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bbyhellfire · 3 days

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our phantom of forever

➠ summary: eddie is resurrected by vecna, only to realize you don't exist in the upside down.

➠ pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader (she/her pronouns)

➠ word count: 1.3k words

➠ warnings: angst city, death, resurrection, allusions to suicidal thoughts (eddie wishing for death), swearing, reader moved to hawkins with her parents, vecna being vecna.

➠ a/n: pushing the 'eddie is alive' agenda 😌 i have a couple ideas about eddie making a deal with vecna that i'm debating turning into a series or just standalone one shots, so let me know what you think! and let's continue to live in delulu

It was stupid, running away from Vecna in the Upside Down. It wasn't like he controlled it or anything. But Eddie Munson isn't exactly known for his smart decisions.

He makes a mad dash from the Creel House the first chance he gets. He's alive, resurrected by the very monster responsible for his death. Eddie should be relieved that he can feel his heart beating as he runs through the decrepit streets of Hawkins. The never ending fog blurs his vision, not that it matters. Upside Down or not, he knows where he is going. No alternate dimension can change that.

All Eddie wants is you. He wants to curl his wrecked body around yours and cry into your neck as you tell him everything will be okay. He knows it won't happen, Vecna won't be so quick to let his new plaything go. But the hope is still there, and it's enough to take him across town towards the direction of your home.

If he can't physically be with you, then at least he can be surrounded by you. A piss poor replacement, but he'll take what he can get.

The ash-like spores make his lungs burn with every jagged breath. His body, still weak from his death, begs for him to stop, but he is already here. The navy blue paint is chipped and vines have broken through the front windows, but it's still your home. The world around him blurs into a watercolor of black and blue as he rushes through your front door and up the stairs to your bedroom.

Maybe you'll be waiting for him. You'll greet him with open arms and a teary smile and –

Nothing.

You're not there. In fact, none of your belongings are there. Not your bed, not your desk, your posters, your clothes. The room is empty.

What the hell?

He moves towards your bathroom. The counter should be covered in your toiletries. The doodles he'd given to you should be taped up along the mirror.

An owl with "You're owl I need" written on the bottom.

A mug with "I love you a latte" etched in the front.

Another of a cat holding a sign that says, "I've got felines for you."

The bathroom is as empty as your room. The only things waiting for him are those fucking vines, slithering out of the bathroom sink like a bouquet of snakes.

No, no, no.

Vecna controls this universe, right? So it's not completely unreasonable that he could make you disappear. Right? That has to be it. This is just Vecna. It's all Vecna.

"Do you really think so little of me? After I saved your life? Think, boy."

Eddie's head shoots up to the mirror, expecting to see the monster standing behind him like this is some sort of horror movie, but he's alone. Of course Vecna has an omnipresent voice that echoes throughout. Of course he fucking does.

He's never gonna beat the God complex allegations, Eddie thinks as the vines in the sink start to move. A little nudge of encouragement so to speak.

He bolts out of your room and down the hallway to your parent's bedroom.

Empty.

He tries the linen closet.

Nothing.

He practically tumbles down to the first level. Your living room, dining room, kitchen, even the garage. Everything is devoid of you and anything connected to you.

Dread is settles in the pit of his stomach. He is running out of places to check. All he thinks to do is scream. And he does. He wails and wails until his vocal cords hemorrhage. The dull taste of blood in the back of his throat makes him add obscenities to his screams. Maybe it'd be enough to echo through the other side. Hell, he'd take your parents materializing to scold him. He'd take anything as long as it means you're there. But nothing ever comes. It's just him and his pain.

It's like you never existed.

Only when he's back in your bedroom, standing in the exact spot where your bed should be, does he remember Nancy's diary. Ice cold realization turns his organs into stone.

He tries not whimper, "She isn't here, is she?"

"No, she's not, but you already knew that." With every word, the fog thickens into a violent red until the monster responsible for all of this appears in front of him. Eddie shakes his head in furious denial as the date in Nancy's diary taunts him.

November 6, 1983.

It's like you don't exist in the Upside Down because of you don't exist. Your family wouldn't move to Hawkins until the following month. It wouldn't be until the start of the spring semester when you and Eddie would properly meet, paired up for a science project. By February, he'd build up the courage to ask you on a date. His adoration for you would bloom with the spring flowers. He would be head over heels in love with you by the fall.

But with the Upside Down frozen at a point in time where he didn't even know your name, you won't be here. There will be no record of you, no liferaft to cling to as his humanity is thrown into freefall.

"No, it's not fair! This isn't fucking fair!"

"The human existence is anything but fair. Your life was an excellent example of that."

Eddie knows that very well, but he doesn't need this walking smear stain reminding him like he's a toddler. He remembers every taunt, shove, and outrage that formed his life. They were his to experience, not anyone else's. They were his life no matter how unfair it may have been. Vecna didn't get to use them against him.

Now, he is angry. He lunges toward the monster, but vines shoot out to wrap around his waist before he can reach Vecna. They throw him back violently, wrapping around his middle and neck to keep him flush against the wall. The tendril around his waist tightens until he stops moving, his arms pinned to his side. Another vine slithers around his neck, squeezing until he has no choice but to look up at the monster of the Upside Down.

"So ungrateful even after I gifted you the chance of another life. Do you understand I can take that away from you? And then how would you see her again?"

Eddie grimaces, scrunching his nose and glaring with all the resentment building inside. He knows where this is going, the manipulation so obvious it's insulting.

The weight of his situation presses down on him harder than the vines bundling his body. He finally cries. Fat, angry tears run down his dirty cheeks as he glares at Vecna. Eddie hopes he looks as pathetic as he feels. Maybe Vecna will be disgusted and realize he made a mistake resurrecting him. He is not a killer, not a hero, not a villain. He is just Eddie.

He wishes for a reinstatement of his death sentence. He'd rather his body be picked apart by demobats than a life shackled by shame and defeat.

"I'm not unreasonable, Eddie," Vecna takes heavy steps towards him. "You can see her again, if it's what you really want. It won't be easy, but it will be worth it. I just need you to do something for me."

The tears keep falling, his vision blurring from the splotches in the shape of you. He thinks of you, the way you smell, the comforting feeling of your hand in his, the sweet nothings you'd whisper when you thought he was asleep. He remembers the nights you'd spend wrapped in his sheets, eyes glassy from all the weed you'd smoke, as you talk about the future.

That is all he will ever have of you – memories. Memories that will fade until only the pain of what could have been remains.

What else is he supposed to do?

"What is it?"

divider by @/silkholland

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson x afab reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson angst #bbyhellfire

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dreamcubed · 2 months

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i don't wanna live forever | mattheo riddle x reader

song; i don't wanna live forever [taylor swift, zayn] pairing; mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw!reader genre; ex2l, reconciliation, ex-lovers, angst, smut, hurt comfort(ish) word count; 2,8k timeline; half-blood prince warnings; swearing, toxic relationship, jealousy, controlling behaviour, mattheo is not a good person, neither is y/n, borderline cheating (not on y/n or mattheo), smoking, alcohol consumption, drunkenness, arguments, drunk sex, piv, fingering, degradation, ass-slapping summary; ever since you began dating, you and mattheo had been a fiery and toxic mess of breaking up and getting back together - only, when you finally try and date someone else, you realise that you miss and crave the unhealthy pattern that came with mattheo riddle

MINORS DNI! 18+ content.

i don't typically write smut but this oneshot felt incomplete without it. so, enjoy... 2 year anniversary & 1k celebration gift haha

masterlist

"wondering if i dodged a bullet or just lost the love of my life."

——————————————

"I mean, why did you even date him in the first place?" Cho asked you, chewing on a chip, "He's literally You-Know-Who's son."

You sighed, used to this conversation from every person you knew, "You can't judge someone by their parents."

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Cho, his dad went MIA for thirteen years when he was one and his mum was in prison until last year. He hardly knows them."

"But," she said, "He was raised by the Malfoys and he was sorted into Slytherin."

You rolled your eyes.

She shrugged, "I'm just saying, the red flags were there."

You didn't reply, moving your gaze over to the group of Slytherin boys sat laughing with each other while they ate. Your ex-boyfriend, Mattheo Riddle, was sat among them.

It felt too definitive saying ex, however, since you two broke up and made up constantly, and had for the last year and a half, much to your friends' horror. You argued with him, you cried over him, you talked shit about him - but you loved him. And the love you had was a burning flame of passion, but it wasn't healthy. You had broken up a week ago, which was actually the longest you had gone without talking.

Normally, you would have caved by now, but you felt different this time. You felt immensely stubborn.

"It's time you stayed apart for good," Cho said, just as Mattheo's eyes locked on to yours, "He's bad for you."

You knew she was right, which was why you accepted when a nice Hufflepuff boy asked you to Hosmeade that weekend.

***

The bouquet of pink and red flowers being presented to you really should have given you butterflies, maybe even made you squeal, but they horrified you. Nonetheless, you smiled and said, "Awh, thank you. You shouldn't have," before taking Leon's extended arm and letting him lead you to the Three Broomsticks. He pulled the chair out for you, and you forced another smile on to your face.

"I've been wanting to ask you out for ages," he said excitedly, "But you were still on and off with Riddle."

You hummed.

"I'm glad you're done with him. He didn't treat you right."

It was mutual. You were just as toxic as Mattheo.

"But I will."

"Well, thank you, Leon," you said gently, "We'll see, won't we?"

He beamed at you, "You're so beautiful."

Surely such a comment should make you blush, right?

***

"How was the date?" Cho wiggled her eyebrows back in the Ravenclaw dormitories.

"It was... good," you said, placing the flowers on your desk haphazardly.

"Just good?"

"He's really nice, I- I just..."

Cho frowned, "He's boring?"

You shook your head, "No, he's funny and interesting."

"Then what's the issue?"

You shrugged, "I don't know."

"Give him a chance then, babe."

***

Leon wrote you poems, he took you on cute dates, he fed you, he walked you to classes, and he hung off your every word. But your eyes would always linger over to Mattheo - because despite everything Leon did for you, the only time you felt butterflies anymore was when you made eye contact with your ex-boyfriend. That glittery spark had never once burnt out in those long eighteen months you were on and off. Every argument and break up only seemed to make it burn stronger and brighter.

And the thing was, Leon was too healthy for you: too sane, too trusting, too normal. Mattheo had turned you into a raging jealous monster, as you had him, and it was part of the reason you were on and off. Neither of you had ever actually cheated, but if you got too close to a boy? He would start an argument and scream at you until you yelled back that you were over. Two days later, he would corner you, never truly apologising but kissing and making up, muttering how he loved you before fucking you until the sun came up.

And you had done the same thing to him.

That was the issue with Leon: he was friends with everyone. Some of his closest friends were girls. Were you jealous? No. But you knew if you began to develop feelings for him then you would become more jealous than an innocent boy like him could handle. You would ruin him the way Mattheo ruined you, fucking him up for any future romantic endeavours.

It drove you crazy how respectful he was, how he didn't bat an eye at you saying you were going to study with a male friend. You needed more push and pull than what he was giving you: you craved a fight, because you craved the crazed passion that came with it.

Yet, three weeks passed by and Mattheo had made no effort to do anything more than glare daggers at you and Leon from across the room.

Then the Christmas holidays hit.

***

A rich Hufflepuff in your year - not Leon - was hosting a house party at their gigantic home, and you had scored an invite. In fact, so had everyone in your year, including a few people from the year above and year below. Leon had immediately owled you to say that he would pick you up before heading there, but you knew that as you patted on concealer and highlight, you were thinking about Mattheo's reaction when he saw you. He had hated when you dressed too revealing, saying that he could see guys' eyes on you - and he wasn't wrong, you just didn't care.

You had purposefully dressed yourself in a tiny black miniskirt and matching bralette, which as a combination left very little to the imagination. With the fishnets you adorned as well, it was borderline lingerie.

Maybe Leon would finally argue with you and make you feel something.

"Y/N, you look gorgeous," he beamed, not a trace of anger on his perfect face when you opened the door to him.

"Thank you," you said, fighting the urge to sigh, "You don't look so shabby yourself."

"Shall we?" he held out his hand to you, which you accepted.

***

The party was already in full swing when you arrived, and you made a quick motion to catch up by downing two shots. Leon watched you in amazement.

"You want one?" you asked, going to pour another drink.

He shook his head, "I don't drink."

"No?" you paused in your movements, thinking that maybe this would be the time you finally argued, "I drink a lot."

"Each to their own," he shrugged, "I'll look out for you."

"Thanks, then," you said awkwardly, "I'm gonna go for a smoke, you coming?" Had you partially said that as another attempt at angering him? Yes. But you also were craving nicotine.

He shook his head, "I'm good, we'll catch up in a bit, yeah?"

You nodded absently, pouring a third shot for yourself before creating a mixed drink and heading outside to the smokers' area. And, there he was, Mattheo Riddle stood with a cigarette between his lips and a drink in his hand.

Pulling out a cigarette that you had tucked in your bralette, you boldly walked up to the group of Slytherin boys and asked, "Anyone got a light?"

Nott, who was right next you, passed you his, but you never took your eyes off Mattheo. His eyes glided up and down your exposed body as you lit your cigarette and took a long drag, relishing in the taste. You watched his jaw clench.

"You and Duggard official yet?" Berkshire asked, referring to Leon. At his question, a borderline growl erupted from Mattheo.

You shrugged vaguely, "We'll see."

"Will you?" Mattheo asked coldly.

You exhaled some smoke, "Well, he's handsome, smart, funny and attentive to my every need."

"Oh, is he?" Mattheo stepped closer to you.

Chuckling, you said, "He's a very kind man."

Mattheo scoffed, pushing past you with a mutter of, "That's not what you need."

He was right, of course, but he didn't need to know that.

You turned your focus to your cigarette.

"He's not the same without you," Nott said casually, dropping his finished cigarette on the ground and stepping on it.

"No?" you murmured, a smile tugging on your lips.

"He hardly sleeps, hardly eats, is angry all the time," he continued, "So, please, stop your little charade with Duggard and get back with him already."

"Who says it's a charade?"

You heard Berkshire scoff, "C'mon, L/N, everyone sees you stare at Matt all the time. Everyone except Duggard, that is."

Biting your lip, you ashed your cigarette, "Well, maybe Riddle should man up and apologise."

***

The party raged on, and as the alcohol flowed through your system, so did the music. Leon didn't seem that keen on the party atmosphere, so you resorted to dancing with Cho and other Ravenclaw girls. That was until you felt a guy come up behind you and begin dancing with you.

You turned around to see a Gryffindor boy from the year above, and he wasn't half-bad looking, so in your drunken state you allowed it to happen. Cho gave you a sceptical look, but didn't intervene.

A hand tugged on your wrist, and you looked up to see Leon.

"Can we talk?" he mouthed, and you nodded absently, following him to the quieter room that was the kitchen.

"What?" you said a little harshly.

"I'd appreciate if you wouldn't dance with other guys," he said, his tone completely without malice.

Your instinct in these situations was to get aggravated, so you snapped, "Well, if you actually knew how to party, I wouldn't have to."

Leon stared at you blankly, "I'm sorry."

For fuck's sake, why did he have to sound so genuine?

"I'll try and come out on the dancefloor if that's what you want."

"Fucking hell," you cursed.

"What? What is it?" he sounded worried.

"Why don't you argue with me?" you exasperated, tugging at your scalp.

Leon frowned, "That's no way to resolve things."

"It's not about resolving things," you snapped, "It's about passion, it's about the spark, it's- it's..." you trailed off, "Rowena, I feel crazy."

"I understand your relationship with Riddle wasn't the easiest one, but I want to help you learn what a calm and healthy relationship is," Leon said gently, "Because you deserve better."

"Are you even listening to me?" you pulled your hands down your face, "I don't want peace. I want passion. I want twin flame bruises. I want a push and pull."

"I-"

You cut him off, "Mattheo would have beat the shit out of that guy for dancing with me."

"That guy probably didn't know you were taken-"

"Mattheo made sure that everybody knew I was his," you said firmly, feeling tears prick at your eyes, "I just need to argue, Leon - I crave it."

"Well, I can't give that to you."

"Y/N," a voice spoke in a growl behind you.

You span around, being faced with the one man who could make you feel electric. And that was when your emotions crashed all over you: upset and anger expressed through tears and yelling.

"Why are you taking so fucking long?" you screamed.

But he wasn't looking at you - no, he was glaring at Leon. "I think you've had long enough with my girl, Duggard," he drawled.

"She's not your girl anymore," you heard Leon reply, before he said to you, "What did you mean when you asked him why he's taking so long?"

You saw Mattheo clench his fist, and you grabbed his wrist to halt him, "Fucking talk to me, Riddle."

His eyes snapped to yours, "I will never be Riddle to you, princess."

"Considering we've hardly spoken the last few weeks, I'd say you are."

"Guess I'll have to remind you who you are to me, then," he chuckled darkly, pulling you away from Leon. The Hufflepuff boy went to follow you worriedly, but you glared at him and he stayed put. Part of you felt bad: a tiny, sober part.

You found yourself in an upstairs bathroom, pressed against a cool tile wall.

"If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I can't promise I'll be a good person about it."

"You're never a good person about anything," you muttered, relishing in his hot breath fanning on to your face.

He smirked, "We both know that's the way you like me."

You hummed, "Fuck me, Mattheo."

"I'm not sure you deserve a good fuck after everything you've done."

"I never fucked him."

"No?" he chuckled, "Good."

And then his lips were on yours, tasting, sucking, nibbling every centimetre. His hand quickly trailed to underneath your skirt, rubbing your clit through your scandalously thin panties.

He pulled away from the kiss, "Don't ever wear anything like this again," he kissed you again, "At least not in public."

"Whatever you want."

He hummed his approval, pushing your panties aside to push two fingers inside of you.

"Please, I just want your dick."

"Yeah?" he murmured, "How bad?"

"So bad, please," you begged, your tear and mascara stained cheeks enhancing the puppy dog eyes you gave him. Mattheo had to admit, he loved seeing you so desperate for him.

"You really don't deserve this," he sighed, unzipping his trousers.

You licked your lips as you watched him pull his rock hard dick out.

"I can't wait to feel your mouth on it again," he muttered, "But I'm feeling nice, so I'll just give you what you want."

Mattheo bent you over the sink countertop, lifting up your skirt and slapping your ass in the process. He pulled your panties further aside.

"Don't act like you don't just miss being inside me," you forced out, making him slap your ass harder.

To your surprise, he said, "Of course I fucking did."

And then he pushed inside you, quickly and without warning, causing you to gasp loudly.

"So fucking wet."

You arched your ass up to him, moaning.

"I don't think I'm gonna last long."

You were hardly able to reply, as he had begun to run circles on your clit as well. But, you agreed with him, as the absence of this feeling had made your body hypersensitive to Mattheo's every touch.

"Fuck, you're such a whore," he murmured, picking up the pace relentlessly.

"Your whore," you managed to say, your eyes rolling back into your head as you felt your orgasm build up.

"I bloody well hope so," he chuckled.

And then, as you both came closer to ecstasy, things went silent - the only noise being his groans, your moans, and the sound of skin slapping.

"Matty, I'm gonna co- fuck!" you cursed, feeling your release wash over you in red hot passion, your vision going white as your every limb shook. You didn't normally orgasm so easily.

