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alessiamalfoyzabini · 7 days

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Dark Moon | Chapter Fifteen - The End

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 3k

Warnings | +18, yandere themes, wedding, Stockholm syndrome, murder, smut, messy bathroom sex, fingering, blowjob, teasing, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, body worship and kissing, this is not for minors

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys ❤️

This is the last chapter of Dark Moon, a story that I wrote in a period that was not easy for me, in fact the dark tones come from the negative emotions that pushed me to write this story to test myself with this genre, so I really hope you enjoyed Dark Moon, I would be happy to receive comments about it ❤️

As for possible extras, who knows, maybe they will come just like what happened with Happy Ending 😉

Also, it was really nice to be able to talk with you! Thanks for all the love and support, see you with the next story I am already writing 🤧

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon , @hecateslittlewitchling , @namjoonsbuspass , @darkuni63 , @xicanacorpse , @jiminismine4ever , @btssimpjaneth , @antisocial-mochi267 , @reallygenerouskoala , @velvet-stardust2002 , @angelicsmilesworld

Chapter List - Previous - The End

"Where is Y/N?" asked Taehyung, receiving a glare from Jimin.

"Stop it, Taehyung, she's afraid of him, and I'm certainly not going to force her to attend because you think it will help with her trauma," hissed Jimin, looking around.

He had let Y/N fall asleep in his arms before silently leaving the apartment to finish her uncle's execution.

Taehyung wished she was there, he argued that seeing her own nightmare die would help her heal faster, Jimin on the other hand was convinced of the exact opposite, she had run away from the bastard, dead or alive she never wanted to see him again, that was the gist.

"It was just an idea..." put the other's hands forward.

"Jimin, everything is ready" Hoseok warned him electrified, it had been a long time since they had proceeded with a real execution and this was the time to enjoy another one.

The boy nodded as he continued down the dark corridors of their base with the others, the room they were holding the man in was a cell like any other, it was only the way they were torturing him that differentiated the prisoner from the others.

Mikkel was bound hand and foot by a thick rope, which went to twist around his neck with a noose still wide enough not to suffocate him completely.

He stared at everyone with spirited eyes, and Jimin noted how disgusting and repulsive the man looked more like an ugly gray rat.

"You have the wrong man, I'm just a loan shark, the Kims would never say anything important to me," he licked his lips nervously, he had a horrible accent.

Jimin walked around him, his shiny black shoes made a sinister ticking sound.

Heel, toe.

He stopped in front of him again, bending at the knees.

"The Kims are our allies, we don't need to know shit about them," he said squaring him with disgust, "And we certainly wouldn't use shit like you for our own purposes."

Mikkel looked around agitatedly, Jungkook rocked back on his own feet, smiling cheekily at the man.

"Then why am I here?"

Jimin's eyes thinned, "Let's clean up, Mik," he said making the man fidget, "Does the name Y/N mean anything to you?"

Surprise and panic soon won out and he began to struggle, unaware of the damage he was doing to himself, the more he moved the tighter the noose around his neck tightened.

"You thought you were getting off scot-free by abusing a little girl who was part of your own family, threatening her parents and then making the poor mother look like a fool," Jimin began, approaching until he could read every distorted thought in the man's increasingly swollen eyes, "You took advantage of their miserable financial status and threatened to throw them out on the street if they talked, even naming certain acquaintances, who didn't like the publicity you gave, so... one way or another you're dead anyway," he growled, grabbing the knot and pulling to speed up the choking.

Mikkel coughed airlessly, tried to wriggle and escape Jimin's death grip, but to no avail, the more he moved, the more he urged Jimin not to let go.

"That's nothing compared to what you put Y/N through, you son of a bitch," he shouted, throwing a punch at the man now with no more air in his lungs, blood began to come out of his nose as his body was invaded by jerks and survival impulses, he cried out mute for mercy, but the boy's eyes remained stone.

Jimin backed away retrieving his gun, but when he pointed it at the monster he had second thoughts, with one bullet he would have died too quickly, so he just watched along with the others as he suffocated in the ropes and his own blood, in the last moments when Mikkel looked desperately at Jimin once again, the latter smiled.

"Y/N, my wife, sends her regards and wishes you to burn in hell," he greeted him amusedly, emphasizing how Y/N was now simply his.

When they saw the eyes turn glassy, with no more life behind them, Hoseok huffed.

"That was too fast," Jungkook commented, pulling out his own gun and unloading it on the body to make sure he was really dead.

"He's dead, that's all that matters," said Seokjin who had been merely observing in silence, "Get rid of the corpse cleanly, I don't want any surprises," he ordered, but everyone's attention was on Jimin.

"Wife?" asked Taehyung with a smile.

"He actually said wife, this jerk decided to settle his head," laughed Namjoon, interrupted by Yoongi who also laughed.

"No, that little head will always be crazy."

"So you're getting married with a celebration?" asked Jungkook, joining the confused chorus of questions and jokes.

"My guess is he's already signed papers, he seemed overconfident," reasoned Hoseok, both Jin and Jimin were getting nervous.

"Listen, you-!"

"When and how they get married is Jimin's and Y/N's business, as for us, we must realize that there is a new family member to protect," he clapped his hands vigorously, "Now, get rid of the body," he repeated.

Jimin nodded in Jin's direction in thanks, then turned to Jungkook, "Make sure that not even the bones can lie on this earth, you understand what I mean, right?"

Of course it was clear, the seriousness and awareness of having to do one's duty well had returned to the room.

The ceremony had been small and for a few friends, Jimin did not like to show off, and Y/N could not bear to see unfamiliar and dangerous faces staring back at her.

The wedding dress, on the contrary, was wonderful.

It wrapped the girl's figure gracefully, her shoulders were uncovered thanks to the bodice's boat neckline, which was white with light blue highlights and had many small flowers woven along the neckline and hips, it then continued with a long skirt made of silk and fluffy tulle, with her hair made slightly wavy and scattered loosely on her back and the thin, shiny tiara placed on her head, everyone had agreed that she was an adorable and pure fairy.

Jimin, for his part, in his sleek, total-black smoking with crystals sprinkled across his chest and shoulders, had never taken his eyes off her, like a hawk aiming at its seductive prey. There was a change in him too, his hair had been dyed blond, for Y/N had been like seeing a fallen angel waiting for her at the altar, she had smiled shyly at him arm in arm with Seokjin.

It had been frightening to meet him again initially, but in time she had realized that if taken gently, Jin was by no means evil and had always been very calm and gentle with her.

Now she was there, joining her hand with Jimin's, and emotion invaded her.

She paid no attention to the priest's words, the ritual they were performing was being handed down in the Bangtan band, it was the man who had to do everything, the bride simply had to say,

"Yes, I do."

It had been so easy to say it, no hesitation, no flash of fear, she looked at Jimin through the foolish eyes of love, he lowered himself onto her who discovered she was swept up in a fiery and electrifying cloud, when their lips touched Jimin held back no longer, he held her by the waist and pulled her into a deep and dead-end kiss, he was possessive and passionate and sought her out every time she tried to catch a breath.

The few guests applauded, giggling at the fierce hunger of the blond, who let her go only to gaze contentedly at those swollen, scarlet lips of kisses.

But it was not his intention to stop there.

They accepted the congratulations of the Bangtans and some of their relatives, Y/N met Taehyung's mother and father and found them a delightful couple, almost unable to believe it when the father said with some pride that he too had been a Bangtan before his son.

In contrast, there was no sign of Jimin's parents, probably not even knowing that their son was alive.... From what Jimin had confessed to her one night, his mother was a street prostitute and his father was a singer who toured the world, Jimin had been born by mistake.

Y/N had immediately rebuked him, he was not a mistake, he was her complex and sweet boyfriend, although he had not been a saint at first, now he was showing her that he was a caring partner and madly in love. Perhaps even too madly.

"Anyway, my husband and I wish you well and happy life together," trilled the woman, gently pinching the cheeks of the girl, who blushed under such motherly attention; now she understood why Taehyung was the most affectionate of his friends, he had not grown up with terrible parents.

"Treat her well, Jimin... it's not easy to find someone who understands and accepts our kind of life," he tapped the young man's shoulder with a hand that was anything but playful, despite the boxy smile his son had inherited.

"Oh, I'll treat her like a queen," he smiled sweetly, but Y/N saw the shadow of something more evil, something that manifested itself exactly forty minutes later, when everyone was now occupied with the banquet.

"W-We'll have to wait," stammered the girl, trembling under the velvety kisses the young man was leaving all along the portion of skin the cleavage had left, free to be cuddled and adored by him, "If you leave me marks they will show!"

Jimin laughed on her neck, "I won't leave you any marks, I just want to have a taste," he promised, licking down to the cleft between her breasts with his erection pressing into his pants.

He cast a glance at the girl and let out an approving cry, he had taken her in his arms making her sit on the sink, her back was resting against the large mirror behind her and her legs were held open, with the skirt pulled up over her hips and the white fishnet stockings on display, all for him and she was so sexy in his eyes...

"You've already had a taste this morning!" hissed Y/N, glancing occasionally at the bathroom door.

Jimin returned to leave moist trails of kisses on her chest, suddenly lowering her bodice and noticing to his pleasure that she was totally naked, Y/N gasped praying that nothing had been torn off, cast a reproachful glance at the man, melting away soon after, however.

Jimin's condition was no better, his once perfectly coiffed hair was now messy and scattered across his forehead, his tuxedo jacket had been tossed into some corner of the bathroom, and his dark, gleaming shirt had been opened by almost every button, which made her quietly admire the invitingly toned appearance of his abdomen, cased with deep attractive and manly lines, with her hand she followed one, entranced, to his waistband where a more than obvious bulge made her throat tighten.

Jimin licked his swollen lips stained with her lipstick, "I can't go back that way."

"No, you can't," murmured Y/N as she got off the shelf and knelt in front of him, who inhaled in eagerness to touch her.

She took off his leather belt and lowered the zipper of his smartly cut pants, watching raptly as his cock pushed against his boxers, there was already a wet spot staining the fabric, and she licked gently there, already finding the taste she now knew by heart and could no longer do without, Jimin clenched his fingers around the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white, with a small smile the girl also freed him of his men's underwear and finally took the swollen, heavy shaft into her mouth, standing still for a few moments, trying to get used to that girth once again.

"Fuck," breathed Jimin tremblingly, his balls clenched as he registered the image he was experiencing, "Oh, fuck, you're sucking me off in a wedding dress," he cursed, risking coming immediately, Y/N closed her eyes and holding her breath swallowed a few more inches until her nose brushed against the man's pubis and she felt her throat fill with his cock, she slid over the entire length again, licking insistently the sensitive frenulum area, her intimacy was on fire when she noticed the tremor in her husband's legs, giving him pleasure gave her pleasure, it was a sensation she had never experienced with anyone else. It made her feel powerful and weak at the same time.

Jimin moved his pelvis against her mouth, each discharge was a violent lash that he needed, the tone of his voice rose, and, they were both sure, if anyone passed by the bathroom door, they would hear a man enjoying thanks to a dreamy blowjob.

"Y/N, stop," he ordered in a guttural voice, but the woman sucked harder on his entire length, letting her saliva slowly slide all over his cock to make the job easier, in response Jimin grabbed her head, giving one last thrust that made her choke for a few seconds before releasing her completely, "Get up," he hissed, his taut and vibrating cock was already on the verge of releasing his cum.

The girl licked her lips with a sly smile, pleased that she had reduced Park Jimin to a quivering little thing, as if grappling with his first blowjob, but Jimin was not of the same opinion.

"You little bitch."

He made her turn, bending her over the sink and raising her glitzy skirt over her hips again, that position was the same as that night before everything went to hell, but she didn't feel the suffocating anxiety of the first few times, with time she had realized that Jimin would never hurt her again, and now she quivered every time she found herself bent over with Jimin behind her, watching her desire-laden body.

The blond man pulled her panties of the same color as her fishnet stockings, felt her intimacy with two fingers to see how wet it was and found it deliciously soaked and quivering, he hummed with satisfaction at that result and penetrated her lightly, Y/N opened her mouth sighing, her belly contracted recognizing that pleasurable stretch between her yielding flesh.

Jimin removed his fingers now soaked with her wetness and used them to gently caress her swollen, sensitive clitoris as he penetrated her all the way down, slowly sliding his cock into her who more than welcomed it, Y/N's head dangled forward as she responded to Jimin's rhythmic thrusts with hushed, choked moans, the fingers around her rosy bud amplified the sensations of the cock pinning her down in that bathroom, where everyone could have found out in a very few seconds what was going on.

"Oh God ... oh God ...!" she exclaimed unable to say anything else, Jimin went deeper with a sometimes desperate cry.

"My wife," he sighed in her ear, bending entirely over her with his hips clicking faster and rougher, "I'm fucking my wife," he gasped causing her walls to clench as they flickered in mad pleasure, with wide, glazed eyes she listened to Jimin repeat those words, she loved hearing him say them, her heart was swollen with love and pride, now no one would dare to hurt her, ever again.

The blond lifted her up against his chest, fixing his eyes straight into hers through the mirror that gave a sinful image of their bodies joining sensually, he held her tight like that as he intensified the rhythm of his thrusts, by now sinking into that slippery heat breathlessly, his hand worked under her skirt faster, Y/N moaned seeking his lips, Jimin also penetrated with his tongue into the young woman's mouth, pinching a florid nipple as a provocation.

It worked, with a shrill scream between their joined mouths Y/N came violently, clutching his cock that discharged moments later in her belly between thick boiling filaments, they continued to move in unison until the pleasure turned totally to discomfort due to overstimulation.

They sighed exhaustedly, but without moving.

"I told you not to leave marks on me, but you did worse," she laughed wordlessly, observing his devastated state, not that Jimin was any better off.

He kissed her neck gently, leaving her, who groaned annoyed at the loss.

"We have a valid excuse now."

"What excuse?"

"Well..." he helped her up her bodice by lacing it from behind, shooting her a mischievous look, "To get out of here without anyone noticing and finish in our room what we started."

Y/N widened her eyes, "We can't! They came here for us and then I'm too tired now to-" she could not finish the sentence, Jimin took her in his arms without any effort.

"It's our wedding, we can do what we like," he said with a smile that gave him a cheerful and absolutely adorable air, "And I want lots of children," he blew on her lips kissing her repeatedly, she laughed between their lips, unable to retort.

She did not know how exactly she had ended up trusting her fallen angel, but she was sure of the fact that she was now hopelessly in love with him, as he was with her.

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pursuitseternal · 2 months

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“Cleansing:” bathing smut and surprises in “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x Named Tav (F!OC) | E | 4.6K of the calm before the storm

Summary: Securing rooms at the Elfsong was the easy part. The harder part, overcoming the wash of memories from their separation before. They both need a good cleansing, one where they will indulge each other.

CW: angst, banter, bathing handjobs, I was told to “let them fuck like rabbits” which is implied, one more memory flashback, and danger.

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 16: Cleansing…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“Does it… have to be here?” Cordehlia turned her cute little nose up at the smell in the tavern. To the rest of her party, it just seemed like she didn’t enjoy a stay at a public inn.

To Astarion, now he knew, it was sheer loathing, disgust, and almost a century of pain this place forced her to confront.

The Elfsong.

“Gale said the keeper is giving us the rooms for free, since we…” Shadowheart whispered behind her hand, all sneaky, “know about the murder upstairs…”

“It seems cheap here,” she shrugged beneath her armor. “Seedy, disreputable.”

“Sounds like you’re describing your intended, Cordehlia,” Gale taunted with that friendly smile. Even though it didn’t meet his eyes. Still that lingering jealousy and doubt she knew.

“Please,” Astarion laughed off the slight even as he put his arm around his love’s shoulders. “I was the son of a High Lord once, Gale,” he grimaced at the name on his tongue. “Cordehlia’s right, however, a place for disreputable debauchery and plotting, the Elfsong,” he laughed with a wave of his elegant hand. “We will all fit right in, I’m sure. Besides, we can't beat the price, and I won’t be sleeping on the streets.”

“Well,” Gale grinned again, perhaps a bit forced, “Can’t argue with that. Keeper said up the stairs.”

The party moved ahead, barely noticing that Cordehlia lingered back, rigid in Astarion’s arm. “Why here…” she huffed. “Won’t the keeper recognize his regular?” she hissed with spite.

“Darling, I haven’t hunted here for decades. It’s not even the same innkeeper.” He placed a kiss on her temple, feeling how her jaw clenched. “Maybe it’s time we make some pleasant memories here… together,” he purred right into her pointed ear, tracing up its delicate point with a feathery touch of a single digit.

She giggled at the tickling touch. “Fine,” she huffed. “But don’t expect me to spread my legs so easily. You’ll need to work for it if we stay here, my love. You have many years to make up for, you know.”

“Oh I know,” he smirked, one hand sliding to pull her in for a kiss by gripping the curve of her ass. “I am well aware of that fact, and that you will never let me forget it, my darling.”

He followed her up the tavern stairs, letting her slip from his arm’s hold. Lungs burned as he held his breath, worried and plagued with his old memories of his place. He tried to force them back down in the dank dungeon where he kept all those feelings from his centuries of torment. From all the targets, victims, hazy moments of disgust he had endured. He could swear it made his undead heart rap with dread. Calmly, slowly he stilled his breath, even as it grew more rapid and ragged as he climbed those same fucking stairs as he had a thousand times before.

This time was different, instead of trailing after some miserable wretch, some target, all he could see was the sway of Cordehlia’s hips and the way her ratted, unkempt, fiery red hair matched that rhythm down her back.

That made the panic subside.

As long as he had her, he would survive this.

The hall opened to a massive suite, a grand chamber filled with a dozen beds and every amenity. It was off limits to the likes of him before; he had only ever been here once, fortunately not on Cazador’s business. That night was fuzzy in his mind, a jumble of fear and exhilaration he recalled, slipping in the shadows with his contraband before being compelled back to the palace. A few moments to himself to steal a moment of respite…

Shaking his mess of curls, he followed Cordehlia towards a corner bed, one tucked away at least a bit, a few slatted screens here and there for privacy.

He smirked as she set her pack down, her toned shoulders rolling themselves out finally relieved of its weight. So graceful and lithe, she made quick work of her armor, dropping back a step at last to see him waiting at the foot of the bed.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she gestured to the massive collection of rooms.

But he only slipped his bag from his shoulder, dropping it on the mattress beside her from a great height.

Letting it fall, his claim to her space.

“Oh, my love,” she tugged its great weight over the covers with effort, “this one is mine…”

“But darling,” he grinned, snatching the bag from her hold and letting it rest at their feet, “what’s yours is also… mine.” Growling that last word, he swept her in his arms, pushing her back into the feathered bed. She yelped and giggled as she fell to his attack, his thin elven armor flexible enough for him to cover every inch of her unbound body. He kissed her, there in front of them all, pushing her legs apart even covered in the light metal that clung to his frame. Her hands dug at the bare skin at his nape, lips dancing with his, all in time with the buck of her hips.

“Insatiable minx,” he rasped between her pumping lips. “Why do you pretend?”

“I’m not, my love,” she chuckled, “you can have the neighboring bed…”

He hissed at that, caging her into the bed all the harder. Mouth trailing quickly to her neck, he sucked on the supple flesh, the skin already scarred from his fangs, bringing her blood to pump there all the faster before he…

“Ah,” she moaned, her skin giving way to teeth, sending her right to the edge of her climax in an instant. He sucked loudly, lapping and popping his lips from her flesh just to draw attention.

“For fucks sake, get a room!” Karlach guffawed from across the space.

