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netherfeildren · 7 months

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Pink : Part I : Humanist Seeking Person in Love

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Humanism: an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Slow burn but like not really; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 7.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

1. Humanist Seeking Person in Love

The video you’d watched had said that the differences between a jamb nut and a coupling nut should have been obvious. A jamb nut, which was what you were currently looking for, was typically half as tall as a standard nut, or a coupling nut, and would be of a small, stouter shape compared to the other options. As you stare at the wall of overwhelming stock, the incomprehensible mess of steel, PVC, aluminum and plastic hardware you feel, a little bit, like you’d like to start screaming as loud as you possibly can, for as long as you possibly can. Just a rip roaring and rageful, top of your lungs, screech. Maybe it’d scare the leering men around you. Maybe they’d desist from the ogling of your ass in the tight confines of your ratty leggings, or the mildly pitying glances as your frustration and confusion becomes more and more obvious.

You try and take a deep breath, glancing down at your phone again and the screenshots you’d taken of the parts you need to fix your leaky kitchen sink. Zooming in, you hold the picture up next to the pipeware currently gripped in your sweaty hand and wonder again if what you’ve chosen is the right piece. You don’t understand why the hardware store, a local business, isn’t as neatly and efficiently organized as the larger chains, and why they make it so damn hard for someone without experience to come in and shop. You don’t want to buy the wrong thing and waste the money you already don’t have, you don’t want to have to make the trek back to this God awful fucking place. You hate the hardware store, you hate the way it smells, dusty and wooden, the cavernous hollow echo of it, the leering gazes of the men shopping, looking at you as if you’re some helpless child, something soft and easy to snap up and eat. You hate the memory of following your father around on many a Sunday morning after he’d forced you to come with him in some false attempt at bonding, at spending time together when really all it was, was another instance of you cowering behind him, trying to make yourself as silent and small as possible so as to avoid his anger and irritation.

You look back down at the piece of PVC in your clutch, at the picture of what you’re supposed to be buying again, back at the other option, a copper bolt you think might look right but can’t really tell the difference, and you feel the backs of your eyes pinch and go hot and achy. A sharp, throbbing pain starting up behind your left eye and spiraling out like a stain to cover your forehead. You want to go home. You want your kitchen sink to stop leaking. You want the past year to never have happened. For your marriage to not have so irrevocably unraveled that the husband you’d so desperately fought to keep had left you out in the cold, divorced, very nearly penniless in a new apartment that you couldn’t make feel like home no matter how many fall scented candles and throw pillows you stuffed into every nook and cranny. You want to not have to make decisions like these and take care of things like this. You want very, very badly for someone else to come and take care of you, help you, make the choices that seem very hard in the moment but that, in the grand scheme of things, aren’t really so difficult, but that still sometimes call for a second opinion, wiser, more experienced hands.

And in that next blink, in a soft, deep voice that should not be as easily recognizable in your mind as it is given the handful of times you’ve actually heard it, your name, being murmured from behind you. The lilt of a question, the gruff of shock coating the syllables as it pushes against your bare nape. Soft as a sledgehammer, like ice water down your naked back, your shoulders hitch up to your ears, going tense and frightened, a hot flush of shame spilling through you, the keenest desire to run away from that soft voice as fast as your stupidly October flip flopped feet’ll take you. You hiccup the half sound of his name, not turning around, lashes fluttering quickly to prevent the dry heat of your eyes from spilling over, nerveless fingers going listless around the plastic nut. You don’t want to turn around. This is a cursed place, this hardware store, and you should never have come, and you really do hate it here. Deep breath, deep breath. Be polite, be succinct. You don’t need to talk to him. You don’t need to think about the past. Fuck the sink, fuck the pipes. You’ll just move apartments. You let a long stream of air out of your mouth, and then turn on the ball of your foot to face him.

“Mr. Miller,” you breathe with a limp smile you know isn’t going to fool anyone.

He frowns, the line of his mouth wavering as he tries to contain his displeasure. “We really back to that?” You shake your head, looking away from him as the last shopper in the aisle you’re inhabiting walks away, leaving the two of you alone. The store suddenly seems to exist in a vacuum echo, all other patrons seeming to disappear, all sound going out. You even feel the imitation of a hollow pop in your ear drums. When you look back at him, he’s really scowling now. His strong brow pulled down over those too pretty, thickly lashed hazel eyes that you know so well on another man, a younger version of him.

It was the first thing you’d noticed about him, the first time Sam had introduced you to his father, they have the same eyes. The same but different. There was a coldness to Sam’s gaze that you hadn’t recognized until it was too late for you, but you recognized it now, with a painful sort of awareness, recognized the lack thereof in his father’s eyes, how different they were even in their similarity.

He raises his brows at you, a pressing gesture, “Joel.” His name feels like salt on an open sore in your mouth. “What are you doing here?” And he looks at you, just a little bit, like you’re an idiot, or maybe that’s only you, for his voice is gentle when he says, “Pickin’ up supplies with some of the boys on my crew. What’re you doin’ here, sweetheart? Sam with you?” Your heart beats like that of a small and hunted creature, pounding painfully against the confines of your ribs while a hot, humiliated flush washes through your entire body, heat suffusing your face so intensely there’s probably steam rising off the surface of your skin. You shake your head quickly, a barely there jerk. You’re suddenly trembling so hard your throat aches as if it’s been pierced by a lancet straight through. Another sharp jerk, and he steps forward a concerned look marring his face.

“You haven’t spoken to him.” It isn’t a question.

“He’s been feildin’ my calls for months. Assumed I’d done something– something else, last time to piss him off again. What’s wrong? Everything okay?” He pauses, head tilting, and you can’t look him in the face as you say it, gaze falling to your fingers twisted around the nut.

“We’re not together anymore. He– he left me. We got divorced six months ago.”

Shocked into silence he takes another step towards you, the toe of his heavy boot coming into your eye line. The ends are thick and rounded, and you wonder if there’s a casing of steel within, how much a kick in the ribs would hurt delivered by a boot like that, and the violent thought startles you, your eyes going wide, shooting up to his face as if worried he could read your thoughts. Ashamed that something like that in reference to him would even cross your mind, for looking at him, the gentleness in his gaze, the utter concern, a man like this would never hurt a creature softer than him, you know that.

It’s funny, or strange, or a phenomena not easily understandable or explainable unless you’d had a certain type of experience with a certain type of man, but there was a sort of sixth sense instilled in a person who’d dealt with cruel men that made it easy to recognize when one had the capacity to hurt you and when he didn’t. There were, of course, those who were good at masking it, but there was always something, a way they held themselves or moved around others, the cadence of their voices, clues that spoke of the sort of man he was. And from the first moment you’d met him, you’d thought Joel had something that spoke only of gentleness. Despite his size and seemingly rough aspect, there was something about his voice, and the way he carried himself, the way he moved around those who were smaller or weaker or less, less alive, less potent than him, that was always careful and always aware.

“What?” He moves as if he’s going to reach for you, and you flinch back, the curve of your spine bumping into the framing of the shelves behind you, face turning away quickly. He goes tense, forcing himself into stillness, the white of his teeth flashing in a grimace, but he puts his palms up in a staying gesture, it’s alright, easy, he murmurs, I won’t touch you, hands lowering to fist in the pockets of his jeans into tight balls of false restraint. As if he’s afraid of what they might do of their own volition otherwise. “What do you mean he left you? What happened? He–”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you. Call him again or– or I don’t know. It’s not my business anymore. He was never happy with me,” you stupidly add, finally braving a look back at his eyes again, a bitter laugh scratching up your throat, “You know this. Call your son, Joel.”

You move to leave, to get away from him, but he shifts, blocking your escape, sending your heart up into your throat. “Honey, wait–” but you’re spinning on your heel the other way, stumbling in your flip flops, and you think he says something about the wrong way, but you’re rushing, blindly trying to get away from him down the aisle as fast as you can. You’re going to cry, you can feel it, any second now. You weren’t expecting to see him, the reminder of everything that had happened, your marriage and its failure and the part Joel had played in it. A painful and jarring shock to your nervous system that you’d not been prepared to receive. You blindly scramble through the aisles of the hardware store, losing yourself to the gloom of the dimly lit back rows where plywood and carpeting are stocked, that detested dusty hollow smell intensifying. You take another blind turn, another, until the sounds of the store have gone faint and then a frightening pressurized silence. Bracing your palms against one of the eye level shelves you let your head fall between your shoulders, your bag sliding down your arm to hang and sway at the bend of your elbow. You watch the slow back and forth pendulous movement, eyes wide and blurred. If you don’t blink, you won’t cry, and you’re so fucking tired of crying over this.

“If you were tryn’a get away from me, exit was in the opposite direction,” comes his voice again. Your eyes flutter shut, a single tear drips from the line of your lashes onto the dusty concrete floor.

“Please, go away,” you croak.

“Tell me what happened.”

“What do you think happened? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“He– he’s a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart–”

Your stomach lurches, “Don’t call me that.”

But he doesn’t listen, continues on unheeded. “There’s gotta be something we can do. I’ll– I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him see that–” You let your head fall back the opposite way now, looking up at the high, cavernous ceiling of the store, another bitter laugh. It’s the only kind left to you now.

“I don’t want him back, Joel. Be serious.”

“He needs you–” And oh, that makes you angry.

“Fuck you.” You spin around to spit the words at him, rushing forward to shove at his rock solid chest. He doesn’t budge even half an inch. You shove again, again, a humiliating sob making its way up your chest. You blink then, you can’t help it, the tears fall unrestrained. It’s a specific type of humiliating, facing the estranged father of the man who you’d been married to, who’d been unable to love you, who’d abandoned you.

Sam and Joel had been unaware of each other’s existence for almost twenty eight years, but two years ago, Sam’s mother had finally told him about his father, his name, where he lived, how they’d gotten together when they were too young, and how she’d split, scared and vulnerable, without telling him a thing. The two of you’d gone looking for the man, and you’d both been varying degrees of shocked at what you’d found. Sam, faced with a man so unlike himself he’d immediately resented him more than he already had for the fact of his absence his entire life. You, as well, faced with a man so unlike your husband that it had made you resent your marriage even more. Immediately welcoming, loving, patient, gracious and generous and forgiving of the fact that a son had been kept from him for almost three decades. Despite the severity of his character, his serious reservedness, he’d done everything in his power to open himself to this long lost son. Not once had the news been met with cruel anger or outrage. Joel had accepted his son immediately and without question, listening to his mother’s reasoning, accepting the fact that a mistake had been made, forgiving, willing to move on and embrace Sam in all the ways he’d been denied for so long. Sam hadn’t been able to fathom it. He’d been mistrustful, hostile, angry, all the things he always was but compounded and heightened to a terrible degree he eventually started taking out on you.

And it was funny because the fraught, or lack thereof, relationships with your fathers had been the thing that had initially bonded the two of you. Too young and alone and without direction, you’d met him in your last year of college. The relationship had immediately developed without boundaries or reason, you’d been obsessed, a little desperate, unquestioning, and then married a few short months later. Two too young, too lost people, burdened with daddy issues. A terribly sad cliche. You’d never had a chance. You never should have been. And there’s a part of you now, looking up at this man, your ex-husband’s father, that wants to feel angry at him, that wants to spit in his face and say this is all your fault, everything that happened to me, everything that was done to me was in your name, and I blame you for all of it, but you know it’s without reason or countenance. And worst of all, anger, blame, resentment, it’s not anything near to the things you feel when you look at him. The memory of a small, dark restroom flashes in your mind’s eye, his eyes gleaming above your face, the thick slope of his shoulder, the patterned wallpaper behind him, sickening comfort.

You go still and frozen, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt, jerking with a painful shiver from the top of your head, down the length of your vertebrae, to the tips of your toes that cramp and spasm. Looking up at his face, you can feel a pulse throbbing in the muscle beneath your right eye, and the way he looks down at you, as if he’s never felt as sorry for any other creature in his entire life as he does for you in this moment, so embarrassing. You let your head fall forward again, landing with a soft thump against his chest, an uncontrollable tremble moving like fire through your frame. “Fuck you,” you say again, whispered, soft and weak and without any sort of force behind it. “How dare you say that to me,” another tear. “He’s always needed you. It was never me he wanted, never me he needed. It was always you.” You watch as one hand withdraws from its pocket cage, lifting to push a soft tendril of hair back behind your ear. And there’s fire left in the wake of the brush of his skin at the hollow there. Another shiver of a worse kind, one of desire, one of lust, moves through you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it – I’m sorry, honey.” Stupid southern charm and their stupid pet names. You clutch at his shirtfront more tightly, press your forehead harder into his sternum, and he brings his hand to your shoulder, tucking you into himself more securely. He’s huge and warm and smells faintly of salt and sweat and laundry detergent. Something clean and fresh and masculine. He smells alive. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, moving through your hair. Fucking, Sam, he murmurs above you, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head in that disappointed fatherly way. “Tell me what you were looking for. What had you lookin’ so confused and irritated in the plumbing aisle?” You’d laugh if you could, a non bitter sort, but you don’t have the ability anymore, and that makes you so angry. Angry and irrational.

“My sink’s leaking, and I can’t afford a plumber because your son divorced me and left me with no money and no house and nothing for myself, and I hate this stupid place. I hate the way it smells, and I hate that nothing’s labeled clearly, and I hate the way you men,” you shove at his chest a little bit again, “look at me like I’m some dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right.” Even if that’s what you kind of feel like, a dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right anymore. Slightly out of breath, you go limp and exhausted against him. His palm flattens at the center of your spine, supporting you, and it’s so fucking inappropriate. You should move away. You don’t know him well enough for this, he’s your ex-father-in-law, you shouldn't let him touch you, but should and should not and right and wrong and inappropriate or not has never really mattered to you where Joel Miller is concerned. “This is the worst place in the whole world,” you mumble, voice muffled from where your face is squished against the annoyingly hard and delicious muscles of his chest. You feel, keenly, like you’re being a little bit ridiculous, a little bit embarrassing, but his big hand is slowly moving up and down the length of your spine, soothing and comforting, and you can’t bring yourself to care. He’d been kind from the first second you’d met him, and then, at the worst moment, he’d been understanding, and you’d never really stood a chance against him either.

You’d never had a chance with the son, you’d never stood a chance against the father, there had never really been much choice or possibility for you as a whole where either of them were concerned.

I was such a little person. Tiny in my insignificance, naivety, hope. Desperate to be as good as I could be, and pathetic in my failure to make myself into what I thought the world wanted of me.

“You can’t afford–” He breathes out roughly through his nose, stopping himself from continuing. “Do y’know what it is you’re looking for? What part?” And you nod your head, still buried against him, unable or unwilling to pull away. “Let me help you,” and he says it so, so gently that it makes you want to stomp your foot and cry and throw a fit at the unfairness of it all.

“Don’t want your help,” you can’t help the muffled whine it comes out as. All you want is for someone to help you.

“Of course you don’t, sweetheart,” he soothes. “But let me anyway. S’the least I can do for talkin’ out of my ass.” You finally pull back, looking up at him, and he brings his thumb up to catch the wetness at the fine skin beneath your eye. “Please, don’t cry,” he whispers like it hurts him.

And even though he’s currently catching the salt of your eyes with his fingers, you lie obstinately, “I’m not,” whispered back just as quiet.

After he helps you find the correct piece for your sink, finally, which ends up being neither of the options you’d been previously weighing, a fact that almost sends you over the deep end again, and paying for it at his aggravating and overbearing insistence, he walks you to your car.

“Is he still in Austin?” He asks as he holds your door open for you, your shopping bag still clutched in his hand. One of the guys on his crew had come to find him while you were checking out, but he’d sent him away with a shake of his head, said he had something to take care of.

“I don’t know, but he sold our house.”

“Fuck– Where’re you living?” The sound of his spit curse has a wet flutter moving through you, shame following bitterly in its wake.

“I got an apartment in the East Side.”

“And he just left you to fend for yourself? Took your fucking house?” He’s getting angry, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get angry. Something foreign like excitement jumps within you.

“Well, that’s the point of divorce, Joel. You separate and are left to your own devices.” You reach for the little plastic bag, but he jerks it out of your reach.

“He has a responsibility to you. He–”

“Again… the point of divorce.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that boy,” he mutters, shaking his head. And that’s the thing of it, you think, that’s always been the crux of the issue. Sam was always a boy, has always been just a boy… there had never been any chance. “Let me come help you with the sink. Let me fix it for you.” Something to take care of, that’s what he’d said, that’s what he’d called you, what he sees you as.

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish getting the words out, full of regret, and a wish that it could have all been different from the very start. “You know that isn’t a good idea,” and he goes silent because he does, he does know, he’d known since the first time probably. It had been obvious in the way that a secret thing can only be between the two people involved in the unsaid. “I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way.”

“You still got the same number?” He asks.

“Please, don’t call me. Call Sam. He’s the one that needs you. He’s the one that–”

“And who’s taking care of you? Who’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart? You need someone too, we all do.”

