#i wanna talk about jim strange's body language | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

who-is-olivia · 5 years

Text

Track 1. Meet Me in the Hallway

Harry Styles x OC

Harry confronts Olivia but she shuts him out of their house. [3.4k]

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: sexual language

December 2017

Olivia hits the last high note of the song, ending it with a bang. Only when her work is done does she look beyond the stage lights into the crowd. They adore her. She looks to her right and finds Frank messing with his pedal, the sound was a little off. The dress he wears tonight is stunning, and for a moment she feels a spike of jealousy. When he looks up, he smiles at her and she does it back.

“Alright everyone, you’ve been amazing tonight but this is the last one” she looks back under the crowd’s manifestation of disappointment and checks if the band is good to go. With the drummer’s queue, she focus on the melody, closing her eyes to get the tune right. She and the music are one in the same, the way her body moves with each note truly entrances the audience.

When she opens her eyes it’s impossible to notice anything but a pair of green eyes staring at her intently. She’s at a loss for words. He wasn’t there before, she would have noticed. His short hair has spots of snow, a long navy blue coat wrapped around his body. If his intention was to be incognito, he did a terrible job because no one in the crowded pub looks as handsome as he does. In any other situation being speechless would be acceptable, but in this case she’s standing in a stage with a spotlight shining upon her. Frank frowns at her, looking at the crowd, then back at her. When the crowd begins to fuss, he stops the performance.

“What’s going on, bug?!” he asks, covering the microphone.

“Backstage, come with me” she pulls him out of the stage, leaving Sarah behind.

She shuts the door behind Frank but it doesn’t have a lock, so she clumsily sticks a chair under the knob.

“What the fuck-“

“Harry is here, I have to go!” she explains, putting on her coat desperately.

“No way, we haven’t finished the set!”

“I don’t give a fuck” she looks for her purse.

“Oli, listen to me!” he holds her by the arm, “I called him”

“What?! Are you fucking insane?! How could you do this-” she pulls her arm violently away from his grasp before someone knocks on the door.

“Guys, open up!” Jim calls.

“What’s going on?!”

“This is ridiculous” Frank reaches for the chair but she holds him back.

“Frank, no! Please!” he’s forced to look at her. “I’m not ready to tell him!”

He sighs, letting go of the chair and rubbing his forehead nervously. “Oli, if this was the other way around he’d never hide it from you. He never did, not even once!” she shakes her head, this can’t be happening. “Talk to him”

“I...” she stutters, eyes brimming with tears. Her imagination takes the worst of her, making her see a heartbroken Harry crying alone on his kitchen floor, like one of the times she’s found him there. Calling her ceaselessly, his chest aching in anguish, desperate to reach her. But then other images haunt her, images of him turning his back on her, cold to her touch, his eyes aloof as if they see through her. “I can’t”

“Fuck this” Frank pulls the chair at once, letting both Jim and Sarah in. She stares at Frank disappointedly but with soft understanding. He had to put up with her problems for a long while without asking for anything in return. He got this incredible drummer to play for them in a small celebratory gig he’s been looking forward for so long and she ruins it. It’s only fair he’s upset.

“What was that?” Sarah asks angrily.

“Harry’s here” Frank replies.

“So what?”

“I have to go” Olivia takes her bag and pushes through the small gathering. She takes the back exit to the dark streets, pushing her steps a little faster. All the memories she tried to bury resurface violently, and she finds herself breathless on the winter air. She and Harry leaving Jamaica together, sharing the same first class seat as she slept over his chest watching Wall-E, his sleepy fingers gently caressing her temples as to not mess up her hair. Him pleading for her to stay in London for a few months while he finished the album, arousing another fight about their life together, the way he barely ever raises his voice during an argument, making her feel always as the bad guy. His meek crestfallen steps away from her building, turning her heart into lead so heavy she couldn’t move.

“Oli” she looks back, there he is. She wants to run but stops. To say her guilt is holding her back is a decent enough excuse, but she knows it’s not true. Seeing him, despite all the heartache, still lights a fire in her chest. However broken she might be, he’s still Harry, and he still makes her weak in the knees. Olivia expects the worst, but instead of cursing and raging at her he delivers a shy smile, bringing out his dimples. “Hey”

She freezes, only mumbling in return: “Hey”

“‘S been a while”

“Yeah... look, I-“

“I just want to talk”

“I don’t”

“Please, I just want to know if you’re alright”

“I’m not” Olivia whimpers, “there, now you know” she turns and rushes back to her flat with him tight on her footsteps.

“Oli, wait!” he pleads, following her inside the three-store building. She’s fast to climb the stairs but he is a close second. When she comes to open the door, her nervous hands betray her and she almost fails to unlock it. By the time Harry arrives, she shuts it. “Please Oli, listen to me” she covers her ears like a child.

She knew this was coming. Her silence was unusual, soon enough he’d be suspicious. Not even an argument as crude as the one they had could keep him away from her. Now that he’s here and she has to confront the truth so urgently she wants to avoid it even more, so she keeps shutting him out both internally and externally.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you but you’re acting strange” he tells from the door, “Frank just called me and he said you had something to tell me, I suppose if he called me it’s important...” he heaves, trying to catch the breath he lost on the stairs, “but even if it isn’t, I just need to see you, love” he supports himself on the door and slides his back on it until he’s sitting on the floor, resting his head against the wood in frustration. It’s agonizing having her so close to reach yet so impossible to touch. “I though we were on the same page after Jamaica, but if something changed... are you sick? O-or in debt or anything like that, I need you to tell me, anything is better than let me fill in the blanks”

The hands that covered her ears now cover her mouth, trying to muffle her panicked breath. It’s almost as if the truth is begging to come out. It breaks her heart to keep him out.

“Please open the door. I’m not going anywhere so you might as well just let me in” she lifts her bloodshot eyes to that shadow on the door. Hesitantly, she takes small steps towards the knob. Her hand lingers on the cold piece of metal but doesn’t turn, instead she falls with her back on the cold tainted glass. He feels the shifting on the wood but it doesn’t shake his faith, he needs to try harder. “You looked beautiful on that stage tonight, I almost feel bad for sweeping you away” there’s no reaction, only the sound of her heaving breaths. “Was it something that I’ve done?”

“No!” she cries in a small voice.

“Did you do something?” silence, “You’ve done something and you’re afraid I won’t like it?”

“More or less” she wipes her nose carelessly.

“Is that why you won’t return my calls?”

The moment of calmness ends and she feels her constricted sinus itch once more as the tears threaten to spill, “I’m scared...”

“Are you scared of me?” he cries, heart tightening from just imagining the scenario-

“It’s not that”

“If it’s not me, can I least help you, love? You know I’ll always have your back” she nods silently and take a deep breath. She still feels the impulse to cry but shoves it aside, maybe if they talk it will take the pain away. “Just tell me, please...”

“Haz...” she shuts her eyes and just blurts out, “I’m pregnant”

His eyes freeze at a bit of the carpet floor in awe as he tries to process the information. His frown slowly rises as a quivering gasp escapes him, thrilled with the actual meaning of what she just revealed. He feel so ecstatic but at the same time so disappointed that he can’t share that moment with her.

“Please say something?” she begs as her imagination tricks her with a thousand different scenarios of his reaction.

“Oli... that’s amazing!” he turns to the stained glass, “That’s amazing! Oh my-“ he chuckles, feeling the tears fill his gaze. “How far long?”

“9 weeks”

His joy falters, this is the most important stepping stone of his life and he’s already missed a third of it. He can’t miss the rest, “So... Jamaica?”

“Yes”

“Oh my... Oli please let me in, I need to see it-“

“I don’t... I don’t want to” she chokes again.

He frowns at her reaction, anticipating the worst: “Oli... do you want to have this baby?”

Her lack of an answer pretty much says it.

“Oh no, no no no...” he presses the glass where her body is leaning on it, cold sweat running down his spine. “Please love, don’t do this to me...”

“I haven’t done anything yet” her voice turns cold.

“Then why are you hiding behind the bloody door?” he asks in despair but she can’t answer. There’s no logical reason: he already knows, there’s nothing he can do to stop her, she’s not afraid of him... yet, she feels guarded by it. Harry sighs in frustration, a huge weight in his heart turns his legs to mush in anguish. “Olivia! For fuck’s sake, talk to me!” he cries.

“I don’t wanna talk anymore-“

“Why don’t you want the baby?” he presses, “I’m just trying to understand! Are we too young? You think w-we can’t afford? I need-“

“You can afford it Harry, I can’t! If I have the baby, this is it for me, how can I work and take care of a baby at the same time?” she blurts, shouting at the glass behind her.

“I’ll be right beside you”

“It’s not the same. You can give your time, your support, but I have to give up my body. I don’t want the swelling and the big boobs and the pain...”

He melts at her words, although many people would consider her dread to be selfish he can empathize with a fear as human as childbirth itself. Losing your physical form and a part of your identity is devastating. He can’t imagine how Oli feels about it, considering her experience with her parents and how she got lost between two people who didn’t really want her. If that’s the only reference she has, there’s no reason to bring a child in to this world. “It’s ok love... If you don’t wanna have it, I won’t make you”

“... but do you want it? The baby?” she whimpers.

“I do” he cries a bit, trying to give up on the idea is harder than he thought would be. “Ever since I met you I’ve been building this up in my head, planning every step forward and even when I think it won’t work it just keeps getting better. And I did all of that with this picture in my head that one day we’d build a family”

She slowly eases into a curious frown, her eyes fixed at a spot on the floor as she can’t help but imagine: “How’s the picture?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said you had a picture in your head of our family, how is it?”

He chuckles, wiping his cheeks. “There’s a few. My favorite one is you and me sleeping in the bed, and then the baby wakes up and comes to our bedroom. It tries to climb over the bed but it’s still too small and clumsy, so I have to wake up and pick it up and then it snuggles between us... and it smells like that oil you use when you shave your legs” he recalls the days when she shaves her legs and tries to shove them over him so he’ll feel how smooth they are, and after he feels it his hands always smell like lavender.

“It’s baby oil” she adds, “but go on”

“Alright... it’s got this cute little onesie but she’s heating up because of your radiator-“

“She?” he freezes.

“Always picture a baby girl, don’t know why” he confesses, reminiscing first time he had this epiphany back when he asked her to marry him. “She looks exactly like you, couldn’t tell it’s mine from a distance but-“

“She has your eyes” he agrees, “You stole that from Harry Potter, it’s not fair” they both laugh through their strain.

“Just to be fair, she’d also have my dimples which I believe is a genetical advantage”

“Show off”

His elation slowly fades as he remembers her leaning to another scenario, “It would be beautiful Oli. She’d never need anything, we’d take her anywhere, we would spoil her so bad...”

She feels the impact of his words on her soul, it soothes her to know this baby will be looked after and loved and yes, even spoiled. She wants that vision to be true, if they were in a different financial situation it might be just a reverie but they can actually make it happen. “Harry?”

“Hm?”

“If I told you I want to have the baby, what would happen next?”

“I would probably take the keys out of my pocket and open the door-“

“You’ve got keys?!”

