard you have obviously been crying, and Tommy crosses his arms in discomfort. “Did he say or do something?”

“His fucking name is Aidan.” Joel hisses, looking back at you and hating how you flinch at the mere name.

“What the fuck?” Tommy’s eyes blow wide at that accusation, knowing exactly who ‘Aidan’ is and why you aren’t thrilled to hear the name ever. “That motherfucker is Aidan Stokes? You’re sure?”

“I’m taking her home.” He tells his brother. “Have Ellie sleep at your place?” He knows you will have a bad night and the best thing is to minimize the people witnessing it. Tommy nods and Joel pulls you away from the walk. “And get that fucker the hell out of here.” He calls over his shoulder, wishing he could take care of the problem himself.

“I’m on it.” Tommy promises, taking in the expression of pure terror and twisted grief on your features. In thirty seconds flat it’s as if you’ve gone back to being the same panicked little creature that you were when he had found you almost a year ago.

“Come one, beautiful girl.” Joel’s hands are gentle, trying to soothe as he coaxes you along. “We will get back to the house. Ellie will be at Tommy’s, all safe, and you will be with me. I won’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sorry.” Even murmured under your breath, the apology sounds just like the shadow of yourself that you had been for so long before Joel walked into Jackson and into your life. Apologizing for taking up space. For infringing on anyone else’s existence. For having the audacity to exist yourself.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for, beautiful girl.” If anything, he should apologize to you for not checking on that stranger. For exposing you to the terror of your past.

“Please don’t leave…” That thought is first and foremost in your head right now, barely even looking where you’re going through the sheet of shaky tears. You just can’t stomach the thought of losing Joel now, after so much. It would be like losing everything.

“Why would I leave?” He asks softly, aware that you are vulnerable and scared after seeing the specter of your nightmares. “You ain’t gettin’ rid of me, beautiful girl, I’m right here.”

There is a surge of it’s not fair slicing through the undercurrent of your thoughts, but more than not fair and more than scary, the situation is volatile. “He doesn’t know…” you remind Joel, clinging to his arm like the lifeline that it is. “Th—that—that I buried the baby.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Joel promises you quietly. “He’s not going to bother you, not gonna touch you.” He knows that Tommy will do what’s necessary to get the fucker gone from the community. Especially given what he knows was done to you.

“He’s going to try to.” Somewhere in the worst pit of your stomach, you know Aidan will try his hardest to get to the child he thinks you still have. Regardless of whose baby it biologically was, he had always viewed it as his. There had been weeks and months of taunting you over how that baby was going to be his control over you. So much so that you were actually a little grateful when he died. For his sake as much as your own.

“He’s leaving. We will make sure he’s gone.” Tommy will, because Joel isn’t going to leave your side. “You’re safe, sweet girl, I’m not going to let him even talk to you.” Fury floods his entire body, dark and brooding. Angry that this man has stolen the hard fought peace that you have started enjoying.

It doesn’t take long to get home with Joel hustling you along the street, even if you live outside of the main reaches of what could be considered downtown. You’re bundled into the house and stay next to Joel, watching him lock the doors and carefully walk through the house to assure you that you’re safe.

“We’re safe.” Joel promises you, stripping off the light jacket you had brought with you and rubbing your arms. He wants to kiss you, but is unsure if it might trigger some memories for you.

“I don’t know how he found me.” That’s the real question for you, and you’ve been rolling it over and over in your head since your head stopped spinning as badly.

“Don’t think he was expecting you to be here.” Joel didn’t miss the surprise and fury in the man’s face when he looked over at him. “Unhappy accident.”

“Fucking miserable accident,” you sigh, letting yourself slump forward into Joel’s arms for all the security and warmth that they provide.

“I know, beautiful girl.” Joel growls, shaking his head. “He’s stolen your smile, and I’m not going to allow that. He’s not going to interrupt your peace again.”

"I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight." It's bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit, the way ten seconds has stolen away (in Joel's words) a whole year of progress. "But I don't want you to not sleep on my account."

“You think I’m gonna sleep if you’re awake?” Joel would roll his eyes, but he knows you will just shut down even more. “No, beautiful girl, we can stay up together. Make sure that you are safe. And then, when he’s out of this town and out of our lives for good, we’ll sleep.”

"I'm sorry." The murmured apology is less for something you've done directly and more for the fact that you know this is affecting his life in a very distinct way now. A way that he would not have to worry about at all if not for you.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” He cups your cheek. Tilting your head up from where it’s looking down at the floor. Holding your chin is a no for you, but you don’t fight him. “Nothin’.” He repeats. “You want a hot bath? Soak? I can sit on the toilet seat while you do.”

"I just want to get in bed." Something about the vulnerability of being naked is too much to deal with right now and you shake your head slightly, hoping he will understand. "Can't exactly turn on the tv and zone out to a bad movie anymore." You wish you could, but because of that bastard you had to leave movie night.

“You want to change into your softest pajamas and then we can curl up?” Joel offers. “I can go into the bathroom and get you a glass of water while you change.”

"Stay with me?" The pajamas and curling up part sounds perfect, but you swallow thickly at the idea of him going anywhere. It's clingy, sure, but right now that's pretty fucking understandable. I don't...I don't think I can be alone."

“Always, beautiful girl.” Joel nods and he pushes the bedroom door almost closed after he steps back from you. Starting to shrug out of his jacket. “We’ll just pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist, hmm? Sound good to you?” He wishes he had some of the drugs he used to peddle in Boston, he would give you a few to calm you down if you wanted.

"Would you...mind talking to me?" The monologue in your head — all that noise that overtakes and overwhelms you with anxiety — quiets when Joel talks. Like your nerves are only willing to listen to him and him alone. "About anything. I just...it helps quiet all the angry thoughts."

“Sure, beautiful girl.” He’s dealt with this before, with Ellie after her run in with David, and he kicks off his shoes. “Thinkin’ I might take that council seat after all.” Tonight has been the deciding factor for him. “Have a say in who comes into this place. It’ll mean that some of the repairs will have to be done by Thompson, but he’s comin’ along. He’s not a complete idiot.”

"A town like this can't survive with just one good handyman." It's already better, just hearing him talk. The soothing cadence of Joel's voice sheds just a speck of anxiety everytime he opens his mouth and you remind yourself that you have to move. You're supposed to be changing your clothes to get ready for bed.

“Tommy’s better, but don’t tell him I said that.” His belt opens and he quickly unbuttons his jeans. “Man’s getting a little too cocky, strutting around here with that goofy grin of his.”

"He's happy." Tommy has a full life here. One that he reached out and took hold of with both hands and full determination. He has a wife and a baby and work that keeps him satisfied and busy. That's not the kind of thing he ever could have claimed about his life before Jackson. It's something to be proud of, and you're happy for your friend. Even if right now happy feels a million miles away.

“Yeah, he is.” It’s amazing to say, even more amazing to realize that his own feelings are pretty goddamn close to happy as well. At least until about twenty minutes ago. “What a loser.” He jokes, chuckling at his own lame joke. You have started undressing and he’s happy that you are focused on something else.

"Before tonight, I would have said we were happy, too." There is no lingering stroll across the room, or fully stripping down before completely redressing in your pajamas like usual. As soon as your regular shirt is off, the soft material of your sleep shirt replaces it. No sooner are jeans shed than warm sweatpants replace them. This is perfunctory, not an enjoyable and lazy night with your boyfriend.

“We are happy.” Joel soothes quietly. “Today is a bad day. Tomorrow might be too, but he’s not going to ruin our happiness, even if it takes a few steps back.” Joel sits on the edge of the bed, watching you as your fingers fumble with the edges of your shirt. “How do you want to cuddle, beautiful girl?” He asks. “You want me surrounding you? Or do you want to sprawl out on me?” He wants to give you as much control as possible right now, knowing how helpless you feel.

“I need you around me.” He really is your safe place. There is no doubt about that. But as you take a step toward him and the bed, the sounds of someone pounding on the front door downstairs ring through the brittle air.

Joel’s springing to his feet and frowning. Especially since you immediately look like you’re about to faint. “Go to the bathroom.” He tells you. “Lock the door.”

There are a lot of thing a in the world that you doubt — almost everything, really — but not Joel. Even though you feel frozen you manage to do what he tells you, grasping him in a tight hug before he closes the bathroom door for you beside your bedroom and you click the lock into place. Do you need him around you to feel safe and supported? Absolutely. But you’ve also learned to trust his instincts.

The hunting knife from the basement had been moved to his dresser and he grabs it before coming down the stairs. Listening to the pounding on the door as he crawls closer. On edge until he recognizes the silhouette of his brother.

The moment the door cracks open Joel sees the panic on Tommy’s face and his little brother smooths the hairs out of his face with one expressive hand. “Is she okay?” He asks immediately, your safety being top priority in this moment.

“She’s upset. But she’s fine.” Joel frowns, looking around. “Why are you here?”

The frown on Tommy’s lips is immediate, forehead creasing in apologetic embarrassment. “He’s—Stokes— he’s gone,” he admits quietly, just in case you’re nearby.

“He’s gone?” Joel frowns and steps outside. “What the fuck does that mean? You’ve already kicked him out?” It doesn’t seem like Tommy would be so upset by this fact so something’s not adding up.

“By the time I got back into the movie he had bolted,” Tommy explains, obviously pained to have to admit that he’s fucked up your safety. Or at least that he feels like it’s his fault. “Town council’s got people patrolling and staked out all over and the movie’s going ahead so nobody gets spooked.”

Joel reaches out and grabs the edges of Tommy’s jean jacket. “I’m going to kill him.” He growls to his brother. “When he’s caught, I’m going to ‘escort’ him out of town. Won’t do it here, but she’s nearly catatonic with panic.”

“If I find him first, I’m getting a few hits in for what he did to her,” his brother promises him. Tommy’s felt like an overprotective brother since the day he brought you into town. These days? He takes the job pretty literally.

“Shit.” Joel lets go of Tommy’s jacket and steps back into the opened door. “I need to— don’t tell her.” He warns him. “If he’s not caught right away. I can’t— we aren’t leavin’ this house.”