“We have one,” Astarion laughed, sarcastic and dark as he raised his blood-drenched face to speak. “You just happen to be in it.”

“In all reality…” Cordehlia pushed her palm against his turned cheek, shoving him up with all her might. “You stink, my love.” She laughed, managing to lift him only slightly from her frame. “You need a good cleansing bath.”

“Tch,” he huffed and frowned in indignation. “I would never say such a thing, even if it were true.”

She scowled, “How loving of you…” Teasing, with just that hint of sarcasm behind it, she doubled her effort, a smile on those rosy lips of hers before she braced against his neck and lifted.

Crimson eyes wide, Astarion smiled wickedly in return. Obeying. Relenting as he raised himself from her body, his own muscles ached to return, taught with the need to do what they always had done in this tavern, longing to fuck her until she was incoherent, this time for pleasure and not from coercion.

But instead he huffed, sliding the plates of his armor off, watching her bare feet tread across the wood floorboards. He could smell her, as he said. But it was more than pleasant. That scent of her sweat, the way her arousal’s musk instantly filled his nose the moment he bit into her neck…

But first, he gathered himself, glancing around to ensure a moment of privacy before he adjusted his growing erection at her scent still in his nose. “Fucking hells,” he groaned as he dug out of his pack to get his cleanest clothes, all the way at the bottom of his bag. Finally, he fought with all the trinkets and loot in his sack to pull out a fresh set of trousers, when something heavy landed on the floor with a thud. One delicate hand reached to gather it up next to his feet, the green, leather bound tome right in her pale palm.

Cordehlia narrowed her eyes at the title embossed on the side in gold. “The Curse of the Vampyre?” she scanned the book and then locked those silver eyes with his, questioning, mischievous and suspicious. “Some light reading while I bathe?”

“Just a little research, darling,” he slipped it from her grasp to tuck it in with his clothing.

“How to kill Cazador?” she speculated, turning to head towards the now-steaming tub in the side of the room. That look she threw him from over her shoulder sent an instant shudder of warm desire to his groin.

“I think I’ll follow my instincts on that one, my love,” he chuckled, dark and tickled with the promise of violence. “No, no,” he hummed as they stopped at the side of the tub, watching as she closed the slat-screen separator, just a bit of privacy despite the wash of voices that floated around the suite. “I’m just… preparing for what it might be, between the two of us.”

Cordehlia slipped from her trousers, that hem of her undershirt barely covering that sweet apex of her thighs. Astarion swallowed the huffing moan he could have made. “Hmm,” she tossed him a smirk before turning her back on him. That little cream shift tugged up over her head as she let her voice lilt and flirt, “and what might that be for us? An eternity in love as Mistress Cordhelia Ancunín?”

“Close, my darling,” he set his clothing in a jumbled mess at his feet. The clean ones, too. And Cordehlia rolled her eyes as she watched him. Arms crossed over her bare breasts, she gave him a rueful yet desirous smile. He made no extra show, tugging his ruffled shirt off from over his one head, juggling the book between his grip. “You see, there’s a difference for a Vampire Lord in the creation of their servants or equals, whoever they should choose to make their own… to make them powerful like them…”

“Whatever fits their fickle, half-formed plans?” she taunted, stepping herself into the water, dunking her long, gnarled hair into the water.

Suddenly, tenderly, two hands fished her long hair from the water. Cordehlia turned slightly, his smirking face grinning with total mischief as he used those skilled hands of his to work the snarls from the end of her hair. A little rose scented oil on the tips of his fingers, and he worked them each out. No noise but the rasp of his breath down the back of her neck as he leaned over the tub. Warm water barely heated his touch, the pads of his touch brushed her cheek. Her head leaned into his palm, but a gasp from her lips slipped out as she felt his other hand close around her breast. His teeth scored over the sensitive shell of her ear, a whispering laugh tickling the inside. “Who’s to say I would be fickle… or have half-formed plans, if I were a Lord?”

A fang dragged over the soft curve of her earlobe, making her sigh, half-swallowed as her back arched at the sensation. “So… if you turn… if you can ascend, that’ll make you…?” she whispered, voice thick in that milk white throat of hers as she turned, water splashing in that tub as she swiveled.

“Lord Astarion….” He sighed, an intense and dreamy look in the dark red of his eyes. “Vampire Ascendant.”

“Is that what’s in your book, my dear? Is that what you’ve been researching?”

“No,” he rasped, standing as he slowly brought his hands to the waistband of his leathers. Pale fingers slipped the small buttons barely holding it closed free one at a time. “If you can’t tell… it’s you and your wellbeing that’s on my mind, darling…” Hands tugging that flap apart, his cock sprang free, and he couldn’t help but give a low, rumbling chuckle as she bit her lip at its sight.

Cordehlia slid over a smidge, her own lithe fingers massaging through her damp hair. Silver eyes were locked on his every move, the way he slipped from those leather pants, the way he slowly sank into the waters beside her.

The way his own right fang peeked out as he chewed his lip and wrapped his arms around her body at last. “I’ve never met one before, never even heard aside from rumors of their existence among my kind. They are rarely created, the perfect match for a Vampire Lord, the perfect threat to them too. But they say there is no greater love than a trusting Lord and his loving… Bride.”

She shivered in his arms, shaking her whole body despite the swirling steam that surrounded them.

“That’s what you want… isn’t it?” he purred right into the folds of her ear again, a single hand stealing underwater to run down her belly. “To be mine… forever?”

Her mouth opened, he could hear it, feel it in her jaw, but no noise came out but breath. Not until he slunk two fingers between her thighs, finding the even warmer, wetter slick that gathered there.

Her legs bent under the water, feet braced on the side of the cloth and wood of the tub. But he slowed his hand, dragging a single fingertip, a single nail even, over that hard little clit of hers. “You have to tell me, darling, if you will be mine… no matter what…”

Her hand reached behind her, clawing into the mess of his own damp curls and slotting her body between his own clenching legs. “You know my answer. It’s the same. It’s unchanging. Constantly beating yes when it comes to you, Astarion, for two-hundred years.”

“I’m so pleased to hear it,” he hissed, gratifying the little bucks of her hips by sinking his long fingers deep inside her channel. “Best keep it quiet though, I would hate to offend the rest of our group’s sensibilities…”

“You would love to give them offense,” Cordehlia snarled back, pulling him by his hair to whisper back in his own ear. Giving him just what he gave her. “You would love to make me give little whimpers, make me moan your name just loud enough to have one of them chastise you, hmm?”

“For what?” he growled back, starting to pick up his pace as he stroked her and crooked his touch inside her. “For being the consummate lover I am? For making you, the great warrior, whine for me, my little pet and darling?”

A hand reached behind her, her fist closing firmly around his cock, making a noise not unlike a moan come from his own throat through his gritted teeth.

“So are you going to share your research…” she pumped him, hard in grip and slow in measure, as she rode his fingers. A smile on her face. “Going to tell me more about what you think might happen?”

“Three bites,” he panted, those fingers of his working inside her, determined to make her squeal and come first. “And then… I drink you almost dry…” His voice in her ear is feral, more monster than man, and Cordehlia shivered, rapture taking hold at his touch and words and… all of him.

“Go on…” she murmured, voice thick in her throat, even as he hand gripped tighter and sloshed more water as she tried to keep up with his own fingers fucking inside her.

“I give you my blood, letting it fill you and make you mine. They say it will be far more pleasurable than anything you have ever… ever… experienced.” He panted, her thumb sweeping right over that spot only she knew, beneath the dip of his head. His thighs clenched, his balls tightened. “Gods,” he groaned, too close now to back down.

“And then I would be your Bride?” she replied, trying so hard to sound perfect and calm, hiding her own approaching pleasure with a pressed and quiet tone.

He held his breath, scoring a nail over that patch inside her, the one he knew always pushed her, careening towards her climax. “Yes,” he finally ground the single word out, definitely louder than he had hoped. “You’ll be your own being, your own set of powers linked to mine. We will walk in the sun, share our minds, share every bit of pleasure and … pain.” He whimpered loudly, too loudly, as she tugged and fondled him mercilessly.

A knock sounded on the divider, Shadowheart’s lyric voice only a bit muffled from the other side. “Can you hurry it up? The longer you take, the longer the rest of us poor peasants need to wait until it’s our turn…. And we obviously need to get fresh water now…”

“Shut up,” he growled, that hand on his cock not slowing a second even as their moment was invaded.

“Shh, play nice,” Cordehlia corrected him, hand leaving his shaft for a moment to clutch those smooth, hard balls in her palm, tight and ready to burst any second now. “Two people in one tub deserve twice as long, logically. Give us five more minutes.” She called so politely.

Their cleric huffed and stamped away, but not before her fingers stroked that flushed, fleshy head in their touch. Once, twice more, she pulsed that grip and stars covered his vision. Coils of heat burst inside him, spurts of cum sullying the water, and best of all, her own cunt flared and clenched in time. Her freehand flew to her mouth, covering it tightly to not make a sound. But he had her, the extra oily slick of her arousal shot around his fingers, her thighs shaking in the water as she bucked out her climax on his touch. And just when she neared the supple pleasure after, fangs sliced into her.

Her shoulder was pierced once, twice, three times. Nips in rapid succession until the final one. That, Astarion let his teeth sink fully into the crook of her shoulder, savoring the sweet, almost floral bouquet of her blood on his tongue. Filling his belly.

Her head rested back against his chest, body limp and warm. A comforting weight against where his heart would have beat, a sad smile on his lips as he released from her neck. Tenderly, he didn’t want to disturb her, he nuzzled into her damp red hair. As he breathed in, that rose-scented oil barely masked her own floral scent.

He didn’t want to disturb her, but maybe she needed to know….

“There’s a bit more to the Dark Kiss… umm the way that a Bride is made…” He trailed off as she turned. Her face was lined with confusion as she wrapped her legs around him in the water, looking hopeful, worried, waiting on his every word.

Astarion sighed. “It’s a bit dangerous,” he continued at last. “Once you wake to feed for the first time, you… you won’t be yourself. You will be feral, ravenous,” he paused, realizing the weight of his words, “dangerous. I’ll have to subdue you to make sure we both remain safe…”

“Alive you mean,” Cordehlia nodded, sage and slow as his meaning took hold. She looked over his shoulder, eyes distant as she thought for a moment. “More than anything, Astarion, I trust you.”

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips tighter, hiding the way tears stung behind his eyelids and the way his jaw wanted to tremble.

“Besides,” she shifted closer to him, running a hand down the ridges of his belly to grip him by the balls again. “You will love the chance to subdue me for once, even if it’s in unfair circumstances.”

Astarion swallowed the grunt at the delicious pressure she put on him, turning it to a laugh. “You're no different you know, not letting me bend the rules so I can win, just like when we were children.”

“Never,” she shook her head, coy smile and flirtatious glints in her eyes. “I’ll never let you off free, not even if you are some exalted Lord.” Those lithe fingers clutched one more time harder around his manhood. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way, my love.”

“Whatever makes you happy, my darling,” he purred, still hiding that lump in his throat. That niggling guilt over what he had done before, now that he knew. Now that he remembered. “I’ll try to be worthy of all that trust you have in me.”

She leaned against his chest, arms wrapping around his neck to bring him closer. A tender smile turning one corner of her lips, she kissed him. “I know you will.”

There was so much to be done… but for this evening, for tonight, they all rested in comfort for once. Every other member in their group gave them a massively wide berth, treating them like newlyweds, letting them hide behind the dividers around their bed, ignoring the little noises that came from behind it. Only once a meal was brought out did Cordehlia leave their little hideaway, just long enough to avoid everyone’s knowing smirks and make a simple plate of cheeses and breads.

Then her bare feet hurried back, for a moment of silence before the subtle and constant rustling resumed from behind those partitions.

A few hours later, silence finally fell. Night in the city was still so loud, too loud. And Cordehlia just couldn’t trance no matter how hard she tried. Even as Astarion fell into easy rest beside her, one arm braced behind her head and the other resting on his belly as it rose and fell. He was comfortable here, his home away from her for almost two centuries. That old pang of bitterness flared in her chest, and she sat aright. All she could hear was soft breathing in the night.

She looked out the window, dawn just starting to break with light. Climbing from the bed, she slipped into her clothing, that fresh cream undershirt, sensible black leathers. She would be quick, that pain from her past pushing her to return one more time to that place where agony had taken root.

One more glance to his beautiful, pale, naked body resting in their bed, she kissed her fingers and pressed it featherlight to his forehead. She’d be right back. One last visit to his grave to close the pain of the past.

Boots on her feet, she reached for her dagger. Just the one, her most favorite, if only to make her feel completely dressed; it would just be a jaunt around the corner to the graveyard, a couple of turns in the safety of the sun before she would return. And after all the ways he’d had her last night, she was sure he’d trance his way through that time.

She stepped silently through the dim room, paying no heed to anything other than that door, than her mission to bid the past farewell for good.

Astarion turned in his trance, his sleep restless and uneasy, the memories of being in the Elfsong mostly inflicting those little cuts and wounds of torture from his past as Cazador’s spawn. Except that one time he had been in this suite of rooms….

His dream swept him back to that time, the way his feet hurried away from the other spawn sent there with him to hunt. That little piece of paper in his hand secreted beneath his arm as he hurried silently up the stairs, picking the lock quickly into this empty set of rooms. It hadn’t been hard to find a dark corner, a loose floorboard…

He didn’t know why it was so important to him, but he had known he wanted to keep it. Even if he couldn’t bring it back to the palace, even if he knew that stealing away from his siblings and coming home empty handed tonight meant a spell in the kennels and a session with Godey. His chest rose and fell with the thrill of insolence. That parchment, that news flier unfolding in his hands made him smile.

Eyes scanned the words too quickly to really take in the story, some account of a battle… some fearsome tale of this warrior goddess… All he could do was stare at the printed likeness of her face on the paper. Black and white, just ink and fading parchment, but he had wanted it. And when Petras had tried to tug it from his fingers, he had snarled and disappeared into the crowd. Now he could savor his treasure, enjoy his stolen goods.

She was alluring, that long hair drawn to tease behind her, that sculpted body covered in dark armor, her face hard and fearsome and yet… something about her lips taunted him. Coy and teasing, beckoning him to look closer.

And closer he did look. His mind had raced over the words, no memory of them now almost a century later… but he remembered clearly what he did with that image in those few stolen moments. How his cock had hardened instantly, how it had been only a few moments of rough and dry handfucking for him to come.

How he had wiped himself clean quickly, breathless from actual pleasure for once in his long, broken memory, before he stashed that flier with the pretty She-elf on it under the floorboard.

Astarion bolted awake at last. Hardly noticing he was alone, he scampered from the bed, tripping as he slipped on his trousers too quickly and scuttled across the suite to the opposite corner.

“What in the hells are you doing, Fangs?” Karlach huffed a laugh, amused and annoyed as she had to hurry out of his way.

He said nothing, fingers pulling the wood up to free that long lost, buried treasure. Flinging himself against the wall, he shook his head. If he didn’t have company, he would have, could have cried.

Victory of the Bone Picker.

Clear as the day that dawned outside the window, he finally took the time to look at the words. To look into the printed eyes of his love.

He knew, somehow all those decades ago, he knew.

“Damn, Fangs, is that Cordehlia?” Karlach peered from the other end. “You knew that was here… you saved it here after all this time, didn’t you?”

“I guess so,” was his honest reply. Those crimson eyes looked up wide and shining wet. “Where is she?”

Karlach shook her head, taken aback. “Isn’t she sleeping her climax marathon off in your bed?”

“No,” he suddenly went rigid. Standing, flying to his feet to peer around the rooms. “Has anyone see Cordehlia?” he couldn’t hide the desperation in his voice now.

Gale looked up from his book at that. “She went for a stroll early this morning, first light. I don’t think she saw me here… not that she pays me much mind at any rate…”

“Shh, shh,” Astarion hushed him right up once he sounded as if he would start another one of his diatribes. “Not now, Gale,” he snipped. “That must have been an hour ago already, so where is she?”

“You could always use our little friends,” Gale suggested, two fingers tapping on the side of his head.

“You mean reach out?” the Vampire frowned.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” the Wizard gave a terse reply. For once.

Astarion closed his eyes, feeling the waves of the tadpole’s power emanating from his mind, searching for the other end.

Something faint returned. A flash of a cemetery, a headstone with his name on it, and a pair of glowing red eyes and stringy black hair staring down at her before… darkness.

Silence.

Nothingness.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Our Blood will update again in 3 days, so your arms don’t get too tired hanging from that cliff 💞💞

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youwouldntdownloadapizza · 3 months

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The Gates of Jackson | Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter 3

masterlist | ao3 | follow @youwouldntdownloadapizza and turn on notifications for updates

You showed up at the gates of Jackson with hands covered in blood and no memory of how you got there. That was two years ago. Since then, you've become Maria's right-hand woman and the person in charge of Jackson's logistical backend. Patrol schedules, inventory—all your purview. When a patrol gone wrong forces you to get to know Joel, memories of your past begin resurfacing—along with their consequences.

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pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors DNI

word count: 1.1k

tags: no use of y/n, eventual smut, no beta we die like sarah, jackson era, other additional tags to be added, slow burn, ellie needs a hug, joel lives, good parent joel, reader-insert, reader insert, forced proximity, only one bed trope, nightmares, childbirth, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, soft joel, cuddling & snuggling, fluff, masturbation, pining, joel falls first, possibly demisexual reader (tbd), ptsd, ptsd flashbacks, panic attacks, amnesia

chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, violence towards children, nightmares

Chapter 3

By the time you descended the ladder, Joel had everything set up. A clean, if dusty and threadbare, blanket was spread before the fireplace. He’d managed to get the fire going, and while it hadn’t reached a roar, it was plenty hot enough to heat some cans for dinner.

“What are you in the mood for?” Joel asked, gesturing between two cans with a pilfered can opener. “I’ve got alphabet soup or beefy ravioli.”

“Ravioli, please,” you said decisively, taking a seat beside him on the blanket. It took a second of him staring at you expectantly for you to realize he was holding out your selection. You took it and dug in.

“Holy shit,” you nearly moaned, the zing of 20-year-old marinara a delight to tired taste buds.

“That good, huh?” Joel asked.

You nodded–yeah, it was really that good.

“Maybe Ellie’s onto something,” he chuckled, digging into his own dinner. You cocked an eyebrow. He elaborated, “She’s big on Chef Boyardee, too. Who knew he’d have so many fans in the apocalypse?”

“I don’t know,” you joked. “Fungal pandemics come and go, but pasta is forever.”

He laughed mid-chew, snorting so effusively a J-shaped piece of pasta landed at your feet.

“Huh,” you said. “J for Joel.”

You ate the rest of your food in relative silence, the levity of the first few bites subsiding once you realized how hungry you truly were.

A few minutes later, you set your empty can on the hearth with a clatter. “I’m gonna turn in.”

Joel nodded. “I’ll take first watch. Good night, Doe.”

“Night, Joel.”

Upon further inspection, the puke-covered couch appeared to convert into a mostly unscathed bed. It felt almost wrong to tuck yourself beneath such cozy bedding in your filthy patrol clothes. Especially since you had to be ready to spring into action at any moment, which meant your shoes stayed on too. But it’s not like there were other options. You lay your head atop the impossibly fluffy pillow, and let your eyes fall shut. Before you knew it, you were asleep.