“Of course I have keys, this is my house!” she laughs letting that tension escape.

“Then why are you out there?!”

“I was hoping you’d come on out” she nods, relishing in how ridiculously respectful he is. “But if you’re still wondering, I’d kiss you until I can’t breath, I’d probably talk to your belly in a way that’ll make you slightly uncomfortable-“ a neighbor steps out the door to walk his dog and find Harry sitting on the floor beside the door, “Evening”

“Evening” the guy waves awkwardly and leaves with the dog.

“What was that?”

“Neighbor... you know what? Why don’t you open the door and I’ll show you instead”

“That’s better” she gets up and turns the key, opening the door for him to walk in. He comes through and helps her shut the door behind him as he pulls her in for a hug and embraces her tenderly, her touch making his heartbeat soar. He nuzzles her temple pressing a gentle kiss against it before leaning in for a kiss. She cups her jaw and deepens the kiss, smashing their faces together with the intensity of their yearning.

He breaks it in a smile, urging his chest to calm down or else she’ll notice the heave of butterflies taking flight in his stomach. How come he has kissed the same lips so many times and yet it feels electric every time? How come he knows every inch of her skin and still he feels sparks rise wherever her tender touch connects them? When they part he can still feel her in the swollen skin. Maybe that sums the nature of his love for her: even when she’s not there, she’s still an entire sensation that dominates him and, at the same time, gives him peace.

“‘ve been dying to do that for weeks, you know?” he doesn’t let her answer though, stealing another kiss from her. She breaks it so she can take a good look into his lovingly smile. His eyes then dart to her stomach as he reaches down and kisses that bit of skin picturing their baby in there also glad to meet him.

“It can’t hear you yet so don’t waist your words” she reminds him.

“9 weeks huh?” he strokes the back of her knee, still crouched in front of her tummy. “Can’t believe I lost it”

“All you missed was me throwing up everywhere, nothing exciting” she tries to be dismissive but he’s not feeling it. He wanted to be there, holding her through it. Just the reverie of them sharing a bed like they used to makes him light-headed. “Now we’ll get to the fun part: the cramps, the ballooning, mood swings...”

“We’ll work it out”

“Maybe... I don’t know Harry, I’m so fucking scared” she tries to hide it but it’s inevitable.

“Love,” he gets up and tips her chin towards him, “A kid is a huge ‘maybe’: maybe we’ll fuck it up, maybe we’ll work it out... but if we get this chance, can you believe that? We actually get to raise a beautiful kid just the two of us, isn’t that amazing?”

“It’s pretty amazing” she smiles shyly. “Maybe that’ll push us to be up to the task”

“Right?!” she nods enthusiastically and he cups her cheek, “We gotta get better and we will”

She takes a calming breath and nods again, “Can’t believe you’re actually here”

“‘f course I am!” he pulls her to their living room, “‘s my house!”

He gloats endlessly about the place, but it means so much to him. He and Oli built it together out of their pockets and planned their entire life in it. The flat feels like a safe-house for their relationship, the only place they can be together and grow.

“Oh, sure, the house” she rolls her eyes playfully but he pulls her by the waist and kisses her cheeks earnestly. He rests his bottom against a decorative table and holds her within his reach. He slowly tugs on her shirt and pulls it up until her stomach shows, sliding his cold hands over her warm skin. With his eyes closed, he tries to feel the bump as he rests his head against her shoulder. Olivia loves the goosebumps it causes, having his touch so unashamed on her.

“There’s something you might need back” he fumbles his coat pocket for a rose golden ring with flowers engraved on it. “Only if you want it”

“Of course I want it” she allows him to slide the metal band on her finger and admires it from a short distance. She then runs her knuckles over his cheekbone, relishing on the small hairs of his face as he tries to kiss them in place. “Should get married before I start to show”

“Why?”

“Don’t know if we can have a wedding night if I’m too far long...”

“Oh... you mean we don’t get to fuck if you’re too pregnant?”

“I don’t know how the physics works, what if it harms the baby?” she teases him.

“We should get married right now, is there any restrictions this far long?” he asks in fake hurry and she cackles at him.

“I don’t think so”

“Hm, good” he leans his kisses down her neck and she doesn’t have the strength to push him away. She comes undone beneath his touch as she knew she would if she talked to him, specially when she’s this sensitive. “We could technically get married right now”

“Can you at least call Anne first? She might want to know she’s about to have grandchildren”

“Bloody hell, you’re right” he recomposes, taking a small distance but holding her hand still.

“Should we tell anyone else?”

“Not right now, let me just...” he kisses her hand and sighs, “Let me just enjoy this, just you and me, eh?”

He smiles fondly, it’s not hard for him to picture them as parents. Harry always wanted kids, he’s always been good with them and this is a welcome surprise after being in a relationship for so long. He was afraid that their small affairs with other people would eventually rob them of the chance of having a child out of their love but this is perfect. And it’s also so frightening, he wants the baby so bad he’s already willing to lay down his life for it. If anything goes minimally wrong, nothing else will do.

<< Previous | Next >>

Masterlist

104 notes · View notes

anxiously-going · 5 years

Text

Day Twenty One: Laced Drink

Star Trek AOS, Mirror!verse. Pre Mirror, Mirror story line, Pre- Len losing an eye.

Something was wrong.

Something- something was definitely wrong.

The ambient noise suddenly seemed amplified, but not...not present. Like too loud music underwater or earmuffs at a concert.

Len shook his head. Trying to clear the fog, to figure out what it was that was going on. To hang on to the reality of where he was. He gripped the hard wood counter, trying to ground himself. His hand seemed to phase through the wood and he went spilling side, cracking his head on the ground as he went.

Noises closed in around his as misshapen figures encircled him, muttering and crooning in strange languages.

He was losing his grip. Black spots started in and out of his field of view. A hand reached out to him and he scrambled desperately away. Strange faces pinned him against the bar.

Black spots took more of his vision.

He felt like he wasn't breathing.

Was that what was causing the spots?

He wasn't sure. Something in his gut said to run.

But he couldn't move.

His body felt stiff and weighty. Like sleep paralysis. But he was awake, wasn't he? He was awake. He had to be awake. He was- he was some place. But it was wrong. Something was wrong.

A face, blurred and distant forced itself into his fading view. He knew that face. Didn't he? He was it seemed familiar. At least, it eased the pounding in his that screamed at him to run, to get out, to get...safe. Someplace that wasn't here. Here was bad.

The face that he almost knew spoke, and he let the man- he was fairly certain it was a man at least- pull him to his feet.

Len almost dropped again, but strong arms held him steady. Someone murmured something he was sure he should have understood as the blackness engulfed him entirely.

___

"Bones? Bones! Hey, ya with me?"

Leonard slowly as Jim's face came into view.

"Hey," the younger man sighed. "How ya feelin', pal?"

"What happen?"

"Someone tried to kill you," Jim answered bluntly. "That Jordan kid apparently didn't think you should have gotten Puri's position, he decided to go after you for it. We think he paid the bartender off. Your drink was laced with some drug I couldn't pronounce. Christine recognized it from her research though. She and M'Benga were able to to put together an antidote."

"How'd you know it was Jordan?"

"Christine is faster with a hypo than he is. She caught him trying to dose you again. He's not talking, but it was filled with the same stuff in your drink."

"Fantastic," Len spat. "As if we're not short handed enough around here."

"Bones, he tried to kill you."

"Yeah, I heard you. But that's exactly the problem. People keep killin' each other off. No one wants to be a ship doctor cause we're either pullin' people from the brink, or nearly getting offed ourselves!"

"Hey, keep it down."

"This isn't why I became a doctor, Jim! I didn't become a doctor to stand there and watch people die on my table when I could save their lives!"

"Stand down, Lieutenant Commander," Jim snapped. He glanced around the room and lowered his voice. "I get it. This isn't what you wanted to do with your life. But you're here, and you're lucky you are. You're lucky that M'Benga doesn't have an aspirations right now. But if someone else hears talk like that reports it, he might find himself with orders that I can't belay. Do you understand that?"

"I'm tired of this, Jim," Len replied weakly.

Jim's face softened. "I know, Bones, I know. This isn't what any of us wanted, but I can't see a way out," he shrugged helplessly. "Unless we can find someway… but I don't see that happening. I just… I've half grown up in this, Bones. I don't see it changing anytime soon. We just have to buckle down and ride it out."

"Till what? Till someone slits our throats in our sleep so they can have our jobs? Because we don't get to retire, Jim. You get that, right? Even if by some miracle we get survive this they won't let us go. I can't keep this charade up forever. Someone gonna figure it, or get suspicious, and it's not gonna be hard to figure out. What are they gonna do then? Because they're not gonna be happy about me lying to them. What do I do then? What do I do when they go after my mother?"

"After the crap she put you through? You keep your mouth shut and let them deal with her."

"She's my mother!"

"She abused you! Besides, it's not gonna come to that. I won't let it," Jim said firmly as if that solved the matter.

"You might not have a choice. I don't wanna live like this, Jim."

"I know. We're all tired. But there's nothing we can do. There's no sense in hoping otherwise. Get some rest, doctor. We need you back on rotation as soon as possible." He patted Len's arm, and just like that left the room, leaving Len feeling worse than when he had woken up.

#whumptober2019 #no.21 #laced drink #leonard mccoy #jim kirk #mirror!verse #mentions of drugs

5 notes · View notes

flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 6 years

Text

Showing Appreciation - Jim Hopper x Reader

So I binged both seasons of Stranger Things a few weeks ago, and quickly fell down a Hopper trashcan. Here’s hoping that this fic helps purge some of the consuming dirty thoughts I’ve been having about this man.

Summary: A late night at the station with Jim takes an interesting turn.

Characters: Jim Hopper x female reader

Words: 5,136

Warnings: nsfw, smut, language/dirty talk, a bit of size kink, unprotected sex, some dom Chief Hopper ;)

Showing Appreciation

The sun was starting to set and, except for the hum of overhead lights and the occasional flutter of a page turning, there had been no sound or movement at the Hawkins Police Station for the past couple of hours. You glanced up from the mystery novel propped on the desk in front of you, turning a cramped neck to look over at the large wall clock.

6:23pm.

Giving a sigh, your eyes trailed over to Chief Hopper’s office, where the door was still firmly shut. What the hell was he doing in there? You hadn’t heard a peep out of him in almost three hours, when he had stormed out of the office, grumbling to himself and pacing around a bit, before grabbing a folder out of a filing cabinet and secluding himself back in his office. Hell, he could be dead in there for all you’d know, with his lack of noise or activity.

Debating for a few long moments before making up your mind, you marked the page of your book and put it down on the desk. Rising from the chair, you lifted stiff arms over your head and stretched out limbs that had been sitting in one position for far too long.

While you weren’t an official employee at the station, you had recently starting helping out part-time on the weekends. Chief Jim Hopper had been putting in a lot of overtime lately, and Flo was exhausted trying to keep up with his late hours during the week. Hopper had said that he didn’t need anyone in the office with him, but Flo still worried and didn’t want him here alone.