“It’ll only make her more scared to know he’s running around.” Tommy can absolutely agree to that, though he knows you might be upset with them later for not keeping you completely informed. The less fear and panic you feel, the better.

“I’m not gonna tell her, but I’m not gonna let her leave until I know that fucker is in ropes, ready to be lead to slaughter.” Joel frowns.

“Fair enough.” Considering Tommy has a knife in one pocket and a gun on his other hip, it’s fair to bet that he feels the same way. “I’m sorry, Joel. If I’d have been faster we coulda taken care of this easily. But we’ll get it sorted.” He’s ready to go — ready to join the patrol that is currently stalking the streets of Jackson — when he hears a sound in the basement.

Joel freezes, eyes narrowing as he listens. The second step from the bottom of the basement stairs creaks and it just made a sound. “He fucking— that bastard.” Joel hisses, spinning around and rushing towards the basement door.

The door makes a sickening crack when Joel throws it open, but Tommy is on his heels. The motherfucker followed them. He took a look at a happy and healthy and thriving woman and decided to ruin her again. He just didn’t bet on the fucking Miller brothers to be in his way.

Joel goes barreling down the stairs, lowering his shoulder at the figure that is about halfway up. Grunting when he connects with the body, Joel pushes off the stairs and launches both him and the motherfucker into the air.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” When he hits the ground he’s sure he hears something crack in his shoulder. The figure that flew at him is a blur and there’s more footsteps on the stairs that he can’t see the owner of through the fist headed straight for his face.

The first crack of a fist hitting bone is sharp, pain blooming in his fist and radiating up his arm, but Joel barely registers it. Fury numbing him to the pain and adrenaline coursing through his veins. “Fucker.”

“What—fuck—what the fuck?!” Putting up his arms to cover his face and thinking fast, he tries to pull away and keep from getting his face ruined.

"Break into my house." Joel growls furiously, pulling his fist back again and letting it fly. "Looking for her."

“Looking for my baby!” It’s the sympathy vote. Banking on shame and embarrassment and not being willing to tell the entire story to worm his way through the details. The sob story is his best chance of not getting his face beat in.

Joel knows what the man is doing. He had heard the same sad excuses used by others once upon a time when he was less than scrupulous. Not that he's an upstanding citizen now, but this is personal. "Didn't knock." Joel points out as he grabs the man's jacket and hauls him up so that the single light from a bare bulb illuminates your tormentor's face and gives his own a dark, foreboding, shadow as he glares down at him. "Big mistake." He grunts right before punching him again.

“Wait—wait!” Kicking his legs and barely managing to throw the next blow, the descent of another assailant at the bottom of the stairs and another fist comes out of nowhere along with a pained scream.

“Why are you here?” Joel roars, gripping the man with both hands and shaking him like a rag doll, furious that he would dare break in to harm you.

“For my baby!” He tries again, mind not really working hard on a new excuse when he’s trying to fend off now two grown men apparently intent on beating the shit out of him.

“There is no baby.” From the top of the stairs, your voice cuts through the din — shaky but loud enough to be heard.

Joel’s head twists around and he stares at the black figure at the top of the stairs. “We have him.” He pants, keeping the iron grip on the man who had tortured you and makes him hiss in pain when he grabs his hair and yanks his head back for you to see his already battered face. He knows it pains you to admit your son is gone, but he’s concentrating on your safety.

“I can see that.” The click of metal comes before you step down the stairs, Joel’s gun held out in front of you with a surprisingly steady hand. “I could hear it from upstairs.”

“You don’t have to be around him.” Joel promises you, keeping an eye on you as you descend the stairs with the gun in your hand. He knows you won’t shoot him, but you could drop the revolver.

From catatonic with fear to oddly quiet and resolute, your entire mood has changed in the mere minutes that Joel has been gone. It was the idea that he could hurt Joel that changed everything. That the happiness that you’ve fought so hard for here in Jackson could be taken by the same man who stole your entire sense of self for so long. That isn’t going to happen. “He’s in our house,” you remind Joel flatly. As if to say that makes him both our problem.

“Our house?” The man on the ground has the audacity to sneer the question. Making Joel hiss. “Managed to get your hooks into this one already? Knew you were a slut.”

Joel growls, turning around and slamming the man into the concrete so his head bounces few good times before yanking him up again. “Shut the fuck up before I rip your goddamn tongue out.” He warns darkly.

“Why are you here, Aidan?” Making no mistake about the action, you very deliberately aim the revolver at his chest and put your thumb on the hammer.

“I’m— they brought me here!” He cries, eyes widening and darting back to look at the two men who are towering over him. He hadn’t thought you would be protected like this when he broke in. “Not for you! Why would I want a whore like you?” He shakes his head, addressing Tommy and Joel. “She’s—don’t know how many men she’s fucked here, but she was in Chicago with us—my group. She spread her legs for anyone.” He lies desperately.

Carefully cocking the revolver is the sound that cuts through Aidan’s bullshit, and Tommy is staring at you in completely silent wonder as he and Joel hold tight to your attacker. “I know why you’re in Jackson, asshole. I’m asking why you’re in my basement.”

“I don’t—I didn’t—you bit—” the comment is cut off by a howl of anguish, his body jerking.

Joel has just driven his hunting knife into the meaty flesh of his thigh above his knee. “Fucking lie to her and I’ll pop your kneecap off like a pimple.”

It turns out that under the layers of fear and the layers of trauma, it’s protecting your family that is what brings out the deadliest tendencies in you. Thinking about what could have happened if Ellie or the baby were here? It snapped you out of all that terror faster than blinking. “One more time. Why are you here?”

Sobbing, Aidan isn’t nearly as powerful as he had been in Chicago. He had assumed this little town was his ticket to safety, to shelter. Until he had seen you and immediately decided that he would use you to solidify his position here in this place. He had been warned by the council that if it didn’t work out he would be taken out into the wilderness and left. “For you. You’re mine.” He tells you, looking at you with a pitiful, pleading expression. “I love you, baby. And you swore you would always love me.”

“He told you not to lie to me.” Surprising to everyone including yourself, you step forward and finally come off the bottom step to stand on the basement floor. “I don’t belong to you and I don’t love you and everybody in this room knows what you and your cronies did to me so don’t fucking lie about it.”

“I can’t go back out there.” Aidan confesses, grimacing in pain and trying not to move too much because of the knife embedded in his thigh. “I won’t— I can’t be out there. You can make it to where I can stay.”

At the idea that you would help him in any way, you actually laugh out loud. “You’re not going back out there,” you promise him with dark surety. “But that’s mostly because you’re not leaving this basement. If I don’t kill you?” You nod to Joel, knowing full well that you’re being honest. “He will.”

“You were a dead man the moment I found out who you were.” Joel growls honestly. Even if the town council had let him go, Joel would have tracked him down. Wanting to make sure that there was no way he could ever show back up in your life.

“So the only thing you get to decide is how fast you die.” With the revolver still in your hand, you raise your arm to point it at his head instead of at his chest where there is too much chance of hitting something that will only wound but not kill him. “I can do this quickly. Or I can let him tear you apart.” The nod to Joel is understood, but for some reason you can’t stomach the idea of Aidan Stokes knowing anything about your happy life. Not even Joel’s name.

Joel watches you for a moment and then lets Aidan go, straightening up and stepping back. He wont stop you if this is what you want to. It’s your right, your fucking right to end this piece of shit if you want.

“Fast or slow, Aidan?” Not that you were given a choice in how you were tortured. Or your son was given a choice in how long he lived. Not that Joel was given a choice in keeping Sarah. Not that Aidan will truly get to choose, either. You’ve already made up your mind what will happen to him.

“Babe...please.” Aidan shakes his head. “You don’t— this isn’t you. You love me.” He protests.

“It’s the person you made me.” You tell him flatly, before carefully holding the gun out to Joel. “However you want to do it,” you tell him flatly, before turning and taking Tommy’s arm to leave the basement. The truth is that you aren’t sure you could pull the trigger, even after everything you’ve been through. But you sure as hell never want him touching another living being ever again.

Joel smirks, a dark look in his eyes and Tommy swallows. He knows what Joel is capable of when he wants to be vicious. “Do you want to watch, beautiful girl?” His voice is soft. Deceptively so.

“No.” In the back of your mind you know that Joel will hold back if you are here, and that is a mercy that Aidan doesn’t deserve. “We’re going to sit upstairs. Come up when you’re done.” There will be more work to do at that point. There will be cleaning and disposal of a body you intend to spit on once it’s in the ground.

“Baby, wait.” Aidan’s panicked voice is laughing nervously. “You don’t mean that. It’s not funny, tell him you’re joking.” He begs. “Tell him you’re joking!”

You stop on the second step, the one that squeaks and now you don’t think you ever want Joel to repair it. With a drawn face and nothing but hardness in your eyes, you turn and shake your head at the man who has tortured you in so many different ways for years. “Rot in hell, Aidan.”

“Baby…baby…” his voices rises in panic and his eyes widen, scrambling to his feet and groaning at the wound in his leg. “Baby, don’t go! Don’t do this!” Joel lifts his foot and plants it in the middle of Aidan’s chest to kick him back down.

The last sounds he gets from you is the definite thumping of your heels on the ground floor and the slamming shut of the basement door followed by the click of the lock that holds it in place. Of course there is a mechanism on the other side so it can be opened by anyone downstairs as well, but it's the principle of the thing. That his fate has been sealed, and by you.

“You should leave now.” Joel tells Tommy seriously. What he’s about to do might get him in serious trouble with the town council and he doesn’t want to fuck things up for his younger brother. He’s got Maria and the baby to think about. If Joel gets kick out of Jackson, you can come with him.

Tommy doesn't say anything, but only nods and hustles up the stairs after you. He unlocks the door to let himself out into the kitchen then locks it again behind him, unsure of the state he'll find you in.

All the emotion you have is basically tied up in exhaustion, which has you leaning against the kitchen counter when Tommy appears. Whatever Joel is going to do downstairs is up to him. But whatever it is, you sincerely hope it causes the man who hurt you as much pain as absolutely possible on his way out of this life.

The sounds start almost immediately. The dull thwack of something hitting something soft, followed by a muffled cry. Repeated in a symphony of motion that could almost have a rhythm until it pauses. Followed by a low murmur and a vicious howl of agony.