He continued to fuck your overstimulated pussy, gripping your hips so hard it would probably leave bruises. "Gonna fill you up," he choked out, his breathing growing heavier as you finally felt his dick throb inside you, signifying his release.

Mattheo stilled, staying inside you for a moment as you both processed the situation. Eventually, he pulled out, helping you turn over so you were sat on the counter facing him. You were both panting.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually, and your eyes widened.

He had never outright apologised before.

"I'm sorry too," you mumbled back.

"I love you so much," he pressed his forehead against yours, "I just I-"

"I love you too. So much."

He hummed, "I just- I don't understand my father. I don't want to live forever."

You frowned, "Why not?"

"Because," he took your hands in his, "Without you, I'd just be living in vain."

A smile stretched widely on your face, "Want to leave this stupid party?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

And as you left the party, hand in hand and evidently in a post-sex haze, Mattheo said - loud enough for a few close people to hear - "I'm gonna marry you, you know that?"

And you did.

———————————————

masterlist

written; 25/02/2024 —> 09/03/2024 published; 09/03/2024 edited; —/—/——

255 notes · View notes

thetriumphantpanda · 8 months

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a woman's voice, i quickly ran

In The Woods Somewhere | Chapter One

Chapter Summary | Joel has been wandering for weeks, aimlessly listing through the forest as he scouts a new patrol path. He's gone much further than he needs, could easily turn back, which he almost does, until he stumbles across you and your coven of children, hiding out in the forest.

Chapter Warnings | Consumption of food, canon typical violence, descriptions of child death and dead bodies, mention of weapons, mention of religion, religious trauma, mention of a cult, swearing, child loss, allusions to controlling behaviour and domestic abuse, allusions to dirty thoughts but nothing explicit yet, age gap relationship in future chapters, no use of y/n.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 6.3K

Authors Note | Well, here we fucking go right? I definitely didn't need another WIP, but I seriously couldn't leave this one alone so here we are. Like I said on the masterlist drop, this is different from what I've written before. It's challenging me in the best way and I really cannot wait to share more with you. If you enjoy this then please consider reblogging, leaving comments or popping into my ask with your thoughts - I love hearing from you guys! And also consider leaving a tip on Ko-Fi if you enjoyed as well - I'm a poor student so anything really helps, but no pressure.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Joel’s boots sink into the ground underfoot. It rained last night. He’s thankful he managed to find an abandoned cabin along the way yesterday before the heaven’s opened. This walk would be even more miserable if his clothes had been soaked through as well. Every few steps his feet slip in the mud. He can already feel his ankles screaming at him to stop, but the sky above him is dark grey and threatening to rain once more, so he keeps walking, hoping there’s someone, somewhere looking down on him, taking pity, hoping he can find another cabin to spend the night in.

When he hears a distant rumble of thunder, he curses Tommy, out loud. He’s nowhere near Jackson now, having been convinced to take a scouting mission for this new route they’d stumbled across once the snows of winter had melted away. He feels like he’s been punished. Shunned from his own community. Even though his brain knows that’s not the case. He hasn’t spoken to Ellie in months, his chest constricting tightly when he thinks to her. He's no-one to blame but himself for where he is, but the Lord knows whatever he did, whatever he would continue to do for that girl, he’d do it all again given his second chance.

He can still see Tommy’s face when he came clean. The look of utter despair, the one chance they had at returning to normal, snatched away by Joel and his gun, and then the look of understanding that Joel had found his purpose again, found someone to give his love to. That’s why he’s here now, backpack laden with a singular change of clothes and his rations, rifle slung over his shoulder. Tommy thought some solitude would help. Help him come to terms with his new relationship, or lack thereof, with Ellie. Give him something to focus on. He still can’t help thinking that it was an excuse for him to be out of town for a few weeks, so that his scowling face didn’t make the children cry or the rest of the town avoid him.

When all is said and done, he misses her. He’d already lost one daughter, and through trying not to lose the other, that’s exactly what he’s done. Pushed her away. Alienated her. What he wouldn’t give to go back and hear those shitty puns again. Of course, in the back of his mind he knew this would happen, he just didn’t think it would be so soon. The only thing he would do differently about the years they’ve lived since they came back to Jackson, it would be to savour the moments he had with her, knowing they’d be gone all too soon.

He can feel his chest tightening. Not in the way it would when he’s exerted himself up a hill. In the way it happens when he feels things spiraling out of control. He rests a palm on the tree-trunk in front of him, other hand clutched to his heart as he closes his eyes and tries to calm him breathing. Ground himself. Count to ten. Think of things he can smell. Think of things he can hear. He’s focusing on the birdsong when he hears something else. Just as sweet as the chirping from the trees, but decidedly more human.

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are grey

Along with the singing, Joel can hear the telltale sound of children. He’s grown used to it since being in Jackson, hearing children enjoy themselves without having to worry about what happens outside of the walls that keep them safe. But there are no walls out here, only forest and danger, so the sound of children laughing is unsettling him, and he’s not really sure why. He pushes himself back from the tree, taking the rifle off his shoulder to rest in his arms as he takes tentative steps through the forest, careful not to step on anything that might give him away. He comes to stop near the front of the line of trees, letting his eyes adjust to the scene in front of him.

There’s a cabin, not unlike the one he’d spent the previous night in, situated in a small clearing. If he looks at it with his contractor eyes it’s pretty well built, solid and sturdy. But it’s not the cabin that he’s interested in, not really. His eyes are drawn to a woman, sitting on a bench that’s placed on the porch of the cabin, and more importantly, the small gaggle of children that are sitting around her. There are four of them, varying in age, two boys and two girls, who are sitting on the floor in front of the woman, who has stopped singing and is now reading aloud from a book that’s on her lap.

The voice that she speaks with is almost as lovely as the voice she sings with, and Joel finds himself leaning against the tree, letting the soft lilt of her voice soothe him. It’s a distant memory but it reminds him almost of his mother, when she’d read to him and Tommy before bed when they were young boys. He doesn’t know the story, can’t make out enough words to follow along, but that doesn’t matter.

He's watching intently as she closes the book on her lap and sets it down on the bench. He listens as she tells the children to go inside. She follows, guiding one of the older children with a hand on the back of his head. She’s only gone for a minute, then she’s back, this time with a shotgun clutched in her arms, much like the way he’s got his own rifle.

“You gonna be trouble?” She calls out, facing him directly, barrel of the gun trained into the trees where he’s stood.

He’s taken back by her observation skills. Joel had been careful to stay as still as he could, but somehow, she’d managed to spot him. He thinks to himself that it’s good, when she’s got children to care for.

“Don’t mean no harm,” He calls back, shouldering his rifle as he does, “Just lookin’ for somewhere to spend the night.”

He steps out of the tree line, hands raised in surrender to bring home his point. She keeps the gun trained on him though. Smart, he thinks, she doesn’t trust him. The sky above decides now, that after hours of threatening, to open, sending fat drops of rain onto the ground.

The woman points with the barrel of her shotgun for Joel to sit on the bench, under the cover of the porch, which he gladly does, grateful for the opportunity to take the weight off his aging ankles. Once he’s sat, he takes a moment to push the curls back from his head, water dripping from the ends, he also leans down to unlace his boots, relieving the pressure on his feet.

“How’d you find us?” She asks, still aiming the gun at him.

“How’s about you get that gun off me, and we’ll talk?” Joel asks, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s stopping you from attacking me once I do?”

“Probably the fact that my gun is there,” He motions to the pillar he’d rested his rifle on, out of reach unless he stands and takes steps to get it, “And those kids in there.”

“You got any other weapons on you?” She asks, Joel nods his head, because it’s true, he’s got a hunting knife in his backpack, “Can I search you?”

“Knock yourself out.” He murmurs in response.

She takes slow steps towards him, eyes not leaving his face as she kneels in front of him, fingers tracing the top of his boots for something concealed. She does the same up the leg of his jeans, trying to feel if he’s got anything hidden there, and then pats down his chest. Joel curses to himself at the way his heart jumps in his chest when her delicate hands touch him. Touch starved idiot, he thinks, he’s not had a woman touch him since Tess, and even that was more of a means to end.

She steps back from him, moving onto his backpack. She takes out his change of clothes, unfolds them to make sure he’s not keeping anything hidden there, but then folds them back up which Joel thinks is curious. She finds the hunting knife buried just below his clothes. She takes it out and inspects it, but doesn’t pocket it for herself, just rests it on top of his folded clothes. Finally, she rustles through his rations – some bags of dried fruit and jerky mostly. He'd been trying to catch fresh meat on the way so there’s still plenty left. Once she’s satisfied Joel has nothing else to hide, she repacks his bag for him, before standing back, gun still in hand but not trained directly to his face anymore.

“Where did you come from?” She asks, leaning against the porch fence.

“I’m from a commune, few weeks walks from here,” He answers honestly, “We noticed a new route out when the snow melted so I’m just scouting it out, makin’ sure there ain’t nothing to cause us trouble,” He looks at the woman now, directly in the eye, “You gonna be trouble for us?”

He’s teasing really, because what threat could one woman and four children pose to Jackson? But she doesn’t take it that way, Joel catching the way her fingers twitch on the trigger.

“Depends,” She speaks, “You gonna be trouble for us?”

“Doubt it,” He shrugs, “We won’t come out this far when we patrol.”

“Then why are you out here at all?”

Ah, yes, the million-dollar question. He really could have gone back a week ago. Once he’d walked as far as he would on his normal patrols, he could have called it and gone back, but there’s something about the solitude here that he enjoys. He also thinks he’s avoiding going back to his miserable existence now. Doesn’t want to live in a place where Ellie ignores him, where she walks past his house without acknowledging him.

“Guess I just like the outdoors.”

She raises her eyebrows at him but seems to accept his answer. The rain is pouring now, soaking the ground again and if there’s one thing he doesn’t want to do right now, it’s trekking through the storm to find someplace else to shelter.

“You mind if I say?” He asks, “Just until the storm passes.”

He watches her closely as she thinks, finally taking a moment to really take her in. She’s young, probably in her early thirties if he was to guess. She’s wearing a white dress, or it would have been white once upon a time. The long hemline is covered in dirt, ghosting along worn work boots. The dress has long sleeves, and the neckline is cut just enough to be enticing but not indecent. He wonders where the hell she’s come from. There are scars that pepper her face, one that cuts across her top lip and another that slashes through her left eyebrow. They look old and healed and he can see another mark on the skin around her throat – perhaps not a scar, more of a burn, that traces around the entirety of that delicate throat. He knows she’s been through something; it must be what’s made her so smart. She is, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing he’s seen. Like an angel, dressed in white, ethereal. He feels depraved in this moment, thinking of all the ways he might break her.

“You stay out here,” She says firmly, “And you don’t speak to the children, understand?”

“Understood.”

She nods, pushing herself back from the railings beneath her back, “I’ll bring some food out later.”

Joel watches as she moves away, murmuring a quiet thank you to her as she disappears back into the cabin, shutting the door behind her. He hears a lock click a moment later and he smiles. This woman knows exactly what she’s doing.

You settle the children at the table a few hours later. You dish servings of the stew you’d made over the fire into bowls and give each of them a glass of water. You turn your back on them when they clasp their hands together, bowing their heads in a silent prayer like they’ve always done. Like they were conditioned to do. You don’t join in. Instead, you take two bigger bowls, filling one for yourself and then the other for the mystery man out there. His portion is bigger. If he’d been surviving on dried rations and whatever he could catch, you think he must be starving. You’re not sure why you care so much, but you think it has something to do with the way you were raised. Before the world went to shit, your parents had always given guests the biggest portion of food, this is just something you carry with you.

When you turn around the children are eating their food. They’re slow, knowing they can savour what they eat now. They don’t have a master who takes their bowls away once he’d finished, no matter how much they had left. They’re quiet too, something they’re still yet to unlearn. Children are to be seen and not heard. You’d told them in the months after that you loved hearing them, the joy they let out when you taught them how to play properly. You’d insisted no-one was going to beat them again for speaking too loudly, but some lessons are harder than others to unlearn.

“Who is that man?” Thomas, the oldest boy asks quietly.

“He’s just passing through,” You smile, ruffling the hair on his head as you pass, “He’ll be gone by the morning.”

“He won’t hurt us?” He asks, and your heart breaks a little, because what do you say?

“I don’t know,” You answer honestly, dipping to press a kiss to the crown of his head, “I keep us safe though, don’t I?” He nods in response, “Then I’ll keep us safe tonight, now finish your dinner, I’ll be back in a little while.”

You set your bowl down on the corner table by the door, unlocking it with one hand before picking up your bowl again. The man from earlier is still sat on the bench, exactly where you’d left him, except now he’s got a book perched on his lap, which you notice is the one you’d been reading to the children earlier. He looks up, closing the book as you offer him his own bowl.

“It’s not much,” You speak softly, sitting in the small chair across from the bench, “It’s squirrel, the meat.” You inform him as he starts pushing his spoon through the meal.

“Thank you,” Is all he says as he lifts the spoon to his mouth, “How long have you been livin’ here?”

You chew your own mouthful of food, realizing quickly that the anxiety in your stomach at someone you don’t know being in your space means you don’t really want to eat anything, the meat and vegetables settling like lead when you swallow. Better to be out here and keep an eye on him though.

“Couple’a months,” You offer, pushing the food around in your bowl, “We’ve moved around a bit.”

“Ever get any trouble?” He asks, shoveling another spoonful of stew into his mouth.

You take a small bite of your own food, chewing it more times than is necessary before you struggle to swallow it down, “Not really,” You answer, “Few people come through, but the shotgun usually means they move on, I think the children help,” You shrug, “World might have gone to shit but people don’t wanna kill kids these days.”

You’re still trying to convince yourself to eat your food when the man in front of you sets his empty bowl on the floor. You look down into the stew, taking another bite making you feel like you might be sick, so you extend the bowl to him.

“No, thank you,” He holds his hand up, “That’s yours.”

“I ate earlier,” You lie, “Please, it’ll just go to waste.”

You can see him battle with himself a little, but ultimately his stomach wins, so he takes the bowl and finishes off your portion in silence, setting his old bowl inside this one once he’s finished. The light has faded fast, it’s still pouring with rain so there’s no chance he’s going to move off tonight. You stand, bending to take the bowls from between his feet.

“I’ll find you a blanket,” You speak quietly as you open the door, “You’ll be more comfortable that way.”

Inside, the children have finished their food and have started to clear up. Another hangover from where you’d been before. Thomas takes the bowls from your hand and gives them to Clara, just a year younger than he is. She places them in the bucket of water in front of the fire and starts to scrub as you root around in the ottoman by the couch. There’s only one blanket in there that you think will be big enough for him and it’s threadbare, but better than nothing you think. Whoever he is, he’s old, or older than you at least, so you take two cushions from the sofa, if his back is anything like yours, he’ll need them.

He's back to reading the book when you take them out to him. This time, he doesn’t close it, just looks up with a smile and says thank you as you place them at the end of the bench. You turn to head back inside.

“I’ll be gone once the sun rises,” He speaks, “Thank you, you’re a very kind girl.”

You scoff a little, thinking if only you knew what I’d done. You smile at him instead, you want to tell him it was nice to meet him, nice to meet a man who doesn’t seem to have ulterior motives, but what would be the point? He’ll be gone in the morning and you’ll be back to keeping your children safe. You say nothing. Leave him on the porch and lock the door. It’s for the best.

Joel doesn’t sleep. He spends his night upright on the porch, rifle over his lap, surveying the tree line in front of the cabin. Every now and then he stands, walking around, because his good ear can only pick so much out. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to stand guard, he wasn’t asked to. You’ve gotten under his skin. He’s been around you less than twelve hours, he doesn’t even know your name, doesn’t know who these children are to you, what you’ve been through, but still feels the need to keep you safe.

The rain had stopped some time ago, just after he noticed the lights inside the cabin go out. It makes hearing things easier, now he’s not trying to make out sounds over the roar of the weather. It’s unsettling though. A few times he thinks he’s heard something amongst the trees, the snapping of twigs and such, but it could easily be an animal. He doesn’t want to risk wandering off into the woods to figure out what it is, because if it is humans, his absence means you and your children are an easy target.

He's sat back on the porch when he hears it. The unmistakable sounds of someone cocking their gun. He’s too slow to react. The sound of the gun firing fills his ears and then the shattering of glass behind him. The bullet piercing through the window behind him. He jumps up, realizing whoever it is out there must have been aiming at him. He readies his rifle, eyes scanning the tree’s for movement. He’s stood with his back to the door, aiming his gun out, waiting for whoever is out there to give away their position when the door is yanked open, you’re stood there with your shotgun.

“Get inside.” He hisses, trying to gently push at your shoulder.

“I haven’t needed your help so far,” She spits back, as another bullet ricochets off the wall of the cabin, they’re definitely aiming at you both, “Where are they?”

“I don’t know,” He whispers, trying to figure out exactly where they’re firing from, “If you’re gonna stay out here, you need to be quiet.”

You scoff at him, as if you’d been making a ton of noise anyway, but then another bullet sounds, bouncing off the wall near your head and you let out a yelp, finally realizing you’re terrified. The man, whose name you still don’t know, grips the top of your arm and pushes you back inside the cabin, following behind you as he slams the door shut.

You watch as he pulls the couch away from the window that had been shot through. He points his rifle out of it and pulls the trigger and you think you can hear someone cry out into the night. Good riddance you think, as you watch him reload his gun. You turn around at the sound of a creaking door, finding Thomas and Clara and the two younger children, Edward and Isabel, clearly frightened by what was happening. You drop your shotgun on the table, rushing over to kneel in front of them. They crowd into your arms, Isabel is crying so you try and soothe her as much as possible.

“What’s happening?” Edward asks.

“There are some bad men outside who want to hurt us,” You answer simply, you’ve tried never to sugarcoat things with them, “But it’s okay,” You try and smile, “Because we’ve got someone looking after us.”

You turn just in time to watch your guest shoot again. It continues like this for what feels like forever, someone outside shoots towards the cabin and then he shoots back, until it’s silent. You watch as the man stays still, but there aren’t any other shots that ring out. You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. You were safe.

“Back into there,” You tell the children, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

They do as they’re told, heading back into their bedroom. You close the door and turn around as the man in front of you is finally lowering his gun. You both take a moment to look at each other, chests heaving and adrenaline flooding through your veins.

“Thank you,” You speak softly, walking up to him, “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“Probably not been attacked,” He grumbles, “I think it was me outside that made them think there was somethin’ worth takin’.”

“Still,” You place a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you.”

“You can’t stay here,” He says suddenly, “All those gunshots mean infected, I can’t keep you safe enough if they’re gonna start swarmin’.”

“We don’t have anywhere else to go,” You panic, feeling bile rise up in your throat, it had taken you months to find safety like this, and now you had to give it up, “Where are we going to go?”

“There’s another cabin, just a few hours walk away,” He explains, “I stayed there the night before I came here, same kinda thing, and far enough away to be safer, but we have to go now.”

You take a moment to think. You don’t know this man. Sure, he’s just killed people to keep you safe, but maybe this is all part of some master plan, lure you away, take the children from you, force you back into a life you don’t think you’d survive second time around. The alternative though isn’t much better. You stay here and what? You’re overrun by clickers, get torn apart by infected and if they don’t get the children, what becomes of them? When you think about it like this, there is really only one option, and that is trust this man in front of you.

