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#and he’s not there anymore either so she’s just left to believe all these awful things

fayesdiary · 4 months

Note

reverse unpopular opinion for....aw heck, go ahead with Rhea for this one as well

This might as well be a part 2 to the previous Rhea ask so :D

I find Rhea to be so compelling for several reasons, one of the biggest being the inherent contradiction that she is very much capable of caring, loving and trusting others, sometimes with some insane gestures when you realize their meaning behind them (ie. Saving Jeralt's life by giving him her blood thus risking outing herself because of it, letting Catherine keep Thunderbrand despite the fact it's the one Relic she could safely recover- implicitly trusting her with one of her family's remains without any obligation to do so, risk angering a noble house to give Cyril a better life and treating him like her son in all but name)... And yet she cannot, for the life of her, bring herself to be honest with them.

Something fascinating I noticed about Rhea is that she ironically seems to prefer people who are blunt with her, because look at the people she's closest to - Seteth spends all of Part 1 openly questioning her, Flayn is constantly on the verge of accidentally outing herself, Cyril is so direct and honest he sometimes accidentally comes off as rude (Shamir too even if she's not as close to Rhea) and Catherine wears her heart on her sleeve.

Heck, all of them are either not that religious or outright non-believers, which ironically I believe helps reassure Rhea they love her because of who she is as a person and not because she's the archbishop, especially given how much she implies to find the position incredibly alienating.

And isn't that just so fascinating? That she is more than capable than loving others and caring for them risking her own personal safety, she appreciates people being honest with her.... But cannot, will not be entirely honest with them in turn.

Because make no mistake, that right there is Rhea's true fatal flaw: her compulsive need to keep everything a secret.

From the big but understandable stuff that would get her and her family scrapped for parts if it became public to downright pointless shit to hide like not liking hot drinks, and it's the one trait that screws her over the most, between being the reason Jeralt left (since she didn't tell him ANYTHING about what happened with Byleth so he assumed the worst and fled) and the thing preventing her from making connections as deep as she actually wants (like even just telling her loved ones how much they mean to her), as well as getting the support she actually needs. And because she feels she has to bear everything on her shoulders, she crumbles under the weight because no matter how hard she tries, she will never be good enough.

In that sense the role of archbishop is a sort of mask to her. It's definitely a part of her, but also something she has sort of burrowed into like a safety net preventing her from being true to herself. Because that'd mean making herself vulnerable, in more ways than one. To say nothing about putting her surviving family and remnants of her dead kin to jeopardy.

If she were to open up she'd be... More lively, I think. Definitely sillier if Heroes is any indication, and arguably more willing to take a direct approach in helping people. And definitely more loved and happier.

And perhaps, one day she'd realize she doesn't need to bring her mom back to fix Fódlan. She's not doing it alone anymore, after all.

#ask replies #loregoddess #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe16 #fe16 spoilers #rhea #my rambles #is this coherent in any way? definitely not #i just love rhea as a deconstruction of the mikoto archetype #she wants to be like mikoto and lumera so bad but she can never measure up to them #and instead of seeking the help of others to compensate she tries to bring her goddess mom back #she's a foil to alear in that sense. i love them so much for different reasons #and i think they'd be great friends #like rhea's whole secrecy complex is definitely a product of her trauma #and i love it. i wanna put her in a test chamber and see how she functions #anyway again sorry for pretty much dumping words at random😅

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qsmp-yaoi-island · 4 months

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I'll say the admins' decision that purgatory 2 is as canon "as the ccs want it to be" is awful and going to cause so many problems.

I think it's perfectly fine to have CCs choose to be out of character for their own lore because then they don't have to commit to rp all the time, but you absolutely cannot do this with the MAIN plot of the story. One of the main reasons is that not everyone will pick and choose what's the same as canon.

A perfect example is just a few days ago, Phil was involved in a main story point of protecting Luffy who escaped. Luffy told Phil that he was looking for Tubbo/Bagi, and of course, because Phil was not informed of anything going on, he told them that they went back to purgatory. Even though Bagi and Tubbo said their purgatory isn't canon. So now imagine Phil is panicking about Luffy not finding the people he's looking for only for tubbo or bagi to show up randomly and confuse the plot even more.

I will say that I don't really care about how the story should be perfectly consistent because I know that's impossible, but it's more about how it's ruining the rp choices of others. Phil did such incredible rp stressing over how everyone left for purgatory again, but for them to show back up without a care or explanation? Undermines all of his emotions and effort into making it feel real.

Another point is how it's effecting the CCs efforts for consistency. Tubbo gets kidnapped IN FRONT OF HIS FRIENDS EYES, but logs in the next day and gets attacked by a code. So now you face the confusion of either believing he was taken and how that effected the characters rp around him, or believe that the code is back as a main story element. You can't believe both because they directly contradict eachother, so you end up wasting a good plot point for another. For example, Fit has canon separation anxiety and seeing tubbo go missing in front of him could have made for good character development.

Baghera was asked to stay off the server for the past few weeks because the admins had lore planned out for her. She expressed that she missed being on and seeing her friends but trusted in the admins that her return would be worth it to wait for. So some characters are allowed back and immediately cause inconsistenties but some people have to wait? It sucks for CCs like Baghera, Slime, and Pol who express how they want to get back on but are committed to their lore. But I also can't entirely blame the people who came back from purg2, even though I do think its a bad rp choice on their part, because the admins specifically told them they could.

Finally, the worst part is how it demeans the story being told. Imagine after purgatory 2 ends all the people coming back could talk about the hell they went through, the people they met, the fate of Cellbit and Baghera. But instead Bad's "1/4" came back and immediately told Pomme he saw Baghera. Isn't that lame? Doesn't that feel like a waste of good exposition? Hell even Foolish was there and just chose to ignore it because, hey, there's no canon reason he should know that!

That's the problem now is that no one knows what to tell eachother anymore, because it will only be inconsistent with what others are saying or doing. The stories is slowly losing its integrity because it's doesn't know what is important to take seriously anymore. Should you worry about the code attacks? I don't know, it happened to someone who wasn't even technically there. Hey I saw this missing person but I'm also supposed to be missing too, so should you even believe me?

It's confusing, it messy, and it will absolutely ruin story lines down the road.

I love the story of the QSMP. It's what drew me into the server and made me love it ever since, and to see it get pushed aside for a competitive event really sucks. With the way the server has been so rp and lore dependent for the last nine months, it just feels so strange for it to not be the focus anymore. Purgatory was fun, Purgatory 2 looks even better, but I would not trade them for the fandom toxicity, story inconsistency, or divided attention on gameplay it created.

I know with time the story will pick up again, people will return, and it'll be well throught out and planned again. I just think it's important to be critical of these decisions now so they don't get repeated in the future. If there ever is a Purgatory 3 or some other event, all I would hope for is that it has a clear and defined plot revelvancy so you don't have to scramble to tie up all the loose ends later.

#qsmp #qsmp liveblog #qsmp thoughts #qsmp analysis #qsmp crit #im gonna tag this with crit not neg because i dont mean it negativitly #and i think its important to see why the frustrations are there #this like my fifth essay on purgatory in the last month #im losing it dudes

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bullet-clubs-bitch · 2 months

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Can you please make an Kenny Omega X Fem y/n story fluff

Reader had an hard/tough week at work and no off day to recharge and he's makin sure that she feels loved and that he's always there for her?!

Mondays

Kenny Omega X FemReader

Kenny Omega Masterlist Main Masterlist (Word count 1.1K)

I didn’t hear Y/n come in last night. I didn’t even know she took a red-eye home after revolution. I woke up this morning to find Y/n lying next to me. In a peaceful slumber, catching up on much-needed rest. As much as I was happy that she was home I couldn't imagine how tired she was. I knew more than anyone how hard Y/n had been working to ensure the upcoming PPV would be perfect. I had grown so used to traveling with my wife over the years that it was weird not having her at home with me. I didn’t even care that I wasn’t able to wrestle, I missed traveling from town to town and watching from a backstage monitor all the young talent in AEW. Y/n hadn’t been home in two weeks, I knew she must be exhausted. That is why I wanted to plan a little something something for the 72 hrs Y/n would be home. I decided I would make breakfast in bed, surprise her with a spa day and even go out to dinner.

“Good morning beautiful,” I said to my wife as she walked down the stairs tiredly. “Morning” “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed” “Aw, that’s so sweet” “Well since you’re up why don’t you sit down and we can have breakfast?” I poured Y/n some coffee and layed out the variety of goods I prepared for her. The two of us sat in a comfortable silence for a while until Y/n broke the silence. “What did you think of the show?” She asked “I thought it was good. I can’t believe they had Sting lose his retirement match to the Bucks. I wasn’t expecting Flair to cost Sting the match either” “Yeah, that was not my decision. In my eyes that creates a rivalry between Sting and Flair that doesn’t need to be there. As long as I live I will not let Ric Flair wrestle in an AEW ring. I don’t want to be held accountable for that trainwreck. Plus, Sting is retired now. We did all of that hard work for him to have a good send-off. Why would he retire for five minutes just to come back and wrestle Flair? It doesn’t make sense!”

“Sounds like you have a lot on your plate”

“You have no idea. Like, I thought I would be okay not wrestling anymore Ken. I thought being a Vice President would be fine, writing storylines and doing all that Jazz was fine. But- I don’t think I can take it anymore. I’m going insane! Why do we keep signing talent left right and center when we have SO much talent we don’t use. If you want new talent, fine, but release some people then. I know how hard that is but it has to be done. It’s not personal It’s business. It’s like we can never win. People bitch and complain about using the same talent every week but when we use different people they complain they don’t get to see their favs. If we sign someone great! Then people complain we have too many wrestlers, then it crates a rift and everyone gets fucked. Like Jay White for example. Remember how HARD I had to work to get him signed, You and I had to do so much for that to happen. He is an amazing wrestler who deserves to be doing so much more than what he is doing now. He was supposed to be the new Champion after MJF who by the way should have NEVER broken your record for the longest reign, But then of course no one likes to listen to Y/n anymore and that never happened. If you wanted MJF to win, fine but why randomly drop the title to Samoa Joe, I know Max is injured but that is why I said to drop the title to Jay! Now everything is fucked and everyone is complaining and I don’t know what to do because all my ideas aren’t being used and everyone is pissed off!”

I didn’t say anything, I just sat in peace across the table listening carefully as Y/n got everything off her chest. She needed this.

“Don’t get me wrong I like Bullet Club Gold but did Jay really leave NJPW and Bullet Club just to be back in this new version of Bullet Club? The Bang Bang Scissor gang is absolutely ridiculous. He should be a world champion not in this super faction. I just can’t Kenny! At every press conference, I get asked when I will make my return and when I will wrestle again. They know I won’t wrestle again and it makes me feel like I’m disappointing everyone.” I saw the tears start to form and then fall during that last sentence, god how I hated people.

“Y/n you're not disappointing anyone. You don’t owe it to anyone to go back to wrestling. They need to learn to let it go, your mental and physical health is more important.” I told Y/n as I went over to comfort her. “How about we move somewhere more comfortable?” I asked. The two of us moved to the living room, continuing our conversation as I held Y/n in my arms.

“I’m really sorry you have to deal with this baby, I wish I could help.” I told her sincerely. “It’s not your fault. I’m just under a lot of stress right now. I just really missed you, It’s been hard without you.” I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. I knew none of this was my fault but I wished I was able to be there with Y/n so she didn't have to go through this alone. She flew in at 4am just so she could get a day at home before the next show.

“Is there anything I can do for you? I can book a spa day. A nice massage is always good!” I hated seeing her like this, poor thing looked so tired.

“No, I just want to stay here. Can you just hold me? Can we spend the day cuddling in bed, eating chocolate?” Y/n asked, her face buried in my chest

“Whatever you want my love,” I told her “Maybe later you can give me a massage?” “Of course baby. I love you, so very much Y/n” “I love you too Kenny” "I'm always going to be here for you. I'm just one text, one phone call, one plane trip away. If you ever need me I'll be there"

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mehiwilldoitlater · 2 years

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Creator!reader who can’t resist fluffy things anymore or animals. Petting Dvalin? Yes. Seeking out and petting Azhdaha without Zhongli knowing? Most definitely. Even trying to get Zhongli in his dragon form to feel his fluff too. If Venti let’s them, they’re going to pet his wings. Gorou’s not safe either he’s getting affection too. And also Kaeya because of the feather boa (I’m pretty sure that’s what it is) he wears. Diona and Sucrose because yes, Yae Miko of course (fox or human form) Childe in any form because you gotta admit his hair looks soft, and Albedo because his hair also looks soft. Even the standard enemies in all nations including rift hounds. Anything soft and/or cute (to reader at least) gets pet

AAAAW wy this is so cute?!

Dvalin It's a big cuddly one. Every time the reader gets the chance to pay a visit to Decarabian's tower, Dvalin's heart yearns for your gentle caresses. People usually avoid him because he's a dragon, but your mere presence is enough for him.

I want to believe that the Creator essence can cure from the Erosion, so when Azhdaha first met reader, he was grateful to you after being saved from his fate. Even so, he was quite confused about your secret meeting with this creature. After all, didn't Morax want your protection? In any case, he's quite fine with the idea of you gifting him with your presence, but he's still quite embarrassed. He's not used to someone giving him hugs or petting him on his head. He's not complaining, but he's new to this...

Zhongli would be quite perplexed the first time. He's used to people praising him, worshipping him, or even fearing him! But petting him? That's quite new. Well, the confusion will not stand for long. Give him just a few minutes and he'll be a big puppy in your hands. Stop for even one second and he'll start to ask you the reason, and no matter what, he'll expect this treatment every day from now. You've created a monster, a cuddling monster, but still...

Bold of you assume that if it was even your idea, it was Venti's in the moment that you confessed to him that you love fluffy things. You didn't even finish your sentence before he spread his big fluffy wings, ready to receive your love. Please, give him your love. He wants nothing else.

Poor Gorou, he's already fed up with the fact that everybody wants to pat his hears, but now you too? Okay, you're the creator, and maybe he can make some exceptions... but not in front of his man! He's still got his pride! You'll have to wait for him to come back after work, and only then will he receive your petting. You'll be in agonizing pain, and he'll feel awful for not letting his creator indulge in their hobby, but you'll respect his wishes...

Kaeya's quite a sly one. It may seem like an innocent thing, but for him, it's the best way to spend some time with you! He'll use his office, since he wants to have some privacy from everyone, letting you sit on his lap and only then pet his feather boa. It's the best break he can get from his work. After all, it's not an everyday thing that the creator themself come to you, asking to touch some part of your clothing. He'll keep this thing for himself. The last thing he wants is to hear Jean complain about this.

Diona, sweet Diona... she'll make a fuss the first time, but after that, she's seeing the stars. Prepare for a loud purr session, and it's not like she enjoys it! , she's doing this because it's her duty! After all, who is she to go against the care of the Creator?

The first time, Sucrose was pretty sure that she had angered you for some reason. She believed it... until you reached for her head and started patting her hears. Only after that, your concentrated face turn into a happy smile. You left her in total confusion. Albedo was the one that finally gave her the right answer, explaining that their beloved creator liked fluffy things... like his hair. This information left Sucrose with an agape mouth, and she's started to connect a few points. You spent a lot of time with Albedo, but she thought that you wanted to help him with some of his research, or maybe he wanted to make a portrait of you! In reality, you just love to stay in his laboratory and pet his hair. He doesn't mind. To be honest, he quite enjoyed those moments. He liked your hands in his hair...

Yae Miko likes to show a serious side when it's something about you. After all, the role of the priestess, devoted to their god, is quite a big deal. But inside, she loves this soft side of you, but everything comes at a price, my dear! She's going to let you pet her in any of her forms, but you must let her pet you in return! A soft series of hugs and caresses, and you must admit, Yae have wuite a good smell...

You thought you could escape Childe?! WELL YOU THOUGHT WRONG! It's not you that are petting him, HE'S THE ONE THAT HE'S PETTING YOU!

At some points, everybody wants to be petted by you! TAKE YOUR RESPONSIBILITY, YOU PETTED EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING!

#genshin impact #sagau #zhongli #albedo #Venti #kaeya #Diona #sucrose #Yae Miko #Childe

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sizzlinbaconpeach · 4 months

Text

Melded Memories

Just a Valenfield fanfic that has been sitting in my drafts for probably close to a year. I thought I'd share.

There was something cathartic about watching the flames envelop and scorch the pictures. It was slowly becoming easier to let go. He wasn't sure if it was the campfire smoke or the memories that stung at his eyes more, but he knew that either way, he was thankful the darkness of night and the campfire smoke obscured him from everything - like he only existed in this small bubble of light radiating from the logs - that now helped him erase and ease the pang in his heart.

He plucked another photo from the top of the opened box and paused to glance at it, the flames in his periphery trying to lick it out of his hand.

A small smile curled his lip as he gazed at their faces, the picture emanating pride and happiness from a moment in the past. But that's what photographs are - a frozen memory, a momentary clip of time that can never be reclaimed or changed. Only destroyed, so that memory might fade into the folds of obscurity, becoming harder to resurface in your mind the farther in time it travels. Isn't that what he was seeking? Didn't he want to forget it all? So why did he hesitate?

His thumb grazed over the photo, it was a rare relic before Raccoon City's destruction. He just so happened to have it developed before he left for Europe. And he's kept it ever since. But it was time to let go, time to let her go. He allowed himself to steal one final glance, to retreat into those memories just once more. They were both so young and had won the Skeet Shooting Competition as a team, together, just like they had always done. It had been her first time demonstrating all she had learned after their multiple lessons together at the shooting range.

He was initially doubtful if he could really teach her anything, as something like improved marksmanship usually came with practice. But he would have been a fool to turn down the opportunity to spend time with a pretty woman who was interested in something that he was good at. Great at, really. So when she mentioned that she was frustrated with her poor aim, the words just fell out of his mouth to invite her to the shooting range. He half said it because he never thought she would actually listen to his silly suggestion. But she accepted, was even eager and excited, which made him beam like an idiot. Those smiles seemed so mockingly optimistic now.

An intense guilt gnawed at his stomach; regret and deep sadness followed. He was naive to think they could walk away unscathed from this job. And stupid to believe he could protect her from it.

"Jill, stop!"

The awful reality replayed over and over again, like it was stuck on repeat. The pressure of her kick against his chest was fresh in his mind, like he could feel it ripple through him, clattering his insides around.

"I'm not going to hurt you!"

But that didn't mean she would do the same. With her weight against him, pinning him to the ground, and hands firmly clasped against his throat, he locked eyes with her. Eyes that were spilling over with emotion.

It was too much. For a brief moment he wanted to let her win, he wanted her to be able to rid herself of that tormented echo. Let her falling tears stab him like knives so that she didn't have to suffer anymore. But as he looked at her face, her twisted and crying face, he couldn't let this strip away another piece of her. He managed to break her grip, quickly flipped her off of him, and rushed for the door as it slammed shut between them. He could hear her thrashing around on the other side, that echo still driving her into a frenzy.

"I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do, Chris. Jill is not the same after everything she's been through. I - I think it best if you two... didn't see each other anymore."

"Where is Chris? Where is he? Is he okay? I want to see him! Please!"

"Jill, I want you to take some deep breaths. We just have to get the i.v. back in." The nurse tried to calm her with a firm but warm voice.

She saw the thick trail of blood running down the length of her arm, her palm tainted with the red blotchy stain. Her fingers felt sickly wet and uncomfortably sticky. Not again. She looked to the floor and saw the red drops leading to marks on the ground, that were smears of an indicated struggle. Please not again.

Her mind felt like it was on fire, in a daze and thick with a burning smoke. Her head was so heavy she barely had the energy to raise it. Her eyes felt like they wanted to retreat back into her head to try and find relief from the ache all over her body, but there was no relief. More tears fell out of her eyes as the needle pierced her skin.

"I'm not just going to give up on her like that!"

"No one is suggesting that she is a lost cause. Just... just that she needs -- distance. Your presence seems to be a catalyst to her worst symptoms. There has been an obvious pattern. We feel it would be best for the safety of yourself, Jill and all staff, if you refrained from seeing her until we can come to a better solution."

Those words were perhaps what he needed to hear, no matter how difficult. He would do anything to help Jill in whatever way he could. Like travel half way across the globe to fight through countless abominations to find her, with the scars to prove it, just as he had done in Africa. Scars. Just like he had done when pulled that torturous device off her chest. He would do anything, right? Even if it meant... Were the doctors words the truth? Was he the catalyst?

"Chris! Don't --!"

He loved the sound of her laugh.

I can’t--! Don’t say another word!"

He watched as her head went back in amusement. She tightly gripped his arm, which she only did when he said something to really make her lose herself. They always created a symphony of joy together - something that was needed every now and again to balance the stress of what they were doing - much to the annoyance of some co-workers. Their laughs used to even have Wesker threaten to move their desks. They were always a great source of relief for each other.