“Self defense,” you murmur a few seconds later, looking up at Tommy. “He broke into our house. Joel had to act in self-defense.” The council will ask questions. You know that. But you aren’t about to let anything happen to Joel as a result of what just happened downstairs. If need be, you will stand in front of the town’s leadership and tell them exactly what he did to you in excruciating detail. They won’t argue after that.

“I’ll tell ‘em the same thing.” Tommy immediately agrees. “After all, he did break in.” He steps closer to you, a frown on his face pulling his mustache down. “How are you holdin’ up? I know— honey, I’m so goddamn sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have. It’s not like I showed you his picture or anything.” You’re definitely not doing well, but you’re doing better than you thought you would be with all things considered.

“I should have asked more questions.” Tommy shakes his head and is still going to blame himself. A high pitched squeal comes from the basement door and he looks over at it knowingly.

“That assumes that he would have given honest answers.” You shake your head and pour two short glasses of water, offering one to Tommy and sipping the other for yourself. The antique clock nearby reads almost one in the morning and you frown at it, shaking your head. “It’s over now. Joel is finishing the job and I can start to sleep a little bit deeper at night.”

The low moan of pain is almost animalistic, long and drawn out, is almost cut off with a wet gurgle. Tommy shifts, almost visualizing what Joel is doing to cause that sound.

“He deserves it,” you remind Tommy, who fidgets at the sounds coming from the basement. “I’m just glad Ellie is at your house. She shouldn’t have to hear any of this.”

“I know he deserves it.” Tommy nods. “I just know what Joel is doing based on the sounds.” He admits. “There was a time that we…weren’t the best people.”

“I know.” Joel has told you some of his own past. Nothing too graphic, but enough that you had a very solid idea of what he is capable of. “That’s why I know he’ll finish the job when I don’t think I could.”

“I think you would have.” Tommy argues. “You looked like you would have pulled the trigger right then when you came down those stairs.”

You nod, thinking perhaps you might really have done it right there in the beginning. But you’ll never know. “There’s no guarantee that my aim would have been good enough to kill him.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Tommy snorts. “It’s amazing what can happen when the people you love are threatened.” As if agreeing, another sound comes from the basement.

The clock draws your eye again, and you glance out the window up at the moon before looking back at Tommy. “It’s his birthday,” you tell him quietly. “The baby’s. He should be one today.”

Tommy bites his lip and nods, understanding that this is a bittersweet day for you. “Then it’s just that it’s today that bastard draws his last breath.”

"They always say babies look like their father, but he didn't. He looked like me." At least you could be grateful for that, if nothing else. "It's a small mercy."

“He was beautiful then.” Tommy tells you quietly, patting your shoulder and wondering if you wanted a hug. “Inside and out.”

“Thank you.” It’s enough that Tommy is kind. That you have come to know and to trust him as a brother over the last year. It’s enough that he’s here and he’s supportive. Even if being supportive just means standing with you in silence while Joel finishes what needs to be finished downstairs.

Slowly, footsteps sound on the stairs. Not a thudding, heavy trod, but weary. Stopping at the top and there’s a small knock, just one rap of a knuckle against the wood.

You make it to the door before Tommy does, flipping the lock and pulling it open to reveal Joel on the top step with more than a little blood on him.

The vicious fire is gone, extinguished from his eyes and replaced with a weary sense of peace. He doesn’t reach for you, aware that you could be repulsed by the sight of him. “It’s done.” He sighs out. “He’ll never fuckin’ bother you again.”

There is no blood on his face somehow, no remnant there of the work he’s done besides the sweat on his forehead, and you kiss him softly before stepping back. “Go wash up, love. Tommy and I will take care of things from here, and then I’ll come to bed. Is that okay?”

Joel’s eyes slide over to Tommy and he silently communicates with him. “That’s fine, beautiful girl.”

******

It’s hours later when you fulfill that promise, dragging yourself up into your bedroom in the black of night to find Joel sitting up in bed staring at the wall. “I’ll wash,” you tell him wearily, the adrenaline of fear and finality having dissipated into the night. Now you’re just bone tired.

Joel nods. “I’ll run you a bath.” He moves slowly, groaning as he gets up from the bed and shuffles towards the bathroom. His hand is broken, fractured in several places and it will be a bitch to work for the next several weeks, but he doesn’t care. As long as you are safe, he will shoulder any pain.

“I—” In the doorway of the bathroom you pause, sunken shoulders and drawn face returning you to the sad, guilty version of yourself that you so often are when thoughts or even conversation turns to the topic of your past. It hangs in the air tonight like a heavy fog. “I’m sorry. For asking you to do that. But when I got downstairs I realized that I couldn’t pull the trigger, I just…I knew that you could.”

Joel frowns when he turns from the edge of the tub, reaching for the faucet to turn it on. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He grunts quietly, shaking his head. “Come here, beautiful girl.”

“Asking you to kill for me seems like it warrants an apology,” you point out, though you willingly let him draw you into his chest without hesitation. The whole night was meant to be relaxed and rejuvenating and it had turned into hell.

“I would kill for you a hundred more times.” Joel huffs quietly. “I was afraid.” He admits. “Afraid that you would be afraid of me after seeing the aftermath.”

“Afraid of my knight returning from battle?” You shake your head against his chest and inhale the comforting scent of clean Joel. “I owe you everything. Hell…I wanted to give you everything anyway.”

“You don’t owe me a damn thing.” Joel huffs, relaxing against you and slipping his arms around your back. You seem crave the shelter of him right now, so he won’t even ask if you are comfortable. “I love you. I—you are perfect.”

“No I’m not.” It’s not even self deprecating, but you look up at him with a serious expression, arms tight around his waist. “But as long as we’re the right kind of imperfect for each other, I’m okay with that.”

“Let me take care of you, beautiful girl.” He murmurs softly. “I’ll keep you safe. Always.”

******

The next summer is sunny and hot, giving you an excuse to wear all of the cute dresses that you had made for yourself from scraps and hand-me-downs over your time in Jackson. Today is definitely not the day for scraps, though. Today you have possibly the nicest dress you have ever made for yourself. The soft yellow fabric is embroidered with flowers that match the crown of wildflowers that Dina helped you weave for your hair, and even though your belly is now big enough to be in the way more often than not, you feel like you’ve finally earned the name that Joel has been calling you since the very first night you went to the movies together more than a year ago. Tommy is with Joel and Ellie over at your house this morning while you’re getting ready for the day with Maria and cooing over the toddler that she and Tommy have devoted all of their time and love to. It’s a very big day. One that is both a long time coming and feels like it came at you faster that lightning.

“Too goddamn old for this.” Joel grumbles, running his hand over his surprisingly smooth cheek. The barber had offered a shave to go with the haircut this morning and he had decided to just leave a mustache. Tommy snickers and his older brother stops his pacing long enough to glower at him. “I’m fucking fifty-eight years old, about to get married and have a baby.” He’s not upset, he’s nervous, afraid of fucking it up. Wanting the hard fought for happiness that seems to be everyday life now.

“Nobody told you to propose, old man,” Tommy teases, getting a fist bump from Ellie for his effort.

Joel huffs and shakes his head. “What kinda man would I be if I didn’t?” He asks. “It’s my baby.”

“That’s Dad that I hear in there.” Still, Tommy can’t judge too much — and he isn’t, not really — since he did the same thing. “We’re damn lucky to have these women and we know it. We gotta keep them close.”

“Still can’t believe it.” Once the dragon of your nightmares had been slayed in real life, you had blossomed. It was like you had still been living with the subconscious fear that Aidan would find you. Now that he had been unceremoniously burned, his ashes buried, that weight had fallen off of you and very naturally, you had eased into a physical intimacy with Joel. It happened the first time. One time inside you and he had gotten you pregnant.

"You act like you didn't know where babies come from. Or forgot." Ellie is kicked back in the living room of the house in a full suit and tie with her boots all cleaned and shined for the occasion. Since Tommy is going to be the one to actually marry you on behalf of the Town Council, she's standing up as Joel's Best Person. "Do we need to draw you a diagram, old man?"

“Listen, brat—” Joel points his finger at the teenager. “Just because you can’t get pregnant with Dina, doesn’t mean you can get cocky.” He raises a brow. “Or should I make it a rule you gotta keep your door open when she’s over?”

"You wouldn't?!" That has her drawing back immediately, wide eyed and extremely displeased with the idea of not having privacy with her girlfriend.

“Mmmmhmmm.” He chuckles and straightens back up, pleased to have made his point, even if he was only teasing. “Now I just get to worry about everything all over again.”

"You've got help this time." While he's not proud of it, Tommy knows he wasn't a hugely helpful part of raising Sarah. He'd done what he could back then but he just had no idea how to be anything besides a playmate. Now, with a young child of his own, he's prepared to be a fully functioning extra pair of hands should you and Joel need the help.

"Uncle Tommy and Big Sister Ellie." The teen plants her fists on her hips and grins. "What could possibly go wrong?"

“God help us all.” Joel huffs, even though he’s extremely pleased with the sentiment. “You think she’s ready yet?” He asks, glancing at the clock impatiently. “Damn woman wanted to wait to get married, and she’s about to pop.”

"Just as long as she doesn't go into labor at the reception," Tommy jokes, shaking his head. That had happened one of his old Army buddies way back when.

“Oh fuck.” Joel’s eyes widen at the possibility.

“Christ, Tommy,” Ellie groans, throwing a pillow at the younger Miller. “Don’t get him all freaked out.”

“Doc Sanchez is gonna be there, right?” He asks Tommy, ignoring the eye rolling. Most of the damn town is going to be at the second ever Jackson wedding, both of them ironically Millers, but he has to be sure.

“The whole ass town is going to be there.” Tommy hoists himself out of his seat to try to soothe his brother. Joel wants this, he’s just nervous as all hell. “But yes, Doc Sanchez will be there.”

“Good.” Joel blows out a breath and grins, a halfcocked thing that lights up his face and makes him look younger, softer. “Fuck, I’m getting married.”