* * *

You only ever saw Steffy in your dreams anymore. Your baby sister had been there for the collapse of the Salt Lake City QZ, escaping alongside you. But somewhere between fleeing and finding yourself at the gates of Jackson, you’d lost her. You’re not sure what happened exactly, but the dread in the pit of your stomach left no room for wondering: Steffy was dead.

She was alive right now, though. You were little again, sitting on the terracotta tiles of your Aunt Suzie’s back porch. It was summer, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the magnolia tree above you.

While the adults grilled, you and Steffy had a tea party. All the best dolls were invited, teddy bears too. Even Steffy’s favorite, a bedraggled rat plushie named Ratty.

“Ratty wants Earl Grey,” Steffy said, holding out a tiny teacup and saucer.

“Why, of course,” you replied in a bad British accent, pretending to pour him a cup.

Steffy made Ratty drink the whole cup in one gulp. “Dee-licious.”

You giggled. She giggled. It was contagious, the two of you devolving into downright guffaws when you noticed the adults’ chatter had stopped. Looking over your sister’s shoulder, your face fell.

“What’s wrong?” Steffy asked with a tilt of her head.

You wanted to tell her to run. You wanted to tell her to get behind you, that something was wrong. But you were frozen.

That’s when the clicker sunk its teeth into her neck.

You woke with a start, flailing wildly, arm connecting with something hard, something that let out an ‘oof’ in response. Joel. You had hit Joel. Based on the proximity, you guessed he was trying to wake you.

“Sorry,” you panted, heart still racing from your dream. “Time for my watch?”

“No,” you could barely make out the shake of his head against what was left of the dying firelight. “It’s only been a couple hours. You were flailin’ about, looked like you were having a nightmare.”

“Oh,” you said. “Thank you. I’m fine now.”

“If you’re sure,” he said. “I’m here, y’know. If you want to… talk about it, or anything.”

You were still shaky. Your heart was still going so fast. But you weren’t about to discuss your dead sister with Joel Miller.

“I’m fine.” You doubled down, softer than you meant to.

“Okay,” he backed off, returning to his spot leaned up against the fireplace, eyes on the door.

Minutes passed, and your heart was still racing. Your hand throbbed, and you wondered how hard you’d hit Joel. Hopefully not hard enough to leave a mark.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” you said softly through the darkness.

“It’s fine, Doe. You were dreaming.”

You hated the way he brushed away your concerns, the way he gave you grace. In your experience, people rarely let others off the hook, not really. There was always some resentment that lingered.

If you were going to owe him, you might as well really owe him.

“Joel?” you asked.

“Hm?”

“I can’t sleep,” you confessed.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about that.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself to ask for what you wanted. “Will you cuddle with me? It’s not you, it’s just…I need another person. We’re safe here, we don’t need a watch, not really. And I need you.”

“Thought you said it wasn’t personal.”

“It’s not,” you bristled. “But I thought it would be nice.”

“Never said it wouldn’t be, sweetheart.”

You lay there expectantly for what felt like ages. Then, finally, you heard the squeak of old floorboards under his boots, and felt the squish of the mattress as he climbed onto it beside you. You found a position easily, one arm beneath your head, his other loosely draped across your waist.

Your heart slowed marginally, but your breathing remained fast and light.

“Relax, sweetheart. You gotta breathe.”

“I can’t–” you started. He cut you off with a hand to your stomach.

“You can.” He pulled you back against him gently, not so tight you were crushed, but just enough for you to feel the expanding and contracting of his own breath against your back. “Breathe with me, alright?”

You nodded with a shuddering breath. He tapped your stomach lightly with his thumb. You matched his inhale, breathing deeply and resenting the fact that this shit works every goddamn time. Within a few minutes, you were calm. Or as calm as you were going to get, anyway.

“I get them too, you know,” Joel admitted.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were still pulled close against him, neither of you having made a move to scramble apart once your breathing returned to normal. At his admission, you relaxed into him fully, taking his free hand in yours.

Before you knew it, you were asleep once more, dreamless and deep, held safe and secure in the warmth of Joel’s embrace.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller series #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #no use of y/n #joel miller x f!reader #jackson era #joel lives #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction

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junosmindpalace · 21 days

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i find discourse around the rdr women so...fascinating and infuriating at the same time. because a lot of the time it doesn't seem like rdr fans want to apply the same level of complex analysis to the women like they do for the men, but when they do, it still doesnt seem all that well-intentioned or that it does right by their characters.

this is a very long analysis/spam/defense so be warned :,)

even though the majority of sadie's character revolves around the fact she not only lost her home and her husband and was thrust into a new life of crime, but was actively struggling with robberies BEFORE the events of the game, people instead choose to focus on whether or not she had feelings for arthur or whether he actions in the game were actually impactful. she helped saved abigail and john when no else would, she fought alongside the men against the army, she helped john set up a stable life, she helped rob the payroll train, helped ensure colm’s death, she fought alongside arthur TIME AGAIN and took over in a leadership role when half the gang was absent in the guarma chapter. to say that she did nothing more except “be badass” undermines all of these contributions to the story that she was either at the forefront of or helped bring to fruition.

in my opinion, abigail is the EASIEST character to defend out of any of the women, and yet somehow she receives the most backlash from dudebros. I lose ten braincells every time i have to read a theory post over whether or not she slept with other camp members besides john, whether or not she was a rat, and about how much shes a nag. the woman has not known a moment's rest in her entire life. by the age of eight she was working in a cathouse. she was a child prior to then scrapping whatever money she could earn at her young age in saloons and dive bars as a woman and child just to survive as a orphan. jack's birth was clearly not planned, and she has voiced multiple times her grievances at the circumstances of his upbringing. everything she does is for a better life for her son: a life she never had. her constant nagging to get john to man up and be a father is for her son's benefit, not her own. she even says so herself when she tells him that she doesn't mind if a relationship between them doesn't work out, but to at least try being there for jack. she can't work a job because she is a mother living a life of crime and danger; she can't afford to leave the camp and her son unsupervised. she still does her share around camp. why would anyone blame her for not wanting to return to a life that has made her miserable, especially now that she has a child who she wants to model a good life for? many people seem to somehow also forget that she herself was a child when she gave birth to jack; only 17-18. she is 22 in the game in a bad situation with the father of her child and financially. she is doing her best to raise her son when she is not fully equipped to do so. how can anyone even blame her for being skeptical of john when hes affectionate in the epilogue when for so long hes been distant? she does not even ask much of john--just to be there for him sometimes, and to live honestly. she is also incredibly kindhearted. comforting other women in the camp, offering a listening ear, taking care of john when hes injured. she puts in her share of effort when it comes to finding a job in the epilogue and maintaining beechers hope.

molly is a young woman who is presumably incredibly far from her home where her family is, and trying to navigate a way of life completely unfamiliar to her. her stuck up nature comes not only from the way she was raised, but also dutch's uplifting affection and presumed lovebombing in the early stages of their relationship. shes even been suggested to be somewhat sociable until dutch and her became somewhat of an official item, in which she grew somewhat of a bigger ego with a mentality that she was his right hand. she deeply depended on dutch for her stability in every way, and its evident in her eventual spiral. she hated being seen as weak and pitiful as somewhat of an outsider among outsiders. she seemed to be close to no one besides dutch, who repeatedly cut her off when she attempted to talk to him about her growing feelings of anxiety, paranoia and sadness. the loss of the one thing that had built her up, coupled with immense tragedy she just wasnt used to, and desperate for a semblance of respect and dignity that she had presumably been all too accustomed to, of course she was going to come off brash and confront dutch about his distant, high and mighty attitude. it's why by the end, she doesnt care if she is killed: there is nothing left for her. karen's comment about her pretending to rat them out for the sake of attention is also interesting in terms of their relationship and parallels, which i dont see ANYONE talk about.

karen very clearly struggles with...a lot. she has even said so herself when talking with molly. she struggles to accept help, evident in pieces of dialogue where she brushes off concerned gang members about her drinking (mary-beth, arthur, javier), and when she seems somewhat ashamed and embarrassed having to have been rescued by arthur in the valentine mission (SAYING EXPLICITLY "i dont much like being saved"). she struggles with believing people have good intentions/feelings toward her, illustrated in the way she's constantly rejecting sean, yet seemingly disappeared further down the bottle after his death, and her conversation with mary beth and tilly about the world having no equal and fair place for women. her negative experiences in the world as a woman could also influence her view of the world, perhaps being why she finds herself somewhat hostile toward feminist mindsets and why she, for a while, enjoyed the outlaw lifestyle: it was her little slice of freedom. her hatred for the rich can also be because she has experiences as a poor woman, perhaps some direct experiences in which rich people have negatively impacted her life. though molly and karen don't get along through most of the game, karen actually tries to step in and help her near the end, and its this action + defending her after her death that shows she was sympathetic toward her situation and on some level able to relate to it, both craving some kind of love beyond superficial things.

@/cryptidcr3ature said it very well in a post i reblogged recently: mary is essentially "her brother's keeper and her father's caretaker". she herself lives somewhere middle class with traditional notions of the time impacting her views on arthur's lifestyle and anything below those middle class standards being deemed as socially unacceptable (which is evident from the very first letter mary sends to arthur, in which she seems confused on what a polite term would be to refer to prostitutes, who were obviously thought very lowly of in the time). i also don't think its fair to criticise her condemnation of arthur's lifestyle when pretty much all audiences, contemporary and not, including members of the gang, acknowledge that it isnt anything pretty. killing is not fun. running from the law is not fun. mary was not only influenced by her father's views of arthur (a person that, despite being horrible, she still deeply loves), but looking after her own family, herself, and arthur's wellbeing when she ended their relationship + suggested they run away. she had given him an opportunity at compromise. perhaps the first time, scared and unfamiliar with his lifestyle, she had offered arthur an ultimatum: her or his outlaw life, but later was willing to also leave behind her brother and father, two figures that tie her down and make her life more miserable than need be despite loving them very much, in order to settle somewhere with arthur and start over. her asking for arthur's help comes from a place of desperation and excuse to allow herself some semblance of stability when she hadn't had it; at least not since her mother and husband passed. if arthur refuses to help her, she is incredibly understanding and sympathetic. she does not lash out. if arthur does help, she is immensely grateful, and even tries to bond with him despite their years apart.

this post isnt to excuse some of their more negative behaviours and aspects of their characters'-- but im saying that they deserve to be fairly treated and analyzed just like any of the rdr men. many of them are young. many of them have unique challenges as women. that isn’t to say the men have it easier, but their struggles and less prettier aspects of their characters are always met with more sympathy than the women. why do arthur and john get passes as reformed absent fathers and criminals? why does sean receive sympathy when karen rejects his pushy advances? why does hosea get a pass at being better than dutch when he still groomed younger members of the gang for a life of crime alongside dutch? why does dutch get a pass by having his downfall be justified by tough circumstances? lets just be fair

#Also these are purely my own interpretations of the characters. i would LOVE to see other rdr women analyis posts #i’m VERY OPEN to hearing interpretations of the women and i understand some of these are purely for funsies and hcs and that’s all fine!#or comments in general #but they should not be treated as canon especially if they invalidate crucial parts of their characters #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #abigail marston #karen jones #mary linton #molly oshea

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cherrybeartoast · 4 months

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things my family (and friends) have said irl as things skz would say

tagging @hannahhbahng since harper was a lil excited about the last one !!!

chris:

"i'm unpredictable. i'm dangerous. i just put on my indicators and went straight."

"aw, thank you, you saved me a spot while i was busy rolling my ankle!"

"and while you finish that off im gonna draw some faces on eggs. because i’m an adult and i can."

"break your mate's hand...assert dominance...actually make sure they have medical insurance first."

*standing in the doorway* "i AM outside. i can feel the wind in my...beanie."

minho:

"if someone hits you, kill their mother."

"yeah, yeah, you don't wear sunscreen bc it makes you feel gross, y what'll feel grosser? chEMOTHERAPY, DUMB BITCH!"

"no offence? there is a fence! i have so many fences, i have a whole ass yard."

"c'mon now you've been through sexual education, you know how these things happen."

"you're not putting on your jumper right. you're meant to like, suffocate three times during the process, it's just sliding on nicely."

"i am jamie oliver reincarnated- oh wait he's not dead yet."

changbin:

"the rabbits eat the carrots and then the carrots eat the...oh wait that doesn't work."

"i'm sorry about my language but...it's fricking lit."

"do you mind if i eat my peanuts?"

"my goodness your hydrangeas are looking SMASHING!"

"is 'flamboyant' a good word to use?"

"those are the beaniest beans i've ever beaned."

hyunjin:

"i said bless you twice. i'm not saying it again."

"they're RECYCLED pants. they're made from crushing OLD PANTS, and turning them into NEW PANTS."

"i'm going to grammar my essay. full stop, full stop...talky marks, another full stop."

"no, because i am an inconsistent queen."

"well it is study skills, you're skilling your studies, studying your skills."

"pft, well, someone owns the moon!"

jisung:

"i sat in the freezer once for like 10 minutes and it was SO COLD."

"and maybe that's just my excessive people pleasing wait does your ear cuff go all the way around okay good."

"and so i tried talking to...i'm about to fall asleep."

"woah...trauma jokes are DEEP."

“eueOEHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! cancelcancelcancelcancelcancel.”

"living that pre-christian lifestyle!"

"you give a fish a man a day, that day, a man a live."

felix:

"you look very nice and golden. like a nice toasted waffle."

"no don't swear! the frog i'm playing in crossy road might be very young."

"I TOLD YOU EVERYTHING WAS FINE STUPID DUOLINGO MAN!"

"no we have to do it prehistorically."

"maybe i identify as a salamander."

"i don't think that's possible, i'm a morning person."

seungmin:

"it's not cheating, it's psychological consultation."

"in the nicest possible way, you look like a white rapper."

"no, i'm not writing CHAPTER THE THIRD, dumbass."

"thanks for the gift but my birthday was like four months ago and this is a library book."

"that never would've happened if you had SAFER CHAIR ETIQUETTE."

"that's like saying oh you have 5mins to answer this questioHA NEVERMIND!"

"MWAHAHAAHA my rat is coming along!"

jeongin:

"they're being PRODUCTED!"

"pretty sure he practices snoring."

"yeah, you love me. but not like that. no homo."

“HOW CAN YOU COMPARE SOMEONE TO A USELESS ORGAN THAT NOBODY LIKES BECAUSE IT EXPLODES?”

"if i just use really descriptive words...anne. frank. died. badly. anne frank died badly by death which is sad because she died by death."

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class1akids · 2 months

Note

hii, so what do you think will happen to Deku?? ive been seeing soo many people on my tl saying that he'll end up quirkless and i know its not supposed to be like that but now idk anymore and with this last chapter i think he may end up quirkless which i hate btw. Anyways, what are your thots on this and where do you think the memory thing is going?

I'm sorry to say, but I've been a "Deku ends up quirkless" again truther for many years. To me, narratively, it just makes sense for the overall set-up of the main question of the manga: "Can I be a hero?" which has kept coming back in the endgame to come full circle.

In this story, we have learnt that all kinds of people can become heroes: people with "villain quirks" (like Shinsou), people with niche quirks (Aizawa, Monoma), people with troublesome quirks (Mirio), people who don't even use their quirks to be heroes (Hatsume). So I don't see how it would be only the MC, who needs specifically the greatest power in existence to be a hero. Deku needs to be able to face his quirkless middle school self and tell him with all confidence that "you can be a hero too".

To me, given how OFA evolved (the multiple quirks, the shortcuts to 100%, the short learning time), it would make sense if Deku's journey is not to be an empty chalice / tool for OFA, but OFA to be the tool for him to discover his own strengths (physical, mental, battle IQ, etc.), learn how to fight and help him to become a hero.

All Might even did the test run for an Armored Hero, mimicking the quirks of Class A and held up against AFO just as well if not better than people with quirks did. That plot is way more fitting for Deku who has actually been relentlessly studying his friends' quirks and with proto-Deku being an actual tech hero.

And on top of it, I think that Deku staying as ridiculously OP as he is would not give him a happy ending. OFA has no reason to exist once AFO (the quirk) is gone for good. Staying so OP would send Izuku down the road of All Might 2.0 - whether he wants to or not - with no life for himself. He's self-sacrificial enough that if he has the power to do everything, he will keep doing it and run to every corner of the world to help. It's isolating and that rat race is not what makes Izuku as a person happy.

He's someone who likes to hang out with his friends, stop to chat with people he saved and make candy apples to make them smile. That's where his true happiness lie imho.

The only question mark I have is because of Bakugou's ridiculous power-up. I've always thought Bakugou and Deku will end up around the same power level in the end (to keep the whole rivals thing going into post-franchise movies). Probably Shouto too, but that's less of a given.

But now, I'm not sure how Horikoshi will balance this. Bakugou is still nowhere near full-power Deku, but Armored Deku I don't think would be a credible rival to 2xAwakened Bakugou. So because of that, I can imagine, Hori will do the typical Hori-thing and won't commit and will go instead for some half-ass solution of nerfing Deku just so (e.g. having him keep Black Whip or have some asspull of the super strength fuse into his DNA, or get a quirk back from Tomura...) and then keep the fandom arguing who is stronger.

For me, the narratively more compelling story is to have Deku wake up quirkless after the big battle, after he saved the world and getting a few chapters of him getting back to his feet, and not a single soul question whether he still belongs to the hero course because of course he does. And then have absolutely everyone help him - to pitch in money to develop his armor and help him train and everyone (and especially Bakugou) treat him as absolute EQUAL and as an inspiration. And then have him graduate from UA as the first ever quirkless hero ever (and go on to work as hero partners with Bakugou probably).

Hori said that he has a lot of stuff he wants to draw after the war, and I think something like this would make sense.

#c1a asks #midoriya izuku #quirkless deku endgame #bnha endgame speculation

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oftenwantedafton · 20 days

Text

Kismet - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapters 7 + 8 (finale)

Rating - Explicit

CW - sexual content, graphic blood and violence, child character death(Charlie Emily)

Also available on AO3 Chapter 7 | 8

Chapter 7

It is pouring in the dream.

He knows it is a dream, because he recognizes how much newer the pizzeria looks: the paint still fresh, the colors vibrant, the plaster and tiles and lights all in place and the latter in working order. The parking lot is clear of debris and weeds and potholes, the tar only a year old, recently paved again.

It is late, and he is not meant to be there, but destiny has made him forget the papers he needs to work on the budget, so he is back again, for what is intended to be a quick in-and-out venture.

He was not expecting to find his business partner’s daughter weeping at the side of the building—another intervention on fate’s part, as he’d parked in back but had forgotten to bring the keys to the restaurant with him, strange how many things he’d been forgetting, his mind constantly lapsing—and was cutting across to the front of the building to use the main entrance when he’d quite literally run into the young girl, standing atop a stack of shipping pallets, balanced precariously, trying to peer into the window of the kitchen, seeking a way inside.

“Uncle Bill,” she greets, sniffling.

“What are you doing out here, Charlie?”

“The mean kids locked me out here.”

He frowns, oblivious to the growing lateness of the hour, to the rain now pelting him, staring at Henry Emily’s daughter with a strange expression on his features. “You shouldn’t be out here. Alone.”

He reaches a hand out and she takes it, so tiny in his own, nearly tumbling from the wooden slats she’d been balancing on, but he catches the girl before she can fall, his other hand grasping her by the waist and setting her down.

She has been crying for some time, her eyes red and puffy, a trail on snot leaking from one nostril that she keeps attempting to inhale back into place. The rain plasters her hair to her scalp and she looks more like a half-drowned rat than a small girl. Pitiful. Yet he doesn’t feel pity in that moment. Instead, he sees an opportunity. A little payback for the slights he’s endured because of her father. Thinking he could just take over the Afton family, as if his having his own wasn’t enough. Replacing him when he wasn’t even gone.