That’s where you had come in. On top of your main 9-5 job throughout the week, you had also spent the last three Saturdays here, running the front desk. The town of Hawkins rarely had any real emergencies, hence them not being open 24/7. And since the station was technically closed on weekends, there were rarely any calls and not much to do, so it was an easy way to make a few extra bucks and get some reading done, since Hopper mostly stayed holed up in his office. In fact, you tended to make random excuses to knock on his door, just to make sure he was still alive in there.

Which was what you were doing right now. He had been radio silent for long enough to make you curious, and a tad bit worried, so you strode quietly across the tiles and lifted your hand to give a light knock. After a long pause where there was no answer, not even a grunt of welcome, you turned the handle and opened the door.

Peeking inside, you saw, with a tad more relief than you wanted to admit, that Hopper was indeed still alive. He was staring intensely at the papers spread out on the desk before him, so focused on his task that he didn’t seem to realize you were standing there, and probably hadn’t heard you knock, either. You were just about to quietly back out and leave him be, when he seemed to sense your presence, his head lifting and eyes zeroing in on you.

Irritable and aloof as he may be, you couldn’t deny that the chief was a very handsome man. His blue eyes looked tired, and his mouth was set in a hard line, but it still didn’t detract from the masculine features that always seemed to spark a little zing of awareness each time you saw him. His hat was off, and he ran a hand through his hair with agitation, before bringing it down to wipe over the front of his face. You suddenly found yourself jealous of the long, thick fingers that teased through his beard and stopped to rest lightly over his mouth.

“What time is it?” he asked, his fatigue-rasped voice jolting you out of your wayward thoughts.

“Almost 6:30,” you responded, prompting him to puff out an expletive under his breath.

“Have you eaten anything since breakfast?” you asked, walking further into the room. He seemed grumpy, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but he wasn’t snappy and had spoken in actual words, not just grunts, so you took this as a sign that he was in a fairly decent mode.

He gestured to the far edge of his desk, where five empty styrofoam cups sat. “I had coffee.”

Barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you moved forward, gathering up the cups and tossing them into the garbage bin by the door. You turned around in time to see him rub his brow and let out a sigh of frustration as he once again glared at the papers in front of him.

“Maybe take a small break, then come back and look at it with fresh eyes?” you suggested. Hopper wasn’t the only one who hadn’t had dinner yet, and you were craving both a meal and a long, hot bath at home, neither of which would happen until he was ready to close up for the night.

All you got in response to your suggestion was a grunt of disapproval. Frowning, you walked up behind him, curious to see what it was that held his attention so thoroughly. You expected him to move the papers out of view or tell you to leave, but surprisingly, he didn’t.

The papers didn’t make much sense to you, a bunch of random typed up reports and numbers scattered in no particular order that you could see. They also were much less intriguing than the man sitting in front of you. With his head bent slightly forward, you could see how much tension Hopper was carrying in his shoulders and neck. He was like a tightly coiled spring, and it was no wonder he tended to snap out and rarely showcase an expression that wasn’t a scowl.

Without even pausing to think about the consequences of such an action, you lifted your hands and rested them firmly on his broad shoulders, pressing in with your thumbs and instantly finding the hard knots of tension. He tensed up even more at your touch, jerking slightly and most likely about to ask what the hell you were doing. However, when your fingers dug into his flesh, he gave an involuntary groan of pleasure. Trying, and failing, not to think of other situations in which Hopper might let out a noise like that, you continued with your ministrations, finding each knot of tension and attacking it with gentle force until it disappeared. Your hands worked up the sides of his neck, before coming back down to where it curved into what were really quite impressive shoulders. You pushed along the back of his neck, then spread out along the breadth of him, the difference in your sizes even more noticeable now that your hands were on him.

Clearing your throat and attempting to push the decidedly unprofessional thoughts away, you broke the silence in the room. “You keep up these long hours with no nourishment, and you’re going to give Flo a stroke or put yourself in the hospital.”

When there was no immediate reply, you tilted your head, looking at his profile. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly parted as he lost himself in the sensations of your massage, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“You’ve been breaking your back lately, trying to help this town, Jim. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”

He seemed to come back to himself at that, and gave a huffed laugh. “Yea, right. That’s why I’m fending off angry phone calls about destroyed pumpkin patches and strange child sightings almost every day from people who like to tell me that I’m not doing enough.”

“Well, in case no one has told you lately, I appreciate all you’re doing for this town. You help keep us safe...and look pretty damn good while doing so.”

Your eyes widened as you realized that you had indeed muttered that last part under your breath, rather than just thinking it. Praying that he hadn’t heard you correctly, or wasn’t overly paying attention, you dropped your hands from his shoulders and started rounding the desk, meaning to make a hasty exit and go hide your beet-red face at the front desk for the rest of your shift. What the hell had you been thinking, waltzing in and putting your hands on him, before letting slip that you found him attractive...really attractive. Okay, let’s be honest, you had it bad for the man, but that didn’t mean that you had to make a fool out of yourself around him.

You only made it about halfway across the room before a large, rough hand wrapped around your wrist, effectively halting your forward movement. Turning your head with a soft gasp, you were surprised to find that Hopper had risen from his chair and followed you; for such a large man, he was still agile and quick to react.

Trying to ignore the way your stomach flopped in excitement at his actions, you looked down at your wrist pointedly before quirking an eyebrow up at him in question. You had been expecting him to drop your hand at that point, and maybe even look a little ashamed for manhandling you, but it turned out that Hopper was full of surprises today. His grip tightened slightly for a fraction of a second before loosening again, and he took a step closer to you, pushing just enough into your air space to cause hair to stand up all over your body.

His voice was lower than usual, as he husked, “You wanna run that last part by me again?”

A tiny dart of fear raced down your spine as you tilted your head back and looked up into his face, his brow furrowed and mouth taut. He was so much larger than you were, easily dwarfing your shorter frame and reminding you how very alone the two of you were in this moment. Not that you believed he would do anything to intentionally hurt you...but just the thought that he could, the possibility of him using all that brute strength to do whatever he wanted to you, made you have to swallow down the whimper that had lodged in your throat.

Staring up at him with wide eyes, you tried to backtrack, thoughts racing and body starting to tremble with a mixture of nervousness and arousal. Unfortunately, your brain had decided to take a vacation, and you were left gaping up at him soundlessly, the red burn of embarrassment creeping over your cheeks.

He stepped forward, his body pressing up against your own, causing you to gasp and automatically take a step back. He took another step, and another, using his body to silently herd you in the direction that he wanted. You continued to back up, trying to reclaim your personal space, the movements like some deranged form of dance. The dance came to a sudden halt when your back came into solid contact with the wall.

Reaching out, Hopper pressed his left hand against the wall beside your head, effectively caging you in on one side. His other hand twitched at his side, but he kept it there...for now. His chest was bare inches from your own, and you could feel the heat emanating off of him in waves. Looking up was a mistake, one you realized too late, as your gaze was trapped by his own. You were unable to look away as warmth trailed down your spine and settled low in your belly at the heat you saw flaring to life in his eyes.

“As if it isn’t enough of a distraction having you here, knowing that you’re sitting just in the next room,” he huffed out. You struggled to keep up with what he was saying, shocked to realize that your attraction wasn’t as one-sided as you thought. “As if I don’t already have a hard enough time keeping my eyes off your cute little ass as it struts by in those jeans, or keeping my hands off those beautiful tits as they bounce with every step.”

Your head was buzzing slightly and you were breathing heavily as his words coiled around you, mixing with the musky, masculine scent that was all Hopper and creating a concoction that left you speechless.

“I’m curious to know just how far your appreciation of me goes,” he growled, the hand at his side finally rising to grip your chin, lifting until the line of your neck was exposed to him.

You couldn’t contain the slight whimper that left your lips when he brought his head down and nipped at your jugular, before trailing his mouth along the smooth column of your throat. The rough brush of his beard caused you to break out in goosebumps, and your eyes fluttered shut as his mouth found a particularly sensitive spot behind your ear. He slowly traced the outer curves with his tongue before taking the lobe between his teeth.

“I bet you’re already wet for me, aren’t you, little girl?”

Moaning in response, you felt an instant rush of moisture that validated his claim. You almost fell to the floor when he followed this up with another question.

“Shall I check and see?”

Your eyes opened as he pulled back, and he was intently watching your face for a reaction. Staring back with lust-filled eyes, you bit your bottom lip and nodded. With that, he gave a guttural groan and fastened his mouth to yours, tongue thrusting past your lips without hesitation, as he thoroughly staked his claim on you.

The fingers that had been resting lightly on the curve of your neck trailed downward, before he paused to cup the curve of your breast. You felt him smile against your lips when you arched your back, pushing your flesh closer into his hand, and you almost whined in frustration when he instead resumed his downward movement. You weren’t upset for long, as his hand traced a path of warmth down over your waist, before he moved to the front of your jeans and deftly unbuttoned them and pulled down the zipper.

You moved your head to the side, tearing your mouth from his to sharply draw in air at the feel of his hand delving beneath your jeans and underwear. His fingers slid down over your pubic hair before he cupped your entire pussy in his hand, his mouth once more pressing kisses into your throat. He slid his middle finger back and forth between your lips, collecting the moisture that was waiting there and showcasing just how ready you were for him.

“Damn, is this all for me?”

When you didn’t respond, the hand that had been on the wall grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back forcefully so that you were once again looking up at him, as he growled, “Tell me, baby. Tell me it’s all for me.”

“Yes...it’s all for you. Please, Jim…” your words morphed into a moan as he inserted the finger that had been playing around your entrance into your dripping cunt. He gave a few shallow thrusts before adding a second finger and pushing both of them as deep as they could go, causing your body to stretch slightly around his thick digits.

“God damn, you’re tight,” he growled against your lips, his fingers and tongue starting to thrust in sync, a teasing preview of something else that you wanted thrusting inside your willing body.

Just the thought of your current situation was enough to cause a guttural moan to slip past your lips. You could only imagine how this looked, with you pushed up against the wall by the large figure of Hawkin’s chief of police, jeans unbuttoned and open as his hand worked between your thighs. Your cheeks were flushed and mouth parted as you breathed in little gasping pants, while he whispered filthy comments in your ear. The brush of his beard was rough against your cheek, and you felt him smirk when a twist of his fingers made you give a particularly needy whine.

You had one hand braced up on his massive shoulder, and the other reached out to wrap around his wrist, using his body as an anchor so that you didn’t melt into the floor. The slow drag of his rough, calloused fingers against your sensitive inner walls was enough to make you forget your own name. In fact, the sounds pouring out of your lips were definitely incoherent and lacking in any form of intelligence.

Apparently Hopper wasn’t having the same issue, as he clearly whispered against your lips, “You gonna come all over my fingers, baby? That’s it, show me how much you want to be fucked.”

His words, mixed with the sensations of his fingers in your cunt, served to push you up and over the edge of a glorious orgasm, one that flowed through your body and caused you to cry out helplessly as you trembled with the overwhelming pleasure. Your nails were digging brutally into Hopper’s wrist, and it took you a good minute to calm down enough to release your grip and let him remove his hand from your flesh.