“How you found two different women willing to put up with your shit forever, I’ll never know.” He pats his brother on the shoulder, but Tommy is grinning too. He knows how much you and Joel love each other, and how you’ve eased the stings and bruises of each other’s pasts.

“Don’t know, but I’m lucky.” Joel admits easily. You know about his past with Tess and don’t feel jealous of it, which he is grateful for.

“It’s almost time.” Ellie points at the clock on the mantle and hops to her feet, ready to snap the straps on her suspenders if she was wearing any.

The wedding is supposed to be simple, but it doesn’t feel that way. His heart is in his throat and he remembers another wedding, a lifetime ago, and he knows it will be better than that one. He never regretted being with his ex-wife, because he had Sarah, but he knows he will be a better partner, husband, and hopefully father this time around. He’s getting a second chance at life and he’s not going to take it for granted. “Let’s go get me married.”

******

The wedding was supposed to be simple, but it didn’t end up feeling that way. The flowers cut by neighbors and friends from their gardens, the food cooked and delivered from kitchens all around town, and the few musically inclined folks coming together to make a band all mean that this morning at town hall felt like the most exquisite frontier wedding you could ever ask for, and now that the reception is in full swing it’s probably the biggest party that Jackson’s seen since well before the world ended. Mr. and Mrs. Miller pronounces the hand drawn sign on the little table where you and Joel are sitting, eating your lunch and watching people move to and fro filling their plates and saying their hellos. In time you’ll start the dancing, but for now the first one to get their boogie on is the peanut you’ve been carrying around for the last eight months.

You grimace slightly and Joel is immediately turning towards you. The wedding band on his finger feels foreign but he ignores the way it catches the light as he reaches out to touch your stomach. Feeling the baby has been unlimited for him, although your days of not wanting to be touched are becoming few and far between. “Are you okay, beautiful girl?” He asks quietly, trying to alarm anyone, including himself.

“The baby’s dancing on every organ he can find,” you joke, having been certain for months now that you’re having another boy. You don’t really know how you know. You’re just completely certain.

He manages to crack a grin, something frequent that happens when he’s feeling the baby pound against his palm through your uterus. “Wants to dance, feelin’ a little left out in there.” He murmurs softly, looking up into your eyes.

“You’ve still got a little baking left to do in that oven, buddy,” you murmur, smoothing your hand over your belly and laughing when that only seems to illicit more activity. “Just let us have today, sweet boy. That’s all we ask.”

He hopes that this baby brings you the joy you had missed with your last child. He has worked tirelessly to make sure that your every need has been taken care of and you can have the least stressful pregnancy at the end of the world as possible.

“Are you happy we did this, love?” You ask, covering his hand with yours over your belly. Technically it was Joel’s idea to get married, telling you that he’s just old fashioned enough that if you were going to make a family together that he wanted you to be a family in that traditional way. You’d even gone through the trouble of making a set of formal adoption papers to say that Ellie was officially your daughter.

“Of course I am.” Even with all the nerves and worries that he holds on his shoulders, he doesn’t regret this. He knows you are safe and if something ever happens to him, Tommy and Ellie and all the citizens of Jackson will help you and protect you. “How about you, beautiful girl? You happy to be the second Mrs. Miller in town?”

“If we’re going by Victorian rules, I’m the Mrs. Miller and Maria is considered second. Perks of marrying the older brother.” It’s dumb, though, and you know it just comes from too many period dramas back in your teens. “Of course I’m happy, love. This is…honestly? It’s not the way my dreams happened when I was younger but all the boxes are perfectly checked. And you’re even better than any of the guys I imagined way back then.”

He huffs out a small laugh and wonders what kind of man you had originally thought about. “Well, I hope that it continues to be what you want. If it’s not, you give me hell and I’ll change what needs changing.”

“Same for you.” You acknowledge seriously, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Nothing is really ever perfect, so if something needs fixing, we fix it. Together.”

“Together.” Joel nods, smiling down at the bump and then up at you. Ellie’s laughter catches his attention and he watches as the girl who had brought him to Jackson dances with Dina, beaming at her girlfriend as she holds her close. The journey to this moment had been full of anger, heartbreak, tears and loss, but right now the future for Joel and his little family looks bright.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04

N2N: @missladym1981, @orcasoul

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x female reader #Joel Miller x f!reader #ptsd #assault survivor #dead dove #do not eat #dead dove do not eat

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alloftheimagines · 1 year

Text

jamie tartt | if somebody hurts you, i wanna fight

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

words: 2.2k

warnings: 18+

domestic abuse, violence, trauma, the aftermath of an abusive relationship in which jamie finds out your boyfriend, his teammate, is abusing you. takes place when he's playing for manchester city.

prompt: Hey there! I would love to send a prompt request in for Jamie tartt:) number 29, I don’t know why but to me it fits him well! Nothing specific, thank you! 🥰

Jamie sees the bruises and knows. He’s never had a good feeling about your relationship with Tom, his teammate, but you’ve ignored his warnings despite being friends since childhood.

And now you’re hiding bruises. Anger flares in him, and it’s an effort not to reach out as you get up from the couch to grab popcorn, the staple of any movie night. He thought it strange you turned up on his doorstep after months of barely seeing you, but now he thinks he understands. Your T-shirt rode up for only a moment at your hip before you tugged it down, but he saw the purple welt. His jaw ticks as he listens to you shuffle about, but he can only wait so long. Fingers flexing at his side, he heads in to hear popcorn popping in the microwave.

“Do you want a beer?” you ask, oblivious. When he doesn’t reply, your brows furrow and you look up from the kitchen counter. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Has he been hurting you?” he questions steadily.

“What?” You’re a terrible actor, but you try nonetheless, eyes widening in feigned confusion.

Jamie takes a deep breath. “Don’t lie to me. I saw the bruises just now. There’s only reason why you wouldn’t tell me about them.”

It makes him sick as he realises the truth of those words; you’d hide it because you know Jamie would react badly, perhaps even sacrificing his spot on the team. Tom’s more popular with the fans, Man City’s star player. If Jamie confronted him… He knew it would be game over. That’s why you’d kept your distance.

And yet he still wanted to. He was already imagining it, shoving Tom against the lockers and beating him the way he’d beaten you. He’d teach him a lesson; nobody would ever hurt you again.

He wouldn’t let them.

You pale, tugging at the hem of your shirt again self-consciously. “I fell.”

Jamie shakes his head, barely even listening now. Lost to his fury. “I’ll teach that wanker a lesson. I’ll fucking kill ‘im. I knew he was trouble. I knew he was no fucking good for you—”

“Jamie, please.” You grab his arm, eyes flooding with tears as you look at him. It’s enough for him to halt, still glaring. “Don’t. Please. I’m handling it.”

“Are you still with ‘im?”

You hesitate at that, a look of shame darkening your features.

“Then you’re not fucking handling it,” he snaps.

“He won’t let me leave,” you whisper, chin wobbling. “I tried. That’s why he… I tried.”

His shoulders heaved with a sigh, but he softened, sympathy swirling in his eyes. “I can help you, love. You should have told me. You used to tell me everythin’.”

Tears slip down your cheeks as he cups your jaw, catching them.

“Hey,” he breathes gently. “It’s okay. You’re safe ‘ere. You know that, don’t you?”

A nod. He pulls you into his chest, and you wrap your arms around him, shuddering as it all comes spilling out. “I’m sorry. I thought he loved me. The first time… He was drunk. I thought he was just drunk. But then he kept… I’m just sorry.”

“No need to apologise, babe.” He plants a kiss in your hair. The microwave dings, the last remaining kernels popping behind the glass, but neither of you move to get it. “It’s not your fault. It’s never your fault.” He closes his eyes, pain searing through him. He can’t bare to think of you hurting like this. He should have realised sooner. Should have known. “How long’s it been going on?”

“A couple of months.”

Too long, then. It’s always going to be too long. “Stay ‘ere with me, yeah?” he asks. “He won’t get to you ‘ere.”

“I don’t want you involved in this—”

“You’re my best fucking friend, and I’m not letting him do this to you again. Never.” He pulls away and forces you to meet his gaze. “He won’t fuckin’ touch you again.”

“I’m begging you. Don’t confront him. Don’t do anything to risk your career. Please. Please promise me.”

His nostrils flare, but he nods. It isn’t quite a promise, though — not one he’s willing to keep, at least.

***

He does his best. He survives practices with the fucker all week while you hide away in his house, rarely getting out of your pyjamas. He has to force you to eat most nights, though you always have a home-cooked meal on the table. He can’t enjoy them, too busy wondering if it’s a forced habit — if maybe you were punished if you didn’t have dinner waiting for Tom.

And then Tom struts into the locker room before a Sunday match in Man City’s home stadium, his gaze already narrowed on Jamie. Wordlessly, he nudges past the other players, and the hair on the back of Jamie’s back prickles as he stops lacing his boot to look up at him.

“I bet you think you’re a right hero, eh?” Tom sneers. “Hiding her away from me. What’d she tell you?”

Jamie’s knuckles whiten, entire body tensing, but then he thinks of his promise to you. “You dunno what you’re talking about, mate,” he replies stiffly, drawing his lace tight.

Tom scoffs. “I know you’re the first person she’d run to.”

This time, Jamie bites, standing up to match his eye level and squaring his shoulders. “And you hate that, don’t you? It must make your fuckin' blood boil. Does it make you feel good, being an abusive twat, or are you that far gone that you don’t care either way?”

Tom slams Jamie’s locker shut, the picture of aggression. Jamie thinks of you facing him, alone in his big old house where no one is there to step in. He thinks of the way you must have flinched at that scorn, and resolves not to on your behalf. He might be breaking one promise, but he’ll keep another: Tom’ll never touch you again.

“You gonna beat me up as well?” he asks, and that anger he’d been suppressing so well is bubbling now; he’s a volcano ready to erupt.

“Oi!” The team manager steps in, drawing everyone’s attention. “We’ve got a job to do today. Whatever the issue is, you save it ‘til later. Am I clear?”

Jamie doesn’t back down, his eyes flaring with dangerous defiance. Tom is the first to nod, but not before offering a smarmy smirk — as though he’s won. “Yes, boss.”

“Jamie?”