“If I’m going to trust you, I need to know your name.”

“Joel.”

You return the favour quickly, telling him your name, before turning to go to the children. They’re sat together on one bed, comforting each other. You kneel in front of the bed, placing soothing hands wherever you could reach.

“The bad men are gone,” You speak softly, “But it was really loud which means it isn’t safe to stay here anymore, so the man out there is going to take us somewhere safer.”

“How do we know he’s a nice man?” Thomas asks.

“Well, he kept us safe, didn’t he?” You offer, “He didn’t have to help us like that, but he did, so I think that makes him nice, doesn’t it?”

They nod, but you know they would do anything you asked them to do, without question. There isn’t much to pack, you didn’t have much to begin with, but you ask them to gather the small bags you’d found for them along the way and fill it with what they would need. When you head back to the main room, Joel is still posted near the window, keeping an eye out for whatever dangers might be waiting to greet you when you leave.

You find your backpack and make sure it’s filled with everything you might need. It’s still got most of your essentials in it, perhaps you’d always thought this place wouldn’t be forever. You fit a few of the books in that the children love the most before putting it on, gathering the small knife from the table, setting it in your boot and then picking up your shotgun, just in time for the children to emerge with their own bags.

Joel turns around, “Okay, we need to be quick,” He speaks softly, aware that the children must be frightened, “And really quiet, okay?”

They nod, as do you, then he’s opening the door and leading the way. You don’t bother closing the door behind you. You just motion for the children to follow behind Joel. Isabel and Edward are holding hands, just like they always do, Clara and Thomas just a few steps behind them. The sun has started to rise, painting your surroundings in pale light as you start to move quietly behind them all. Then, it all goes wrong. You’re not entirely sure what happens past hearing another gunshot and one of the children screeching.

Joel whips around and trains his gun from where the sound had come from, firing a shot right into the man who was heading right towards you. You scream and step back before you look to your children. Edward is stood with his hand clutched to his side, blood seeping through his shirt and his hand. You barely have time to catch him before he falls. His tiny body is shaking in your arms, as you try and move his hand away from the wound. He cries out in pain when you try and move him.

“I know baby, I know,” You try and soothe, your own tears clouding your vision as you manage to move his hands away, “You gotta let me see, okay?”

When his hands do move, you can already tell there’s nothing you can do. Blood is pooling on the ground, seeping through the white material of your dress as you try and put pressure on it, which causes more pained cries to leave his mouth. You must get him up, you have to move him somewhere you can look at him better.

“We gotta get you up, okay?” You ask him, quickly brushing your tears away from your face as you try and hoist him up, but it’s no use, the screams of pain are more than you can bare.

You let him drop back to the ground, still trying to stem the bleeding when you notice that he’s stopped shaking and his crying has stopped. No. No no no no no.

“Edward?” You ask, shaking his shoulder, “Edward!” This time it’s louder, mor hysterical as your sobs rack your body. He can’t be dead. Not after everything you’d done, “Please, baby, come back to me,” You beg, “I can keep you safe, please just come back.” You cry into his bloodied body, knowing it’s no use, he’s gone.

You let out another sob as you clutch his small body to yours, rocking him back and forth like you used to when you were trying to get him to sleep, tears falling down your face and onto the ground. Then, a strong palm slips onto your shoulder which makes you jump, “We have to go.” Is all Joel says, trying to get you to stand with an arm on your elbow.

“I c-can’t leave h-him here.” You choke out through sobs.

“Give him to me,” Joel insists, taking Edward’s lifeless body from your arms, helping you to stand, “I’ll carry him.”

You don’t know why but you start to wipe at the blood on your dress, it’s seeped into the material so there’s no way you’ll ever get it out, but it’s something to focus on that isn’t Edward being dead. For the first time in years, you don’t look at the other children as you start to follow behind Joel once more. You know their faces would break you, would cause you to fall to your knees and not get up again. The three of them walk side-by-side in front of you again. Silent, but you can tell they’re crying from the way their shoulders are shaking. Isabel is in the middle of Thomas and Clara, each of them clutching one of her hands as they struggle to keep up with Joel’s pace as he walks through the dense forest.

You think you walk for hours, quietly crying as you do. You stop once, Joel walking off away from you whilst you sit with the children that are left, letting them sip from the canteen of water whilst you all catch your breath. You know he does it so none of you have to lay your eyes on Edward’s dead body. You make yourself as small as possible, knees to your chest, to try and hide the worst of the bloody stains on your dress. All too soon, Joel is whistling to you, telling you that it’s not much further.

By the time you reach the cabin, the sun is already starting to set. Joel motions his hand for you to go inside ahead of him which you do, guiding Thomas, Clara and Isabel in before you go. Joel stays outside as you get them settled on the dusty couch inside.

“What happened to Edward?” Isabel asks, her eyes wide as you crouch in front of them.

You take hold of her small hands, “I’m sorry baby,” You sigh, “Edward is gone.” You can feel the lump in your throat, you try to bite your emotion back for their sake.

“Where has he gone?” She asks.

You open and close your mouth, trying to find the right words. Trying not to rip up wounds from the past that you’d only just managed to close with them.

“Well baby, he’s gone somewhere else,” You sigh, “You remember before, when we lost people, and we were always told they went to heaven?” The three children nod at you, “I know we don’t believe that, but he’s somewhere better now.”

“And he won’t come back?”

“No baby,” You coo, running your hand over her hair, “But we’ll see him again someday, I promise.”

You press a kiss to each other their foreheads, opening your backpack to pull out one of their books. You hand it to Thomas so he can read to the other girls before you head outside. You can see Joel near the line of trees, he’s digging with a shovel and your chest constricts at the sight. It’s not fair. None of this is fair. Edward deserved to grow old. You’re angry. You want to scream. You want to strike your fists into something until all you feel is the physical pain, because that’s easier, it’s an easier pain to the one you feel right now.

Joel turns as you stand still at the door, he tilts his head, ushering you over to him. Your body follows the direction, like you always had before. A man tells you to do something, you do it.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to bury him,” He speaks softly, “But if you do, it’s ready.”

You can feel your bottom lip tremble so you bite down on it, hoping the pain stops you from crying, but it’s useless, you still can’t comprehend that he’s gone, despite the fact his body is wrapped in a filthy sheet next to the grave Joel has dug. He deserves so much better than this. You can’t help but take it as a personal failure. You’d vowed to keep them safe, and you’d failed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” He murmurs, letting a hand rest lightly on your shoulder which you shudder away from, “I’ll give you some time, just place him down and I’ll do the rest when you’re ready.”

He walks away, but not into the house, you notice. Maybe he still thinks the children are frightened of him. He walks around the side of the cabin as your focus moves back to the shroud in front of you. You drop to your knees, delicate hands rolling the top of the shroud down to reveal his face. His eyes are closed, and you can almost convince yourself that however he died it was peaceful. His skin is pale and mottled, lips blue. A tear drips from your face and onto his, clearing a trail down his cheek as it moves through the dirt. You lean forward, kissing his forehead, running a hand through his hair like you did each night to soothe him.

“I’m sorry baby,” You whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

You stay like this for a moment, forehead pressed to his. You can’t bare it anymore, pulling back and covering his face, but there’s something stopping you from lowering him into the ground. Then it’s final. You won’t be able to see his face again, listen to his voice when he talks or smile when he laughs. You turn, finding Joel hanging back.

“I can’t do it,” You mutter, “Will you?”

He nods, walking over to you. He doesn’t try and touch you this time, just bends and picks Edward up before placing him lightly into the grave. He stands, putting his hand to the shovel, you decide you can’t watch anymore, turning your back on the scene behind you to go back to the family you still have.

Darkness has enveloped the outdoors. The children have been in bed for a while, after Joel handed out the remainder of his measly rations to everyone. You wish you could convince yourself to sleep, but moving from the couch seems like too much work right now. You’re numb. Joel is sat at the other end of the couch, letting the small fire he set warm him through. The silence is deafening.

“You wanna talk about it?” His gruff voice asks.

You’re biting at the end of your nail, crying again. Your body is aching, dress covered in dry blood. You wish you could wake up from whatever horrible nightmare this is. You finally shake your head, biting at your lip as you do.

“I don’t think I can.”

There’s another beat of silence before Joel speaks again, “I know you don’t wanna think about it right now,” He sighs, “But Jackson, where I live, it’s safe.”

“Is anywhere really safe these days?” You scoff.

He nods his head, “Y’know, that’s what I thought when I got there, but it works,” He shrugs, “My brother, he sorta helps run it, big walls, everyone chips in where they can, take turns patrollin’, I’ve been there two years now and nothin’ bad’s ever happened.”

“So, you’re communists then?”

Joel can’t help but laugh, thinking about the existential crisis Tommy had when Ellie had suggested the same thing, “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

You sigh, because it’s starting to sound like a good idea. A place where you’d be shut in, protected by people. Where the children could actually be children. You’re still not convinced you trust him though. Sure, he’d protected you. Helped you to safety. Carried Edward’s dead body all the way here, but you’re still convinced it’s some kind of sick joke at your expense. You could be walking headfirst into a trap.

“It’s okay,” He murmurs, “I don’t expect you to trust me, it’s going to take time, but just follow me, even for a while, we’ll go slowly back that way, anytime you wanna leave, you can.”

“I can’t think about this right now,” You snap, “Can we just have some time?”

He gives you a small smile, “Of course, all the time you need, I ain’t in a rush to get back.”

Exhaustion floods your body, eyes becoming heavy, as the final ounces of adrenaline finally leave your body.

“Take the room,” Joel offers, “I can sleep out here.”

“You slept on a wooden bench last night,” You fight, “And I’m younger, I can sleep out here.”

“I didn’t sleep at all,” He counters, “So it don’t matter where I lie, I’m gonna be fast asleep in minutes.”

“You’re sure?” You ask, lifting your heavy bones from the couch.

“Go.” He nods his head towards the closed door to the second bedroom.

“Goodnight.” You speak softly, picking up your backpack to take into the room with you. You’re asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

Taglist: @morning-star-joy @tightjeansjavi @cavillscurls @cupofjoel @darkroastjoel @dinsdjrn @sinsofsummers @montenegroisr @millenial-teenybopper @casa-boiardi @pedrotonin @punkshort @givemeth @noisynightmarepoetry @joeldjarin

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immortalbutterflycos · 19 days

Text

@jegulus-microfic ~~ (707 words)

This is based on a thought that went a bit like, "What if even though Regulus became a Death Eater, James chose him as his secret keeper." Enjoy~

"How did you find me?" Regulus demands. His eyes are sharp and made of ice, and his wand is at James's throat; the tip of it digging harshly into the skin there. More than familiar with this particular position, James can't hold back the smirk that finds its way to his lips.

"You should know it better than anyone, love. One way or another, I'll always come find you." The wand is urged forward even deeper and James swallows around it.

"Because of our past together, I will give you one chance to run before I'll be given no choice but to come after you. And rest assured that when I do, I will not hesitate."

"Sure, Reg," James says, smiling like he doesn't actually believe it. "Say, we're going into hiding soon. Did you know?" Regulus squints at him as though his intelligence is only slightly higher than that of a sea slug.

"Well, I'd certainly hope so. Though I must say that you won't be able to hide for long before He finds you. A talent I suppose you and The Dark Lord have in common."

"Oh you'd "hope so" would you? Why Reggie, it's almost like you still care for me." Regulus faulters for only a split second, the wand loosening a bit in his grasp. He recovers quickly though, with a sneer, poking the wand back harder into his neck until James lets out a small, involuntary choking sound at the intrusion.

"Potter, I swear I will kill you right where you stand if you-"

"What do you know about the Fidelius Charm?" He asks, his voice a tad strained. This time when Regulus falters a bit, surprise colors his face.

James was truly enjoying throwing him off with every other phrase. It reminds him of a time when their arguments didn't have such high stakes and their hearts were still intact and not shattered callously on the ground at their feet.

"You're going to be hidden under the Fidelius Charm..? That's..." He meets James's eyes again and this time there is no ice. No confusion. Only pure, white-hot anger, mixed with something else unnamed.

"Why would you tell me that?" He asks, "I can't- If He asks me if I know anything about where you're hiding, He will be able to look into my mind and see this moment. Do you understand? By only saying this much, you've already endangered everyone you love and care about."

James pushes the wand to the side with two fingers, surprisingly with no resistance.

"I want you to be my Secret Keeper."

Regulus shakes his head in disbelief.

"You are a fool, James Potter, if you think for a single second that this is a good idea. In case you've forgotten, I'm a Death Eater. I've hurt people James. I've hurt you! I've never once given you any indication that I wouldn't fully hand over that information to Voldemort as soon as I make that oath."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Risk?" Regulus says, his eyes seeming to burn in stark contrast to the ice-cold they'd held only moments ago, "What risk? James, this is suicide."

James reaches out to cup Regulus's cheek, the Death Eater flinching at the touch but not pulling away. Which tells James everything he needs to know.

He smiles.

And it's not that cocky sort of smile or the flirtatious one he's worn for a lot of this interaction. No, this one is full of warmth and love and... trust.

"It's not."

"You're going to die. Each and every one of you and your precious Order are going to be hunted down and killed before you can even lift your wands." Regulus's voice is quiet and resolute but something else trembles beneath the surface. James swipes his thumb over his cheekbone; over light, familiar freckles on pale skin.

"Then I die knowing that you're the one who pulled the trigger. But you won't."

"Who says?"

"Me."

"Why?"

"Because, love," Regulus flinches again at the pet name, "I've said it before, and it's no less true now than it was back then, I would trust you with my life."

"Then that's how you're going to lose it."

"So be it."

#jegulus #regulus black #james potter #the marauders #marauders era #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus microfic

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m1d-45 · 8 months

Note

hey! not sure if ur taking requests but would love it if u cld.....my mind has been stuck on this for a while

I almost didn't get wanderer on his banner and it broke my heart. From the second I first saw to the little emo boy in the archon quest I've wanted him on my team and was so excited when they announced his banner.... I even prefarmed for him ;-;

But I lost the 50/50 (got tighnari ;-;) and calculated that I'd have only 50 pulls before his banners gone.....I've never gotten a character before 70 pulls so I got really sad and decided on a whim to build heizou since I had the teams and artifacts ready and I even started having fun with him when randomly at 23 pity guess who I get!!!

So I've kinda been living in my own little daydream(delusion xD) that wanderer got jealous of me having fun with heizou and came home.... could I request a sagau drabble or hc or something similar to my insanity totally fine if you can't 🥰🥰🥰

near miss

word count: ~500

-> warnings: spoilers for wanderer lore, minor spoilers for heizou lore, author once again dances around wanderer’s name

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

for being the creator, all knowing and all present, you were missed quite often.

your wanderer sat in his banner, looking down at your party as you travelled teyvat. he’d missed your first star shower on account of giving a lecture, and by the time he’d seen the star streaking toward the forest through the window, it had been too late. news of the forest ranger stealing what was his spread quickly, something akin to resentment burning in his chest.

but not this time. he was determined not to miss you again. your attention had been on him for so long; surely you didn’t think he’d just roll over now that you’d invested in someone else? no, he’d wait.. even if it hurt watching you.

shikanoin heizou. the sharpest detective in inazuma—or even teyvat, if you were particularly inclined to praise him. you’d given heizou what you had planned to give him, and he hated it. he was right here, he was listening, he didn’t have any more lectures for the week, so why did you have to insist on keeping your stars to yourself?

(it was his fault. if only he’d paid more attention, as you had so graciously given him…)

“maybe… i’ll get lucky?”

he snapped out of his mind, aware of your presence all at once. he could feel his heart in his fingers where he pressed at the boundaries, and he searched the sky around him despite knowing he’d never see you.

(luck. ‘lucky.’ he’d make his way to you if he had to crawl. what part of that was chance?)

his hat was already discarded in his inventory, so nothing would hinder him from following your star. all he had to do was wait for you… and hope you’d send them out at all.

you wouldn’t settle for heizou, would you? he knows you were enjoying yourself, but that didn’t mean you’d forget about him… right?

a beam of light split the silence, and he pushed at the edges of his banner to reach for them. but even reaching as far as he could, he barely brushed the edge of the star.

it was warm. even that glimpse of heaven set his heart beating a little quicker, purple mist lingering around his fingers.

again. he won’t miss it this time, he swears. don’t settle for a detective when you could have…

…him. would he be enough for you?

the skies split in two, another bright purple star beginning to fall. he reached, grabbing onto the handle of a polearm. with a sharp pull, he was set free from his banner, the silver spear flung elsewhere. hopefully you wouldn’t miss that.

if he’d thought the star from before was warm, then the fall back to the earth was burning hot. your light enveloped his entire being, stealing the air in his lungs. his surroundings were whipped away, replaced with a bright feeling only describable as divine.

still, he landed on his feet. with shaky hands he placed his hat back on his head, allowing himself a proud smile.

“welcome home, wanderer.”

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winterrrnight · 1 month

Text

heartless

PAIRING: rafe cameron x dark!fem!pogue!reader

SUMMARY: rafe finds out you've been dating him only for the money.

WARNINGS: dark content! dark!reader, naive!rafe, reader is a liar, a manipulator, dishonest, two faced, takes a big advantage of rafe, usage of guns, threatening, poor rafe is oblivious to it all (he's just blinded by one sided love), minimal swearing, minimal usage of nicknames, alcohol consumption, reader lowkey believes in toxic masculinity, rafe is kinda a crybaby, it's also longer than my usual stuff + please let me know if I missed something!

EDITH SPEAKS: my second ever dark!fic! just like before, dark!content is something I've just gotten into, so this clearly isn't the best dark stuff you've read, but I promise I put in a 100% effort. please please heed all the warnings and make sure you proceed only if you are comfortable with each and every single one of them! if you liked reading this, please reblog and please please let me know what you think of this! 🌩️

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somewhere far along this road he lost his soul to a woman so heartless

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You enter Tannyhill, a huge smile on your face as your fingers remain hooked through the expensive branded gift bags, the black credit card of your near and dear boyfriend in the back pocket of your pants.

“Baby I’m home!” You say out loud as you enter, keeping the humongous amount of gift bags in your hand on the couch of the living room. You hear footsteps echo as they transcend down the stairs, and you turn around to see Rafe making his way to you.

“Hi baby,” he smiles as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses a kiss to your lips. “What did you get?”

You gesture your head to the couch and Rafe sees the enormous amount of bags on the couch. He knows you like to shop, and he never refuses to buy you anything because he believes you deserve it so much; never ever denying you when you approach him with a puppy dog look on your face asking for a shopping trip, which basically melts him into a puddle.

He always accompanies you to your shopping trips, his arm slinging around your shoulders as you both hit store after store in the mall, buying whatever you ask for, and he doesn’t think twice before swiping his card in the machine. He knows you haven’t lived in the best financial conditions as you grew up; that’s what it meant if you lived on The Cut. When you got together, he was more than determined to always give you gifts, his way of covering up all the things he believed you deserved to have but never had a chance to own.

But today, you suddenly had a need to hit the mall again when you had been there not even a week ago, and you had already bought a lot. But Rafe isn’t one to say no to you; how can he say no to your cute face? So you are sent off with a driver with his credit card given safely to you as he himself is busy with some business work.