Leaning your head back against the wall with eyes closed, you struggled to catch your breath, a task which was made even more difficult at the feel of Hopper’s fingers running under your shirt and across your stomach, before he grabbed the hem and pulled it upwards. Obeying the silent command, you lifted your arms up so that he could remove the garment. He then reached around your back and released the clasp on your bra, removing it, as well.

You opened heavy lids just in time to see Hopper slowly lick his lips while staring at your chest. Your nipples hardened from a combination of the chill office air and the heat of his gaze. Not wanting to be the only one rapidly losing clothing, you pushed away from the wall, finally able to stand on your own without fear of falling, and started working on the row of buttons down the front of his uniform.

The beige material parted to showcase a broad chest with a spattering of dark hair. Unlike the lean and muscular men usually found on covers of the paperback romance novels that were so popular among the housewives around town, Hopper’s body was bulkier, thicker...stronger. His stomach might have seen more than its fair share of beers, but it would be a mistake to think that he was weak or out of shape. All one had to do was take a look at the massive shoulders and arms that were revealed as he pulled the shirt down and off. His biceps were thick with muscle that flexed slightly when he tossed the shirt carelessly to the side, and you gave a shudder of desire at the possibility of all that solid strength at your disposal.

As if he had read your thoughts, he stepped forward, and without any hesitation or grunt of discomfort, promptly picked you up by the waist and turned to the side of his desk, setting you down on the cool, smooth surface. He took a moment to haphazardly stack the scattered papers behind you into a messy pile, before shoving them into a folder and tossing it to the floor.

While he was distracted, you decided to take matters into your own hands, and pushed the undone jeans down your thighs and calves, before kicking them off with your toes. When he refocused on you, and found you reclined on top of his desk clad in only a pale green pair of panties, his nostrils flared as he gave a low growl under his breath.

You automatically opened your legs when he came closer, allowing him to slip between your thighs, chest pressing down onto your own as he took your mouth in a kiss that was even more passionate than the previous ones. His hands skimmed down your sides, feathering over your ribs and spanning the width of your waist, before moving upwards and cupping your breasts in his large palms. And when his mouth left yours, trailing a path down over your chest to replace one of his hands, you were only able to pant and whine and arch up into him, as he skillfully used lips and tongue and teeth to work at your nipples and devour every inch of your curves.

His hips were pressed up between your thighs, and he ground his hips into you, the pressure of his still-clad cock rubbing against the soaked barrier of your underwear and making you almost frantic with need. You pulled gently on his hair until his head lifted from your swollen, saliva-coated nipples, eyes moving up and locking with your own, his pupils blown wide with desire.

“Please, Jim. Fuck me!” you begged, unable to any longer stand the emptiness that only he could fill.

Giving a groan at your needy words, he straightened and reached down to start unbuckling his belt. You watched, mesmerized, as he opened his pants and pushed both them and his briefs down his thighs. His cock sprung forward, and in this arena, the romance novel stereotypes were true. He was long and thick and hard with desire, and your body clenched in anticipation of feeling every delicious inch deep inside you.

Not even bothering to remove your panties, he hooked a finger in the crotch and pulled them to the side with one hand, then used the other to run his cock slowly up and down your outer lips, coating himself in your wetness and causing you to jerk and gasp each time the head bumped against your clit. Leaning down over you, so that his mouth was bare centimeters from your own, he husked, “Tell me how bad you want it, baby. Show me how much you appreciate me.”

You should’ve been annoyed at his arrogant reference to your earlier comment, but you were too far gone at the moment to care. You wrapped your arms around his neck and lifted your mouth to his, running your tongue over his bottom lip; he tasted of a combination of cigarettes, coffee, and something that was pure Hopper. Arching your hips in silent plea, you decided to pull out a card that you hoped would break his last thread of control.

“Yes, please, I want you...fuck me, Chief.”

Your lips tipped slightly into a smirk when he gave a pained groan in response, his reaction to the endearment exactly as you had hoped. However, the smirk was quickly wiped off your face and replaced with an open-mouthed moan, when he positioned the tip of his dick at your entrance and gave one long, slow thrust until he was seated deep inside of you. Your walls stretched to accommodate his girth, the slight burn fading into an overwhelming feeling of fullness that took your breath away.

“Holy shit...fuck!” he exclaimed from where his face had dropped down to hide in the curve of your throat.

You both stayed like that for a few long moments, you trying to relearn how your lungs worked, while Hopper clenched his teeth and tried not to come, the feel of your tight, wet heat around him intense enough to drive him to the edge with just one thrust.

Eventually, it wasn’t enough, and you wiggled your hips slightly, the movement constricted by his large form pressing down onto you. His chest rubbed deliciously against your over sensitized nipples, and you lifted your legs to wrap around his waist as, with a grunt, he finally started to move.

He pulled back slowly, so slowly that you swore you could feel the brush of every vein along his cock inside you. He then thrust back inside with a quick snap of his hips that caused you to cry out and dig your nails into his shoulders. He continued at this pace, drawing back slowly before driving inside of you, then grinding hard up against your pelvis at the end of each thrust, providing friction on your clit and filling you so deeply that you swore you could feel him all through your body.

Sweat ran down over his neck and chest as he pushed himself up on shaking arms and looked down at you, jaw clenched and hair disheveled as he fucked you steadily into the desk. His hands were wrapped around your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough that you’d most likely be showcasing bruises later, as he anchored your body so that it didn’t slide across the smooth wood.

Sparks of pleasure darted from your cunt out along your entire body with each thrust and grind, as you roughly squeezed one of your breasts with one hand and clawed at the desk underneath you with the other.

You could tell that he was close by the frequency of his grunts and the way his hips stuttered a bit, fighting to maintain their rhythm. Wanting to see him come undone, to feel that massive body let go and give itself up to the pleasure, you coaxed him along.

“I want to see you come, Chief. Come right here, all over my tits.”

Those were apparently the magic words, because he pulled out of you with a strangled moan, the twinge of disappointment at his withdrawal cut short by the sight of him grabbing his cock and giving it quick, hard strokes. After only a few seconds, he threw his head back with a soft yell, the muscles in his arms and chest clenched taut as he reached his orgasm, shooting creamy stripes of come along your breasts and stomach. His upper body fell forward, and he slammed one hand on the desk beside your hip to steady himself, his other hand slowly dragging along his cock a few more times to draw out a final shudder. He looked down at you with an expression almost of awe, and you gave him a soft smile in return.

You hadn’t reached your own peak, but seeing as how you weren’t usually one for multiple orgasms, and had already had a mind-blowing one all over his fingers earlier, you didn’t mind. However, it seemed that Hopper didn’t agree with this line of thinking, and you were confused when he suddenly stepped back and placed his hands on your hips to swivel you 90 degrees, so that your pussy was facing the window behind his desk.

You watched as he walked around the edge of the desk before sitting down in his chair. He reached up and pulled the pair of panties that were now utterly soaked in both arousal and sweat down your legs, before inserting his chest between your thighs and hiking your calves up so that they draped over his shoulders.

You realized what he was about to do, and were unable to do more than give a needy sound of encouragement as he leaned forward and buried his face in your pussy. He didn’t start slow or work you up to it, he just dove right in, using every trick at his disposal to lick and nip and suck until you were once again, to your shock, balanced at the edge of orgasm. Your hands clenched at the hands that he had wrapped around your thighs, his strong arms keeping you immobile on the desk so that you couldn’t arch or twist away. And it was when he sucked your clit between his lips and quickly shook his head back and forth that you flew up and into the stratosphere, your body convulsing with waves of pleasure that utterly blew you apart with their intensity.

You stared sightlessly up at the ceiling as your body collapsed bonelessly on the desk, little quivers of aftershocks shooting along your legs, which were still propped up on Hopper’s shoulders. You shuddered when he turned his head and kissed your inner thigh, the brush of his beard like a full-body caress to your heightened senses. He continued to kiss his way down your thigh, before turning his head and repeating the process with the other one, before you finally gave a groan and pushed feebly at his head to dislodge him.

“You’re trying to kill me,” you rasped, causing him to give a deep chuckle that vibrated against your flesh.

“As you mentioned earlier, I didn’t have dinner yet, so I was a bit ravenous.”

Eyes which had just drifted shut popped back open, and your head lifted to regard him. Was Hopper actually joking with you? A bearded smirk and twinkling eyes met your gaze, and you realized that he was, indeed, teasing you. To think that all he needed to lighten up was a nice, hard fuck on his desk, you thought with a breathless giggle.

“Speaking of, how about we make ourselves presentable and head down to the diner before it closes? I could really go for a burger right about now.”

If his joking had surprised you, then this utterly smacked you upside the head in shock. It was well-known around town, thanks to the gossip of spurned lovers, that Hopper was the type to make a quick getaway after sex and decidedly not call the next morning. And he definitely didn’t take a woman out for dinner afterwards.

While surprised at the gesture, it didn’t take you more than a split second to make your decision. Giving a nod down at him, where he was still sitting between your legs, you agreed, “A burger sounds perfect.”

He gave one last kiss to your flesh, this time at the inside of your knee, before he gently removed your legs from his shoulders and stood up from the chair. He once again picked you up by the waist and settled you on your feet in front of him, making sure you didn’t sway or stumble before letting go. Smiling up at him, you reached up on tiptoes, arms looping around his neck to pull his head down to your own, as you kissed him long and deep.

You were awfully proud of yourself that he was once again breathing heavily by the time you pulled away. You grazed one last soft kiss to his chin before letting him go and turning to gather up the clothing that was strewn around the office.

“How’s that for appreciation,” you tossed over your shoulder with a wink, the two of you grinning like fools as you pulled on your clothing and closed up the station for the night, before walking arm in arm to the diner down the street.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tagging my forever tag list (sorry if Hopper isn’t your jam) and some peeps who might be interested in this fic

@hannibalssweaters @strangersangel9 @bamby0304 @mamapeterson @wheresthekillswitch @ericuhlorain @badsongwinchester @foofyschmoofer @magpiegirl80 @efeysa @peachtickler69 @supernaturally-lucky @favs-imagines @winmommy @multireality @twdncgan @jensenandjarpadaremyheroes @yuuki1000may @crzcorgi @rapsity @sunriserose1023 @breakfast-of-a-teenage-killer @heartfulloffandoms @superwholoki @winchesterswoonathon @is-this-you-manning-up-sammy @vizhi0n @kellyn1604 @embracetheapocalypsewithme @starshinesupergirl @noodlecupcakes @backseat-negan @opheliadawnwalker3 @superprincesspea @lucifers-trash-stash @squid-from-mirkwood @beltz2016 @tbkc @hausbolton @the--aviator @crazytxgradstudent @lucifer-in-leather @daughterofthebrowncoats @divadinag @venusdemonroe @dusty-cookie @atari-writes @84reedsy

2K notes · View notes

boogiewrites · 6 years

Text

Don’t Call Her Annie. Part 2. Advice & Arrests

Characters: Jim Hopper x Reader (OFC)

Word Count: 4300+

Summary: Annette Horowitz is Joyce’s younger sister. She hasn’t been the perfect sibling or aunt but after she finds out Will is missing, she finds herself crashing back into Hawkins to do everything in her power to help, driven by a need to prove herself. She hasn’t been around much in the past 20 or so years, but when she comes back home she finds old friends, old habits and old feelings she’d thought she’d finally escaped. Can she really change or is she just kidding herself?