And then there is the research. Those elusive details that his old college roommate comprehended but didn’t see the value of; that wasted knowledge, gifted on someone who didn’t even deserve it. He needed a push in the right direction, and this would be one hell of a shove.

He’s carried a knife with him of some variant since childhood, since camping trips and wilderness training with the scout troop, always a useful tool. He reaches into his pocket for his keyring and the girl stands there watching him with those same guileless, trusting eyes her father has. Was he really going to do this? She was innocent. None of this had anything to do with her.

But it does, he argues back in his mind. It has everything to do with her. Carving out a new path. He lifts her up under the pretense of carrying her back inside where it’s safe and warm and dry. The hand holding the knife tucked alongside her ribs. Shoved between them. Her mouth falls open in surprise. Just that, no sound as he repeats the stabbing motion again and again, punching into the fragile flesh. The downpour dilutes the crimson lifeforce painting his fingers, muffles the ragged gasps for air she’s making.

The body falls. He stares down at his victim. The keyring drops from nerveless fingers. He falls to his knees. The restaurant withers and decays behind her crumped form.

Dave Miller opens his eyes. You’re still sleeping, curled up beside him. He strokes your cheek gently. You stir, eyes lifting drowsily to regard your lover. A lazy smile curves your mouth.

“Is it time to get up?”

“No. You can sleep longer. As much as you want.”

“Did you get any rest?”

“A little.”

Your eyes are losing that gauzy appearance, clearing as you become more alert. “Are you alright? You look a little…I don’t know. Upset.”

“Bad dream. It’s alright. I have them from time to time.” He pauses. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” You turn to lie on your back and he rests a hand on your abdomen, softly stroking the skin.

“I still owe you breakfast. A debt I can’t seem to clear.”

“Mmm…I still want to eat outside.”

“We’ll do both today.”

He’d come home late the night he’d killed the Emily girl. Spending a long time washing at the sink in the downstairs bathroom. Scrubbing at the blood staining his hands until his skin was red and raw looking. Sitting stiffly on the living room couch. Intending to sleep there, though slumber never came. Still upright, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, waiting for dawn. Walking into the bathroom and entering the shower with those same vestments covering him. Stepping beneath the spray of water and letting it soak him. Oblivious to hunger, the start of his weight loss. Under eyes smudged from lack of sleep, a new feature that would forever mark his flesh. An end, and a beginning. Walking hand in hand.

It is a little past noon in the present and he has you, his second chance, trusting and affectionate, kissing his mouth and caressing the scars, oblivious to the sins of his past, helping him carve a new future.

Downstairs in the kitchen you cook side by side. Sausages. Pancakes. Evan’s favorite. A Sunday tradition, back before things had gone so badly, before life had soured. His youngest had a habit of drowning hot cakes in maple syrup. Somehow managing to spread that sticky substance everywhere. Never able to clear the plate he’d insisted on filling comically high.

It’s warm in the kitchen after cooking on the griddle cook plate on the stove. Warmer still outside. Beneath the trees that offer shade it is tolerable. Being with you making it more tolerable still. But he longs for a return to the indoors, to the darker, cooler interior of his home. Bringing you back with him into the shadows.

***

Dave has that look again.

That faraway look like he’s lost in some past memory. An occasional occurrence when you’re together with him somewhere else, a more frequent one when you’re both at his house, as if the past haunts him strongest here. You’d seen it that afternoon when you’d first woken up. Again in the kitchen while cooking together. You want to ask. You don’t want to know. Caught between the two.

You lend a hand in clearing things after a breakfast that has become lunch, hastily sliding the doors open so Miller can carry the tray of used plates and cups inside. You help him clear the counters, cleaning up the mess left from preparing the meal. You wrap your arms around his waist and press a kiss along his spine.

The faucet shuts off. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “I know I must sound like a broken record, but…” He turns and you step back, allowing him space to move. “I just want you to know.”

“I’m glad to be here, too.”

“Want to go for a ride?”

“Okay.”

You follow the older man into the garage. Remembering suddenly you still aren’t dressed appropriately. You really needed to do something about that.

“Maybe we should go pick you up some proper gear first.”

“Funny, I was just thinking about that.”

“Well, you know what they say. Great minds think alike.” He moves to the passenger door of his sedan, unlocking it and pulling it open partway.

“Thanks.” You rest your hand on the frame, intending to pull it open but he halts you, pushing against you, the door closing again.

“Maybe a little more of this before we leave,” he murmurs, nuzzling at your neck.

“That can definitely be arranged.”

“Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement. We get along so well…” His fingers are already on the fly of your shorts. “Maybe we should get in the back, or…no.” He tugs on your hand, pulling you closer to the hood. “Right here. Bent over for me.” Back at your shorts, dragging them and your panties down. Not all the way, just clearing your buttocks, leaving them somewhere over your thighs.

You let him guide you into position, turning you, pushing you gently down over the hood. The metal surface is slightly cool. Dave’s hand warm on your hip, the other unfastening his own fly before guiding his cock into you.

The air leaves your lungs in a hiss as he fully sheathes himself inside of you. You didn’t need the foreplay. You’re already dripping wet. Craving him. It’s still a stretch, still aching from last night. But you find yourself pushing your buttocks back against him, meeting each thrust with a lewd sounding slap of flesh.

It feels different in this position. Like he can hit you deeper. Your hands squeak on the alloy surface you’re resting on. Readjusting. You can’t move your legs much, still shackled by your clothing. A playful smack on one cheek. You make a sound somewhere between a giggle and a moan. Another slap, firmer this time. His hand snakes around to your front, stroking over your clit.

You curse, allowing him to lift your torso up, bringing you partly upright, massaging that bundle of nerve endings as he continues the push and pull into your canal. You’d thought the temperature in the garage was comfortable at the start but you’re getting hot already, leaving behind smudged streaks of condensation on the hood. Your head lifts and your eyes catch sight of a panel set into the wall beneath one of the workbenches. It looks like a door of some kind, well concealed but visible at this angle. You frown but it’s already out of your thoughts. Those expert fingers know exactly how to pull the orgasm out of you now, aided with the feeling of his prick pounding into you.

“That’s my good girl. Cum for me. That’s it…” You’re already there, quaking against his fingers, shuddering over the cock sawing in and out of you. He bends to kiss your back through your damp shirt. You reach back and find the hand still resting on your hip, squeezing it, willing him to follow you down the same path of pleasure. As much as you enjoy this position you miss his mouth, miss kissing him, miss staring into those hungry eyes of his. They must be nearly black now, just completely blown wide as he fucks into you fast and hard and you feel the instant he climaxes, that hot seed spurting into you, the ragged sigh of a moan leaving his lips.

You’re upright again, turning and dragging a quick, sloppy kiss along the corner of his panting mouth, sharing his crooked grin. “I had every intention of taking you out today,” he manages.

“I know. I don’t mind. We can go out another time.”

“Want to take a bath?”

“You have a tub? I thought you just had the walk in.”

“Different bathroom.” He nips at your bottom lip. “Come with me.”

“I just did.”

“Oh, I’m defiantly wearing off on you already. Let’s go get cleaned up. And then get dirty again. And then…”

He helps you tug your shorts and panties back into place. You can feel his load dripping back out of you. Amazed at the man’s stamina. Guys half his age were never able to keep up this pace.

You’re at the foot of the stairs when you think about the panel in the wall again. “Hey, Dave?”

“Hmm?” His arms around you again, his mouth at your throat.

“Never mind. Not important. Let’s go get in the tub.”

***

Dave Miller is supposed to be meeting you on campus.

That had been the plan, anyway, before his bike had suddenly decided to have its first issue since he’d bought it. Dying when he’d just gotten back into the city proper. He makes it to the side of the road, kicking the stand with more force than necessary. The worst possible timing. And now he’d have to leave it here. No service stations would be open at this hour.

He jerks the leather gloves off his hands and shoves them in his pocket, securing his helmet to the rear of the bike. It was much too hot to be wearing it. Hopefully it wouldn’t be stolen. He unzips his jacket, draping it over the seat of the motorcycle, then dragging aside his shirt sleeve to look at his wristwatch. He’d left early, so he shouldn’t be too late. He’d get a cab to take him the rest of the way.

Miller’s sweating by the time he’s finally in the back of a taxi, grateful to be in air conditioning. He tosses the first bill he finds in his wallet towards the driver—more than enough to cover the fare and a generous tip for him to wait—and starts the trek across your campus. It’s getting dark out. The temperature still oppressive. He needs something cold to drink. The iced tea he keeps in the fridge. Or a beer. He’s not a heavy drinker. He doesn’t like having his judgment impaired. But it sounds perfect right then. A cold beer and a cold bath with you.

His pace quickens. Yeah, definitely stopping for beer. That cab driver was going to make bank tonight. There. That was the building where the photo lab was.

You’re not outside, by the statue of the school mascot where you’d promised you’d be.

His steps slow. Still inside, maybe. Working.

Except he knows you’re not. He can feel it. Something’s wrong. His eyes dart around the grounds. No one else around. He shouldn’t have let you come by yourself. Not at night. He reaches in his pocket for his keyring.

For the knife that’s never left his side.

***

Your boyfriend is late.

You reposition your book bag on your shoulder, pacing a little in front of the statue you’d agreed to meet Dave at. It got dark a little earlier now, the season already changing, though you’d never know it with the intense heat that still lingers. You debate about retreiving your portable cd player from your bag. You hate wearing headphones in this heat. Dave would be here soon. You just needed to be patient.

A hand closes over your mouth and you’re jerked backward.

You instinctively rake your nails against the assailant’s hands and forearms, but they don’t budge. Your keys are in your backpack, meaning you don’t have access to your kubaton. Your mace is in there as well. Might as well be at home, for all the good it’s doing you now.

Stupid. So stupid to be so lax.

You shout for help but it’s muffled against the fingers barring your lips. You can smell motor oil. Sweat. Body odor. One of your tennis shoes is dragged off. You’re in the park next to the school. Pushed down next to a gazebo. It was still summer. Surely people would be there. Someone, anyone. The heavy weight of a pair of legs drops onto your own. The man is wearing a black ski mask. Hand still clamped over your mouth. Ignoring your flailing upper extremities.

A moment of terror as the man reaches for his belt and then he’s gone. Yanked clear of your prone form. You struggle to sit up, scrabbling backwards. Dave. It’s him. One arm curled around the man’s jaw. A knife—the one you’d seen in the laundromat, maybe—pressed against the side of the man’s neck. The temporary relief melts back into fear.

“Dave!”

“Run. There’s a cab waiting out front. Go!”

You’re afraid to leave him. Afraid of something else you don’t even consciously understand.

“Go,” he growls and you jerk to your feet, stumbling, running unevenly with one foot still bare, leaving the close cropped grass and finding the pavement again. Begging the man behind the wheel of the cab to get help. The police. A couple walking on the sidewalk stop, looking alarmed. You wonder if the words are even coming out in coherent sentences. Pleading again. You hear the man on the curb say something about a pay phone. You turn back in the direction you’d run from.

Dave.

***

“You’re lucky that I’m letting you live.” Dave digs the knife into the man’s thigh and twists. A muffled shout against his hand. Another futile struggle. There is no escaping the thin man’s grasp. “If you’d harmed her in any way, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.” A stab at the soft abdomen. Not hitting anything vital, not going particularly deep, but still puncturing all the same. Adults’ bodies were sturdier than children’s. He’s learned that the hard way.

The man’s blood is leaking over the security guard’s fingers from the laceration he’d gifted on the side of the attacker’s neck. He’s still so, so tempted to end this scum’s life right now. But there will be police. Questions. An investigation. He doesn’t want that much attention. So he forces himself to leave it at that, wiping the blade on the man’s shirt before sliding it closed, returning it to his pocket. He’s drenched in sweat. Shaking. If he hadn’t been there in time…

But he had been. Fate intervening once again. Spotting your shoe. Following the trail. Reaching you before you’d gotten hurt. He hears the sirens and his grip relaxes. He’s well versed in dealing with the authorities. He knows exactly what to say. How to behave.

Miller’s eager to return to you.

His hands cup your face when he’s by your side once more. The criminal apprehended. There are statements to be made. But right now all he wants is this frail creature he’s got between his hands. Cradling you. Seeing you alarmed at the sight of blood staining his skin, his clothing.

“It’s okay. It’s not mine. You’re okay. We’re okay.” A mantra to soothe you.

To reassure himself.

***

After the incident, you return to looking over your shoulder. Wary of the dark, of the shadows.

You know the stalker is behind bars. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t others. You make certain to always have your self defense tools in ready reach now when you’re alone.

Much of the time you’re with Dave.

The older man even more protective of you now. Clinging. You welcome the attention. You’re safe with him.

You don’t dwell on the memory of him holding the knife. On how easily he’d shifted someone twice his weight. Adrenaline, you think. Lending him extra strength. He’d done what he’d had to to protect you. You know how strong he is. You’d felt it. You know how gentle he can be, too.

You're at his house now. Morning. He’s going to be heading to bed soon. You’re going to attempt some schoolwork later while he sleeps. It’s become a routine. You here or him over your place. At the pizzeria. Behind the shelter in the back of his car. On the back of his bike once he’d gotten it fixed.

Always together.

Chapter 8

Dave Miller is lying in bed, fresh out of the shower, watching you with lidded eyes as you approach his naked body.

You crawl on the bed, working your way up to his mouth, planting kisses that start from thigh to hip, teasing just shy of his erection, sweeping over his stomach and chest, collarbone and neck and jaw before finally meeting his lips. He feels something when you kiss him, more than that hot flutter in his stomach or the throbbing between his legs. Something new. A kind of ache he’s never known and he’s reluctant to label. He has a sneaking suspicion of what it is. He just doesn’t know if he’s wants it. If he’s allowed to have this.

Your mouth departs his and you’re moving back down again, lapping at the liquid oozing from the top of his cock, watching him when you slide your lips down over him. His fingers twitch, burying in your hair. He feels words pressing against the back of his teeth. Not the usual filth that issues forth when he’s intimate with you, but something of a very different kind. You’re perfect. He’s told you this before. More than that. You’re for him. His. You’ve no idea how afraid he had been that night you’d been attacked. Losing you would be like losing himself. He couldn’t go through that again.

He can only rebuild his soul so many times.

Dave watches as you suck his dick, enjoying the feeling of your lips and tongue, the suction that drags the soft flesh of your inner cheeks, the narrowed opening of your throat, that pulsing gag as you force him deeper, abusing yourself with his length. His hand on your head is merely a gesture of affection. He doesn’t have to guide you, doesn’t need to force you. You take him as deep as you can, just like you do when he’s fucking your pussy, shoved in to the hilt, battering your cervix.

He doesn’t need to warn you when he cums, because you know his body so well now, already prepared for the next load, humming encouragement against him, working faster, eyes locked with his, pleading. He won’t deny you, spilling into your mouth, watching you gather it on your tongue, still holding that collection of fluid as you rise, letting him see you gulp it down, licking your lips to catch any stray drops that may have escaped. He knows how it tastes; doesn’t like the bitter flavor, your own is so much better, but he welcomes your kisses afterwards, sucking your tongue until the taste lessens, feeling the drowsy pull of the sleep he needs making each movement more languid.

”Stay with me until I fall.”

He means asleep, or maybe he means something else, that other thing, that feeling you’ve been steadily dragging him towards.

***

You shut your notebook with a sigh.

The words for your psychology paper won’t come.

You stand up and stretch, looking around the living room. Empty, of course. Just like the rest of Dave’s house. And with him asleep, you’re suddenly realizing how little there is to around here.

You’re bored.

The garage is probably the most interesting place you’ve seen thus far. The sketches and drawings on the workbenches. The strange metal contraptions. At least it would be give you something to stare at besides blank pages or empty shelves.

You turn the doorknob and descend the staircase. There’s a pull chain nearby for the light that you tug on as you walk towards the nearest table.

Cluttered. Dusty. He hasn’t touched this anytime recently. You don’t understand what you’re looking at. Too technical. Maybe not what you’d been expecting. You stub your toe on a box beneath the workbench and it jolts another memory. That weird panel on the wall beneath the desk.

You crouch down, reaching, your fingers falling short. You’ll have to crawl underneath. The garage is pretty clean as far as garages go but it’s still unpleasant kneeling down on the concrete. Your fingernails sink into the seam and you tug, finding the panel shifts easily. Dark inside. There had been a flashlight on the table. You crawl back out and retrieve it, switching it on and shining it into the hole.

It’s deep. Far larger than you’d expected. Piles of something. Journals? A box. And beyond that…you can barely make it out. You crawl closer, lifting the beam again and nearly cry out.

One of the animatronics. Except this one is in a terrible state. A rabbit whose color you can’t discern. Yellow? Green? Somewhere in between the two. Rents in the fabric and fur. Exposed wires. Rusting metal. An ear torn clean in half. The headpiece detached from the rest of the mascot, perched on the lap, facing you.

You shouldn’t be doing this. There had to be a reason why Dave has this stashed away, though you can’t think of a single one. But morbid curiosity has you in a vice grip. You reach for one of the journals. Dusting it off. Lifting the cover.

You know this handwriting. You’d seen it on the diagram the security guard had drawn for you when you’d been studying the cardiovascular system. Cramped cursive. The pen boring deeply into the pages so that they have texture you can feel as you turn each one, almost like a type of braille. So much writing. You see the name Henry Emily mentioned often. Dated entries. He’d kept a diary? They were all diaries? You close it and select another, digging further down into the pile. The writing rougher. More frantic, as if he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. Names you don’t recognize. Ranting about his family being stolen. Something called remnant. It’s as confusing as the things he’d left on the work station.

Now for the box. You hold your breath, listening. No sounds of movement. Miller was still asleep. You drag it into your lap as you settle on the floor next to his car.

Don’t do this. There’s no going back from this.

You don’t know where the warning comes from. You’re still not overly alarmed yet, just confused. But there’s a nagging feeling that’s about to change once you discover the contents within.

Cover removed. Framed photographs greet you. Nothing familiar. Children. Three, of varying ages. An attractive fair haired woman. Dave’s family? A token and a flyer from the restaurant announcing a grand opening. Newspaper articles reflecting that same announcement. You dig deeper. A wedding band. Plain gold. A man’s ring. More clippings from the news. A missing child. The date stirs a memory. Around the time your parents had stopped taking you to Freddy’s. More missing children. A laminated card with an obituary for a young boy. Another news article about the police investigation progress. There had never been any. A bearded man with glasses looking uncomfortable. The co-owner. The other a heavyset man with dark hair holding a hand in front of his face, blocking his features from view. Both interrogated. No evidence of foul play discovered. Both cleared of any wrongdoing.

You frown. Why on earth would Dave have all this? Had he worked there previously? Did he have some sort of strange fascination with Freddy’s? You’d always wondered about that relationship he had with the owner. As if they were friends. Another obituary card. Henry Emily. That was the end of the contents.

You begin replacing things, halting when you reach the grand opening article again. Squinting at the black and white photograph. You know who one of the men was, now: Henry Emily. The caption identified the other as William Afton. The heavyset man with dark hair. You bring the yellowing newsprint closer to your face. It wasn’t the clearest picture to begin with and the aging process made it even more difficult to discern. You’d have to magnify it. You could do it in the photo lab at school.

You carefully fold the page and put everything back, retreating to the living room. The news article is tucked between the pages of your psychology textbook.