A flash of that earlier anger again, and you reach forward to rip the bag out of his clutch now, angry because he’s right. Because he’d always seemed to have a grossly misplaced ability to read you exactly as you are. He’d read you for what you were from the first second he’d laid eyes on you, naive and hopeful and falsely in love with a son who’d never loved either of you in return. “Maybe,” you tell him, “But that can’t be you.” He looks away from you, gruff sound of irritation passing through his clenched teeth, and he drags a heavy palm down his bearded mouth. Fuck, again that provoking spit curse. The wallpaper in that dark restroom had been covered in little blue motifs, butter yellow details sparsed throughout. It had surprised you, the pretty and delicate design in the home of a, for all intents and purposes, bachelor. It spoke of intention and attention to detail, to his space, to care of his home. That dim moment was, strangely, sickly, the brightest memory of the entire two years of your marriage.

“You still got my number?” He presses anyways. Unheeded or uncaring of you trying to push him away, and there’s something about that, that’s pleasurable, his inability to let a thing go where you’re concerned, his unwillingness to allow you to hold him at arms length. Like he doesnt care to be kept away from you, and so he won’t. You nod your head once, face burning, molars grinding to keep yourself still and in place. You’d felt, for two years, trapped, running in place, and now left limp and exhausted and colorless, and you hope that he can’t read that exhaustion in you. For some reason, that would be more embarrassing than everything else, for him to see just how defeated you’d been left. He gives you one of those looks, those direct, piercing, aggravating looks that you’ve seen from him before, aggravating in a way that is inciting, like a relentless tongue against a slick swollen cunt, God. Your hands are shaking, and he bends his head down to your level to look at your directly, “You promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, doesn’t matter what it is – that you’ll call me. No matter the hour, no matter what it is. Promise me.” Another sharp jerk of your chin, if you talk you’ll scream or make a sound not wholly belonging to the body of a girl, woman, whatever you are. Another nod, the mute shape of an okay passing through your lips. And his face is so concerned, his hand almost lifted in the imitation of what you have to tell yourself, as a form of self preservation, is an ill intentioned caress or hug, but that you know he’d mean as nothing more than genuine comfort. You deflate in relief when he doesn’t touch you, right here, out in the open for the whole world to bear witness to. Things like that, after all, are only meant for dark, wallpapered bathrooms. He’d already taught you this.

The relationship had not been what either of them had expected, Sam and Joel, from the get go. There was a smallness to his son, a pettiness and a cruelty and a spoiled rotten vein through the core of him that was incongruous with who Joel was as a man, something that was glaringly obvious to all involved. And try as he might, in those early days, they could not overcome the disparity in their personalities. The attempts from Joel at closeness had been fraught with tension and unsaid resentments, and eventually Sam had given up, stopped answering his father’s calls, evading his attempts to connect. Your marriage had spiraled into dissolution shortly after that. As if the failure to find whatever it was he’d for so long hoped for in a relationship with his father had highlighted all of the things you yourself lacked, all the ways in which you were so specifically dissatisfying to him and always would be.

The marriage had not ended up being what either of you had hoped for, the honeymoon phase quashed and dead early on, no brightly lit halcyon. Reality had set in quickly when confronted with the disjointedness of your pairing, a bone out of place, your specific inability to please him in the ways he’d thought you would when he’d first met you. There was something about you that had always been a little bit lacking, something ascetic and cold natured about your personality at times. Since you were a child, trying to appease an unappeasable father, to emulate a singular mother. Always impossible, always falling just short of utter failure. Not so terrible that you were outwardly obvious in your mediocrity, but never everything you could be. Painfully, succinctly average. Sam had come to realize this quickly. Perhaps, unaware prior to tying himself to you because the only thing you’d ever been not average at, was being a little bit of a liar, of being placatingly complacent when the moment necessitated, manipulative in a way that you found protecting. But you see, that’s what happened when you had a cruel father who always needed appeasing, something Sam, in his abject fatherlessness, couldn't understand. Funny, you’d said that to him once, near the end, called him abjectly fatherless, his weakness a consequence of his lack of a paternal role model, and oh, how he’d hated that. Endings could bring out such cruelty in people, you’d found.

But the manipulation of a moment had become, in some ways, your only talent. The art of superficial gratification at a moment's notice as a way to keep the people around you falsely happy and calm. Like all small and frightened creatures, you’d learned your strengths well, but as all truths do, yours had eventually surfaced. The fact that you weren’t really so appeasing in the ways he desired, not so nice, not so perfect, not so subservient. That the persona was all just a way to keep him happy as a means of getting someone to love you, to stay because you didn’t know how else to be.

Your mother always said you could’ve been nicer to him. She was a kind, soft, patient thing. Quiet and easy and always, always, above everything else, understanding. It was the worst thing about her. A detriment, a weakness, and she resented you for your resentment, for seeing her as such, but you could never help it. Always asking you why you couldn’t just be a nice girl, a good girl.

You didn’t think you had not been nice, not been good. You had only been yourself.

Your father had always hated that about you, you being yourself. The man you’d chosen to marry didn’t seem to like it very much either. And she’d tried to instill her better qualities in you, your mother, so you weren’t all bad all the time. There could be a brightness and a lightness and a sweetness to you sometimes, it’s true. You weren’t always all bad. But there was – is still – also a bitterness and a resentment and an anger, a screaming that you could not quell no matter how hard you tried. And so you’d attepted to give him everything you could, your husband, everything you had at your disposal in all ways, to do and be all he could have ever asked of you during those two small years of marriage. Because truly, they had felt so very small, made you even smaller.

Everything except for sex. You’d never been able to give him that the way he’d wanted.

At first, it had been normal, sweet, soft missionary in the darkness, tepid insinuations of orgasms, always hushed, always exactly how he wanted it. But eventually, when the other parts of you began to fail, he got mean and callous and casually cruel. And as you pulled away physically, he called you frigid, a prude, boring, cold, bad in bed, didn't know how to make a man hard. And it had made you so agonizingly insecure, already a sensitive and anxious thing when it came to your physical form, he’d beaten you down, embarrassed you, belittled you.

With time, you’d realized the truth of it which had been nothing more than that you’d never really wanted him. He had never made you desperate, he had never made you wet. It was his character, his attitude, yes, but it was also him. He just wasn’t it for you, and it wasnt that you were a prude or frigid at all, only that you needed patience and understanding and care, gentleness. Things he possessed none of.

You just needed a little time to warm up and someone who wanted to give you that time.

The reality that your life had not been full of varied and foolish adventures, and that time had seemed to simply slip away like an echo in the brain from one moment to the next was duly painful. A handful of months of wan and false lust, two years of cold, bitter marriage, and now, six months of barren aloneness. Too many mistakes had been made, too many regrets, three big ones that could be held like stones scorched to burn by the sun in the palm of your hand so that even if you let them go eventually, their imprint would still be scarred into your flesh afterwards forever.

So, perhaps the divorce had been painful in the moment. Or not perhaps, there was nothing uncertain about it, you’d fought tooth and nail to make it work, to keep him with you. Prostrated and humiliated and debased yourself. But with time, it became obvious that it was a fantasy you decided you should finally cast aside, as all children do childish things at a certain age. And then, it had been the easiest thing in the world. After all, and let’s be honest now for a moment, the reckoning had come in the shape of his father. That is, at the end of it, the reason you’re really here.

Sat now, before the open cabinet below your kitchen sink, leaky pipe drip, drip, dripping monotonously in front of your glazed over eyes, you think of him. He’s a large man, intimidating and dark and stoic. Taller and broader than his son. Lush, mahogany curls streaked with silver that speak of age and experience like the smile lines around his eyes. Deeply grooved when he laughs that beautiful laugh of his. He looks exactly like the opposite of whatever his son is, like he’d have the ability to make the opposite of you, to pull out of you whatever the antithesis is of what his son was able to. It had been immediate, the nature of your thoughts towards him. The desire, the desire, the desire, you had wanted like you’d never wanted before — like an illness, like dying.

Your marriage had been circling the drain, and then you’d met him, and it should have been innocuous. He’d been kind and polite and welcoming, but also, aloof. Holding himself at a distance, something afraid that he carried within himself, like he didn't want to hope, like he was just a little bit scared of what it meant now to have a son, something to lose. You knew a little bit about that, the worst part of it all is never the cruelty, it’s the hopelessness. Everything had become so much worse after meeting him. An unbearable sort of awareness of something that your listless, frigid self recognized as man, man, man, something like hunger. Something slanted about the desire, wrong, sure, for he was your husband's father, and yet, you wanted him. You wanted to know what he smelled and tasted like, and what the weight of his cock on your tongue would feel like. If it was bigger than his sons, you were almost positive of that, if it would stretch the corners of your mouth to near splitting, the hinges of your jaw to aching.

You’d met your husband's father, and had realized, painfully, with uncompromising clarity, all that your husband could be, all that he was not, all that he would never be. There was no comparison between the boy and the man, and it made you hurt.

Your eyes flit back to the screen of your open laptop and the instructional video there, popping another fuzzy peach gummy onto the flat of your tongue, mouth full of sucking sugar. You’re going to fix this sink if it’s the last thing you do, and you’re not going to think about him again. But tomorrow, you’ll start not thinking about him tomorrow. The talent of a liar never really wanes.

The apartment is quiet, nothing but the cheerful crackling of your sweet pumpkin candle and the mocking splish splash of the drain pipe. You had, in recent weeks, come to think of your abandonment as something of an accomplishment. Perhaps, your loneliness is a good thing, you’ll tell yourself as a comfort, a sort of friend; you can’t be used against yourself again in this solitude, and oh, how you’d been used. That anemia in your character, the ascetic thread of your personality had been weaponized and wielded against you until you couldn’t tell up from down and left from right. You were certain there’d been cheating, even if you’d never had any proof to confirm it, merely grateful you’d never gotten sick as way of evidence. But you knew. And it could've been so much worse for you, of course, of course it could have. But he’d left your mind so off kilter, broken and confused and not yourself. Utterly damaged in a way that was humiliating and devastating when you thought of the way you’d been, such a little person. So often, not a woman, just a little girl.

And then his father. Joel. Seeing him today – you had never felt the way you should have felt towards him. Like your eyes were open, awake for the first time in your entire life. A man like that – he was changing. And you wanted, needed very much to be changed. Seeing him today, being presented with that reminder of what he was, how he made you feel, how he’d always made you feel. There’s something ghoulish about you concerning him – about this desire. That ascetic or anemic or under-grown, illformed thing about you, exterminated in the thrum of how alive he is. How unlike his son. You’d never known what it specifically was, never been able to categorize it, and then there had been that moment, brought so low, six feet beneath the ground sort of debased, and he’d been there and you had been – unburdened from the weight of his own son, by him, and you’re not even sure he knew the extent of it. The power he’d wielded over you in that moment in the dark. And you can’t say it out loud, what it is you’d want from him, you can’t even say out loud what it is about him that changes you as it does – not a woman, just a little girl – but you think that if you could just see him, then you’d know, or maybe you could be brave. You don’t know what it is, but you’d know it then, with him in front of you, you’d have the answer to this question that’s plagued you for so long – how to be yourself in a way that is good.

You’re pushing yourself to your feet, fueled by the thought, fingers gripped over the ledge of the counter to pull yourself up, sink forgotten, stumbling to your front door, shoving your feet into your shoes and fumbling for your keys. How to be yourself in a way that is good.

When you were seventeen, your father had been at his angriest. Angry in that way that all angry father’s are. Loud and brutish – an anger that is cowing, a sign of true weakness. Brute force in the shape of the man who gave you life. When you think of it now, even as a grown woman, you still feel that phantom limb of fear, and you know that it isn’t normal for a grown woman to be afraid of her father, and yet you are. And then to think that you’d gone from your parents home directly to the bed of the same sort of man, one even crueler, if possible. You’re forced to laugh your singular terrible, self deprecating laugh at the irony of it – even worse, if possible. For what’s worse than a person who constantly needs to be soothed into kindness and patience and calm?

Once, in that terrible seventeenth year, funny and strange and unknowingly perfect, you’d been gifted the Farmer’s Almanac by your elderly neighbor. She’d said that she’d read it since she was a girl, liked the peace in knowing that the year had been predicted by experts and put down on paper. It made life seem more secure, more in control in a small way. You’d needed that during that turbulent time, locked in your teenage bedroom, lulled to sleep by the sound of your father’s anger and the year’s long-range weather predictions before your blurry eyes. It was so comforting to be able to read the future in text, catastrophe or sunshine, at least it was there. You still read it to this day. And there’s no congruity to the thought now, as you crawl into your car, a ghoul in the night, banging your knee on the hastily opened car door, sprouting gooseflesh in the cold; this desire, desire, desire that is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your whole life, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop because there is something about control in this moment also. Control like knowing what the future will be like on paper, control like a man who is entirely grown into himself, who knows who he is and who he is not and is not uncertain, who will not yell, who will not hurt you. He has this – your husband’s father – you know he does. There is something about control, there is something about knowing how a thing will be, there is something about being yourself in a way that is good.

You’d picked up the wrong wine on your way here. Rushing, trying to fix your makeup in the car, you’d gotten confused, chosen the one he didn’t want instead of the one he did. And it was nothing, or an accident, surely nothing to incite his ire, but he’s so fucking angry hovering in front of you. He looks at you, now sometimes, like he hates you, like you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He said you’d humiliated him in front of his father. That he was going to think he didn’t have good taste, couldn’t afford a decent bottle of wine. And you don’t know Joel very well, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to care about such things. Calling you an idiot in that poisoned shrill tone he takes on when he’s delivering a set down, and you’re trying to tell him to please, please keep your voice down, Sam, your father is going to hear you. You’d heard someone say once that a truly powerful man never feels the need to raise his voice, it simply isn’t necessary for him, and you’re reminded, terribly, of your father, with the sight of your shrill and seething husband in front of you. And then a low toned that’s enough, son from the mouth of the kitchen, and it’s so much worse, entirely catastrophic in a way, and you’re rushing away so humiliated, face on fire, tear caught over the trough of your lower lid, trying the doors in the hallway for the nearest restroom. You hear the murmur of voices, one struggling to maintain composure, the other, cool and steady, then the slam of the front door, and finally, the silent din of his house settling around the two of you as you find a restroom to hide in. Your heart beats so fast it makes you nauseous, knees strangely aching, listening to the heavy steps of Joel’s boots, as if he’s trying to warn you with those measured, weighted thuds that he’s coming, coming, coming for you. Turning to face the far corner of the restroom, you press your palm over your mouth, face slippery and burning and so stupid, the soft swoosh of the opening door, a paused breath as he takes in your form huddled into the wallpaper, and then the muted snick of the door closing behind him, shutting the two of you away together.

Part II

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#pink fic #Joel Miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #Joel Miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us au

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foli-vora · 1 year

Text

too close

joel miller x f!reader

a/n: more porn, idk what to say lmao. i want him to be cold and rough and i want it to hurt, y’ know what i mean?? anyway, here’s a supremely pissed off joel — enjoy! x

word count: just under 3.1k

warnings: swearing, very brief violence/mention of weapons, a close call, clicker attack, joel being a hero and being annoyed af about it, angsty vibes, the king of emotional constipation, SMUT 18+ ONLY: brief hand job, being restrained by being held down, unprotected p in v, very rough sex with bit of pain, no orgasm for reader coz punishment, cum shot over da assss

He hadn’t spoken.

Nothing. Not a single damn word since it happened.

Your heart still thunders in your chest, pounding in your ears and threatening to break free from its bone cage. The adrenaline has long worn off, leaving you with a tremble in your hands you can’t quite seem to get under control.

The weight of it still lingers on your body. The inhuman high pitched roar of it still circles your mind on an endless loop. The overwhelming rush of fear had paralysed you, frozen you under its brute strength and your touch had been numb around your weapon. That should’ve been it for you—done. Dead. Torn to fucking shreds right there on the filthy, muddied floor.

But he’d come out of fucking nowhere.

A body had rushed in from the side, the clicker barely able to turn towards the noise with a wailing screech before a weight spear tackled it and gave you the chance to roll back onto your feet. You had watched, through dazed eyes, as Joel had wrestled with the creature before firing a few bullets into its sickly orange flared head with his own roar of fury.

The snarl hadn’t left his face as he stood, glaring down at the clicker, almost daring it to fucking twitch, before he spun for you, tugging harshly at your arms and collar to look for any marks. He’d shoved you away after his hurried check, uncaring as you stumbled back from the unexpected rough touch and seemingly satisfied with your untorn skin.

He had ignored your shaky thank you.

Though he doesn’t talk, he still touches. His hands cover any sharp surfaces you pass, his forearm presses into your chest to keep you from moving forward when it’s too risky, his palm pushes at your head to ensure you get through the tunnel without hitting your head—

Little things.