A/N: I just hit 400 followers! So have 4000 words in celebration!

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Warnings: Angst. Language. Fighting. Fluff. Mentions of gore. Mentions of drug use. Mental Illness. Trauma.

You can check out my other work on My Masterlist.

Tagged folks are at the bottom, if you’d like to be added or removed, just leave a reply and I’ll see it! Any positive feedback or messages are appreciated. Thanks!

With fighting a Demogorgon and being on the run from the government checked off your list of things to do before you die, you find yourself in the calm aftermath of the traumatic experience.

You found yourself with the kids the night Jim and Joyce left to go to the Upside Down for Will. You'd begged Joyce to go in her place. Jim had then yelled at both of you because he wanted neither of you to go.It didn’t go unnoticed by any of the three of you...how strange it felt to be together again fighting. Jim was hit with a wave of nostalgia, the Horowitz girls both yelling, teaming up together against him. He never stood a chance. After Joyce pulled the "I'm his mother." card that you couldn't top, you'd reluctantly stayed behind in the gym with the kids. You had ended up being useful at least, getting them running and stalling and misdirecting Brenner's men as they closed in on the school. You'd seen the Demogorgon emerge from the wall, as you vibrated with fear at the sight. You heard it's shrill noises that hurt your ears even after the fact. You'd been let go of by the uniformed men as they all grabbed their guns to kill it. You'd turned and ran down the hallway as fast as you could. You grabbed an automatic rifle off of one of the bodies near you as you'd hid behind a corner. Your shoes slipped in the blood on the linoleum as you tried to scurry to find the kids after you saw the oozing, heaving beast move to one of the bodies at the end of the hallway.

You don't talk about what happened to you to anyone. Not even your sister, even though you knew she wanted you to. You weren't about to add your problems onto hers. You were a bit too traumatized to immediately want to run away like you normally would at this point. You found yourself staying with Joyce more often than not. With the thought of not being able to spend time with your family again after the close call with Will, you start to realize your time may be better spent with them. You had built in people you felt you could trust, not many people had that. Not just your family, but a new group of people you'd called strangers what felt like just moments ago. It wasn't until faced with losing it all that you realized it's importance.

As the weeks pass, you start to feel like you can function again, leave the house, not have to get drunk to sleep, not jump at every sound you hear when you're alone. You start the painful process of getting yourself back into one piece, dragging yourself out of the depression.

You come back from a ride to clear your head. You see the cars in the driveway, the lights on and laughter from inside. You feel the pull again, the urge to run from the picturesque moment. You see Jim's Police Blazer in addition to Joyce and Jonathon's cars. He'd kept checking in with visits and phone calls. You'd began to find his attentiveness endearing. He’d brought back your nephew and he could’ve never checked on your family again. His obligation was fulfilled, but he’d kept on appearing when you’d start to forget about him again. You begrudgingly admit to yourself that he was a good man, a man you could trust. He wasn’t the man of subtle villainous intentions you’d warped some of your memories into to cope with your infantile heartbreak.

At the end of the evening, you'd been sneaking away to the backyard, leaning against the hidden side of the shed, trying to ignore the feelings in your gut. It'd been getting worse, and tonight you'd found yourself not wanting to turn around when you reached the county line. You take out another cigarette, trying to reason with yourself.

He sees you start to knock your pack of cigarettes against your palm as you slink out of the room, hiding your face with your hair. Your long legs carry you almost silently down the back steps. It's been over 15 minutes since you've left by the next time he looks at the clock. He excuses himself and goes to look for you. He doesn't see you when he looks out of the back door, standing with his hands on his hips, he slowly moves across the backyard, smelling your brand of cigarette smoke. He eventually sees it rising from behind the shed. He smirks to himself, getting out his own pack to join you. You still hid behind the shed to smoke, he was hit with nostalgia and he couldn't help but think about the last time he'd seen you before he left Hawkins.

"Hey." he startles you as you hear him coming around the side of the shed. Jim comes into view, already lighting a cigarette.

"Hey." you flatly reply. He wasn't exactly who you needed to see right now, not when you were feeling so raw. You'd managed to escape one on one conversation with him since he'd helped save Will. You knew you couldn't avoid it forever but you had given it a shot.

"Good to know you still sneak out here to smoke." he says with a grin, exhaling and looking into the woods. You let out a small noise of amusement, shrugging and realizing he was right.

"Good to know you can still find me when I want to be alone." you grin, but look at the ground and move your foot over overgrown grass.

"I can leave if you want. But you've been gone awhile, I had to check on you at least." he shrugs, showing you he wasn't here to bother you.

"You don't have to. I was only partially joking." this time you look at him when you smirk. He'd noticed you leave.

"The past few weeks you've been staying out here for longer and longer." he exhales forcefully, "You wanna tell me why that is?" his eyebrows raise, his voice was inquisitive but not aggressive.

"Of course, I don't," you answer with a huff of a laugh at how difficult you wanted to be for no real reason. "But maybe I need to change that old habit." you mumble, taking in a drag to distract from the pounding in your chest.

"Joyce told me this is the longest you've stayed around before." he adds, motioning with his hands as he talked subtly.

"Yeah, I'd noticed that too." you half answer, keeping your eyes on the line of the forest.

"She’s worried you're going to leave again." his posture mirrors yours, you don't look at each other, your eyes wander.

"She should be," you say quietly, you cross your arms and take a hard inhale. "Don't tell her I said that." you add quickly, looking up at him.

"I won't. Took me too long to earn your trust, why would I break that now?" he nudges you with his elbow, trying to ease your tension.

"Yeah I can't make anything easy." you groan, your head resting on the wall.

"For what it's worth, I think you should stay." his voice drops lower, his hands go to his pockets. "I'm not going to tell you what to do, but, I think you should stay through the holidays. Revisit how you feel after that." he throws his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his foot. "Joyce would love it if you stayed." he turns his body to face yours, blocking out the light on the telephone pole creating an intimidating silhouette. "And because I've been there before, I know you want to try to make things up to them." his hand rests on your arm, you move your eyes to look at it. "That would be a great place to start." you move your head just slightly to look into his eyes. He pats your arm.

"That's..." you let out a heavy sigh, letting your cigarette die in your fingers. "very good advice," you say with an apathetic shrug. He smiles at you, patting you again as he moves to leave. "I don't want to leave." you say under your breath, a small cry for help. Luckily he hears it. He stands with his hands on his hips, head tilted and patient expression. He knew you didn't share. He also has the natural tendency to be an asshole to people who try to love him, so he feels a deep empathy towards you. Maybe his lingering presence when you were younger hadn't helped you in the way he thought it might. "I get this itch. This pull to leave when things get..." you move your hand to help you express your thoughts. "stable." you nod in agreement with yourself and look up at him. He nods with an indifferent expression of understanding your point. "I get all cagey and feel trapped when I think I'm being, " you use air quotations, "domesticated." you roll your eyes at how immature it all felt to you suddenly. "I know it's stupid but-"

"It's not stupid at all." he says, moving closer to you. His answer catches you off guard, your face softens as his becomes lit by the street lamp as he looms over you. The frown retreats to just your mouth, the ease with which he kept staring into your eyes made you feel small, and that wasn't something you felt often.

"It makes me feel stupid, then." your eyes go a little sad. "It's hard for me to have faith that things will be okay if I stay. I always have this heavy feeling that I'm going to ruin everything for them by just being here, somehow." His chest feels tight as he feels deep, painful empathy for your thoughts, taken off guard by your straightforward admission. Your words were raw but your body language was still reserved. He feels compelled to try to fix this for you but he sees you don't need him to do that anymore. He decides to share a bit of himself with you instead, returning the vulnerability he wanted to encourage from you.

"Like you're cursed or somethin'." he says quietly, looking over your shoulder into the driveway, nodding, his tongue working over his teeth behind his lips.

"Yeah, exactly," you say, your brow furrowing as your lips part slightly with surprise, forgetting to appear hardened for a moment.

"Trust me, I understand." he looks back down at you, his lips tight.

"Maybe you do," you respond, giving him a half smile. You let out one more sigh, trying to start shedding your old habits. "I'll stay." you whisper, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. Your chest feels tight, you stand and let out a loud exhale before turning towards the back door. He's surprised by the strong wave of relief he feels at your words.

"I think you're making the right decision." he responds with subtle enthusiasm at the news.

"I hope so." you say, turning your head back to him for a moment before heading back into the house. You felt like it might be time to start trying to face the things you'd been running from all these years.

As he followed you back into the house, he realized that he'd asked you to stay for Joyce, but it wasn't just her that wanted you to stay anymore. ========================================================= You sat in a chair up against the wall of the Hawkin's Police Station. Your hands are cuffed behind you, you're injuries are left to dry in the stale air of the room. They'd left you handcuffed to a chair but left the cell open. They're lucky you didn't have any intentions of escaping. You are lost in thought and staring at the ceiling, wondering how long you're going to have to wait here tonight.

He stomps down the hall, putting his hand on the doorframe as he sees you sitting in the cell. He stops and takes a deep breath before approaching you. Your shirt is distractingly disheveled. Your chest pushed out from your hands still in cuffs behind your back, your head bent back, resting on the wall behind you. Your legs crossed at the knee, your face rested in an attractive pose, your annoyance visible just under the surface.

"Jesus, Ann, a bar fight? Really?" he stands in front of you shaking his head. You move your eyes to him, leaving your head against the wall, your mouth pressed together.

"I'm not happy about this either, Jim." you grumble out, your face straight.

He throws a folder on the bed in the small space. He holds your jaw to look at your injuries. "Who put you back here? They shouldn't have let you sit here like this." He sighs and uncuffs you, you smell his brand of cigarettes on him as he leans on your shoulder to unlock your wrists. As your arms are freed, you groan at the feeling coming back to your muscles. "Stay here. I've gotta get the first aid kit." he's mumbling to himself, cursing under his breath.

Here he was taking care of you again. You didn't have the same fondness for the gesture as you did when you were younger. You run your fingers through your hair and find that the small cut on your head has bled out of proportion to the injury. You could feel your swollen lip, you were sure there were other bruises forming at this point. You probably looked bad ass, you thought. You wish that you'd given off that vibe enough earlier in the evening.

He's relieved to see you haven't run away this time, he kneels in front of you and set the box on the bed. You wish you could say this was the first time Hopper had patched you up after a fight. He was such a boy scout.

"Tell me what happened." he says, being attentive to the cut on your head, not looking into your eyes.

"I got in a fight. Obviously." you say with an attitude. He pushes the cotton ball with peroxide on it roughly to your skin. "Ow. That's a bit passive aggressive even for you, Jim." you smirk.