You suddenly feel foolish. You should just ask. There had to be an explanation for all of this. You shouldn’t be going behind your boyfriend’s back.

But the way he’d hidden it. The mascot suit. The collection of manic ramblings. How to account for any of that? How would you even broach that subject? Hey, funny thing, I was in your garage looking through the stuff you have hidden in the wall—cool rabbit, by the way—and I was just wondering what the fuck all of this is? Care to shed a little light?

Dave’s nearly to the couch before you realize he’s awake again and you jump. “Oh my gosh, you scared me. I thought you were still sleeping.”

“Evidently.” He stops, glancing at your notebook sitting on your lap. “Making any progress?”

“Some. Not much.”

He tips his head to one side, one ear touching his shoulder and a large cracking sound issues forth, repeating the process for the other side. “Want some help?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe later.” You pause. That uneasy feeling hadn’t left. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.”

“Not unless you were playing around in the garage. I thought I heard something. You know the master bedroom is right above it.” Miller yawns and you give a nervous laugh.

“No. Nothing in there that would interest me.”

“Quite. Well, I’m awake now. Do you want to go out? Go do something?”

“I’m actually going to go to the library. Do some research for the paper. And maybe develop some prints while I’m at it,” you add.

The security guard shrugs and nods. “Okay.”

You put your notebook back in your pack, tugging the zipper shut. Dave’s still standing there, as if waiting for something. Kissing him isn’t the first thing on your mind right then, but you know you’re already acting suspicious as it is. You set the bag back down on the couch and twine your arms around his neck. “I had a nice time.”

“Mmm-hmm.” His mouth finds yours and your body responds as it always does, a flame beginning in your core. “You sure you don’t want to stay a little longer?”

“I do. Always. But I’m trying to be good about not proscatinating. I really want to make some progress on this paper today.”

“You’re a good girl. When can I see you again?”

“Tomorrow. I’m doing a quick four hours at the shelter in the afternoon.”

“I’ll come get you, then.” He kisses you longer this time, his hands sitting on your waist. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

“Dave,” you plead.

“Okay. Tomorrow. Go get some work done. I’ll try to take another nap, maybe. Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

“I don’t want to wake you up.”

“Call me,” he says again. “I insist.”

You nod, grabbing your backpack from the couch, hardly daring to breath until you’re back inside your car. You’d felt so safe with Dave. Especially after that incident at school. Now, though. Now you’re remembering the feeling you’d had that day you’d fled the security office. There was something off. Something wrong. And you were on your way to find out exactly what that something is.

***

The attempt to magnify the newspaper article is a flop.

The image quality is just too poor. You need an original. And that reminds you of going to the library. Microfiche reader. They were bound to have the file there. You haven’t used it that often, maybe once or twice in your entire life, but the clerk that’s working that afternoon is a kind, middle aged woman who’s only to happy to offer guidance. Cheerful until you mention what you’re looking for specifically.

Then her face darkens. “Why would you want to see that awful man? He’s gone now and Hurricane is better for it. It would be better still if they just tore that eyesore down, but the bastard won’t budge and sell. Sorry, dear, for the profanity,” she apologizes. “There are just a lot of us in this town that have bad memories of that place.”

You wave away her concern. “Did you ever see him in person? William Afton?”

“I’m sorry to say I did. It’s not a face you forget. He was a larger man. Tall, carrying extra weight. He was handsome in the early days. Charming. Easy, generous smile. Soft voice. Everyone liked him and his wife. Their kids. Then when things went south, well…he changed. And we saw him for what he really was. The absolute devil, that man.” She shivers. “Maybe the trouble started when he lost his youngest in the accident. Not that I’m excusing his actions, mind you. It was supposed to be a prank with his eldest, gone wrong. He was always causing trouble, that one. The typical rebellious young teenager. Showing off to his friends. Stuffed that poor boy’s head right inside one of those horrid anima-watchits. Bit it clean off.”

You cover your mouth with your hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry if I’m upsetting you. Like I said, it’s not something you really should be researching. Find another topic for your project.”

“I can’t. It has to be this.”

She shrugs. “Well, this is it. The date of the newspaper matches what you gave me. This dial moves the image from left to right. This one zooms in. Shouldn’t be hard to find. When you see a man with pale eyes that pierce through your soul, you’ll know it’s William Afton.”

“Wh…what?”

“His eyes. Definitely his most striking feature. Such a contrast with that dark hair of his.”

It can’t be him. “I think I’ll be good for now. Thanks for your help.” You suddenly need to sit down, a wave of nausea rolling through you. That nagging feeling you’d been having since you’d discovered the things behind that hidden compartment in Dave’s garage wall was getting stronger. No, you’d had it longer than that; since the first time you’d met him in the laundromat. That sense of danger.

And still you’d pursued him.

The older man had been nothing but good to you. You enjoyed spending time with him. The intimacy you shared unlike anything you’d ever known. You were falling for him and that feeling in particular had muted all of those doubts and misgivings, burying them under layers of affection and lust. But that was before. Before you had seen the things Dave was hiding.

If he even was Dave Miller at all.

The machine is warm in front of you. Your hands rotate the dials but your eyes don’t focus until a familiar picture skates by and you hurriedly reverse the slider. There. The same one. You can see the face more clearly now.

For a minute you can almost fool yourself into thinking it’s not the same person. The build is so different. All those sharp angles and lines you’re accustomed to softened. But the eyes. There is no mistaking those eyes. Those eyes that watch you. When you’re cooking together. Doing homework. Playing in the arcade at Freddy’s. Making out in the car, yours or his. Making love in the shower, in your bed, on his couch, in that master bedroom above the garage that you wish to God you’d never gone exploring in. Innocence is bliss, isn’t that what they always said? Now you were anything but.

Your eyes well with tears. The hands on the machine shake, your heart pounding. It’s him.

Dave Miller was really William Afton.

***

You struggle to fit your key into the lock on your apartment door.

Still fighting tears, still nauseous and afraid, you find the simple task nearly impossible.

“Need some help?”

You gasp and turn to see Dave—William—standing there behind you.

“Dave.” The other name. You can’t force yourself to say it yet.

“Couldn’t sleep. Was hoping you’d be home. Timed things well, apparently. You’re so jumpy today,” he murmurs, reaching for the keys in your hand. You relinquish them, shrinking back against the door.

“Yeah. I um…I think I’m just stressed from school.”

“Sure.” You hear the sound of the door unlocking behind you. “There you go. Dave to the rescue again.”

You try and fail at a smile, turning and pushing the door open. You don’t want to let him in. It’s the very last thing that you want.

“I was going to take you out, but maybe it’s better if we stayed in tonight. What do you think?”

Hesitating on the threshold. You might be safer in public. Assuming he was going to bring you somewhere with people. Maybe he wouldn’t.

He’d had so many opportunities to hurt you. He never had. He’d saved you from being raped, maybe worse. Maybe he wasn’t William Afton anymore. Maybe he really was Dave Miller. Your boyfriend. The man you’d been falling for.

“Yeah, let’s stay in.” You move forward, setting your bag down. Miller—Afton—you no longer know who to think of him as—follows, the door closing behind him. Deadbolt drawn. Locked inside with him.

“How did it go at the library? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes.” You realize you’re backing away and force yourself to stop, allowing him to close the distance between you.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“You’re sure?” He lifts your backpack, unzipping it and thrusting a hand inside. Flipping first through your notebook, then your textbook. His eyes darting back to you. “Where is it?” He tosses the bag aside, the notebook and textbook falling to the floor.

“Where’s what?”

“You know what. Let’s not play games.”

“I don’t…”

He’s on you before you even have a chance to react, a hand at your throat, pinning you back against the door you’ve just passed through. He shoves the other hand inside the pocket of your jeans, dragging the folded newspaper article out of it, waving it in front of your face. He hasn’t begun squeezing yet, just keeping you pinned in place. “This. What you stole.”

You swallow loudly. “Dave, I…”

“Why did you do it?” He lets the paper fall to the floor. “Why did you have to go looking? I would have told you, in time. When I was ready. Why did you…”

“I was just bored, I didn’t know I would find that. Any of it.”

“Boredom. That’s your reason? Why you just destroyed everything we had?”

“I wasn’t trying to…Dave,” you plead.

“Do you have any idea of how hard I’ve worked to keep this a secret? I trusted you. Let you into my restaurant, into my home. Into my heart,” he whispers. “How could you betray me like this?”

“I didn’t tell anyone. I would never tell,” you say hastily.

“I’m falling in love with you.”

”Dave…” The tears that have been threatening to spill finally begin leaking, tracking down your cheeks.

“I did everything I could to make you happy. To make you feel safe. Wanted. Loved. The things I’ve never had. I didn’t think I’d ever experience them. Until you.” He swipes at the tears on your face. “And now you’re taking it all back. You don’t really feel the same way at all.”

“I do,” you shakily respond. “I’m falling for you, too.”

“I sealed William Afton away in that box, in that wall. And you let him back out.”

“You don’t have to be him. You could still be Dave Miller. We could still...”

“How? How do I trust you, how do I…” His voice trails off, his face tucked against yours. “All I ever wanted was you.”

You reach for the fingers still resting against your throat. Not pulling them away. Merely lying them along his. “Dave,” you say. Waiting to see what man will answer.

What path destiny will lead you down.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #dave miller x you #dave miller x reader

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purpleanimeturtle · 7 months

Text

Cause For Concern

Chapter two of my 2012 Caseytello fic! I don't know how long this will go on for but, I have many ideas. I am also going to start posting some of my art soon!

Casey’s P.O.V.

Our laughing stopped as we watched Donnie sprint out of the dojo, promptly slamming their lab door behind them.

“Great job Casey, now we won’t see him for like two days.” Raph claimed.

“What?” I turned to look at him, “does this happen a lot?”

Leo took a step forward and placed one of her hands on my shoulder, looking past me.

“I’m sure it wasn’t all you, they mainly just do it if they're overwhelmed.” She looked at Raph, and even with her still not looking at me I could see the concern in her eyes.

“Well,” Raph started. “This time it was clearly from Casey!”

Now if I said that I wasn't confused before, I definitely was now. I never thought that my flirting really had anything to do with their attitude lately. Maybe I embarrassed them though? But this seems like a real cause for concern.

“No, my children. Donatello just has some things they need to figure out.” Splinter paused. “Emotions that they aren’t sure about.”

Leo steps back as Splinter takes his spot, startling me.

“Perhaps Casey should talk to them. Hm?”

I looked up at the rat man. “Yo, I don’t know if that is such a good idea, I mean like what if they try to get revenge or something.”

“Pft- like they would dude.” Mikey laughed. “Do you really not know yet?”

“Not now Michelangelo, you go check on them.”

“You got it Sensei!”

And with that the orange turtle was also gone.

Leo and Splinter sat down to talk and most likely meditate, kicking out Raph and I in the process. So we just went to the entrance/living room of the lair and talked, awaiting the arrival of the other family members.

“What was that anyway man?” I looked up at Raph as he said that. “You were like a major cringe fail.” Raph stated with a look of disgust on his features.

“C’mon man.” I whined as I stretched out my limbs.

“I’m serious Casey, you aren’t going to get anywhere with how you're going about it.”

I gave him a look that told him to elaborate, so he did.

“Don and I are like twins so we know everything about each other. And to get them to melt like you want, you have to massage their intellect.”

“Massage their what?” I stared at him blankly.

“Look.” He sighed, “the smarter they feel, the more they’ll melt. Complement them dude.”

“Y’know I can’t do that!” I threw my hands up dramatically. “Everytime that I try to, it just becomes an insult.”

“Or maybe you should write it down and get them a gift. That’s their love language.”

I shot up at that, jumping off of the couch.

“Y’know what, I will be back.”

I started to walk to the turn thingies but the sight of two turtle mutants made me rush back to my original spot, then moved again by the orange clad turtle who plopped down basically on me. Donnie on the other hand just stood there awkwardly probably waiting for Splinter or Leo.

I took careful note of their fidgeting, how their three (6 if you count both hands) fingers messed with about everything they could before finally landing on their mask tails. The light purple seemingly dancing between the light green of their skin.

Oh how much I wanted to know what their hands felt like. They have clear burns and scars, but something about them just seemed so soft and warm and. I don’t know.

“You gonna be okay Don?” Raph was the first to speak which was followed by a hesitant nod from the mentioned sibling. “You can sit down y’know, you don’t really look too good.”

If this was any other time the turtle in red would’ve followed that up with a snicker, but I took note of the lack of one.

See, I can be very observant when needed.

“Casey, could I talk to you for a moment?”

Wow, a cliffhanger! Who wants to talk to Casey? We may never know. Hope you enjoyed it, stay tuned. <3

youtube

#jonatello #caseytello #casey jones #donatello #tmnt 2012 #named after songs #gay #nonbinary #anti tcest #tmnt leo 2012 #tmnt raph 2012 #tmnt mikey 2012 #tmnt donnie 2012 #Youtube

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damn-stark · 1 year

Text

Chapter 1 Wolf

Chapter 1 of Moon Star

A/N- I finally finished the first chapter! I really hope you guys like it!!!

Warning- Violence, talks of blood and weapon, angst, surprise guest, swearing.

Pairing- Marc Spector x daughter!reader

Episode- 1x02

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

“Y/N Spector!”

A crowd of students cheer, a small handful hollar from excitement while the crowd booms with clapter. It’s not everyday one graduates from High School after all. It’s a one time special event.

Which is why such an event should be celebrated, it’s meant to be a joyful filled moment; it is for some. It should be remembered. Especially by a father with only one child who he said he loved with every bit of his heart.

Shouldn’t he be here?

As your eyes searched every row of happy relatives, once, twice and three times while you walked down the runway, he wasn’t there. Layla, his wife is there with a smile on her face, your grandfather is there beside her clapping and grinning a happy toothy grin, but he isn’t.

When you take the diploma and begin heading down you double check, hope that you may have missed him in the sea of people. Sometimes he did like to lurk in the shadows. But….when you step down, reality sets, illusions fall. After all the promises, all the tender words, all the caring, it all amounts to nothing at this moment.

“Your father is ungrateful. He’s a bad man who does bad things. Wolfie, he doesn’t care, but I do. I love you.”

——

*SOME TIME LATER. NEW YORK*

A proud smirk tugs on your lips as you see the artifact in your hand gleam gold under the colorful lights flashing overhead.

Another successful grab.

“Item secured,” you talk through the mic hidden in your ear. “I’m on my way, start the car.” You shove the artifact in your bag and quicken your stride as you see the back door approaching.

You approach it and push the door open, but as the door gets thrown back you come face to face with four men dressed in fancy suits.

Fuck.

Just don’t panic. Smile and act normal.

“Pardon,” you mumble and try to walk past them, but one of them steps in your way and grabs your arm to yank you towards him. “Excuse—get your hands off me,” you sneer and knee his crotch before you use your bracelet to zap his neck.

The man lets you go right away and groans and grunts out in pain, letting you turn to return inside even as the three men chase after you.

“I’m…compromised,” you say in your mic between pants whilst you turn the hall and push past people. “Turn at 22nd ave.”

“Shit watch it!” Someone yells out.

You throw your hand out to apologize and don’t bother to look back as you turn a sharp right to head towards the elevators.

“Shit, y/n, what the hell happened?” Layla responds. “How many?”

You peer back and hear the commotion of hurried footsteps so you slam on the elevator button with desperation.

“Four. But I took one down, so three. I’ll lose them.” You assure her and keep slamming your fist on the button, but to no avail. “Fuck. Damn it. Damn it!”

What kind of fancy building doesn’t have working elevators!

You snap your head from side to side until you see emergency stairs at the end of the other hall. So you quickly proceed to break into a sprint, having to swerve to the side so as to miss hitting some passersby.

When you reach the stairs though, the three men catch up to you. One tries to pull you back, but you throw your elbow back and hit his nose, before pulling out a dagger hidden in your bracelet to stab another man's arm before throwing the door open and rushing up the stairs.

The three men keep following you nevertheless.

“Come here if you know what’s good for you, you little rat!” One of them yells from below the stairs.

You glance down and see the three down one flight of stairs. Damn.

“Y/N where are you now?” Layla comes in through the mic again. “If you don’t respond in thirty seconds I am going up there I don’t care what you want.”

You try to quicken your pace up the damn stairs and talk back between heavier pants. “Running up the stairs, thanking you for dragging me on morning jogs. I’ll be going radio silent until I reach the car. Bye.”

“No! Y/N! Wolf! Wolfie! Don’t you dare—!”

You lift your hand to your ear and turn off the mic in your ear even after Layla’s protest, ending up grinning as you reach the top of the stairs and see the exit.

Finally!

You shove the door open and in that instant see two more fucking men!

Yet you don’t let that bring you down, instead you slowly begin to grin at them. “Gentlemen,” you greet. “I was just coming out for a smoke in the silence.”

One of the men on the right scoffs and pierces his green eyes on you. “Hand it over gently and we won’t have to hurt you, girl,” he spats.

You blink repeatedly and touch your chest. “Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about, I came out here to smoke.” You step to the side and the men follow your step. “Now if you don’t mind please leave me alone.”

The second man to the left rolls his eyes in annoyance, and the three men who were chasing you finally catch up, all breathing very heavily.

“Her bag,” one of them groans. “It’s in her bag.”

You sigh and slowly lose your smile. The first man reaches over, but you grab his wrist in time and manage to just slightly turn him whilst you kick the second guy in the chest to knock the air out of him. You then lunge forward and proceed to use a small blade in your ring to swing it from the first man’s cheekbone to his eye, making him scream and stumble back.

The men behind you try to reach you, but you turn and slam the door shut on one man’s hand.

“Okay,” you whisper in panic and rummage through your bag until you pull out a small gadget that you stick on the knob that surrounds the metal in electricity so they wouldn’t touch it. “Perfect.” You smirk and turn to head towards the fire escape.

But of course just as you reach it the man who you knocked out at first is climbing up them. You turn to try and your luck back inside, but the men find a way through your gadget and begin to come at you with their guns now.

“Great,” you breathe out and stand in the middle. “Look,” you address all of them. “I promise I’m not worth all this trouble, I have nothing.”

“Why are you running then?” The man climbing out of the fire escape asks.

You peer over at him and acted frightened. “Because you’re after me. All of you, four scary man after me, a woman.” You feign a frown and force tears to your eyes. “I’m just scared.”

One of the men that comes from inside the building slowly begins to lower his gun. And you think it’s because somehow your shitty acting got to him, but when you hear a thud behind you, you look back and see…Spider-Man turning away from the man he just trapped on the floor with his web.

Spider-Man. Fucking Spider-man, it’s—he’s actually not so tall, he has more muscle than the pictures do justice—no, focus. Get out of here.

“Please—” however, before you can finish asking for help his arms suddenly wrap around you, and he rapidly swings you around to save you from the bullets.

“Oh my god,” you pant and grab onto his arms.

No matter how many dangerous situations you’ve been in, being shot at isn’t something you’ve gotten used to yet.

“Just hold on,” Spider-Man says in a very young voice, yet not so young to make you believe he’s a teen, he’s maybe a young adult. “Stay here, you’ll be okay,” he continues and slowly pulls away from you.

You meet his big white eyes and nod before you watch him turn and use his webs to pull one gun away from one man. He then uses that gun and swings it to hit the second man.

“Don’t you have something better than to pick on a girl half your size?”He says and you quietly take this time to turn around and head towards the fire escape.

As soon as you reach it you check back, and when you notice Spider-Man still fighting the men you quickly climb down.

“Layla,” you say after you turn on your mic.