Little things that let you know he’s not about to throw your ass out onto the streets of the QZ for being such a fucking idiot… you hope, anyway.

The silence remains, thick and uncomfortable, all the way back until you finally reach your quarters undetected. Joel dumps his pack on the floor without a care, striding straight for the bottle of shitty homemade booze left out on the table. You hang back, nervously fiddling with your fingers as he downs a generous mouthful, ignoring the drop that escapes his lips and melts into his patchy beard.

You swallow, tongue sweeping over your dry lips, “Joel?”

He doesn’t react.

Instead, he tears a chair out from where it’s tucked under the table and allows himself to drop into it with a sharp exhale, one hand brushing down his tired features. His eyes focus beyond the floor, the slosh of the amber liquid the only sound in the dark room as he nurses the bottle slowly.

“Joel.” Firmer. Harder. “Can we talk ab—”

“No. No, we cannot.”

The pure acid in his rumble of a tone burns. You shrink from the force of it.

“Joel, I… I’m really sorry—”

“Oh, well shit—that just makes it all better!”

“I’ll be quicker next time, it just took me off-guard, bu—”

“‘Next time’?”

It’s incredulous, spat through tight lips as if it’s the most absurd thing he’s ever fucking heard in his life. His wild eyes suddenly focus on you and your breath sticks in your throat. They zero in on where you stand, still hovering by the door, nervous to take a step further into your shared dwelling.

“There ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ ‘next time’. Your ass is stayin’ in the QZ—permanently.”

“What? Joel—”

“I do not want to hear it,” he snarls. “The hell were you thinkin’, huh?! It fuckin’ had you!”

It all comes back. The feeling of it hitting you, grabbing you, forcing you to the floor and screeching in your face. Death had been mere inches from you, death had had you in his damn grasp. The shadow of it brings a shiver along your skin.

“I know.”

It’s weak, pathetic.

“You can’t afford to freeze like that! Not out there. You get one chance to not fuck up—one fuckin’ chance! If I hadn't been there… Jesus Christ.”

He shifts to lean forward, resting an elbow in the upper crease of his knee as his fingers press tightly into his eyes and rub. You step lightly towards him, crossing the space between you and carefully reaching out to run a hand along the arch of his back, feeling the muscles jump under your touch.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, moving your hand up to the nape of his neck and into his hair, carding your fingers through his dry, mussed strands and softly working through the slight knots sitting there, “I really am—”

He bitterly knocks your hand away, jerking away from your touch like you’d burnt him, and it cuts into your heart, tearing through muscle and spilling a vicious icy ache through your chest.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” he mutters stiffly, standing from his chair and walking away from you.

You bring your hand back towards your chest and swallow the thickness building in your throat before you can choke on it. The rejection stings, and the tears that build along your lash line are automatic.

They blur your vision of him standing at the window, back to you, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He’s rigid, posture hardened by the mix of emotion filling him. You know better than to approach him again, and instead sink down into the chair he vacated.

Silence returns, the tension rolling from his shoulders in waves reaching you despite being across the room. You pick at your skin, peeling the flakes of dried mud from your hands and pulling at the stray threads loosened from your sleeves.

Was there any way of coming back from this? It had taken you weeks to wear him down enough to even think about taking you out of the QZ on a small run, and now? He’d never go for it again. You’re back to having the mile high walls as your prison, your cage.

You’re more capable than this, you’d just been surprised is all. Surely you weren’t the first person to have been taken off guard by their appearance? To wonder how the hell something like that could come from a human? You’d never seen one at that stage before… couldn’t he just understand?

There were others, a quiet voice rings through your mind, only they never made it to the other side to think about it, to question it.

It could’ve killed you, it could’ve killed Joel, and that was all on you. All the work, all the planning, all the potential earnings… gone to shit, because you couldn’t keep your head straight the second you ran into trouble.

“I’m sorry for ruining the run,” you mutter, quickly swiping away the hot tear trailing down your cheek, “I’ll find extra work and get you the ration cards you’ve lost from this.”

He slowly turns to face you, a deep scowl carved into his stone set features and his arms drop to his sides, his hands clenching into fists. You fight the urge to curl in on yourself and remain stiff shouldered, returning his glare with a shakily stubborn gaze despite the few remaining tears that slip free from where they gather along your lashes.

“Christ. Is that what you’re thinkin’ about right now?” He’s quiet, but the rage still simmers away beneath the surface of his tone, causing the already deep drawl to roughen. “I don’t fuckin’ care about the damn cards.”

“Then why are you so fucking mad at me?” You cry out, “I said I was sorry! I made a mistake, everyo—”

“I almost fuckin’ lost you!”

You freeze at the sudden volume of his voice, the low simmer now a full boil. His shout bounces off the cracked walls and brings a whole new kind of silence to the room, the sheer ferocity of it bringing your heart into your throat. He shakes his head and turns back towards the window, saying nothing more and leaving his words to hang in the dark.

The little thing between you and Joel had never been defined, and probably never would be. He just wasn’t like that. Sweet nothings and declarations of feelings had never, and will never, leave his lips. You weren’t even sure he liked you most of the time. You’re almost positive you’re nothing but an inconvenience to him, merely there to fill the deep void of loneliness the disaster of a world brought upon everyone.

But his words have your mind racing. Would it have bothered him that much? Does he see you as something more than an annoyance? Was it just as a companion, or maybe it ran deeper? Do you dare let the small bud of hope growing in your chest blossom into something stronger?

“Joel—”

“You should get some sleep.”

There’s no room for argument.

You give a small nod and stand, shedding the thick jacket draped from your shoulders and kicking your boots off. He doesn’t acknowledge you again, never moving his attention away from the window as you do a quick once over your dirtied skin with your damp rags before slipping under the thin, patched together blanket draped over the bed.

“Are you coming to bed?” You ask quietly, eyes following the curve of his side profile illuminated by the hue of street lighting seeping through the glass.

“No.”

Swallowing the discomfort starting to constrict the back of your throat, you give a strangled, “Okay,” and roll over, turning your back to him and burying your face into his pillow to hide the tears that escape when you squeeze your eyes shut.

He does.

Sometime in the early morning, your hand brushes against his back and it’s enough to bring you out of your troubled slumber. You’re careful not to jolt the bed too much as you shift closer to him, pressing up tight against his back and carefully smoothing a hand along his side.

You soak in the warmth his body provides, inhale the familiar waves of dirt and sweat that constantly roll from his skin. If you focus enough, you can detect the faint traces of mint that linger beneath the grime from the bar of soap it had taken you weeks to save for. You knew he liked it.

He’s awake—you can feel it. The tension is still wound tight in the muscles of his shoulders, his body still practically trembles from anger, but at least he doesn’t push you away again. Your hand wanders further, smoothing down to run over his stomach and up to his chest, resting over the heavy drum of his heart.

“Are you still mad?”

Silence follows your question. Did he hear you? Maybe you’d been wrong in your earlier observation and he was, in fact, asleep. Or he was just simply ignoring you, but then finally—

“Yeah,” he answers in his thick exhaustion riddled drawl, the word rough on his tongue.

“Oh.”

There’s nothing more to say. What could you say to make it better? Nothing. It had happened, and now you simply had to wait it out until the rage started to seep from his system. Would it take days? Weeks? Your hand starts to wander as you think, and you pay no mind to the paths it makes until you feel him stiffen under your touch.

You feel your fingers brush along the waistband of his jeans and your heart jumps in your chest, beating just that little heavier. He still doesn’t push you away. Maybe there’s nothing you could say, but maybe something you could do? Give him an outlet, a chance to work the anger from his system—

Heart pounding, you let your fingers slip beneath the denim and rake through the thick patch of curls there before finding his soft cock and carefully taking it in your grasp. There’s not a whole lot of room to work with the unforgiving stretch of his jeans, but you settle for what you can do, keeping your strokes light and restricted.

It doesn’t seem to matter.

His cock swells in your hold, the soft flesh thickening and hardening until it strains against its confines, throbbing heavily in your hand. The feel of him responding to your touch lights a fire in your core, every shallow jerk you make over his cock sending waves upon waves of warmth through your system until it builds in the pit of your stomach.

This could work. This could—

A hand curls around your wrist and tugs, tearing it out from inside his jeans and throwing it back towards you. Your stomach twists at the harshness of it, a brief flutter of panic shooting along your nerves as Joel tears the sheet away from his body and turns on you.

“What the hell are you doin’?” He demands in a rough grumble and you’re rolled onto your stomach before you could even think of uttering an apology, pressed into the unforgiving mattress by the weight of him straddling your upper thighs. “You think jerkin’ me off will make everythin’ better? You think it’ll make me forgive you? Huh?”

“N-no—”

“No?” He parrots gruffly, taking a wrist in each hand and pressing your hands into the bed. “That’s what it fuckin’ feels like.”

“That’s not—” you shift under the weight of him, attempting to adjust his grip on your wrists only for him to briefly tighten his hold, “—Joel, I—”

“You think I’m gonna soften on you just coz you’re touchin’ my cock?” He continues as if you hadn’t said a word, pushing himself roughly off your wrists and curling his fingers into your waist until it stings, forcing your ass up until he can curl over you and shove a hand to the front of your pants, “Think again, girl.”

He tears them open and straightens, fingers digging under the waistband of both your jeans and your underwear before tugging harshly at them until your ass is bared to him. He doesn’t bother taking them completely off, merely shoving them down enough out of the way so he’d be able to reach your cunt.

It’s a rush. Your heart thunders in your ears, your nerves wind tight in anticipation. He’s not gentle. Your skin burns where the denim had been yanked down, his hands grab and squeeze until an ache follows his touch.

You’re barely able to comprehend the faint sound of a zipper before the blunt head of his cock is suddenly pushing between your thighs and nudging at your folds. It’s instinct to tense, knowing you’re not even slightly ready to take him, but you find yourself arching into him nonetheless.

He lines himself up, probing at your entrance before letting his hips slam forward in one savage thrust, forcing you to take the entire thick length of his cock and crushing you into the mattress. Your cry of surprise, pain, melts into the bed; your hands scramble across the bedding in search of something to hold, something to steady yourself with as he starts to move in earnest.

His pace is brutal.

It’s quick, hard.

A clear punishment, and you take it all eagerly, muffling the various noises he rips from your throat into the bedding. Arousal steadily builds as you flutter and clench around him while he takes what he wants, the feeling of him hitting a spot that feels almost too far in your cunt shooting right through your system until you feel tears sting your eyes.

Every hit to that spot is blissful agony, your body jolting and twisting from the feeling of having him practically in your stomach with every upwards thrust. The more you try to squirm away from him hitting so fucking deep, his hands tighten and tug you back, pressing you into the mattress and unable to move away from the steady force of his hips.

A hand curls around the nape of your neck, pushing and pushing you further into the bed and keeping you completely still and at his total mercy.

It’s too much. It’s fucking perfection.

None of it is for you.

Your swollen clit throbs from the lack of attention, the ache in your core only growing wilder and wilder as his cock continues to pound into you with no end in sight. There’d be no edge, no release. Only Joel and the way he seemingly tears you apart from the inside out, forcing your body to take the weight of his fury, the weight of his fear, again and again.

The cry that leaves your lips is sharp when he eventually rips himself away, his broken exhale mingling with a downright obscene grumble of a moan doing nothing to temper the relentless fire birthed from his aggression. He finishes over your ass cheek after fisting his cock and giving it a few firm jerks, painting your skin with his hot cum and letting the weeping tip of it slide through the mess as he comes down.

You pant into the bedding, your fingers still clutching the sheets for dear life. They ache when your grip finally loosens, your joints protesting the sudden relaxing of the digits. You hurt. You throb. You tremble from the rough fucking, your cunt quivers and weeps for more despite your walls feeling tender from his merciless entry.

He rolls off of you to sit on the edge of the bed, raking a hand through his now wild hair and drawing in a few deep breaths. Your eyes begin to flutter, your body heavy where it sinks into the mattress. He leans forward and braces his forearms on his thighs, barely sparing you a look at you over his shoulder.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he warns lowly, bringing you briefly out of the haze coaxing you further and further into an inky black abyss, “do you understand me? Never again.”

The words go unspoken, like so many had done before—I can’t lose you, too.

everything pp: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @karolydulin, @pedrostories, @fabilei, @ghostwiththemostbitch, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @cannedsoupsucks, @chaoticemz, @hows-my-hair, @alexxavicry, @cran-berry-vodka, @deadhumourist, @outercrasis, @thisshipwillsail316, @toxicfrankenstein, @hotchlover, @ew-erin, @mishasminion360, @jitterbugs927, @penelopeimp, @woodland-mist, @pedro-pastel, @spaceserialkiller, @adriiibell, @1andthesame, @elegantduckturtle, @captain-jebi, @magpie-to-the-morning, @sharkbait77, @sleep-tight1, @musings-of-a-rose, @Karlawithacapitalk, @woomen23, @frasmotic, @songsformonkeys, @loonymagizoologist, @aynsleywalker, @ruhro7, @bluestuesday, @what-iwish-you-knew, @princess-djarinn, @totallynotastanacc, @girlofchaos, @pjkimrn, @bangaveragewhitewine, @trickstersp8, @rominaszh, @gooddaykate, @ms-loverman-066, @bunniwarrior, @detectivecarisi-1, @tintinn16, @iceclaw101, @bport76, @thatpinkshirt, @tusk89, @withakindheartx, @curiouskeyboard, @pedropascalsx, @sirpascal, @racetrackheart, @patisseriel, @timpletance, @titabel, @xdaddysprincessxx, @dnxgma, @astronomeoww, @dindjarinswhore, @alwaysdjarin, @mando-amando, @mx-ferelden, @trinkets01, @jxvipike, @thesmutslut, @thereisaplaceintheheart, @scentedthingtidalwave, @mwltwo, @loveslide, @artsymaddie, @untitledarea, @sukunababe, @emiemiemiii, @your-slutty-gf, @wisecolornight, @emilianamason, @justreblogginfics, @marcmurdock, @everythingisspokenfortbh

joel miller: @jujuliaispunk, @joelmiller67, @tubble-wubble, @uwiuwi,

plus my two gorgeous babes who i think will enjoy: @charnelhouse & @frannyzooey

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #pedro pascal x reader

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tartaroooo · 26 days

Text

Seeking Sweet Serenity

You're tired after a long day and Wanderer is there to help you.

Wanderer x Gn!Reader

Notes: This is very self indulgent. School sucks ass and I fr need to be comforted by Wanderer.

Art: @yXaBLUGg7Yqtw1y (X)

Warning: None, this is just pure fluff.

Life is shit.

So shit.

Your natural efficiency attracted incompetency, individuals at every turn would raise their voice to seize your attention. Yet every word they spill, every letter that rolls out their tongue, were nothing but vexing phrases.

“Traveler, please help me!”

“Traveler, can you do me a favor?”

You were sick of it.

Your throat releases a sigh from its confines as you shoulder brusquely the wooden door in front of you. A feeling of tranquility often swaddles you upon entering your shared apartment with Wanderer, but right now, the solace you had found was rived from your grasp, leaving you vulnerable to animosity. Your thoughts torment your brain, tears pricking the rim of your eyes. Oh how you’d do anything to stop yourself from feeling this way.

Upon overhearing the door screech, Wanderer glances at the entrance. He caught sight of your silhouette, stumbling on your feet. The corners of his lips shifted upwards, it was amusing how much you were akin to that of a drunk person. He rests his arms around his chest, shoulders slumped against the wall. “Who killed you? You look like a corpse”, he teased.

You didn’t answer, opting to stay quiet. The stillness grew, leaving a lingering sense of unbearable silence hanging in the air.

Wanderer couldn’t help but raise a brow. You were acting most peculiar today. Usually, you would’ve returned his jab, possibly even teasing him back just to watch him squirm and insult you back. Yet you remain rooted in your place, not uttering a single term.

Sensitive to this agonizing dread of not hearing your voice, he decided to approach you. His footsteps were light, his sandals clicking across the floor boards. “You alright?” he asked, looming over you. Despite his imposing figure, he was gentle, almost afraid that he might break you with every word that slips out his mouth. Without warning, your figure clasps its hands around him, leaving the Wanderer stunned. “I’m fine”, was the reply you managed to choke out.

But he knew better. He knew you weren’t fine.

Though how was he supposed to react to this? The Wanderer was never one to deal with emotions. All throughout his life, he channeled all his emotions into a glass bottle before throwing them far away into the depths of his non-existent heart. It wasn’t healthy, he knows that now. It only escalates everything further. He has long abandoned his fervent feelings, and he was just slowly unboxing them again. He doesn’t have any clue as to how one should properly deal with them. But watching you suffer in his arms made him wish he knew. It made him wish he was well versed in the area, that he knew how to help you with your current situation.

With only one card available to play, he decided to gamble his chance. He tried a method that worked for him, a process Nahida does whenever he was emotionally unstable. With a soft sigh, he cards his gloved fingers through your locks. ”You wanna cuddle on the couch… and talk about it?” he asked, a certain softness coating his words. You merely looked up and nodded your head meekly.