Could he go back to those long days of not hearing her voice? Or those restless nights with her whisper in the wind? He closed his eyes tight and rubbed them, his grip firmly stopping at the bridge of his nose. At least this time he knows that she is alive. Or is she?

Her pale skin and lackluster eyes tried so hard to show how resilient she was, tried in vain to put up a strong front. But Chris knew. She couldn't hide that from him, despite her best efforts. He could see that what she had endured had worn her down, taken pieces of her that she would never get back. There was a deep ache in his heart. And it burned Chris alive. It burned in his stomach. And it burned the back of his throat when he thought about it long enough. Knowing there was little to nothing he could do to help ease her struggle. Swallowing hard knowing he was the reason for it.

Chris gripped the armrest of the chair, turning his face toward the window, not able to make eye contact with the doctor who was so patiently waiting for a response. The sound of strained wood snapped in his ears.

"For her."

He watched as their faces bubbled and morphed, melting into monstrous tortured expressions, until the flames only left a gaping hole of nothingness. Something he felt was closer to the truth. How cruel fate can be. How much this job had taken from them. They would never be their plucky, rambunctious, adventurous, and wide eyed selves again.

The big crackles of the fire reminded him of the sound of gunfire.

"I can see their faces, Chris."

The phone startled him from his sleep - something he was thankful he finally slipped into. He glanced at the clock, the neon numbers reading back 1:12am. A sigh escaped his throat. 2 hours. He was finally able to sleep for 2 hours. He reached over and picked up the receiver, covering his eyes with his other hand. Was Forest drunk again?

Chris caught himself as he responded with a hello. It couldn't have been Forest. He was lost that awful, awful night. A night that stole the rest of Chris' nights away.

"Are you alright?" He shot up in bed, even he could hear his immense concern.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. I'll be right over." He fumbled to grab an over shirt and his keys, "keep the light on, it helps. I should be there in 10 minutes."

He quickly gave himself a once over in the mirror, attempting to fix the hair that decided to stand at attention in his sleep. He quickly tied up his sneakers and headed out the door.

He practically ran to her apartment, wanting to shorten the, at the time, unbearable separation. What a fool he was to think those 10 minutes felt like the longest he had ever experienced in his life.

"I'm so sorry. I know - I know it's already so late --" She started as soon as she opened her door. Her eyes looked red and puffy, like she had been crying.

As he walked in, every single light was turned on in her small apartment. The bathroom light with the fan whirred in the background, the fluorescent buzzed overhead, and even the TV was turned on but muted.

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "hey, hey. It's okay. I was already awake."

"I didn't know who else to call..."

Chris' voice was soft, "don't worry. Here, sit down." He pulled one of her kitchen chairs out.

"I - I..." she sighed as she tried to piece herself together, "I just couldn't. I can't anymore. You know what I mean?"

He took the seat next to her, "well, yeah, as soon as you tell me."

That got a smile out of her as she dipped her head down. A hand coming up to her forehead.

"I know, I must sound so jumbled right now, I'm sorry."

He glanced at her shaking hand and reached out to rest his own on her arm,

"it's okay. Take your time."

Jill's big blue eyes shined with gratitude, as if a giant weight was lifted from her shoulders, "thank you. Thank you for coming." Her voice was a little shaky.

He gently squeezed her arm with a smile then looked around, "I see you took my advice. Though the electric bill will kill ya."

"Oh yeah?" she smiled and then sighed with relief, "but you're right. It does help."

"Yeah." He didn't mean for his response to sound so resounding in it's understanding, but maybe that would comfort her more. To know that she wasn't the only one who was afraid of the shadows and the haunting darkness of night.

His eyes weren't fixed on anything in particular but the images in his own mind, "sometimes the rain makes it worse..."

"Yeah..." He could see a chill run up her spine. "I can see their faces, Chris."

"Me too." He scooted his chair over next to hers as he wrapped his arms around her, "I see them, too. You're not alone, Jill." There was a slight break in his voice.

"Don't be upset, Chris."

She had passed out on their weekly run together. She had insisted on going, even though Chris had his doubts that morning. She looked pale, even paler than normal if that were possible. He tried to assure her and persuade her to do their exercises another day, but she could not be deterred. So he tried to adjust his pace, and she was able to maintain that for a while, but he started to notice her breathing becoming really labored, so he suggested going into the park to do some squats. She was barely able to get out her feigned 'I'm fine', before Chris could see what was about to happen. He was thankful he was standing right next to her to catch her fall.

"How long was I out?"

"About half an hour."

Jill somewhat rolled her eyes as she turned her head away with a heavy sigh, the hospital grade pillow under her head made a noise as the crisp linen rubbed against itself. She was clearly struggling with her new limitations and it frustrated her to no end.

"It's getting longer..." she softly added with a sad voice.

"What do you mean?" Chris crossed his arms over his chest while tilting his head to intently listen.

Jill continued to stare up at the ceiling, there was a depression to her voice, "the time. How long I'm out. It's getting longer."

"You've passed out multiple times?" Chris thought he sounded more like a father scolding his rebellious teenager.

She didn't respond. Just continued to presumably stare at nothing, or maybe it was because she didn't want to meet his eye. But her brows were knitted in what looked to be annoyance.

"Jill, why didn't you tell me?" His hands returned to the arms of the chair as he leaned in. He didn't think he did a good job of masking the anger in his voice. It hurt him that she didn't share that with him. And her response was sharp.

"I didn't think it mattered!" She sat up to finally meet his gaze.

"Didn't matter --?"

"I didn't want to be back here! I didn't want to be stuck in a stupid lab like I had been for years!" Her voice was raw, like admitting that broke a piece of her.

Chris fell silent. All words escaped his mind as none would be sufficient enough to ease that truth. He stared at her for a moment before casting his eyes to the floor.

"It should be me laying there. This never should have been placed on you..." His gaze became fuzzy as he continued to look down.

That's all I have - just a hodgepodge of slop. Just a bunch of fanficiton Valenfield love. I had a vague idea of what I wanted to write but then I always get side-tracked and/or forget what my original intention was, haha. Sorry - hopefully you can enjoy this scatterbrained mess!

#this story is hop hop hopping around XD #still love these two #just forever partners supporting each other <3 #thought I'd add some art too!#fanfiction

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sp1rit-realm · 1 year

Text

༻¨*:· 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ james falls out of love; you go on a vacation.

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 angst 𖦹ANGST 𖦹 hurt/no comfort 𖦹 guys this is pretty sad 𖦹 read at your own caution 𖦹 ANGST 𖦹 i did not proofread this⎝(ˊ0ˋ)⎠

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 696

You sat on the balcony of a hotel room, looking across the vast ocean. You wished it would swallow you—then the animals that lurked there would have something to eat, and you would have a purpose. It was hard to feel like you had any purpose these days. You thought maybe going on vacation would clear your mind. That's what all the movies say. They tell you that a vacation will solve all your problems, you'll run into a handsome man and fall in love, and he will love you back. Now you weren't sure of any of that. You weren't sure love was guaranteed.

You had love once, and he left.

"James?" You asked. He hadn't answered your question—too busy staring at something else—someone else.

"Sorry," It took a second for his eyes to meet yours, "What was the question?"

You sighed.

"It's— never mind." You gave up as your eyes followed his. They landed on a beautiful girl with red hair and emerald eyes.

You closed your eyes, and a breeze swirled your hair around. You saw his eyes. Why is it you always saw his eyes? Wherever you looked, you saw his eyes.

"Who is that?" You asked, still following James's eye line.

"Her name is Lily," He said dreamily.

You could feel him falling, slipping through your fingers. You didn't want to believe it.

Gathering your jumbled thoughts and memories, you stood up—maybe the ocean would help clear your mind.

You slipped on your sandals; the black straps hugging your feet transported you to a happier time.

"It's almost sandal season, babe," James said as he sat in the pedicure chair, "Gotta keep the toes looking fresh and flamboyant."

All you could do was giggle. It was the first time he called you "babe."

"Sandal season," You murmured.

"Fucking sandal season," You said louder.

It was common for your sadness to turn into anger and vice-versa. How could James leave you?

You walked to the beach, and your sadness felt silly. It had been a year and a half, and you still hadn't moved on. You should've moved on by now, right? He moved on before he left, and here you were, standing on sand, shoulders hunched, with unshed tears in your eyes.

You walked towards the water, focused on a shell. As you went to pick it up, a child screamed. "That's my shell!" He yelled.

Then, you heard it. You heard him.

"Harry, I don't think that shell's yours."

You turned your neck so hard it hurt.

James was looking down at Harry, ruffling up his hair. "You'll have to excuse my son. He's very," Then he looked at you. His mouth went dry, "He really likes the shells."

"He can take this one," You mumbled, "It's not mine, either." You walked over and handed the small boy the shell. He smiled, and your heart ached. His smile was just like James's.

"What do we say, Harry?" James asked, looking back down at his son.

"Thank you!" Harry excitedly spoke, staring at the conch in awe.

James wouldn't stop staring at her. Everywhere you went, she seemed to be there. And every time, James would stare. His pupils would go wide, and your heart would stop beating at the sight of it.

Your boyfriend was in love with someone else.

"Thank you," James parroted his son.

"No problem. Again, it's not mine."

"Why?" You asked while tears spilled from your eyes.

"I just..." James paused, "I don't love you anymore. I'm so sorry."

"Why am I not good enough, James?"

"It's not that you're not good enough," He tried to console you; it didn't work.

"I'll be better, James. I'll do better. We can fix this, right?"

He shook his head.

"I can fix this. I'll be better," You repeated, "I'll love you better, James."

"I can't give you the love you're giving me, Y/n. I'm sorry." He stared at his shoes.

You stayed silent, and the atmosphere was damp with tears—heavy with the pieces of a broken heart.

"What did I do wrong?"

You had so many questions, and James didn't have any answers.

He was no longer yours.

mutuals ༄₊࿒*

@forourmoons @sw34terw34ther @masivechaos @innerloverpainter @nyxxxxxxxx @evergreenlover

#james potter angst #james potter x reader

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bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love · 1 year

Note

I had a request for a little smut or just a little réaction: If the number one hero of France ( us, the reader) came to Japan for helping them win against tomura and all for one but insted she save tomura for all for one because she love him so much ( even if it is the first time she see him)

Ok so I wanted to use a tiny bit of French I used Google for translation so I hope it's correct.

Rencontre

Rated Mature 18 + Smut 2100+ words

For Tomura it's love at first sight the second his eyes fall on you. He was in awe of the stunning beauty before him, speechless as his eyes took in every inch of you. Dirty thoughts of all the things he'd like to do to you cloud his mind, distracting him from the fight. The heroes take note of his hesitation and go to deal him a fatal blow. But all of a sudden they are unable to move, paralyzed on the spot. Confusion etched on Tomura's face as he stares at Endeavor and Miruko frozen in mid move.

"I bought you time" you explain before turning to Kurogiri, "you teleport right? get Shigaraki out of here". Shigaraki looks at you, stunned at your words and the cute way you pronounce them doesn't go unnoticed by him either as his pants get tighter. What a sexy accent, he thinks to himself, his injuries forgotten. The only thing on his mind is the hot french girl in front of him who happens to be a hero who listens to him, who's helping him! He can't believe it as he stares in shock.

Kurogiri starts to transport him away, but right before the mist man does the vanishing act Shigaraki races to your location across the battlefield, wrapping his arms around your waist, grabbing his pretty french girl and the three of you disappear to his hideout leaving the remaining heroes angered at being betrayed by one of their own.

Once safe Tomura inquires about your motives. Listening as you tell him you understand his side, that he made you question things and see them in a different light, you agreed that the hero system is corrupt. How you know what it's like to feel misunderstood and left.

That's all it takes. Shigaraki's control snaps in a heartbeat. All his pent up sexual feelings and frustration boil over. All the years of being alone, never having a lover, he cant take it anymore. He pins you against the closest wall. Lips attacking your neck. Hands roaming over your soft, supple flesh, relishing in the intimate contact of skin on skin. You make no attempt to stop him, instead you thread your fingers through his hair, moaning as his mouth latches onto your neck.

"I need you" was all you heard before his mouth hungrily devoured you, while his fingers dance over your body, every curve, every dip, groping and squeezing, appreciating all you have to offer. The need to feel and suck every inch of you is all he can think about. His wounds don't matter, only you and the pleasure he will take inside you.

You don't fight your own feelings either as you let yourself go, happy to receive what he's giving. Touching his toned chest, feeling every flex and ripple of his muscles with each movement. Your lips leave a trail of hickeys across his neck till they meet his in a clash of wills that he easily wins. The way he's grunting in approval, the feeling of his blood-soaked chest staining your clothes just adds to the hungry desire between you.

His busy fingers find their way inside your costume. "Oh what's this, no panties, you dirty girl" he growls with a smirk and you feel yourself getting wetter from his words and the husky tone of his voice. You lean your head back, greedily asking for more, moaning at the sensation. Shigaraki chuckles" you want this don't you. Say it" he demands. "Tell me you want me"

"I want it monsieur Shigaraki," you say, your heavy french accent has Tomura's cock twitching and the way your eyes drink in his body makes it tough for him to keep himself in check, wanting nothing more than to give you what you, and he, are both so desperate for.

"Take your clothes off" he purrs, taking a step back. "I want to see you undress for me". Sure he could easily decay the weak fabric but he wants to see you bare yourself to him willingly.

Shimming out of your clothes you keep your eyes on him. Watching as his ravenous gaze travels over your form. The seductive, feral look only has you getting more aroused. He looks as if he will snap any second, barley contained urges boil to the surface, threatening to spill out. You bite your lip noticing the impressive bulge hidden in his pants.

A wicked idea makes you stop in your tracks. Covering your exposed nude body with your hands, your legs crossed to hide what he wants most. Innocently you look up at him, lips in a pout. With your shyest voice you say "but I'm a good hero sir, this is wrong" the tiniest smile lurking beneath the surface giving away your true intent.

Tomura catches on to your innocent act. An unhinged grin takes over his handsome face giving him an even more dangerous look adding to the thrill of your situation.

"Oh it is wrong little lamb, but you like that don't you. I know you want my cock. It's OK, it'll be our little secret hero." His hand grabs your thigh, squeezing it tightly, "now spread your legs or do I need to force them open" his raspy tone serving to turn you on more. But you don't move, choosing to play this game. Wanting him to take charge.

A growl escapes him as his hands slide between your legs, roughly pushing them nice and wide. Wasting no time he kneels in front of you. Before you can even register what he was fixing to do his tongue begins lapping at your core, drawing his name over your Puffy slit. His breath is hot against your core. Your hands run through his white locks as your eyes close, losing yourself to how he's making you feel.

"Fuck Shigaraki" you cuss when his tongue starts flicking over your clit. The sensation has you whimpering in need as your legs tremble next to his head, making it hard to stay on your feet. The texture of his tongue running over the most sensitive part of you has your slick soaking his mouth.

Looking down your eyes lock with his own half lidded ruby ones. You can't even form a coherent sentence. All you know is the pleasure the villain king is delivering. Your fingers still threading through his soft hair, gripping at the long strands, trying to grab onto something.

The erotic way you are moaning his name between cute pleads for more drive Tomura crazy, it's like something from a fantasy he's had way too many times. But this time it's real, and with a woman hotter than he could imagine.

Determined to make you cum he increases his speed, reveling in how sweet you taste, God he could drink every drop of your juices . He knows you are close by the way your voice hitches. Slipping two long fingers inside you, he turns and curls them, while his thumb rubs your little nub. Your legs are visibly shaking. Shigaraki watches how beautiful your face is, the emotions that veil it, the wanton need it shows, the blanton hunger for him, and he delivers. He feels your insides tighten and juices leak out of your cunt as your orgasm washes over you. Diving to lick them up he doesn't miss a drop.

You haven't even come down from your high when you're pulled to the floor underneath him. His toned body covers yours in an instant. Lips meet in an intense dance of passion, mingling together, both battling for dominance. You can taste yourself in his kiss but you don't care, you find it erotic.

His hand tugs at the zipper on his pants, eagerly pushing them to his knees freeing his twitching erection. The primal way he grunts has you spiraling into the depths of rapture and you never want to come back. You can feel the heat from his cock as he guides the tip back and forth over your slit, collecting the wetness that's already pooling at your pussy once again, mixing with his own precum.

Your body shivers with unrestrained desire for the very man you were assigned to take down. You can't help but smile at the double meaning of the words, well technically you did take him down. Shigaraki notices your grin and gives his own sexy smirk in return.

"God you're so wet. You want me so bad dont cha" Don't worry my pretty hero, I'm gonna fuck you real good, I'll make this tight pussy drink my cum Ma beauté." You're shocked, he knows French, but you're quickly brought out of your surprise by his fat cock forcing its way inside you.

Your hands grab onto his shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks on his skin. Gasping at the intrusion. Your walls are trying to expand enough for him, struggling to make room for him. Whimpering cries leave you as he sinks deeper and deeper till he bottoms out. His balls flush against your ass. Your pussy stretched so wide around his fat length. The head of his cock resting on that perfect spot, making you shudder. You've never felt so unbelievably full. He gave you only a minute to adjust to him before starting to slowly move. You try to catch your breath as the large dick repeatedly pushes in and out of your tight cunt.

"You like that, my little lamb. You like being impaled on my cock don't you, such a tight pussy for me" he snickered. All you could do in response was whimper as your fingers dug harder into his arms.

With every thrust your walls seemed to cling onto him more and more, not wanting to let him go. You felt so soft and warm surrounding his manhood, massaging him with every jerk of his hips. You felt so good, words couldn't describe how amazing you were making him feel.

He was done holding back. He was going faster and faster now, his movements more erratic, and you could swear you felt his length pulsing, and it was so warm and thick. With each thrust his tip hit the gummy spot in your depths sending tingles up your spine as heat started to spiral outward from your belly but right before you came yet again he pulled out, leaving you empty and desperate.

Shigaraki chuckles at your frustrated cry before flipping you over so you were on your hands and knees before him. Then in one quick stroke he was buried back inside your slick pussy. Causing you to groan like a whore, you withered beneath him as he filled you again.

He was starved for the way your cunt constricted around him, never wanting to leave it, craving more. His calloused hands held onto your hips, controlling you, making you rock back onto him. Lewd slapping sounds of wet skin on skin echoed through the room as he used your dripping, needy hole. His pace increased even more when he felt your pussy flutter and spasm. His cock was soaked with your juices that were leaking out of you and he felt his own orgasm building.

"Fuck look at how wet you are my sweet, how many times have you cum on my evil cock." But you couldn't answer, all you could do was push back against him, grinding on him as you cried in pleasure.

"S'il te plaît Shigaraki" you begged.

"I love how you say my name baby. I'm gonna give it all to you now. Gonna pump you full of my cum" he grunted. And with that he pounded into you roughly, nearly pulling all the way out before slamming back in, assaulting your g spot till you screamed his name, soaking his cock with your release.

"Good little hero" he praised as he thrust a few more times, and with one final push he came so hard. "Fuck" he growled like a beast, empty his milky cum in your waiting pussy. You felt every spurt of his hot seed as it sprayed your pretty walls, coating your insides.

The only sound in the room was deep breathing as you both tried to catch your breath. Leaning back he grabbed your waist so you were sitting in his lap, sticking with the evidence of your encounter. He pressed his forehead to yours and asked simply, "regrets".

"Not a single damn one" you hummed.

"Good, then you won't hate me when I keep you Ma beauté, you are mine" he says. The happy smile you give in return has his heart skipping a beat.

"And you Tomura Shigaraki, are mine"

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x french reader #shigaraki fic #shigaraki #tomura x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki thirst #tomura shigaraki x reader

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scribbledghost · 7 months

Text

Reckoning

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: M

Word count: 4,256

Warnings: heavy violence, torture, death, ANGST, hurt/comfort (major emphasis on the HURT), Champagne being an awful person (I do that a lot in my stories, don't I?), PTSD, trauma, paranoia, guilt, Dead Dove Do Not Eat. The torture isn't super graphic, but it's definitely a focal point, at least in the first part.

Note: Managed to crank this out in a couple of days thanks to the encouragement of you guys!! This is. Dark. Especially everything before the first "-----------" break. So if you wanna just skip ahead to that bit, you can. Let me know what you think!

Jack Daniels was not a religious man. Sure, being born and raised in rural Kentucky meant he was raised about as Christian as a boy could be. But with everything that had happened in his life thus far, he wasn’t sure he believed in a benevolent God anymore.

But he sure as fuck believed in Hell right then.

Your screams echoed across the dark room he was in, and despite the duct tape over his mouth, he answered them in kind. The ropes across his wrists and ankles dug into the skin, tearing bruises in their wake, though he felt none of it as he was forced to listen to your tearful pleas from the other side of the one-way mirror.

“Please, I don’t know anything!” you cried. “I don’t know what you want!”