“Y/N! Oh thank goodness! Where are you?!” Layla immediately responds.

To reach the ground quicker you instead you the ladders to slide down to the ground. “I’m on my way,” you let her know with a small smile.

Your feet touch the ground and just as you’re pulling away to finally leave the damned street, suddenly something sticky keeps your hand against the railing. When you look back you see a web.

“I can’t let you do that,” you hear Spider-Man say from behind you.

You let out a small sigh and look over your shoulder with a feigned hurt look. “Look, I’m not with them I promise. I just want to go home.”

Spider-Man begins to walk over to you, and you follow every step he takes. “That’s why they were chasing you with guns?” He retorts with a bit of snark in his tone.

You keep taking your innocence nevertheless. “Yeah, they wanted to hurt me. I managed to run away, but they kept chasing me.”

Spider-Man makes it in front of you and his white bug eyes narrow. “So if I check your bag now there would be nothing in there.”

You shrug. “Unless you’re, like, into pads and stuff like that then no.”

Spider-Man scoffs in amusement and takes a step toward you, and you tilt your head.

“Can I say,” you continue whilst you slowly smile. “I’m a big fan. I’ve been one since your early days when you’d wear….sweats.”

He huffs. “Look,” he says as he drops his head. “I’m going to make it simple since you look like a…nice girl.” He faces you again. “Give me what you stole and I will let you go. Simple.”

You narrow your glare and check him out, catching the gadget where his webs come out of, and meeting his eyes again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you continue to act dumb and watch him get very close. “Let me go, my mom is waiting for me, she'll begin to worry.” Layla wasn’t your real mother but he didn’t need to know that.

“Okay,” he sighs and tilts his head just sligtly. “Show me that you don’t have what you stole and I’ll walk you to your mom.”

“Promise?” You ask sweetly and bat your eyelashes.

Spider-Man blinks and you see his Adam’s apple lift and slide back down. He then nods and pretends to reach for your bag, but you turn rapidly and use the blade in your ring and manage to cut the web to free your hand. Spider-man tries to retaliate by trapping you again, but as he throws out his hand to shoot his web, you throw your blade from your bracelet and just barely manage to hit his web gadget and disable it with electricity.

“What the…” Spider-Man gasps in disbelief and looks at you and his gadget with bewilderment.

You quickly rush him and try to kick his chest, but he manages to grab your foot. “Not so fast.”

You hold his gaze and smirk at him before you yank your foot back, and counterattack by kicking him back before you lunge forward and use a smoke gadget you had to paralyze him.

“Wow,” you say all giddy as you pick up your crescent snapped blade. “I took you down. That’s…” you sigh and turn to beam at him. “I, hm. Wow.”

Spider-Man coughs and his eyes widen. “No, yeah props to you, but you completely proved me right just now.”

You shrug sweetly. “Maybe I did,” you retort and begin to walk away. “Does that earn a name?”

Spider-Man tilts his head and shakes it. “No,” he says. “Beats the purpose of a secret identity.”

“Hm, worth the question,” you sigh and smirk at him. “One, the paralyzation will wear off in about ten minutes. Two, I don’t steal. They’ve already been stolen.” You scoff softly and pull out a piece of paper to jot down your number, as you walk to him you offer him a sweet smile before placing the paper on his hand he had stuck.

“Okay, thanks,” he whispers in disbelief. “That’s, uh, b-bold. What if I’m an old man?”

You shrug. “It’s okay, I’ll take the risk.” You wave at him and walk away from the alleyway. “Bye-bye now Spidey. Text me, maybe we can run into each other again someday.” You turn the corner and hear a distant response.

“Bye…I…bye.”

You grin slightly as you pull off the wig from your head and throw it aside, before you pull off your jacket and throw it in some trashcan as you stride down the street towards Layla.

Luckily you don’t get chased down by Spider-Man so you make it to the car safely. And once Layla sees you her eyes brighten and relief finally washes over her.

“Y/N, what the hell where have you been?” She asks as you open the car door.

You climb in and close the door before pulling the artifact out of your bag and showing it off to her with a very proud smile. “Got it, there were some snags along the way, like, Spider-Man, but I managed to take him down. Now drive before he finds us.”

Layla shifts to drive and blinks in disbelief before looking at you. “Excuse you did what?”

You meet her gaze and nod. “Yeah, no, I took down Spider-Man! With my paralyzation gas.” You show off.

Layla faces the street and hums. “That worked,” she mumbles in disbelief.

You nod and put the artifact back in your bag.

“Okay,” Layla sighs. “My turn.”

You blink and slightly narrow your gaze in confusion.

Layla glances at you before she hands you her phone. “Check the recently called list,” she says.

You carefully grab the phone and smile nervously before dropping your gaze to unlock the phone and checking what she said. The moment you see the recently called section your eyes widen, and a small gasp comes out of your lips.

“What,” you mumble. “This can’t be. He’s gone totally MIA. Are you sure?”

Layla nods. “No, yeah, I’m sure, it was him. His voice. He quickly hung up though. Can you maybe trace the call?”

You return your gaze to the phone and read the name again, Marc Spector.

Your dad. He called Layla his wife. After so long he finally called.

——

*LONDON*

“If I knew he was home we could’ve never left.” You mutter as you put your sunglasses on and hop on your scooter.

Layla puts on her helmet and adds, “we needed to go, I mean wasn’t it worth it? There’s only so much you can see of your campus online.”

You shrug. “I suppose but…” you start the engine. “You should’ve seen the virtual tour. It’s a lot better than they were six years ago. Besides,” you sigh. “Is it really smart to leave with my dad MIA?”

Layla looks over at you and shakes her head. “I told you when the time comes and if we still haven’t found your dad, he’s not yours to worry about.” She narrows her gaze and her serious demeanor doesn’t falter. “Do you understand y/n?”

No matter how much of a deadbeat he’s been, especially ever since you came back, he’s still your father, you’re still worried.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “I understand.”

Layla nods and looks ahead again. “Okay, let’s go.” She pushes back her kickstand and leads the way.

Fortunately there isn’t much traffic so you’re able to keep up without having to be cut off, or having to lose sight of her because people can’t respect those on motorcycles.

And futhermore, unlike New York, the sights you drive by are more enjoyable and more beautiful…

Then again maybe that’s just because you’re a bit bitter about leaving. Even if Layla and your grandfather say “it’s good for you wolf, you’re going to gain a lot of new experiences.”.

It’s whatever. The far more enjoyable experiences are made by Layla’s side going on adventures. The great experiences are—

Suddenly out of nowhere Layla comes to a sudden halt and you’re forced to turn to the side to break so you wouldn’t crash into her. However, as your use your feet to come to a skidding stop you see your…your dad on the ground.

“Marc?” Layla asks in disbelief. “Where have you been?”

Said man pulls his arm away from his face and looks over at her. “Ar-ar—Layla?” He asks.

You pull your sunglasses off and lean forward. “Dad?”

Immediately your dad snaps his eyes towards you and furrows his eyebrows even deeper. “I—you—who are you?”

You share a confused look with Layla and then narrow your gaze back on him. “What are you on about?” You question him almost offendedly.

Your dad slowly begins to push himself to his feet and shakes his head as he looks behind him. “Something is after me. It was just behind me.”

You glance at the building but just see casual passerbyers minding their own business. No one comes running out, nor is there any screams.

“What are you talking about, Marc?” Layla asks.

He scoffs. “Just please help me get out of here. Please take me home.”

Layla shares one last puzzled look with you before she addresses your dad. “Get on. Let’s go y/n.”

You put your sunglasses back on and follow after her through the streets of London. It seems that she and your dad are having a conversation but due to your helmet and the air that keeps hitting you as you drive, you can’t hear shit. And she keeps looking away from her mirrors so you can’t read her lips either. All you have is expressions and she keeps the same angry and annoyed one since you found him.

He however is different. He looks scared and confused. Something strange to see on a man you thought was incredibly fearless. It’s like he’s in a state of anxiety by the looks of his tensed shoulders and widened eyes. He almost seems like a different person. More so when you speak to him once you finally make it to some apartment complex not far from home.

“Where the hell have you been, dad? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Your dad looks back at you and swallows thickly before he shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he stammers as he walks you two to the elevator shaft. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You clench your jaw and feel your eyes flicker away from him, whilst Layla shoots him a glare.

“Marc, what are you doing?” She scolds him.

Said man walks you inside and presses the button to his floor once you’re all inside. “Let’s just wait. Just wait,” he interjects nervously and stands at the far end of the elevator that's as far from both Layla and you.

He stands stiff, he just keeps stealing looks as if he’s actually confused. And you keep trying to avoid looking at him now so as to not get even more mad than you already were. It makes things awkward in the elevator and makes the ride quite uncomfortable and longer than it actually was.

Once the elevator comes to a halt it actually feels like you can breathe again. Yet your anger doesn’t subside. It only heightens as he walks you into an actual apartment that seems to have been occupied for quite some time, basing off all the damn clutter spread everywhere.

“Damn,” you mutter. “This place is a piece of junk.”

“Excuse me?” Your dad asks.

You scoff as you put your sunglasses away and look around at all the bookshelves, papers hung up against the wall, and finally land your eyes on a big fish tank that contains one single goldfish.

“Huh,” you interject beside Layla. “Cute.” You step back and continue to wander around, managing to catch your father muttering something.

“I just want my life back.”

You scoff in annoyance and just let Layla answer. “Yeah. I’m getting that.”

“No, no.” He interjects right away. “Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you, just talking to myself. Sort of.”

You come to a stop in front of a sand barrier that’s around the bed, and slowly look up and see chains and cuffs….

Disgusting.

“Wow,” you breathe out and squint your eyes to make sure those were actually cuffs. “Kinky are we?”

Footsteps approach, and as you glance back you see Layla and your father approaching—“uh, this is your flat, Marc?” She asks.

“Um, I’m Steven,” he corrects her, making you briefly narrow your eyes before you turn and catch Layla finally seeing the same thing you did.

“Are you living here with someone else?” She demands to know.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he quickly assures her. “No, um, this is my mum’s flat.”

You look over at your dad and part your lips out of shock. “Grandma has a flat in London?”

He meets your gaze and stays quiet as he looks away more confused now. “Mmm-hmm,” he hums after a while.

Huh, she never mentioned.

You hum in response and move away.

“But,” he adds. “My mum never mentioned you. At all.”

You scoff. “What are you talking about?” You snap in annoyance. “You left me with them. Or what?” You begin to walk over to him and shoot him a pointed glare. “Did you take advantage of the five years I disappeared to actually erase me from your life?”

He stays quiet and begins fiddling with his fingers.

You wait for a response, for something but he just shakes his head.

“Right,” you scoff and shake your head. “I get it, dad,” you sneer and turn away to walk off and snoop somewhere else

“Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?” Layla thankfully interjects the silence.

They bond over the poem, whilst you find French and Hieroglyphic books on his overpiled desk.

“So, you’re learning French and hieroglyphics?” You ask as you pick up a book off the desk.

Layla walks over and overlooks the things you were looking at too.

“Yeah, well…that’s not that impressive, really. It’s not like hieroglyphs are a whole language,” your dad says as he walks over too. “It’s more like a…”

“Like an alphabet?” You finish saying for him as you put the book down. “Yeah. Layla told me.”

He glances at Layla behind you and then back at you to continue. “Yeah, and…well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it.”

Yep learning that.

“Sure,” you scoff, and he doesn’t stop talking.

“For example, like this one here, right?” He points to an example.

You look over and recognize it thanks to Layla’s teachings. “Funeral rites,” you mention dryly.

“Well, someone knows their unilaterals. You.” He points, and you pass a weird look. “That’s amazing.” He says nervously.

You narrow your gaze and feel your lips flicker to weird frown, whilst Layla begins to chuckle.

“Sorry,” he immediately interjects as he looks over at Layla. “I don’t mean that in a creepy way to your daughter.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Layla says and meets his gaze. “I’m not buying this, Marc. Use whatever accent you want. Yeah. Come on, Wolf.” She begins to walk off, and you don’t hesitate to follow her without even as much considering your father—“let’s just get this over with. You sent these papers but you never signed them.” She grabs her bag and pulls out the divorce papers.

“Did I?” Your dad stammers. “Uh…”

Layla hands him the papers and he begins to search for something in his jacket.

“This is what you wanted,” she says as he ends up pulling out glasses you’ve never seen him wear before.

“Let’s have a look here,” he mumbles.

“After everything, you told me that we needed to move on,” Layla continues. “But I'm not forgetting y/n. We can be whatever you want Marc, I don't care, but I'm still going to be in her life.”

You smile faintly and watch as your father reads the papers he had sent her. “All right. Divo…Divorce?”

You further narrow your gaze and keep watching him.

“Yeah,” Layla nods. “Are we doing this or not?”

“I would never divorce you.” He retorts and just adds more confusion.

“What are you doing?” Layla snaps.

“Look, you both seem absolutely lovely,” your dad says and looks between the both of you. “Even with the snappy attitude…”

You smirk faintly at his comment and move back to the door to fold your arms over your chest.

“…This Marc, on the other hand, is a right twit, yeah?” He continues to say. “I don’t know how to explain what’s been happening. I don’t expect you to believe me. I honestly don’t really believe it myself, all I can do is try to…try to show you what I found.” He moves to the gym back on a small table. “I found this bag in the storage locker. And inside of it is all sorts…” he unzips the bag and begins to look through it. “…of things.”

You step closer and raise your head to look over his shoulder.

“Most interestingly…” he suddenly pauses and looks up and gets his eyes lost on nothing ahead of him.

“Most interestingly is what?” Layla queries.

You tilt your head and squint.

“Nothing,” he then deadpans.

“Nothing?” Layla retorts.

Once again your father faces her and repeats himself. “Nothing nevermind.”

Layla walks to him to press further. “What’s in there?”

You drop your arms and step forward.

“Nothing…wait—” he trails off as you shove him aside and rummage through the bag. Layla walks to your side and watches until you pull out a golden scarab.

“Is this?” You mumble and slowly face Layla. “Is this it?”

Layla’s eyes widen and she reaches over to grab it from your hand before glaring at your dad. “The scarab pointing to Ammit’s ushabti? What we fought side by side for.”

“No,” he mumbles.

“This whole one-man show is just what?” Layla argues. “So that you can keep it for yourself?”

You look at him up and down in disappointment and some confusion, but keep quiet since you’ve only recently been told about their adventures, you’ve only recently been involved thanks to Layla.

“No, no. I swear…” he tries to say but gets cut off by Layla.

“Wow. After all that we’ve been through—no, no just stop! I’m supposed to believe anything you say with this shoved in wh-what, a gym bag?”

You look back down at said bag and continue to rummage through in hopes you’d find something valuable. But it’s not there. You do end up finding something else though, an invitation and a pass to your graduation ceremony.

The envelope seal is open, but the papers inside are still straight and clean. As if it was untouched. As if he never debated going.

And this is where he shoved it, in this damn bag.

“Take it,” your father says to Layla. “Take it, you can have it. Take it, take it. I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I swear. Have it.”

Layla shakes her head and stays quiet.

“I am not Marc Spector,” he keeps insisting. “I’m Steven Grant…”

That’s not what his actual passport says. Or his birth certificate, or your years of actually knowing him.

“I work in a gift shop. Well, I used to work in a gift shop,” he says almost as if wants to cry. “And I think I’m in real danger, and I think maybe that you might be the only person that can help me….Please.”

You look up and keep staring at your father.

“You really don’t remember why we’ve been looking for this?” Layla asks, and your father shakes his head. “Our adventures. Or our life together?”

He shakes his head and mutters, “oh, God, I wish I could.”

He’s really committed to this Steven persona isn’t he?

Nevertheless, a knock raps on the door and a woman’s voice echoes from behind the door. “Steven Grant, can we have a word?”

Your fathers eyes widen out of panic. “See?” He points to the door. “Oh, God, they’ve come for me.”

You step towards the door and look over at him. “Why?” You ask.

“I vandalized a toilet.” He shares, and you snort quietly.

The knocking proceeds to continue and your father finally answers. “Yeah, just a minute!” He then begins slowly sneaking towards the door as the woman continues.

“Steven Grant?”

“Yeah?”

She hasn’t announced who she’s here in part of. No title, nothing.

“Wa—” you end up cutting yourself off as you feel Layla's hand on your arm to begin pulling you back.

“DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy here.”

You look around the room and point to the window.

“Yeah, yeah, one second.”

Layla sneaks over there and tries to avoid dropping any books piled on the floor as she pulls open the window as quietly as she can.

When it is opened, she waves you to climb out to the roof first before she follows once you carefully step to the side. As you’re on the roof, you look down and see it’s quite a fall so you grip onto the ledge of the roof and slowly climb higher up so Layla can grab onto the ledge too.

The moment you hear footeapes approach from the inside she pushes you back, and proceeds to press her back against the wall until you hear those same footsteps recede.

“You’re in possession of a stolen item,” you hear a man’s voice from the inside. It’s distant and barely audible thanks to the damn outside noise.

“I can barely hear,” you complain.

Layla huffs and puts her hand out so you can wait there as she carefully steps closer to the window to listen for the both of you. You try to step forward but your foot slips and you claw your nails in the wall so you wouldn't fall and drag Layla down with you.

“What are they—”

You’re shused again but this time she only stays quiet for a few minutes before she looks back at you slightly panicked. “They’re taking him.”

You gasp softly. “What?”

Layla presses her ear close to the window and waves you over as she begins to slowly walk back to the window. You follow in tow and jump back inside, but accidently knock down a pile of your fathers many books.

“Oh, shit,” you sneer.

Layla walks to the door and assures you over her shoulder, “it’s okay they’re not here anymore. But we’ll lose them if we don’t follow.”

You nod and make it out of the house to return to your scooters.

“Do you believe him?” You ask Layla as you’re in the elevator.

Layla pulls out the scarab and sighs as she shrugs. “I don’t know what to believe. Part of me does because he actually sounds so convincing, but as I look at this I contradict that belief. You?” She asks as she glances at you.

You let out a deep breath and shrug. “I don’t know, really. I find his behavior weird but….he’s left me before, so it’s hard to believe him and not think of this as some sort of trick to push me away again. On the other hand I’m trying not to let my anger blind me, I’m trying not to let my grandma's voice get to me, I want to believe him, so I don’t know,” you scoff and drop your head.

Layla places her hand on your shoulder and gently squeezes it as the elevator doors open. “You have every right to be angry. We’ll try and figure him out after we help him.”

You nod and don’t add anything, you just walk out and catch a man and a woman walking your father out of the building. They get in some black four door car. You follow but make sure to keep your distance so they wouldn't see.

And while you drove you couldn’t help but think about Layla, how you used to be angry because you were afraid she’d steal your father away. You used to be jealous of her. You’d actively wish for their downfall, you were cruel, but….after coming back she was there and he wasn’t.

Every bit of life changed, it was overwhelming and he was never there, but she was, she was always there even if she had no actual reason to. So now you can’t imagine life without her. She’s like the mother you never got to have. So part of the reason why you’re actually in search of the deadbeat is because of her, because she gives you hope and tries to sway you to look at Marc differently, not in the way your grandmother tried to make you see him. It’s because of her that you’re now following his kidnappers to some far lively residential area.

“It’s very…” you comment as you look around at all the people, at the goat passing by. “Lively.”

Layla looks back and nods stiffly. “I’ll say.”

“Should we…” you look away from the goat and keep looking ahead. “Just go inside or something?”

“There,” Layla points. You follow her finger and see the man and the woman that had taken your father. “That’s them.” Confirming that they weren’t actually any kind of authority.