“Yeah,” Jamie mutters finally — for you, he thinks. Anything for you.

It doesn’t stop there, though. Tom carries his bitterness onto the pitch, ignoring Jamie through the game so that he’s never passed the ball, never able to score. He’s tackled him more than a few times as though they’re on different teams, and Jamie knows then that he can’t play this game anymore. He won��t. He’ll quit on Monday, find another club to sign him. Maybe even grovel to Ted and go back to Richmond. Anything to get you both out of this.

He tries to be the bigger man, but he’s never been any good at it, so when Tom trips him in another fight for the ball, Jamie can’t do it anymore. His vision blurs into angry red lines as he stands, shins throbbing from the fall, and fists Tom’s sweaty shirt in his hands.

“Someone needs to put you in your fucking place,” he spits, and when Tom only grins again, he launches. His fist meets Tom’s hard jaw, and pain flashes through Jamie’s knuckles. Tom sniffs, spits, and the crowd in the stadium falls quiet enough to hear a pin drop. And then Tom lunges back, and Jamie feels the blow through every bone in his body.

It doesn’t stop him from punching him again. “See how you fuckin’ like it!” he’s screaming, again and again and again, all scrambling limbs and fierce hits between them. His knuckles and mouth turn bloody, and so do Tom's. Finally, they’re yanked away from one another.

Even as Jamie is pulled off the pitch, he’s bellowing across the field: “You’re nothing, you! A piece of fucking shit!”

“And who are you?” Tom calls. “Her knight in shining armour? You’re useless. You’re nobody!”

Jamie’s heard that more than a few times now. He no longer sees Tom’s face, but his own father’s. That’s why he couldn’t let this go, he realises. He could never stand up to his own bully, so he’s stood up to yours instead.

Spitting blood from his mouth, he leaves the pitch — knowing it might be for the last time. Knowing that if it is, it was worth it.

You saw it all on TV, and you’ve been waiting for the door to swing open ever since. Finally, it does — and you don’t even know what to say. Jamie’s mouth is swollen and his nose bloody, and you want to shout at him for being so stupid, for doing the one thing you asked him not to — in front of everyone. But in the end, you can only sigh, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“I know I fucked it up,” he rasps. “Maybe I should be sorry, but'm not. He fuckin’ deserved it.”

“And what about your job?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. You still wear your pyjamas, too afraid to go home and get fresh clothes. Too depressed to even try.

Jamie shrugs, throwing down his bag. “Don’t know yet. Doesn’t matter. I’m not playing on the same team as a dickhead like that.”

“But where will you play now?” Panic rises in you as you think about this means. You’ve never known Jamie without football, and to imagine him losing it now, because of you… It’s almost worse than what Tom did to you, maybe because you care more about your best friend than you ever could yourself. It’s wrong, but it’s true.

“I dunno. It doesn’t matter.” He sniffs, and you sigh, softening as you move towards him to examine his injuries.

Without a word, you head into the kitchen to wrap some ice in a towel. He follows slowly, sluggishly, as though he has no fight left in him. He used it all on the pitch. A stadium of fucking people. God, you’re angry. With Tom, with Jamie, with everyone. You shove the ice pack into his chest, blood pumping in your ears.

“It fucking matters,” you snap. “This is your life. I asked you not to ruin it because of me—”

“My life was ruined the minute you started dating that fucking prick!” he shouts.

You frown, confused. “What?” Your voice trembles.

Jamie purses his lip, shaking his head as he presses the ice to his bruised jaw. “Forget it. I did what I needed to. It wasn’t just for you, either. You’re not the only one who’s been bullied before. I’m sick of pushing it aside. Sick of 'em getting away with it. I can’t fight back for myself, but I can at least do it for you.”

You understand then. His dad. Tears sting your eyes. “Jamie…” You make to reach out, but he draws back as though your touch is venom. It hurts. You stumble back, feeling heavy and wrong. This is your fault. All of it.

“I shouldn’t have come to you. I shouldn’t have put you in this position," you say.

“Stop it. I told you it isn’t your fault.”

“It is.” You close your eyes, cheeks growing damp.

“Babe…” He’s there in a heartbeat, cupping your face with bloody hands. “Don’t. Please, don’t. Just look at me a minute.”

You do.

“I don’t give a shit about what this means for me. I don’t care if I’m never signed again. I only care that you’re safe. The dick was taunting me, and everyone will see that, but either way… you’re what matters. Nothin’ else.”

You can’t speak, your throat thick with emotion.

“I know you didn’t tell me because you knew this would happen, but I need you to understand that it’s happened because I love you. Because I always have and I always will. And if somebody hurts you, I’m not letting them get away with it.

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. I know that. I don’t wanna be like ‘im, I don’t want you to see me like that. But I wasn’t going to let him keep doing it. Not to me or to you.”

You hate it. Of course you do. But you love him, and you know that if the roles were reversed, you’d choose him over anything. You know that this wasn’t an act of violence, but of love and pent-up anger.

“You’re not like him,” you say gently. “You could never be like him.”

He kisses your forehead, and your eyes flutter shut again as you lean into him.

“You’re worth it,” he whispers. “You’re worth all of it. I just wish I could’ve been there for you sooner.”

You tuck yourself into his chest as he squeezes you tightly, smelling of grass and sweat and dirt. You haven’t felt safe in a long time. You haven’t felt loved in a long time, either. “You’re here now,” you say.

He nods, chin brushing the crown of your head. “‘S gonna be okay now. I’ve got you.”

You finally believe him.

1K notes · View notes

apollyonsdarksecrets · 8 months

Text

You can call me, Sir.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Warning: 18+ Only MDNI SMUT. Language, BDSM, Dom Aaron, emotionally detached reader, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive father figure, age gap (reader 25 Aaron 40) doesn’t line up with a specific time line, use of Y/n because story is set in 3rd person for the first half then switches POV, last name for reader is Smith,

Specific chapter warnings : Failed CPS case, implied abuse with belt, clothes shopping (I tried my best to be as body neutral as possible), sugar daddy Arron, sales lady is rude towards reader, Things are getting spicy, first rules, use of pet names, reader is described as having hair long enough to sweep over one shoulder, trying on clothes, Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: The amount of love that has been shown for this story so far has absolutely filled my heart! I’m sorry this chapter took a minute to come out, I got married last week sooooo 😍 that slowed the process down a little. Haha 💜

*~*~*~*~*~*

9 years ago

The worst part was the way her nose stung, like a million tiny needles stabbing her all at once. But she had to breath through it, because only selfish, weak, incompetent people cried. So she forced her thoughts solely on the older woman who sat across from her, her grey hair loose around her shoulders, and the bright pink blazer she wore with matching skirt. ‘I think name is Deloris?’

Not what you would have thought when you heard the term ‘CPS worker’. She smiles at the young teen as if she was Y/n’s best friend and there isn’t a care in the world as her fountain pen taps against her yellow notepad. “You’re mother must have been a lovely woman.”

A muscle in Y/n’s jaw twitches, but she manages to return Deloris’ smile briefly. “She was.”

“So is that really the reason you have been skipping school?” Her green eyes were full of mock sympathy, and Y/n can only assume how many of these ‘troubled teen cases’ she has had to work.

“Yes ma’am.” It was the 8th anniversary of Y/n’s mother’s death. Today. She can hear her father in the other room, moving about the kitchen, pretending to not be listening through the thin walls. Y/n squeezes the pillow in her lap tighter to her churning stomach, already anticipating how the rest of the night will go.

“I’m sorry, dear. I know losing a loved one can be hard, but that doesn’t mean we can go about making things hard for the ones we still have.” Deloris tilts her head, her lips in a slightly pout as she regards Y/n, who only bites her cheek to keep quiet. She drops her chin to her chest, fanning shame with a small nod, placating the woman. “Good. I’m going to go talk with your father now, I hope you understand the severity of the situation you’ve almost caused. I expect to hear you are in school tomorrow.”

Deloris doesn’t take long in the kitchen with Y/n’s father, her pitchy laughter grating on Y/n’s ears. Her father escorts the worker to the door, his hair is combed, beard neat and he’s dressed still in his work clothes. A fitted grey collard shirt and jeans. His usual Forman outfit. At one point in Y/n’s life she can remember thinking her dad had been very handsome, but that had all been before the drinking.

“Have a good evening Miss. Deloris.” Her fathers southern accent is always laid on heavy whenever he is trying to impress someone, or to get his way. And for most of his life it worked well. Y/n wonders sometimes if that is how he had charmed her mother.

As the pine door shut, Y/n closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath before the storm. When she opens her eyes again, she’s staring at the brown tweed couch across from her, out of the corner of her eye she can see her father’s still form in the archway of the living room.

The sound of leather hissing through his denim belt loops makes her stomach drop, her breath quicken in her already tight chest. “Gone an got me in trouble huh?” He folds the worn leather over in his hands, snapping it together watching as she jumps in her seat. Her gaze remains focused on the spot Miss. Deloris had occupied, the old springs and cushioning holding her shape. “You ain’t learned trouble girl.”

Present Day

It’s almost unbearable how cold it is outside, the dark clouds over head threatened to snow on the busy sidewalk as you shove your hands as far into your jacket as they will go. Aaron is pressed against your side, his arm wrapped around your back, directing you through the crowd and to the front of a large store.

Chic’s End

Your nose scrunches slightly at the different mannequins in the brightly lit windows who’s clothing is on the higher end of fashion. Pieces you’d never find in your own wardrobe. Aaron guides you towards the door but you stop abruptly shaking your head. “Hotch, aren’t there places a little less… fancy?” Your tone gives away your discomfort as you scan the nearly empty store.

Aaron sighs, stepping around you so he can look you in the eye. “Rule number one: call me Aaron when it’s just the two of us, Hotch is too formal. Now I’m sure there are, but you deserve to be a little spoiled…” He pauses, his phone vibrating in his pocket making him frown. “Now go inside, let me check this and I’ll be right in.” As he fishes for his phone he pulls open the door for you, letting you walk in with a small head rush.

‘Our first rule?’