Tears cascaded down his face as he ducked his gaze away, unable to handle seeing the amount of blood pouring from your various wounds. A dull thump and a piercing shriek from you indicated that another had been added.

Suddenly, a rough hand grabbed Jack’s chin, wrenching it upwards as the tape was ripped from his mouth.

“Please,” he blurted, “please just fuckin’ let her go, she doesn’t fuckin’ know anythin’, please-”

“You knew the rules, Whiskey,” came Agent Champagne’s gruff voice from above him in the dark. “You knew not to get attached. And y’did it anyway. So unfortunately, this is the price she’s gotta pay.”

Jack turned his blurred gaze back to the mirror.

More pleading. More begging. More crying.

He wrenched his eyes away just as an aluminum bat swung at your left knee. The crack and following scream would haunt him for the rest of his life. He was sure of that.

“Please,” he sobbed, hanging his head, “I swear, I didn’t tell’er anythin’. I swear, she doesn’t know. You don’t have’ta do this. I… I’ll leave her. I’ll disappear. She… she’ll never see me again. I’ll do whatever you want, just please… please let her go.”

He heard Champ sigh.

“Look, son,” he said, pulling up a nearby chair, “it was either this or take her out back and put her in the ground.”

A dark part of Jack wished they had. It would have been far more merciful than this.

“But we decided to give her a chance. If she can make it through this without crackin’, then we can discuss givin’ her clearance. But we can’t just let things continue on like they were before, Whiskey. You know that. She’d be a liability.”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know anything!”

Crack!

Maybe the punch had knocked you unconscious.

A groan.

Of course you couldn’t have been that lucky.

Jack knew you wouldn’t tell them anything about the covert nature of his job, because he’d never divulged that part to you. All you knew was that he was a higher-up at Statesman Brewery’s HQ and that he took off on a lot of business trips. He never wanted to tell you about the dark underworld he lived in, because he thought the lack of knowledge would keep you safe. He could see now that that assumption was incorrect at best.

Maybe he should have told you. Maybe then, at least, you would have seen this coming and been able to prepare.

Then again, Jack himself hadn’t seen this coming. He knew outside relationships were technically not allowed, of course, but he’d had no clue Statesman would resort to this. He’d had no idea they’d take you both from your shared bed in the middle of the night, bring you to the basement at HQ, and set you up on either side of a one-way mirror while they tortured you for information you didn’t have. All while he was tied to a chair and forced to watch his mistakes unfold in the most gruesome way he could imagine.

Apparently even being one of Statesman’s highest-level agents couldn’t afford him all knowledge of the depravity he worked for.

“...How much longer?” Jack choked.

“Not much,” Champ said, infuriatingly nonchalant as you screamed in the other room. “Few dozen stab wounds, handful of broken bones, busted knee, a concussion, some nondescript head wounds, and more cuts and bruises than even I can count should be enough.”

He felt like he was going to be sick.

A hefty punch centered on your sternum caused you to let out a pained wheeze as Champagne grunted next to him.

“Add a collapsed lung onto that, I suppose.”

With that, Jack watched as Champagne stood and pressed a button on the wall.

“Alright, agent, that’s enough, looks like she ain’t talkin’,” he said into the intercom.

Jack watched as the person on the other side - apparently another Statesman employee, though one he’d never met - lowered the knife in his hand and let it drop. Jack let himself breathe, if only slightly. At least now, he could rush you to some sort of medic and get you help.

He was so focused on you, how your head swayed in front of you and blood dripped from your mouth and nose onto your lap, that he missed how Champagne nodded to someone behind him. Suddenly, Jack’s head was wrenched back, and a fresh strip of duct tape was placed over his mouth.

“Sorry,” Champagne said. “Gotta make sure you don’t go wakin’ the dead here in a second.”

Jack’s confusion only lasted a split moment until he watched the agent in the room with you pull a pistol from his holster, point it at your head, and click the safety off.

“One last chance,” he huffed. “Tell us what Jack Daniels is hiding, or you’re dead.”

His heart fell through the floor as you merely tilted your head to the side, gave an unfocused look at your assailant, then turned back towards the floor.

You’d given up.

And Jack couldn’t blame you.

He furiously struggled against the ropes on the chair, trying his best to scream tangible words.

You said you’d let her go, you son of a bitch! Why do all this just to fuckin’ kill her anyway?!

He froze as the voice on the other side of the mirror spoke one last time.

“Fine.”

The gun fired.

You went limp.

Jack screamed until he tasted blood.

----------

He wasn’t sure if he passed out, or if his mind simply repressed everything to such a degree that any memory between then and when he came to in the medical ward was lost. Truthfully, he didn’t care.

Your screams echoed in his head, and it was only when he tried to raise his hands to his face that he realized he’d been chained to the medical cot beneath him. He was about to ask someone why he was restrained until Agent Champagne walked through the sterile sliding doors. Jack’s hands jolted against their chains, wanting nothing more than to find a home around the other agent’s throat.

“I’ll kill you,” Jack said, his voice raw, “I swear to fucking god, Champ, I’ll kill you if it’s the last thing I fuckin’ do.”

“I hear ya, I hear ya,” Champagne said with a dismissive wave as he pulled up a chair. “First things first: she’s alive.”

Jack felt his breath punch from his lungs.

“Sorry y’had to see that, by the way,” Champ said, “it was just gonna be easier to transport her to Medical that way. Don’t gotta worry about makin’ the damage worse if she’s dead first.”

“That’s a fuckin’ human being you’re talkin’ about,” Jack growled. “Or did you fuckin’ forget?”

“Didn’t forget,” Champagne said, “Just bein’ practical. That’s all.”

The more Champagne talked, the more Jack wanted nothing more than to kill him with his bare hands.

“Anyway, she’s awake. Gave her a memory jolt; showed her a picture of the room she was in. She’s askin’ for you. We’ll remove the cuffs once we’re sure you’re not gonna do anythin’ stupid.”

Jack paused.

“Now, you gotta choice,” Champ continued, getting up to leave the room. “You can go to her. Be there for her. She’s got the clearance now, so you can tell her the truth if you want. Might even be able to pull some strings and get the board to approve hirin’ her on as your admin assistant. Keep her close. An’ if she decides it ain’t worth it once you tell her what’s what, then we can always just nix her most recent memories of you tellin’ her. Short-term memories are easy to adjust.”

The idea of Statesman tampering with your memories left an ugly sense of queasiness in Jack’s gut, but he refused to even consider what the other options would be should you want nothing to do with him after he revealed such classified information to you.

“Or?” he asked.

“Or, you can leave. Got a transfer offer for halfway across the country sittin’ on my desk if you want it. That’d arguably be the safer option for her, since we know she won’t talk about the Agency and we know she can handle the consequences if need be. Won’t be a loose end that way. Choice is yours, son.”

With that, Champagne walked out of the ward and left Jack with his thoughts.

He knew what he wanted to do. And he knew what he should do.

Both were very, very different things.

It was much like how he felt the first time he asked you on a date. The first time he kissed you. When he asked you to move in with him. And how he felt pretty much every time he woke up in the months in between those days and now.

He watched with tired eyes as Ginger Ale walked in with a small keyring and an apologetic expression.

“I won’t chase after ‘im,” Jack said. “You can take ‘em off. I…”

He closed his eyes and felt a tear slip from his eye.

What’s one more mistake among hundreds, right?

“I need to see my girl.”

He did his best to compose himself as Ginger unlocked his cuffs and helped him stand. The last thing you needed right then was to see him cry. Ginger led him across the ward to where you were seated in another medical cot, and even from that distance Jack could see clear evidence that you’d been crying yourself. Ginger excused herself, telling him that she’d “give you two some space”.

Your head jerked up as the sliding doors opened and he walked in, and in an instant you were on your feet and in his arms with a cry of his name. Your body heaved with a fresh wave of tears as you buried your face in his shirt, muttering incoherently about your experience.

“Asked me all these questions,” you sobbed, “didn’t tell ‘em anything - hurt, Jack, hurt so bad - I - I think they killed me but I’m here - don’t understand -”

Jack did his best to soothe you, gently shushing into your temple as he ran one hand along your back and held you close with the other. Part of his mind was already turning gears and trying to come up with a convenient lie so he wouldn’t have to admit his underground job to you.

I don’t know what they wanted either, sweetheart. They took me too, made me watch them hurt you. Not sure who found us, but we’re here now, and you’re okay. They’ll never hurt you again, I promise. So what do you say we go home?

He sighed, frustrated with himself. It wasn’t that he couldn’t lie. He could. It would be as easy as breathing. But deep down, he knew there was no going back from this. You needed to know the full situation. He owed you that, at the very least.

Even if you hated him for it. Especially if you hated him for it.

Granted, he waited until your tears slowed before he gently pulled you away from his shirt and placed a hand on either side of your jaw to look at you.

“There’s… there’s a lot you need to know, sweetheart,” he said. “Now, I can either tell you here, or I can take ya home first. It’s… it’s up to you.”

You paused for a moment.

“Here,” you finally choked out. “Now.”

Jack only nodded before softly guiding you back to the cot. Once you were seated, he pulled up his own chair and took your hands in his.

A pause.

A deep breath.

“First things first,” he began, “I didn’t know this was gonna happen. You gotta believe me on that, darlin’. I had no fuckin’ idea they’d ever do anythin’ like this.”

“...Jack, who is ‘they’?”

His chest constricted. His vision blurred.

He forced himself to press on.

“The - the place I work for,” he finally said. “It… it ain’t a distillery. Well, it is, but that’s just a front for… for what it really is.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

Another deep breath.

Things continued like that for several minutes, with Jack doing his best to explain everything to you, from how Statesman operated, what his role was, how you’d been healed so quickly, and why you’d been put in this situation to begin with.

It was around this point when you jerked your hands free from his and shifted away from him onto the medical cot.

“You’re with them?” you asked in a shaky voice.

“I work for ‘em, yes,” Jack admitted, catching your now fearful gaze, “but I had no say in this. None, you hear me? I… I thought keepin’ you in the dark about my night job was gonna keep you safe. I thought if you didn’t know, then you wouldn’t get hurt. An’ it turns out it was my own goddamn people that hurt you. And on top of that, they tied me to a chair and taped my mouth shut and made me watch. I know nothin’ I say is ever gonna make this right, but I’m sorry, baby. I am so fucking sorry.”

He tried his best to keep from breaking down, but the cracks still threatened to overwhelm him. He heard the pace of your breathing increase, and he watched as you shut down.

You slowly and disjointedly moved back against the pillow on the cot, knees pulled up and your arms wrapped around them. You held an empty gaze forward, slightly rocking yourself back and forth.

Jack shot a fearful glance towards the doors, luckily just in time to catch Ginger Ale’s eye. She must have seen your state and assessed accordingly, because soon enough she was by your side with a small syringe.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, “it’s alright. Try to breathe for me, okay? Can you hear me?”

When you didn’t respond, she injected the needle into your skin, and within a minute or two, you were sound asleep. Jack helped tuck you into bed, kissed your forehead, and sat back down to keep vigil until you awoke next.

----------

How many hours passed until then, Jack wasn’t sure. Part of him wanted to simply take you home, lay you in bed, and convince you that it had all simply been a bad dream.

But he knew he couldn’t do that. His conscience was fractured enough after that day.

You began to stir slowly, and in an instant Jack was on his feet and by your side.

“Hey sugar,” he said gently, running a hand along your cheek as you blinked against the harsh, sterile lights above. “It’s okay. Take it easy. You’re alright.”

“Jack?” you croaked, turning to him. “I…”

It was then that the memories returned to you.

“I’d hoped it was all just a nightmare.”

“I know, sweetheart. I wish it was too. Trust me.”

Your eyes began to shine with unshed tears.

“What else are you keeping from me, Jack?”

“Nothin’,” he answered quickly. “Everythin’s on the table now, I swear to you. I know you probably don’t believe me, and I can’t fault ya for that. But I promise you, you know everythin’ there is to know now.”

You moved to sit upright, limbs trembling and a ragged breath leaving your lungs. Jack eased a hand behind your back to aid you, and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that you didn’t jerk away from his hold.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, voice paper-thin and small.

“I know, honey,” Jack murmured, resting his forehead against yours. “I wish I could help you. But that ain’t a decision for me to make.”

“I don’t even know what my options are, Jack.”

“Well, you’ve got a couple,” he began with a sigh. “First, we can go home. I’ll take some leave. Stay with you. You can even start work here, with me. An assistant, if you want. No outside missions, no dangerous work, just a desk next to mine in my office and a lotta paperwork. The people I work for… they won’t hurt you again. Not after this.”

Jack paused then. He could lie to you again. Tell you that your safety was assured, that you needn’t worry anymore.

He could lie to you.

But he wouldn’t. Not anymore.

“But I can’t guarantee someone else won’t try to hurt you to get to me. There’s no one on our radar right now that’d do that, and I swear to you I’ll always do everythin’ I can to keep you safe, but I… I gotta be honest with you. I’m done lyin’ to you, sweetheart.”

The room fell silent, only the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead filling the void.

“What’s my other option?”

He took a deep breath then.

“Your other option, which would be… safer… is I leave. Transfer out of state, we never speak again. Statesman can adjust your memories so you won’t remember what I told you about the Agency side of it, and as far as you’ll know, I just vanished into thin air. Without any tie to me, or the organization, you should be safe.”

You let more silence stretch between the two of you, heavy and uncomfortable yet necessary. Jack still held a hand on your back, his forehead against yours as he could nearly feel the gears turning in your mind.

“Which option do you want?” you finally asked.

“Honey, it ain’t about what I want.”

“I know. I still want to know though. And don’t tell me what you think I want to hear, Jack. I want the truth. No matter how ugly it is.”

He shifted, lifting his head to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

“You want the ugly truth, huh?”

He felt you nod.

“The ugly truth is… I want the first option,” he admitted. “I know it ain’t as safe. And it kills me to know someday you might get hurt again ‘cause’a me. But I want you. I want you next to me. Wanna tell you good mornin’ and make you dinner and take you out dancin’. Wanna fall asleep and wake up next to you. I just want you with me. An’ I know that’s wrong and selfish as hell of me. But I promised you the truth from now on. And that’s the truth.”

To say you surged forward to embrace him would be a misstatement. It was not a surge, but rather a gentle roll, like the first wave of a growing tide. Nevertheless, Jack met you where you landed, placing an arm around your body and a hand at the back of your head.

“Would I be stupid if I said that’s what I want too?” you asked softly.

“No, sugar,” he responded, turning to press a kiss to your temple, “you wouldn’t be stupid. But I do wantcha to take another day or so to really think about it before givin’ me an answer.This ain’t a choice I want you makin’ on the spot.”

He felt you nod against his shoulder.

“Can�� can we go home?”

Jack kissed your temple again.

“Of course we can, sugar.”

With that, he stood from the medical cot and helped you to your feet. An arm around your waist and his free hand holding yours, he walked you out of the medical ward, but not before giving Ginger Ale a quick “tell boss he’ll have his answer tomorrow” as he moved. He thought about adding on an angry “and tell him he’d better leave us the fuck alone”, but changed his mind at the last second. He figured Champagne would know better than to come snooping.

At least, Jack reasoned that he’d better know better. His earlier threat of homicide still stood, and he’d have no problem carrying it out should the agent intrude. Consequences be damned.

Jack was given a company car to take home, considering the two of you had, for all intents and purposes, been kidnapped the night before.

Had it been the night before? Between his blackout and your loss of consciousness, he wasn’t completely sure anymore. He supposed it didn’t matter.

At any rate, the drive home was quiet. You held his hand the entire way, and though he desperately wanted to know what was going on behind your gorgeous eyes, he kept his mouth shut. You needed time to mull over the course of the rest of your life, and he wasn’t going to impede your thoughts.

Your grip on his hand tightened when he pulled into the driveway. Jack turned to you, noticing your eyes darting across the front of the house anxiously, clearly expecting someone to come running out of the front door at any moment.

“Do you wanna stay here while I go clear the house? Or do you wanna come with me?” he asked softly. He knew he would find no one inside, and knew that there would be no signs of a break-in, but he also knew he was willing to do anything to help you feel more secure. The blame for your condition, as far as he was concerned, was with him.

“...I’ll go with you.”

He only nodded before turning the engine off and coming around to open your door for you.

Jack carefully guided you inside, keeping you close as he went from room to room. He meticulously checked every nook and cranny, made sure all the windows and doors were locked and deadbolted. Every once in a while, he’d hear your small voice call to him.

“Beneath the bed.”

“In the cabinet.”

“Don’t forget that closet.”

Every time, he’d immediately check the area you mentioned. He knew full well the kind of paranoia you were housing, and even if he hadn’t been wracked with guilt, he would have still checked. Just to ease your mind.

You deserved that much, at the very least.

Once the house had been cleared to your liking and the locks were all carefully checked and double-checked and triple-checked, Jack made it his mission to try and get you to eat something. He only managed to succeed in getting you to take a couple of bites, and even then it was only after he had a couple of bites off of your plate to prove there was nothing unusual in the food. He supposed some food was better than none.

Later that night, he offered you a sleep aid. Just a small tablet, completely harmless. But you refused.

“I don’t want to be groggy if something happens.”

He didn’t push the issue, instead climbing into bed with you and pulling you close.

“Jack?” you called to him in the dark.

“Yeah, sugar?”

“...Promise you won’t let anything happen to me while I sleep?”

His heart broke all over again.

“I promise, baby,” he said. “I’m right here. Nothin’s gonna happen to you.”

You tossed and turned against him for some time, settling with his chest against your back, until sleep finally claimed you. Or perhaps it was pure exhaustion. Secretly, Jack hoped it was the latter. Maybe that way, you’d avoid the nightmares for a little while longer.

Then, as you slept against him, he let himself break.

Not as much as he truly needed to - this was not a hurricane or a monsoon like it should have been, but rather a tiny flash flood severely downstream of a downpour. But still, he allowed himself to feel.

The crushing guilt was the worst. You were broken, your psyche irrevocably scarred and changed by what had happened to you. And it had all happened because of him. If he’d just had more self-control, more willpower, he would have disappeared from your life after that first kiss.

But he hadn’t. And now you were only at the beginning of what would no doubt be one of, if not the most difficult recovery of your life. All without the promise that the event would never, ever happen again.

And yet, despite all that, you still wanted him. You’d let him bring you home, let him hold you through the night.

He didn’t deserve it, but he’d accepted it anyway.

Tomorrow you’d give him your answer; tell him if you wanted him to stay or leave. As much as it would gut him, he would understand if you chose the latter. It still didn’t stop him from praying you wouldn’t, though.

He supposed he always had been a selfish bastard.

As you turned in his grasp and buried your face in his throat, Jack couldn’t stop the choked sob that left him.

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #ghost scribbles

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flwersgarden · 2 years

Text

࿓ lovely night. ִ ۫ ּ

pairings : austin!elvis presley x female reader.

summary : you and elvis are always bickering, pretending to hate each other every opportunity you two get. keyword: pretending.

includes : lil bit of angst (don't worry there's fluff), the reader and elvis being stubborn and at the same time being in love, enemies to lovers.

author's note : watched la la land and i know mia and sebastian are still together after everything haha.... haha.... right guys?.... guys???

“ what are you doing here? ”

elvis smiled, opening his arms.

“ doll! ”

you scoffed, crossing your arms.

“ i'm not a doll. ” elvis hugged you either way, chuckling when you muttered something under your breath.

“ i know. ” he slightly nodded, breaking the hug so he could look at you.

“ what are you doing here? ” you asked again, with curiosity this time, your tone still a bit harsh.

“ well, i have to travel, don't i? with all the... shows i have. ”

you hummed, looking at him up and down, clearly not believing him.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️

you and elvis weren't the best of friends, yes, you were acquaintances if you will but you just couldn't stand him. and he couldn't stand you.

the first time you met him, he dismissed you as nothing. you were a reporter, one that achieved many things no male reporter could and the fact that he just autographed your questions and just smiled while patting you in your head before walking off (without letting you say anything) made you angry. very angry.

so the next time you had an interview with him, you asked personal questions.

not that kind of rude questions. but the intimate ones.

elvis frowned every time you asked something, it was clever of you to ask with his fans in the room as they whistled for every question.

and after everyone left but you, him and his staff, you stood up, patted his head and smiled before walking out.

after that, you had to go in a meeting with colonel parker who just told you how unprofessional of you that was and the worst thing is that you knew he was right... but the other part of you, the stubbornness, said oh so you're in his side too.

so, yeah, now you're elvis presley's number one hater.

you lost your job but, honestly, you were at peace at that because you didn't care about the man anymore so what's the point and he can honestly fuck off and you could survive for a few months, at least. but, clearly, elvis didn't think the same.

he wanted to make your life more miserable so he hired you to be his assistant in pr management, saying:

“ well, darling, i feel like a saint today. ”

when you asked him why would he want you in his inner circle of work.

you didn't believe him.

he knew that no one was hiring you. he knew your life was going to shit.

so, swallowing your dignity, you accepted.

elvis: 2, y/n: 1.

which takes us back to the present, where elvis announced he was going to travel with you.