You scoff. “But…he’s not with them.” You look away and catch some people walking into some old brick building at the end of the pathway.

“What even is this place?” Layla mutters.

You shrug. “Who knows,” you sigh. “But look, there. People are going in there.”

“Let’s have a look.” She says and quickens her pace.

As you follow her inside you see more people inside, they’re all doing their own thing; watching things, eating, talking. It’s like a community, this whole place. It’s…cute. Yet you don’t see your father, nor do you take the obvious straight path further inside the rundown building, you follow Layla around the hall and listen to the distant voices that become less muffled the closer you get to the other side.

“…I kinda draw a line there, at child murder…”

Your eyes brighten at the sound of his voice. His new accent.

However, the voices turn quieter, muffled, and then louder again.

“I need to know, where is the scarab?”

Oh shit. That’s a new voice.

“Where is the scarab?” The manly voice asks again to who you most likely assume is your father.

Layla catches the sound of the demands and begins to quicken her pace. You follow and notice people in the hall the closer you get.

“Where is the scarab?”

“No.”

“Where is the scarab?” The mysterious man asks again.

As the archway comes to view, Layla rounds the corner and announces herself quickly. “I have it.”

When you round the corner, you see those same peaceful people gathered around your father, and see an older man with hair a bit above his shoulder and a cane in his hand in front of him.

“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding,” the man directs at Layla.

You clench your fists to be ready for anything, and meet your fathers gaze, noticing that he actually seems relieved to see you this time.

“Let me have that, I’ll keep it safe.” The man continues. And as you walk closer to your father people begin to crowd around you too.

“Summon the suit,” Layla instructs your father. And for the first time since you found out about this, time stealing god, you actually agree with Layla.

“S-sorry, what?” He queries.

Layla and you both look at him and she repeats herself. “Summon the suit.”

People begin to get closer and inch closer to Layla as you keep your eyes on the people.

“Summon the soup?” He asks in confusion. “What are you saying?”

Oh wow.

“The suit,” you sneer as you look back. “Your suit. Summon it!”

He meets your gaze with more confusion and shakes his head. “The suit?”

Layla presses the scarab against him and adds, “and keep this safe.” She turns and the man finally gives up.

“So be it,” he says, causing Layla to break into a run.

You quickly follow, and your father does but grabs onto her as if he’s scared.

Men try to stop her from taking your father but she shoves them away and leads the way up the stairs. She makes it to the runway, but you come to a quick halt as a man cuts off your fathers path. And rather than fighting him off, your dad grabs your arm and pulls you away.

“What are you doing?” You snap and let him pull you up some stairs.

He doesn’t answer though because you then reach the top of the stairs and see Layla fighting off some man before she throws him off the stairs. Your father looks down at the man as he crashes down a wooden surface, and follows your line of gaze over to the old man chanting something as he has his cane pressed against the ground, causing it to crack.

Layla proceeds to run over to grab your father to pull him with her.

“That was awesome,” he compliments her. You follow her up more stairs and run down messy halls until you all finally reach some kind of storage room.

“Here. Bold the door,” Layla instructs your dad, whilst you gasp as you see all the sarcophagus in the room.

“This is all a whole lot of bad luck,” you mumble as you proceed to look for a way out.

“Oh my god,” your dad gasps. “I’m going to die in an evil magicians man cave,” he panics, making Layla approach him, and for you to watch him with a puzzled look.

“No, no. Hey. Listen to me. Listen to me,” Layla tries to calm him down as she grabs his hands. “Your name is Marc. There’s a suit. I’ve seen you wear it. You bring it out.”

“No.” He shakes his head.

You scoff and roll your eyes before you step towards him to try and snap him out of this weird persona. “Dad, where are you? We need you to fight.”

He keeps shaking his head and sounds more distressed. “No, no. I can’t. Stop, please the three of you. Please, stop!”

You blink in disbelief, but fight off your confusion and slight fear of this new reaction of his and pull his arms towards you so he can look at you. “Listen to me. Your name is Marc Spector.”

He looks away but you grab his face and pull him back.

“Your name is Marc. You’re my dad, you’re Layla’s husband. You have a weird suit that I hate, but you need to bring it out! Dad!”

He keeps looking away, and more sweat gleams his face. Layla then joins in to try and get him to snap out of it too. “Where the hell are you? You need to fight!”

“Dad—”

“Stop, stop. leave me alone, the three of you! No.”

You kneel down and continue as you grab his arms.

“Hey, look at me you—”

“No,” he snaps at you. “No! Do you not understand I am not Marc! I’m not your dad! You’re wrong, you’re mistaken, I’m not your dad. You’re not my daughter!”

You go rigid and feel your breath catch as you blink in disbelief. He pushes your hands off him and drops his head again.

He’s been absent, you’ve been angry, but you still held onto hope. You foolishly still cherished your past memories even with all the stuff your grandmother would say, you never let her poison you. Even with all your anger you still did love him. More than anyone. But hearing him say those words now, hearing him yell them out begins to darken all that good stuff you still carried.

It’s like you could hear your heart cracking inside. Everything’s so quiet, so bleak.

“Y/N, listen to me he didn't mean it,” Layla tries to excuse him again. She always did that.

“I,” you breathe out and meet her gaze. “I don’t care,” you deadpan even if tears cloud your eyes, even if you feel like sobbing and screaming, even if you want to curl up in a ball.

You stand up and step away from the pair to look for a way out.

“You can do this, I promise!” Layla tries to comfort him now. Marc. Steven whoever the hell he goes by. “Steven…”

“I can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Of course he can’t. No surprise.

You scoff and turn away to run over and check the windows.

“I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“It’s alright,” Layla continues to comfort him. “It’s all right. Okay. We’ll just find another way.”

Layla then joins you and tries to search with you. However he doesn’t follow, he stays and continues to panic, this time he spews out nonsense as the doors get barged open.

“Jackal. Jackal. Jackal!”

You look over but see nothing. “What jackal?” You ask and then look over at him as he steps back and keeps pointing at nothing.

“Jackal. Jackal…” he then trails off as he suddenly gets shoved out the window.

Without thinking you gasp and rush over to the broken window. “No,” you yell.

But once you look over you see him land perfectly, like, in a weird hero pose.

“Is he okay?” Layla asks.

You nod and sigh in relief. “Yep. He just…landed.” You remember your anger and betrayal and look away to continue finding a way out for yourself, not for him.

Thankfully, Layla finds a fire escape and you climb down on the side of the building. Now albeit, Layla wants to find Marc, so you stick with her.

And luckily as you were going to walk out of the alleyway, Marc comes crashing through another wall. This time he’s dressed differently though. You’ve seen his suit before, it’s quite cool if you should admit, but this one doesn’t have a cape, there’s no gold crescent moon on his chest, no hood. He’s just in a suit. A plain white suit.

Regardless, he quickly finds his footing and proceeds to tear a bumper off a car.

“You look different,” Layla stammers seconds before Marc gets pushed to the floor and then gets pulled back. You would’ve questioned it, the invisible jackal, but there's really no need. It all must be a part of how he has his powers. It’s inconvenient though, not being able to see whatever is attacking and shoving Marc to cars.

“Stay away from me!” Marc yells as Layla tries to approach him.

“Away from what?!” She exclaims before she gets shoved back to the ground.

“Layla!” You exclaim and run over to her.

Marc keeps getting attacked, he begins to get pulled off the ground and seems to be getting choked, not letting Layla accept your offer to help her off the ground because she quickly insists on grabbing a bottle by your feet to throw it at whatever has Marc held up against the car.

When the bottle crashes, the liquid within creates a silhouette of a jaw opening as the monster roars.

Layla proceeds to try and attack it, but it suddenly grabs her too and shoves her and Marc back.

“Fuck,” you murmur and pull your braclet apart to get ahold of your daggers. The monster seems to see your action as he lets the pair go because he growls your way; you feel it’s breath on your face, but don’t see it. So you don’t let it intimidate you. Instead you sprint towards it, but miss hitting anything, instead it continues to push Marc back again.

“Fuck you,” you grimace in annoyance before you pull your arm up and throw your hand down, managing to finally stab some flesh. However, the monster quickly retaliates and hits you back so hard you hit the ground.

You try to quickly push yourself to your feet, but suddenly something cold wraps around your ankles before it drags you back, making you scream.

“Y/N!” Layla yells and tries to fight it off, but it just shoves her back since she can’t see what his position is exactly.

“Get off!” You yell and twist around to begin kicking it. The monster then proceeds to pick you off the ground though and dangles you off the ground with ease. You try to continue kicking it, you try to reach for something in your pockets, but Marc then rushes over with something and hits it before Layla comes over too and stabs it with a dagger you dropped.

Just as it drops you though, it hits Marc and tries to hit Layla but she slides her feet back and dodges.

“Are you okay?” You mutter to Layla in between pants.

She nods and meets your gaze. “You?”

You nod and take back your daggers. “Yep, just trying to figure this invisible thing out.”

“I think I can. Get away from them, you,” Marc shouts, causing you to look over to see him prancing around and taunting it. “Yeah, I see you, you plug-ugly coyote. You’re in the wrongs ends, mate. You’re in my yard now.” He pulls his suit jacket off and throws it on the ground. “Yeah, come on. Come on. That’s right. Come on.”

You stand up to your feet and slightly narrow your gaze as you watch Marc slowly going back into the busy street.

“Ooh, lookie here. Lookie here. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a V. Oh, my God. Here you come, come on!” He shouts before he swings arm.

“Did he hit it?” You mumble and pat your pockets to try and find your gadgets.

Layla shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“Wagwan!” Marc exclaims. “I did it! You got planted!” He laughs as he points ahead of him. “Layla! Girls! Did you see that?”

You narrow your gaze and pull out a paralyzing agent. You don’t intend to answer, just smile awkwardly, but then Marc gets thrown back towards the street, causing traffic to stop, and people to finally gawk.

“I just need to see it,” you mumble and slowly begin to sneak forward towards the spot Marc got hit. “And I can hit.” Since this place is a residential area you don’t bother to get out any explosives as small as they are.

Then again if it gets in the right position you can throw it in his mouth, or Marc can since he sees it.

That’s a smart idea.

“Okay, Layla, let’s go towards it,” you say even if you don’t bother to stop and let her contradict.

She wasn’t of course, but you still gave her no time to argue before you quickened your pace to run to the street.

And just as you’re going to go near Marc as he keeps getting slammed against the bus, you stop as a car comes rushing forward. Marc steps back albeit and it’s possible that he pushes the monster in front of the car to get it run over. You can't really tell since he gets thrown back, but the car didn't seem like it hit him so he couldn’t have made such a big dent.

Regardless you still can’t help but be worried as he doesn’t move. “Hey,” you call out. “Are you—” you cut yourself as you see him beginning to push himself up, he then looks behind him and when you follow his line of gaze, you just see people getting pushed back. That’s it.

The corner of your lips tug to a slight before you break into a sprint towards it.

“Y/N, no, stop!” You hear Layla yell, but you ignore her.

Once you reach the spot people are getting pushed at by nothing, you activate the paralyzing agent and slam it against a big spot that’s between the people. And luckily the monster roars out, you can once again feel its breath and hear it in front of you, but it doesn’t move…

It doesn’t hit you, you don’t feel dry and cold skin slap across your face, or feel it grab your feet. It works again.

It works!

Before the paralyzing agent can wear off, you pull out your dagger and stab its flesh. It roars again so you pull out the small explosive and try to throw it towards where you feel its breath, and feel its spit come out as it roars. But before you can even activate the gadget something cold suddenly wraps around your throat. It lifts you off the ground and moves forwards to slam your back against a brick wall.

You groan and feel sharp pain radiate from your back and the back of your head. It continues to squeeze your throat, blocking out the air that came through, making you begin to gasp and hit at its arms, causing your eyesight to blur and the sounds around you to sound muffled with how fast your heart was racing.

Layla calls out for you, you can hear the muffled sound of your name, but you don’t see her or feel this thing let you go. You try to reach for something to hit it with in the meanwhile, but it slams you against the wall again.

Just as it seems like it might take you out, suddenly it roars before its grip slips off your throat and makes you hit the floor, letting you finally breathe in air again with every deep gasp.

“Hey, hey,” you hear clearer now and recognize that deep voice. “You’re okay. You’re good.”

You rub your throat and look up to see Marc in the old suit now.

“Wolf,” he says without an accent and makes you stare at him in confusion. “You’re okay. You did good.” He grabs your arm to try and help you up, but even if you can breathe again because of him, even if he calls you those names that have a way to reassure you, at the sound of his actual normal voice you grow angry again and rip your arm out of his grip to help yourself up.

Before he can say anything in the respect, the monster roars again.

“Get it out of here!” Layla instructs, and without a second of hesitation Marc runs away and you assume the monster does too, letting Layla and you return to your scooters.

Yet before you can even make it far on your scooters, both Layla and you stop as you see the same older gentleman from before talking to a man.

“I’m sorry, but that belongs to me.”

You can’t see what it is he wants from the man, but you assume it’s the scarab since he’s wasting his time trying to convince the man to hand it over.

“I can offer you food, clothing, but I am unable to offer you this. Thank you.” The older gentleman then grabs the man’s hand as he continues to speak. “I wish you could live to see the world we make.” Then the man's body gets pulled up for a few seconds before he just drops…

The older gentleman lifts the scarab you now see in his hand and looks at it for a few seconds, before he looks over and catches Layla and you staring.

And it’s at that moment that his eyes land on you that Layla drives off, and you follow her home since Marc handled the monster and Layla assumes he wouldn't go home since he knew that’s where you’d find him.

——

*LATER*

“…and if that man has the scarab that means he’s going to go to Ammit’s tomb,” Layla shares as she begins to pack a bag. “Khonshu doesn’t want that, he wants the scarab for himself too, so it means Marc is going there too. Which means we’re going there.”

You hum and stay quiet, you don’t agree or add anything on the matter, you stay sitting at the edge of her bed and just fiddle with your fingers.

Right away Layla notices your silence, she sees the way you’re sitting with your head down, and your back hunched and knows something is wrong.

“You should be packing,” she interjects.

You shake your head. “No,” you mumble. “I’m not going to Egypt with you. I’m going back home, back to Chicago. My grandpa is alone now, I’ll stay with him until I need to go to New York.” You sigh and lift your hand to pull off the gold crescent moon necklace that Marc had gifted you years ago.

“What, but I thought we were doing this together,” Layla argues, and you hear footsteps approaching. “I understand it might be dangerous, but you wanted to do this, don't let him stop you.”

You swallow thickly and sigh. “You heard him,” you mumble. “You heard what he said, I’m not going to go after someone who doesn’t care about me. If he doesn’t want to be a father anymore he doesn’t have to. I’m nineteen now, he has no legal obligation.” You stand up and try to storm off but Layla grabs your arm and turns you to face her.

“I don’t think it was him who said that,” she tries to argue in his defense. “I think that was someone else. Someone your dad didn’t talk to us about.”

You hold her gaze for a second all seriously before you chuckle and shake your head. “You expect me to believe that? He’s obviously lying, he’s making all that shit about being Steven Grant who doesn’t remember his past life, who has a completely new one to run from his old life. To run from me, from you.” You huff out of frustration and pull your arm away from her hand.

“So I’m done, I’m done trying to look for him, and trying to reconnect. He left me for a reason, Layla,” you mutter in a quivering voice. “I’ll respect it.” You turn to head to your room, but she stops you as you reach the door.

“For me then? Come to Egypt for me.” She continues to approach you, and you drop your head and groan. “I need your help. Your gadgets and your brains.”

She’s talking you up. Great.

“Egypt…” you pause and let out a deep breath. “Is a big place, how will you find him?”

Layla comes to a stop behind you, and you practically hear her smirk. “Maybe you have a way to find him?”

You do.

“I do,” you reveal with a slow cocky smirk tugging on your lips.

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harringtonstilinski · 2 months

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Always The Babysitter - Chapter Nineteen: The Mall Rats

Author: @harringtonstilinski Characters: Steve Harrington x Olivia Henderson(OC) Word Count: 2,700 Warnings: fluff, Smut: no | yes; A/N: Hi, friends! If you like this chapter, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

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Steve took me home the next morning so that I could change and spend some time with my mom and Dustin, who kept bugging me about going to see Steve.

I didn’t tell Steve I was going to bring him today, but I figured a nice surprise would put an extra smile on his face.

Robin had her hands held out, giving the customers in front of Dustin and I their cones, saying unenthusiastically, “Have a nice day.” We stepped up the counter when they moved.

“Hi,” Dustin said, a smile on his face.

“Hi,” she said back. Looking at me, she said, “Hey, dingette.”

“Hi,” I said.

Robin looked back at Dustin, as he said, “I’m Dustin.”

“I’mmm Robin,” she said.

“Sweet shit,” I whispered.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Dustin said. “Uhh, is he– is he here?”

“Is who here?” Robin asked.

As if right on cue, Steve came bursting out of the back room, happiness laced on his face as he put his arms up, saying, “Henderson.”

I smiled, thinking he was talking about me, his favorite Henderson. Sadly, my smile turned into a look of annoyance when Steve said, “Henderson! He’s back! He’s back!” while moving in front of the counter towards my little brother.

“I’m back!” Dustin said. “You got the job!”

“I got the job!” Steve did some weird ass trumpet miming thing before him and Dustin did some weird ass handshake they came up with over Spring Break.

They laughed as I leaned against the counter, telling Robin, “You see what I have to deal with?”

She looked from me to Steve, asking, “How many children are you friends with?”

He gestured to Robin as if telling Dustin, “You see what I have to deal with?” Steve got Dustin some ice cream that he asked for, the two of them sitting down at a booth before they both looked at me expectantly.

Steve got up and said, “Come on, baby. Come sit with us.”

“But your favorite Henderson is here,” I sassed, looking at Dustin.

“Come on,” he said, moving over to me to whisper, “You know you’re my favorite.”

I looked at him with sad, doe eyes before smiling and giggled. “I’m just kidding. I know I’m your favorite.” Walking around him, I went and sat down at the booth Dustin was in, Steve coming to sit next to me.

Dustin had told him about Suzie with a Z from Utah before diving into his ice cream.

“No, no. No way,” Steve said. “Hotter than Phoebe Cates? No.”

Dustin hummed, “Mm-hmm,” before taking another bite of his ice cream.

“No girl is hotter than Phoebe Cates.”

I turned to look at him over my shoulder, eyebrow raised.

“E-expect for you,” Steve stuttered.

Smiling, I leaned my head against his shoulder before chuckling, his arm coming around my shoulders. Dustin looked at us, eyes wide as he said, “Brilliant, too. And she doesn’t even care that my real pearls are still coming in. She says kissing is better without teeth.”

“Gross,” I groaned.

After a moment, Steve said, “Wow! Yeah, that’s great. Proud of you, man. That’s ro– that’s kinda romantic.”

Looking at his boat of ice cream, Dustin asked, “So do you really just get to eat as much of this as you want?”

“Yeah. I mean, sure. It’s not really a good idea for me, though. Ya’know, I gotta keep in shape for the ladies.”

Again, I turned to face him, eyebrow raised.

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one who agreed for me to flirt.”

“Yeah, and how’s that working out for you?” Robin and I asked.

Without missing a beat, Steve said, “Ignore them.”

Looking in Robin’s direction, Dustin said, “She seems cool.”

“She’s not. So, where are the other knuckleheads?”

“They ditched me yesterday.”

“And I’ll kick every single one of their asses,” I said. “They like to forget that I know where they sleep.”