And right now, here you are with the biggest number of handbags he’s ever seen you with. His eyebrows furrow in the slightest as he looks at how the couch is completely covered with the gift bags from exorbitant stores; the bags themselves cost a lot on their own.

“What happened baby?” You ask as you see him eyeing the couch. He turns to you and lets a smile spread on his face as he gives a peck to your forehead.

“Nothin’ baby,” he says softly. “Did you have fun at your little shopping spree?” Little? Hell nah.

“Yes it was absolutely wonderful,” you smile.

“Good good,” he mutters, smiling a little.

“Oh I’ve got brunch date at the country club with my girls today,” you say, pulling away from him, his arms now falling back to his sides. “Are you done with your work?”

“No,” he sighs. “I have to head to the office in a bit,”

“Oh,” you sigh, a pout on your face. “Such a shame… ’cause I was wondering you could come too,”

He smiles softly, gently moving to caress your cheek with his thumb. “It’s okay baby, you have fun with your girlfriends yeah? You and me can go some other time,”

You just nod at his reply and tell him how you absolutely can’t go to the country club in the same outfit you wore in the mall, and you need to have a wardrobe change. He watches you make your way to the couch and pick two out of the numerous handbags and make your way up the stairs. As you walk, he can see his credit card peeking out of your back pocket. He opens his mouth to ask for it, but then shuts it back realizing you’ll need it at your brunch with the girls.

He just lets out a small sigh before busying himself with more of his work for the business.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

Rafe rubs his eyes as he leans his head back against the cushioned back of his chair, letting out a groan of complete exhaustion. His eyes flick to the digital clock sitting on his table, the numbers 12.53 am flashing back at him. He blinks his eyes multiple times before focusing back to his laptop screen, left with just the end of the work.

As he gets himself back into the working mindset, a little notification pops at the right bottom corner of his screen. Narrowing his eyes, he reads the notification.

As his eyes run over the words, they widen more and more with each passing second.

Your credit card has been declined. Unfortunately we haven’t been able to process your payment.

Right before his eyes, the same notification appears two times more, flashing momentarily at the corner before it disappears itself.

It disappears itself from the screen, but not from his mind. The little notification with its white background and dark blue text remains ingrained in his brain, and it’s as if that’s the only image he’s only ever known.

He quickly gets his phone and opens up the texts between you and him, the last one being him asking you if you’ve reached the country club safely and you replying back with a simple ‘yes’. He hasn’t had any time to go back home as he’s been stuck in his office since the afternoon.

All you said was you were going to have brunch with your girls, so that’s when the credit card should’ve been used. But why is he getting notifications about his card being declined at 1 in the morning?

The notifications are quiet shady, because they don’t reveal where the transaction is being made and is failing, it just tells him the credit card is declined.

He logs into the credit card company’s portal on his laptop, and looks around to find what balance is left in his card. And there he sees it.

The balance is negative.

And not any small number, a big one at that.

-$1000 is written on his screen in a bright, red font, that number being the only thing that can attract his attention throughout the entire mundane black webpage.

Rafe stares at the screen in disbelief – clearly you’re out there somewhere with his card and you’ve overpaid, and now transactions aren’t taking place.

Despite having a little too much money in his card, he never expected for you to ever overpay. He knew it was a huge privilege for you to have so much of something you never before had in your life, but he never expected you to be reckless…

He shakes his head, getting the thought out of his head. No, it’s just some kind of mistake, he thinks, and as if right on cue, his phone rings. He sees that it’s in fact you calling him. He quickly swipes his thumb across the screen, accepting the call.

“Rafeeee,” you whine on the other side, and Rafe realizes you’re drunk out of your mind.

“Baby, where are you?” He asks, his brows furrowed as he anticipates your reply.

“Your card isn’t working anymore,” you slur. “Come on, I just needed some stuff!”

“Where are you?” He asks again, more sternly this time.

“I’m out… are you not listening to me? Your goddamned card isn’t working!”

“Yeah ’cause you used the last of the money in it!” He snaps. “I’m asking you again: where are you?”

“Fuck you!” He hears you slur out loud, and the next second, all he hears is the monotonous beeping, meaning you’ve cut the call.

Rafe sighs, slamming his phone on his table as he holds his hair in his hands, his fingers scrunching around his hair strands as he pulls onto them, hard enough to cause blinding pain in his scalp, feeling as if he’ll just rip his hair out. He slams his laptop shut and gets up from his office chair, deciding to retreat to home for now.

You aren’t telling him where you are, and he most certainly isn’t going to go around looking for you.

The best he can do right now is sleep, and worry about the negative balance in his card the next morning.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

Rafe’s eyes snap open when he feels something cool being pressed into his forehead. It takes him a second but he makes out your outline in the dark room, blinking a few times to adjust to the bare amount of light in the room.

“Rafe…” your cold voice cuts through the darkness of the room.

It’s dead silent, and Rafe’s ears can only process his own deep breathing. Not yours – it feels like you aren’t breathing, you’re just standing silently.

A breeze blows outside, causing the flimsy curtains hanging in front of his window to fly to the side for the moment, letting the white moonlight to leak in through the room.

And he sees it.

He catches the cold look in your eyes, as if they’re dead, not a single emotion swirling in the depths of them. His breath gets caught in his throat, and he slowly turns his head up to find the cause of the cold feeling on his forehead.

A sharp click is heard, and the pressure against his forehead is increased, causing him to let out a shaky breath.

“Now you know I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger,” your voice is cool, emotionless, and monotone. You push the muzzle of the gun more against his forehead. “Tell me where the money is, and I’ll let you go unharmed.”

“What money?” Rafe croaks out, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

A moment passes.

Another moment passes.

All Rafe hears is the rhythmic, yet fast thumping of his heart deep against his eardrums.

“I know the credit card wasn’t the only money you have,” you say. Your voice is so calm, it terrifies the smallest, thinnest nerve in his body. “I know you’ve got money – cash somewhere in here. I used to keep my eye on it. You moved it, didn’t you? It’s not in its usual location.”

Rafe’s eyes widen as he turns his head to his left just slightly and sees the doors of his wardrobe opened, drawers pulled out they’re threatening to fall out, and all his clothes are messed up, unorganized as if someone went through them frantically to find something.

He slowly turns his head back to you, realizing you always knew about the cash he keeps hidden behind his clothes in the wardrobe for all sorts of emergencies.

“I don’t have it,” he mumbles, his eyes widening, and you can clearly see the fear swirling around in his baby blues.

“Liar,” you snap, pushing the muzzle of the gun even harder into his forehead, which causes him to let out a wince. “Now’s not the time to fuck around a’ight? Tell me where it is, and I’ll let you go-”

“No,” he says silently, cutting you off. He’s trying his best to not be afraid of you, to not let it show. But, his shallow, erratic breaths leaving his rubied lips show something entirely different.

Right in the next second, you take the gun away from his forehead and direct it to your right, pulling the trigger with ease as a loud bang echoes throughout Tannyhill. Rafe flinches at the sudden sound which causes ringing in his ear, his eyes shut closed as a reflex. The sound of glass cracking and bursting echoes as an aftermath. He slowly opens his eyes and looks to his left, and sees the lamp on the bedside table absolutely shattered to pieces.

You now place the gun directly on his throat, digging it into his skin harshly. You push his face up with the gun, forcing him to make eye contact with you, which causes his hair to fall in his eyes. Through the hair in his eyes, he catches the glimpse of the crazed, wide eyed look you have.

It gets dead silent, and Rafe can still hear the bang of the gun and the breaking of the glass in the back of his head. You slowly pull the trigger, but not completely, and Rafe’s breath hitches in his throat as he hears the silent creak of the trigger being pulled.

“One last time…” you whisper, your voice having an eerie touch to it. “Where’s the fucking money?”

You notice the glassy layer of tears forming in his eyes, and you groan, throwing your head back.

“Stop being such a crybaby and man up!” You yell. “Just tell me where the goddamned money is!”

Rafe’s lips part slightly, and he raises a shaky hand, pointing to something behind you. You turn around to see he’s pointing to a safe kept safely away in a corner.

You let out an exhale as you turn your attention back to Rafe, the gun still digging into his skin. “What’s the pass?”

“4-” he starts to speak but his words get caught in his throat. “4, 3, 1, 7, 9, 5,” he mumbles out, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels the gun digging in his skin starting to form a bruise.

You look at him for a moment, and then slowly take the gun off his neck. He lets out a shaky breath and moves his fingers to the skin, and as predicted, he can feel an indent in his skin.

“Good boy,” you mutter as you walk to the safe and put in the combination. As you put it in, the safe opens and voila, there are stacks and stacks of dollar bills kept safely inside. You take them out and put it in the bag you had with you, making your way to the door.

“Rafe?” You say as you turn to look at him, and he notices your ‘sweet’ tone coming back in. “I hope you remember it’s our 1 year anniversary tomorrow, yeah? I’ve been eyeing this diamond necklace for ages. We’ll go to the jewelry store alright? And we’ll throw a party, at My Druthers of course. I need a new dress for that so we’ll shop for that too. I’ll see you tomorrow morning baby,” you smile as you open the door and leave, not giving Rafe even a moment to speak before the door is slammed shut with full force.

Rafe sits still for a moment, tears running down his cheeks silently as the past moments settle in him. Nothing could have ever prepared him for what just happened.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

“Yeah, I have the beach cleanup to attend tomorrow, and the soup kitchen volunteering is throughout the week, along with atleast three hours of working at The Wreck everyday, and the biweekly cleaning of the boats for Mr. Smith,” he hears you go on and on about your jobs to your friend JJ. “And then maybe we’ll have enough to pool it in and get ourselves some of that fancy champagne for your birthday J,”

He hears you sigh, taking a sip of your drink as you rest your back against the wall. “You know cheap beer will do it too right? We don’t have to go all out for the alcohol,” JJ tells you.

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes at him. “It’s your 18th birthday! We are getting nice, expensive champagne for it, whether you like or not. Listen, I will have enough to buy it okay? There’s no way we aren’t having that on your birthday. We’ll be like Kooks for that day, with our champagne in those long ass glasses,” you giggle and JJ laughs with you too, nodding his head.

“That’s tempting you know? The part of wanting to feel like the Kooks,” he says.

“It sure is, and you deserve it alright? So I’ll make it happen for you,” you smile at him. You take the last sip of your drink and peer into the now empty cup. “I’ll be back alright?” You say, walking away from JJ.

Rafe watches you make your way to the bar, and decides to give you a follow. As you sit at a barstool, he sits at the one next to you, catching your eye.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the kook prince,” you smile smugly at him. He can’t help but smile back at you.

“In his full glory,” he says, his smile showing off his teeth.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, kook prince?” You ask. Rafe sees a certain glint in your eye; one that he is almost certain is of the same interest he is looking at you with.

“Let me buy you your drink, that’s all,” he says. He sees your eyebrows furrow, but they relax the next second and you nod.

“Okay…” you say, “but what’s the catch?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No catch, saw your pretty face, and I just wanted to do something nice for you,”

He sees you say nothing, just a smile on your face as you receive your ordered drink and he tells the bartender to put it on his tab. You get up from the barstool with your drink firm in your hand.

“Will I see you around, kook prince?” You ask.

Rafe’s lips are tugged in a soft smile at your words.

“You sure will,”

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

That’s all he ever wanted.

He liked you, heck – he fell in love with you, and all he ever wanted was to relieve the pain of financial troubles off your shoulders. He always thought he had a lot of money – too much if he insists, and if it means it’ll help someone and provide them some financial stability, especially when that someone is the person he’s so deeply attracted to, he doesn’t mind, at all.

But what he didn’t catch is that you never loved him back the way he did. He loved to shower you with gifts and whatever your heart desired because he wanted to be there for you.

But did he ever expect you to get so up in your head that you’ll forget all about him and just see him as someone who can give you as much money as you’ll ever need?

Absolutely not.

The wind howls outside the open window, the safe is opened and every single note in it is taken away by you, his wardrobe is opened and clothes are spilling out from it, and he’s sitting, staring at the wall, his fingertips gently grazing over the indent on his neck as tears spill down his eyes.

He’s stuck, and you’ve made it really clear that he can’t back out of this.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @shores-kayla @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @the-tortured-poets-depxrtment @rafesgiirl @theoraekenslover @oceandriveab @valeskafics @diqldrunks @ladyinbl00d

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kaisers-house-of-desires · 8 months

Note

I've been thinking about yandere Malleus again and how well you wrote that scene out. ❤️ May I get another yan!Malleus but with corruption kink and size difference? (Over a foot's worth of size difference.) - Starlight

Why of course, Starlight~ I hope you enjoy this continuation of your previous request~

Title: Crime and Punishment (Continuation of The King's New Toy)

Characters: Malleus x m!Reader

Contains: Dark themes (Yandere), corruption, size difference, rough sex, restraints, stepping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, hand job, pet names (love, dear, pet, darling) we're back in Diasomnia's dungeon, double dick Malleus

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

"I can't believe my toy would try to run away..." Malleus slowly circled you, eying you like a predator hunting its fresh prey as his heels clicked against the floor.

You sat on your knees, head hanging down and wrists tied behind you. Your attire was ragged, holes and slipping off your body. You thought you looked like a prisoner of war, but Malleus saw the fruits of his efforts, or what he only thought were the fruits of his efforts. He saw a scared, trembling little human, a meek little thing. How dare you try to run away after all the kindness he has given you.

You didn't dare meet his gaze as you spoke. "M-Malleus, please I-I'm s--"

His steps stopped suddenly in front of you, and your body went cold. "Did I give you permission to speak, love?"

You shut up immediately, not even risking the answer.

"Good boy~" His steps resumed, the clicking sound of his heels returning. "You know...the reason why I keep you in this dungeon is so I can keep you to myself. I'd hate for any of the others to try to make a move on something that is mine."

You had opened your mouth to speak, but you were quick to shut it, remembering your place.

"I mean, I trust you." He paused, speaking and moving. "Or rather...trusted you." The prince's voice was laced with disappointment as green eyes glared down at your meek form, glinting in the dim room as he resumed his actions. "And here I thought about bringing you to my room, giving you a soft bed to sleep on while I was away, even giving you this lovely little collar that would decorate your delicate little neck."

This was all a game, a sick and twisted game for Malleus. He had left the cell door open on purpose, waiting to see how you'd react. Catching you outside of the cell, well...the rage he felt nearly sent him into overblot. Nearly. Luckily Lilia was there to calm him down, and he even helped restrain you and got you into position in the cell, forcing you to wait for the prince.

So you cursed yourself for being the slightest bit curious, though...part of you was sort of...excited right now.

"Do you have anything to say, dear? You may speak."

Despite the permission, the idea of speaking to Malleus almost felt like a sin itself, but this could be your only chance to speak while it was given to you.

"I-I'm truly sorry, Malleus. P-Please, give me another chance." Your head rose from its hanging position, meeting Malleus's narrowed gaze. "I-I swear to behave! I-I won't run again!"

Malleus was silent save for a small hum, stepping behind you once more. His silence felt deafening, seemingly more terrifying than a verbal response. He pressed his heel to your back, pushing you forward.

Before you knew it, your torso was on the ground, his heel gently pressing into your spine as your form now lay flat on the chilly dungeon floor. A strange chill washed over your body as the light pressure pinned you in place.

"...Do you think you're worthy of another chance, pet?" Your heart strangely wrenched from the name change, knowing well that he was not happy with your response. "I expected more from my toy than some half-hearted apology." As he got to 'half-hearted', the pressure of his shoe increased lightly, causing you to let out a silent, startled gasp.

"I-It wasn't half-hearted, I swear! I promise, I'll be good! I'll--!"

The pressure in your back increased once more. There was no pain, but the pressure certainly heated your body, causing you to shudder.

"Did. I. Give. You. Permission?" Malleus enunciated each word slowly, pressing gently into your back at every word. You hated to admit it but...it felt nice. This force of Malleus felt...nice.

Snapping you out of your taboo thoughts, you heard Malleus sigh as he released you from underneath him. The lack of pressure almost felt like a disappointment. He stepped in front of you, and you weren't able to see much, but when he forced your head up by your hair, putting you back to your knees, you could see angered green eyes narrowed in a domineering stare.

"It seems that you are still unaware of your place, dear. Shall we change that?"

---

Malleus had shackled each wrist on either side of your head, putting you in a position that forced you to stand, lest you decide to hang by your wrists. He admired his work, eying you up and down. His gaze felt like a pair of hands running up and down your body, and it didn't help that he made you strip prior, enhancing the feeling.

"Shackles are a nice look on you, love. Perhaps I should keep you in them more often~"

The prince slowly stepped forward, once again appearing like a predator. Honestly, if you could, you would kneel before him and beg for his forgiveness, because before, you never realized just how tall he is. The top of your head met the top of his chest. Basically, if he wanted to, he could rest his chin on your head. You truly felt small against him, and you were more than willing to grovel before the prince's presence.

But chains kept you from doing so, and even if you could, you knew Malleus would punish you for such a feeble act.

Black nails gently skimmed down your exposed arms before they found a place at your neck, gently pressing into your flesh. It wasn't enough to hurt, but the pressure kept you on guard.

"Now...I trust you can behave, yes?" When you failed to respond, Malleus simply chuckled deeply. "You may speak, dear."

"Y-Yes," you breathed as if you had been holding your breath from his touch. "I-I'll behave. I swear."

Not wasting a moment, Malleus grabbed your hips and lifted you up. Your eyes widened when you felt a hard object line your backside and another pressing against your own hardening shaft. You wrapped your legs around him to keep yourself up, but really, that was unneeded with the prince's strength.

"Should you prove yourself, darling, I will accept your forgiveness and even bring you up to my room as I originally intended." One of his hands left your side as he gently caressed your face, fingers carefully tracing your jaw. You leaned into his touch, melting against him. A dark chuckle left him, knowing his actions were slowly changing you. "Perhaps I could shackle your neck like a dog..."

The idea made your cock twitch, a soft whine unintentionally leaving you. The response did not go unnoticed with Malleus.

"Hmph~ How lewd of you, love. You like the idea of that, yes?"

You nodded, assuming such a response should be okay within Malleus. You'd be correct, as Malleus leaned forward to line your neck with a slow, teasing lick of his tongue instead of berating you in some way.

A soft mewl left your lips as you felt Malleus's hips adjust. His tongue stopped by your ear as he whispered darkly. "Let's get your punishment over with so I can keep my pet at my bedside~"

The pain of your ass stretching was enough to make you nearly black out. It didn't matter that his cocks were slick, they still ached when they entered, but you were thankful that it wasn't the first time he entered, as this time your ass was quick to adjust around such shafts.

"My...used to me already?" the prince teased in a breath, feeling just how tight you were around him. "Has your body been corrupted~?"

You weren't sure if it was or not, as you couldn't think straight at the moment. Malleus gave you permission to speak, stating that from now on you are free to answer him whenever he asks a question.

"I-I...I-I'm not sure...~" Your voice was coated with lust, your legs holding onto his waist tightly. "A-All I know is...I-I want you, Malleus...P-Please~"

One of his hands rested on your neck, the thumb tilting up your head to meet your gaze like you were a doll. "You desire me, love? Well, worry not. You will get me, but it may not be what you actually want." Keeping his hand in place, his forefinger extended up, his nail gently scraping down your cheek. "You will scream, you will cry, you may even beg me to stop, but my actions will not cease. You will learn to understand your place."