“ i thought you traveled with jerry and the colonel and... those guys. ”

elvis laughed, shaking his head. “ believe me, i rather travel with them than with you but they're full, the colonel is taking some friends that want to see me perform at this party. ”

you thought his explanation was dumb but you could only agree. you didn't want the colonel screaming how worthless you are for not following orders and how you're still eating because of elvis.

“ fine. jump in. ” you opened the car door to the driver seat, seating on it after closing the door, starting the car only after elvis sat next to you, closing his door.

elvis glanced at you, chuckling when he caught your frowning face. “ aw come on! this is going to be fun! ”

it was everything but fun.

elvis just kept talking about everything he could think of.

“ i kinda like your old boss... is she single? ” “ ew, what? ” ️️ ️️️️️️️️️ ️️ ️️️️️️️️️ “ you look like a child when you're angry, as if you're about to throw a tantrum or something. ” ️️ ️️️️️️️️️ ️️ ️️️️️️️️️“ jerry is so funny, and that comes from me! ” “ yeah, sure. ” ️️ ️️️️️️️️️ ️️ ️️️️️️️️️ “ the colonel sometimes fucks everything up. ” “ hah, you tell me? ” ️️ ️️️️️️️️️ ️️ ️️️️️️️️️ “ i bought my dad this weird figure for his birthday, he collects them, i swear i'm not weird. ” “ ew? ” ️️ ️️️️️️️️️ ️️ ️️️️️️️️️ “ you look like you're about to throw up-. ” “ shut it, presley! ”

when you both arrived, you could feel the sigh of relief leave your body, getting out of the car after parking it next to other cars out there. elvis following behind you.

“ that was fun! ” he said with his hands on his waist, obviously proud of himself for bothering you the whole 3-hour road trip.

god, you could punch him.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️

hours later, the colonel instructed you to take elvis back to the hotel before this gets worse. fans just trying to climb the stage while elvis went backstage, musicians trying to wrap up quickly so they don't get caught and get, probably, hurt. you could just nod before running to elvis, who was ready to leave; wearing some black purple suit and tinted lavender sunglasses.

after running for a few minutes with heels that you hated, you and elvis found yourself stranded, a bunch of cars parked in the street without no sign of your car being close.

“ oh, great. ” you muttered, clicking the car key for the car to at least make a sound for it to be easier to find.

“ you can put it in your chin. ” elvis said while looking around.

you stopped walking, looking at him with an annoyed look which he responded with a giggle.

“ what? it works! ”

“ oh, i bet it does. ” you sarcastically said.

“ yeah, your head works like an antena. but i think it gives you cancer so.. ”

you held your laugh, not wanting to give him some sort of satisfaction, shaking your head before you saw a bench close to which you walked to.

“ wait, i need to change my shoes. my feet are killing me. ” you quickly said to elvis, sitting on the bench, talking off your heels.

elvis' eyes lighted up at the sight of the view that was behind the bench, his hand in the tree next to him holding the weight of his body.

“ what a lovely view, huh. ”

you turned around looking at it for a few seconds before shrugging.

“ i've seen better. ” you shortly answered, dusting your heels off before putting them in your bag, taking the comfortable pair of shoes that you kept for emergencies.

“ ha, yeah. ” elvis softly answered, now walking to sit next you in the bench. “ bet you did. ”

you looked at him, annoyed again, before just sighing; your focus on changing your shoes.

“ y'know, this could be a romantic place. ”

you laughed, now your attention once again robbed by whatever dumbassery he was going to say.

“ you sure? ”

“ i'm damn sure. ”

“ please elaborate, you love god. ”

he rolled his eyes annoyed at the sight of your mocking smile before returning to change your shoes.

“ well, for some other girl and guy, this would've been. i mean. ” he stood up, walking to find the sight again.

“ the sun's nearly gone, the lights are turning on... a silver shine that stretches to the sea. ”

you scoffed, still clicking the car key to find the goddamn car.

“ that's tailor made for two. ” he looked at you with an annoyed gaze which you returned. “ what a shame those two are you and me. ”

after changing your shoes, you sat giving him your back, a way of telling him to shut up and find the car but he loved to ignore you.

“ and this. ” he moved his hand to him and you. “ could never be. ”

you frowned.

“ you're not the type for me. ”

“ really? ” you, for some reason, feeling attacked replied.

“ what a waste of lovely night. ” he shrugged, walking away from you.

okay, now you're pissed.

“ you say there's nothing here, well, let's make something clear. ” you walked enough to stand next to him, pointing at his chest with your finger. “ i think i should be the one to make that call. ”

“ yeah? what's your call? ” he, with an unimpressed tone, asked.

“ even though you look so cute, in your polyester suit — ” you shrugged.

“ hey, it's wool. ”

“ — you're right, i would never fall for you at all. ” you walked to the bench again, acting nonchalant, ignoring elvis surprised and offended face who just followed you.

“ and maybe this appeals to one of your... lovesick fans but for me? ha! ” you shook your head, clearly making fun of him. elvis just walked behind you.

“ i'm frankly feeling nothing. ” you said, faking a thinking face looking to the bright sky.

“ is that so? ” he muttered, fixing his hair before standing in the other side of the bench.

“ or... it could be less than nothing? ” you then looked at the ground.

“ good to know. ” he sat next to you, quite close. “ so, you agree? ”

you hummed, gifting him one of your most fake smile, looking right back at him.

“ that's right. ”

you both look at each other with an angry, challenging look.

“ what a waste of lovely night. ” you both said, then looking to the opposite side.

you, ignoring the beat of your heart. elvis, ignoring the genuine smile that threatened to show.

after a moment, you put the car key in your chin as you looked at the mess of cars in front of you.

' beep! '

you and elvis looked at each other.

the both of you stood up, walking away from the bench and now walking to the car.

as you arrived, elvis cleared his throat. you turned around, no annoyed gaze and no mocking smile in sight.

“ thank you for... taking me here. ” elvis frowned, clearly cringing at how dumb that sounded.

you chuckled, not a mocking one or a fake one, shrugging your shoulders.

“ whenever you like. ” you softly answered, elvis eyes lightning up. now the night seemed brighter.

“ you mean that? ” he sounded like a little kid which parent just promised to buy him a toy.

“ yeah. ” you smiled, opening the car door before getting in.

elvis stating at the spot you were in.

well, the night was no longer wasted.

#elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis fic #austin!elvis #austin!elvis x reader #elvis 2022

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arrancxr · 1 year

Note

What if Espada + Lilynette fell asleep with their s/o but woke up alone?

And they can't find them anywhere later on learning they were out for groceries?

Starrk

Waking up alone always sends an awful pang of loneliness through him, even when he knows there's nothing to worry about. Rationally, he doesn't doubt you're coming back from whatever it is that pulled you away from your shared nap, but that dread-like feeling that he's been abandoned still digs its claws in enough to leave Starrk feeling all kinds of pathetic as well. He'll be in an unpleasant mood until you get back, but calms down easily then.

Lilynette

There's a moment where, upon waking up to realize she's alone, Lilynette panics. She hates how needy it feels, but you're gone, and there's a part of her that's legitimately scared you'll never come back. There's nothing to take her mind off it until then, either— if she's with you and Starrk's not around, that's a sort of solitude that she's not used to at all. She stays antsy and tense until you return, and gets oddly clingy for a while afterward.

Halibel

Aside from the brief, startled moment when she first slips back to consciousness and realizes that you're not there, Halibel takes it pretty well. She can easily assume that you had something that needed to be attended to... even if there's a part of her that's still unsettled to have woken up alone. Still, she puts it out of her mind quickly enough, and finds something to occupy herself until you get back— at which point the last of the tension finally dissipates.

Ulquiorra

Loathe as he is to admit it, waking up alone doesn't sit well with him. If he'd fallen asleep with you, to begin with, Ulquiorra had been in an unusually vulnerable state of mind, and waking up to the lack of the presence he'd expected sends an instinctive bolt of panic through him. And as much as he bitterly tries to push that feeling out of his mind, he can't help but feel uneasy while you're gone... and then, oddly grouchy once you've returned.

Nnnoitra

The feeling that hits him when he realizes you're not curled up by his side anymore is one of the most shameful things Nnoitra has experienced. And no matter how hard he tries to smother the pathetic sense of loss churning in his head while you're gone, that feeling remains a perpetual irritant until you're back. When you're home again, you'll find Nnoitra in a truly rotten mood, but he only snaps at you when you try to ask what's bothering him.

Grimmjow

He's the one who can't stop pacing around the house looking for you. While he tells himself he's just annoyed with you for disappearing so suddenly, there's a sort of worry lingering in the back of his mind that he just can't shake. There's a reason why you were gone, obviously, but Grimmjow is still agitated and on edge until you're back— and at that point, he's all over you. Prepare for plenty of grouchy clinginess along with denial of any worry.

Szayel

Considering that he has to let his guard down a lot to sleep properly, waking up alone is a cause for stress. Szayel can hardly believe he didn't wake up while you left, and that's almost worrying him more than your disappearance. He finds something to occupy himself soon enough and refuses to show his lingering distress when you get back home... but he's hesitant to sleep again for a while, now that he knows how unguarded he ends up.

Aaroniero

He does not take that well. Falling asleep is vulnerable enough; waking up with you gone is just panic-inducing. There's some instinctive surge feeling that he needs to hide until you're there again, until the presence that his mind is convinced protects him has returned. And Aaroniero is the type to worry that he's been abandoned— even when he knows it's irrational, there's a distrustful sort of worry lingering that he can't fully restrain.

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bucketwritingpail · 4 months

Text

The Person I Admire The Most (by Jason Todd)

Post Ethiopia, grieving

----

The Person I Admire The Most

By Jason Todd

6th grade Language Arts

Mrs. Smith

The person I admire the most in the whole world, is Wonder Woman. Wonder Woman is very strong and she helps people alot. I think she is very cool. She is an Amazon, which is a female warrior from Greece, but she left her island of all woman warriors to help save the world. And now, she is in the Justice League. She actually helped create it!

She is well known for her compassion and diplomasee diplomacy, but she can also crush steel with one hand, Just like Superman! I admire Wonder Woman the most! I want to be just like her when I grow up!

------

Diana saw her tears soaking into the page before she had even registered that she'd been crying. Snuffling, she rubbed them from her eyes and looked back to Bruce. His eyes were just as watery as hers and he looked awful. It was a disconcerting to see from the otherwise stoic Batman.

"We found it when we went through his things," he explained, voice ragged, "I thought you might like to have it." Suddenly it was unreasonably hard to breathe.

"Robin." She didn't know if it was a statement or a question, but images of that sunny child that had visited the watchtower only a few weeks ago, flooded her mind. He had been so excited to meet her he had tripped over his own feet. He had never stopped talking either, he wanted to know about her, and her homeland. He had rambled about how excited he was for school and how happy he was living with Bruce. The man had had to practically drag the kid out of the watchtower. It was almost hard to believe that such a sweet kid-

Bruce had only told them the news two days ago.

Diana looked back at the paper, wiping her eyes to prevent anymore stray tears from marring the precious surface, and flattened the creases, holding it close to her chest. They had already missed the funeral. It was hard to blame Bruce though, even if that didn't stop the inkling of hurt that lingered hot in her chest, the man looked terrible.

"I-" she started, her voice shaking. "Can I hug you?" She was expecting a no, maybe a signature Batman grunt as he turned and left, but that didn't happen. To her surprise, Bruce shook. A nearly indetectable tremor passed through his body and he pitched forward into her arms. Diana barely had time to safely stow the paper before Batman was sobbing in her arms.

Before Bruce was sobbing in her arms.

But she was sobbing too.

And she knew they both needed this.

So Diana held the Dark Knight as he fell apart, and they mourned the brightest child either of them had ever known.

#dc comics #ficlet #jason todd #diana prince #bruce wayne #bucket writes things #angst #yeah sorry about this one guys

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lovejapan55 · 1 year

Text

Sometimes I still wish there was hope for that Varian spin-off other times I’m scared I can’t be satisfied by it due to how awful Varian was treated in the series I know that the spin-off is by people who care about him so he be treated Better but I want catharsis for that horrid and toxic writing.

i don’t understand I thought it stopped bothering me with how satisfying the owl house series was especially the ending but every time I see someone praise tangled series in the owl house fandom I’m reminded of how much I hate tangled and Rapunzel and Cassandra and Fred and Chris sonerburg. Varian was not the Disney villain Chris wants you to think him as.

I want Rapunzel and king Fred and everyone who wronged him to be held accountable I don’t want any half assed apology either like the one from Rapunzel no biased narative either trying to paint Varian as the only one in the wrong.

I want it to be said how bad it was for him how she abandoned him for months . How he was more the victim then Rapunzel was, and I want him to resent Cassandra for what she did to his dad and how easier she was forgiven then him. I hate how it went I want it to be said he was alone for months with no emotional and mental support desperat to save his dad ,how he begged for corona to help but no one would cause they thought he attacked the princess during the storm. I want that talked more in the spin-off.

I want the spin off to mention how biased people were to forgive Cassandra more then him how toxic Cassandra was. I don’t want him to like her at all anymore and what she put him through was not karma for him that he didn’t deserve it.

I want it talked of how Rapunzel did give up on him no matter what Varian was written to say she did give up on him, it was not convincing when they had Varian say that she didn’t.

And I saw fanart portraying Fred as kind and taking pity on Varian letting Him out of prison for sun no I don’t want that. That would never be convincing , he left Varian to rot if he didn’t Varian wouldn’t have joined the saporians . I want Fred portrayed for what he really is a horrible king and father and that he never cared about Varian. I still don’t believe Rapunzel cared about him either I just want catharsis from what that show put him through. I want to be sane again I can’t believe after all these years I can’t let it go I just want to be free from it but I’m still angry and bitter over Chris terrible writing and how he sabotaged his show cause of his obsession with Cassandra who’s a toxic person. I still don’t get people who are fine with her writing and can’t see her for horrible person she really is.

Season 3 sucked ok season two was a complete waste as well.I just want to be free from this but I can’t too much I went through in this fandom and series, and DONT come at me saying it’s not real . Varian was very real and relatable too me and he was treated too horrible for me to forgive.

I want the spin off for Varian and the seven kingdoms I want the story Kait and Anne made. I want the new characters in there and for them to be real friends to him and for varigo to be canon and real too.But Varian trauma shouldn’t be over cause be very afraid didn’t satisfy me with that I don’t him over it like that and forgiving Rapunzel the way he did was not satisfying at all Cassandra didn’t deserve to be redeemed at all either I just can’t do this I hated that show so much I can’t forget it or forgive it.

#Varian and the seven kingdoms #varian #varian the alchemist #varian tangled #tts varian #varian tts #varigo #vat7k #tangled the series

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1d1195 · 1 year

Text

Normal People VI

I feel like some of you aren't going to like my "creative direction" on this one and I'm sorry for that. But if you've read any of my other work, there's not much I can do about these endings I write.

This last part kind of starts abruptly...kind of ends abruptly too. I recognize that. I just wanted to post and I've had a good chunk of this written since August. I think it's time. I hope you've enjoyed Normal People. You can read the rest here: Normal People. As much as I enjoyed the show, the book, and writing this, I'm looking forward to moving on to my next piece.

“If you break my heart, I think I’ll die.”

He smirked sadly, without humor. “I think if I break your heart...I’ll die, too,” he whispered and gently.

It was mid-October, home for the weekend. Her favorite time of year. It was warm from the fall day, but it was chilling off rapidly in the setting evening sun. That’s when she finally had enough, her favorite time of year. When Harry ruined everything. All the progress that he had made with her at university over the last year and a half...

When he was away from his friends from home, and it was just Niall and some of her friends, he was himself—truly himself. As hurt as she felt, she was also so sad for Harry for not feeling like he could be himself around his friends. Harry was so much better at university than he ever was in their school days.

But it didn’t make the hurt any less awful.

She thought it would be different. So maybe that was her own fault for setting her expectations so high of someone that had only ever let her down at home. Without really noticing, she called Niall. Niall was one of the only people who knew the Harry that she loved so much. The one that didn’t break her heart anymore. “Hey Niall,” she sniffed into the phone.

“Oh...hey princess, y’okay?”

She nodded. “Just...uh...” there was a hollow laugh that escaped her lips at the prospect of crying over Harry and his lack of ability to keep her heart safe. “Just...did Harry ever tell you about us?”

“Yeah...” Niall sighed. Poor thing. “M’sorry, that—”

“How come I’m not good enough?” She interrupted.

Niall frowned as he listened to the sound of her soft sniffles and shaky breathing through the phone. “Oh, princess. You’re too good. He knows that.”

“Then why does he always break my heart?” She whimpered.

Shaking his head, he wanted to smack Harry. Of course, he loved the sweet girl. She was an angel. But Harry deserved her and so much more for himself, only because he had hid his true feelings and emotions for so long. But Niall didn’t want her hurting. Especially because of Harry. No one deserved that—but especially not her. “I don’t know, love. I really don’t know.”

She nodded. “Okay...m’sorry to call and bother you. I just...” she sighed and shook her head. “You know the same Harry that I do.”

“The one that loves you so wholly,” Niall nodded in agreement. He knew what she meant. She shook her head at his words and whispered a quiet no. It felt like agony. It felt almost as bad as when her mom left her. It felt awful. “He does, love. I promise. He’s just an idiot.”

But it didn’t feel like it...it never did. So, she stayed silent.

Harry was racing out the door. He wasn’t himself. The guy his friends knew from their school days was long gone. The guy that was just inside wasn’t the same one from university either. That was someone entirely different. Someone that had the confidence to stand up for what he believed was right and for what he thought was wrong. Someone that made a scene and someone that yelled like nothing he’d ever done before.

But he thought it was still too late.

He didn’t stop them from making fun of her again. It was just like the party nearly two years ago. Sarah did more of a number on the stupid guys and catty girls in the group. They watched her with disdain and snickered under their breath. When they finally had the whole place laughing at her expense, she finally lost it. “You’re really not going to say anything?” She asked it so quietly as she looked at Harry expectantly.

He was soundless, blank. His muscles were stiff. Frozen in this horrible moment. He should have done something. Said something. Anything would have been better than absolutely nothing. Sarah silently, telepathically, begged for him to do anything.

Maybe it was too late, but once she was out the door, he caused a scene. A loud one. One that his friends never expected him to produce. Sarah was so proud she could have cried. But there was one friend that said, “If you liked her, why didn’t you say anything?”

Harry wanted to scream.

It was a bit later that he found her. It wasn’t like she was missing, and no one knew where she was. It was just sad that no one was looking for her. No one really cared that she left.

But Harry did.

He always did.

She was sitting on the ground. A small blanket from her car was the only thing separating her from the cold ground. She was sitting up straight, her legs outstretched in front of her, and her neck craned almost perpendicular to the ground to stare at the sky.

“Hey kitten,” he said softly. He didn’t want to scare her.

“Do you like clouds?” She wondered.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he got closer to her, and he gazed down at her as she stared up at the endless world in front of them. Her eyes were glassy. They rotated across the view above her slowly, over, and over. He could see from her face that she was thinking so deeply about something, and he wondered what that was.

“’Ve never really...looked at them,” he admitted quietly. He wished he did. Just so it could be one more thing that he understood on her behalf. He glanced upwards now, and sure it was pretty but it was obvious she was seeing so much more than Harry. Something more. She always did.

“I love clouds,” she whispered and leaned back slowly to lie down and could stare at the sky without straining her neck, she was nearly unblinking as she watched the clouds shift before her. “I’ve always been a sky-kinda girl,” she explained. “No one ever really...” she shook her head. “No one I know understood it...except my mom,” she sighed scrunching her face sadly. “No one ever really understood me the way she did,” she whispered quietly.

Harry didn’t know what to say so he just stayed quiet. He was still looking at her, unable to move his eyes from her. She was stunning. Even when sad. He wanted to understand her, he thought he did have a pretty good understanding of her. But how was he supposed to compare to her mum? How could he get her to believe him after that horrific display?

“How can you not...” she shook her head as she trailed off changing her sentence part way through. “The sky is never going to look like this again,” she gestured toward the clouds. Harry finally looked up and really looked. The clouds were fluffy, pink, purple, gray, and yellow. The sun peeked through the thinner parts casting rays along the rest of the sky. It was beautiful. It was like a watercolor painting. “Even in five minutes...a whole new sky,” she mumbled. It was very poetic the way she said it. However, Harry knew she wasn’t just talking about the sky. “I’ve always been in love with the sky,” she told him. Harry didn’t know that. He felt like he knew nothing about her in that moment.

“Yeah?” He murmured. It was all he could get his tongue to say.

“The sun, the stars, the moon. The clouds,” she shook her head. “M’in love with it all.”