“My first day back! Can you believe that shit?”

“Whoa, seriously?” Steve asked.

“They’re gonna regret it, though, big time, when they don’t get to share in my glory,” Dustin said, pointing in mine and Steve’s direction.

“Glory?” I asked. “What glory?”

Dustin moved closer, to say, “So, last night, I was trying to get in contact with Suzie–”

“Suzie with a Z from Utah,” I sassed.

“Yes, now, shut up,” Dustin said, before looking around. He covered his mouth and said something so quiet, I thought he was just mouthing the words.

I looked back at Steve, confused, before looking back at Dustin, asking, “What?”

“Uh…” He talked so quietly again, I couldn’t hear him… and I was sitting right next to him!

“Just speak louder,” Steve and I said.

As if he were telling the whole town of Hawkins, Dustin loudly said, “I intercepted a secret Russian communication!”

Covering his mouth, I said, “Okay, shut the hell up! No need to announce it to all of Hawkins.”

“That’s what we thought you said,” Steve said. After a moment, he tapped me on the shoulder, asking, “What-what does that mean?”

“It means, future brother-in-law,” Dustin said, causing me to choke on air. “We could be heroes. True… American… heroes.”

Steve made a happy noise, I sighed in annoyance, and Dustin also made a happy noise.

“American heroes,” Steve said, sitting up behind me causing his arm to move a little closer to my girls.

“Just think,” Dustin said. “You could have all the ladies–” I cleared my throat, raising a brow at my brother. “Pop-popularity?” he asked, me blinking slowly and shaking my head. “Fa-fame?” I nodded with a tightlipped smile.

“You could have all the fame you want and more,” he continued on his train of thought.

“More?” Steve asked.

“More.”

“I like more,” Steve said, pressing his lips to my temple.

“Uh-huh,” I said to both boys. “What’s the catch, Dusty?”

“No catch,” he said. “I just need Steve’s help.”

Looking at him with a shocked expression, I exclaimed, “What about me?”

He sighed, exasperatedly as he said, “I guess you, too.”

“Help with what?” Steve asked.

Dustin unzipped the bag I didn’t even notice he had, bringing out a book that had the words Romanov’ Russian-English, English-Russian Dictionary on the cover. “Translation.”

~~~

Dustin, Steve and I went to the back room to start trying to translate the Russian communication Dustin heard from Russian to English.

I was eating a banana because I was starving when Dustin played the tape again that he made last night, a Russian man's voice coming through the speaker.

Feeling my arm rise up, I turned my head to see why, watching Steve take a bite of the fruit in my hand.

I narrowed my eyes in thought, hearing music in the background. I’ll make a note of that later.

Dustin stopped it, the nautical themed music from the store coming back into my ears. “So, what do you two think?”

“It sounded familiar,” I said, taking another bite of my banana.

“What?”

“The music, right there at the end.”

“Why are you listening to the music, Olivia? Listen to the Russian! We’re translating Russian!”

“You don’t realize I live in America where we speak English, right? I’m trying to listen to the guy’s words, but there’s music playing!”

“Alright, babysitting time is over,” Robin said. Speaking to Steve, she said, “You need to get in there.” She looked at her board for Steve, turning around and saying, “Hey, my board! That was important data, shitbirds!”

“Robin, it was my fault,” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender before placing them on the table, Steve taking my banana as I did so.

“Plus, I guarantee you that what we're doing is way more important than your data,” Dustin said.

“Yeah?” Robin said. “And how do you know these Russians are up to no good anyways?”

Looking at me and then Steve, Dustin asked, “How does she know about the Russians?”

Steve answered, “I don’t know,” as he handed me back my banana… well, moreso the peel.

“You told her about–”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Steve, babe, stop talking with your mouth full,” I said.

“Hello, I can hear you,” Robin said. “Actually, I can hear everything.”

“Yeah, you both are extremely loud,” I added.

I just looked at them with a smile on my face as Robin continued, “You think you have evil Russians plotting against our country, on tape, and you’re trying to translate, but haven’t figured out a single word because you didn’t realize Russians use an entirely different alphabet than we do.”

“Stop her if she’s off base here.”

“That goes for you, too.”

“Hey!” I said, looking back at her.

Robin went to reach for the cassette player, but Steve got to it first, asking her, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I wanna hear it,” she said.

“Why?” both boys asked.

“Maybe she can help,” I said.

“I’m fluent in four languages, ya’know,” Robin said.

“Russian?” Dustin asked.

“Ou-yay are-yay umb-day.”

Steve laughed like she was actually speaking Russian to my brother.

“Holy shit,” Dustin smiled.

I looked up at her before I looked back at Dustin and chuckled out, “That was Pig Latin, idiot.”

“But I can speak Spanish, French and Italian, and I’ve been in band for 12 years,” Robin said, sitting next to me. “My ears are little geniuses, trust me.”

The bell rang at the front counter right before she said, “Come on, it’s your turn to sling ice cream, my turn to translate. I don’t even want credit, I’m just bored.” She handed the ice cream scooper to Steve as the bell dinged again.

He grabbed it from her hand before handing her the cassette player.

“Please wash that before you scoop ice cream,” I said, looking from Steve’s hand to his eyes.

Sighing, Steve went to the sink and rinsed the ice cream scoop before drying it off. “Happy?”

“Yes, because you won’t get others sick,” I smiled.

He placed a kiss on my lips as we walked around the table, going to sling more ice cream. I stayed in the back room with Dustin and Robin, almost able to recite the Russian words, word for freaking word, that familiar music playing.

“Wait, that last part, one last time,” Robin said, pointing towards the cassette player in my brother’s hand.

Dustin rewound the tape, hitting the play button once again, the Russian’s voice and the music coming back through the speaker.

Robin walked past the sink once more, pointing towards Dustin as she said, “Okay, that word. Uhm… it’s pronounced “dly-nna-ya.” Dustin repeated the word before she continued, “Which is spelled–”

“D. D, D, D,” Dustin said, running toward the white board. Pointing to it, he said, “The chair! The chair-the chair-looking thingy.”

Robin smiled as she wrote down the Russian letter. Looking up at me, she said, “Go get dingus.”

I hopped down from my spot on the counter before poking my head out of the door as I heard the window open. “Babe, we got our first sentence.”

Turning around with two cones in his hands, he said, “Whoa, seriously?”

“Yeah. Window.” I walked back to stand next to Robin as she said, “The week is long,” in a Russian accent.

“Well, that’s thrilling,” Steve deadpanned.

“I know, but progress,” Robin smiled before she shut the window.

I chuckled and walked out, seeing two familiar girls as Steve turned around and said, “Okay, here ya go, you got a strawberry and then a vanilla with sprinkles, extra whipped cream.” I walked over to Steve, standing beside him as the girls took their first taste of their ice creams. Looking dead at El, I asked, “Are you even allowed to be here? Does Hop know you’re here?”

El and Max looked at each other before running out of the store. I looked at Steve, seeing the confused look on his face. I’m sure I had the same look. “Ooookay.”

~~~

The whole mall was closed down a few hours later, but Scoops was still open, much to my protest of going home.

I sighed as all four of us looked at the white board and recited, “The week is long, the silver cat feeds, when blue meets yellow in the west.” I groaned, just wanting to go to bed.

“Can we please leave?” I asked. “I’m so tired.”

Steve chuckled, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, guiding me out to the rest of the mall. Going back to the conversation they’d had on our way out as he closed the security gate to lock it, he said, “I mean, it just… it just can’t be right.”

“It’s right,” Robin said.

“Honestly, I think it’s great news,” Dustin added.

“How is this great news?” I groaned. “So much for you two being American heroes, Dusty.”

“It’s total nonsense,” Steve said.

“It’s not nonsense,” Dustin said. “It’s too specific.”

Looking at the shops we were passing, I said, “It’s obviously some sort of code.”

Feeling Steve slip his fingers between mine, he asked, “Babe, what do you mean, a code?”

“Like a super secret spy code,” Dustin said, turning to face us for a second. Gesturing to mine and Steve’s hands, he added, “And break this up.”

“That’s a total stretch,” Steve said, pulling me closer.

“I don’t know, is it?” Robin asked.

“You’re buying into this?”

I wrapped my hand around his bicep, leaning my head against his shoulder.

“Listen, just for kicks,” Robin said. “Let’s entertain the possibility that it is a secret Russian transmission. What’d you think they were gonna say, fire the warhead at noon? And my translation is correct. I know that for sure, so… the silver cat feeds. Why would anyone talk like that unless they were trying to mask the meaning of their message.”

“Exactly,” Dustin said.

“I mean, why would anyone mask the true meaning of their message unless the message is somehow sensitive?”

“Exactly.”

I looked up at Steve as he was making a sarcastic facial expression, mocking them both in his mind. Chuckling, I lowered my head, as Robin continued, “So I guess that confirms your suspicion,” before Steve and I stopped at the horse ride… thing by the claw machine. I could still hear Robin and Dustin’s conversation.

“Evil Russians,” my brother added.

Turning her head to look at Steve and I for a moment, Robin said, “I can’t believe I’m about to agree with Henderson’s strange little brother, but, yeah, totally evil Russians.”

“So how do we crack it?” Dustin asked.

“Well, I guess we translate the rest and hopefully a pattern emerges.”

“A pattern. Right, like maybe silver cat is a meeting place?”

“Or a person.”

Pointing at Robin, Dustin added, “Or a weapon.”

“It’s probably gonna take a super genius to crack it, but… Where’s Steve and Olivia? Hey, guys!”

Steve let go of my hand to get some change from his pocket before dropping them to the ground.

“Baby, what are you doing?” I asked.

“I need a quarter,” he said, looking at me. “Do you have a quarter?”

I reached into my pocket to get the quarter that I randomly kept in it as Robin and Dustin came back to us, the former asking, “Sure you’re tall enough for that ride?”

Handing the quarter to Steve, he quickly squatted, inserting the coin into its slot. The music started playing as the horse started moving back and forth, my eyes going wide.

“Need help getting up, little Stevie?”

“Shh!” Steve shushed.

Dustin started chuckling, which annoyed me because I was so tired. “Would you two just please shut the hell up and listen?”

After a few moments of silence, Dustin said, “Holy shit. The music.” He took off his backpack, getting the cassette player from it, pressing the play button, the Russian code and the music coming through the speaker for the billionth time.

“I don’t understand,” Robin said.

“It’s the exact same song on the recording,” Dustin said.

“Maybe they have horses like this in Russia,” she suggested.

“Indiana Flyer,” Steve said. “I don’t… I don’t think so.”

“The code obviously didn’t come from Russia,” I breathed out. “It came from here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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~~~

A/N 2: hi, friends! pls be kind and reblog! it really helps us content creators out <3

Additional Note:

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak

Steve Harrington Taglist: @madaboutjoe

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of The Duffer Brothers.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on March 4, 2024

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 1 month

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Dark Moon | Chapter Nine

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 1,7k

Warnings | +18, Jimin is hatching anger, asshole talk typical of their environment among boys, dirty language, sexual insinuations, Hoseok throws barbs at Jimin, drunk Jimin, noncon kissing, insults and angry talk, triggering content, yandere themes, angst, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | The ninth chapter of Dark Moon has arrived and with it even more darkness, I warn you that from the next chapter on, things will get stronger and more triggering.

Let me know what you think of the chapter ❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse

Taglist is open!

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"We caught another one of those sewer rats," said Hoseok with a satisfied light in his eyes, "At this rate they will never try to mess with the Bangtan Boys again."

"The matter is not over yet, Choi Minho played his cards wrong and now he will feel trapped.... and rats become aggressive when they realize they are about to lose their skin," sighed Seokjin, everyone nodded, then Jungkook asked Jimin a question.

"What?" he asked absentmindedly, Jin squared him up making the person concerned roll his eyes.

"What would you like to get out of the whole situation?"

Jimin licked his dry lips, casting a glance at the woman in charge of serving them drinks; she was beautiful, he couldn't deny it, but she lacked something.

No, she lacked nothing, she simply wasn't Y/N.

With a snort he pointed to the glass, ignoring her mischievous glances, "I'd like to get some whiskey in my glass," he clutched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, trying to relax, but how could he when his personal whore was not only giving him trouble but also putting her hands on him?

How had she allowed herself? And why hadn't he reacted? What was that "I'm sorry," anyway?

He should have beaten her until he saw her blood dripping onto the kitchen floor, but he had frozen. The blind rage he had felt was so devastating that his body had automatically refused to release it.

A laugh from Taehyung made the whole group notice the incoherent answer to Jungkook's question.

"Dude, is everything okay at home?" asked Taehyung, encircling the hips of their waitress, who had meanwhile poured whiskey for Jimin, "Do you want me to send you one who knows how to do her duty?"

"Are you implying that I suck at picking my girls, Taehyung?" quipped Seokjin quietly, immediately making the younger man shake his head.

"No way, Jin!" Taehyung clasped his hands together in apology, but he could tell he was joking, even Seokjin smiled deliberately.

"Please, by now Jimin has a whore who faithfully waits for him at home and with whom he has sex every day," mocked Hoseok, "He would even turn against his friends for her," he taunted, remembering perfectly that day in the infirmary, he had not liked Jimin's attitude toward him, the whole room fell silent, confused expressions arose on the faces of the other five, unaware.

"What did you say, Hoseok?"

"You heard me, Jimin... Maybe you don't care about anyone anymore because you have better."

Jimin found himself gritting his teeth at the redhead's insinuations.

His work was his life, his friends were his family, Hoseok himself was like a brother, he would never hurt him for...

Jimin wrinkled his forehead, remembering the discussion in the infirmary more sharply. Had he really threatened Hoseok?

What was that damn bitch doing to him? Because that was all it was about, wasn't it? She was a slut, nothing important, nothing to protect. Just a nice little object fit to fulfill his cravings.

"Stop talking bullshit, I would never reject my family, for anything or anyone in the world, when I like something I get a little jealous and you know it's better not to provoke me when I'm in that state," he tried to get over it, passing off his attitude as something completely harmless and natural, Hoseok shook his head as if to say 'Always the same', but for Jimin it wasn't over there. Now he was really pissed off as hell.

"Come on, come on! Let's not spoil the mood for stupid fights, let's toast to the Bangtan's imminent victory!" exclaimed Namjoon, trying to act as a peacekeeper between the two quarrels, everyone raised their filled glasses, but Jimin remained with his thoughts fixed on Y/N.

He came home drunk, the lights were already all out, but Jimin didn't give a shit.

He was lackluster and very angry, a deadly cocktail for a man of his mold.

He searched for her like a mad bull, "Y/N!" he growled harshly, throwing open her bedroom door, but no sign of her.

He looked around in hopes of finding her, but had to backtrack, retraced his steps into the living room and then into the kitchen, but the only rooms left to check corresponded to Jimin's room and their respective bathrooms. Jimin strongly doubted that she could be in his room.

Despite the legitimate consideration, he staggered to the master room of the house, when he opened the door he found himself squinting. The girl was slumped on the floor, various books were strewn and left open around her, she must have been rummaging through his things out of boredom, beginning to read here and there to get an idea about the man's literal tastes, the latter was not softened by the sight, anyone else would have found the scene of their girlfriend intent on sleeping peacefully all curled up like a wren tender, but he was not anyone and she was not his girlfriend.

He shook her by the shoulder several times, heedless of Y/N's physical frailty, and when the latter opened her eyes, she found herself facing Jimin's grim face.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" hissed the man between his teeth, Y/N blinked quickly in despondency, what had she done this time?

She glanced around the room with its strongly masculine and restrained decor, instantly remembered the moment she had entered Jimin's bedroom out of sheer curiosity, bitterly regretted entering it.

"I-I...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-ah!" she didn't even have time to finish her sentence, Jimin grabbed her by the arm forcing her to fall back uncomfortably on his king-size bed.

"Shut up and save me the trouble of still listening to you," he blurted out, quickly undoing the buttons of his dark shirt, the woman blanched.

Jimin wanted to again... ?

Now that the fog of sleep had cleared from her mind, she could notice the lackluster movements of the man, who had come to open his belt listlessly, the now half-open shirt gave a perfect view of his pecs and a hint of a sculpted abdomen, the mussed hair on his forehead contributed to his distraught look.

"You're drunk," she noted in a huff between trembling lips, Jimin smiled lazily.

"What do you deduce that from?" he kicked off his shoes, which were immediately followed by the tight jeans that contained nimble, muscular legs, everything about Jimin pointed out what a dangerous predator he was.

"Please, Jimin," it was the first time she had ever begged him using his name, "Let's not do this now, not like this-you're not yourself," she whispered softly, the fear already almost impossible to contain.

"And how should we do it?" he asked using the same gentle tone, crawling onto the bed until he completely overpowered her, their noses were only millimeters apart, "More importantly, when should we do it? This sounds like a good tease to me, Y/N," his magnetic eyes descended on the younger woman's lips, glittering with mischief.

The girl tried to calm him by gently taking his shoulders in her hands, imperceptibly pushing him away.

But Jimin grabbed her wrists in a firm grip, lifting them above her head and attached his meaty, experienced mouth to the trembling petals he had been studying with growing desire.

His tongue thrust directly into the girl's throat, she widened her eyes and tried to break free from the lack of air, Jimin was as if possessed, biting and sucking those lips as if his life depended on it, not giving her the slightest time to recover and pursuing her shyer tongue without hinting to surrender.

"I kept you away from all those perverts at the Dark Moon," he descended on her neck to bite the most sensitive flap of skin, "I almost beat up a friend who is like a brother, for you," he squeezed those slender wrists more tightly, releasing a breathless moan in Y/N, "And I scarred that bitch's face in revenge because she dared to hurt you," he said finally, the woman did not understand the last sentence, did he mean that Jimin had punished Ester permanently for her?

She did not have time to reason out that last thought, Jimin was beside himself.

"But you keep pushing me away, being a runaway bitch, you even look at me in disgust, and fuck, you really piss me off!" he exclaimed angrily and in a petulant tone, "I gave you a home, bitch! Something you could have only dreamed of if you had gone about your business and you show not the slightest respect for my efforts!" he continued to verbally rail at her, who was shaking and whimpering in shock.

Jimin had always been scary, and he had always been dangerous, and he had even hurt her on more than one occasion, but she had never seen him like that. He was drunk, he could have done anything to her without the restraint of a conscience anymore, always if he ever had a conscience, she was terrified.

And the more the boy thought of her not as a whore, the more furious he became. Because it had never happened that he liked a woman romantically, it didn't fit into his plans, and it was twisted in his reasoning, but he had sworn to his past that it would never happen, that he would never give in that way.

"Jimin, wait a moment, calm down and let's talk about this tomorrow.... you're right, you're right," she whimpered, "I didn't behave well, but now we can't discuss it, it's really not the time," she tried to appease him, Jimin tilted his head, scrutinizing her face, which was purple and streaked with badly held salty tears, snapped his tongue against his palate, before grabbing the fabric of her shirt with a funny koala printed on it and pulling toward him, causing a gash at the young woman's chest level, forcing her into another sick and shameless kiss.

"Fuck the talk, tonight I'm going to fuck you good and you'll just have to take my cock," he said, leaving her speechless, "Turn around."

No. Not again, not again in that humiliating position.

She quickly shook her head, "No!" she pushed him away with a kick, but the man flinched in time, remembering that first night that changed both their lives.

"I'm not that drunk," he laughed viciously, forcing her to carry out his command.

And there, watching her trembling and with her shapely buttocks hidden by the pajama suit, Jimin had a cruel and angry idea.

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