You take the moment you have some to look around the store front, a few customers are mingling about the rows of clothing, associates putting away inventory or helping their guests. A brunette is standing at the register, her hair sprayed and pinned into a tight bun atop her head. She glances at you, her nose turned up at your simple outfit, without a word of welcome she goes back to her work.

The door is opening a moment later, a small bell going off as Aaron steps in, the icy breeze trying to follow. “Sorry, David was checking in.” His voice reaches the woman at the counter, grabbing her attention. She watches as he shrugs out of his winter jacket, her gaze fixing on the flash of jewelry on his wrist with a smile.

“Is he okay?” You ask, handing Aaron your own jacket as he hangs them on a coatrack.

“Oh yes, he’s-.”

“Good afternoon, is there anything I can help you with?” You turn, the same woman from before now standing in front of you. She’s wearing a form fitting black dress, the apparent dress code for the establishment, a silver name tag pinned to her collar reading ‘Denise.’ Gone is her dismissive attitudes from before, her blue eyes staring intently at Aaron with a sly smile.

You feel something in your chest squirm, making you take a step in front of Aaron as you pull your best smile into place. “Oh thank you, but we are just-.”

A warm hands is suddenly on your shoulder, pulling you into Aaron’s side. “We’re looking for some work attire; blouses, pants, skirts and such. Along with more casual wear.” He squeezes your shoulder as you slide him a disgruntled look.

Denise regards you with a tight lipped smile, nodding her head slightly. “Of course. Right this way.” She turns on her heel, an extra sway in her her step that makes you roll your eyes as you pull out of Aaron’s grip following her. He follows behind a few paces, regarding you with masked amusement.

She takes you to the back of the store, pointing out the sections of racks you’ll need and where on the walls you can find work appropriate pants and skirts. Denise turns to Aaron once again, stepping to close for comfort as she stares openly at his suit. “You know, we have the latest in Brioni’s suit jackets that I think would complement you rather well, Mr…” She brushes her hand against his arm and your eyes widen.

“No thank you. I’ll let you know if we need any further assistance.” Aaron comes to stand beside you, his expression hard to read as he places a hand on your lower back. Denise’s eyes narrow slightly, her smile faltering before she pulls her emotions back.

“Please do.” She saunters of, throwing one last look over her shoulder.

You laugh unbelievably, “Jesus… she was a bit forward.” You turn toward the rack beside you, picking up the first shirt your eyes land on. It’s a simple white blouse with navy blue pinstripes, the neckline is a little low for your taste but otherwise it’s very pretty. You pick up the tag and instantly drop it, your mouth falling open.

“What?” Aaron asks, sliding the clothes along the pole, looking through the selection.

“This! These clothes are way to over priced.” You turn the tag towards him, and he squints at the small numbers. ‘75.56’. He frowns slightly and you think he’s about to agree with you, call this whole ridiculous thing off until he shrugs.

“That’s not so bad.” He grins at the incredulous look you level him, showing perfect teeth. “Darling you’ll come to realize the value that comes with certain things. Soon enough you’ll see the value in yourself as well.” He chucks you under the chin softly and you think that’s it.

You’re going to explode.

Everything it too much.

“Hotch, I can’t just let you waste that kind of money on me. You don’t know what you will need it for later, bills, or -.”

Aaron steps into your space again, bending down until he’s eye level with you and you clam up. His eyes are dark, burning with an intensity that has your shoulders slumping slightly. When he speaks his voice is quiet but direct, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “What did I say our first rule was?”

You stammer, your grip tightening on the fabric still in your hands. “You said… to call you Aaron.”

“Correct. So that’s one. Now, when I say I am doing something for you, buying you something, getting you something; do not doubt me. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t. Do I make myself clear?”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry and tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. “Good girl. Now if you really find calling me Aaron to difficult, you can always call me sir.” You suddenly look like a fire had been lit underneath you, your face flushing a new shade of red he’d yet to see before. You turn away from him, trying to hide your emotions and aggressively shuffle through the clothes before you.

Aaron straightens with a satisfied smile.

*~*~*~*~*~*

An hour in and there is a mount pile of clothing in the cart in front of you. Everything you’ve selected draped over one side and everything Aaron selected on the other. You had found a discount rack, the red tags a twisted mess by now, but the 15% off sign did little to quell the guilt eating you.

“Okay… this is more clothes than I think Garcia even owns. I think we should-.” You’re talking absently, glancing up only to find Aaron is walking in the opposite direction of the checkout. “Oh for the love of all things holy.” You quickly follow, pulling the cart behind you as the hangers rattle together. He stops in front of a display of eloquent evening gowns and you follow his stare to the forefront of the display. A deep emerald green satin dress takes your breath away, with a sweetheart neckline and a slit that goes half way up the mannequins thigh. You peak around the back in awe, it plunges well down to the lower back, a sheer material with beautiful rhinestones occupying the negative space.

Aaron watches as you pick up the bottom of the dress, rubbing the buttery material between your fingers. “I would love to see you in it.”

You shake your head, though your focus remains on the dress. “There’s no reason to, when would I ever wear this? Besides we’ve been here for nearly an hour, if we don’t leave soon I’m sure Denise is going to jump your bones.”

Aaron chuckles at that with a shrug. “You might not be wrong, she’s been lurking around the corner ever since I took my jacket off and she caught sight of my watch.” You glance down at his wrist as he shows you a golden Rolex. You hum in understanding, putting the two together. A handsome, stylish man, with a nice suit and a watch that coasts a couple of grand. She sees dollar signs. “Go ask her for a fitting room.”

Glancing around you notice she’s no more than ten feet away, pretending to be busy with an already neatly arranged display of sweaters. You walk over, hands clasped behind your back. “Excuse me?”

She doesn’t bother to look up, her head tilted as if in contemplation as she stares at the stack in front of her. “Yes?”

Your jaw clenches slightly, but you smile regardless. “I’d like to try that green dress on, where are your dressing rooms?” That finally catches her attention, she looks around you to the dress your talking about and then to the cart beside Aaron, the red tags turned her way. With a bemused smile she finally looks you in the eye.

“Sorry, that dress isn’t on sale, dear. Maybe come back some other time.” Her high voice carries farther than she thinks, reaching Aaron who’s eyebrows raised in surprise before furrowing as anger bubbles in his chest.

Before you can say anything he is by your side, startling you both. “She didn’t ask you if it was on sale. She asked if you had a fitting room.” Denise pales, his voice is harsh and edged making her shift on her feet as she begins to stammer

“Well I… it was just-.”

“Just what? It’s a simple question, this is a clothing store so you must have fitting rooms. She would like one opened.” Denise can no longer keep eye contact, her gaze flickering from his face and away again. “Now.” The command in his voice makes her move, her mouth agape and she’s pointing indirectly over her shoulder. She turns, quickly walking away and you’re left to stunned to react. Aaron’s hand finds your back again, pushing you forward, his other hand on the end of the cart.

The dressing area is three beiges booths with deep red curtains for doors. A large mirror takes up one wall that is lit up like Time Square during Christmas, and there are mirrors in the booths as well. “You said the green dress?” You nod, giving her your size and she’s running off again, her head down and face red. Aaron takes a seat in one of the mahogany chairs, folding his arms across his chest. He’s watching Denise leave with that same look he gives every unsub as they are being hauled off to their final destination.

“Um… thank you, for… for that.” You speak up, breaking the silence waiting on Denise to return.

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his black shoe tapping the polished floor. “You don’t typically show when you’re upset or irritated, I had to step in. I also couldn’t stand by and let you be berated like that.”

This time it’s you who crosses their arms, glowering at him. “I wasn’t showing I was upset, so what she was being rude? It didn’t affect me.”

His lips pull into a sarcastic smile, head shaking. “Sweetheart, I’ve been working with you for three years, nearly four. When you get upset over something, even if it is trivial, you dig your nails into your palms. Most likely because you would rather focus on that then what’s stewing in your mind and your chest.” You blink at him, awareness washing over you as you shake out your hands, crescent indents marking your flesh.

Before you can snip at him Denise is back, placing the dress in one of the rooms and leaving without a word. Aaron raises an eyebrow and you huff, turning and walking into the booth before snatching the curtain closed. You take a moment to breath, your annoyance merging on anger as you begin to undress.

You have to force yourself to remember this is all apart of the contract, this is all small steps to whatever greater end goal he has. You can’t fully trust he’s doing this out of the kindness of his heart, no one is like that. Working a career where you catch murderers and kidnappers and rapists has shown you such. The thought lingers at the back of your mind that maybe he’s pushing you to break and go to therapy where they will force your leave. It wouldn’t happen, you’ve come to far to let anyone treat you that way.

You step out of your pants, bending down to pick them up when you notice movement in the mirror. You look up, making eye contact with Aaron from where he sits and you go still. The only thing that moves is your heart as it suddenly jumps into double time.

Aaron’s eyes slowly rake over your body, the hunger in his eyes evident even from where you stand and you can feel your body respond. Heat rushes through your veins, leaving you lightheaded. He shifts in his seat, your eyes dropping to where he tugs at his pants legs, a noticeable bulge in his lap that makes your guts clench. From anxiety? Want? Curiosity? You aren’t sure. You quickly look away, his smile turning wolfish as you straighten and spin around, giving him a full peak at the matching black bra and panties your wearing before yanking the curtain fully closed.

All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, your fingers suddenly tingling and your lungs working for air. Shakily, checking the curtain again and again you strip out of your bra, and pull the dress over your head. The satin is soft and cool, the green leaving your skin glowing in the light. It hugs your body in ways you wouldn’t of imagined and you… like it. It screams seduction, fun, and someone you’re not but someone you once might have wanted to be…

The only issue is you can’t zip it yourself. You struggle for a few minutes, contouring your body this way or that, but you can’t get the zipper more than half way up your back.

Reluctantly you pull the curtain aside just enough to peak your head out, your eyes instantly finding Aaron’s. He raises an eyebrow, his hands clasped together in his lap and you are more than aware of why. “I need her help.” Your voice is floaty and you clear your throat. “I can’t zip it up.”

“I’ll help you.” He stands, crossing the small distance in three long strides, quicker than you can reject his help.

“Wait- no, I’m-.” But he is pulling the curtain away from the other side and you curse the interior designer with a flourish of silent profanities. In the small space he seems larger than life, all broad chest and long limbs. He steps closer and you back up, an all to familiar dance you two have rehearsed before.