Wanderer smiles.

You just want to be comforted.

And he knew that.

He'll make sure you're okay.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfic #scaramouche #genshin scara #scara x reader #scara x y/n #scaramouche x reader #gender nuetral reader #genshin x reader #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer #wanderer x y/n #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact wanderer #scaramouche fanfic #wanderer fanfic #scara fanfic

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makethatelevenrings · 11 months

Text

Contaminated // D. Grayson x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY. Minors get BACK. Go yearn for the mines awaY FROM HERE. Emotions! Sex pollen but it’s enthusiastic consent. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Three months ago, Dick Grayson told you he didn’t love you anymore and walked out the door. Tonight, you found yourself the unwitting victim of a Poison Ivy attack that forces Dick Grayson to end up on your doorstep once again. Will he help or will he leave once again?

Your hands shook as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Your skin prickled as the fabric of your hoodie scraped against the sensitive skin of your arms. A desperate whimper escaped your lips at the way your very cells seemed to burn with the strength of a thousand suns.

Somehow you got your mind straight long enough to lock the door behind you before you stumbled towards your bedroom. You kicked off your shoes as you went and your hoodie soon followed. Fuck, it wasn’t enough. Everything was hot but at the same time, you felt sweaty and chilled like you had a fever.

Something was wrong.

Grabbing your phone, you fought against the blurring of your vision in order to locate the contact you needed. You knew she would pick up the phone in seconds because she was glued to her tech everyday.

“What’s up, babes?” Barbara answered after the first ring. “If you’re calling to reschedule brunch, I have terrible news for you. I won’t allow you to skip out aga-”

“Babs,” you rasped. “Something’s wrong.”

The cheery tone fell from the redhead’s voice in seconds and you heard her start typing on her keyboard. “Where are you?”

“Home. I was walking home from work when Ivy attacked the park and I think I inhaled some of the spores. I don’t…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Barbara swore under her breath. “The closest person to you is Nightwing.”

Your heart dropped. No. Not him. “Who else?”

“Everyone else is busy. I’m sorry, but I’m sending him.”

Your stomach cramped painfully, nearly knocking you to your knees, and you let out a groan. “Okay, okay. Fuck it. Fine.”

“We’re going to help you. I promise. I have to go handle something right now, but I’ll make sure I check on you.”

“Thanks, Babs.” Your breath escaped you in short pants, like a dog in heat. Fuck, it was hot in here. You wanted nothing more than to strip off your pants and shirt and lay on the cool tile of your bathroom, but you couldn’t. Not when he was coming over.

Richard Grayson, your ex boyfriend. Richard Grayson, the man who came over one night three months ago and broke up with you on your doorstep. Richard Grayson, the man you had loved for years until your heart shattered with a few words.

“I don’t love you anymore,” he had said. And then he dropped a box of your things on the doorstep and walked out of your life.

Fuck Dick Grayson. Fuck Nightwing. Fuck him and his pretty boy smile. He could go to hell.

“Shit.” As if the mere thought of your ex triggered it, you were suddenly acutely aware of the seam of your pants pressing against the sensitive flesh of your cunt. Shit shit shit, you cannot be horny in front of Dick Grayson. You just needed to keep a level and calm head until he gave you the antidote and then you could send him out on his ass.

Another wave of shaking wracked through your body and you let out a hiss of pain, doubling over until your face met the soft fabric of your comforter. Your body joined you on the mattress and you pulled yourself up until your cheek rested on the cool rayon fabric of the pillow. Curling your knees up towards your chest, you let the shakes consume you and prayed that Dick wasn’t so over you that he refused to come.

As though he heard your thoughts, you heard the window to your living room slide open. The slight screech of the old rubber sides sounded faster than normal and you figured he just wanted to get this over with.

The window shut and footsteps pounded towards the door to your bedroom. Your teeth chattered violently as you shook with this hellish hot/cold state your body had been thrust into. The shaking made it hard for you to lift your head, but you were able to make eye contact with the last man you wanted to see.

“Fuck,” Dick said in greeting. “Babs said Ivy got you, but she didn’t say it was this bad.”

You willed your jaw to stop rattling and shrugged. “Ran home so I didn’t pass out on the sidewalk or something.”

He stripped off his glove and pressed the back of his hand against your cheek. Shit. Oh fuck. Just the feel of his skin against yours was euphoric. A small mewl escaped you and your back arched in some desperate attempt to get closer to him. Dick ripped his hand away, a panicked look flitting across his masked face.

“Damnit Ivy,” he snarled.

“Am I dying?” It certainly felt like it. Your skin prickled painfully at the loss of contact and you tried to hold back the burn of tears that grew in your eyes.

“No, you’re not dying.” His hand drifted up to his ear where you knew a comms device rested. “Ivy hit her with sex pollen.”

A startled, albeit bitter, laugh escaped you and you shook your head. Of fucking course. Sex pollen meant you would have to wait for the antidote and get progressively hornier and in more pain. Or you could get off…

On autopilot, your hand drifted down to the waistband of your pants but the small part of your brain still in control screamed at you to stop. Tearing your hand away, you inhaled deeply and pressed your face further into the pillow. Not when he’s here.

“Just go get the antidote and I’ll suffer for a bit,” you snapped.

Dick barked out a sardonic laugh. “Do you really think I’m going to leave you like this?” Oh, the irony. If you weren’t burning up, you would laugh in his face and tell him to get the fuck out. All you could manage was glaring at him from your fetal position.

“I thought leaving was your specialty,” you hissed, venom lacing your tone. Your barb made a direct hit because his trained impassive face crumpled for a brief second. The cool drag of a tear along your cheek made you aware of the rising heat in your face and you brushed the tear away.

“Fuck you Richard Grayson. I know you don’t want to be here so you can go. I’ll just wait until someone can bring me the antidote.”

“You’re in pain,” he said barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, well, as if you care. I’ll just call Wally or Kaldur. Hell, I’ll call up Jason. I’m sure he won’t mind helping.”

“Stop,” he growled. “You won’t call anyone. I’m here. I’ll help you.”

Despite the aching weakness in your bones, you pushed up off the mattress so you could face him fully. Your arms trembled with exertion, but somehow you held yourself up.

“You left me. I don’t know what I did to make you hate me or whatever, but you left me and so you don’t have a right to be concerned. So do what you do best, Dick, and leave.” You were impressed by the way your voice stayed firm despite the tears streaming down your face. You were bracing yourself to see him walk out once more, leaving you in pain, both emotional and physical this time.

He turned away, showing you the kevlar spandex weave of his suit on full display. Just a few more steps and he would be out the window and out of your life again. Your breath caught in your throat, the pain surging through your veins. You whimpered and started to slowly lower yourself back down, but two strong hands settled on your shoulder and waist. Dick curled himself around you as if he could protect you from the fire licking at your insides. You shuddered at the firm pressure of his hands on you and in the moment of clarity, raised your chin to meet his gaze.

He had taken the mask off.

“It hurts,” you whispered.

His head lowered and he inhaled deeply before speaking once more. “I can’t, baby. You’re not thinking straight.”

Clasping your hands against his cheeks, you drew his head up and leveled him with a look. “Please, Dick. Make the pain go away.”

You had missed the taste of him. Dick’s hands drifted down to your hips as he slotted his lips against yours and pushed you back to lay against the bed. A gasp escaped you and he swallowed it with his tongue that pushed into your mouth. Everything was happening so quickly that it made your head spin in the best way possible. You shuddered as he unbuttoned your pants and slipped his long fingers under the band of your underwear.

“Oh,” you moaned as he brushed the rough pad of his finger along your slit. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the hollow of your throat before nipping at the soft skin of your jaw. Your legs closed instinctively as the toxin mixed with instinctive lust surged through your veins. Dick tutted and tugged at the hem of your shirt. You let him remove it and then he made quick work of your pants and underwear.

And then he stood up, unzipped his suit, and revealed the body you had dreamed about for nights.

Dick wasted no time in scooping you up and settling you between his legs, your back against his chest. One of his hands tugged your knee, pulling your legs apart, as the other drifted down to your soaked pussy.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he purred as you sagged against his chest. Dick nuzzled his nose against your temple as his fingers rubbed in lazy circles over your swollen cunt. Anytime your hips shifted, he made sure to keep you steadily locked in his hold.

“That feel good, baby?” he breathed. You nodded, too blissed out to speak, and he grinned that cocky smile you missed so much. Dick tipped your chin back and pulled you in for a filthy kiss, his tongue searching your mouth and leaving the lingering taste of his peppermint gum on your lips.

Your orgasm rocked through you faster than you expected thanks to the pollen flooding your veins. Legs trembling, you shook and thrashed against Dick as your cunt clenched around empty air. Dick held you tightly against him and continued his ministrations until you were whining about how it was-

“Too much. Ah! Dick, too much.”

“You’re still burning up, baby,” he murmured.

“I need your cock. I need you to fuck me again. I missed the feel of you in me, Dick.”

His tongue trailed along the sweaty line of your neck and your back arched off of his chest as he left along a cool trail. His slick soaked fingers drifted up to rub and pinch your nipples, alternating between both with equal devotion.

“Did you fuck anyone else?” he panted. “Tell me, baby. Did another man make you feel as good as I do?”

“No!” You needed him to fill you. You would combust if his long cock didn’t enter you in the next five seconds. You struggled against his grip in an attempt to flip yourself over and ride him, but Dick was too strong.

“No,” you gasped. “I touched myself and thought of you. No other man could satisfy me.”

As though you were a delicate package, he cradled your head as he slid you down onto the mattress and slotted himself between your spread thighs.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, princess.”

Any retort left you as your mouth dropped open. Three months without him had made you forget how fully he consumed you. Your folds parted as he split you open with his shaft, whimpers and pants escaping him as he slowly and surely slid into your waiting body. He hefted your legs up and you wrapped them around his waist as he finally bottomed out.

“I missed you,” he murmured.

You, your traitorous mind echoed. Not this. You.

No. This was just his way of helping you.

A throaty groan tore past your lips as he pulled out, the veins of his cock dragging against your walls, and then pushed back in. Your eyes rolled back as he brushed against your g-spot. He was more than just his name, not by much. Dick Grayson laid pipe like he was a union plumber going on forty-five years.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Grayson.”

He yanked his hips back and drilled into your cunt. You clawed at his back as he started to jackhammer into you. The fever was slowly abating as your second orgasm built. You lifted your hands to play with your own tits but he batted them away. Dick ducked his head down and enveloped your right nipple in his mouth, sucking and licking at the soft skin there. The constant stimulation adding to the electricity surging through your veins and you threw your head back. Dick let go of your breast with a soft pop and he stroked your cheek, dragging your attention back to him.

“Look at that, princess. Look at how well you take me,” he said. You nodded dumbly at his words and he forced your head up. Your gaze fixed on the way his cock slid in and out of you and, coupled with the feeling of him inside of you, had your second orgasm crashing over you like a wave.

“That’s it. There’s my good girl. You were made to take me. I missed fucking this pretty pussy. I. missed. you.” He punctuated the last three words with deep thrusts before he pulled out and let his cum streak along your tits. Dick’s chest heaved with exertion but he reached up and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and then to your cheeks.

“How…how is it?” you asked.

He scooted back a bit and leaned forward so he was bracketing your hips. “You like doggy style, right?”

A pounding headache and a dry mouth was your morning gift. The warmth of the sun touched your cheeks gently and you relaxed when you realized you were no longer sweating buckets and burning up.

But a heavy, warm presence was still in your bed.

You slowly turned over to face Dick who was already awake. He reached up and checked your temperature again before offering you a wry smile. “Fever broke. You passed out around orgasm number six. I got you some water and snacks and you’ll need to take a shower. I can start the laundry once you’re in the shower. I’ll wait to leave until you’re feeling alright. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart ached at the tenderness of his words. This was the man who practically launched himself off the couch to get you a bandaid after you gave yourself a papercut while reading a book. This was the man who kept your favorite coffee and tea stocked at his place. This was the man who walked out on you and told you that he didn’t love you anymore.

“Dick…” Your soft voice stopped him from climbing out of the bed. He settled in next to you, the thin sheet pooling at his waist and revealing his well-muscled torso.

“I left because they put a hit on your head,” he said. Warm breath washed over your face and you shivered at the contact. His azure eyes searched your face before he continued.

“I couldn’t risk losing you. Permanently. I’ve buried too many people, baby, and I refuse to lose you until you’re old and gray.”

“No one knows I’m connected to Nightwing,” you whispered.

“No, but they know you were connected to Dick Grayson. There are a lot of people that aren’t happy about what I’ve been doing to help Bludhaven. I’ve made enemies and they knew exactly where to target.”

“But Nightwing stopped them, right?”

His full lips lifted at the corners, amused at your unfailing trust in him, and he nodded. “Destroyed their entire operation.”

“So there was no threat.”

His eyes softened and he reached up to touch your cheek. “Being with me puts you at risk. Always.”

“I never felt as safe as I did with you. Last night, you helped me because you would never let anything hurt me. Right? You’ll never let anyone hurt me.”

He moved in close and pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips drifted down to lay a kiss to each eyelid, cheek, your nose, chin, and finally landing on your lips. This wasn’t the rushed, burning kisses from the night before.

This was soft and gentle and, underneath the veneer of sweetness, it was an apology.

“I’ll go get the shower started so it’s warm,” he murmured once he pulled away. “And I’ll cook breakfast while you’re getting clean.”

“And we’ll talk?”

He smiled. Not the fake media smile he perfected years ago. Not the confident, cocky grin he gave his teammates. It was the smile only you saw. The soft, tender curve of his lips as his vulnerability shone through.

“Yeah.” His fingers interlaced with yours. “We’ll talk.”

Tag List: @someoneimsure @perpetual-fangirl900 @visagebrise @cursedandromedablack @alexxavicry @the-wayward-daughter @raging-trash-of-mind @bunny-kawa @khaylin27

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing smut #nightwing #dick grayson smut

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worth-the-chaos · 4 months

Text

Adventures in Babysitting - Steve Harrington x female!reader - Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: With the events of last fall in the past, you attempt to move on, still working on your academics and babysitting Dustin. You and Steve have drifted since your encounter with the otherworldly, but he begins to make more active efforts to talk to you, making sure you have an invite to Tina’s big Halloween party.

Content Warning: swearing, stancy, reference to upside down stuff, billy being an ass, college application stress, drinking, anxiety and trauma

Word Count: 6.3k

Author’s Note: Again, I’m trying to follow a lot of the plot lines of the series for this x reader, so a lot of it is probably a bit familiar! This part follows the reader’s involvement through Halloween, when things begin to turn sour again.

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Next Part

***

You took a deep breath as you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Half-dressed for the day, your eyes couldn’t help but focus on the scars that littered your upper arm, remembering when they used to be deep gashes.

It had been about a year since you stood in the Byers’ house fighting for your life against the horrifying entity from what the kids elected to call the Upside Down. Though your physical wounds had healed, the emotional ones still lingered. Every once in a while, fear invaded your consciousness as you thought back to the flashing lights and the low growl resonating through the small family room. Sometimes when you closed your eyes, you could still see the rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, inching closer and closer to your face.

It was paralyzing, but you shoved those thoughts and feelings aside as you threw a long sleeve shirt on, covering the physical evidence of your fight against the supernatural. Stop thinking about that, you reminded yourself, it’s all over now.

The walk to Hawkins High wasn’t terribly long, though you did still wish you were fortunate enough to afford a vehicle of your own. Once you finally reached the parking lot, a car honk drew you from your thoughts and you were met with the familiar face of the one and only Steve Harrington as he smiled and waved from the driver’s seat. Sat next to him was Nancy Wheeler. Steve’s talk with her in the hospital evidently had been successful because they’d been back together since then, coming up on their first anniversary. You found it difficult to be happy for the couple, but you pushed the jealousy down in your chest and did a small wave back, a half smile on your face. Nancy didn’t respond with the same enthusiasm as Steve, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

The window suddenly rolled down and Steve called out, “Hey y/n! I’ll see you in study hall! I have a question for you!”

“Okay…? See you then, I guess,” you responded, a bit surprised. Since last year, Steve had rethought his life choices. He wasn’t the same douchebag he’d been when he broke Jonathan’s camera and called Nancy a slut. He dropped Tommy H and Carol, started focusing a bit more on school, and was generally a lot nicer than he used to be. However, despite the way you both risked your lives together, blindsided by the paranormal darkness lurking in Hawkins, you both kind of fell out of touch.

He had Nancy and you had…well, you had your studies. And your babysitting gig. One year strong babysitting the Henderson kid, and only one apocalyptic encounter. Needless to say, you were doing pretty damn good.

Suddenly, the sound of tires screeching on the pavement drew the focus of the three of you away from the semi-awkward encounter, watching as a car with California plates peeled into the parking lot. A boy you didn’t recognize stepped out of the car, flicking his cigarette behind him. A young girl emerged from the passenger seat, turning and making her way down the hill in the direction of Hawkins Middle.