"Stop being a smart ass and tell me what happened." he scolds, going back to being gentle with you, holding your face still with his other hand. "You pickin' fights again now? You're a grown woman, what's wrong with you?" he's mad at you and you don't entirely understand why. You had the strange pang of guilt from his words. You felt insulted and you weren't used to words hurting your feelings. Why did you feel so sensitive and emotional lately? You'd made lots of changes you liked, but this one you weren’t a fan of.

"I'd like it if you didn't talk to me like that." you mumble, you move your lips to frown but hiss as it stings more than you expect. "You don't even know why I got in a fight." you say defensively.

"That's why I'm asking, Ann. Stop being so difficult. C'mere" he moves your head again to start wiping away your mess of makeup and get to your surface wounds.

"They were talking shit about you and Joyce." you mumble as his hand obscures your speech by pressing on your cheeks.

"Half of my job is people talking shit about me. There are no fights you should ever get into on my behalf," he instructs, his voice less angry. He reaches to throw the used cotton balls in the small wastebasket outside the cell. He sighs and rests his hand on your leg. "Joyce doesn't need you fighting her fights either. As someone who has gotten into too many fights on her behalf, "He exhales hard and shakes his head, "Just don't do it, kid. It never ends well when she finds out." You nod and look at the floor.

"If I can't beat up someone for calling you a lazy sonofabitch who's bad at his job, AND if I can't beat anyone up for calling my sister a crazy bitch..." You take a deep breath and look at the cuts on your hands as he touches them. "Then can I beat them up for shoving me?" you ask, your voice going lower, you're hit with just how tired you are.

"Well, they shouldn't have touched you." he says obviously. "Or did you shove first?" he smirks and keeps attending to your wounds as you speak.

"I didn't hit him first." you say in an annoyed whisper of an explanation. "I didn't hit him until he had to call me fat." you let out a noise of frustration. "So fuckin' stupid." you shake your head back and forth, being embarrassed that that specifically was what had pushed you over the edge.

"Wait." he holds both of your hands in his and looks into your eyes. "You beat up a GUY?" he asks, surprised.

"Yeah," you say holding your palms up to show it wasn't a big deal to you.

"What the hell, Annie?" he's holding your face. You stiffen at his voice saying the name.

"Please don't call me that." you barely whisper, your voice giving away how tired you were. He overlooks your words.

"A guy beats you up and they bring YOU in?" he lets out a huff of a laugh. "How the hell does THAT happen?"

"I was the one on top when the cops showed up." you chuckle nervously. "I think they took him to the hospital." you mumble.

His laugh catches you off guard before he stops suddenly and grabs your knee again. "Wait, a grown man called you FAT?" his shoulders shakes as he laughs, looking at you with a confused face for a moment. "What kind of bullshit, playground insult is that?" he says rolling his eyes.

"Yeah. Assholes always do after you turn them down." you roll your eyes at the thought. "Nothing new, don't know why it was the straw that broke me." you shake your head.

"You're not even fat." he says with amusement in his voice.

"It's a lame insult." you let out a small huff of a laugh at his attempt at a compliment. "But little boys get intimated by the curves, so their lizard brains put together an insult about the body they were just trying to get into 5 minutes earlier. Idiots." you let out an exasperated sigh. You change the subject, you weren't fishing for compliments from the Chief of Police. "Was I warranted for hitting him for calling me WHORE-owitz then?" you shrug your shoulders moving as you spoke. "Or for threatening me with a broken beer bottle when he hit the floor after I punched him?" you scrunch your nose as Jim rolls his eyes up to, giving you a scolding look. "ANY of that worth me defending myself, Chief?" your face is flushed with frustration at the memories.

"Now it's hard to know if I'm mad or proud." he finally smiles at you. He finishes wrapping your hands and gently runs his fingers over your knuckles. "As the Chief, I'm mad as hell." he furrows his brow at you, leaning in closer to you. "But as Jim..." he grins, "I'd have paid to see that." You can't help but lift at least one of the corners of your mouth up at his response. "I'm glad you beat him up so I didn't have to." he smiles softly again, working on the last injury, the busted lip. "Can't have guys hitting on one of my favorite girls, now can I?"

"Shut up, Hop." you laugh, your chest bouncing with it. "And I'm not sure if the word usage of "hitting on" was the best choice." you smirk.

"Yeah, you really are bad at compliments aren't you?" he holds in a laugh, his belly moving under his uniform. Your shoulders slump slightly because he's right. You could've just said thanks. You stay quiet as he works on your swollen lower lip. It stings as he cleans it and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second. "I know, I know. Sorry." he says softly, his fingers and eyes moving quickly around your face. The shift to tenderness catches you off guard. You melt into his hands a little too much when he holds the sides of your face to look you over one last time. You fight back the sigh that wants to escape your body.

"I've got a few more questions and then I'm gonna let you go." he says, putting away the first aid kit. He brings you a soda and sits across from you in the cell.

"Fine." you reply. "Interrogate me, Chief." you let out a noise that might've been classified as a giggle.

"When I pulled up your records I didn't expect there to be so much in here, honestly." he smirks, looking in the file.

"Oh great, I love answering questions about terrible memories I want to forget." you laugh out loud, wincing as you hold your ribs.

"You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to." he answers in an obvious tone.

"What do you wanna know, Chief?" you ask, leaning back in the chair, your legs spread out.

"I didn't know you were so active in the Vietnam protests, for starters," he asks, his voice even and genuinely interested. "I didn't know you were involved in any of that." the surprise is evident in his voice.

"I..." you sigh and look away from him, you'd give him most of the story, he didn't need to know everything. "I felt strongly about it. It took too many good people from me. I couldn't sit and do nothing." you explain, meeting his gaze again. You'd given him the answer he wanted, not the complete real one but, close enough.

"Then you went to New York?" he asks, looking at the paper in front of him. He laughs and looks over at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "We were in New York at the same time." he seems thoroughly amused by this fact.

"Yeah I kept getting arrested and told them to send you but apparently cops don't work like pizza guys." you snort out a laugh and sit back up, your elbows on your knees.

"Good one," he nods and you humbly accept his compliment this time. "You didn't get arrested in the right places." he smirks at you. "Good at keeping those thefts under the felony charge, though." You let out a loud laugh that catches him off guard. You run your hand through your hair, a charming smile moving across your face as you swing your eyes back around to him. He can smell your perfume as you fluff your hair. He thought about how soft your face looked when you laughed. He became unexpectedly flustered when you locked eyes with him and leaned in closer suddenly.

"I got better at getting out of trouble the older I got, believe it or not." you flash all your teeth in an easy going expression.

"You must have, the charges just stop after that." he narrows his eyes at you. "Life of crime prove too hard for you?" he smirks again, your face falls slightly and he worries he's insulted you accidentally.

"Something like that yeah." you scrunch your nose. Once again deciding how much information to divulge to him. Not that you didn't trust him, you were just battle-worn with worry about people using things against you. "I, uh..." you heavily sigh and see no reason to hold this back. From what you'd heard about him, he might just understand. You take a chance on him and put yourself out there. "I was in a bad place." you say with a nod. "Someone close to me died. I moved on to drugs, things got dark for little while there." you chew your cheek in thought. "The charges stop because I left New York and got sober." you hesitate to look back up at him. You didn't need junkie added to the hurtful things you heard hurled at you tonight.

"I shouldn’t have said that, sorry." his eyes are apologetic and it both hurts and feels good to see it in his eyes for you.

You shrug it off. "You've never purposely hurt my feelings before so I didn't expect you to start now." you mumble, taking another drink of soda.

"I'm glad you realize that at least." he gives you a supportive smile, reaching out to rub your knee again.

"You don’t have to look at me like I’m broken now. It was a long time ago." you cross your arms.

"I'm not. I just empathize is all." he shakes his head at you. "I've had problems dealing with people close to me leaving too." his lips are tight. You knew about his daughter and his ex-wife, Joyce had told you what she knew. You were familiar with the look of someone who had such heavy baggage they have to self-medicate to deal with life going on. You felt oddly connected to him, knowing that he understood.

"Thanks." you say roughly. You were trying, you really were. You notice how big his hand is as it squeezes your large thigh. You gulp at the touch, knowing he didn't mean anything by it, but being affected by it nonetheless. You needed to get away from him. Enough bonding over feelings between you both for one night.

Chapter 3

@whatmakesmebeme-tblr @sleepylunarwolfh @elevenofmages@alahmorah @norcula @undiscl0sed-desir3s@atari-writes@jobean12-blog @missharleenquinzel-blog @kiwiphroot@ashphoenix105 @ambeazyyy @riotguuuurl @warriorqueen1991 @misbehaving-f0r-days @divadinag @wefracturedmotivation@flamehairedwritings @earinafae @beltzboys2015-blog@gettinjoyful @lucifer-in-leather@nerdysuperchick @kathrinebutterlover @dragongirl420 @fangirlinginspace@xxdragonagequeenxx @the-bitch-gotham-deserves @hopperholland @lil-tea-cup @darthnerd25@davidkharbours @mrslydiaholden @tit-punch02@thedaydreamerrrrr @yedi16 @jess2464 @scrunchinn@thatisthemagic @maddieisaboredable @bloom005-blog @mcxmarti

107 notes · View notes

lowat-golden-tower · 7 years

Text

Embracing Darkness

HOOOO BOY.

This one is... it’s kind of intense, guys. It’s emotional. Seriously, if you can’t handle some deep... emotional stuff, and abandonment and such, just... maybe not read this one. (Which would be unfortunate as it’s kind of important, but still.)

This was exhausting to write but I’m super proud of the finished product. So I hope you enjoy, even if it’s just... a lot of angst. I’m sorry. Legitimately, for once. It’s pretty rough.

@alcordraws, @galaxy-starheart, @kenmarlenn thanks for suffering through all my torturous snippets. Try not to die, okay? I need someone to theorize with.

Have fun trying to figure out what all of Yandere’s nicknames mean. B) I challenge you.

AO3 Mirror

Chapter 8: Yin

Yandere didn't know where he was.

There was darkness, all around; stifling and smothering and silent. He couldn't remember much. All he could recall was pure agony coursing through every inch of his body, the ringing sound of his own crazed laughter and the wind howling in his ears.

And Dark. He remembered Dark. But where was he now?

Where was Yandere, for that matter?

Had he lost? Had Dark tossed him into his void as punishment? What if he kept him there forever, for stealing his aura away?

Yandere sucked in a tight, anxious breath. He felt the fingers of one hand sliding into his hair and quickly tore them away. No, no panicking would only make the situation worse. He needed to stay focused. He needed to keep his head. He could figure this out. First, he just had to remember. Remember...

He tried to concentrate; tried to dredge up the painful memories. All the while he wandered the darkness. Yandere couldn't see a "floor," but there was definitely something solid enough to walk on beneath his feet. There was a chill in the air, though it felt out of place from how thick the atmosphere felt in his throat and lungs. Like humidity without the heat. Was that even possible?

Yandere was dragged from his poor attempts to concentrate and rambling thoughts as he spied a familiar silhouette in the near distance. He tensed, red eyes widening with disbelief and breath catching harshly in his throat. "Denka?"