"M-Malleus, my love, I-I understand! I-I understand my p--place~!!"

You spoke after a statement, not a question, meaning Malleus took things back into control. He thrusted his hips, both his cocks sliding in and out of you at a rapid speed. The pleasure wrecked into you like a sack of bricks, and you swore you were about to suffocate from it. His movements felt so good, enough to cause you to dig your head into the wall behind you as you screamed in bliss. You called for Malleus, your prince, your love. You were quick to submit, your mind broken from all he had put your through before this. Before you tried to work with him, but now? Now you were just gone, willing to allow yourself to be his pet, his toy. You loved it. You loved him.

"M-Malleus~! F-Fuck~!" You tugged against the chains, as if trying to get away from the overwhelming pleasure, but the fae had his hands on your hips, keeping you firmly in place. There was no escape from the prince's onslaught of pleasure. He would be right: you would scream, you would cry, and yes, you even begged him to stop. You didn't want him to stop because you hated it, no. You wanted him to stop because it was too good. You were in heaven as tears rolled down your face, drool slipping from your lips from your mouth hanging open from the unforgiving pounding. Your cock ached with the desire to release, but at some point, Malleus had gripped the base, preventing you from cumming at all.

You were unsure of how long this lasted, but all you knew is that you didn't want it to end. Malleus had, indeed, corrupted you. You wanted him, you wanted more if possible. You wanted to be his favroite.

At some point, you just couldn't take it anymore. Your voice was hoarse as you spoke. "M-Malleus~! P-Please let me cum~! P-Please~! I-I wanna cum...f-for my king~!"

Your words seemed to intrigue him, his actions faltering for just a moment. "Y-You want to finish? Th-Then...tell me. What are you...going to do?"

You didn't miss a beat. "I-I'm gonna...be a good toy! I-I'll listen! I-I won't ever run...away again! I-I'll be a good boy! I-I promise! I-I promise, my king!" You had to force your voice out, struggling to even form coherent thoughts.

Malleus trusted you, and with that trust, he took his hand and kept the pressure of the grip as he rapidly moved his hand along your cock, jerking you off with no way to cum. You shrieked in ecstacy, thrashing against him as you begged for release. Your mind turned to mush as you wished for nothing more than to cum. When his hand loosened up, it was practically instataneous with his own release. As you shot out multiple ropes of white between you, Malleus's two shafts pumped its own set of thick, white liquid deep inside of you, some of it dripping out of you.

Panting softly, Malleus took note of this, sighing lightly. "Oh my...you're dripping my release onto the floor...what a shame." Removing his hand, Malleus licked whatever of your seed that landed on his hand, humming at your bitter taste. "When I relocate you, I'll have to make sure to acquire a toy that keeps whatever I leave inside of you."

You honestly weren't listening at this point. You were practically unconscious, your eyes half lidded as they gazed at nothing, your chest slowly heaving with air. You heard him, you just couldn't respond properly save for a delayed nod. Taking note of this, Malleus chuckled.

"What a good boy~"

#kaisers house of desires #x reader #x male reader #x male y/n #male reader #x male smut #twisted wonderland #bottom male reader #malleus draconia twst #yandere malleus #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #twst malleus #malleus x y/n #malleus x male reader

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saturnnelahy · 4 months

Text

"𝑺𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆?" (2)

Part1 Partnership: Hwang Hyunjin x Femreader Genre: Angust with happy ending Synopsis:Realizing the mistake he had made, Hyunjin feels obliged to make things right because he doesn't know how to live without his beloved, the problem is whether you will accept him back (Note: the house is hers but they were living together) Warnings:Swearing, a lot of anguish

The rain was falling heavily on Hyunjin's trembling body, he could feel the icy wind beating against him and not even the heavy coat he was wearing could warm him up, causing his teeth to chatter, the hair that had once been so beautifully tidy was now sticking to his face and dripping down his cheeks, mixing with the tears that were running down his eyes. He looked pathetic standing there all wet as he cried in front of her door.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, she was wearing a fluffy dress that he had accidentally ruined with the juice he was carrying, he would never have imagined that this little accident would have made him meet the love of his life, it had been years since that moment, years of a happy and perfect relationship that he had ruined. How had he let it get to that point? How could he be so stupid as to lose the most important person in his life?

He raised his hand but stopped before he touched the door, he was undecided whether or not to do it, after all he had lost her through his own stupidity and it would be selfish to ask her to come back after everything, but he simply couldn't handle her being away any longer, Hyunjin had always been a bit selfish after all. He knocked on the door a few times, he had to wait so long standing there that he thought his body would freeze, but he was determined to stay there for weeks if necessary just to have the chance to talk to her and beg for her forgiveness. A low sound brought him out of his thoughts and the door opened, she was standing there wearing the pajamas he had given her a few months ago, which made him smile sadly.

— Hyunjin? — She whispered quietly, surprised to see him there after so many weeks — What..... Why are you in the rain? You're going to get sick! — She said and reached out and pulled him into the house, closed the door behind her and quickly made him take off his coat and shoes.

Hyunjin felt even worse when he saw how carefully she was treating him, the guilt of having ruined everything eating away at him so much that when she approached him with a towel to dry him off he began to cry and sob, covering his face with his hands as he let all that anguish and sadness drain away in tears, he cried like he had never cried before and she hugged him so tightly making him feel a little safe. The two of them ended up kneeling on the floor without letting go of each other and stayed there together in silence for a long time until he calmed down.

— I... I'm sorry.... — He whispered trembling, holding her like his life depended on it — I... I know I've been a horrible boyfriend, that I've hurt you, that I've made you suffer, but I swear I didn't mean it. I love you, I love you more than I've ever fucking loved anyone else.... You're my fucking soul mate, the love of my life. God, if you only knew all the times I've dreamt about our wedding, imagined what our children would be like, imagined what it would be like to grow old with you and see our children grow up, our grandchildren... Fuck... I know I've ruined everything, that I've been an asshole to you, that I don't deserve you anymore, I don't even know if I ever deserved you, but I regret everything I've done so much... I know it's selfish to ask you to come back to me, that it would be absurd to ask you to forgive me, I know, but... - Hyunjin poured out the words so quickly and with such intensity, stopping only to pull away and hold her face gently in his hands - I can't live without you, you're everything I've ever wanted and more, I... I love you so much... Don't cut me out of your life, I know I don't deserve you as my own, but don't abandon me, I'll do anything for you, I'll quit my job, I'll move to another country... Anything.... Or let me at least be your friend... Please...

— Ah, Hyunjin... My Hyunjin... — She whispered softly looking at him in tears and hugged him even harder again, now it was her turn to cry holding him, the man who had become the love of her life, her whole world — My sweet Hyunjin... I love you so much, but I don't want that again, it was almost like we were already apart, like... Like you didn't care about me anymore... You were so focused on work that you barely noticed things happening, that's not right with me, Hyun... — I know it's not, I know I've done wrong, I know I've been garbage, but I can change, I promise I can — he says, putting his face to her neck and sighing, he felt as if his heart was being cut by a thousand knives — I'm going to take care of you like I did in the beginning, I'm going to make you happy... I'm going to dedicate my life to you, my muse...

That nickname, that phrase, were the same ones he had said when he asked her to be his girlfriend, and he had lived up to them at least until these last few months, it wasn't fair to use those words again when he knew the effect they would have, but it was his last hope, his last attempt. — Jinnie... — She whispered so softly that he barely heard, he brushed his nose lightly against her neck which made her sigh, it was a cheap trick and she knew it but it made her heart melt — Fuck.. Kiss me... Please...

He thought he had heard wrong, but when he looked into her eyes and saw the affectionate way she was looking at him, he realized that she meant it and a faint smile took over his lips before he kissed her, a kiss that was so delicate but full of love and affection, just like the first one and all the others after it. His kisses were always so passionate and made her heart soar, he was always so devoted that he always made her sure she had made the right choice in accepting him, which was why it had been so hard to break up with him and impossible not to take him back. She would always take him back because she knew that no matter how difficult things got, he would always be devoted to her and would find a way to put things right again.

Author's note: I hope you enjoyed it, sorry for any mistakes. Take care and have a good night <3 ( Masterlist here )

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sp1rit-realm · 7 months

Text

༻¨*:· 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ you hate remus lupin, and he hates you. what happens when you get stuck in a lift together?

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 BREATHER!!!!! 𖦹 enemies to ?? 𖦹 fem!reader 𖦹 oh. em. gee. 𖦹 i did not proofread this bc i'm lazy ⎝(ˊᗜˋ)⎠

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 1.2k

prologue / hour 6 << pt. 8 -- breather >> IOU

༻¨*:· 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ·:*¨༺

"You what?" Sirius asks with wide eyes.

"I told her I was into her," Remus repeats.

Sirius grins, "And?"

Remus sighs and shakes his head, "It..." He purses his lips, "It didn't go well."

"Well... don't just leave me hanging. What happened?"

"She, um, she walked out of the lift and said she needed a breather."

Sirius claps Remus on the shoulder, "Well, that wasn't a no!"

"Mate..." Remus deadpans, "I don't think it's a yes, either."

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"So... Remus and you..." Sirius giggles over the phone.

You sigh, "There is no Remus and me, Sirius. I hate him."

"No, you don't," Sirius sings, "Plus, you didn't say you didn't like him back!"

"I told him I hated him, and I slapped him."

"Kinky!"

"Sirius, I swear to god, I will kill you."

"Kinky!"

You hang up.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You're miserable. You haven't seen your friends in two weeks, save for Sirius. It feels like the beginning again, where he nagged you to go out with him. Every day, it's always:

"Remus is sorry, please come out."

"I'll buy all of your drinks."

"Everyone misses you!"

"C'mon, stop sitting in self-pity and get out of the house!"

You always answer with:

"Then he should tell me, not have some twat tell me for him."

"I don't feel like drinking."

"Tell them I say hi."

"I'm not sitting in self-pity—I'm simply giving myself the space to process."

And so he gave you time. But it's been five weeks, and you haven't gone out once. So he's starting to lose hope—you're collapsing in on yourself like a dying star, and he's unsure what to do.

You're eating dinner when the phone rings. You roll your eyes, abandon your food, and walk to the side of the room in which it resides.

"I already told you. I don't want to go out!"

"Sorry?"

Your body goes hot out of embarrassment, "Shit! Sorry, I thought you were Sirius," Then the voice registers in your head, "You have five seconds to tell me what you want, Remus."

"I feel like I've given you sufficient time for a breather," He rushes out, "Can we talk? Please?"

You're silent, and he's afraid you've walked away, uninterested in whatever he has to say.

But you sigh, "About what?" You bite.

"Us?" His words are full of hope.

You're quick to crush it, "There is no 'us,' Remus. There is no more feud, no more interacting, there is nothing."

"Please—"

"No!" You interrupt, "No, you lost the opportunity to have an 'us' the second you decided to be a dick!" You yell into the phone.

"I'm sorry. Please, just give it a chance. Please, just... just talk to me."

"You have one fucking chance, Remus. Meet me in the building's cafe at ten. Make it worth my time."

"Okay."

"Oh, and Remus?"

"Yes?"

"If you aren't there at ten on the dot, I'm leaving. I don't care if you've just opened the door. If you are not inside that fucking cafe at ten sharp, I am gone, and you will never see me again. Got it?"

"Got it." He confirms.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Your alarm blares at 9:30. You groan and try to throw it across the room, only to remember that it's plugged into the wall to prevent you from doing so.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"Get a corded one," Remus laughs, "I used to have the same problem. Well, I used to just take mine and shush it right before turning it off."

You nearly spit your water out.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"Fuck," You mumble, turning off the alarm. You don't want to do this—to see him.

You walk downstairs—you don't take the lift anymore—and you're hoping he hasn't shown up, but you see a beige jumper and sandy brown hair through the frosted glass of the doors. You sigh and enter the cafe.

Remus has been waiting for half an hour, and he's convinced he'll get whiplash with how quickly he looks up every time the bell chimes, indicating someone has come in. Finally, twelve people later, you walk in.

You look different than the last time he saw you. You've cut your hair, and you look bone-deep exhausted. He smiles at you, but you don't smile back.

After pulling out your chair for you, he clumsily stumbles back to his side of the table.

"I'm sorry," He starts, "I am so sorry for... everything." He shakes his head, "I— I've been so stupid for the past year. I like you, I really like you, and I'm so sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I'm so sorry I was a dick to you. I'm so sorry I ever made you feel bad. I'm so sorry that I hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I—I just want to be with you, and I'm sorry for my feelings of doubt ruining that opportunity. God, I am just so fucking sorry."

You almost want to laugh. His rambling is cute—you've always found it cute. Whether he's info-dumping on his latest book or just furiously talking about everything he's been doing lately. But the words slowly register, and you want to cry, then you want to scream, and then you want to cry again.

"So you want to be with me?"

"More than fucking anything. This past month has been absolute torture. Every time I hang out with everyone, I hope I see your smile. You're never there."

"Yeah, it sucks when someone you like and care about ignores you."

Remus sighs, "I'm sorry."

"I don't think I can forgive you."

You see his heart shatter, "Please. Just—just one chance. Let me take you to dinner, and we can start over and— and..."

"And what? I'll magically fall in love with you?"

He frowns, looking down at the table, "Just give me a chance?"

"I'm not going on a date with you, Remus."

Once upon a time, you harboured feelings for Remus. That was months ago. Five months and four days ago. Then you got stuck in a fucking lift with him, and he confessed his love for you, and you felt like you were suffocating. All of the oxygen left your body, and any feelings died without it.

"We can be friends. I'm fine with friends. I just... I don't want to lose you."

You're silent for a moment, and everything runs through your head again. That first night when he attentively listened to your boring stories with a boyish glint in his eyes. The time he drove you home when you got wasted after being stood up. Teaching you to blow o's and how to roll. When he helped you ride a bike again. Your mind flashes to the night you realized you were in love—the night he went to your flat because you were sick. The night he took care of you, fed you soup—the night he risked getting sick for you. Your mind peeks at the memories of his smile, and your heart wanders around his laugh. It still warms your stomach, and you want to cry. You hate that he still has an impact on you. You've spent five months trying to forget him—forget your feelings. And it was all for nothing.

"Friends," You decide, "Let's try friends."

LETS. TRY. FRIENDS.

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#༻¨*:· 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 ·:*¨༺#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x reader angst #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin forced proximity #remus lupin x reader forced proximity #remus lupin enemies to lovers #remus lupin x reader enemies to lovers

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yuri-is-online · 2 months

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Hey, remember the soulmate au by tiyoin(?) I recently read your post abt idia and Leona reacting to yuu being their mates, but I wanna take it a step further since I saw idias line abt the family curse (this has yandere implications so if it's not your cup of tea please feel free to just ignore, nothing is outright mentioned tho)

What if yuu has a family curse similar to the aishi family in yandere simulator? (It's been years since I touched the game so if the lore changed I'm basing it off of 2018 ish lore, just with my own twist) basically yes, yuu CAN feel emotions, they're just muted and barely there. Given the right conditions (like falling in love or spending time with friends) and/or antidepressants they'll basically be like any other person, without them it's like a less severe version of the aishi women pre-falling in love

So, afab ppl born in yuus family, once falling in love, start losing their sanities and adopt yandere like behavior (stalking, increasing rage and jealousy, willingness to murder, etc) unfortunately this means they usually die young (20s or 30s) how quickly/young they die is based on their willpower (resisting the urges) and when/if they fall in love (so someone falling in love for the first time in their 40s and having insane willpower, caving in 20 years later in their 60s has more luck than a 16 year old falling in love and caving in almost immediately). Unfortunately everyone is a carrier, men carry the gene and can pass it to their daughters, but it only presents in the women/afab ppl, so transfems won't be affected but transmascs will.

What if yuu fell in love already (in their own world) and has just been doing a really REALLY good job at Resisting The Urges™️. Like, sometimes they slip up and cave in to anger or get ridiculously jealous, but they try their hardest to tamp down the feelings. Yuu has sworn off falling in love (again) and has given up their dream of having a big family bc of the curse, they're even distancing themselves from their object of affection in an attempt to "be normal again" at the cost of their own sanity.

So yuu gets transported to twst, and without their darling, they have the chance to be normal again, assuming they can get past the initial panic frenzy. Then the soul bond is revealed and they just go "nope. Not this shit again" and spouts cryptic messages about a family curse and swearing off love. I'm pretty sure most of the boys would feel a bit hurt by that lmao

This is mostly made for idia since his segment is what sparked the idea in the first place, but which characters from most to least likely do you think would try to pursue mc and figure out the truth to leave them alone and try to move on? I personally can't see someone like kalim giving up on both but I think the octatrio would try to look for the truth but be 50/50 on pursuing yuu or dropping them like a hot potato. Idia I think would try to relate to yuu and try to pursue them, but I think he'd probably be a bit put off once yuu starts dropping hints about the curse (he's a weeb so it won't take long for him and maybe Ortho to put 2+2 together and figure out the curse)

tiyon's soulmate au can be found here, their first post inspired some asks, which led to my own soulbound au the rules of which can be found here. Please support tiyon and interact with their soulmate au! They're a very creative blog and deserve the attention~ give them some reblogs!

so. uh. I got this ask when I first woke up and 1) very happy to hear from you Rose, always lovely to get a new ask and 2) yandere? sim? has lore? I did not think people actually played the game? help. i've fallen and misplaced my life alert. As a rule I don't really write for a Yuu who is just x character from y game/anime (it is in my rules) so while I was at work realizing I might be old I was trying to think of a way to do this that wasn't just yan sim (I wanted something properly gn) and I think I've got something? I am currently beating away the desire to info dump on you about the myth of Sigurd and Brunhilde (i could scream about that for hours oh god oh please i have written an actual au for that but efkjbekjrgbjrthnytrh) So here is the basic idea:

Yuu ran afoul of a witch in their world and was appropriately cursed. Given the myth I was inspired by I don't think Yuu did anything bad, but they still made the witch mad so they got cursed to lose all reason should they ever fall in love.

"You will be thine own destruction!" Cackles the witch and Yuu, who is actually normal unlike trey this person takes a deep breath and resigns themselves to researching a way to minimize the effects and maybe break it? They don't know they thought magic was fake until they thought they were just doing a favor for someone but turns out they pissed off Baba fucking Yaga.

They start to isolate themselves since they notice the curse starting to eat at them when they are around anyone the love; they consider going back to the witch and asking for further clarification but they can't seem to find them anywhere so they take some deep breaths and do their best to just be normal.

When they end up in Twisted Wonderland, and start feeling... weird. And it only gets worse when Crowley speculates that they might have been brought to Twisted Wonderland because they posses a soulbond.

And Yuu immediately freaks out because they don't want to kill anyone.

Now as for your question for who would try to pursue Yuu vs just leave them... well I don't really like writing un reciprocated feelings so I hesitate to say any of the cast would drop Yuu. In my au it isn't possible for soulbonds to not be reciprocated, and they are already sort of seen as a curse by mages so this... complication might not be normal but it isn't unexpected if that makes sense. Which would probably make Yuu swearing off love hurt even worse.