You scoffed, being the impeccable babysitter that you were. Was this guy really too lazy to drop his kid sister off at her school that was less than a block away?

He swung his car door shut and paused, looking you up and down before sending a wink and smirk your direction and turning to make his way into the high school. Your hands gripped your backpack straps a little tighter, feeling like an object to be used or consumed under his gaze. You didn’t have a good feeling about this boy, and something told you that Hawkins High had found its replacement for the King Steve that disappeared when Harrington wisened up last year.

“Who is that guy?” You suddenly heard Steve’s voice ask, annoyance painted on his face. He wasn’t too thrilled with the way he had looked at you. Steve knew the type of guy he was; the type that wouldn’t take no for an answer, and in that moment despite the countless girls drooling over his dumbass mullet, he had zeroed in on you.

“Must be new,” you responded, forcing a smile in an attempt to demonstrate that the mystery boy’s actions hadn’t fazed you. You fought an otherworldly entity; surely you could handle some asshole jock. In a way, you already had, and look how that turned out.

“The two of you should steer clear of him. He’s bad news,” Steve warned. Nancy and you didn’t argue, nodding before you took off to enter the building so you wouldn’t be late for first period.

By the time you were on your way to third period study hall, you had already spent the morning contemplating what Steve could possibly have to ask you. It was your junior year, his senior, and while you were taking it for the extra study time, he was taking it to avoid coursework from one more class, largely using it as a time to take a school sanctioned nap. As such, normally you didn’t interact much during the one hour break from boring lectures and busy work.

“Hey,” Steve whispered as he slid into the chair next to you, a stark juxtaposition to the way he slammed his textbooks on the desk, causing you to jump.

“What? Not taking your spot in the back corner so you can sleep without Mrs. Reed giving you shit?” You asked, staring up at him innocently.

“Actually, I was thinking I could get us out of here for the hour.”

“And how do you suppose that’s going to happen?”

“I’ll put on the old Harrington charm…just watch,” he smirked as he stood up, grabbing you by the elbow to drag you to the teacher’s desk. Mrs. Reed was not the type of person to mess with. She wore her hair up in a slicked back bun that meant business, wearing a scowl like it was an accessory. You seriously doubted the “Harrington charm” was going to do shit to get you out of that classroom.

She glared at the boy through her thin wire glasses, clearly not in the mood for his shenanigans. “Is there a problem?” She droned out, her expression fixing further into annoyance, if that was even possible.

“Actually, Mrs. Reed, I’m afraid there is,” he started, “you see, y/n here was just telling me about how she has this big presentation in her fourth hour class, and she was really hoping for an opportunity to practice. Is there any possible way you’d be so gracious as to let us utilize one of the study rooms in the library? I mean, we can’t go letting Hawkins’ star pupil do anything less than ace this thing, am I right?”

He shook you by your shoulders a bit at the end, and even though the compliment was nothing more than a lie, you still flushed under the praise. It wasn’t everyday that you got complimented in front of your entire study hall class by the most popular student in the school.

“Is that so, y/n?” She turned to you.

“You know me and my nerves, Mrs. Reed; I could really use the help. And besides, Steve is probably about the most rowdy audience I could possibly have, so presenting after this will be a piece of cake,” you pasted a smile on your face. You felt bad lying to her; she’d been a pretty decent English teacher your sophomore year.

“Fine. Don’t worry about coming back before the end of the hour. I know I can trust you to keep Harrington in line,” she answered, glaring at Steve before turning back to the work on her desk, done with the bullshit of high school students; the good ones and the bad ones alike.

You both quickly thanked her before Steve grabbed both of your backpacks and you headed out the door.

“Okay, if I’m going to be completely honest, I was about 85% sure that wasn’t going to work. Mrs. Reed fucking hates me…like a lot,” Steve breathed out as he tossed you your bag, his cocky facade finally dissipating as he continued down the hall.

“This better be a good fucking question, Steve,” you grumbled, not happy about the lie he forced you into, “what am I supposed to do if she asks me about my presentation? What am I supposed to do if she talks to Mr. Hayes?”

“Woah, woah, woah, cool your jets,” he rolled his eyes, “Mrs. Reed is probably a year or two away from retirement and barely even cares about the shit she’s teaching, so I think you’re going to be fine.”

You entered the library, quickly moving to one of the study rooms. You tossed your bag on the floor, already tired from the day and not fully emotionally prepared to spend an hour one on one with Steve.

“Alright, what’s the deal?” You asked as you sat in one of the chairs, crossing your arms as your face fixed into a glare.

“Well, first of all, here,” he shoved an obnoxiously orange flyer at you. You grabbed it a bit aggressively, still not super happy with the boy in front of you. He had a dorky-ass grin on his face though, and it almost broke the cold exterior you were trying to keep up….almost.

“‘Tina’s Halloween Bash, come and get sheet faced,’ are you kidding me? This is what we’re skipping study hall for? Dude, I have an AP chem test this week that I really needed to study for,” you whined, shoving the flyer back at him.

“No, of course this isn’t the reason we’re skipping. I may be dumb, but I’m not an idiot,” he said as he shoved the flyer back at you, “It’s just…I know you never go out, a-and—and it’s Halloween! You can’t stay in on Halloween! Plus, Nancy and I are going to be there, so it’ll be fun, I swear it.”

He leaned across the table, the elbow of his right arm settling right in the middle as he reached his hand towards you. Your focus shifted to his extended pinky. You looked at him incredulously as he waggled it a few times, looking at you with his big brown puppy dog eyes. This boy was going to be the death of you, but you wrapped your small pinky around his anyway.

“I’ll consider it. That’s the best you’re getting.”

“You know what, I’ll take it. Which brings me to my next topic, and pretty much the entire reason for this in the first place, which is that Nancy thinks my application essay sucks and I really need some fucking help,” Steve leaned back while he ran his hands down his face.

You felt a pang in your heart because you knew how stressful this all probably was for the boy. You’d been smart and planned accordingly, so getting into colleges wasn’t the part that was stressing you out; it was the finances that did. Steve on the other hand had screwed around for two and a half years and now somehow needed to manage turning things around enough so that he had even a fighting chance.

“Just give it to me,” you sighed and he quickly handed over the essay he had written.

Steve watched your eyes scan the page as you read the words that he had spent the last week writing. He was a bit embarrassed, to say the least; he had taken one English class with you last semester and knew that he didn’t even write half as well as you did. Hell, Nancy didn’t even come close and her writing was really, really good.

“You…you compared winning a basketball game to your grandfather fighting in the war?” You asked incredulously.

“…yeah?”

“Steve.”

“I know, I know! It’s bad, but that’s why I need your help! I was gonna have Nancy help me but we have this thing tonight and I can’t miss it and—“

You cut him off. “Steve, stop talking. I can help you…but I think you’re going to have to rewrite this whole thing.”

Steve hung his head and buried his face in his hands. Of course I’m gonna have to rewrite the damn thing because it can never just be fucking easy. He felt your hands pull on his wrist and he looked up, finding you staring at him sweetly. A bit pitying, but it was still sweet. With that, some of his anger subsided and he took a deep breath.

“You just need to find something more meaningful to you. I mean, I can tell your heart really isn’t in this. Besides, sometimes the best essays are about the things you’ve lost, not the things you’ve won.”

Steve thought about this. He lived a pretty privileged life. He didn’t want for anything, his future was pretty much set so long as he took the job at his dad’s company, he had the girl, the car, the hair, etc. Sure, his parents kind of really, really sucked but that was small potatoes compared to all of the things he had easy. It was hard to think of something he really, truly lost.

He almost had lost you.

His thoughts flashed to the demogorgon, the way his heart stopped and instinct took over as he had swung the bat with all his might to get the damn thing away from you. He pushed the thought away and suddenly he wasn’t interested in working on this essay anymore.

“You know what? You’re right. I’m gonna need some time to brainstorm some things to write about, but in the meantime, how about we focus on that AP chem test, huh? I mean, there’s no way you don’t have color-coded flash cards and all that jazz”

“Steve, you really don’t have to. I’m sure you have a lot better things to do than to help me cram for some dumb test.”

“Hey, first of all, if it’s important to you, it’s not dumb. Secondly, I might be a shit learner, but I’m a pretty damn good quizzer, so hand ‘em over,” he motioned for you to hand him your index cards as you sheepishly pulled them out of your backpack in their color-coded glory.

“How could I have possibly known?” He feigned surprise.

“Shut up, Harrington.”

***

When all was said and done, you felt moderately better about your AP chem test. Steve wasn’t lying when he said he was a good quizzer; by now, you had every word on every one of those damn cards memorized. During your walk to the Henderson household, you pulled the bright orange flyer out of your pocket. You couldn’t help but smile thinking back to Steve inviting you. He wanted you to be there.

“Y/n!” Dustin drew you out of your thoughts as you quickly shoved the flyer back into your back pocket. The middle school and the high school let out at the same time. He wasn’t far behind you, sat atop his bike as he hopped off and walked with it next to him so he could talk to you.

“You can ride your bike home. I seriously doubt you can get into any serious sort of trouble in the five minutes it takes me to catch up,” you reminded him, though you weren’t entirely sure that was true; in fact, the boy was such a problem sometimes that you considered upping your rate to charge his mom for hazard pay.

“First off, I think you underestimate how much faster I can get home on my bike than you can on foot. Secondly, what was that you just put in your pocket?”

“It-It’s nothing,” you said maybe a little too quickly as your face heated up.

“Bullshit. Spill.”

You sighed. “It’s just some stupid flyer for a big Halloween party. Nothing that concerns you, unless you somehow age several years in the next few days and are suddenly eligible to attend,” you joked, sarcasm lacing your tone as you tried to gather your bearings and act more casual. He didn’t need to know that, to you, it was more than just some Halloween party; it was a Halloween party that Steve Harrington had invited you to.

“You don’t go to parties though,” Dustin was quick to remind you. He was right. Sure, early on in high school you’d been invited to a few, but after you continued to decline, people stopped reaching out.

“Well…there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?” you muttered.

“Are you gonna dress up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who invited you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Was it a guy?”

“No!”

“So it was a guy!” Dustin exclaimed. You rolled your eyes and jogged ahead, trying to put some distance between you and the incessant questioning of the boy you had the great misfortune of babysitting.

“Your silence is incriminating!” He shouted after you, unable to run very gracefully while attempting to guide a bike around.

You shook your head and sighed. Could babysitting Henderson ever be easy?

***

You walked towards Tina’s house feeling more than just stupid. You didn’t even know Tina super well outside of her always bumming notes off of you when she missed fifth period French. After your conversation with Dustin, you began considering the many elements of a Halloween party that had slipped your mind when you pinky promised Steve you’d go. You hadn’t thought about a costume because, frankly, you hadn’t initially been planning on doing anything for Halloween; it was just going to be another Wednesday for you.

As such, you had decided not to dress up, instead opting to pick apart your closet to find clothes that would maybe scream “party,” settling on your favorite pair of jeans, a low cut black tank top, and a denim jacket. So, yeah, you weren’t in costume, but at least your tits had kind of showed up to the party, so you decided that was good enough.

The mess of bodies dancing at different levels of sobriety made it difficult to navigate the front lawn and you hoped with all your might that Steve and Nancy were already there. You got closer to the front door when you heard the headache inducing sounds of high school testosterone as a bunch of the douchebags from Hawkins High hyped up Mr. California for doing an absurdly long keg stand.

Gee. Great.

As you reached to grasp the doorknob to let yourself into the party, a hand from behind you slammed the door back shut just as soon as you had opened it. You were met eye to eye with the mullet headed, leather jacket wearing douchebag himself. Something was off about this boy (besides the fact that he was unbelievably hammered), and you thought back to Steve’s warning to stay away.

“Hey,” he slurred as he looked you up and down, his eyes pausing longer than they should’ve when they reached your chest. You felt small under his hungry gaze, but you refused to allow yourself to visibly shrink so you straightened your posture and forced your chin up as you looked him in the eye.

“Excuse you,” you muttered as you tried to pull on the door handle again. Obviously it didn’t budge, and he laughed at your attempt. You scowled as you met his eyes again. “What’s your deal, man?”

“The name’s Billy. Billy Hargrove,” he shot you a smirk that screamed trouble as he extended his hand towards you, offering up a handshake.

What a total ass. Fortunately though, he was cocky enough to think that striking up a conversation would cause you to stay, removing his hand from the door, so you took the opportunity to maneuver past him, opening the door and slipping inside.

“Frankly, I don’t give a shit,” you added before slamming the door in his face. You saw the look of shock flash across his features before he disappeared from view and you couldn’t help but feel good about it. The feeling quickly dissipated though as you attempted to weave around the living room, nearly tripping as you made your way into the kitchen where you met Nancy.

“What’s in this?” She was asking a guy in a toga. You recognized him from your second period class, but you didn’t know his name.

“Pure fuel! Pure fuel! Whoo!” He shouted back at her, and you realized you were perfectly fine not getting to know him.

“Well, with that ringing endorsement, we’d be dumb not to have a little, right?” You chuckled and Nancy spun around at the sound of your voice.

“Y/n, you made it,” she said, smile not really touching her eyes, “Steve wasn’t sure you were going to show.” Both of you dipped red solo cups into the questionable mixture, filling them up with the red mix of booze and punch.

“Yep, here I am. In the flesh,” you laughed again, trying to dispel the awkward energy. Something about her seemed off; normally she would be much more friendly. You hoped that you hadn’t done anything to upset her. “Nancy, is everything okay?” You asked quietly as you gently grabbed her wrist.

“I’m fine,” she replied as her jaw set and her tone told you not to push the question. You let go of her wrist and nodded, letting her know that you were going to let it go for now. Her body relaxed and you lifted up your cup toward her.

“Cheers?” You asked with a half smile on your face. This earned you a small smile from the girl as she brought her cup up to tap yours. You smiled and both of you brought your cups to your lips, you taking a small sip while she threw her head back and downed the whole glass.

“Hey! Woah, woah, woah, take it easy! Nance!” Steve was suddenly beside you, reaching across you to try and grab the cup out of her hand.

“We’re just being stupid teenagers for the night. Wasn’t that the deal?” She glared at him before downing more punch, wiping away the bit that spilled onto her face, and shoving her way into the crowd to dance.

Steve’s expression fell a bit as he watched her leave, but his focus shifted to you. “Sorry about that. She’s just…in a bit of a mood today,” he apologized and shook his head, “but I’m so glad you’re here! I mean, I was pretty sure you were gonna bail on me considering I know for a fact that you were invited to some of my house parties last year and you didn’t show.”

“How dare I, right?” You rolled your eyes and chuckled. It’s true. You had been invited to his parties, especially after your encounter with the demogorgon had brought the two of you together in a weird but irreversible way. You would always have that experience, but you weren’t interested in changing for him. Besides, he was never the one to personally extend the invitation, instead you heard about it from someone else every time.

“You aren’t in costume.”

“Way to point out the obvious,” you retorted, finishing your first cup of punch. Steve shot you a look, clearly not trusting that you knew your limits with alcohol. “You’re joking, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it seems a bit hypocritical for the king of parties himself to be judgmental about someone else’s drinking habits.”  “Well, it’s exactly that. I don’t get the impression that you have drinking habits, and if it’s your first time drinking, you should watch yourself, you know? Can’t fault me for looking out for a friend,” he added and you bristled a bit at that last word. Friend.

“Y/n, what?” He asked, noticing your reaction. You sighed before responding, not really sure how this conversation was going to go.

“So…we’re friends now?” You asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

Steve was taken aback, clearly confused by your confusion. “What do you mean? Of course we’re friends! Y/n, we went through so much together last year, I mean, did you really think I was just gonna drop you like all that shit didn’t matter?”

“You kind of did. It’s not like we hang out or really talk or anything remotely close to what friends would do. We’re just two people who know each other a little bit better than we did. I wouldn’t necessarily call that ‘being friends’,” you responded, putting air quotes around the final words. You hoped that your statement didn’t hurt him. It was the truth though. Your shoulders tensed as you awaited his response.

“You know what? You’re right y/n, and I’m sorry. I should’ve done more to keep in touch, and I’m not going to make any excuses. So let’s just start over, okay?” He asked, his big brown eyes staring into yours.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you nodded, not trusting that your voice wouldn’t fail you.

“Alright, perfect,” he smiled, and suddenly he extended his hand towards you, “hey, I’m Steve. I don’t know you but you seem pretty tough, and like you might have some killer fighting instincts, so I thought we could be friends.”

You laughed. Like really laughed, and Steve was beaming. You wiped away a tear that slipped from your eye as you took a breath to regain your composure. It was all so absurd and perfect and so incredibly Steve that you couldn’t help but accept his offer. You willed your palms not to sweat as you grabbed his hand and shook it, “Well, I’m y/n, and yeah, you’re right; I do have some pretty kick-ass instincts, but I can’t promise it will keep you out of trouble.”