The figure didn't seem to hear him- or at least, he didn't respond. Yandere wasn't certain how long he'd been searching the darkness for something, anything, and he was not about to waste this opportunity. Without further hesitation he kicked his legs into gear and ran at the man standing only a few yards away. "Denka!" His voice rang out in the darkness, echoing harshly around them and bouncing back into his own ears. "Denka!"

Finally, the man heard him and turned around, cheeks stuffed full of peanut butter. More dripped from his chin, and the squirrels scattered about him halted what they were doing to view the sudden commotion. Instantly, King of Squirrels' soft, brown eyes widened in horror. His subjects' fur stood on end and they chuffed at Yandere angrily. In a blink, the older ego was turning on his heel and fleeing from him. He left a diminishing trail of peanut butter in his wake, and his squirrels loyally followed in his footsteps.

"Denka! Denka wait! Wait! I just... I'm not... chikusho!" Yandere hissed out a curse as King surprisingly evaded him. He knew the other was fast, but even this was pushing it. He'd been so close when King decided to run away. Lips twitching with a mixture of fury and frustration, he decided to follow the trail while it lasted. At least it was better than the neverending darkness.

It didn't take Yandere long to come across more egos. This time, it was Silver Shepherd and Ed Edgar, huddled close together and heatedly discussing something- or, well, arguing. It was always difficult to tell. Yandere beamed. "Ginrenger! Otosan! Oiiiii!"

Both egos paused in their bickering to look up. However, they immediately frowned and tensed at the sight of Yandere and started backing away. Ed's hand was drifting towards the gun on his back, and Silver looked ready to put up his dukes. (He also looked ready to soil his suit.) Neither were welcoming or friendly and it prompted Yandere to slow.

He furrowed his brows, frowned and tilted his head. "Nani...? Ginrenger? Otosan? What's wrong? Are you scared of me?" Yandere had always known they were, but usually they were more inclined to hide it. Their current actions were practically... hostile.

They didn't say anything. Just stared almost accusingly at Yandere and prepared for the risk of an ensuing fight. It was unsettling and discomfiting.

Gradually, Yandere pouted. It deepened when he took a step forward and their body language turned even more aggressive. "Ginrenger?" Silver sucked in a breath and raised his fists up a little higher, as if the action were intimidating. "Otosan?" Ed, already tense, somehow managed to become more rigid while his fingertips twitched over the barrel of his gun. Yandere's pout screwed up into an irritated scowl. "Well fine then! Don't talk to me! Bakas! Kutabare!" he snapped, stalking off away from the pair.

Surely, surely there was someone around here who would be willing to help him. Yandere meandered through the darkness, occasionally calling out "hello" and "konnichiwa" to the emptiness. It took a long time, but eventually he located two more egos. "Bancho! Ongakuka-chan!"

Like before, the egos looked up at the call. Like before, their expressions immediately shifted upon sighting Yandere coming towards them. The easygoing smiles dripped off of Bingiplier and Mark Bop's faces; the latter even paling. Bing stepped in front of his companion with furrowed brows and a flicker of defensive hostility. Behind him, Bop trembled and watched Yandere as if he were a vicious, rabid predator just waiting to rip the flesh from his bones.

Normally, Yandere would be flattered, but right now he needed someone who didn't fear him. Bing was scared too, he could tell. His protectiveness for Bop was simply stronger than his fear. Yandere had no doubts the android would attack if Yandere drew too close, so he stopped. "Listen. I just wanna talk! Why are you all being so angry all of a sudden?"

Neither of them answered, though Bop rattled off something in that gibberish language of his. Yandere would have gotten a sense of deja vu were Bop not so obviously frightened. That and the fact Bing only stuck around long enough to make sure Yandere had stopped advancing on them. Scrunching up his nose and curling his lip in what was probably meant to be an intimidating sneer, he quickly ushered a near to tears Bop away into the darkness. Bing only spared a furtive glance to make sure they weren't being followed, then blatantly proceeded to ignore Yandere's existence entirely.

Yandere felt a spike of rage and something else surge up from his gut and stomped his foot with a guttural shout. "Warugaki! Go ahead and run away then! Okubyou mono! I doubt you could have helped me anyway!" He released another shriek of frustration and stormed off.

Yandere continued encountering egos either alone or in various groups, but the end result was always the same. Silence, wary glares, defensive postures and occasionally hostility until one side eventually gave up and left the confrontation. It was always the same.

"Ikemen, Arashi-san, Kuebiko-san..." Yandere had stopped shouting or eagerly calling out his names for the egos, but it didn't change their responses. Bim Trimmer and the Jims both spared Yandere one, single glance before quickly walking in the opposite direction. "Ishasan." Dr. Iplier glanced up once from the clipboard he was studying before turning away. Somehow, Yandere knew trying to get his attention again would be pointless.

He meandered, coming across the Googs next. Surely, they would at least acknowledge him! "Ao-san!" Nothing but a cold glare. It was more than enough for Yandere to scurry back away from Blue and turn to Oxnard instead. "Midori-san?" Nothing again. Honestly, Yandere wasn't even certain if the android was looking at him, or through him. He pouted. Oliver; surely, surely Oliver would greet him. He managed an anxious smile. "Ki-iro-kun..." Yandere wasn't met with anger or disdain, but instead that ever becoming familiar flicker of fear. Oliver backed away, and when Yandere tried to follow Orville stepped into his path.

Even with burning, crimson eyes, his gaze felt cold as ice. Yandere's breath grew a bit short. He wasn't supposed to get scared. "A... Aka-chan...." Those red eyes flashed, and Yandere was peeling off in a frightened run before Orville could even complete his intimidating step forward.

His eyes burned with the threat of tears. What was going on? As if this strange void space wasn't weird enough, everyone else was acting so cruel. Fear was one thing. Defensiveness was also something Yandere could maybe understand. But such outright hostility? The aggressiveness? The icy looks and glares and endless silence? It was slowly driving him mad. He had to find someone, anyone, who would just say a single word to him.

Yandere was in such a panic he almost ran headfirst into yet another ego. He recognized the trenchcoat immediately and sucked in a breath. Host. Host, certainly Host, with all of his calm and patience and understanding, would give him a moment of his time. At the very least, he couldn't pin Yandere down with his eyes and make him feel like a disgusting insect. "Benshi-"

"The Host will have nothing to do with Yandere or his words or actions. It would be in everyone's best interest if Yandere were to leave immediately. Leave, and never return. He is no longer wanted among the fold, and is not welcome here. Please, leave the Host be. He should not even be narrating to Yandere." The Host did, indeed, grace Yandere with words. But they were nothing Yandere could ever expect or prepare for, and immediately part of him wished the Host had remained as silent as all the rest.

He clenched his jaw and his fist for a moment, glowering up at the back of Host's head with tears forming in his eyes. "Iie! I won't leave! I won't leave until someone tells me what I did so wrong! Why do you all hate me?! What did I do?! Tell me!" Yandere screamed, reaching out to grasp at Host's trenchcoat and force him around.

It was only then he realized the Host wasn't wearing his bandages. His empty, bloodied eye sockets stared down at Yandere, through Yandere, and he swore it froze every last vein in his body. When Host spoke, it was with a reverberating echo that shook those frigid veins until Yandere feared they would all shatter and leave his body full of holes. "Yandere will leave. He will leave the Host alone, and he will disappear. Forever. He is no longer wanted here. Yandere turns around..."

Yandere whimpered as he felt the power grip his body, how it forced his feet to move. "Benshi, onegai...."

"...and walks away. Far away. Until he can no longer see the Host. He does not return, nor does he look back. He says not a single word until the Host will be unable to hear it." The words were a vicious rumble, low and cruel, and Yandere's feet were moving before the Host even completed his narration. He said no more after that, and Yandere didn't need to look to know the ego had stopped paying attention to his retreating form.

He sniffled, and he walked, and he waited.

Eventually, he must have gotten far enough away, as he was given back control over his body. Yandere drew in a ragged breath and released it in a sigh of relief. Never in his existence had he been so terrified. Never before had he felt so utterly helpless. He'd managed to stop crying, but that didn't repair the damage on the inside. His lips wobbled, and he pressed onward.

When he spied a familiar head of bubblegum pink, he thought his nightmare was finally over. The Host had let him down, but Wilford was different. Yandere knew Wilford. He knew, even if the reporter forgot to show he cared sometimes, or got too busy, he was always willing to speak to Yandere. He wasn't even doing much, simply talking to himself, so approaching Wilford shouldn't be a problem at all. Yet...

Still, Yandere found himself walking on eggshells. After all that had happened, after all the reactions the other egos had given him... if Wilford decided to turn hostile as well, he could easily turn Yandere inside-out. Or switch his arms and legs around. Or pop his head off with a mere wiggle of his mustache.

Wilford hadn't stopped muttering to himself or turned to glance at Yandere, so he must not have noticed him yet. It gave Yandere time to collect his thoughts; work up the nerve to speak and get the older ego's attention.

He licked anxiously at his lips, fingers twitching at his side as he stood stock still and near terrified behind the person he'd always considered to be a mentor of sorts. He couldn't bring himself to look up, just in case Wilford decided to glare at him too. Instead, Yandere stared at Wilford's shoes and hunched his shoulders. "Sensei...." He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, hearing the nonstop rambling grow quiet. "Onii-san." The word was the softest of breaths from his lips, almost a desperate whisper.

Slowly, Wilford turned to look at Yandere. The younger ego still wasn't looking up out of fear, but he didn't feel a glare focus on him. That had to be a good sign. For several long moments, there was silence, and Yandere feared Wilford might not speak to him either. He was prepared to turn and leave, defeated, when that drawl finally started up. "What is it? I'm busy."

Hope and relief bloomed simultaneously within Yandere's chest. Eyes widening slightly and regaining their light, he lifted his head to meet Wilford's gaze. The smile that had been forming on his lips quickly flickered out. The impatient, slightly agitated tone he'd been anticipating. The harsh, frigid gaze directed at him was new and breathtaking- not in the good way. The positive emotions withered and squeezed tight around Yandere's lungs. He wilted beneath that gaze; not angry or accusatory, but absolutely unkind. There was no hint of warmth or affection or even amusement in those brown depths.

Yandere shrunk, curling in towards himself. He tried not to panic and gathered up the words he'd so painstakingly chosen. "G... gomen, onii-san-"

"Don't call me that."

"I..."

"We're not brothers. Not by blood or by anything else, you silly boy. Just tell me what you want so you can go. I'm trying to practice my bit here and you're ruining my concentration."

Yandere hadn't thought it was possible for that drawl to come off as sinister or cruel, yet there it was. He felt his insides clench and had to swallow down a rising sob. This wasn't going how he'd hoped at all. Part of him wished Wilford would just attack him, or threaten him, instead of coldly indulging him like this. "G- gomenasai. I... I just..."

"You just what? Come on now, hurry up! I've got places to kill, people to be and sights to interview."

Yandere might have laughed, were he not so close to tears. He clenched his fist at his side and trembled. "I... I just... onegai, sensei. Please. Please. Tell me what I did wrong." He sniffled, unable to hold it back. "T-tell me why everyone h-hates me...."