While she stared at the sky, the air seemed so quiet, and Harry moved his gaze away from the clouds and back to her. He tried, with everything in him, to see what she saw. And yes, it was beautiful. But nothing compared to her. He wanted to say he loved her. Every part of her. He was in love with it all—but she was more than the sun, the stars, the moon, and the clouds. She was the entire universe.

“How’d you find me?”

“Huh?” He murmured sitting on the ground away from her two feet of space between them.

“Find me?” She repeated.

Harry was silent for a moment. “I... I don’t like t’be too far away from you,” he answered. It didn’t really answer her question. He hoped she would just let it go. He didn’t know how to explain to her that his heart would search far and wide for her. He wouldn’t rest until he knew where she was so he could know she was safe and okay...especially when he was the cause of her heartache.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Why?” She wondered.

He shook his head. “Something...something about you, love,” he mumbled.

There was just the sound of the light breeze whooshing past their ears for a moment. “I wish you figured that out years ago,” she said quietly. His chest hurt. He deserved that. “Y’know Harry, I always thought that you liked me,” she whispered bravely. “And I thought that was ridiculous because you were popular and lovely, and I was weird, smart, and quiet.”

“You are lovely,” he whispered. She seemed to pretend like she didn’t hear him.

“And then you kissed me, and I was so sure...and...” she shook her head trailing off, devastated again.

“Kitten,” he said softly. She didn’t need to finish her thoughts. He knew what she wanted to say.

She ignored him. “You can leave,” she said softly. She didn’t want him there anymore than he wanted to be there, she was sure.

Don’t go. Don’t leave her...again. Harry felt compelled to respect her wishes. To leave her alone and let her sit alone. But it was chilling rapidly. He had already left her once at that party and he regretted it so intensely, it still hurt even though she was right in front of him.

And the sky was almost as beautiful as she was.

And he hadn’t told her as such.

“I can’t,” he croaked. He felt so horrible for being too late. For not saying what he was feeling for not...for letting them treat her that way. Even after all these years. It made him sick. She turned her head and looked at him. “I can’t leave you, kitten.”

“M’sure I told you to stop calling me kitten,” she shook her head. She was exasperated. He watched the way her shoulders shook against the chilly air. He wanted to hold her. Wanted to warm her. The only thing he wanted was to touch her.

He winced. “Yeah...I can’t do that either.”

“Please leave,” she whispered.

Don’t. “Kitten.”

“Harry,” she sighed.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and Harry propped himself to his knees beside her. He turned his body toward her. He wasn’t going to mess up. She glanced at him momentarily, sucking her lip into her mouth. She kept her eyes above, staring at the clouds ever changing and moving. The breeze was picking up, icing the air and surely her skin. Harry wanted to wrap his arms around her more, keep her warm and safe the way he never had before. She didn’t respond to his apology. “Kitten,” he said quietly.

“Harry, I swear to God, stop with the kitten.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I can’t. You’re my...” he shook his head. “I’m so sorry I was horrible t’you. But you’re my kitten. I can’t ever stop. Even if y’never forgive me—you’ll always be m’kitten.”

She felt her eyebrows pinch together, she stared at him soberly for a long moment. It felt like time had frozen there as the sun dipped further behind the clouds. The pink sky turning gray and dark, readying for the stars to appear.

Had he really been carrying this guilt all this time? Didn’t he know she was friends with him because...? Harry was intelligent, surely, he wasn’t this inept. “Harry... you’ve always been forgiven.”

He blinked. It felt like time had stopped. “What?”

“It was school, Harry. I can’t blame you...the hormones, the people, the...everything...it wasn’t your fault.”

Harry felt the air escape his lungs. “No,” he shook his head. “No, love...you can’t...you can’t give in that easily. I don’t deserve you and I was s’horrible t’you. If you jus’—”

“Harry, you weren’t horrible to me,” she shook her head. “There wasn’t a single day I spent with you that wasn’t the best day of my life,” she sounded irritated. “I don’t want to be in love with you, but I can’t help it. But it’s killing me. I don’t want to be in love with you anymore. I’m just...waiting for the inevitable heartbreak.”

Harry was still and silent. He wanted to cry. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want her to wait for that. It didn’t have to be like that. “Love.”

“Harry, it hurts so much to be this in love and only for you to be scared and not reciprocate it.”

He nodded. “I know,” he winced; he didn’t understand the torment she was feeling due to his lack of attention or help. But he understood the torment he was feeling due to his own stupidity. Losing her would be the worst mistake of his life. “I wish...”

She sniffled and Harry realized she was crying. “I wish too,” she whispered. “You’re...my best friend. And I don’t want to lose you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I think tonight was proof I would...I mean. Can you really say that you’re not worried? They’re not going to go away. And for whatever reason they don’t like me.”

“I want nothing t’do with them, then, kitten. You’re m’whole world. M’whole life,” he explained.

She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s enough, Harry. I can love you and love you and love you but it’s just...”

He felt so defeated. Keep fighting. It was one tiny voice in his head shouting at the top of his lungs. It seemed useless. She was right in some ways. She had no reason to believe Harry could change after his performance. It seemed like the fight was futile. But he wanted her.

He wanted her something fierce.

“When was the last time we kissed?” He asked.

She blinked at him; it was so sudden. “What?”

“When did we kiss last?”

The blood rushed to her cheeks turning them pink like the sky but Harry wanted to kiss her until she was redder than a firetruck. “Harry...”

“Kitten, please,” he begged.

“You can’t fix us with a kiss.”

He leaned forward and cupped his hand against her face. She gasped softly and tried to pull her head away ever so slightly. “It won’t be one kiss.”

She looked so sad. “Harry...”

“Kitten,” he croaked and closed his eyes. He felt like the air in his lungs was solidifying as he tried to breathe. “If you really don’t want to, I won’t. But I have to try,” he told her. “You’re my whole world.”

She gazed at him, his hand on her cheek, and her eyes so mistrusting. “I’d rather you be my best friend than lose you because you don’t love me.”

“I adore you.”

“Do you think that’s enough?” She asked.

“It has to be.”

Swallowing she placed her hand over his against her cheek. She turned her head toward his palm and brushed her lips against it. “If you break my heart, I think I’ll die.”

He smirked sadly, without humor. “I think if I break your heart...I’ll die, too,” he whispered and gently, with the touch of a butterfly brushed his lips over hers. Her eyes closed and she seemed to melt into him.

“S’really cold out here,” she whispered.

He nodded and kissed her a little more deeply, wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her to him in hopes of keeping her warm. “Were y’gonna sit out here all night and freeze?”

She shook her head and smiled softly. “Guess I knew you would come around,” she admitted.

Harry sighed with relief. “M’glad you knew.”

Wrinkling her cute little nose, she leaned in and kissed Harry once more. “I think your kissing needs some work.”

“M’a bit out of practice.”

“Hmm,” she hummed and kissed him again.

“Let’s get you warm.”

“I’m pretty warm now,” she told him.

He nodded. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

With his forehead pressed to hers he grinned and then kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you,” it was so simple to say. Easy. So entirely easy. From far away they looked like a normal couple. Ready to watch and wish on shooting stars. There was silence between them, the air seeming to warm around them and Harry’s declaration. He would wait forever for her to say it back to him. Even if she just said it several times over, it meant something different now that Harry could say it.

“I love you too,” she answered finally. Harry sighed with relief and kissed her more.

There was nothing normal about them.

But she wouldn’t want it any other way.

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bluebellhairpin · 1 year

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Thorin Oakenshield X Fem!Reader

Summary; The journey to Erebor takes you deeper into the dangers of Middle-Earth, and the promise you and Thorin made is put to the test.

Warnings; Talks of nightmares (visions of the future). Injuries and blood. One (1) swear word. Reader is female-body-coded, uses she/her pronouns, and is Human (Is called 'lass' once).

Listening to; 'Movement' by Hozier - "You are a call to motion, there, all of you a verb in perfect view."

Part 3 || Part 5

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

Thunderous booms, flashes of light and stone, rain that feel like thick fat needles.

Glimpses of a future ahead were what woke you with a start. It was before dawn, only just, and already a few around you were quietly starting to pull on coats and pack up their bags.

You stayed shocked still, your heart hadn’t yet slowed from the distressing dream which had you frozen in place. Something about this one felt different. More urgent.

More real.

Maybe it just came with the knowledge that this was a future - yours, and that of those around you. But your gut was telling you it was because this one was to be coming soon. You knew you saw nothing in order, you’d seen nothing come to play in front of you as it had in your visions - not yet.

But, that was going to change.

You left Rivendell with a heavy heart.

The comforts of the Elven city were now behind you, though still at such a close distance that you could turn back and look at it longingly. You knew trouble lay ahead - so far very few of your visions had come to fruition, and they seemed to only get worse, worrying you more, and more frequently.

You were quite sick of them, in all honesty.

“You need to keep a clear head.” Thorin called out to you, garnering your attention over the heads of a half dozen Dwarves. “If that means staying out of it, then stay out.” His words were harsh, laced with bitterness fueled by nothing but habit.

He was right, though. If you were to help anyone, you needed to be on the ball. You nodded, firmly and quietly - Thorin seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if he expected you to fight back as usual, when you didn’t and simply kept moving, he resolved to do the same.

Ori looked up at you from where he walked just behind you, all big eyes in his young face - or young for a Dwarf.

“What?” you asked. He blinked.

“He isn't fighting you anymore.” You looked back at him, mouthing gaping open once, before closing again, and you looked ahead. Your eyes drew to Thorin. “You aren’t fighting him either.”

“I guess I’m not.”

“It’s strange. To see it.” Ori commented again. “But it feels… normal.”

You said nothing.

“Something changed last night,” he said, kicking a rock ahead of you on the path. Bombur stepped on it. “When you both talked. It was something good, wasn’t it?”

It really wasn’t, you felt.

But when you looked back at him, he looked so hopeful. He was still so young, yet he was here. He was going to see awful things, you knew that - but if you could stop some of it, save someone, save that hopefulness, then did he really need to know?

“It was Ori,” you said, “It was good.”

Thorin felt sour inside.

He’d pushed Balin ahead, saying he knew these paths better - he did - but Thorin knew them enough to lead everyone too. He really just wanted some time to think. To plan.

Your meeting with the Lady Galadriel, and his with Lord Elrond - he needed to take it all in.

Now he knew they had a time limit, that you were more important than he had thought or believed. Even something so little as how easy you actually got along now that both your pride’s were cast aside - he had no idea why it was that easy to do. You couldn’t have bewitched him, he knew that, but it would be so easy to think it.

It filled him with a warmth of both fondness and anger - like steel or gold turning soft under the heat of fire - when he dwelt on it. So he didn’t.

He was too busy right now to do that anymore anyway.

The grass and mountains turned into rocky ledges - a slippery narrow path where one wrong foot could lead to a long and unpleasant fall. He was stuck thinking on his feet - where they were meant to go - and making sure everyone else did the same, while trying to keep an eye out through the rain for a place to shelter.

Then, a crack of thunder, and he heard an unfamiliar yell. He heard you yell.

Thorin had been keeping an eye on you, the way you migrated from the middle of the group to the back, and how you kept your eyes to the skies through the fabric of your hood - you were scared of heights. But even so, you hadn't made a single noise of distress until now.

Thorin saw you yelling to Dwalin halfway up the group, unable to hear what you said through the rain. Then the message was relayed from Dwalin to Balin, and from Balin to him.

“The lass says she’s seen this!” Balin said.

“When?” Thorin frowned, then yelled to you “When!” your reply was faint, but he made out your words.

“Last night!”

“What do we do?”

“Move!” you said, clutching the wet stone beside your head, “Quickly!”

Quickly they moved. The pace made room for more mistakes, more slip ups on the wet stone, but not one had yet fallen.

Officially, you’d moved to the back of the group. Pushing everyone closer, keeping everyone nearby - Thorin could feel your haste and worry from all the way at the other end of the Company. Whatever you’d seen had you thoroughly panicked.

He’d never seen you lose your composure quite like this before.

He didn’t know what you’d seen, but the promise he made pressed to the front of his skull - to do anything you said to keep everyone safe. He was going to move, and he would make everyone move too.

Only a few more minutes passed before he, and everyone else, knew why you were so keen on moving out of these mountains so fast.

“Giants!” Bofur called.

A too-large boulder was thrown and hit the mountain above the Company with a mighty crack, sending smaller boulders and rubble down past where everyone stood. Thorin, with a well-worn instinct that matched the others, pressed himself to the rock face, sheltering from the stone storm.

“Move!” you called, pointing further up the path, “Don’t stop moving!” But everyone was either frozen in place, or stuck by those frozen - too stuck sheltering to risk moving and getting hurt. Thorin himself felt his feet unable to move, try as he might.

The mountain above gave way with a groan, and the Company was divided in two under another downpour of rocks.

Thorin knew he should listen to you - it was his biggest takeaway from tolerating those Elves, and this time he didn’t. He was too slow. Was this where he died? Where someone else died instead?

He didn’t want to believe it. Even though he did, for a few fleeting moments hit with the cold, cruel idea that half his Company, including you and Fili, and the Hobbit, had died. He didn’t have to believe it.

They were there, groaning and bruised in a lump of squirming limbs. He watched you push yourself up beside Fili, clutching a cut on your forehead that was weeping red - he doubted you were the only one who needed a moment to recover.

And the mountain provided such a haven.

A calm has settled over the group, resting on their shoulders and hair and clothes like dust collecting in an unused fire pit. Try as he might, Thorin was not sleeping that night.

He’d watched as everyone took a place to rest.

Watched as Oin finally convinced you to let him take a look at your head, cleaning the fresh wound that wove down from your hairline to your eyebrow. Even in the dark he could see the cut glinting with fresh blood waiting to scab over - they had nothing to fix it with. The hope would be that the bleeding stopped soon, and you’d run into no more trouble for a little while longer so it could heal enough to not tear open more.

Then, he watched you sleep. He wondered how tiring it was, and worn you must've felt after what happened. Knowledge no one else knew was no easy weight to carry. He was glad that you appeared to be getting rest though. Thorin saw how your hands tucked under your arms to keep your fingers warm, and how your clothes rose and fell on top of your deep breaths of sleep. He found himself dozing off despite his resolve not to.

But he was a light sleeper.

You jolted awake, not from a dream but to a reality.

Barely having time to react, you grabbed onto anything in an effort to keep your bearings as the ground underneath where you slept fell away. In your confusion and fear, you heard yourself ask what was happening in a stolen breath - your fall changed into a tumbling slide, which wasn’t helping to answer whatever unknown question was floating in your head.

Someone's hand had your nose, then a foot clashed into your shin. An axe flew past your face - a narrow miss if there ever was one. Then you landed with a thump on top of someone's stomach, only for someone else to land on yours.

“What do you guys eat,” you asked, wheezing, “You land like rocks.”

“Bombur’s cooking does that to a Dwarf.” Someone mumbled behind you.

Before you could stand, you felt a hand curl around your ankle, yanking you from the pile of writhing bodies. An unflattering squeal left your lips as you looked down to see boney fingers and yellow flesh.

You kicked it with your other foot, then it was grabbed. You tried turning over to claw your hands into the wood to pull yourself away only for your arms to be snatched too. You were pushed and pulled into a standing position and then practically yanked forwards.

Then you got a proper look at where you were.

Standing a few inches taller than the Dwarves and these creatures whose capture you had - literally - fallen into, suddenly became a slight advantage.

You were in a large cavern, being pushed along rickety wooden paths that groaned so loudly under the commotion that you wondered if they’d give way with the weight. The creatures themselves didn’t evoke much more reassurance. Goblins, if the Trolls from a few days ago were anything to go by. All beady eyes and mouths sending spittle in every direction.

One came up to your face, climbing over the others to get a proper look at the Human among Dwarves - even pressed a curled nail into the skin next to your cut. A sibling anger to the ones currently in your fellowship rose inside you.

“Oh! A real charmer aren’t you?” you said, leaning your weight on the two either side holding your arms to kick him in the chest, sending him flying backwards off into the dark chasm below.

Then hands curled around your legs, puppeting you into walking but restricting enough to stop anymore deadly outbursts.

“Don’t fucking touch me! Let me go you wimpy,” you grunted, pulling an arm free and pushing one's face so hard as to send him back a few paces, “- Troll Swine!”

A few moments later, you were brought to a standstill.

You had been so focused on directly around you that you hadn’t realized exactly what was further around you. If this were a nest, you’d found yourself in the deep heart of it.

But right in front of you was - probably - the ugliest looking thing you’d laid eyes on. You wished you could lay your eyes anywhere else, but there was some morbid curiosity inside you wondering how this… thing could end up looking quite like that.

“Whose in my kingdom. How dare this come to be? What other purpose but for trouble?” he asked, and a much smaller Goblin bumbled forward.

“A Human, and Dwarves, sleeping right on our front porch.”

You saw his eyes widen, and then barked orders for you all to be searched - you looked down at the Goblin in front of you.

“Your fingers go in any flaps of my clothing, and I break them.” He didn’t touch you.

“What are you doing here?” The Goblin King asked. But was met with silence. “Speak!”

You looked over at Thorin, he was saying nothing, so neither were you. You knew he’d know what to do.

You weren’t quite sure how it happened, but you were finally getting away. No one was being crushed, or having their limbs torn from their bodies - in fact the Company was dealing more damage than they were being dealt.

You were in awe at how well they, and Gandalf, worked together. Like a well oiled machine, with all its parts precisely where they should be. You almost didn’t know where you’d fit in - what you could do to help rather than be a hindrance.

But thinking you didn’t fit in, that you couldn’t, wasn’t going to help anyone. The course of events, the way everyone was fighting, you quickly found yourself beside Thorin himself.

And you worked together like a river over rocks. It was like you were made for it.

You pushed past waves and waves of Goblins, swinging at heads with your new swords as Thorin took aim lower. You were so under qualified for a fight like this, but you knew it had to be done - you knew you had to try.

And Thorin, despite in the heat of battle, took the time not only to make sure you were still following and close, but once smiled. Small and fleeting, but a smile nonetheless. It told you without words that your best was good enough. That you were proving yourself worthy of being here despite your inexperience.

Thorin came to an abrupt stop in front of you, having to put an arm out to steady both himself and you - having come half barreling into his back and Gandalf’s along with half the Company.

The Goblin King stood in front of you, large and looming. You hoped Gandalf had a plan, for you at least had no answers, nor an idea of a way out of where you were now. All you knew - having then been hit by the sudden realisation - was that you would get out.

Visions told of horrors ahead, ones felt and seen by all those around you - ones that did not play out trapped in this mountain, surrounded by Goblins and their King.

Gandalf was doing a head count. Thorin had come to stop near Dwalin - his friend clapped his shoulder gently - and then he looked at you.

Drawn, in a way.

Your cut had worked open, weeping and glistening red like a ruby, but not bleeding. Not yet. You were still okay. An important piece of this journey, something as crucial as the map or key to burglar, was you. Maybe what he was feeling was just because he knew you were so vital.

Even so, he couldn’t help thinking that wasn’t the only reason he was feeling so kindly of you, even though it might’ve only been yours.

“Where is Bilbo?” Gandlaf asked, realising now that the Company was one short. “Where is the Hobbit? Pray, tell,” he said, approaching you as you looked up at him with fingers still gingerly tracing the edges of your injury, “Have you seen him?”

You shook your head, no. You hadn’t.

“I think I saw him slip away unnoticed,” Nori piped, “When they were first corralling us.” Thorin felt anger swell inside him. A knowledge he was right all along about Bilbo - that he wasn’t truly here to help, that he wasn’t taking this journey as seriously as he should be.

“What happened,” Gandalf asked, “Exactly?”

“I’ll tell you what happened.” Thorin started, stepping forward. He saw you lean back against a tree with a sigh - you didn’t like where this was going, but he went on anyway. After all, why would it bother him what you thought? “The Master Hobbit saw his chance to leave and he took it. Longing for nothing but his warm bed and hearth since he left it. We won't be seeing him again, he will be long gone.”

Then something startled you, something you only noticed, and Bilbo stepped out from behind the tree you were leaning on.

“No he isn’t.”

“Bilbo!” You gasped, turning at his voice, face lighting up through your pain at the sight of your friend once lost, returned.

It was clear you thought of that halfling fondly, and it filled Thorin with a small nagging guilt that he spoke so harshly of someone you regarded so highly. The Company likewise welcomed Bilbo back, with commendation and glee. He told of how he was homesick, how he had a home to return to - and how they did not.

It struck a chord in Thorin. One that added to the song that was making up his guilt of past and present hostility.

“With you're sneaking around like that Biblo,” he heard you say, “Oh, I had such a hunch you’d make a good burglar!” The Hobbit laughed half-heartedly, but you didn’t notice. A howl reached where you stood from the distance - a Warg - and Thorin watched you closely as you looked around only for your face to fall completely in recognition.

You searched the group for someone - for him - and he felt he knew what you were going to say.

“I know this - I’ve seen this place,” you said, he tentatively stepped forward only for you to stop him, “No, we need to leave.”