Kalim wouldn't want to abandon Yuu. Not ever, no matter how much of a danger they could be to him. Hell, he's willing to forgive people who are trying to poison him on the off chance they might regret it. But he is the heir of House Al-Asim, and I could see his dad paying someone to take Yuu out to keep his son safe. Something Jamil sees coming from a mile away and has to just keep quiet about. Something I can see Jamil feeling bad about, he might not like Kalim but you didn't ask for anything that happened to you. And yet the Asim's took your life from you anyway.

Have to disagree about the octatrio just a bit. Floyd would be into this. And so would Jade. But especially Floyd, oh hee hee ha ha his soul mate wants to kill him? Say less he is on his way to get his ass eat beat with an engagement ring in hand. Both he and Jade would be a little disappointed when the curse is broken and you aren't actively trying to kill him anymore... maybe you could try and poison him huh? Like old times?

I wrote 20 paper pages of soulbond au stuff for Azul so I will try to be brief here but... I don't think this situation would be one that made him try to break the bond. He has... complicated feelings about soulbonds already. If anything I could see him thinking he deserves this.

Now Idia. He's complicated. Pre-overblot he has given up on the concept of breaking his own curse, and I could see him feeling the same way about yours. Ortho on the other hand... even before he gets his soul he wants to help. After the overblot I can see Idia pursuing Yuu determined to find the truth and save them. Not that he wouldn't interact with them before that, he's a bit nihilistic so I can see him just making a bunch of jokes about the situation or promising to let Yuu kill him "after this next round." Or just straight up asking them to when he has to hit pity in one of his gachas. It's just cringe enough that it snaps Yuu out of the curse fog for long enough for the two of them to be normal around each other. And by normal I mean incredibly awkward

Anyway that's all I've got. Thank you for the ask ♡

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #soulbound au #no clue what to call this version of ayuu uh #tw yandere #yandere twst #bonus idea: there was a magicless version of the twst boy in Yuu's world they had been dating and ended up killing due to the curse before #they realized what the witch meant #so yuu already knows that said boy is their soulmate they've held his heart in their hands before #literally c:

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parvulous-writings · 3 months

Note

no idea if nail polish exists in the 5e world, but it does now. how about a chill day for the companions where everyone does their nails? or is tav/durge doing the painting for everyone?

Summary: Camp has a nail day!

Warnings: Minor spoilers for Shadowheart's various arcs, same for Karlach. One swear word.

Notes: if it doesn't exist, it sure as hell does now! Also apologies that this took so long - New year is a busy time at work, and I've got a minor injury with my hand, so I'm working as fast as I can, but it's a little slower than normal!

I've included all the recruitable companions, besides Minthara, who is not included purely because I cannot accurately write for her just yet!

My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

Not my image

Time on the road where everyone is able to relax is very scarce commodity, so when it does crop up, you're always the first to suggest grabbing it by the horns and making the most out of the day - not by training, or planning your next moves, but typically with something more laid back.

You're camping close to Rivington when you get the first day-long break in weeks, so that morning you venture into town to have a quick browse of the stalls; perhaps you can find some food that will remind the various Baldurians in camp of their home? As you're starting to make your way back to camp, something catches you eye - a nail polish kit, going for quite cheap. You can hardly restrain yourself from buying it- you already know that it will bring a lot of much needed joy into camp.

Astarion is quite intrigued when you announce the spoils you've returned with. For too long he's craved petty vanity again; and even if he can only get it from painting his nails, he's willing to grasp at that chance. "What's this?" He hums, peering over your shoulder, trying to get a good look at all the colours that the kit contains, as well as the equipment. The first thing he does, given the chance, is start tending to his nails - cleaning under them, pushing back the cuticles, trimming and filing them into shape, the works. He spares no time making sure that everything is as he envisions. Sure, the colours he eventually settles on may not match the rest of his armour, but his new manicure matches his more comfortable clothes, so that's good enough for him.

Gale is... Unsure if this is the right kind of thing for your journey. "We have many more pressing matters to worry about, besides our appearances." He practically grumbles to you. "Might I suggest actually focusing on planning our next move?" It doesn't actually take a lot to convince him to sit down and let him do one hand of nails on him. You paint his nails a lovely shade of dark navy blue, which looks black in the shade, but blue when hit by light. You start speckling dots of white here and there to make them mirror the night sky, when Gale tells you he'd like to do his other hand himself. Of course, you let him, and about twenty minutes later, he's back to proudly show you his work. It's a lot shakier than the side you had done, but he looks so proud of himself for being able to emulate your skill even a little bit, you don't even nitpick in a teasing way. When it inevitably starts to chip away, he's absolutely devastated, but doesn't say anything until you all get an opportunity to rest properly again.

Justiciar!Shadowheart instantly dives for the black varnish. Nothing more, and nothing else. She doesn't dwell on it, but in some vain way, she feels like she's carrying a part of her goddess' revered darkness with her, even if it will chip away eventually. That just reminds her that everything on this plane is fleeting, and finite, always eventually consumed by loss. Selunite!Shadowheart adds a little more colour to her nails - dots of white, or purple are incorporated, intricate little designs that pay homeage to both her life as a Sharran, and her family heritage as Selunites. She takes great pride in the designs she makes, and often spends a very long time making sure that they are just like how she imagines in her head.

Lae'zel doesn't particularly like painting her nails - she feels it takes away from her aura of formidable warrior. She will, however, sharpen her nails on a regular basis - just as a back-up plan if she loses her weapon, or perhaps gets caught by surprise and needs to scratch out some eyeballs.

Karlach pre-upgrade loves to watch you do your nails. As in, she will actively sulk if you don't let her watch, or have some tiny level of input. She'll huff and pout, but eventually goes to sit elsewhere with a quiet "fine, whatever.." Post-upgrade Karlach is so eager to have her nails done, she's bouncing back and forth on her feet. She can't decide on a single colours - especially not by herself. "They all look so pretty!" She exclaims, waving her hands about in glee. So, unable to make a decision, she takes her favourite colours, and has all of them on her fingers - repeating a similar process on her toes with her second favourite colours. "This is the best thing we have ever done! ... Besides beating the shit out of Thorm... so, the second best thing!"

Wyll tidies his nails - similar to Astarion. He wants them to be a much nicer shape than they have been up to this point - makeshift files had not been too kind on his nails, and he was tired of catching them on things. He takes great care in shaping them and removing any chips or quicks - it's an activity he takes great pride in, and he'll happily do the same for you if you ask him to! As for colour, Wyll likes to go for a clear coat, purely for protecting his nails; though he has been known to paint his nails black, for dramatic effect. He loves his nails - not to the point that he preens them at any given moment, but enough to give them the time and care they need to keep healthy.

Halsin doesn't particularly like the idea of polish. Sure, it looks pretty, but he'd rather not wear it himself - there are other ways, he's found, that you can change the colour of your nails. (When you ask him what he means, or even to just elaborate a little bit more on how he knows this, he simply replies with "I once had a... Somewhat rebellious streak in my youth.") So it's likely that the only thing that he uses in this particular kit is the file and buffer - which looks absolutely tiny in his hands, it's quite funny.

Minsc doesn't do his own nails - at all. He won't even file them, he just either bites them or they snap off (usually it's the former). Instead, he takes care of Boo's claws. "Now, now, my friend. Do not call me strange - if I do not care for Boo's mighty claws, then who will? The paws of justice must be well cared for!" Insists that every few days he must re-file and re-buff Boo's nails, and will not take no for an answer. He also tries to convince you that Boo is trying to tell you the same, but by the way the little rodent's head shakes when he sits on Minsc's shoulder tells you otherwise.

Jaheira almost laughs when you suggest doing her nails. She wants to them herself, but, eventually she does ask you to help her. "It seems I'm a little out of practice.." She chuckles. "Perhaps some company wouldn't be so bad... If your offer still stands, of course." She LOVES having green nails. Sage green is her favourite, but she likes all of them really. Sometimes, if she's feeling particularly happy, she'll let you paint little golden leaves on her thumb - but that can be a rare occasion, because she doesn't want such skill to always go to waste.

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xxshadowbabexx · 2 months

Note

Sooo I've never done an ask before...but I saw your post and felt bullied into it (in a good way). How would Soap react to Simon bringing his s/o to meet them? I'm kinda imagining him not believing it at first but then when it finally does hit him the Simon is on his way with them..the sheer excitement would make this man ViBrAte.

Quit Lying, Lt

Sorry this took so long 😭

Warnings: language, gn!reader, i think that’s it

Simon wasn’t sure why you were so insistent in meeting the guys so badly, but he was absolutely weak for you, so when you asked him for the third time that night, he found himself texting the guys to come over.

He didn’t talk about you often, not because he didn’t love you, because he definitely did, but because he preferred to keep work and home separate. So, to say the squad was shocked when they got the text was an understatement. And they made it know.

MacTavish: Nah ye can stop joking Lt. Ye dinnae gotta make up an excuse fee us to come o’er

Garrick: Yeah I’m with Johnny on this one, but I’m omw

He didn’t get a response from Price, which was pretty on par. Simon sighed before shutting off his phone, opting out of responding to the sergeants.

He turned to where you were sitting on the couch. You were reading Les Mis, and were dressed in baggy black sweatpants and one on his t-shirts.

It’s a simple picture really, but he swears you’ve never looked better.

He moves to lay on top of you, head resting on your soft belly, and eyes drifting closed as he waits for the boys to come.

About fifteen minutes later, and Gaz is the first to arrive. Simon begrudgingly goes to open the door, while you seem all too excited to meet the visitor.

“Hey, nice to meet ya, I’m Gaz and you are?” he smiles while extending his hand to you. You smile as you take it, introducing yourself in turn. Just as introductions are finished, another knock comes from the door.

This time, it’s Captain John Price. He walks in, giving a curt nod to both Simon and Gaz before turning to you.

“So you’re the lucky lady, is that right?” He didn’t say it in a condescending, or even a teasing tone, yet you couldn’t help but blush at his words.

“Y-yeah that’s me,” you smile self-consciously, and it’s quite a sight for Simon. His bubbly, punchy significant other suddenly seems so shy and docile? Strange.

“Don’t be shy, love, he don’t bite,” he chides, loving how the scarlet creeps up to your ears.

“I know Si, I-“

“Si?” Gaz interrupts, “Never thought he was the type for nicknames n such. Ya must’ve done a number on him,” he teases, smirking at Simon’s peeved expression.

“Nougha that, Gaz, Johnny should be here any-“ and then there’s a knock on the door. Speak of the fucking devil.

Johnny lets himself in, already talking before he has a chance to look in the room.

“Love ya, Lt, but ya really dinnae needa lie about havin someone pretty waitin fer ya at ho- holy shite,” he freezes, lost in thought as he takes in the view in front of him.

“Names Johnny, dove, I dinnae think ya were real if ‘m bein honest,” he chuckles.

“Oh yeah, and why’s that?”

“See, our lovely Lt is a bit… strange. Not the most approachable. An besides, he covers his face all the damn time so he’s prolly an ugly bastard too. Dinnae think he could snag a bombshell like yerself,” If Johnny notices the way Simon glares daggers into his soul and he speaks, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Hmm, I’d have to disagree with you on those,” you respond with a mock pout gracing your features.

“Wait ye’ve seen his face?” asks Soap, confused. He’s never seen Simon’s full face, and he’s pretty confident he’s known him longer than you have.

You shrug, grinning, “Guess you’re just not that special then,” and Gaz whistles at that, laughing to himself at the “wounded” look on Soap.

The night went on, full of teasing and tipsy remarks as you all drank and ate what random snacks you had in store. And while you weren’t sure about Johnny at first, given how he got on Si’s nerves, he grows on you. You can see that they all really do care about him, and that they’re all happy you two found each other. Even if Gaz is the only one who says it.

Taglist:

@theloneshadow24 @frogtowne @reap3erslov3 @ladyxtiger @whitetiger846

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty

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stayandot8 · 6 months

Text

The Hoodie Boogie

Genre: fluff

Relationship type: established boyfriend/girlfriend

Important Contents: hey! long time, no see! Sorry I've been so MIA, life is kicking my ASS right now. I've been working on the last part of Just One Yesterday and decided it needed an epilogue if I was going to end it the way I wanted so look forward to that if you want to.

WC: 1.5k

masterlist

“Hey, can I borrow this?” I picked up the hoodie that I had found on the carpeted floor. “I wanna run out to the store for our movie night and I didn’t get a chance before I came over.”

“We can go together if you want.” Chan wiped his wet hands on his sweats, leaving behind small streaks of water on the cloth. When he finally saw what I was indicating, he froze and turned a slight shade of crimson. His big brown eyes had grown even wider and his tongue darted out to wet his plush lips. It was his Mahagrid hoodie, the one he usually wore for his Channie’s room lives. “Uhh..”

“It’s okay, Chan, I don’t have to wear it. I can just…” I wandered back over to where I had rested my shirt from before. “I’ll just throw this back on.” And I started to, until his shout caught me off guard.

“No! No, it’s okay. Go ahead, baby.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off me since he saw what I was holding, like he was firmly planted to the ground. “Go…ahead.”

I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and pulled it down, the worn fuzz the missing piece of comfort I needed. It hung loosely on my shoulders and the sleeves were worn down enough that the rough feeling of being new had softened, giving the article the feeling of being lived in, given home-like qualities. It held remnants of his recent cologne, the one I bought for him for his birthday. He said he liked it; this was the proof.

“It goes with my sweatpants.” He chuckled softly, stretching out his leg to show me. It did, like a matching set, the bold letters going across his leg. “We’re a real couple now, babe.”

“Yes, because the past few months have just been a warm-up. Between half your guys’ birthdays and a comeback to prepare for, it's been a breeze.” I slapped his shoulder as I passed him on the way to his bedroom door. He just shook his head and smiled as he grabbed our shoes.

“You asked me out. What was I supposed to say when you practically begged me to.”

“Begged you?! Christopher, what are you talking about?” I held the front door open for him, the softness of the hoodie ruffling against my bare skin and sending shivers of love down my spine. They had been happening more and more often these days.

“Oh, you know what I’m saying.” His voice echoed throughout the stairwell, his laughter coming shortly after. It rang through the walls and into my veins like the melody to the lyrics my heart had been singing all by itself. “You gave me those eyes you have when you want something and I couldn’t say no to you. I never can when you look at me like that.” He put on his black mask and pushed the side door open, his hat tucking in his light orange hair underneath it. He held it open for me, just as I had done for him, and held up a mask identical to his to me. I took it and stepped out into the crisp, late October air.

“I have no idea what it is that you speak of, Christopher. What ‘eyes’ are you talking about?” I began to feel the solidness of the sidewalk beneath my feet as I walked to the nearest convenience store, my boyfriend following behind me. When he caught up fully, he slipped his hand out of the pocket of his sweatpants and grabbed mine, intertwining our fingers and shoving them into the front pocket of his sweatshirt I was wearing. I had become used to his constant need for touch, feeling the growing need for it myself when I felt him near. It was a nice way to remind myself that he was always near, always with me.

“Oh come on, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You get these big, round eyes that, I swear, start glowing. It makes it impossible to say no to whatever you’re asking. It’s a good thing I like you because it would’ve gotten me in trouble if you were to use it for evil like Han keeps asking you to.” His eyes were starting to get closer together, showing his smile behind his mask. His thumb started to rub against the back of my hand, sending electricity down through my arm. His touches were comforting, but they also set me on fire.

The nights like this were what kept me going while he was away or locked in the studio or stuck in meetings for an album or whatever I needed the memory for. These were the things that kept me here, in his arms, hand in hand, in his small ass apartment he shared with his best friends in the entire world who understood him better than anyone.

“I am one hundred percent sure that I have know idea what you or Han are talking about. He just asks me to try and get you out of practice early, which never works.” We took our favorite shortcut through a city park with blossom trees lining the sidewalk and a small river with an even smaller bridge crossing in the middle. “I don’t think I could pull you away from the studio if I was standing naked in the hallway.” He got quiet, like he was thinking about it.

“You could definitely pull me away with that, but not for the reason you think. More than likely, I would just try and pull you away to stop someone from seeing you like that.”

“But if the point is to get your attention, then it would work.” I widened my eyes while I glanced over at his masked face, knowing he could see my smirk. He nudged my shoulder and pushed me through the door of the 7-11.

“Get in there.” He said as he let go of my hand to let me wander through the aisles and pick out what to get. I roamed through, grabbing the bag of chips that sounded the most appealing and went to the refrigerated section, finding him staring at the sodas. “When I first came here, I thought some of this stuff sounded so weird. Now, it makes sense.”

“What about it makes sense to you now?”

“I don’t know. It just does.” He opened the door and grabbed what he wanted, one for him and one for me. I opened the door next to it and grabbed the smoothie drinks he liked and one for myself knowing he would throw the cutest fit I’d ever seen if I didn’t.

He took the chips and the candy I had grabbed and placed them on the counter and whipped out his card before I had the chance to protest. Not that I would have because I had left my wallet in his room. I had the foresight to know that he would never let me pay for it anyways. It was never an expectation and I was always grateful, carrying the bag out of the store as he thanked the cashier.

“What candy did you grab?”

“There was something that looked new, something with chocolate and nuts and caramel or something. I thought it might be good with our popcorn.”

“You’re the smartest girl I know.” He slid his hand back to its original position, into mine and my pocket. We walked in comfortable silence back through the park, listening to the trees in the wind and the rustling of branches swaying in the wind. “You know…” He stopped me, pulling me to stop with him. “You wearing my clothes is making me happier than when you asked me out.”

“For the last time, I did not!” We both giggled.

“Baby, listen! Listen to what I’m saying. No one has ever asked to wear my clothes before.”

“I know that’s not true, Han MUST have asked before me. He’s glued to you.”

“Not the point. No one I’ve actually wanted to has ever asked to wear my clothes. You did it so casually, it felt normal until I realized what seeing you in my hoodie would do to those butterflies I get when you’re around.”

“And…what did it do to them?” I asked softly. He pulled down his mask so I could see his lips form the words.

“It made them go crazy. And it gave me a glimpse of what could be my forever.”

“Wow. A hoodie made you feel like this?”

“It did. So please don’t hesitate to ask to borrow anything else. What’s mine is yours. Officially.”

“Oh, I am so buying you more clothes that I can steal. Finally! Something that you’ll let me buy for you!” I pulled down my mask as he brought me in closer to him until we were chest to chest. He gave me a sneaky grin before he kissed me.

“Not a chance.”

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 5,163

warnings: swearing, cops, talk of jail/billy's abuse, neil, fluff and love

a/n: well, here it is. this is the very last part of my very first series. i am very proud of the ending i've created for these two. i like to think i've given billy what he deserved. i'm so grateful for all of the feedback and support you've given me on the previous parts. also, a part of this relies heavily on hopper’s letter from season 3, so that’s that, and then some of his other dialogue. i’ve found that it fit billy effortlessly. i really hope you enjoy this and maybe find some solace in it. i love you all <333

before you read, listen to: time after time by cyndi lauper and/or the promise by when in rome

————

The first night without Neil, Hopper sits in his car outside the house. He promised no one would hurt them. He means it.

Nicky went to high school with both Hopper and Joyce. In fact, she was suspended for dealing them weed under the bleachers at one point. She regrets nothing to this day.