"Why wouldn't they hate you?"

Yandere froze, and his red eyes widened some again in shock. Had he just...? But Wilford wasn't done.

"You frighten everyone away. You're dangerous. You attack and provoke without care and you're so damn selfish, you wiley little brat. No one can stand having you around. The only reason you're here is because you're one of Mark's egos. Otherwise, you'd be out on the street."

Yandere's breath hitched. "You don't... y-you don't mean that..."

"I mean everything I say. And I mean it when I say this: you're not wanted here. No one wants you here. Go skidaddle away now, before I get impatient. You know what happens when I get impatient."

Yandere didn't need to see the flash of Wilford's gun to move. He didn't need to hear the click of its hammer being pulled into place to run away. The ego's words had done enough, and the sobs racked at his body as he ran. Tears fell rapidly but still couldn't leave his eyes fast enough to prevent blurring his vision, making him even more blind than before. Not that there was anything to see. None of the egos wanted him. None of them would spare him another glance.

He was alone. When he fell, tripping on his own feet, no one was there to ask if he was alright. No one was there to offer him a hand. He sat there on his knees, crying and wailing the emotions he'd been trying to bottle up inside. Despair, regret, confusion, anger; all of it came pouring out while he swiped at his messy face with a hand.

It felt as if he'd been crying for hours and hours when at last something in the distance caught his red, puffy eyes. Yandere sniffled, scrubbing once more at his sticky face with his sleeve in an effort to better make the shape out. He tensed a little upon realizing it was another person, but gradually the details came through. A striped shirt, slacks, a little red scarf and a cute beret atop a head of messy black hair. Yandere's aching heart skipped a few beats. He knew that ego. He knew who it was. How could he have forgotten?

The one ego who always fought through his fear to be around him. The one ego who would indulge rambles about his crush and all of Yandere's insane plans. The one ego who would sit with him for hours, let Yandere lean on him for a nap, encourage Yandere with little works of art and support. The one with a tremble in his step, a far-off look in his red eyes and a shadow larger than himself.

"Biju-chan." Yandere whispered, scarcely able to believe it. Like a flower attempting to shake off the first frost, hope dared to peek out from the ruins of his chest. He took a breath and stumbled to his feet. "Biju-chan." His steps, slow and unsteady at first, became more rapid as he drew near the younger ego. Maybe, maybe now, maybe finally... "Biju-chan!"

Artiplier turned around, his eyes a bit wide with surprise. However, rather than narrow into a glare or close-off his expression, they softened to something pleasant and happy after landing on Yandere. A tiny smile flitted to his features. "Fleur rouge."

Yandere felt like crying again. At last, at last someone who didn't hate him. Who didn't see him as a nuisance. Who wasn't scared of him- at least, to the point they wanted nothing to do with him. His own face broke into a grin and he threw his arms out as his steps broke into a fullblown run. "Biju-chan!"

Artie opened up his arms, recognizing the signs Yandere was coming in for a grand tackle of a hug. He didn't back away or dodge to the side, and Yandere crashed into him with enough force to practically bowl him over. His arms fell around Yandere's heaving, shaking shoulders like they belonged there and he released a trembling breath of his own. "Eet ees alright, fleur. I am here now."

Yandere hiccuped. "Biju-chan...."

"I am always 'ere." Artie's voice sounded strained and watery.

It gave Yandere pause, and he blinked against his friend's shoulder. "Biju-chan?" He pulled back some, just enough to see Artie's face. When he realized blood was beginning to trickle from the corners of Artie's mouth, he gasped. "Biju-chan! You're hurt! What- what happened?!" The arm around Artie's shoulders tightened.

Artie wheezed, and the gurgle in it definitely indicated there was blood in his lungs. But how? He'd been just fine a minute ago! "Yandere..."

Something warm and wet dribbled onto Yandere's hand. He heard more than felt more droplets hit his shoe. His eyes widened again, and his breath became caught up in his throat. No. He didn't want to look down, but he had to know. He had to confirm his horrifying suspicions with his own two eyes. It took every last ounce of willpower he had, but eventually his gaze fell.

Blood. Warm, wet and red was spilling rapidly onto his hand, his wrist, down onto his socks and shoes. It was already soaking heavily through Artie's striped shirt. Yandere screamed. In his bloodied hand was the handle of a familiar knife, and the blade of that knife was lodged to the hilt in Artie's chest. When did he get a knife? When did he stab...? Yandere tried to think back, realizing he'd been completely oblivious to one of his hands the entire time. Oblivious to the object it held because the knife had practically become an extension of himself.

All those fearful looks. All that defensive posturing. Was it because of this? Because he'd been wielding a knife all along? Yandere tilted his head down further to spy not only fresh blood on his uniform, but dried spots of it as well. That meant... blood. He'd been running around spotted with blood too. No wonder no one wanted anything to do with him. No wonder they all hated him.

He was a murderer.

Yandere drew in a ragged breath at the same time as Artie, his head snapping back up to look the ego in the face. He could feel his eyes beginning to burn with the onset of fresh tears. Artie was pale, more blood spilling from his mouth and eyes slipping out of focus. Yandere had done this. He must have... it must have happened when they hugged. When he... oh god.

Oh god, he'd stabbed Artie in the chest. He'd at least punctured a lung, if not his heart. There was no coming back from that. Artie was dying. Artie was dying. The one ego to show him a shred of kindness, of acceptance, and he'd killed him.

Yandere screamed again, catching Artie as he fell, carefully lowering them both to the ground. He could murder people in a heartbeat, without batting an eyelash. But an ego? Artie? No. Never. He would never... and yet there Artie was, slowly fading away in his arms. Not in the way all egos feared, but instead caught up in the throes of a swift, painful death. Yandere choked on a dry sob. "Iie..." He pulled Artie a bit closer. "Iie biju-chan..."

He could tell Artie wanted to respond, but all that came up was a cough and more blood. He shuddered in Yandere's grasp, clinging weakly to Yandere's uniform as a weak smile formed on his red stained face. His eyes were dull, and he shook his head.

"Biju-chan, iie. Iie... you can't... you c-can't die. You can't die because of me. Biju-chan!" Artie wasn't moving. He'd stopped responding, even minutely, and the grip on Yandere's shirt was slack. He screamed, he sobbed. "BIJU-CHAN! BIJU-CHAN! Artie! Artie iie, iie, you can't. You can't, Artie, y-you can't... you can't..." Tears began to drip from Yandere's eyes, falling to mix with the red. "...leave me."

Yandere slowly leaned forward, letting his forehead come to rest against Artie's. It was one of the few spots on his upper body not coated with blood, and Yandere cried against him like that for a long time. Until the skin against his arms cooled, and blood on his clothes congealed. For so long, there was nothing but the silence and his sobs and the stench of Artie's blood.

Then, out of the darkness, footsteps. Yandere's breath hitched, and at long last he forced himself away from the body laying half across his lap. His face was sticky again with the residue of his tears, and the drying blood made his clothes stiff to move around in.

From the shadows emerged one final figure. Grey skin, blackened eyes and a crisp, dark suit. His hair was meticulously swept to the left side of his face, and his hands were primly clasped behind his back. He walked, undisturbed by the blood or the body or Yandere's emotional state, until his shiny black shoes reached the very edge of the puddle that had formed. He stared down at in with a glimmer of distaste for a moment, before those soulless eyes shifted to Yandere.

Yandere tensed, metaphorical hackles rising and back arching like a cat. He pulled Artie's corpse closer to his chest protectively and bared his teeth at Dark with all the fury he had left. It wasn't much, and they both knew it. Dark probably would have looked amused, if he showed that much emotion.

"So sorry. Am I... interrupting something?" That smooth voice rolled down Yandere's spine like cold oil and he shivered. However, he couldn't quite find his voice after everything, and Dark took his silence as permission to continue. "So you've stabbed him. Again. I wonder, will the others be quite so eager to pin it on me? Or will they realize the true threat you are. The monster you have become. This grave you have dug for yourself is so.. deep.. Yandere." Dark's eyes, though hard as stone and emotionless, still managed to glitter in the darkness.

Yandere's fingers clenched into Artie's body. He snarled, "It was an accident! I didn't mean to kill him! I'm not a monster, I would never-"

"Never what, Yandere? Stab one of your closest friends in cold blood? I suppose that's not your knife still lodged in his chest, then, is it?"

Yandere flinched, unable to stop himself from sparing the weapon a glance. He'd been so buried in his grief he'd forgotten to remove it. Not that it would have helped matters. Artie was doomed from the start. "I... I didn't mean..."

"You didn't mean to. Oh, but of course not, Yandere. Who ever means to murder a friend? I'm certain this is all just a big misunderstanding..." Yandere looked up at Dark once more, eyes laden with heavy bags and puffy redness. Dark provided zero solace for those exhausted eyes. "Yet, Artiplier is still dead. You can see that much for yourself. There's no taking it back. No fixing this... misunderstanding. It truly is unfortunate..."

Yandere's breath hitched again; the risk of a fresh sob. He stared down at Artie's prone, dead form with quivering lips. "Why are you doing this? Why are you here? J-just leave me be... go away, yami. I can torture myself enough without your help...." The words were thick with emotion and the aftermath of his tears, but Dark wasn't leaving.

"Perhaps... I could give you another chance. The opportunity to do things right. What do you say, Yandere? Care to take me up on my offer?"

Furious indignation sparked to life in Yandere's chest, and his head snapped back up to focus a glare on Dark. Except- Dark was no longer present. A blink, and Yandere was no longer on his knees. Artie's body was gone, but all of the blood remained. Frantic and confused, Yandere looked wildly around, attempting to put the pieces together. Was he going insane? Was Dark making him lose his mind? He hadn't accepted the offer, he hadn't-

"Fleur rouge."

Yandere's spine went rigid. Slowly, he turned to look towards the source of that soft voice. His lungs leaped up into his throat. "Bi... biju-chan...."

Artie smiled, clean of blood and free of injury. The color was back in his cheeks; the light in his red eyes. He opened his arms. "Fleur."

"Biju-chan." Yandere hesitated, clearly recalling the consequences of rushing in the last time. Still, he was drawn to those arms; to that embrace. He fell into it, into Artie, like a lost child.

"I am 'ere."

Blood.

"I am always 'ere."

Blood.

There was blood, and Artie was falling, and Yandere was catching him yet again. "Iie!" Not again. Not like this. Not again. "Iie, biju-chan!" He watched that renewed light fade once more, felt the breaths leave Artie's body and not return. He sobbed, and a voice appeared from the darkness.

"Care to try again?"

Refusal perched on the tip of Yandere's tongue, but the thought of losing his closest friend forever burned in his throat and in his chest. It made his jaw slow, and just like that the scenario was reset.

Artie, standing with arms wide open and the gentlest of smiles on his face. "Fleur."

Yandere, stood before him with clothes soaked in blood and knife gripped in hand. "Iie."

Dark, lying in wait, eager to show once Yandere was sitting broken and desperate on the floor with his corpse in hand. "Again."

And so they went, again and again, until all Yandere could smell was blood, and all Yandere could see was red.

38 notes · View notes