“Orcs?” Balin asked. Your eyes fell, but you shoved those closest to you to start moving. Your head shook, and Thorin could see how your hold tightened on your sword.

“Azog.”

You remembered falling asleep to the deep humming of Dwarves, and the smell of coals burning. You were filled with warmth, inside and out, and you knew a piece of you would be left there by that hearth even after you’d left it.

But that night, a night weeks ago - the night you spent in safety besides Bilbo’s fire in the Shire - held a bad omen.

It held a dream of uprooted dirt, scraped knees, and palms stinging from the bark of fallen trees. The smell of a forest burning, and the sound of cries for help. A flash of teeth and fur, and promises in a tongue you didn’t understand.

You saw eagles flying, and you saw Thorin dying.

#the girl who knew the end #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #the hobbit x reader #thorin x you

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hawkinsindiana · 1 year

Text

okay. deal.

ALMOST PARADISE: PART FOUR - CHAPTER SIX OF NINE

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 13.5k (THE MOTHERLOAD)

a/n: holy fucking fuck. literally the most ridiculous chapter i have ever written. INSANITY. can’t believe i’m about to say this but... this chapter is rated 18+. while there’s no actual smut, the scene is sexually charged, so for the sake of being safe, that’s why i’m using the ranking and the tags i am. also warning for intense and graphic descriptions of medical treatments and just genuine horrible angst bc you know me. OKAY I THINK THAT’S ENOUGH but huge quick shoutout to ms. ruby for helpin me make this steamy :). y’all know where to find the masterlist! ENJOY HEHEHE.

“Max? I need those bandages!”

“Here, sorry. Didn’t know what size you needed so… I brought all of them.”

Max quickly shoves the collection of bandages into Steve’s hands. He thanks her quickly; he’s trying to run through the check list in his head.

“Do you have, what the hell is it, that peroxide stuff?”

After a moment of thinking, Max’s face scrunches up with regret, “Shit, no I don’t. I ran out a couple weeks ago. Nasty fall off some stairs downtown.”

Steve curses under his breath — that’s what he needs the most. A lightbulb goes off in Max’s head, the idea propelling her through the living room and into the kitchen. She appears a few seconds later with a bottle clasped in her fist, amber liquid sloshing around inside the glass.

“I guess this is the one time Mom’s drinking will be beneficial.”

Steve sighs; it’ll have to do. He extends his free hand and wraps his fingers around the neck of the bottle to take it from her. As soon as his grip is firm, he spins to return to the bathroom — his heart is starting to ache, he’s been away from you for too long. It’s maybe been five minutes, but with you in this state, it feels like it’s been much longer.

Robin is crowded inside the small room with you. The girl is nervously running her palm down your arm, attempting to comfort you until Steve arrives with the rest of the medical supplies. It’s not working too well — Robin’s notoriously bad at reassurance during stressful situations. On the other hand, Robin’s smart enough to know that your brother shouldn’t see too much of you like this. Dustin and Lucas are in the doorway, her body angled just right to prevent either of them from seeing more than a sliver of your face.

Sweat drips down your skin, coating you in a light sheen despite the grime that also sticks to you like glue. Crumpled on the floor, your limbs tremble and shiver without Eddie’s jacket to keep you warm anymore. The second Steve deposited you here, he returned it back to the other boy in preparation. Stabilizing you became his top priority the moment you crossed over into Hawkins once again.

Thankfully, it’s not blood loss that’s got you reacting this way — it’s pain, continuing to radiate from the wounds on your back and shoulder, the pounding in your head worsening now that there’s light surrounding you. The exertion from the back leg of your journey through the Upside Down exhausted what little energy you still had left; the events from the past couple hours all combined into an awful cocktail inside your veins.

Steve pushes past Lucas and Dustin without much thought, his mind purely dedicated to returning to you. Max follows behind and hovers near the other boys in the doorframe.

“Hey sweetheart, I’m back. I’m here, okay?” He speaks quietly, setting the assorted items into the sink before reaching out to you. The skin of your cheek is clammy against the back of his index finger; the soft touch brings you out of your agony, even for just a split second. Steve’s crouched beside you, desperately trying not to let his overwhelming despair show on his face.

He turns away for a moment to snatch the Tylenol off the counter — four pills into his palm before he’s grabbing one of your wrists. Steve doesn’t particularly care what the warning label says, he needs to get a buffer for this pain in your system. Instinctively, you unfurl your fist before he easily passes the painkillers to you; a gulp of lukewarm water from Dustin’s plastic bottle sends it to your stomach.

“I’m gonna move you now, yeah?” Steve mumbles, shifting to weasel an arm around your back, “I know. I know baby, I’m sorry. You gotta- there you go.”

Whimpers spill from you as he scoots your body further from the wall, giving him more space to work with. Your eyes pinch shut until you’re settled, or until Steve can’t stand the pained sounds anymore — it’s hard to tell which comes first.

“Do you, uh, want any help?” Robin offers hesitantly. Not because she thinks she’d be of much use, but because she can already tell that this has taken a toll on Steve — seeing you so weak and desperate for relief. He shouldn’t have to do this on his own.

Steve genuinely considers Robin’s assistance for a moment; having an extra set of hands could make this process significantly easier. But this… this isn’t like you’ve gotten a scratch on your knee; it’ll be painful for anyone who watches. She shouldn’t have to see this.

Besides, Steve’s pretty sure he’s the only one he trusts enough to take proper care of you. He might not be as adept as you at this sort of thing, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable. He knows what to do, which order to apply everything in; he helped you recover from your gunshot wound last summer. He can do this.

There’s no one else you would want to help you through this. You trust him enough to allow him to hurt you.

“Thanks Robin, but I think it’s best if it’s just me,” Steve finally answers. He makes the mistake of glancing over towards the door, meeting the eyes of three dejected teens. Dustin’s gaze is glued to the small bit of you he can see, face contorted in a mixture of sadness and guilt; he never should have let you get on that boat. It’s a little easier for Lucas and Max to hide their concern, but there’s still a glint of it in their eyes, furrowed brows giving it away. Steve gets a major case of déjà vu.

With a final pat on your arm, Robin gets up from the ground and ushers the teens away from the door. They don’t even try to fight her — that argument’s already been had. Steve would never dare to let any of them help, even though they desperately want to. Dustin takes one last glance before letting Robin lead him away with a comforting hand on his shoulder as even more sadness creeps in.

When she latches the door, Steve gets to work.

He doesn’t think you have the energy or strength to stand, although that’d be ideal, so the floor will have to do. As quickly as he can, he collects everything Max had given to him and begins placing it onto the tile, unpeeling wrappers and loosening caps as he goes. You taught him that — it’s significantly easier to do this sort of work when everything’s already opened. He washes his hands and finally settles on the ground behind you, face to face with your wounds. You can’t sense much of his presence behind you, but knowing he’s there is enough of a comfort.

Steve sighs. He has to resist the urge to bury his face in his palms before he begins. As much as he’d rather attempt to hug you better, or just press an endless number of kisses to your skin, he knows what has to come first. There’s a significant chance that this is the hardest thing he’ll ever have to do — hurt you in order to help you.

Much to Steve’s surprise, you don’t make too much noise as he removes the makeshift bandage. Maybe you’re too far gone to care. The sting doesn’t cross your mind when the true pain lies even deeper beneath your skin — aches that will take more than Tylenol to quell. He reaches up to discard the piece of Robin’s shirt into the sink, desperately trying not to think about how much of your blood has soaked into the fabric.

Steve’s lucky Max has a decent selection of medical supplies to choose from. The problem is that he’s trying to work fast and put you through as little as possible. If you weren’t already reeling from searing pain, he’d take his time and give you as many breaks as he could. He’s more focused on preventing infection than doing a truly thorough job — that can come later.

Cleansing the claw marks earns him nothing more than a few hisses from your lips; it’s uncomfortable but a mere fraction in comparison to what you’re currently feeling or have experienced before. The scratches are the easy part. It’s the bite that’s going to be far, far worse.

Steve can’t help himself — even though it’ll make his job significantly more difficult, he has to offer one of his hands, sliding it through the gap between your arm and waist. A moment passes before you finally take it between yours, like you had to summon the small amount of energy it would take to move. Your grasp is weak, fingers barely clinging to him, but it’s enough. The minuscule comfort calms both of you, the weight of the conjoined hands on the muscle of your thigh serving as a solace.

Max’s dining room is filled with the dread of a hospital, relatives and loved ones crowded together waiting impatiently for a scrap of news. You and Steve do a fairly decent job of keeping your heads in the midst of chaos; an unfortunate skill you’ve had to learn. But seeing how hurt you were, how delicately Steve led you from the gate, and how beside himself he was through it all — the others are left reeling. Steve’s never been this upset. You’ve never been this fragile. The rest of the group almost feels lost. If you two can’t keep it together, how are they supposed to?

Not much sound has echoed from behind the closed door of the bathroom; inflections of Steve’s voice coaxing you or a rare response from you, mixed with an occasional sniffle or two, has been the extent of it. So when you finally cry out in pain, a sign that the worst of it has begun, they’re thankful for Steve’s original stubbornness. The sound makes Robin clasp her hands over her ears. Dustin’s face pinches, cringing intensely at how you immediately begin to cry. Lucas has to get up from his place at the kitchen table and start pacing slowly. Max’s grip on her arms tightens.

Your lip is quivering uncontrollably, tears now rolling down your cheeks in addition to everything else. You didn’t think the pain could get worse, but it exponentially does as Steve dabs the bite with an alcohol soaked cloth. The hold on his hand is of bruising strength despite sweat clinging to your skin, making it tough to keep a firm grip. A sob crawls out of your throat, words deciding to materialize.

“Steve, I can’t… I can’t do it. It hurts too much.”

“I know. I know, baby,” He mumbles back to you, trying to force back the tears at his lash line from the sight of you in such pain, “I gotta clean it, okay? I know it hurts but it’ll get worse if I don’t. Just hold on for me, yeah? A little while longer.”

Heartbreakingly, the semblance of a nod dips your chin down to your chest. You punctuate it with a whisper, “Okay.”

Steve nearly breaks right then and there. He’s taking care of you, he reminds himself. This has to be done.

While he wants to finish this task as soon as possible, he has to pause for a second. A trail of blood has begun to drip from the wound; Steve switches to a clean rag to wipe it away. The whiskey sloshes inside the glass bottle as he takes this opportunity to refresh the alcohol on the other. His hold on your hand remains unwavering.

You let out a particularly agonizing shout when he, as gently as he can, forces the cloth a little bit deeper into the muscle. Your head pounds, fuzzy and ears buzzing, eyes pinched shut as he continues. You’ve probably got two minutes before you black out from the pain.

Steve swallows harshly. His thoughts are scrambled, only thinking of how much he wishes he didn’t have to do this. In a moment of clarity, he stops mumbling assurances and asks you a question instead.

“What’s the apartment like? Tell me about our home. Big windows? The kind that let the sun into the living room during the evenings? C’mon sweetheart, talk to me. Tell me everything.”

Something else to focus on. You squeeze your eyes even tighter, as if you’re trying to visualize it in front of you. It works — the front door, a deep maroon, appears in your mind.

“The a-apartment,” You stutter, huge gasps of air filling your lungs in between your sobs, “The kit-kitchen has a green oven and… and wooden cabinets.”

You stumble over your words, pain forcing its way out your mouth as Steve swiftly continues his work. Faintly you can hear him repeating it from behind you, sharing his thoughts but you don’t have the mind to take it in.

“The bedroom,” You mumble next, trying to hold onto that image in your head. Your bedroom, where you’ll come back to each other every day. Your bed, the first one that will belong to both of you, piled high with pillows and blankets despite always using each other to keep warm. You won’t have to wait to see your love on the weekends, you’ll get to return home to him every single day.

“There’s a balcony. It’s tiny but… but…”

The thought dissolves as your resolve crumbles, your shoulders curling into your chest, your head starting to tip forwards. A terrible whimper sounds from your throat as you feel pain begin to overtake your consciousness, darkness creeping in from your periphery. When Steve feels your grip go slack in his hand, he stops immediately, dropping the cloth to loop his arm across the front of your stomach.

Regretfully he removes his other hand from yours to grasp your bicep, preventing you from falling, “Hey. Hey, stay with me, okay? I’m done, we’re done. No more pain, I promise.”

You nod sluggishly, the relief of knowing it’s over is enough to keep you from completely passing out. Although his work isn’t finished, there’s no way Steve’s putting you through anymore of that. His skin aches as he removes his hands from you — like they were meant to be there — and makes quick work of the large bandage Max provided. You wince slightly as he lays it over the bite wound; exhaustion prevents you from reacting any further. Additionally, Steve dresses you in a dark tank also borrowed from Max. It’s a bit small, but now you get to protect more of your modesty without Steve having to see you in Eddie’s clothes. A necessary step in his mind.

The moment the fabric’s settled over your abdomen, he’s ushering you into his lap, finally able to comfort you in the way he prefers. Your arms loosely wrap around his ribs — even in this haze of pain, you’re still hyper aware of his own injuries, desperate not to touch his bandages. As you slump, falling straight into Steve’s chest, it’s like the sky inside you opens up. You sob.

You’re tired, so fucking tired. Tired of this life you lead, tired of the trauma that haunts your every step, tired that something else has come between you and a normal life once again. You’ve suffered so much more than you deserve, Steve has suffered so much more than he deserves. The apartment, the symbol of domesticity for the pair of you, seems further and further away. You’ll never get it in the same way others do, even if the day finally comes. You and Steve will always be tortured by this and what’s happened to you, no matter how hard you try to forget. That fact feels so ridiculously, absurdly, disgustingly unfair. You two deserve that too.

There’s nothing Steve can do except sit here crumpled on the bathroom floor with you. He whispers assurances, apologies, literally anything he can think of to try and make this better. He understands the feeling far too well to try and stop you from crying; Steve doesn’t dare interrupt.

Once you’ve gone quiet and your hiccups and gasps for air have stopped, he waits for you to move first. When that moment doesn’t come after several minutes, Steve glances down to gauge how you’re feeling. What he finds is far from what he expects — you’re fast asleep.

Steve has a rule never to wake you. With your nightmares and everything in between, he knows how tired your body can grow when you’re forced to neglect your sleep. He’s seen it far too often; you fall asleep when you’re with him half the time. He likes to think that’s because he makes you feel safe. Whether it’s on top of him, beside him, or on the opposite side of the bed, Steve will never rouse you. You’re a rather light sleeper now; the fear of something occurring while you’re dreaming has created this habit in you. A small touch to your skin or a shift beneath you can bring you out of slumber with ease.

So when Steve’s arms instinctively tighten around you and there’s nothing but a flutter of your eyelashes in response, it speaks to the depth of your exhaustion. He runs his thumb along the swell of your cheek; this rest is well deserved.

It’s gone far too quiet. The others have resorted to glancing between each other as they continue to wait; Eddie and Lucas have taken seats next to Dustin on the couch, hoping their presence is enough to comfort your brother. Nancy remains outside, where she retreated after her horrifying experience with Vecna; it’ll take a couple hours to process everything he showed her before sharing with the group. The girls have taken over the dining table — Robin and Erica sat beside each other, Max on the opposite side.

Dustin’s a minute away from throwing the bathroom door open to see what’s happening now, but it swings in on its hinges before he can. A few of their faces go ashy at the sight of you limp in Steve’s arms, one slung across your back with the other tucked under your legs. He quickly reassures them, voice hushed, “S’okay. Just sleeping.”

Heartbroken doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling that washes over the group, but especially the teens. You’ve always been strong, even before Will disappeared; seeing you like this is new.

Dustin and Erica were with you as you led the rescue attempt for Robin and Steve. Not even a bullet wound could slow you down. Then in the fall of ‘84 when a broken hand and a concussion didn’t stop you from helping the others distract the Mind Flayer. Vecna finally broke you.

“Is there, uh, somewhere I can-”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” Max interrupts Steve and silently beckons for him to follow to her bedroom. It’s a bit messy, but that doesn’t matter to him; he just wants somewhere quiet for you to rest.

As gingerly as he can, Steve places you onto the mattress laying on your side, praying that you won’t attempt to roll over during your slumber. He pulls up a blanket at the foot of the bed and tucks it around your neck to keep you warm. You don’t move an inch through the whole process, your soft breaths continuing despite the movement.

Before he leaves, Steve brushes a few strands of hair away from your forehead and places a kiss to the skin. It lingers for a moment, like he’s wishing it’ll heal you instantly. Regretfully, an ounce of happiness blooms in him; he never gets to dish out affection while you’re asleep for fear of waking you. Doing something so simple as pressing his lips to your forehead while you dream shouldn’t be something that brings him joy. Especially with these circumstances.

When Steve turns, he’s met with the kids crowded in the doorframe. Well, they’re not kids anymore, but he swears he sees the same puny assholes they used to be, clad in frowns and sad worried eyes. It reminds him how long he’s been doing this — long enough to see them grow up right before his very eyes. His chest aches.

Quietly, he ushers them away and back into the hall. None of them protest, although they want to be with you right now. But before Dustin can move, Steve places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t need to speak for your brother to instantly understand. All Dustin can manage is a nod and a grateful smile in the hopes his tears don’t start again; his eyes are puffy and red around the edges. Silently, he enters Max’s bedroom while Steve briefly returns to the bathroom.

He’s pretty sure he could throw up, just vomit all over the sink. Some of your blood is on his hands, smeared and scarlett against his skin. He hates the sight. With a deep sigh and lips firmly pressed in a line, Steve washes it from his palms; he’s thankful it scrubs off easy. Unfortunately, something tells him this won’t be the last time he’s forced to patch you up. He wishes it didn’t have to be him.

Steve makes quick work of cleaning up after himself, discarding wrappers and soiled cloth into the trash can under the sink. He swallows two of the painkillers for himself — his wounds ache profusely, but he thinks he’ll be alright for a little while. What he wants to do more than anything is rest beside you. His chest burns once again at the thought; it’s been too long.

An absurd amount of worry and adoration sparks inside Steve when he shuts the door to Max’s room; Dustin’s taken the spot beside you on her mattress, sitting up against the headboard. He doesn’t feel like sleeping. Your brother’s face is wrought with concern and a smattering of other emotions, all of which Steve also feels brewing inside him. There’s nothing he thinks he could say to make this better — ‘she’s gonna be okay’ seems condescending and weightless. The truth is that yes, physically you’re probably going to be fine. Your body has healed before. Mentally… this could take quite a toll.

Steve drops to the ground and leans back against the nightstand, his arms balancing on top of his knees. From here, it’s easy for him to spot you out of the corner of his eye; with a slight turn of the head, he can see all of you. Aside from some mutters that echo from the room beyond, it’s completely silent. He can hear his own heartbeat growing slower and slower, adrenaline and shaky hands starting to melt away as he begins to relax; Steve clenches his fists once to steady them.

A rather deep exhale from you has his eyes darting to your sleeping form. As his gaze roves over your face, Demobat blood and dust splotched across your skin, the tempting allure of rest creeps up on him.

—

Steve doesn’t remember falling asleep. One moment he was watching over you and then the next Dustin’s hunched over him, poking him in the arm until he wakes. He blinks a couple times as he gains his bearings, mouth strangely dry, as Dustin informs him of what’s happening — Nancy’s ready to talk.

Under normal circumstances, Steve would let you rest and fill you in later; he has a feeling that whatever it is that’s been keeping Nancy preoccupied for the last few hours is crucial to the next step the group makes. Which unfortunately means he has to wake you.

Steve wants to be gentle so you’re not startled, but you need to get up. He sits down beside you and his hand grips where your hip is beneath the blanket — you haven’t moved since he placed you here. Your body only stirs a bit when he mumbles your name, so regrettably, he has to shake you slightly. A small whine leaves your throat as your eyes peel open; Steve crumbles at the sound. He moves his hand to your face, thumb gliding across your cheekbone as a comfort.

“I know, m’sorry, sweetheart,” He mutters before your irises lock onto him, “Nancy’s ready to tell us what she saw.”

As Steve helps you stand with an arm wrapped firmly around your waist, your focus is brought to the makeshift bandage around his abdomen; blood has started to seep through the fabric — shades of maroon and red nearly stop you in your tracks. The promise you made to him pops into your mind.

“Didn’t get to clean yours.”

He nearly laughs because of course you’re more worried about him than yourself. He opts for a small smile instead, choking back a groan as he straightens, “S’alright. It’s not that bad anymore.”

But Steve was right earlier; cleaning the injury has helped in the long run. While there’s still an ache in your muscles and the wound shoots with sharp pain if you move your shoulder too much, it’s not nearly as bad as it was before. The short nap has helped as well, your body less exhausted although you feel like you could still sleep for hours. You want him to have the same relief, especially as you notice his face pinch as the pair of you begin to move. He’s lying to you. You visibly pout at the thought.