Because of that, it really wasn’t too difficult to have a heart-to-heart with the man, to get him to sit down with Billy. And Max and you. Susan.

Hopper had shown up at the house to speak with Neil. When he arrived, he told you to keep Billy in his room, though that hadn’t mattered. The second Billy realized he might actually get out of this, that he might live without fear of his own father, he buried his face in your chest, tears wetting your collarbones, your t-shirt.

You’d let him get it all out, stroking his loose and frizzy curls, occasionally laying your hands over his ears to muffle any shouting. Billy squeezed you each time you did so.

Even if he was a little hopeful this might work, Billy couldn’t help but think about that night when he was a kid. When his mama left him with Neil.

He’d sat on his bedroom floor, trying to be quiet while his dad showered, pleading with her.

“Please mom, don’t do this. Please come home.”

“How long? How long?”

“I miss you.”

She was the last person he felt safe with, before you. And she’d gone, leaving her boy with him. Trapped. Part of him wasn’t sure this would work out. He’d hoped for so long that his mother would return, and she hadn’t. Neil had dictated everything in Billy’s life so far, so how was it possible for anything to change?

Hopper had given Neil Hargrove one option.

“You’re gonna sign these papers,” he’d said, gesturing at the divorce packet lying on the table, “and I’m going to quietly take you down to the station and expose you for the piece of shit you are. Lock you up for abusing your child.”

Neil had started screaming about how Hopper had no right to do any of this, to barge into his home claiming all of this.

“Sure, yeah, pitch a fit. Like that’s gonna change anything,” Hopper said, entertained by the fact that Neil was acting like the victim.

During one of the intervals where your hands were pressed to Billy’s ears, the hoop in the left one biting into your palm, you’d caught something Hopper said.

“I suggest you shut your mouth before you give me something else to report.” By the tone in his voice, you could imagine that he was inches from Neil’s face.

“You’re a coward,” Hopper had said. “Beating on your kid because your life didn’t turn out right. Well let me tell you something, that’s not his fault. It’s yours.”

There’d been a knock on Billy’s bedroom door followed by Hop’s gruff voice.

“Y/N, kiddo can I have a minute with you?”

Billy had looked up at you, eyes puffy. “I’ll be right back baby, I’m not leaving, I promise.”

You’d pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he’d held onto your hand until it was too far out of his reach.

Shutting the door carefully behind you, you’d looked at him. “We’re taking him away,” he said.

You blinked. “Really?”

“Really. He signed, so Susan is good to go.”

Hopper considered letting Neil run away, making him just disappear, but he didn’t want to chance him doing this to someone else. He’d already done that once though, hadn’t he?

“I’m really proud of you for helping him through this, kid. You remind me of your mom.”

His hand had been warm on your shoulder.

“If you want me to be honest, he’s lucky this prison isn’t very big. But that doesn’t mean nothing will happen if others figure out what he’s in for.”

You nodded, knowingly.

“Powell and Callahan just got here. We’re gonna be quiet. No lights, nothing. I don’t want to make this worse for Billy. But if he wants to see, we’re going soon.”

“Thank you, Hopper,” you’d said, hugging him. He’d let you. He’d had his fair share of a shitty father as a kid. Helping someone like Billy is something he’d always wanted to do.

Back in Billy’s room, you’d taken his face in your hands.

“Baby, they’re taking him now. Do you want to watch or stay inside?”

His back had straightened. He knew what he wanted, and he told you as much, so you led him through to the back steps, holding his hand the whole time, Max behind you, resting her chin on her brother's arm.

Billy got to watch them shove his father in the back of a police car, hands behind his back.

He was finally free.

————

Susan pawned most of Neil's more expensive things, that way she'd have money to cover bills for a while and have something to put towards the house payment. She hadn't really been trusted with the financials when Neil was around, aside from basic spending. Now that she had two children to look after, she really didn't want to be in a bad spot.

She had a feeling most newly divorced women would use the money to buy themselves something nice, but she didn't see any point in that. This wasn't about her. This was about making a life where Billy and Max could feel safe.

Even if Billy had whined about it to you at first, having dinner with Max and Susan at least three times a week to start was helping. And he would never admit this, but Susan was actually a pretty damn good cook. Whenever she'd prepared food pre-inmate Neil, they'd been kind of shitty. Billy supposed this had been her tiny form of protest.

It's pretty late now, but Billy is sprawled on the couch watching reruns of whatever. He's really not even entirely sure what's happening on tv. He thinks this might be Cheers. It's the fact that he can be on the couch that he's doing it. He doesn't have any particular reason to hide in his room unless he wants to.

He's missed this couch. It's the same one he's sat on since he was a kid. Since his mother was still around. It was one of the few items that made it to Hawkins when they moved.

Susan has the day off tomorrow. She said so at dinner. Hence why she's still up.

Billy hears her footsteps and looks up when she walks into the room. She gives him a gentle smile.

"I'm making Max some hot chocolate. You feel like some? I have marshmallows too, if you want those."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks."

She smiles again and then disappears for a while before returning with a mug that has a six-year-old Max's hand print on it.

Billy sits up and takes a sip. He can't remember the last time someone made him someone other than you or Nicky made him something like this.

Susan sits down a little ways away from Billy in an oversized chair that Max usually claims as her own. The only time anyone else gets to sit in it are in times like these when she's being forced to do science homework with Dustin yapping in her ear. She'd asked for help, not an entirely new lesson. Dustin did not care.

Susan starts to read a book, and Billy almost forgets she's in the room when she speaks.

"Billy?"

His eyes rove across from the television to her over the top of his mug. She sets the book down.

"I just wanted to apologize. For not doing anything to protect you from your dad. I don't really have a reason other than selfish ones, like I was afraid he'd start on me, or Max. I guess I just thought if he got it out things would be okay." She buries her face in her hands.

"God, I'm so sorry, Billy. This is your home, and I came into your life and took you away from where you'd grown up, and I never stopped to think about what it was doing to you. I was only thinking about myself."

“I should’ve helped take care of you. You were just a kid. You’re still just a kid. And I’ve done nothing but let you down. I want to be better. I’m not saying I want to replace your mom or anything, but I don’t want you to feel unsafe or unwelcome here anymore.”

Billy keeps drinking his hot chocolate but he has to hold it with both hands because they’re shaking now.

“I feel like I don’t even know you. And maybe that’s because you didn’t want to know me, or maybe because I just avoided you.”

“I’m just so sorry, Billy. I want to try. I am trying. The both of you deserve so much better and you don’t have to accept this. I just wanted you to know that and that I care about you.”

Billy is quiet and for a moment it scares Susan, but she understands he might not have anything to say. He might not want to say anything. He might be waiting until he can afford to move out of this fucking house.

But Billy finally sets his mug down. It’s empty. He looks at Susan and he nods.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “I understand. I don’t blame you and I appreciate that you want to try. I want to try, too.”

Susan nods back, a sweet smile on her face. It’s gentle, the look she’s giving him.

Billy does understand though. His being the target of Neil’s abuse prevented both Max and Susan from it. He understands that Susan was afraid of her husband and the man that she might not have known he’d unveil to be. She was scared. He understands.

He’s willing to try. To let her in.

She stands and picks up Billy’s empty cup. “Was it okay?” she asks, “It’s just the store bought kind.”

“Yeah. Yeah it was great.”

When she grins at him she looks young. She looks tired and upset, but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it means change. Maybe it means she’s learning. She’s trying.

————

“Wear mine.”

Billy looks at you through the mirror in front of which he’s been primping. He claims he doesn’t like it when you say he’s “getting pretty.” His blush says otherwise.

“Yours?”

He rolls his eyes and puts down the hairspray he was holding. “Yeah. It’s fuckin’ cold tonight. Just put mine on. I don’t want you to walk all the way back to your house just to get something I have.”

You snort, making for his closet door. “All the way back?”

He bumps your hip with his, a common you-little-shit gesture.

“Because I live so far away.” You greet the pornstar taped to the thin wood before sliding it open.

“Should be on the right,” Billy says, ignoring your comment and shoving cologne down the front of his pants while you aren’t looking. It’s a habit at this point. Shit, he doesn’t even think about it, and he knows he doesn’t have to impress you.

You push around the clothing hanging in his closet, a couple button-ups, leather, a sweater you’ve never seen him in. It’s this cream color, thick and cable knit. You pull it out.

“How come you don’t wear this?” you ask, holding it up to him. He unsnaps another button from his shirt and your eyes follow the movement even though you don’t mean to ogle.

Billy looks the sweater up and down like it’s grossing him out. “I wore it once,” he tells you.

“Once,” you mock playfully, putting the shirt back into his closet.

Billy’s hands are on your hips in an instant, spinning you around. “I thought you were getting a jacket, not raiding my belongings.”

You stick your tongue out at him. It’s childish and you know it, but you do it anyway. He smacks your ass in retaliation, and you go to squeeze his but he grabs your wrist, pulling it to his mouth so that he can kiss your pulse point.

“Barf.” The voice makes you turn your head, and Max has pushed the door open fully where it had been cracked.

“Hi, Max,” you say, pulling your hand from Billy’s grasp, even if he pouts, and moving to actually retrieve the denim jacket you’d been instructed to wear.

You can feel Billy and Max staring at each other. “What do you need?” he asks her.

“Just came to see if we were planning on leaving today or if I should maybe hitch a ride elsewhere.” She enters the room and sits down on the edge of her brother’s bed.

Billy glances at his watch. “You said to have you at El’s by seven-thirty. We’ve got time.”

She crosses her arms and Billy faces the mirror again. He thinks he’s finished. “Did you even finish packing your bag, shithead?”

You shove your arms through the jacket sleeves, looking at Max. She raises her eyebrows. No, she definitely did not. There’s a flash of red hair as she hops up, and then she’s gone, the sound of dresser drawers being yanked open and shut echoing down the hall.

You start rolling up the cuffs, and Billy reaches for the collar, adjusting it for you. You’re focused on getting your hands free when you feel Billy’s finger lifting your chin up. He brings his lips to yours, kissing you once. He pulls away and you move back in, wanting one more. He obliges, albeit grinning at your eagerness. When you’ve gotten your fill, you kiss his cheek, and that’s the one that makes him blush.

He moves away from you, pulling on his own jacket. “I’m gonna go start the car, okay?”

“M’kay.”

Max let it slip once that Billy always went out to warm up the car before taking them to school. She wouldn’t have assumed it was for her right off the bat, but when she realized he didn’t do that when it was just him in the car, she figured out it was him being nice. Now he just does it for the both of you. You won’t ever say anything about it.

You look at yourself in Billy’s mirror, listening to his footsteps down the hall and out into the living room. You put your hands in the pockets of his jacket, and to your surprise you feel something. It’s not spare change, or a lighter–anything you would’ve expected to find.

It’s a sheet of paper. You pull it out, thinking it might be homework he tucked away or a receipt or something. It’s not, though. It’s notebook paper, and it’s been neatly folded like it was done with purpose.

You sit on the edge of Billy’s bed, and unfold it. To your surprise, it’s a page covered in his handwriting, that pretty, sometimes faintly cursive scrawl. There are some lines scratched out because he used a pen and couldn’t erase. But the thing that catches your eye is the very first line. It’s just your name. It’s a letter. A letter for you.

Your heart starts to race and you find yourself beginning to read, sinking further into his mattress.

There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about, it reads.

Feelings. Jesus. The truth is, for so long I’d forgotten what those were. I’ve been stuck in one place. In a cave, you might say. A deep, dark cave. And then I sat with you at lunch, and bought you a book, and suddenly you were part of my life. For the first time in a long time, I started to feel things again. I started to feel happy.

But, tonight I’ve been feeling distant from you. Like I’m pulling away from you or something. I’m sitting here and I’m thinking about the way you looked at me that first night at the record store. The way you held on to me when I slept over for the first time. I’m not even sure if you remember it, but every time I tried to move throughout the night you whined like you were afraid I was going to leave you. Like you needed me.

But you didn’t know about my dad or that I was falling in love with you then. And I can’t stop thinking about how I raised my voice at you when I came over today.

You pause, realizing when it was that he wrote this. The day he fought back.

And I’ve been afraid for so long that I might turn out like him. That I might be just the same. And I’ve been scared that you might realize that too and leave me behind. But I didn’t feel that way today when you spoke to me like a human being and you wanted to work things out. I’m changing. You’re changing me. We’re changing. And I guess, if I’m being really honest, that’s what scares me. I don’t want things to change. Because there’s a part of me that worries you might still change your mind. The rest of me knows you won’t.

So I think maybe what I’m saying is that when you didn’t know about how I felt or who I really am on the inside that it didn’t feel like I’d lose you. But now I’ve let you in and you can see all of me. And now that you’ve said you love me I really don’t want things to change. I don’t want to lose you or want you to go.

But I know that’s naive. To think you’ll leave. That’s not who you are. I know you’d look at me and say that’s not how this is going to work.

My whole life everyone has picked someone else over me. Left me behind. Left me on my own. And I know that’s how life works. It’s moving. Always moving and people change whether you like it or not. But you’ve taught me that change can be good. That it doesn’t always mean people changing their mind about me. About caring about me or that I’m good enough to keep around.

And sometimes change is painful. Sometimes it’s sad and sometimes it’s surprising.

Happy.

So you know what? I don’t think change is bad anymore. I think I’m supposed to learn from it. I think that when life hurts, because I know parts of it are going to hurt and there will be things that always hurt, I should remember it. Because the hurt is good. It means I’m out of that cave.

I just want you to hold my hand while I figure it all out.

You finish reading and fold the letter back up, putting it back where you found it. You hadn’t realized you were crying, but you were, and you spend the next few minutes fixing yourself in Billy’s mirror.

When he returns he thinks you’re the one primping.

“Ready, baby?” he asks. “Max is in the car.”

You turn to him, and he smiles at you. That pretty, pretty smile. You kiss him on both cheeks and then shut off his bedroom light.

“I’m ready.”

————

Billy pulls away from Hop’s cabin after dropping Max off, but he’s quick to stop the car again.

You were quiet the whole way there. Sweet as always, no doubt, but it was clear something was bothering you. He doesn’t like it when things upset his girl.

“What are you doing, Hargrove? We’re gonna miss the movie if you keep this up.”

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Well excuse the hell outta me, hon’.”

You slap your hands against your face, peeking through your fingers at him in hopes that he’ll go ahead and scold you.

“I want you to tell me what’s wrong, baby.” Billy doesn’t have to elaborate. You never seem to have to explain your feelings to him much anymore. It’s like he’s figuring you out, like he understands and knows when something’s bugging you or if you’re hurting.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” you say.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know.”

You nod, and reach into the pocket of the jacket, pulling free the paper. It’s seconds before Billy sees the striped sheet that he remembers what it is, what he’d left in there.

It all comes back to him, his wrist hurting from pouring his heart out, the relief he felt at putting his feelings somewhere.

You hand it to him. He unfolds it and scans it over. “You read it?” He knows you did.

“Yeah.” You smile shyly at him, and it’s the same smile you gave him that very first night that you came to check on him. Billy wants to kiss you, so he leans over the center console and does; he presses his mouth to your forehead, warm and sweet. His presence is all-encompassing: heady cologne, minty gum. So very Billy. So much like home.

He hands the paper back to you. “Feelings, huh?” he says, his mouth pulling up at the corners.

“Feelings.”

You sandwich your hands between your thighs, taking a deep breath. Your eyes start to water and you can’t help it.

“Billy, I would never leave you, okay?” You were hoping the tears wouldn’t spill over, but it doesn’t matter because your voice fails you. It wavers and you sound fragile, young. And then he’s taking your face in his hands, wiping under your eyes even though there isn’t anything to wipe yet, just soothing motions over the apples of your cheeks, calloused thumbs and warm skin.

He stares at you, his eye contact unbreaking. When he looks at you like that, blue eyes boring into yours, you can’t help but feel a little full. Because he’s looking at you like that. You.

“I know that. I know.”

You nod, and he nods with you, so much that it looks silly, the both of you nodding, and you start to laugh.

“I made you feel that way? Really?”

“Of course you did,” Billy says. “My whole life I’ve felt like I’m like a black hole or somethin’. You don’t make me feel that way.”

Your heart aches for him. For this boy who’s had no one tell him how good he is. Who’s finally let you in. Who’s finally realized he can have better, and that he deserves to.

“I love you, Billy.”

He kisses you on each cheek, your face warm against his lips. He grins and you can feel it on your face.

“I love you too.”

When you get to the movie theater, you do pay for popcorn, and you do hand him the snacks you kept in your bag after you take your seats. Your mother said movie candy was getting much too expensive.

You pop a handful of Sno Caps in your mouth, and Billy opens his mouth. You sprinkle some in his, and then reach for his hand.

He looks down at your clasped fingers while a kid almost faceplants with a bucket of popcorn on the way up the stairs. Thankfully their father caught them first.

“You did say you wanted me to hold your hand.”

“I did,” Billy says.

—————

“Sit still, I’ll be right back, I swear.”

Billy crosses his arms, but it’s hard for him to look entirely brooding when he’s got plum shadow on his eyelids. You stand. “Here, Max, supervise.” You hand her the brush between your fingers, and she snorts at her brother from where she lays across your bed.

You make for the living room, suppressing a grin at the sounds of laughter emanating from the area. Susan and Nicky sit on opposite sides of the couch, watching The Golden Girls and talking about whatever it is that mothers-of-dating-children talk about.

“Mom,” you say, coming to a stop in front of her.

“Hi, honeybee. What’s the matter?”

“Can I use some of your makeup? There’s some things you’ve got that I haven’t and–”

She smiles at you, adjusting the well-loved pillow squished behind her back. “You know you can. Whatever you need.”

Her grin is contagious, and you find yourself smiling back just the same. “Thank you.”

She nods. “Playing dress up?” Your mother gives you a knowing look, thinking about the idea you’d had in mind ever since you watched Rocky Horror with Billy that first time.

“You could say so,” you tell her, and then you’re off to raid her bathroom cabinet, pulling free the large and full bag of goodies.

You start to rifle through the corduroy pouch, but decide it’d be easier to take the whole thing with you to your room, so that’s what you do.

When you return, you settle on your knees in front of your boyfriend, still finding it odd that you get to call him that now, even if that is exactly what he is to you. Your pretty, pretty boyfriend. Your boyfriend who’s letting you do his makeup.

Max hands you your brush back, raising herself up on her elbows so that she can watch the show better.

“Hi,” you say to him, pressing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Hi,” he responds, his voice showing all signs that he’s both enjoying this, yet also grumping about the fact that he let you do it in the first place. He settles back on his hands, legs spread so that you can sit in between them and reach him. You pull free both the pencil of thick liner you’d been looking for, and a pot of blush you know to be much pinker than the one you’ve got. Yours has also been broken on multiple occasions so that now it’s just little bits of pink powder sliding around in the pan.

You uncap the liner first, a warm brown shade, clearly freshly sharpened by your mother. “Close your eyes, pretty please,” you tell him. He obliges, lids fluttering shut.

You reach out, and starting to drag the tip of the pencil across his skin, you realize your hand isn’t as steady as you’d like, considering the fact that you’re also half-focused on not kneeing Billy in a place you’re quite sure he’d prefer to not be kneed.