“That’s okay because I’ve got some pretty kick-ass moves myself, so I think we’ve got it covered,” he added, smiling at you. He let go of your hand before saying “well, Nancy’s probably halfway to being shit faced, so we should probably go party it up with her while her memory’s still intact.”

You nodded as you turned to exit the kitchen, Steve placing a hand on your back as he guided you through the mess of people dancing to get to Nancy. It was fun to let loose and dance, and you wondered why you hadn’t let yourself party like this before. It felt freeing, and you felt the slight buzz from the drinks that you’d had as you let your body move to the music that was almost too loud to hear yourself think.

Suddenly, you felt hands around your waist, and you instantly sobered up, remembering a big part of why you didn’t like parties: asshole guys who were just looking for a quick hook up.

“Hey!” You shouted as you turned around, eyes met with the same piercing blue ones from earlier.

“Woah, no need to get all angry, baby. I gotta say it’s pretty hot though,” Billy chuckled as he moved his hands to grab at your waist again. You maneuvered away from his grasp, swatting his hands away.

“Can’t you tell I’m not fucking interested,” you replied.

“Baby, come on—“

You cut him off, “I’m not your fucking baby.”

“No need to be a bitch about it, come on. Can’t have a little fun?”

“She said she’s not interested, dude. Leave her alone,” Steve spoke up, having realized the position you were in. He moved to stand between the two of you, pulling you by the wrist behind him. Nancy was pretty wasted but aware enough to act, as she took your hand and pulled you farther away, weaving through the crowd to create some distance.

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware that you had two girlfriends, Harrington. I mean, I’m shocked you even have the one to begin with,” Billy retorted, taking a step towards Steve.

Steve stood his ground, knowing it wasn’t worth it to get heated over Billy’s comments. Billy just wanted to get a rise out of him and Steve wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction.

“I’m just looking out for a girl that needs help. If you’re not going to listen to her maybe you’ll listen to a guy, okay? So walk away.”

“Whatever, Harrington,” Billy replied as he shoved Steve in the shoulder and turned around to walk away. Tommy H was hot on his heels, a mindless dummy and fair weather fan to whoever he deemed to be top dog at any given moment.

“Y/n, are you alright?” Steve caught up with you and Nancy.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Ugh, I just hate assholes, like come on!” You exclaimed, hugging your arms around yourself in an attempt to be self-soothing.

Steve opened his mouth to apologize when he realized Nancy was going back to the punch bowl. He quickly pivoted, following her into the kitchen. “Nancy, no, you’ve had enough, okay?” He said as he tried to grab the cup out of her hand again like he had earlier.

“Screw you,” she slurred, pulling her hand out of his reach and dunking her cup in the bowl.

“No, Nancy, I’m serious! Stop…Nance, put it down,” he warned, grabbing at the cup again. Nancy continued to protest, and Steve continued to fight it until he lost his grip on the cup and its bright red contents went spilling onto Nancy’s pristine white shirt. An audible gasp rang out through the party as those in the near vicinity stopped their dancing to gawk at Hawkins’ power couple’s power struggle.

“What the hell?” Nancy whispered as she stormed out of the room, and Steve pushed past you to follow, yelling after her. And just like that, you were alone. Without Steve and Nancy’s presence to calm you down, you felt your anxiety rise in your throat. You scanned the crowd, trying to find anyone that you knew moderately well enough to crash their group, and when you found no one, you cursed yourself for being such a loner. That was until your eyes met Jonathan Byers’, dressed equally un-festively, and you sighed a huge sigh of relief.

“Jonathan!” You shouted over the music, making your way over to him. Clearly he had seen what just transpired between Nancy and Steve, eyes darting back to focus on the hallway they’d disappeared down.

“Hey, y/n. What just happened?”

“Nancy’s pretty wasted and Steve was trying to cut her off and he spilled her drink on her. They’re probably in the bathroom trying to clean it up, though I doubt it’ll do any good. That punch is definitely going to stain.”

You didn’t know Jonathan super well, but you resonated with him. Both of you were more inclined to keep to yourselves, but via absurd and inter-dimensional means, ended up intertwined in the lives of your high school’s most popular couple. You saw the way he looked at Nancy when they talked, and it wasn’t dissimilar to how you looked at Steve; wanting for something that you couldn’t have but settling for what you did.

The two of you found a quiet corner and continued to make small talk, catching up on each other’s lives since you didn’t talk much. Jonathan told you about how Will was struggling, still visiting Hawkins’ Lab for appointments in an attempt to sort out his PTSD.

“The doctor says it’s some anniversary effect, and how since we’re coming up on a year, he’s just more on edge than usual. He’s been having these episodes though.”

“Episodes?”

“Yeah, they’re kind of like these waking nightmares I guess. He’s still scared out of his mind, y/n,” Jonathan explained, and you saw the pain in his expression. Your heart ached and you felt a lump in your throat as you thought about the way the poor kid was struggling. You wished you could just make it all go away, that you could erase it ever happening in the first place.

“And you trust this guy? The doctor I mean?” You asked hesitantly.

“He seems like a good guy. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like he’s being completely transparent. I guess I’m on edge too. It just seems like everyone’s bracing for something else to happen,” Jonathan added, and you felt the tension in your shoulders as he said it.

Suddenly, Steve stormed through the family room, Nancy noticeably absent. He quickly maneuvered through the crowd, reaching the front door and slamming it shut behind him.

You looked at Jonathan. “Divide and conquer?” You asked, knowing that the two of you were going to have to pick up the pieces of whatever had happened between the two of them. Jonathan quickly nodded, as you dropped your prior conversation. “Okay, I don’t have a car and Nancy’s not in a state to walk home, so you take care of her and I’ll handle Steve,” you added as you started walking backwards to make your way towards the door.

“Are you sure? He seems pretty mad.”

“I’ve handled worse!” You shouted back as you turned and swiftly made it out the door. Your eyes scanned the front lawn, still littered with people, but they quickly found the brown mop of hair that you had become familiar with just as he was reaching his car.

“Steve!” You shouted, but he ignored you, fumbling with his keys as he tried to unlock the door. By the time he finally managed to get it unlocked and opened, you had grabbed the side of the door so he couldn’t close it and drive off.

“Y/n, just leave me alone, okay? I’m seriously not in the mood,” he warned, his head hung as he tried desperately to avoid eye contact with you. His voice wavered a bit and you could tell by his body language that he was pretty upset.

“No, I’m not going to leave you alone; you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Then get in the car because I’m not fucking staying here,” he sighed and you hesitated before moving around to the passenger seat.

“What happened?” You gently asked as he began to pull away from Tina’s house, the night that you had all been anticipating clearly ending in disaster.

“Oh, you know, just Nancy saying that our relationship is pretty much complete and utter bullshit which is what every guy wants to hear from the woman that he loves,” he replied. His announcement of his love for Nancy stung, but you pushed it aside; this wasn’t about your feelings.

“What do you mean? What’s going on? You guys always seem so happy together,” you were honestly pretty shocked. They were the perfect couple; the kind of people who would end up high school sweethearts and the talk of every high school reunion. It couldn’t possibly all be bullshit.

“The Hollands are selling their house to pay some private investigator to find Barb.”

Oh.

Your stomach dropped and suddenly your body seemed to remember the alcohol you had consumed.

“Steve, stop the car.”

“Woah, woah, woah, what’s going on? Are you—“

You cut him off, shouting “just stop the damn car! Now!” The car screeched to a halt as he slammed his foot on the brake pedal. You quickly opened the door, retching onto the desolate backroad that you were currently on. Steve rubbed big circles across your back as your stomach emptied its contents. When you were done, you shut the door, tears running down your face.

“I’m so sorry, Steve. Sometimes I just forget about all of it; push it all away because I’m not ready to handle it and I just think about what it was like to be face to face with th-that—that thing and I can’t imagine what Barb’s final moments were like and I just—“ your sobs cut you off, unable to speak through your horror in contemplating Barb’s death.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay y/n. I’m right here,” Steve reminded you, pulling you into a hug as you buried your face in his neck. He held onto you until you were able to calm down and you pulled away from him.

“I’m sorry. I monopolized your turn being the one in crisis,” you let out a weak laugh, wiping the remaining tears from your eyes as you sniffled.

“No, honestly that was helpful. I think I get where Nancy’s coming from a little better now. Maybe she didn’t really mean all that shit about us, you know?” He rationalized.

“Yeah, maybe,” you replied, your voice small.

“Hey, don’t disappear on me now. We’re handling this crisis together and we’re putting it behind us, okay? So what’s going on?”

“It’s just…I was almost her,” you whispered, looking in horror at Steve.

“What?”

“I was almost Barb. If you hadn’t shown up—“

“Y/n, don’t think like that. You can’t think like that. It’s going to eat away at you. You’re here. I’m here. And we’re okay,” it seemed like he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was trying to convince you. You nodded, not entirely persuaded but ready to be done with the conversation. “Alright, where to?”

“Just mine, you know,” you said quietly, embarrassed that Steve was going to see your house. It was dinky compared to the Harrington residence. You knew he wouldn’t care, but you couldn’t help but feel inferior.

“Sure thing,” he replied as he put the car in drive, as you both attempted to put the evening’s sourness behind you. You chatted and caught up on all of the normal things you’d missed as you’d drifted apart this past year and by the time he reached your house, you felt a little bit better about things.

If only the two of you knew about the danger that was still lurking right under your feet.

***

a/n: I hoped y’all liked this chapter! I’m so excited to continue this story as we unpack all of the upside down nonsense of season 2! I’m new to this whole writing fanfic thing, so if you really liked it, I would be forever grateful if you would be so kind as to reblog it! It really helps it get to other people!

#steve harrington x reader #joe keery #stranger things #netflix #steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington friends to lovers #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington the babysitter #steve the hair harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers

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klausysworld · 6 months

Text

Love is never simple PART 2!!! (Part 1 here)

(I will be changing some things about the original plot, I hope that nobody minds)

After returning home Klaus ordered two of his hybrids to follow and report on Y/n. If she was any good at vampire hunting then he needed to keep a good eye on her. He didn't want her to think she had any kind of upper hand over him.

It was clear to say that he underestimated her.

The second his hybrids set their eyes on her she could sense it. It clicked in her mind immediately that Klaus knew. She had two ways to play: pretend she didn't know or send him a message. She didn't think about it for too long if she were honest, she desperately wanted to behead a hybrid.

It was easy to take them out, they weren't expecting her to be behind them when they followed her round the corner. She called Tyler and yelled t him to get his sorry ass to the street she was on. She them threatened to leave him in a similar state to his fellow mongrels if he didn't do exactly as she said.

That evening, when klaus came home he found both hybrids sat on his bed. Blood covered his bedding, drenching the mattress and staining everything. The hybrids held the others heads in a way that made it seem like it was an offering and it was so psychotically disturbing that Klaus found himself smiling. A laugh left his lips and he pressed his hand to his mouth to quieten himself, unaware that Tyler was messaging Y/n and letting her know of Klaus's reaction.

Klaus changed rooms, not wanting his floors to be stained. The hybrids were burned and he let the others mourn them for a day before getting back to work. He then began to wonder how he should go about Y/n. Clearly she didn't want to be on his side, however he also remembered how she had behaved on the night of homecoming. She had started off being revolted but for a good few minutes she completely forgot what he was. Deep down she was still a just a girl and he could use that to his advantage.

Klaus decided he would try to push her buttons a little. He knew that she had been apart of the reason that Damon and Mikael didn't kill him, this fact made him curious. She didn't want him dead? Or she did but for some reason she needed him alive? He wasn't sure but whatever the reason, she didn't show any warning signs that she was planning his murder. Besides, she wouldn't have sent him his hybrids like that, proof of what she was, if she planned to use it against him. She was smarter than that, he was sure.

He barely slept as he thought of every possibility. He had so many questions that would never be answered and so many theories that would never be proved.

Meanwhile Y/n was sat at her desk, a book in front of her that she had filled out herself. The title?:Niklaus Mikaelson.

She stayed up all night making sure she studied all of his silly little tricks. She found any connections to witches he still had, she needed to make sure he had nobody powerful beside him. She knew that the rest of the originals would be walking around town soon enough and she couldn't have them in contact with witches as well. The whole damn town would be up in flames.

So she set out early, around half 3 in the morning. She sped to get to the desired states, knife in hand and gun hidden just incase she couldn't get close.

Y/n was gone for over week killing off the closest of Klaus's alliances. By the time she returned, Klaus had Tyler bite Caroline and Elena was missing. Damon rang Y/n in a state, telling her that Stefan had her and was threatening to throw her off Wickery bridge.

Y/n had just gotten into town and pulled her car over when she spotted Stefan's car screeching to a stop. Elena's cries could be heard and Stefan's yelling.

Y/n ran over, opening the car door and pulling Elena out into a hug. Elena sobbed into her chest hysterically while Stefan slammed his own door shut.

"Put her back in the car" he demanded, his eyes still void of any emotion. Y/n went to scream at him but Elena was already there "how could you? My parents died on that bridge- I almost died...you know that...you saved me" she whimpered, holding onto Y/n's sleeve like a little child.

Stefan tried to make the argument that this was the only way to get at Klaus. That he had the upper hand and that he wasn't actually going to drive off the bridge but Elena wasn't budging. She begged to know what would have happened if Klaus didn't give in but Stefan didn’t entertain the idea. After letting Elena stand her own for a moment and seeing Stefan so carelessly regard her life, Y/n snapped.

"Elena get in my car" she instructed and Elena fell quiet. She hesitated for a second, but after taking in the expression on her face and knew it was best not to argue. Obediently, she walked to Y/n's car and sat in the passenger seat. She could see Y/n's phone and so rang Damon, warning him that Stefan may turn up bloody and bruised and also crying down the phone over what happened.

She tried her best not to look up when she could hear the muffled yelling and fighting from in from outside.

Y/n had Stefan on his knees, bleeding from the head and stomach, a hand of his 'hero' hair in her grip as she dragged his face up and leant down "Give Klaus those fucking coffins back or I swear to fuck that I will help him destroy you" she threatened but he shook his head with laboured breathing.

"I won't let him win" he panted and she smacked him across the face making his head whip to the side before back to her

"how blind are you Stefan? If this is how you're behaving then he's already won." she whispered, holding his chin tightly. She scoffed lightly when he wouldn't look and her "you're fucking pathetic" she told him. "If you think for one moment that I'm going to let you petrify Elena, torture everyone around you just for some stupid revenge fantasy-"

"He ruined my life, Y/n! He's already destroyed me and I want to watch him hurt" he growled

"why?" she questioned, knowingly

"Because I'm fucking angry Y/n!" he stated and a small smile quirked at her lips. She could work with Stefan if he felt something, his humanity was trying to come back.

"Then you care too" she whispered "you're just not letting yourself feel everything"

"I can't Y/n" he uttered, his eyes watering "If i let myself feel everything- everything I've done...I can't survive that"

"You deserve to feel the pain Stefan. Look around...you need to feel the hurt so that you can move past it." she told him and he looked down. "I give you until tomorrow night to give in before I'm forced to handle this my way" she muttered before placing her hands at his jaw and snapping his neck to the side.

She got into the car and drove Elena and herself to Caroline's. Klaus was just coming out of her house making Elena lower in her seat while Y/n got out the car.

Klaus glanced her up and down, noting the blood she had splattered all over her clothes and the teary doppelgänger in the car. "Caroline's been healed" he told her calmly, keeping his distance.

"I'll be changing the ownership of that house so you can't get in" she warned and he chuckled, watching as she grabbed a white birthday bag from her boot and walking towards Carolines.

He watched her for a moment as she opened the front door, he listened as she gave Caroline a hug and her birthday present before leaving shortly with the promise of seeing her tomorrow. His eyes locked back on hers as soon as she stepped outside

"what?" she barked and he smirked

"nothing, nothing" he claimed and she sighed "I was just wondering whose blood-"

"Stefan's but don't worry, I didn't kill your boyfriend" she mumbled, heading back to her car

"He's not- oh for gods sake" he muttered, following her "Where is he?"

"Hopefully thinking his time over" she opened her door and looked at him once more "You should have you coffins within 48 hours, if you don't...come find me" she told him for sitting down and closing her door. He watched in interest as she pulled out of the drive and Elena began to whisper to her.

Once they got home Y/n told Elena of her and Stefan's conversation and how she hoped that this would bring the Stefan they knew back. Elena looked at Y/n with a soft look

"You think...he could be something less than a monster?" she asked quietly and Y/n swallowed thickly.

"I think...I think he doesn't want to be a monster" she whispered "I- he wasn't always a monster...so maybe he could...I don't know, like, be better?" she mumbled, confused with the situation herself. "But that doesn't mean I like him, or that you should ever feel like you have to forgive him." she told her and Elena nodded.