Steve sighs. He does adore how much you love taking care of him. He gives in.

“I’ll let you take a look later, okay? I promise. Let’s hear what Nancy has to say, yeah?”

With arms linked together as you sit on the couch, your hands clasped over the crook in his elbow, you receive the worst news you’ve ever heard.

You’re no longer fighting for your own lives, but for the lives of the entire town. Perhaps the world. Vecna plans to merge Hawkins and the Upside Down — a foreboding and tense feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. This is far more than you ever signed up for. Fighting a monster or two? Fine. Saving the town from complete and total destruction? You’re not even sure how to do that. But you do know one thing; Vecna has to be killed. You have to go back in.

It’s an awful idea — a sure fire way to get yourself and everyone you love slaughtered. But you think you’d hate yourself for the rest of your life if you didn’t try. You and this band of misfits are the only ones who can stop this, which is why you’re now helping Eddie Munson hotwire a Winnebago. Add that to the list of things you never thought you’d do. Sneaking into this poor unsuspecting couple’s trailer is incredibly sobering; with a new burst of adrenaline, you almost feel back to normal.

Eddie could probably do it himself, but considering the time crunch and the soon to be angry hicks outside, a little help wouldn’t hurt. To his surprise, you manage to strip your wire slightly faster than him; all that tinkering with your brother has paid off. It’s enough to impress.

“Shit, you’re pretty good with your hands, Henderson. Is that a uh-”

Eddie clears his throat, smirking since he knows what he’ll be walking into — your boyfriend is looking over both your shoulders. He can’t help himself. Seeing Steve Harrington squirm and bunch up with jealousy is sort of hilarious.

“That a transferable skill or…?”

Before Steve can say anything, you’re laughing as you hand the wire back to him, “Oh I don’t know, why don’t you ask Stevie?”

Steve would be kind of mad that you so openly flirted with Munson in front of him if he wasn’t a bit shocked by the fact that he liked it.

“Stevie, huh? That’s cute,” Eddie immediately answers, forcing Steve’s brow to lift just slightly higher; he liked that more than he was expecting too. Robin watches on in disgust and confusion, her cheeks pinched as her gaze darts between the three of you.

The moment’s short lived as Eddie starts up the RV, the engine igniting and shaking your surroundings. Steve is forced to quell the raging blush that’s beginning to rise up his neck and practically throws himself into the driver’s seat; Robin and Eddie retreat back to the others while you take the passenger’s. You have to resist the urge to spit out directions as you speed away from the trailer park, Steve’s foot firmly on the gas.

The panic doesn’t wear off until Steve chuckles in disbelief to your left, head shaking slightly as he drives further from the scene of the crime.

“Now that’s the stupidest thing we’ve ever done.”

You laugh along with him in agreement, nodding profusely, “I can’t believe you’re driving someone’s house right now.”

“Y’know it’s not so different from the BMW, Henderson,” He replies smartly. Knowing it’ll get a reaction out of you, he glances over briefly before he has to refocus on the road; his tone and the mention of his rich boy car earns him a small scoff and a roll of the eyes.

“Well if you ever want a break, I can take over for a bit,” You add after a pause, casting your gaze out the window, “Just let me know.”

Steve’s chest warms at your offer; it’s stupid how much he loves you.

“Thanks baby, but I got it,” He spares another couple seconds to look at you again, fully curled up against the fabric seat with your arms wrapped around your knees. Steve couldn’t dare ask you to unfurl from yourself; you look genuinely relaxed like this.

“I’ve kind of always wanted to drive one of these things around anyways,” He continues immediately, removing one of his hands from the wheel to wave his fingers through the air.

You tilt your head back over towards him, shifting in your seat to turn a bit closer. The sun is streaking through the trees, casting the shadows of leaves onto your cheekbones as he drives. The dark splotches glide over your skin before the RV rolls across a brief patch of pasture; the sun bounces through your irises, now intently focused on him, the color highlighted perfectly.

Steve swallows, forcing his eyes back to the expanse of road in front of him. Fuck.

Your voice is light, a little teasing, “Is it everything you hoped for?”

“Eh, different circumstances, but…” He trails off, his tone matching yours, “It’s not so bad.”

“What do you wanna drive an RV around for? Are we going to a tailgate or something? Camping?”

Your humoring gets a small chuckle out of him, his eyes checking the rear view mirror — he adjusts it momentarily, “Sure, if you want, but I’ve always wanted to go on a road trip.”

Steve sees your face brighten slightly in his periphery, a smile growing at the thought. Touring the states in a Winnebago is so American and cliché it’s adorable. You don’t speak; you can tell he has more to say.

“It’s always been a, uh, dream of mine to do this with…”

He pauses for a second, nearly shrinking in his seat. He’s never told you this before. He doesn’t know why he suddenly finds it a touch embarrassing.

Steve licks his lips, brow furrowed for a moment as he collects himself. His voice is softer than before — nostalgic or sheepish, you can’t tell.

“To do it with a big family or something, I guess. A few kids probably.”

Your face creases a bit in shock. You don’t know why it surprises you, “Really?”

Now smiling at the thought, Steve nods. His excitement picks up with your interest; the words flow out of him much easier.

“Oh yeah, like a whole brood of Harringtons runnin’ around. A few lil’ nuggets, like five or six kids-”

“SIX?” You can’t help but sputter, eyes widening in pure shock. He laughs a bit at your outburst, darting his focus back to you for a second, “What’s so wrong with that?”

“Steve, my uterus hurts just thinking about it! Oh my g-”

You abruptly cut yourself off; you assumed he’d be talking about you.

You and Steve haven’t discussed the future at all, outside maybe a couple of months in advance. With your college education being a factor to consider, the most you two ever discussed were weekend getaways or plans for the holidays. Even with him now moving in with you, it was about getting to spend more time together, not necessarily promising a future. The decision was a natural progression for your relationship — you like it in the city, Steve hates it in Hawkins when you’re not there. Why not come with?

There never seemed to be anything wrong with that. You started dating in high school, when you were teenagers — the big picture wasn’t something to worry about, not when you’re young. You’re not much older now, but your lives are different. There’s more responsibility you have to consider, and in turn it has made both of you more mature. This is uncharted territory.

Early on in your relationship, Steve had decided not to think too far ahead. With Nancy, he had gotten the better of himself and pictured their life together years in advance, wondering what it’d be like when things were allowed to be normal for once. In the end, that was one of the most detrimental aspects of their relationship. Enough so that when it came time for you, Steve forced himself into the present. He forced himself to take everything one day at a time, worried that he’d get carried away again and ruin what you two have. He learned to meet trauma head on instead of hiding from it, which actually wasn’t a difficult change to make — especially when it helps you more than you can articulate.

Suddenly, Steve goes several shades of red. In all the years he’s dreamed of himself having kids, he doesn't know how he never pictured that it’d be with you. You… the mother of his children. That image, the mere thought, has him swallowing harshly.

The way you interact with the teens should’ve been a dead giveaway. You’d be an amazing mom.

His hands tighten around the steering wheel. Of course it’d be you. He doesn’t… he doesn’t think he wants to do it with anyone else.

Steve desperately tries to forget about the flush in his cheeks and the thought of sharing a family with you, but he can’t help but get lost in the daydream for a moment.

They’d have his warm eyes and your brilliant smile, the classic Henderson curiosity lighting a fire beneath their tousled curls. They’d be wicked smart, just like you. Perfect mixtures of you and Steve — the best parts. But most importantly, they’d be protected from all of this, kept so far away from the horrors you two have experienced that it’d be like none of it ever happened at all.

It takes another second for either of you to speak again.

Steve clears his throat, unable to summon the courage to look over at you. His grip on the wheel tightens even further, “But uh, I-I figured all of us Harringtons would rent somethin’ like this and just… go see the country. All of us, just for a couple weeks in the summer.”

“Take them to see the Rockies or that big geyser thing. Or Yellowstone maybe. The Space Needle? I don’t know… whatever they want. We’d go to all of it. End up parked on some beach in California, maybe learn how to surf or something.”

He almost feels guilty imagining doing this with you. He doesn’t even know if you’d want that with him — a family. After all, you’re the one in college. You’re going to be searching for a career in a couple of years. It’s silly to be thinking about something so serious as having kids when you have the rest of your lives ahead of you. Well, granted you survive the next couple of days.

Steve’s right, it is silly. But there’s also a huge chance that you don’t make it out of this alive. You think you want to have something to fight for, something more than just an apartment with him in the city. You’ve never really thought about what would come next, but you suppose-

“That does sound nice.”

The words spill from you before you can think. But it’s not a lie. You think you want a life with him. The idea of you and Steve pouring an abundance of love into some children — your children — living proof of your pure devotion to one another… you should be combusting due to how quickly your face heats.

Steve can’t help it. He has to look over at you. He meets your gaze instantly, drawn to you like moths to a flame, like his soul is tethered to yours. He’s searching your eyes for something, although he’s not quite sure what. Maybe honesty, perhaps excitement. He’s a tad too overwhelmed at the concept of having children with you to think properly.

“You think so?”

You nod — a silent promise. You want to do it with him.

“Yeah, I do.”

Steve blinks. You do too. He feels delicate despite the raging thoughts swarming through his mind. Everything around him seems trivial with your eyes locked like this, two colors that could be passed onto mini versions of yourselves. It’s unfair he has to look away. It’s unfair he can’t reach you from here. It’s unfair that all this could be is just a stupid dream, something to keep you moving until you’re cut down and bleeding out. It’s unfair that it might never happen.

Even though this is something you’ve wanted for only about thirty seconds, your heart aches at the possibility of getting to do it — getting to raise kids with your love and be the family both of you deserved but never got. God, you want it so bad. You didn’t think you could want something this much. You want to give Steve the chance to do something more with himself, be a father and nurture. He’d be so good at it too; it’s almost like he was made for it. Made to give love like it’s easy, like it’s a fierce instinct inside him he’s pushed down for far too long. You never want him to have to do that ever again. Not while you have him.

“Except… maybe two,” You say, shyly breaking the silence that crawled between you. You keep your voice low to ensure it stays between the both of you, “Two kids, I mean.”

Another smile starts to pull at Steve’s lip, far more gentle than anything else as he continues to stare at the highway in front of him, “Two, huh?”

You shrug slightly as you find yourself drifting further into this dream, joy filling your every limb, “Yeah. And maybe a cat or something.”

“What if I want a fish?”

“A fish? Wha-”

You can’t help but laugh in surprise; Steve looks over once again. After a few moments of falsely pondering in thought, as if you wouldn’t give him anything he asked, you answer, “Okay, fine. We can do both.”

We. He doesn’t know if you meant to say it, but it makes his heart do something funny inside his chest.

He exhales as his hands shift on the steering wheel, “Two kids, a cat, and a fish.”

Steve repeats it like he’s speaking it into the universe, manifesting it to occur in a few years — one of these times, something good’s going to happen to you. The idea of your little family indents itself into his brain, tattooed in golden ink. Steve won’t give up until he gets it with you.

You nod in agreement, “Yeah, that sounds…”

Amazing. Perfect, even.

“Reasonable.”

Steve huffs and shakes his head at your word choice, rolling his eyes just enough to get a giggle out of you. His grin grows impossibly wider as he thinks about it for a second. Anything, literally any type of future with you sounds like the best thing he’s ever heard.

He nods too, “Okay. Deal.”

A beaming smile, the kind that’s hard to hide, curves your lips in record time. You have to drop your chin and turn away before you can begin to smother it, the pads of your fingers ghosting over your face as you come to a startling conclusion: you and Steve want a future together.

—

The War Zone parking lot is packed to the brim. You don’t know why you’re surprised — with tensions rising in Hawkins due to Eddie’s disappearance and rumors of a demonic cult, it makes sense that the surrounding citizens would flock to arm themselves. You’re also in rural Indiana, which also means it could be busy just because.

Steve doesn’t like the idea of you staying in the RV with the Hellfire Club members while he goes in with the others — he can’t really stand the thought of leaving you right now. But Dustin’s right; if the basketball team’s looking for him, there’s a decent chance you’re on their list too. It’s not worth the risk.

“Get me some good stuff, yeah?” You say quietly, your fingers dancing across the skin of his forearm. Steve’s crouched beside the passenger seat with his palm smoothing over your calf, your legs still bunched up into your chest. He only lets a hint of his worry show on his face, his brows slightly furrowed with a small frown; he really really doesn’t want to leave you. He’d rather just crawl onto the seat and bury his head into your shoulder.

Steve scoots a bit closer, his hand hooking around the back of your knee as if it’ll keep him near you forever, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

You melt at the desperation in his voice; you can hear how much this pains him, even though you won’t be far for very long. You nod softly, the press of your fingers engraving the texture of your skin onto his. With your free hand, you reach over to brush a chunk of hair away from his cheek, “I know, Steve.”

Steve’s lucky Robin is in the middle of distracting the others with her rambling when he leans over to kiss you; his palms rise to caress your head between his hands, a firm but careful grip. It doesn’t last long, but you’re still breathless when he pulls away — everything the pair of you have been feeling over the last few hours is exchanged between your lips. You spy it in his eyes as well, a familiar intensity blooming in his pupils that’s mirrored in yours as well. Your gaze darts down to his cupid’s bow for a moment, half expecting him to kiss you once more but it never comes. Instead, Steve clenches his jaw as he tries to banish the influx of thoughts and urges that invade his mind.

It’s tough to resist but he’s helped by Robin calling for him; you don’t breathe again until Steve’s touch leaves you. Something about that felt different than it used to, like there’s words still left unsaid and feelings still unprocessed. Maybe you’re just craving the closeness and his skin on yours — it has been a few days since you had time strictly to yourselves. But whatever it is, it makes you feel like you’re burning.

Several minutes after Steve exits with the other girls, Eddie saddles up beside you. Although you’re parked on the side of the building and out of view from most patrons, he makes an effort to stay below the base of the windshield. He tosses an elbow over the armrest connected to the driver’s seat.

Eddie gestures blankly in the air between you, “Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, I’m a bit better now, thanks,” You reply, shifting your focus from out the window to him. His hair’s a little wild — wilder than usual — due to the lake water and from him fiddling with it. A few strands are twisted together, almost like he tried and failed to braid them.

“How about with the, um…”

Eddie doesn’t really know how to bring up the topic, so he’s lucky you’re smart enough to understand what he means; the realization flickers across your face.

“Right, uh, not gonna lie I kind of forgot about that,” You answer with a light laugh in your tone, “Considering what’s happened in the past few hours, that seems like the least important thing I should be worrying about.”

Eddie scoffs to himself — it should be obvious to him that you’re barely thinking about that. You’ve been through a lot since your conversation with him in the woods. He feels a little stupid for bringing it up now.

“Of course, yeah. I just…” He trails off, a clink of his rings echoing through the air as he brings his hands together, “Just wanted to make sure we were cool after that. Pretty sure Harrington wants to kill me now.”

That gets a proper laugh out of you. At the thought of your love, you instantly cast your eyes out to the sprawling concrete like it’ll cause him to appear in front of you. You miss him.

“Steve’s really protective of those he loves,” You smile, feeling beyond overwhelmed that you get to include yourself in that group of people, “Trust me, you’re not the one he’s holding a grudge for.”

Instinctively, you trace your thumb along the back of your left hand. It falls into a small divot below one of your knuckles — a section of your skin that never grew back quite right. There’s not a day that goes by where you don’t regret him. All it brought you was anger and sleepless nights, terrifying dreams and painful memories you still haven’t healed from, like an unclosed tomb that won’t let you mourn what you lost.

Eddie might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he can read through the lines when he has to. He remembers the brace on your hand and the bruises on Harrington’s face. It was obvious that Billy had been the cause of the boy’s injuries, especially when he practically bragged about it, but he never figured Hargrove could’ve been responsible for yours as well. Suddenly it hits him — Billy Hargrove did a lot more damage to you than spreading a few rumors.

Before either of you has the opportunity to speak again, the door to the RV bursts open and the rest of your group piles in, plastic bags filled to the brim with all manner of supplies. It’s ridiculous how warm you feel when Steve takes his place in the seat beside yours; all he’s able to offer you as a greeting is a loving smile before he’s changing the gears and speeding off in a hurry. He shouts something back to your brother in argument as you start to peek through the bags placed by your side.

There’s a larger selection of medical supplies, meant for use in the event of any more injuries and to tend to those previously sustained. One is filled with bundles of thick clothes, another with a smattering of assorted items to make molotovs — gasoline cans, liquor bottles, and cheap t-shirts to slice up. Bullets knock against each other as you search a fourth bag and you instantly grow tense; you can spot Nancy’s shotgun out of the corner of your eye, making you worried what they could’ve gotten you in your absence.

Steve watches as the anxiety creeps up behind you like a shadow. He runs the back of his hand along his jaw, a light wash of stubble beginning to coat his skin, “Robin has your stuff. She insisted on finding you an outfit.”

Instantly, Robin materializes behind you, as if she was just waiting for someone to bring it up. As bubbly as ever, she pulls out a military green flight suit and a thick protective vest to be worn on top. She also hands you a thigh sheath, already containing a decently sized hunting knife, before passing over a much larger one. It’s a large machete bound in a brown leather sling with a wooden grip; it’s a bit too big for your hand but you’ll manage. As if she already thought of this, Robin finally reveals a set of fingerless gloves to assist with your grip on the weapon.

“Nance wanted to get you a handgun but I… figured this was probably a better idea,” Steve says as Robin returns back to the others. Your eyes dart over to him and you’re now able to properly take in his outfit change. It’s stupid how hazy it makes you feel — the sight of your boyfriend clad in the warm browns and greens of leather and camouflage. He looks strong, tough for the journey ahead. The contrast of his exterior with the soft vulnerability you know lies within has you swallowing harshly; it doesn’t help that Steve understood what you needed and pushed for another way for you to defend yourself. To say you’re overwhelmed would be an understatement.

“Thank you,” You whisper as you outstretch your hand to him with a grateful grin spreading across your face. Steve takes it immediately, his warm fingers curling around the side of your palm. As a response, he smiles too and leans over to press a kiss to the mark on the back of your palm. Your cheeks heat from the gesture.

After nearly thirty minutes of driving, Steve parks the RV off a deserted stretch of highway; the next exit isn't for another few miles, no one should find you all the way out here. As the group begins to stir, grabbing the supplies they’ve acquired, you stop Steve with a hand to his arm.

“Can I patch you up now?”

Right — Steve nearly forgot the promise he made to you. He nods once before lifting the bags he holds, “Yeah, of course. Just lemme drop these off outside.”

You’re taking stock of the contents below the sink when he enters a couple minutes later and shuts the door behind him. You’ve found a half-used roll of paper towels and some spare rags that seem clean enough. As you start to wash your hands, Steve peels off the jacket with ease and drapes it over the small booth.

“Alright, Henderson,” He says before yanking the shirt off by the back of the collar, “Where do you want me?”

You sweat your brain short circuits. Luckily, you gain your thoughts back to reply fairly quickly, but Steve knows you better than he knows himself. The miniscule drop of your jaw, slight pause of your hands beneath the water, and the pass of your eyes across his chest did not go unnoticed.

“The couch is fine,” You answer as you try to forget about the warmth in your stomach. You’re unsuccessful — you have to push out a deep exhale while drying your hands. The tension’s building inside your body with nowhere to go.

You’re almost jealous Steve gets to relax against the back of the cushions while you tend to him, but all you want is for him to be comfortable through this. Using a foldable beach chair Robin found stashed beneath the bench, you situate yourself in front of him, one of his legs between both of yours. You instruct him to grip your knee if he has to, which he does instantly, his fingers a tantalizing pressure as you continue to prepare. Steve watches you patiently.

You sigh and glance up to his eyes, which pinch shut in anticipation as you begin to untie the fabric around his wounds. Steve gulps as the final layer is peeled away, exposing the bites to the air for the first time in hours. You have to push away the instinct to tear up at the sight of his stomach smeared with his blood and littered with injuries. Rather than dwell on it for too long, you get to work.

It doesn’t take long to wipe away the blood on his skin, thankfully — Steve doesn’t react much other than a short grimace when the damp cloth passes over a rather sensitive spot. As you soak a gauze pad in the disinfectant, you finally speak again.

“This is gonna hurt,” You mutter, moving to re-adjust closer to him, your hand hovering over one of the bites, “I should know.”

Steve lets out a noise similar to a strained chuckle, his neck tensing as he anticipates the pain to begin; he realizes you’re waiting for him to give the okay. He nods, “Just do it.”

As soon as the alcohol is pressed to his torn skin, Steve winces, his jaw clenching immediately. You watch his reactions intently, ready to stop at a moment’s notice. Your free hand tapping his leg forces his head up from the back of the couch, “Don’t bite down on your teeth like that, baby. You’ll break ‘em.”

A whimper of pain leaks into his sigh as you continue to dab the gauze around the edge of the wound. Steve runs both his hands over his face in exasperation, trying to remember and focus on your words, “Right, right. Sorry.”