You let out a frustrated sigh, and Billy blinks up at you. “What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t working. Just–” You shove the eyeliner pencil into his hands, and then move from between his legs. You grip his calves and move his legs together, then crawl forwards a little and straddle his lap.

He grins up at you, a cocky and mischievous look. “Comfy?”

“Shut up and close your eyes again.”

“Well you don’t want much.”

You pinch the squish of his side and he swats blindly at your arm. You take Billy’s face in your hand, resting the pinky of your dominant one against his cheekbone. This go around you’re able to drag the liner effectively across his eyelid. A tap at his face signals he needs to look up, and when he does, you do the same to his lower hip. Afterwards, you take a super small brush that Max found and use it to smudge the eyeliner out some, that way the lines aren’t so harsh.

You finish and take Billy’s face in your hands again, turning it to face Max. “Thoughts?”

She taps her chin, though smiling all the same. “Very nice.”

With a little more manhandling, you get some mascara on those lashes of his, though not without a little pleased squeaking in the process. It’s at the blush that you get excited enough to make him laugh. You swipe your brush heavily across his cheeks, and then the tip of his nose, where you’re probably much too generous. You don’t care. He looks so, so pretty, all blushy like this.

“Part your lips.” You say, thumb tugging at his bottom one. You put a gloss on Billy’s lips and almost lose it for good. He’s so gorgeous.

When you finish, you wipe your hands clean on a towel and back up a little ways from him to survey your work.

You clap your hands. “Max, help me. Would you look at this?”

She does, laughing gleefully. “Oh my god, this is so good.”

You look Billy in the eyes, and Max hops up off of your bed to get a better look. “You look so gorgeous, my love.”

He’s thankful for the blush in that moment, because without it you’d see the effect your using that name had on him.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Wanna see?” God, you look so happy.

“Do I have to?”

You bite your lip and Billy pulls it free, taking the little handheld mirror from you.

And, honestly, he thinks he looks kinda hot. You picked a good eyeshadow color, one that makes his blue eyes stand out even more, and he just looks pretty. Just as you’d said.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. You did a very good job.”

He goes to kiss you, but you stop him. “Nope. You’ll mess up my work!”

Billy rolls his eyes and flips Max a bird when he sees her giggling at your enthusiasm and his compliance.

“Can I take a picture?” you ask.

Billy holds up his hands. “Oh hell no.”

“Billy, she needs to document her masterpiece,” Max says, though really she knows it’d make great blackmail. That and she loves how happy the both of you seem. She’d like to remember this too.

“Please?” You give him your very best puppy dog eyes, making sure they’re watery and everything. You know he’ll give in.

“Fine. But you show this to anyone, and you’re both dead.”

You laugh, grabbing for your Polaroid camera. “Who the fuck do you think I’m gonna show? Everyone I know is in this room.”

Billy’s smiles then, and you’re just quick enough to catch it. You get another after you kiss his sparkly forehead. And when you’ve finished, you stick them in the frame of your mirror so they’ll always be there.

That night, after Max and Susan have gone home, you sit in the bathroom to help Billy wash the makeup off, but only when you’d let Nicky see, and she thought he looked stunning. Showstopping, she’d said.

And it’s then, as you wipe the rosy tinge from his cheeks, revealing his freckles once again, that you realize months before this you’d been so alone. You’d ached for a moment like this.

And here you were. So even if the journey to get here had hurt, even if it’d been hard and pushed you to your limits, it’s okay. Because that’s how life works. It hurts sometimes. And that’s okay.

Because the hurt? The hurt is good.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy stranger things fic #billy stranger things #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove series #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove comfort #billy hargrove fluff #jim hopper #max mayfield #billy hargrove x female reader #savannah’s fics

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sublimecatgalaxy · 1 year

Text

Read It and Weep- Part 1

Pairing: NFL!Player!Rafe Cameron x Journalist!Reader

Summary: Sports journalist Y/n is covering a pro-NFL football game when she gets knocked down by wide reciever Rafe Cameron. He helps her up and immediately can't seem to take his eyes off of her as they celebrate their win. After, at the post game conference, him and the reader share an interesting conversation and he learns (earns) her name.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Violence, swearing, I think that's it honestly.

Song: "My Ordinary Life" by The Living Tombstones

A/n: This might be the most excited I've ever seen @tee-swizzle get over a fic I've written. This is some serious hot and cute and angsty shit, buckle up, it's quite a ride. This is part 1 of 10!

I always thought the only time I would enjoy men running around in costumes would be on Broadway.

The sophisticated, planned, calculated moves, the falsetto notes they hit while running around in expensive costumes that took hours and hours to create. Men on Broadway are just a whole other breed- don’t get me wrong, all actors and actresses alike are all impressive beyond belief, it’s a hard field to be a part of. But there’s something so groundbreaking and heartwarming to see men of all backgrounds doing what they love to do.

There’s just an art to it- Broadway- a beauty that a lot of people brush off and denounce as girly or even something that’s remarkably easy. They call theater kids loony (which coming from one, I’d have to agree just a bit), they’re constantly bullied and harassed but not when they make it to the big times. No- then they are set up on this pedestal where they are to be paid hundreds or thousands of dollars to get on stage, to dance and sing their favorite show tunes together where all of a sudden they’re people to look up to, forgetting all about their high school days and all the failed auditions that teared them down. But once they’re on that stage together, creating music and art, they’re a family in a sense. Leaving it all on the stage for the viewer, us, to enjoy.

A brotherhood.

My new stage looks a little bit differently than it did when I was sixteen.

My new stage consists of something similar- men, running around in matching outfits, same bright lights shining on them, sweat pouring down their necks, and they’re still a brotherhood- maybe even more so in a sense. But with this stage, there’s profanities, there's violence and, most of all, there are too many balls in one place at one time.

Pun so intended.

The world of sports is not one that I saw myself getting into at the ripe age of twenty four, let alone football. I’ve always had a bit of a thing against football players but that happens when you grow up in the theater world where you’re constantly pushed around by the ‘higher class’ of the horrible high school hierarchy, being called names, shoved down stairs, having your lunch tossed into your lap. But the job that I was offered through a local journal in my hometown was just perfect for me- I couldn’t not take it. There would be no other job that could've come around that would’ve given me the same freetime and the ability to still have control over my schedule, all while supporting my home team. It gave me a chance to travel, to learn, and to be surrounded by attractive, sweaty men doing their thing.

There’s a bit of a silver lining to it, I guess.

Working as a journalist for a professional football team was not the intended goal when I got my Bachelors degree in Journalism, nor was it the plan for my Masters. I wanted to go into freelancing or maybe dabble a bit in the socioeconomic crisis our country’s suffering from- maybe even write a few articles on how to save the turtles or some shit.

But football?

I spend most of my days on the sidelines, sketching down stats, learning plays and keeping up in the personal lives of our devoted players. I’m like one of those cheerleading girls I used to hate, practically a groupie of the team at this point. Even the coach and the other behind-the-scenes workers are on a first name basis with me at this point.

Sixteen year old me would be disgusted- repulsed.

Current me? Not so disgusted as I’m watching a bunch of tall, bachelor-like men run around the field at top speed, tackling each other as the crowd colored in all different jerseys scream or boo in unison. I can’t fight the proud smile that’s on my lips as I look out at the field, just right there in front of me- I could reach out and just be a part of it. There’s something to home games that just gets your blood pumping in a special way, especially so close to playoffs, so close to glory and a big old fancy ring for our quarterback and team. It’s every team’s goal for the year but every news agency’s eyes are on us, watching us and the players so closely, betting and guessing that we’ll be the one to win everything this year. No pressure, right?

It’s an honor to be traveling with them all, I couldn’t have been paired with a more respectful group of men, even though some of them don’t even know my name or that I exist. They might see my name occasionally at the bottom of an article I’ve written about their triumphs or losses or they know me as the girl that they accidentally mistake for the water girl and who they then apologize profusely to following the mix up.

Sarah the water girl and I look awfully a lot we’ve learned.

There’s not a lot of time left in the game now, less than two minutes in the last quarter and it’s tight, too close for comfort as the men in the front row of the stands scream their asses off, acting like their words will have any weight in the overall game. With how we’re playing right now, the defensive line tuckered out beyond belief, we’re not looking at winning, especially if they hold possession of the ball like they have been. The other team is smart, I’ll give them that, gnawing down at the clock, running down the time so if we did get the ball, we’d barely have the time to do anything remotely impressive. We’re down by 6 and if we’d just get a touchdown we’d be good and we would win, but we just need to get possession of the ball.

I write down the numbers of the players who’ve stuck out to me the most on this team to calm my nerves; number three Cameron offense, number seventeen McHarley defense, number 4 the quarterback- wait.

Why is everyone cheering?

What just happened?

Looking up from my notepad, I watch as our defense runs the ball in the opposite direction that we were going in before, instead towards the opposing team's endzone, indicating that, indeed, there was a turnover of some sort while I wasn’t paying attention. If that’s all it takes, my job just became a whole lot easier.

The play resets, our offensive line and our quarterback stumble onto the field with a bit more pep in their steps compared to their previous run. They’re cheering and high fiving the defense as they pass each other in the middle of the field, bright smiles calming everyone's general anxiety and setting the record straight that we’re still in the game. There’s still a chance.

They set themselves up within seconds and in moments they’re hiking the ball. I watch number three, one of my favorite wide receivers to watch, simply because of his overall spunk and sass for the game, subtly loving when he gets into little fights with people because I can always manage to hear his silly, boyish insults. He tries so hard to act tough, when he's really just the biggest puppy of all time.

I’m so caught up in thinking about him, I completely miss him barreling my way just as the quarterback throws the ball in his direction. Cameron is wide open, no one even close to tackling him and I can hear him whooping as he runs towards the end zone. I grin wildly as he catches the ball, solidifying our win, and before the refs even signal for a TD, the whole crowd erupts in giggles and cheers. I go to clap and cheer for him but before I can, an opposing player is giving him one last shove for good measure and he is tumbling onto the ground, the ref beside me immediately throwing a flag into the air, just as Rafe slides in my direction full force.

Before I can move, he takes me down to the ground. Hard.

I hit the floor with a loud thud, ears ringing as my head slams against the turf and I can hear muffled voices and hands grabbing at me, brain rattling around in my head as I shove my eyes closed as tightly as they can, hands reaching up to cradle my aching skull. I can feel people trying to pry me up onto my feet, to help me up but I’ve barely even processed that I’ve fallen or that my favorite wide receiver is currently laying on both of my legs, trapping me to the ground.

My eyes pop open moments later at the realization and I see cameras around me, mostly pointed at Cameron who’s kneeling in front of me, soft, blue, worried eyes gazing back at me as I struggle to find my voice. He looks at me, waiting for me to speak and, when I don’t, he simply reaches out, placing a firm, protective hand on the side of my head, steading my spinning eyes. I feel my body warming up at his touch, the loud, thrumming music playing in the stadium as an attempt to celebrate is drowned out by his voice filling my ears, his whole body leaning towards me so he can speak directly against the shell of my ear.

“You good?” He yells over the cheering, thumb brushing against my temple, and I realize he’s not even celebrating the fact that he just won the game that’s sending us to playoff games, mapping the road to the Superbowl. I give him a half assed nod and a flushed smile and before I can say anything else, his teammates are pulling him up and into their arms, screaming loudly as boys can, all for the cameras as they pat each other on the helmets, knocking them together every once in a while.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I mutter to myself, pressing my pointer finger and thumb to the bridge of my nose to aid the headaches that’s creeping up the back of my neck, taking deep breaths and praying I don’t have a concussion. From across the field, through the mess of players and confetti, I can see number three looking over at me with kind, worried eyes that seem to want to say more than what he’s already said to me.

His eyes make me nearly forget that it’s my job to interview them.

I guess I’ll ride my headache out and wait till the post game conference.

–

From the time I got knocked down to the time when I stepped foot into the conference room, there were at least twenty-six different people who asked me if I was the one who was ‘tackled’ by Rafe Cameron after he caught the winning touchdown. After the third time, I started to feel a bit sheepish and honestly a bit embarrassed, wondering how long they’re going to string this out and ask me what it was like to be tackled by America’s most loved wide receiver.

It was rough, I hit my head, it hurt- what else do they want from me? Do they want me to say I’m honored that he was so close to me, fangirl over his presence, that he made eye contact with me? Hell, he’s human and so am I. His reaction was purely a moment of humility and humanity shining through.

But I totally did get butterflies.

But, to be honest, he is probably the most wholesome, mama’s boy you’ll ever see.

Dirty blonde, shaggy hair, blue shining eyes, overall toned to a T and he’s all meathead minus all of the misogyny and toxic masculinity. He’s always respectful in interviews, polite to women- it’s obvious he was raised well and anyone with a brain can tell that he’s wildly intelligent from his masters degree in Sports Communication. It’s impressive, his story.

“So, you won the came, Cameron- how does it feel?” An interviewer calls out from the audience beside me, the happy smile on his face only feeding into the fact that he’s definitely a fan, and Rafe smiles handsomely, looking out across the audience with a simple, humble shrug.

“Felt good taking the team to the playoffs. I couldn’t have done it without my quarterback, number 4, Greg Abernathy.” He reaches over to slap Greg on the back and I grin, scribbling down some words on my notepad, a small smile on my face as I listen to the boys commend each other in a bro-mance type love. They’re always very supportive of one another, having a type of relationship where you really don’t see one without hte other. They’re constantly training together, getting dinner together, having literal sleepovers at each other’s apartments (or so I’ve heard). They’re brothers, there’s no better description for the boys. “But I really have to give it up to the nice lady that I tackled, I feel horrible. I’d like to dedicate our win to her today since she obviously was a part of my excitement. You can put that in writing.”

I’m sorry?

Dedicated?

What?

All eyes turn to look at me and I feel my face drain of any color, every hair on my body sticking up as I suddenly feel so small in this room full of my very own coworkers and competitors. I can hear Rafe mutter a quiet ‘shit, she’s here?’ away from the mic and to Greg, who just chuckles and points in my direction, the direction that everyone happens to be looking in. I can see the looks in other journalists' and reporters' eyes, they want to talk to me, they want to shove microphones in my face but based on the ‘deer in headlights’ look I’m giving everyone, I think I’ll be safe from their interrogations. Rafe looks at me and his smile only grows, fingers reaching out to wrap around the mic to pull it closer to his lips as I anticipate what’s to come.

“Hi nice lady that I knocked over, are you okay?” His voice is ten times deeper than it was just moments ago and I can feel my brain melting just at the feeling of him looking back at me, matching my gaze as if he’s just as excited to be speaking to me one on one.

Me.

“I’m okay, just a bit banged up.” I call out, shakily shoving my pen and paper into my bag beside me to give him my undivided attention which, it’s not like he has to fight for it, I’m practically drooling simply because he’s gazing at me, giving me his complete and utter attention as hands raise around the room. The way he’s staring at me, eagerly hanging onto every word I say and I can see it, it’s not like he’s even trying to not seem completely enthralled with my every breath.

“Man, you traumatized the poor girl.” Greg mutters into the mic and the room erupts in laughter and I bite back the laugh that wants to escape me but I don’t dare allow the giggles to leave me when Rafe is just staring me down with a soft look and a gentle smile, something completely opposite of his rowdy behavior and profanities on the field. But after a second, a look of realization passes across his expression and he turns to look at Greg with a worried expression before glancing back at me.

“I did not- you’re not traumatized, right?” He asks me and I laugh, waving him off as I reach up to knock at my own head. What a stupid move, Y/l/n, get it together.

“No, god no. It happens.” I chuckle, brushing off his concerns of injury and he visibly relaxes, head bobbing in a gentle nod as he laughs sheepishly, almost embarrassed that he seemed to care so much in front of a room of random people. “It could’ve been worse. Could’ve been the other team, they wouldn’t have helped me up.”

“So you’re saying his charisma and manners is what saved him from being brutalized all over the internet?” Greg interrupts before Rafe can say anything with a wide eyed, shocked, teasing look.

“For sure.” I grin proudly, already thinking about how excited I’ll be to call my dad after this conference and tell him all about how I got to talk to and compliment one of his favorite players in the NFL. He’s going to shit his pants. He’s been gushing about his stats for the two years that Rafe’s been on the team, every Sunday, blabbering about his stats, his goals, his story- hell I probably know more about him than anyone else in this room right now.

“Well, I appreciate that. My step mom will be happy to hear she did something right.” Rafe blushes warmly, the redness creeping down his neck and under the polo that he wears as another rumble of laughter rolls over the room like a wave and I keep it in the back of my mind to make it known in my article that he’s definitely some sort of mama’s boy through and through. No wonder he’s so respectful.

“Happy to help.” I smile warmly, the room falling awkwardly silent again before the reporters buzz with questions like angry bees, eager to move on from Rafe and I ogling each other oddly from across the room. I can’t fight the butterflies fluttering in my stomach at the conversation we just had; there was no hint of annoyance, only eager questions and concern that I genuinely do appreciate. He didn’t need to follow up with me, he didn’t need to call me out in regards to their win, all that without even knowing I was here.

But he did.

That matters for something, right?

Right?

“Hey, before we move on, I just wanna get your name- what’s your name? Are you one of our journalists?” Rafe asks, quickly grabbing hold of the mic firmly in his fist before Greg can pull it away from him and I nod firmly and proudly.

“My name’s Y/n Y/l/n and, yeah, I’ve worked for you guys for nearly eight months.” I swallow my nerves, now suddenly aware that he knows who I am and can talk to me and look for me in any crowd and just know who I am. Rafe Cameron knows who I am.

It takes a second but I’m slowly realizing that he’s truly just a person and not anything to be afraid of.

Right?

“Oh my god she’s the one who wrote that article about your tweets on twitter like two weeks ago.” Greg gasps and the room turns to me once again, confusion and shock written across all of their faces and, I’ve got to give it to him, I’m shocked that they even read articles about them. I assumed they just filter it out and try not to pay attention to the news headlines with their names in it but, now that I know that they read them, I’ll be more careful when throwing the word ‘handsome’ around in my pieces.

“Guilty as charged.” I breathe a sigh, reaching up to rub at the back of my neck awkwardly and a sort of tension falls over the room as everyone waits for a more in depth answer from me, their eyes (especially Rafe’s) practically begging for why I wrote the article. “I think it’s nice for young viewers, especially young boys, to see someone who’s a better influence than most of the sports players that are in the media.” A nod of agreement falls across the room and Rafe smiles wholesomely, looking at Greg with a happily proud expression written across his face, like he’s made it.

“So I’m a role model, that’s what you are saying?” He asks but there’s no cockiness or arrogance to his voice- no- just pure and utter pride and vulnerability at the thought of doing right by the football world and, in my opinion, he definitely has.

All of the gala’s he’s attended, the hospitals he’s visited to talk to and to comfort young children, the way his smile lights up the locker room- even if they lose- the beaming smile he shows if they do win, and all of the money he’s donated to so many important organizations- my point, and the point of my article was, is that he’s what the NFL should be fronting, not the garbage-like, questionable, geriatric old men who need to retire.

“Exactly what I’m saying.” I smile firmly, not tearing my gaze away from his as he nods, leaning back in his chair and he finally appears content with our conversation because he finally allows Greg to take the mic back, but his eyes do not leave me as the room fills with questions once more.

“Hey, that was sweet and all, but can we talk about football now?”

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