"I don't think I can... not for a while" she whispered and Y/n nodded

"That's probably a good thing" she smiled weakly and the two sat for a moment before disappearing to their own rooms in an attempt to get over this day.

Thankfully, with an extra shove from Damon, Stefan came to and agreed to make a truce with Klaus. So they decided to give all the coffins back, however before leaving them in Klaus's living room, they undaggered every last Mikaelson. Except of course, the one which was closed but Y/n had witches on the phone to figure out how to open it already.

It took the help of a lot of Bennet witches, dead and alive, they even had to locate Bonnies mother. Surprisingly there was no sight of Klaus or his family for the few days it took them of draining the coffins magic until they were sure that the seal was broken. Y/n had firm words with Abby and made sure to comfort Bonnie as well as she knew how to.

And then they waited.

Unbeknownst to them, the Mikaelson house was practically a war zone. Klaus had been enduring a series of well deserved torture from each of his siblings, screaming empty threats and promises at them until they temporarily killed him in some of the most painful ways they knew how to shut him up.

Until each of them was silence by the mere presence of their supposed-to-be-dead mother. She claimed the house as her own in a matter of seconds and had her children on a tight leash.

They cleaned up and hid in their rooms, confused, afraid and somewhat hopeful.

Another day went by before Esther decided they needed something special to celebrate their reunion, a ball. She also demanded that they try to find dates. Niklaus especially.

Esther was a clever women, a crafty bitch of a witch. Over her last few years of being on the other side she had kept an eye on Y/n. She had spotted her, seen her potential and invested herself into it. Esther had also happened to see the homecoming, she knew that her son's interest had been captured. She knew how easily Klaus would soften just from a girl being kind to him for a few moments. Whether he liked it or not, Y/n had now taken a place in his mind. Esther also believed that despite Y/n somewhat befriending a couple vampires that her hatred would outweigh any bond she seemingly built and that if she could get her to the ball and spoke to her then she would be of even more use.

And, as expected, Klaus went to the Gilberts house. He had an invitation in one hand and a beautiful ballgown wrapped up in the other. For some reason he had a weird feeling in his stomach and his head ached. He gave a few hesitant knocks to the door and stepped back. He took a breath, fully prepared to be hit and told to fuck off and die.

He did not expect a half asleep Y/n to open the door, her eyes squinted to block the sun, her hair big and fluffy and her face bare of any makeup. Her brows scrunched together when she saw Klaus and she cleared her throat

"Yes?" she asked, trying to sound more assertive but the oversized jumper and sleepy eyes made it far too difficult to take her seriously. He could feel his face twitch to a smile but he tilted his head down to hide it. He shook his head subtly to himself before looking ack to her eyes and opening his mouth to get some words out. Instead, he just ended up staring at her, unable to form the sentence he wanted making her wipe her eyes and wake up more to pay attention.

Her eyes dropped to the gifts in his hands and his awkward, nervous behaviour. "Oh dear" she muttered and his face flushed, was she going to say no before he even asked? With a sigh and an eye roll she reached her hands out and took both items from him, placing the box inside by the door and tearing the envelope over. Klaus watched with wide eyes as she read both the formal invitation and Klaus's personal message where he asked her for a dance. She doubled checked that times before glancing up at him.

"See you at seven" she whispered with a nod before closing the door. He stood there for another minute before turning around and heading home, unsure on what he was supposed to do now.

Meanwhile Y/n walked into the kitchen where the Salvatores, Elena, Caroline, Bonnie and Matt all sat looking to her expectantly. She held up her invitation and in return they each held up theirs.

"Alright so, just so we're all on the same level-" Caroline began, leaning forward in her seat "some guy named Kol has invited me, Elijah invited Bonnie, Rebekah wants Matt and now Klaus has asked Y/n!?" her voice progressively grew louder and higher. Damon and Stefan sighed before Elena spoke

"Yeah.. and uh... Esther, their mother, wants to speak to me...privately" she mumbled and everyone went quiet for a second.

"So do we...go?" Bonnie asked and they all murmured quietly.

"I mean...free drinks and possibly food? Do they do food at dances or do I have to eat before I go?" Y/n asked tiredly and Caroline shook her head

"No no, you'll look bloated if you eat beforehand" She muttered and Damon pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Right" Y/n whispered.

"Screw it, we should go" Elena decided and reluctantly everyone came to an agreement.

The girls would all go to Caroline's to get ready and meet the guys there.

Once they had done each others hair and makeup, made sure they all felt right and ready. They all stayed in Bonnie's car for a little while outside of the Mikaelson mansion

"Something bad is going down tonight" Y/n murmured and Elena sighed.

"We have to face it" she whispered

"Or we get shit faced and forget whatever goes down?" Y/n offered and Bonnie giggled while Caroline placed her hand over her face before opening the door

"come on, lets get" she called and they groaned as they piled out and maid their way inside.

Y/n let them filter out to the Salvatores and their dates while she swiftly weaved her way toward the sweet scent of alcohol. For once she didn't sense Klaus watching her as she downed four flutes of champagne in the space of 60 seconds, letting it rush straight to her head and smiling to herself.

With a quiet chuckle Klaus made his way over, standing just behind her and to her side as he cleared his throat "Y/n?" he called and she whipped round

"Klaus" she greeted and he smirked

"Enjoying the beverages?" he teased lightly

"Uh honestly no, it's rather disgusting but if you drink it fast enough then you don't really taste it" she grinned and he raised a brow

"Well...that's not what I was expecting...then again you've been very unpredictable today...are you feeling alright, love?" He whispered the last bit as though it were a serious matter and she rolled her eyes once more.

"Well everyone else got an invite, I was glad not to be the only one" she told him and he hummed

"I see" he stated, looking her over for a moment before taking a breath and smiling "you look stunning, sweetheart" he complimented and she glanced away from his gaze.

Y/n wasn't the relationship type. She wasn't ever really given compliments, she was rude to most people especially supernaturals and lets face it they covered half the town. The occasions she did attract attention it was because she 'looked hot' or 'sexy' which only pissed her off more and made her avoid any kind of revealing or tight clothes when since the 9th grade. So she didn't really think Klaus meant anything by those words, and she didn't want him or anyone to say things like that if it didn't mean anything.

So she looked past him and ignored the compliment, instead glancing around to spot everyone. "So do you have to like announce the dances or do you just go whenever?" she asked and he tilted his head

"I thought this town had dances all the time, you've never been to one?" he questioned, and she shook her head

"Elena dressed up and did the dances with mom. I went to Aug- I went hunting with dad" she answered and he nodded

"Hunting..." he trailed despite knowing the answer

"Vampires"

"Vampires" he repeated. "When exactly did you start hunting vampires?" he asked curiously and she shrugged.

"I don't really know...I was maybe six or something like that when I saw one and it soon after my dad was filling my head with knowledge on them" she explained and he frowned a little but before he could comment Esther was tapping her glass and encouraging her children to come together so should properly announce the occasion.

Esther switched her gaze between the Gilbert sisters and the Bennet witch. She couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement, everything was going her way. So she stood proudly for a moment as she watched her children dance what she assumed to be their last nights away.

Klaus gently placed his hand on her waist, watching her shift and take a breath before taking his hand. She didn't like to touch him, he could tell by the look in her eyes but she didn't push him away, she still put her hands on him with no intention of harm and that was enough to make Klaus smile.

Y/n tried to forget that he was a psychotic thousand year old vampire/werewolf hybrid just for a moment but it was more difficult this time. The music was slow, unlike the homecoming, and there was a specific routine which she was already struggling to follow which meant he couldn't decide to start spinning her around unless she wanted even more eyes on her and he knew for a fact that she didn't. Klaus could feel how tense she was, her eyes never landed on him and when he tried to compliment her she only looked more uncomfortable.

He sighed to himself and watched her for a short moment. She truly did look elegant that night, like a princess. The dress fit her like a glove and for once he was able to see the soft curves of her body though he knew not to comment on that. He wasn't really sure if he was allowed to comment on anything. She was gorgeous, the makeup on her face only emphasised the features he had already liked on her, like her eyes and her lips. But at the same time he wanted to see her like he did early that day again, when she was drowsy and messy. He liked that she didn't cover up every tiny little mark on her skin or feel that she had to sit and style her hair each morning, though he was still fond of how it had been done for this evening. He had so much he was thinking but he couldn't find a way to say any of it to her. Not when she looked like she'd rather be anywhere but here.

Reluctantly he tried to catch her eye "Love?" he whispered and she glanced to him "can I show you something?" he asked and she nodded, anything would be better than pretending to enjoy any part of that.

So he guided her upstairs, to his art room. She was skeptical but he expected her to be as such. Still, he took her inside and let her look around. His eyes followed her, waiting to see if her expression or body language would give away any of her thoughts or opinions.

Curiously she dug through his sketches, seemingly looking for something specific. He came beside her and placed his hand on top of hers "What are you searching for?" he asked quietly and she looked up at him for a moment. He tilted his head and gave a gentle smile to try and show he bared no harm and she hesitantly told him

"The sun and moon curse...you made drawings right? On scrolls and stuff?" she questioned and he smiled

"I did yes" he confirmed and took her had without thinking, bringing her to his room where he then let her go and began digging under his bed making her laugh. He remerged a moment later with a box, he tossed the lid onto his bed and pulled out a bunch of old, tattered pieces of paper. He flipped through them before bringing a few over to her, letting her hold them and study them with genuine interest. He explained what different parts meant and found himself with a hand on her shoulder as he pointed to different sections.

"Just to be a hybrid?" she questioned and he shook his head

"I don't care that I'm half and half, if anything it's only made things more difficult. I just wanted to feel whole." he told her, glancing to find her fully turned to him and listening making him sit down on the edge of his bed and her to follow suit, much to his surprise, before he continued. "When my mother suppressed my werewolf side, it quite literally felt like part of me was locked deep inside me and begging to be set free. I walked this earth for a thousand years, never feeling quite like myself...though I suppose I don't really know who I am anymore. In some ways your mindset is correct, vampirism changes a person. But it was not vampirism that made me a monster... it was my mother and my...and Mikael. I'm sure you know of plenty humans that you and the rest of the world would consider a beast. If they lived as long as I have, even without the urge to drink blood, they would become a horrible creature no matter their species."

She contemplated his words for some time in silence and he let her. She knew he was right. Anyone would go mad if they had been though the masses that he had and had to keep going that that amount of time. Y/n didn't like that there were so many different ways to think about things. She wished that it was as simple as 'all vampires are evil' but it would never be that way.

She looked at him for a minute or so, it was so odd how someone so vicious could look like an angel. She always told herself it was a disguise but really it was proof of who they used to be. Their eyes especially, they held so much. Especially his, she could see the pain and the sadness, the anger and the betrayal, fear and paranoia, but she could also see that little flicker of warmth. Part of her wished that she could go back and never of left her fathers office, she shouldn't have gone near those vampires. She wished she could help Klaus relight that little spark inside him but she just didn't think she could. Her hatred was deep rooted, she had been and secretly still did torture and experiment on vampires. She had been stealing blood samples from her supernatural friends and giving it to Augustine. For years Y/n assumed that she was doing the right thing, protecting her own, but now she worried that she had been behaving almost as badly as the vampires themselves.

She hesitated slightly but Klaus still saw it, he could see a lot going on in her head and let it settle before speaking again.

"You can keep the aztec sketches" he told her and she blinked at him

"Oh- no that's okay" she smiled and handed them back to him but he pulled his hands away

"I don't know why you wanted to see them but I'm glad that you did and that you spoke to me...listened and what have you. I didn't really think you would come tonight and so I want you to have them as a thank you of sorts?" he told her and she smiled softly

"Can I ask...why would you want me to be here tonight? I mean you have a lot of options, less complicated ones. I don't know what you thought tonight would become but surely you didn't think that anything more could become of this right?" she asked and he shrugged softly

"Maybe one day" he offered but she shook her head

"I will never be a vampire" she reminds "and I don't think I could ever truly have feelings for a vampire and even if I did, what would be the point if I just grew old and you didn't?"

"I'm sure we'll find out soon sweetheart" he whispered.

They both sat quietly for a moment before a thud and a crack could be heard. They both let out a huff before Y/n groaned "Fucking Salvatores"

Klaus let out a laugh and stood up, offering a hand to Y/n and pulling her up "I'm certain a Mikaelson will have involvement too" he smiled and she tutted

"Oh what ever will we do" she whispered as they made their way back downstairs, finding Kol on the floor and Damon standing over him. She gave Klaus a look to which he smiled knowingly as she followed Damon to his car, before turning to deal with his own family.

They were both to busy to realise the glare that Esther had on her face. She had only heard the last few exchanges of their conversation and then that look at each other. She expected Klaus to fall fast but Y/n was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to help kill Klaus. Still, Esther held onto a small amount of hope that Y/n wasn't completely taken yet and would at least stay out of the way when she eliminated the vampire race.

That night everyone seemed to go to sleep with a bucket load full of thoughts swimming around their minds. Some more dreamy and others leaning more towards nightmares. It was unknown which ones would come true.

(There shall be a part 3, I just didn’t want it to be a drag to read all in one go)

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saelique · 1 month

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I’m sulking over my hair rn :(

reader implied 2 have long hair n is sulkin over it ( me rn ) vv self indulgent n ‘m depressed over dis D: it’ll grow it’ll grow it’ll grow I can still cosplay fem dazai I can-

”so baby, you just let your friend cut your hair ?” dazai asked in disbelief and in amusement while staring at you hiding in the corner, crying a river.

“yeah ! and- oh fuck I regret it.” you sob, tears threatening to fall out of your eyes. “relax, belladonna. it’s just some hair, y’know ?”

he said in a poor attempt to comfort you. but when was dazai osamu a good comforter ?

“just some hair ?!” you screeched at him, “no ?! have you ever heard of hair holds memories ?! also this took a while to grow . . . and it’s so much more shorter than I asked for.” you sighed, looking dead. “c’mon, you look great ‘donna. don’t cry, yeah ?” he did his best to hold in a laugh, but obviously his body language was betraying him by how he was shaking.

“just shut up.” you glared at him jokingly. “samu ! ‘m serious about this ! i loved how long it was.” “and it’ll grow back. i promise.” “I literally promised to cosplay a character with long ass hair how do I manage to do that now ?” “buy a wig.” “don’t have money.” “I’ll buy it for you !” “you mean with kunikida’s money.”

“awh, are you really that upset ? you want a hug ?” he opened his arms and waited for you to slump into his chest, a teasing look on his face. you groaned and got up with a wince then walked towards him, falling into his embrace.

“you’re such a people pleaser.” “shut it.” “you really also need to learn how to say no and take care of your emotions babe.” “hush.”

#౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ 📔 : novels !#Dazai x reader #dazai x reader fluff #X reader fluff #bsd x reader fluff #fluff #self indulgent #15! dazai x reader #beastzai x reader #beastzai x reader fluff #x reader

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bonebabbles · 2 months

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Slash's Famous Scene

Here we are, lads. Everyone's favorite scene in the totally best arc of WC. The one where Slash pins a pregnant woman to the ground and licks her face, while threatening her fetuses and cutting her cheek open so Clear Sky can have more man pain.

So far I've been using "fridging" as synonymous with the brutal killing of a female character to advance a male character's arc; but I do want to remind everyone that the term "fridging" describes disproportionate violence done to women in the service of their husband/brother/father/son's arcs. It doesn't HAVE to be death; it can also be battery, maiming, depowering, or sexual assault.

So far, 8 women have died to serve male arcs, most of them for Clear Sky specifically. Fluttering Bird, Bright Stream, Storm, Misty, Bumble, Turtle Tail, Rainswept Flower, and Petal. Now Star Flower gets sexually harassed and kidnapped, bringing the arc's fridge total to 9.

Anyway content warning, obviously. It's still Warrior Cats and doesn't get too graphic, but this bag contains a dead dove.

First, Clear Sky gets another toesucking from the ghost of his wife who died after leaving his controlling ass. Specifically, after he threw his disabled brother out of his Clan, and after his lust for seeing random people (including his brother) get mauled at the border resulted in the death of Fox.

She tells him that his behavior never drove anyone away, it was all totally not his fault. I'm waiting for a laugh track and it never comes. The apologetics in this arc are unrivaled.

Then, Clear Sky wakes up and his pregnant wife is not next to him. So he goes looking for her and sees her being flanked by Slash and his memorable minions, Grunt 1 and Grunt 2. Star Flower is so possessed by fear that she doesn't move.

They REALLY need to sell that Slash is TRUE evil, PURE evil, because of the wet fart that is Clear Sky's redemption arc. They're saying that Clear Sky ISN'T bad, because he is not this. A dirty, sadistic monster who coos evilly about how he's going to hurt the kittens in his wife's belly and cruelly twitches his whiskers.

(as a petty side detail, please also note that this passage cannot even keep Slash's fur color straight. Behold, a cat so evil that he cannot even remain a brown tabby! He turns gray when he commits nefarious deeds! Ashfurification included!)