You laugh a bit at his apology. When he lets out a particularly restrained curse, brows tightly creased, you know that it’s time for a break.

Even though you’ve paused, his stomach continues to clench, the waves of pain still rolling through his body. When Steve drops one hand from his face, you grab it instinctively; it’s already warm and sweaty, another indication of the state he’s in.

“We’re gonna take as many breaks as you need, okay?” You assure him, tightening your grip on his hand as if it reinforces your words, “Anytime you need.”

You squeeze his fingers once more before preparing to continue the tedious work in front of you. This time, a choked whimper escapes Steve’s lips at the contact, his hand immediately back on your knee. You’re mumbling praises and comforts, not wanting to keep him in too much silence; Steve cuts you off, face still contorted in pain.

“Can…” He breathes through his gritted teeth, releasing them as he remembers your words, “Tell me about the apartment again. P-Please.”

You can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks at his request. Given his current condition, you almost feel bad for being so giddy that he wants to know more about it. But you oblige, humming for a second as you think, tossing soiled gauze in the plastic bag.

“The walls in the bathroom are light blue, like the color of the sky today,” You say as you prepare another one, “The shower has a bathtub, which is very exciting and rare to find in the city.”

Steve can feel your words calming him down as he pictures every little detail you tell him. The cleaning goes quicker with your words with him seemingly distracted enough that you can work for longer before he needs a break. You save the details of the apartment for when you’re cleaning, and every break is the same; a rush of kisses to his hand, telling him how well he’s doing.

“There’s big windows, just like you said,” You add, a hint of a smile spreading on your face as you remember your first visit and switch your focus to the other bite, “You can see the park, and the sun comes into the kitchen in the afternoon.”

“The kitchen isn’t the biggest,” Your words continue, chewing your lip as you try to spring all the details back to your brain.

“Gr-green oven?” Steve asks, voice mostly breath.

“That’s the one. There might be room for some dancing maybe,” You grin up at him, referring to the many times Steve has swept you into his arms while waiting for the oven to ding, insisting on a waltz. His hand squeezes your knee — not in pain this time.

Steve can’t tell how long it’s been, his muscles aching from how they’ve been tensed for so long. While you’ve stopped using the disinfectant, you’re still working away at his stomach, fingers setting him alight when you graze his skin; it’s a type of fire he doesn’t mind. He shivers.

“Are you cold?” You speak up as you wrap his abdomen in a fresh layer of gauze. You must have felt his shudder. Steve shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He’s having a tough time breathing with you taking care of him like this.

Steve feels his body relax in relief when you tape the bandage down, going a bit limp against the cushions, but the expression you carry stops him; you don’t seem finished.

“What? What is it?”

Your eyes rove over his skin before landing on his neck. You gesture to your own as you reply, “Your throat. I’m just gonna clean it up quickly.”

With the couch as deep as it is, you can’t reach him from here. An idea pops into your head that makes your heart beat a bit harder inside your chest. You sigh in defeat, knowing what you’re getting yourself into by doing this, before getting out of the chair.

Steve’s brow furrows in confusion until you throw one of your legs over his thighs. While you’re planning on hovering over him, his large hands instinctively reach for you and gently tug you down to rest on top of him. Both of you feel flustered by the proximity, regardless of how long you’ve been together. Your breath hitches with his fingers now pressing into your waist. Steve’s jaw slacks — he’s known for getting overwhelmed when you’re above him like this. Regardless, a boyish, proud grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re blushing.”

You scoff as the alcohol soaked gauze makes contact with the skin above his collarbone. You shake your head slightly as you tease, “Yeah, yeah. Be quiet.”

The way you’re taking care of him — almost in a controlling way — absolutely wrecks the man beneath you. He’s got no say in the matter, forced to let you tend to his wounds with nothing but love and care. God, if Steve doesn’t adore knowing how much you love him. But then again, you’re also nervous at the closeness, displaying the softer and shyer feelings you hold for him. He gets both from you at the same time?

“Stop that,” You mumble.

“What?”

When you glance down to him, you’re met with his loving eyes, the same ones you know you can never refuse. You have to swallow harshly to try and keep yourself in check.

“Stop looking at me like that,” You respond, remembering to swipe the gauze across his neck, “You’re distracting me.”

Steve’s brows raise, his grin growing once again, “Oh, I’m distracting? You got on top of me, y’know.”

You decide to bite your tongue, opting to continue working with nothing but a small smirk tossed his way. Steve doesn’t have the same thought — he clamps down on his lip for a moment before speaking, his voice low.

“Could use a distraction.”

His fingers move to the sides of your hips before dipping under your shirt to graze your skin. His chest burns delightfully as your expression falters, but you do your best to stay focused. The hand on his neck has paused, just for a moment before you steady yourself and continue despite his teasing touches.

Steve is glad the bruises on his neck don’t hurt nearly as much, but he was right — you provide the perfect distraction either way. His hands skim up, his nails scratching your ribcage. You inhale sharply.

“Steve…”

It’s supposed to be a warning. From the slight widening of his eyes, it definitely doesn’t come off that way.

The air is thick. It’s almost like you’re suffocating, throat closing up the longer you and Steve spend teasing each other with no crescendo. You’re not as strong as you thought — you drop your head a bit, your nose dangerously close to brushing against his. You need to kiss him, your eyes drifting closed.

After the day you’ve had, you feel this intense draw to each other, unlike any you have had before. Something’s different now, like your relationship’s shifted somehow. Maybe it’s the thought of making him the father of your children. Maybe it’s desperation after nothing more than a kiss or two for the last few days. Or even maybe it’s the fact you crawled out of an alternate dimension together, a place you could’ve lost each other to.

You’re both hesitating, no matter how badly you want this. If you start something… it could be difficult to stop.

Steve’s brain reminds him of something. His pupils are almost fully blown out as he stares up at you, “I locked the door behind you.”

The dam breaks — your lips are on Steve’s in a millisecond; he’s almost caught off guard by how quickly it happens. He snaps just as quickly and is kissing you back instantly. You’re discarding the paper towel, or cotton swab, or… whatever it was you previously held; your mind is far, far too fuzzy to remember. Your top priority is freeing both your hands, which settle down onto his bare shoulders.

Your breaths swirl together as one of his palms is removed from your back to cradle the nape of your neck. In a moment of courage, you tug slightly on his skin, a silent signal that you’d like to pull him up. He immediately understands, following you into a sitting position. The pain in his stomach doesn’t even cross his mind.

No, the only thing on Steve’s mind is your lips on his and your greedy hands, fingers digging into his shoulders in an attempt to bring him closer. He feels feverish — these kisses are hot and fast as opposed to the soft and slow ones that you usually share together. Both of you are spurring each other on, but not an ounce of passion is lost.

Steve’s hand on your waist grips you tighter, pulls you closer, and it forces another breath from you. The beginning of a whimper forms in your throat, your cheeks blazing as the sound escapes. His fingers slide into the hair at the base of your scalp as he moves his lips south, the warm press of his mouth finding its way under your jaw.

Anger surges beneath the desire that pools in his stomach. Steve thinks that he finally understands the foreign, sudden jealousy he’s been experiencing. As he sits here with your chest arching into him and his lips on your neck, the thought of literally anyone else, but especially Eddie Munson, getting to touch you the way he does makes him feel incredibly possessive.

To be quite honest, Steve’s not entirely sure how he feels about Eddie right now — there’s a lot of confusing thoughts running through his mind regarding that topic. But there’s one thing that he does know for certain.

You’re his. Steve only wants to be yours.

He only wants your wandering hands gliding across his skin, gripping tightly onto him when he pulls those beautiful sounds from you night after night. He only wants to hear your laugh in response to his terrible jokes, head thrown back in pure joy. He only wants your eyes to meet his from across the kitchen table, fully enamored with the domesticity of sharing a home-cooked meal together. He only wants your voice calming him from his horrific nightmares, tone full of understanding as you mumble gentle assurances. He only wants your lips brushing against his, smiling into his loving kiss.

Steve only wants you.

Instinctively, you tilt your head back for him; he knows where to go, which places to run his tongue and teeth along to earn those delicious mewls from your throat. Your hold on Steve tightens even further, hanging onto him as his mouth finds the spot on the side of your neck, almost close enough to reach your collarbone.

He mumbles something incoherent to you against your skin, his fingers on your head supporting you as you whine, Steve beginning to leave his mark on the expansive skin of your throat. Your hands grasp at his shoulders even more, fingernails embedding themselves in the muscles there. It’s getting to be too much.

Steve thinks he could do this all day, just to listen to the sounds you make when he brushes his tongue and teeth along your skin. Your entire neck is flushed, warm to the touch and he relishes in the darkening mark he’s left behind as he finally pulls back.

You’re his.

Your chest rises as you pant to get in some oxygen, head a little dizzy from the sensations you just experienced. Steve observes you with a proud grin, lips wet and eyes shining as he plants another kiss on your neck, then your jaw. You meet him in the middle, mouths melting into each other.

You still can’t get enough, drinking in the curve of his chapped bottom lip, the heat of his tongue — you pull back, trying to restrain from kissing him again when Steve chases your mouth.

“S’my turn,” You breathe, tilting your chin to gesture to his neck before you start littering your kisses along his jaw instead.

Steve swallows harshly as your lips descend further, his breaths beginning to quicken and you’ve barely begun. This — your teeth and mouth on his throat — is one of his favorite things. There’s no particular spot you have to search for because Steve likes everything. Wherever gets you the prettiest sound is where you’ll go to work. His hands are flexing and clenching in an attempt to control himself as you kiss along his neck, carefully avoiding any injuries.

It’s not until you reach a spot beneath his ear that you get the first groan, low and husky, and you can’t help but grin against him. A flare of pride sets you alight. You begin to suck on the skin, lips hot and soft. Steve curses, trying to restrain the noises building in his throat — there are some that could overhear after all. You’ll have to settle for whispers.

“Don’t stop,” He pleads, his palms sliding up the middle of your back; your shirt is caught on his wrists now, almost exposing your entire spine to the cooler air that surrounds you. It’s hard to tell if the goosebumps that litter your skin are from his touch or the sudden shift in temperature. He feels his skin growing hotter each second, desperate to envelop your lips in more searing kisses, but he’d be an idiot if he pulled you off him.

As Steve relaxes further into the sensation of your kiss-swollen lips on his throat, he finds it difficult to focus on one specific thing you’re doing; you’re all consuming. It’d be a disservice to you to only keep his attention on one element of your relentless teasing for so long.

Your hands have drifted from his shoulders, one firmly grasping his bicep and the other deeply twisting your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. His grip on your waist falters when you tug lightly at the strands in your fist, earning you another restrained whimper from him. The added pressure of your body on top of his doesn’t make this any easier; his head spins, especially when you shift your hips a bit to elongate your posture and continue biting at the determined spot.

Your nose bumps the shell of his ear every time you open your mouth; the light skimming is driving him insane in the best way. The light stubble that coats his jaw from the past couple days rubs against your soft cheek, further spurring you on in a way you can’t describe. Your fingers tighten in his hair.

His head finally falls backwards, completely giving in to your ministrations when your teeth not only pinch some of his red skin between them, but pull it away from his body. A full, unsuppressed groan vibrates his throat and fills the air; it goes straight to your abdomen in a pulse of electricity.

Steve barely recognizes the sound that you pulled from him, not particularly caring anymore if someone overheard. What’s the worst that could happen — he gets chewed out by Robin? He’d take that any day if it meant this happened prior.

Another curse spills from Steve; he shivers, a stream of cool air hits the growing mark, your lips pursed as you blow a small amount of your exhale onto it. You’re finally satisfied with the work you’ve done, pressing one more feather light kiss to the bruising skin before dragging your attention back up to him.

Steve’s eyes are still pinched shut, brow furrowed out of bliss; his face relaxes when your lips make contact with his chin, signaling your desire for further attention. He tilts his head back down, peeling open his eyes to see a smirk curling the corner of your mouth.

“How’d I do?”

You’re preening, still high off the sounds you were able to earn from him, glad to know that you did a good job in pleasing him. He can’t understand how you’re able to switch from some minx, leaving dark marks scattered across his skin, hips shifting dangerously in his lap to this: a bright gaze, cheeks flushed, begging for his praise.

He’s yours.

Steve actually manages to gather his thoughts enough to respond. His fingers splay out over your back as he quips, “I still don’t understand where you even learned how to do that.”

“That good, huh?” Your voice is laced with a chuckle, your eyes darting over his face as you brush a few strands of hair behind his ear. The moment is much softer than he was expecting, making his chest ache out of pure admiration for you. His voice is breathless, words mumbled as he cups the back of your head again, pulling you closer, “It was fucking fantastic.”

The kiss becomes heated immediately. There’s still this strong urge from your built up emotions, continuing to cloud your every judgment, especially as you continue to crave Steve’s skin on yours. He goes to whine in frustration when you pull your lips and touch away from him, only for you to grab the hem of your tank and tug it over your head.

Steve doesn’t know where to look as his hands frame the delicate lines of your ribcage. He’s nearly overstimulated by you — a common occurrence in situations like this.

In traditional fashion, he decides to make a joke. It’s an attempt to playfully bruise your ego a bit and give himself the high ground; you’re gorgeous, you’re perched on his lap, you just gave him the best hickey of his life, and now you’re topless.

He doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

“Y’know, this is a little less exciting now that Munson knows your bra color,” Steve pouts, lightly tracing his middle finger up the strip of your sternum before his palm settles at the base of your neck. Goosebumps erupt over your skin as he continues, his hand sliding across your collarbone to fiddle with the strap of your bra, “Thought that was supposed to be a reserved boyfriend privilege.”

You know he’s only joking; you can tell by the type of smile that toys at the end of his lips. The look in his eyes, those full blown pupils — you know how he really feels. Regardless, you can’t help the teasing scoff that his comment pulls from you, an attempt to try and rile him up as you play coy, “So? Robin saw it too.”

Steve pushes out a really deep exhale, trying to pretend like that doesn’t mean anything. He knows Robin would never try anything on you (for a multitude of reasons). But he couldn’t help but notice the nervous swearing that accompanied her quickly darting her eyes away from you, not before they widened slightly at the sight.

You return your hands to him, fingers skimming over his arms, “Besides, you took your shirt off too, Stevie. I think we’re even.”

His jaw tightens at the nickname, hands clutching you a bit firmer in a foolish effort to suppress the shiver that rolled up his spine with your tone. He clears his throat, “Well, it’s not a show every time I do it, is it sweetheart?”

You hum, winding your arms as loosely as you can around his neck, “I would beg to differ.”

Steve can’t help himself, crashing his lips onto yours once again. Your fingers thread into his hair, twirling the dark strands as you feel yourself growing more restless. When you shift again, hoisting yourself up higher, Steve stops abruptly. His hand, moving to re-adjust on your body, drifted over the bandage covering your skin — his throat goes dry.

With hooded eyes, Steve stares at your face, grimacing at the feeling of the bandage beneath his fingertips. It’s a cold shock, a terrible reminder of what nearly took you from him. You understand, the same worry mirrored in your expression as you meet his gaze, now soft and full of concern. You can’t help but run your hand along his chest until you reach his own wounds, swallowing harshly as you glance down at the sight of them almost resting against your stomach.

These pieces of your bodies are never going to feel the same. A part of you aches — you wish you had known there would be a final time the skin of his abdomen would be smooth and untouched; you would’ve spent hours worshiping the skin, saying good-bye to the familiar feeling beneath your hands. Steve would’ve done the same. Your back will never be the soft, delicate slope under his touch he’s learned over the last fifteen months.

Someday soon, the skin on your bodies will be marred and twisted. The pair of you will be marked by this for the rest of your lives. The realization settles within you both: you and Steve are forever bonded, with souls fused together and equipped with the matching scars to prove it.

No one will ever understand your pain like he does. No one will ever understand his pain like you do.

“Are you…” You start but the words get caught in your throat, eyes still intensely focused on his wounds, fingers brushing around the edge of the gauze you placed there; Steve’s stomach clenches under your gentle touch, “Are you okay to keep going?”

Steve takes another second to think — he’s more worried about you than himself. Your screams of pain are still rattling around inside his head, twisting his gut even now as he holds you close. He thinks he needs to be even closer to accept that you’re okay, that you’re still here with him.

“Are you?”

You drag your focus back up, taking the time to rove your gaze over his skin before landing on his face once more — the face of your protector.

Steve’s recounted his nightmares to you, at least the ones where he can collect himself enough to speak. You’re not surprised he’s so torn up about your injuries; it’s pretty damn close to the horrors his mind has previously concocted to haunt him.

He’s had numerous dreams about you dying — that tends to be what terrifies him the most. The difference between your nightmares and Steve’s is the intensity. You used to get nightmares almost every single night, your anxious mind swirling about anything and everything, concocting a mix of the worst moments of your life to torture you with.

When Steve gets his, one every couple months, they’re destructive. He’s always a step behind, a split second away from saving you when you’re taken from him. He’s shown images of you being swallowed whole by one of those creatures, or torn apart by a pack of demodogs, or beaten until your face is unrecognizable. It takes him hours to be able to fall back asleep, if he even does it at all.

But you’re here this time. You’re alive.

You swipe your thumbs across his cheekbones before cupping his jaw. Instinctively, Steve nuzzles further into your touch, turning his cheek to your palm and shutting his eyes for a moment. As he lets himself relish in the warmth you emit, he presses a firm kiss to the heel of your hand, sliding his nose along the side of your thumb.

The burn in your torso grows even more with Steve’s gentle affections; this is the man you love. The careful, passionate, amorous lover. He’s not a fighter, he never has been. But god, would he fight for you. He’d do anything for you.

You confirm your answer with a kiss, which Steve graciously returns. His hands slide to the slope of your waist, with his left curling around to press into the small of your back and arch you even closer. With your thumb, you pull down on his chin to deepen the kiss; a sigh escapes you at the hot glide of his tongue.

Your mind is going fuzzy again. You can’t focus on anything other than Steve’s soft groans and the slow drag of your lips against his until his fingers dip below the waistband of your bottoms.

The RV shakes — someone’s trying to open the door. They do it so aggressively that it shocks both of you back to your bleak reality. Thank god the door was actually locked.

You’d probably fall backwards in surprise if it weren’t for Steve’s hands already on you, moving quickly to support your back before you can tumble. You grip his shoulders tightly to steady yourself. Eddie’s voice just barely pierces through your Steve-induced haze, eyes blinking as you try to adjust to the sudden change in atmosphere, “Open up in there, Henderson. Gotta grab something, it’ll be quick.”

You lock eyes with Steve and neither of you can help it — you share a breathless laugh, faces scrunching up in bright smiles, knowing how close you were to being interrupted far more dramatically. Steve can’t stop himself from kissing you through it, humming as you arch into him once more. A knock on the door has him sighing in frustration.

“Fuckin’ Munson,” Steve mumbles before you press one final kiss to his lips before you have to start removing yourself from him, leaving your fingers on him the longest to draw it out. He passes you your shirt as you stand, watching with hooded eyes as you put it back on with a wink.

His jaw clenches as you make your way to the door, twisting the lock and pulling it only part way open. Your annoyance leaks into your tone, but you try to sound pleasant.

“What do you need, Eddie?”

Eddie shifts his weight, gesturing to the interior of the RV, voice slightly muffled by the cigarette between his lips, “My lighter is in there.”

You roll your eyes. This is what you stopped for?

“Alright, where is it?” You ask between clenched teeth, pointing for him to stay there when he tries to enter.

He brings his hands up in a silent apology as you disappear, shouting the answer to your question, “Should be in my vest on the booth!”

Steve laughs slightly, watching you flash a frustrated glance in his direction as he, unfortunately, tugs his shirt on over his head. The door’s shut as soon as you toss the small metal rectangle outside — Eddie just barely catches it.

“Nice hickey, by the way!” He calls through the door. You’re tempted to open the door again just to slam it. Your cheeks are glowing hotly as you sigh, turning on your heel to return to where Steve is.

Steve himself seems to recall the gravity of the situation, and how far off track the two of you had stumbled in your little endeavor. His eyes track up and down over your figure as you pad back over, collapsing next to him on the couch, gaze eventually catching on the mark on your throat. He has no doubt that there’s a matching one on his skin, feeling it pulse in time with his heartbeat as the blood rushes beneath it.

“Rain check?” Steve offers weakly. You roll your head to grin at him, an unexpected laugh passing your lips. It feels silly to be stealing these moments when the world is going to shit but grazing your eyes along the expanse of his skin, lips pinker than normal, you can’t find it in yourself to have any regret.

“Definitely.”

You don’t want your little bubble to end, but you suppose it has to eventually. You hate the thought that spills into your mind — this could be the last time you have him alone like this. Regretfully, you get up from the couch, but extend your hand for Steve to take. He waves it off, a sheepish smile pulling at his lips.

“I’m gonna need a minute.”

—

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrinton smut #almost paradise

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