He holds his hand out, a gesture of reassurance but he is still looking at you like a starved man. “Spin around, pretty girl.” Your legs feel suddenly numb, like you’d never used them before in your life as you continue to stare. “It’s okay.” He whispers, taking another half step forward.

“It’s fine, it fits well enough without it zipped I’m sure it’ll fit great when it is.” You fight to keep your body lose and face expressionless, trying to mask the feelings bubbling in your guts. Aaron doesn’t say anything, only continues to stare you down, gaze never wavering. “Really.”

“Turn around.” You don’t want to listen, but the timber of his voice makes your body ache in a way that catches you more by surprise than anything else has these past 24 hours. Cautiously you lay your hand in his, letting his pull you in before spinning you around so you’re facing the mirror. He sweeps your hair over your shoulder, his fingers grazing across the naked skin pulling gooseflesh to the surface.

You stand as still as possible, hardly breathing as he gently slides the zipper up. His palms spread across your ribs, warm through the thin fabric. “What do you think?”

“It’s a beautiful dress.” You whisper quietly, trying not to back down from his stare.

“You make it beautiful.”

“You’re only saying that.” He pulls you closer, your back hitting his chest, your body molding to his. A gasp disappears on your lips, his hips pressing into you lower back his erection prominent making you shiver.

“I can promise you I’m not.” His hand slips to your stomach, splaying across your abdomen, and a small noise hitches in your throat. He tilts his head down, pressing a tinder kiss to the crown of your head and all you can focus on is where he’s touching you and where he isn’t, but where you want him to. Your panties are suddenly slick feeling as you shift against him, his erection digging further into your ass.

“Aaron…” You try to warn, and he watches the way your eyes flutter, the shields you’ve so desperately and carefully constructed cracking under the weight of his stare. Some logical part of your brain, buried beneath the mush of your thoughts, is screaming and begging to run away. But how long had it been since you’d felt that fire in the pit of your stomach, curling your toes and making your thighs pinch together?

You’re about to open your mouth, say something, anything at all, when he is suddenly pulling away. “Come out here so I can get a better look at you.” Aaron steps behind the curtain leaving you to your spiraling thoughts and an ache you’d never imagine. Your face is flushed, eyes wide and pupils blown out over the color of your irises. It’s hard to keep the air in your lungs from rushing out in soft pants.

All you can think is that if this is how you react to a few simple words and actions, you’re screwed.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The next half hour is spent paying for your clothing, a bill Aaron wouldn’t allow you to see, then moving the bags from the car to your hotel room. You stare at them now, laid out on your bed with furrowed eyebrows and your thumbnail caught between your teeth. How would you get these in your bag and on the plane with as little notice as possible?

“Maybe we can go get you another duffle bag tomorrow.” Aaron answers as if he could read your thoughts, and if you didn’t know better you would say he did.

“It’s okay.. Thank you for the clothing.” You manage, giving him a tight smile as you glance to where he is standing at the foot of the bed.

The entire car ride was filled with tension, his presence alone setting you on edge, all while he remained calm driving down the busy streets and helping you to your room.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He smiles at you, possibly more so from your compliance, his eyes like coffee. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”

You bite your nail harder, looking back to the bags. “I’d like to just order my food to my room, I need to get this organized and finish my reports.” You expect him to argue but he only nods, coming around the bed and kissing the top of your head before he walks towards the door.

“I’ll check on you in a little while.” With that he leaves, and as the automatic lock slides into place you crumple. You sit heavily on the bed, running a hand through your hair like it might comb your thoughts back into place.

What are you doing?

What is he doing?

You groan in frustration, the feeling of not having control over what happens next beating on your bones and muscles. You haven’t relaxed since this began and you have a feeling you won’t for a long time to come.

*~*~*~*~*~*

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@kneelforloki @hmett20 @axionn @ncis0mrs0gibbs

#smut #apollyonsdarksecrets #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch smut #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #criminal minds aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds

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criminalamnesia · 6 months

Text

The One I’d Come Looking For

warnings: mentions of blood and death, mentions of past trauma, no use of y/n, reader has an unnamed sister, reader has powers and goes by “phantom”, not proofread

summary: you and peter had fallen out months ago because of your different lifestyles. now, he’s back in your life and trying to save you from Kraven’s hunters.

author’s note: I’m down bad for insomniac!peter. anyways I wrote this quickly and in a blur. it’s also my first step back into writing for fun in a while so I’m sorry if it’s awful and messy! I definitely started this with a different ending in mind but what’s done is done.

—

You thought you’d put your life as a criminal behind you. You’d been doing good for yourself without the help of your powers. You’d gotten out— but Kraven pulled you right back in.

You were on the run now, constantly looking over your shoulder as you attempted to find a way out of New York. It’s times like these you’d wish those experiments had given you the power of flight— maybe even invisibility. Anything to get you out quickly and unscathed.

Your phone rings for the third time in ten minutes. You don’t need to check the caller ID to see who’s calling. You know it’s one of the spiders— probably Miles, as you and Peter had a complicated history.

You ignore the ringing in favor of focusing on pushing the needle into the skin of your thigh to sew up the gash there. Kraven’s hunters were no joke. You’d faced worse, but they’d caught you by surprise. One minute you’re sleeping peacefully, the next your eyes are flying open to the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

You’d taken out most of them as you escaped, but one had taken a sword to your thigh. You were lucky— those blades were sharp enough to cut through bone. The one that hit you had skimmed you, but it had still cut deep enough to need stitches.

You bit your bottom lip as you worked on stitching yourself up. Your first aid skills were a little rusty, but it was almost like riding a bike. You never forget how to patch yourself up after a fight, right?

The phone rang again and you scowled. You should’ve left the damn thing behind, but maybe your subconscious made you take it in hopes that he’d call.

You and Peter hadn’t spoken in months, not since you stepped back from a life of villainy. In hindsight, it’s ironic. Peter hated your lifestyle when you were together— it’s one of the reasons things ended. You’d think he’d be interested once you were on the straight-and-narrow, but he was radio silent.

You could understand. You had done a number on him— and he on you.

Again, the phone rings. You pull the needle through your skin a final time, tying the thread and reaching for the bandages beside you. A knock on the door startles you out of your thoughts.

The bandages are forgotten as you raise your hands. Green light swirls around your fingertips. You’re ready to send a barrage of green spikes through the air when whoever is knocking speaks.

“Phantom, I know you’re in there.”

Peter.

“It’s open,” You sigh, dropping your hands and turning your attention back to the bandages.

The door slowly creeps open a crack to reveal an unfamiliar suit. The red and blue you once knew are gone, replaced by an eery black that unsettles you. You raise your eyebrows as he enters the room and pushes the door shut behind him.

“New suit?” You ask, looking back down at your leg as you start wrapping the bandage. You grit your teeth as you pull the fabric tight around your thigh. You couldn’t afford to start bleeding again.

“Why don’t you answer your phone?” He counters, his voice lower than you remember. It almost didn’t sound like him.

“Kinda busy here, Pete. Fuckin’ hunters know what they’re doing. I’m sure they’ve got my trail again, it’s only a matter of time before they come busting in here. I’ve gotta patch myself up and get going— excuse me if I don’t have time for chatting,” you huff, not bothering to look at him as he approaches you.

“I saw them on my way over,” he says. “Said hi.”

“Did you?” You said, ripping the last of the bandages and patting your thigh. You’d have to stay ahead of them now. You’d lose a foot race, but you may win with some distance. “How kind.”

“I was trying to buy you some time.”

“I don’t need your help, Peter,” you spoke, pushing yourself off of the floor while minding your hurt leg. “I’ve been doing fine on my own.”

“You should be grateful,” he said. There was an angry edge to his voice, and it was unnerving. You’d never heard him speak in such a tone, especially towards you. No matter how mad you made him when the two of you were together, he never reached that point.

“Should I?” You questioned, getting a good look at him now. He still had the white spider you recognized, but the rest of the suit was a slimy looking black. “I don’t owe you shit, Spider-Man,” you threw the title in his face, watching as the off-white slits of his eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask for your help. I can handle myself— I have been handling myself for months, and last I checked, you wanted nothing to do with me. So, why are you standing here now?”

He exhaled sharply. The two of you stared at each other for a moment before you gave a small laugh and shook your head. “This angsty, brooding act isn’t cute, Pete. Tell me what you want or get lost.”

“I’m trying to save you,” he spat as his face started to come into view. Black tendrils of the suit slinked away until his mask was completely gone. There was a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize.

“Save me from what, the hunters? Little too late for that, incase you haven’t noticed,” you gestured a hand to your thigh.

“Kraven,” he spoke, his voice rough. “He’s killing villains. He’ll kill you.”

“I’m not scared of Kraven or his hunters,” you said, reaching down to swipe your bag off of the floor. You shrugged one of the straps over your shoulder and looked back at Peter. “And you should know I don’t need saving.”

“Can you not be so stubborn for once?” Annoyance was clear in his tone as one of his hands reached out to wrap lightly around your wrist.

“Since when do you care about my well-being?” You countered, pulling your wrist from his grasp and stepping around him. “We didn’t end on good terms. We haven’t spoken in months. I don’t think you could hate anyone, that’s not who you are—” you gave a small laugh as you shook your head, “but I’m pretty sure you got close to hating me.”

“I never hated you,” he told you, and his voice almost sounded normal again, but you were already walking towards the door. Your hand grasped the handle, pulling it open, but making no move to step out.

You ignored him. Although you would never tell him, those words meant a lot to you. You had loved Peter— for fuck’s sake, you were going to marry him. But you got caught up in some bad shit, and he couldn’t forgive you for it. You didn’t expect him to.

The last time you had seen him, you’d limped away. Broken and bleeding, abandoning him on a rooftop, ignoring his pleas for you to do the right thing.

You had never raised a fist to him, nor he to you. In fact, he had saved you from death at the hands of Kingpin that night— and still you’d finished the job you were assigned.

The clarity that came after was crushing. Missing him was crushing, but you were too proud and he was too tired. You know that if you’d gone back to him, he would have eventually forgiven you. Peter was good like that. It was one of the reasons you had loved him.

It was one of the reasons you still loved him.

“Goodbye, Spider-Man.” You spoke softly before stepping into the hall and shutting the door behind you.

You hobbled down the hallway and desperately tried to ignore the pain in your leg. The hunters wouldn’t stop just because you were injured, meaning you couldn’t stop either.

Whatever. You’d been through worse.

As you approached the end of the hall, the irises of your eyes shifted to a light green. It was a subtle tell that you were using your powers. As if the occasional glowing-green structures you created weren’t enough of a tell.

You shifted through the wall, your eyes fading back to their original color as you inhaled deeply. You knew Peter was probably still lurking somewhere close by. He was never one to sit back and let something happen, especially if it involved someone he cared for.

Well, used to care for. You supposed it was just the heroic-ness of him that kept him glued to your shadow. He couldn’t leave in good conscience, not when the hunters were on your tail.

You limped deeper into the alleyway you’d shifted into. It reeked of rotten food and you swore you saw a rat run by, but life on the run was never glamorous. Besides, the darkness of the alley made you feel the tiniest bit safer, even if you knew the hunters had tech that would make the dark surrounding you look like daylight.

Speaking of…

An arrow whizzed by your head, embedding itself into the metal of the overflowing dumpster a few feet ahead. You sighed.

“Can’t you guys take a hint?” You turned and raised your hands, ready to defend yourself, and—

“Run!”

Peter had been following you. He landed between you and the quickly approaching squad of hunters, sparing you a glance over his shoulder before turning to unleash his wrath on Kraven’s lackeys.

“Can’t run even if I wanted to, Spider!” You shouted, shrugging off your bag and tossing it to the side.

What happened next was a blur.

Green light swirled between your raised fingers, materializing into the green spikes you’d almost impaled Peter with ten minutes ago. You sent them flying towards the hunters who weren’t preoccupied with the spider currently ripping them to shreds.

One hunter screamed in pain as one spike met it’s mark, piercing the woman’s abdomen.

Peter may have a no-kill rule, but that didn’t mean you did.

Another grunted as a spike met his shoulder, but he soldiered on with a sword raised.

“Really? Still coming?” You huffed as you formed a sword of your own, the green light it was constructed of illuminating your battlefield.

The man roared a battle cry as he brought his blade down towards you. You parried swiftly, but the man you were fighting was much more experienced with a blade. He swung again, and as you attempted to move out of the way, the blade sliced into your other leg.

“You guys don’t fight fair, huh?” You groaned. Green light dissolved as you lost your focus on your own weapon. Now you were just trying to keep your balance as you dodged the hunter’s strikes by the skin of your teeth.

“Not as strong as we thought,” the hunter spoke as his blade made contact once more, this time cutting into your arm. “Kraven will be disappointed.”

“You caught me on an off day,” you rolled your eyes. “Maybe try again next week?”

“Phantom!”

The shout caught you off guard, and you made a stupid, careless, rookie mistake. You would later blame it on the horrible concoction of events leading to that moment. Peter popping back into your life, the cut on your thigh, and the fatigue you felt after being on the run for days.

Your head turned to follow the voice because you knew it was Peter’s. Old habits die hard, right?

The hunter raised his sword again, and then the world went black.

—

When you woke up, you were in a cage. An honest to god cage. You snorted as you lifted your pounding head from the ground. The hunters took their shtick seriously, you had to give them that.

You blinked your eyes rapidly in an attempt to clear the spots clouding your vision. Probably a concussion. Just another injury to add to the list.

As you slowly pushed your body up into a sitting position, you mentally noted your other injuries. Deep cuts to one arm and both thighs, including the cut you’d stitched— which was now bleeding again. Your right leg also felt broken, which you guessed was something the hunters had done after you’d fallen asleep so you wouldn’t escape.

“Kudos to them for trying,” you mumbled under your breath as you shakily— and very carefully— stood.

You limped to the bars of the cage and grasped onto them for support. As you surveyed your surroundings, you realized you were in a zoo. It almost made you laugh.

“You guys are cute for being so committed to your little hunter thing. Really, it’s adorable,” you spoke as you caught sight of the hunter standing a few feet away.

The woman didn’t acknowledge you. She kept her back towards you as she watched the small fire crackling in front of her.

“Even the spider talks less than you,” a man’s gruff voice startled you. The hunter stepped out of the shadows as he approached the woman by the fire.

“Speaking of the spider,” you called out, “where is he? Do we have adjoining cages, or does he get special treatment?”

The male hunter didn’t bite. He came to a stop beside the woman, leaned down to whisper something into her ear, and then he turned and left.

When the sound of the man’s boots hitting the ground could no longer be heard, the woman turned around. She snarled as she looked at you. One of her hands reached to unsheathe the hunting knife strapped to her hip.

You watched as she began to walk towards you. Your mind raced as you thought of different ways to escape. If she opened your cage, you could use your powers and dispose of her— but how big was this zoo? You had only seen the two hunters, but you weren’t naive enough to believe they were the only ones here.

“Lucky for you,” the woman finally spoke. Her voice was thick with an accent you couldn’t place. “Kraven wants you alive.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Lucky for me.”

The woman raised the knife in one hand and reached the other towards your cage. You struck in an instant.

Green light contrasted the orange of the fire as a spear materialized in your hand. You shoved it forward between the bars of the cage, right into tj woman’s stomach. Before she could attempt a scream, you wrenched the weapon from her gut, raised it in your grasp, and shoved it into her throat.

She dropped to the ground, the only sound escaping her throat a quiet gurgle. You were done playing games— and you didn’t want to prove Peter right. You didn’t need his help. You would get out of here on your own.

You phased through the bars of the cage and raised your hands in anticipation. The only thing you heard was the sound of the fire. It was too quiet.

“Need some help?”

You scowled as you turned your head to look at the man who landed beside you.

“I don’t need you to save me,” you spoke.

“You were locked in a cage,” Peter replied, throwing a thumb over his shoulder towards the cage. “I think you needed a little help.”

“I’m not in the cage anymore, am I? And whose doing is that?” You retorted as Peter’s face slowly revealed itself.

“You just can’t say thank you, huh?” He said, and you rolled your eyes.

“Fuck you, Peter. I told you to stay out of it. I know you feel like you have to intervene, but you don’t, so—”

“Of course I have to intervene,” he cut you off. “I can’t let you die.” His tone was almost angry as he took a step closer to you.

“Are you doing this because it’s me or because of your need to save people?” You said, and he went quiet.

“You feel like you can’t let this go because you have to save everyone. I get it, Peter. But you don’t have to save me.”

“I can’t let you die,” he repeated, his voice soft. His eyes met yours.

Back in that abandoned house, when you’d seen Peter’s face, he hadn’t seemed like himself. But now, as you stared into his eyes, you saw the Peter you knew. The one you loved.

“Peter—” you began, but he shook his head.

“Just let me talk. The way things ended… it shouldn’t have happened like that. I was angry. First May and then— then you. And you went back and finished that job and I just couldn’t— I couldn’t do it. I could barely look at you.”

He paused, and you waited for him to speak again.

“I didn’t understand it at first, why you did it. But now I do. Ganke found out what you did with that money a few weeks after. I wanted to say something— but you were in the wind, and I knew you didn’t want me to come looking. So, I let you go. I had Ganke keep a lookout for any calls that might’ve related to you, but none ever came. You went clean, and I wanted to reach out, but—”

“Peter, whatever end this whole big speech is coming to, I don’t need to hear it.” You interrupted, and he shook his head.

“No, you do. You weren’t a… good guy. Not all the time. I know that. But some of the things you did, and who you worked for, I understand now. Your sister—”

“How do you know about her?” You spoke, eyes wide.

“Please don’t be mad— I had Ganke do some digging after… everything.”

You were shaking now. Peter knew. He knew everything. He knew that you worked for big bosses like Kingpin because you were sending money to your sister.

He knew that you became a criminal because of your anger and your desperate attempts at finding the man who experimented on you. Mob bosses have connections, and you thought you could work out a deal.

He knew that the reason you still finished that job for Kingpin, even if the villain had almost killed you, was because your sister’s life was at stake.

He knew your sister was dead, and that’s why you had tried to disappear.

“We had our problems when we were together,” Peter said after a beat of silence. “And I’m not excusing your past— but you could’ve told me. I could’ve helped you.”

You shook your head. “No, you couldn’t have. He would’ve killed her sooner. Besides, you’re not my therapist, Peter. No one could’ve help me with that anger I felt— that I still feel. I’m still who I was, I’m just trying not to take it out on innocent people anymore. I don’t want to be the reason someone else loses their sister.”

You could hear police sirens in the distance. You gave a small shake of your head as you pushed back the thoughts of your past.

“We should go.”

Peter reached forward, his hand finding solace on your shoulder.

“I can’t forget what you’ve done. I can’t forget the fights and the disagreements between us. But, I also can’t forget the love I have for you. I can’t forget how much I’ve missed you over these past few months. I can’t forget, but I’m willing to forgive.”

Your eyes met his once more. “Peter—”

“I will always come looking for you, over and over again. Even if it takes me a little bit,” he gave a small laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

The sirens were getting closer. You inhaled deeply.

“This doesn’t fix us.” You told him, and he nodded.

“It doesn’t. But maybe one day soon, we can try again.”

A small smile etched its way onto your lips. You gave a small nod as one of your hands came up to rest on his hand.

“Now, let’s get you out of here,” he said as his mask reformed. He moved his hand from your shoulder to you waist and pulled you tightly into his side.

“Still remember how to do this?” He teased, and you laughed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget the fear that comes with your horrible steering.”

“Just for that,” he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “I’m going the long way.”

Peter shot a web and the two of you were pulled into the sky. You held onto him tightly, and even though you knew the two of you had a long way to go, you’d never been more excited to see where the journey would take you.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #Peter Parker/reader #spiderman #spider man x reader #spiderman/reader #insomniac spider man #insomniac games #spider man 2 ps5 #ps5 spiderman #spiderman ps5 #insomniac spiderman #insomniac spiderman x reader #spiderman ps4 #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x you

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