Star Flower is the one being pinned to the ground and having her face cut open as Slash screams about how she promised her father she'd be his mate, but this scene is about Clear Sky's distress. Star Flower is an object to this narrative, which these two men are in conflict over.

The pinning, the violence, the sexual implications, are being done to make Slash as monstrous as possible to contrast to Clear Sky. Slash doesn't kill anyone, so the narrative needs to make you SO UPSET your emotions are thrown into overdrive, so you'll accept how truly terrible he is.

The simple truth that this rancid book is trying to make you ignore, is that Clear Sky is exponentially more deadly. He has caused harm so unspeakable that they have to describe his bloody murders in passive voice. They "died" now, instead of "were killed," and the violent system he created is presented as "making up" for the trauma he's caused to the survivors.

"Pushing his muzzle close to her injured cheek, he licked the blood from her fur with a long, lingering lap."

Think critically about the characters they are presenting and the actions they make them do. None of these are real people. They are writing choices. They have portrayed Slash as a perverted, domineering, child-abusing savage, so Clear Sky the Settler can look good in comparison.

then Star Flower gets dragged off, kicking and struggling, feeble and completely unable to defend herself as clear sky thinks about how she might die along with his fetuses.

Obviously Clear Sky is so very stressed out by all this and needs to blow off some steam, so he smacks the nearest woman and starts screeching about how Star Flower is more loyal than the son he abuses

The first thing he does after the Slash event was physically assault the nearest woman. I can't... I don't have the words. Are you seeing this. Do you see what I am fucking dealing with. literally the first woman he sees.

"DOES THAT FEEL LIKE AN ACT??" He bellowed like a fucking wifebeater at the girl whose face is bleeding because he cut her in a fit of rage. That's fine as long as you don't lustfully lick it afterwards I guess!!!

#dotc hate #bones reads dotc #Slash dotc #this arc is going to END me #ill also get into how slash's description of events is a lie #but the fact he is a liar and pulling a bluff is a plot point later #Starf is around the same age as Thunder based on her order of events and Clear describes her as 'young'#Starf also does not lie. They talk about 'manipulation' and 'betrayal' but no. she's very honest #the only misleading she ever does is through vagueness like when thunder asks her 'do you know one eye'#and she says 'yes' but doesn't elaborate #a woman will have absolutely no choice in her actions and do nothing wrong by telling her dad about an assassination attempt #and the writers will put that on the same level as a man who beats kids and kills women and commits war crimes

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yuujispinkhair · 11 months

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Slacker

Pairing: Kaeya x Reader (female) Genre: fluff Word Count: 700 Warnings: None. This is just fluff with some kisses and suggestive comments. All characters are of age. Minors don't interact.

My dear friend @moraxsthrone was in need of some Kaeya fluff, and I thought this was the perfect opportunity to try writing for Kaeya for the first time! I hope this little drabble can make you smile, Kel!! I am sending you lots of love and lots of kisses from Kaeya!! I love youuu 💙

"Didn't know you were such a slacker! Hurry up, princess, or I will leave you behind!"

You roll your eyes at the comment, about to flip Kaeya off good-naturedly when your feet decide at that moment to finally give up on you, and you tumble gracelessly to the ground, landing in the mud with a surprised screech.

You blink in confusion, looking up at the stunned expression on your travel companion's, friend's, lover's... or whatever he is, face. It's almost comical to see Kaeya's expression go from playfully annoyed to surprised to worried.

He is in front of you in a split second, the hectic look in his uncovered blue eye telling you how freaked out he is. "Shit! Are you ok, princess??"

A chuckle finds its way out of your mouth. You must look so ridiculous, sitting with your ass in the mud, grinning like a lunatic, but you can't help it. The whole situation is so hilarious to you. You are at your physical and emotional limit. Have been for days.

The travel has been much more challenging than you expected, and by now, every muscle in your body aches from walking so long and getting into so many fights. It was only a matter of time before you snapped. But you didn't really expect it like that. Usually, you end up ugly-crying and not laughing your ass off.

It must be Kaeya's influence. His presence is what has kept you going for weeks. The playful banter, the teasing, the flirting. Time passes so much faster when he is with you. And the inconveniences of traveling become less draining when Kaeya is there to kiss it better every night.

And now you are sitting in a puddle of mud, laughing as you cock your head and ask Kaeya in the same teasing tone he always uses,

"What happened to leaving me behind? I thought you had somewhere urgent to be?"

You know you are being a little shit right now, but it's only fair, isn't it? And you just feel too pleased with seeing that worried expression on Kaeya's usually so aloof face. It makes you feel so warm somehow. Seeing how much he cares. Seeing how important you are to him.

Kaeya shakes his head,

"Are you kidding me? Do you really think I will just let my girl lie in the dirt?"

He huffs dramatically, rolling his pretty blue eye as he reaches down to grab your hand firmly and pull you to your feet.

"Come on, get up!"

The worry is gone from his face and voice, hidden behind another lazy grin and an amused twinkle in that pretty blue eye. But the way Kaeya pulls you against his tall, firm body and wraps his arms around you, tells you all you need to know.

You chuckle again, feeling a bit delirious as you press your face against Kaeya's chest when you feel his strong arms tightening around you, hugging you to him, helping you stand, making sure you are ok.

The warm feeling in your chest grows even more intense, filling you with a comfort you haven't felt around anyone else in a long time. The comforting feeling of knowing that Kaeya would never leave you behind.

Your cheeks hurt from grinning so broadly as you lift your head to say,

"So, I'm your girl, huh?"

"Oh, shut up!"

"Why don't you make me?"

You can see the moment when Kaeya loses his little personal battle of trying to hold back his laughter, lips trembling before he bursts out laughing loudly.

"Can't believe you're using my lines against me now."

It's said in an amused whisper but laced with a certain seductive edge you know all too well.

And before you can retort anything, one of Kaeya's hands cups your chin, his thumb stroking lightly over your bottom lip as he tilts your face further up. The warmth in your chest is a hot throbbing by now. Your eyelids flutter closed just as Kaeya's soft lips land on yours in the first of many kisses he will give you tonight.

Thank you so much for reading! This was my first time writing for Kaeya, and I had so much FUN!! I hope the characterization was ok! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!

@moraxsthrone my sweet Kel, I hope this is what you had in mind!! I am hugging you!!

#kaeya x reader #kaeya fluff #genshin impact x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya alberich x reader

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bleachification · 2 years

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tell me pretty lies

pairing: chuuya x reader

notes: this is actually a part two to this: <3

author’s notes: this is incredibly rushed so please ignore the weird ass pacing near the end ok ty mwah

Kunikida is glaring at Dazai. The latter does not acknowledge the former. In fact, he can't, given that he’s currently curled up into a fetal position and dead asleep on top of Kunikida’s desk.

“Oh my god,” Atsushi whispers.

You nod solemnly. “He’s gonna kill him.”

You and the white-haired boy are currently crouched down behind a bookshelf at the agency, peeking through the gaps at the Shakespearean tragedy unfolding before you.

Atsushi leans over and whispers again: “Should we call the police?”

“We are the police,” you hiss.

“The normal police!”

“What, and have them arrest Kunikida for second-degree murder? The agency would fall to shambles!”

Atsushi opens his mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by a sudden piercing screech.

Atsushi stares at you. You stare back. Both of you share the same expression.

Oh shit.

You both burst from your hiding space and sprint towards the noise, fully ready to stop Kunikida from committing bloody murder. The sight that greets you halts both you and Atsushi in your tracks.

The scream did not come from Dazai.

Your eyes widen, and you’re sure Atsushi’s follow suit. It is the only appropriate reaction to the scene before you. Dazai is wide awake now, backed up against the wall in terror and amusement, and has his arms outstretched in what can only be described as a defensive stance. Clenched tight in Dazai’s bandaged hands is the instrument of Kunikida’s anger—although anger doesn’t quite encompass the extent of emotions that have taken over Kunikida. The man is furious. His face is so red you’re afraid he’s going to faint—or explode. What's even more terrifying is the look in his eyes—one of a crazed person blind to reason.

Atsushi backs away until he’s on the opposite side of the room and as far away from his superiors as possible.

Traitor.

You, on the other hand, slowly inch between the two men and hold out your hands in a placating gesture—as if trying to ward off a predator who has locked onto its prey.

“Kunikida, calm down. We can talk this out. It was just an accident, right, Dazai? You signal at him with a tight smile, silently indicating for him to nod his head and agree.

Instead, Dazai does what he always does: open his big, fat mouth.

“I did him a favour!”

Kunikida’s eye twitches… and then he charges.

“Atsushi!” You yelp.

The boy leaps from his spot and full-force tackles Kunikida to the floor as you grab Dazai by the ear and aggressively yank him out the door and into the buzzing streets of Yokohama, hoping the presence of witnesses will be an effective deterrent to Kunikida’s killing intent.

Dazai is still protesting when you drag him to a quiet bar snuggled into the corner of a practically desolate street. It’s a familiar place—one that ignites a spark of nostalgia within you. You used to frequent this place quite often with a certain short-tempered redhead.

Once inside, you sit Dazai at the bar and raise a questioning brow. “Did you have to provoke him like that?”

Dazai just shrugs and orders a few drinks, shamelessly flirting with the waitress while doing so.

“There’s a lovely bridge down by the city that we could throw ourselves—“ His words turn muffled as you shove a hand to his mouth and politely send the waitress away, apologizing as she leaves with the order.

He finally wrenches free from your grip. “Hey!”

You turn your gaze back towards him, a warning in your eyes.

He clears his throat. “So…”

“You’re going to regret that, you know,” you sigh.

Dazai sits back, relaxed. “He was overdue for a haircut anyway.”

You groan and drop your head into your hands, actively willing the oncoming headache away. You can still vividly picture the long bundle of blonde hair lying on the floor, frayed at the ends where Dazai snipped it off with a pair of office scissors.

He is so screwed.

“Enough about that bore. I needed to talk to you anyway; I got a mission for you,” Dazai interrupts your thoughts, a small smile on his lips. He always manages to exude an air of nonchalance, even when he’s anything but.

“What is it?”

He flashes a smile at the waitress as she sets down your drinks, and you thank her before turning your attention back to the man opposite you.

“There’s an event—a charity ball. One Port Mafia executive and a few of his subordinates are slated to attend. I need you to infiltrate the party as a guest and gather information from our high-ranked target,” he explains.

You narrow your eyes. There’s something Dazai isn’t telling you. You can tell by the way he’s fiddling with the drink coaster.

“Why me? I’m a doctor. My undercover days are long over,” you prod. There were much younger, active field agents that would be better suited to the job. So why you?

Dazai hesitates. That’s never a good sign.

“The… agency believes you are uniquely qualified for this role.”

“Who’s the target?” You push him for a better answer. There’s something else—-something bigger he’s hiding.

Dazai murmurs.

“What?”

“I said it’s Chuuya.” Dazai rushes the words out so quickly that you can’t comprehend what he says at first.

And then it clicks.

“Absolutely not!” Your glass clatters as you shoot up in your seat.

It has been three months since you patched up Chuuya in that abandoned tunnel, and you haven’t seen him since. You don’t plan on breaking that streak.

“Hear me out—“

“I said no,” you snap.

Now it’s Dazai’s turn to sigh. “Please. Just sit and listen.”

Against all rationale, you do. Although you’re visibly irritated—a fact Dazai takes into consideration as he broaches the topic once more.

“The mission is more of a… peace negotiation? We need you to set up a meeting with their executives as the agency requires to speak with them about sensitive matters,” he explains. Dazai takes a sip of whiskey as he lets the information sink in.

“You want me to set up a meeting between the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia?”

“Exactly.”

“Through Chuuya?”

“Yup.”

“Have you hit your head again?” You think he must have if he’s asking such a ridiculous thing from you.

Another Dazai sigh.

“I think you are our best chance at getting near Chuuya without inciting bloodshed or conflict.”

You’re staring at the table, a maelstrom of thoughts swirling through your head like a disaster-level hurricane.

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me?” Your voice comes out low with the slightest tremble. You bite your lip as you await his answer.

Dazai drums his fingers on the bartop and lowers his head into his palm. “I know Chuuya. And I know you. Talk to him; it’s the only way things can be fixed.”

You swallow. Trying to fix things between you and Chuuya is like trying to reconstruct a glass vase dropped from a thousand feet onto concrete. Whatever he felt for you has been viscerally tainted by your betrayal.

“That’s a nice little fantasy. Sadly, real life doesn’t work that way. I refuse,” you reply.

You drain your glass, and the scotch burns as it slides down your throat. You almost relish the pain—maybe because you believe it’s deserved.

“You’ve been mopey as hell these last few months. Even more so than before. It’s depressing—even for me,” Dazai snorts.

You roll your eyes. The past few weeks haven’t been the best, but it’s not like you’re drowning in tears, ice cream, and shitty rom-coms.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Dazai ignores you. “Talk to him. It’ll be good for both of you. I’m sure he’s just as mopey over at that garbage dump they call an organization.”

Are you going to do this? Are you really going to put yourself through all this again?

Dazai hits the final nail in the coffin. “Plus, the agency’s counting on you.”

Yes. Yes, you are.

Fuck.

“Fine. One hour. If I can’t convince him in one hour, I’m walking my ass right out the door.”

Dazai smiles, and his entire face brightens up. “Deal!”

You reluctantly shake his hand, already bracing for what’s going to be one of the worst nights of your life.

“Oh, and [Y/N]?”

“Yeah?”

“Chuuya—not that he’ll ever admit it—needs you,” Dazai squeezes your shoulder. “And I think you need him too.”

—

“This is a tremendously bad idea!” You hiss into the microphone as you’re let into the lavish venue.

All you get in response is Dazai’s infuriating giggles as you make your way down the hall, being extra careful not to trip over the formal attire you’re adorned in.

The night of the event comes a week after your talk with Dazai. After a whirlwind day of pampering and tailoring, you finally make your debut at the party.

A set of platinum-gilded doors greet you alongside a server as you near the end of the hall. He checks over your ticket and, once satisfied, allows you into the incredibly spacious ballroom.

Massive ivory pillars stand firm along the north and south ends, only partially hidden behind the tens of tables piled high with delicacies and wine. Classical music ebbs and flows throughout the room, courtesy of the musicians nestled in the far back. Servers with platters of champagne flutes whisk around the considerable venue like bees in a hive. You snatch one off of a passing waitress and down it in one go.

You’ll need much more of that to get through the night.

You make your way through the crowd, dodging as a couple swaying to the music veers into your path.

Where is he? One part of you dreads the sight of Chuuya, but another part—the less logical part—aches in his absence.

“I don’t see him,” you murmur to Dazai.

“Just keep a lookout,” Dazai replies.

Another twenty minutes go by. You’re four drinks in by now.

“He hasn’t shown up. I’m going to get some air.” You breeze past the throes of partygoers and make your way down a quiet hallway that leads to an open balcony.

The cool night air is a welcome reprieve on your warm skin. You close your eyes and let the silence take over, tuning out the buzz of the party behind you.

A shuffling noise behind you snaps you from your haze. It’s followed by a thumping noise and a few curses from the person behind you.

You slowly turn around to see what’s happening as he apologizes.

“Crap, sorry. I didn’t realize anyone would be—“

The man stops mid-sentence. You stop breathing altogether.

“Chuuya.”

“What?! He’s there?” Dazai exclaims into your ear. You ignore him, too preoccupied with the thundering in your chest and the cause of it—the man in front of you.

He looks stricken. It makes your heart sink.

“Why are you here?”

You gulp. He’s right; you shouldn’t be here. You have no right to be here. You’re not brave enough for this. Not brave enough to face and hurt him once more—-not when you know your mere presence causes him agony.

“I’m here to talk. Can we just talk? Please?” You’re terrified he will turn his back and leave—which would be a horrible, cruel irony.

Chuuya locks eyes with you, but there’s none of the kindness he used to reserve for you there. Ice-cold.

“We have nothing to talk about. You’re an enemy [Y/N], don’t you get that? One of your detective buddies is probably listening in on this conversation right now,” Chuuya spits.

Each word is a knife to your chest. Partially because he’s right, and you hate yourself for it, and partially because the person in front of you is nothing like the Chuuya you used to know. The Chuuya who demanded medical attention for paper cuts just so he could spend time with you, who threw away all his favourite snacks because you mentioned you were mildly allergic, who once memorized your favourite song so he could sing it with you at karaoke without embarrassing you. That sweet, gentle man is gone and in his place is a hardened shell of his former self.

You consider leaving. You consider lying to him, tell him he’s wrong, that he can trust you. But none of that’s going to piece together your fractured relationship. So instead, you look him dead in the eye and remove your earpiece. Once it’s off, you drop it to the ground and crush the device under your heel.

“Will you listen to what I have to say now?”

Chuuya says nothing, so you take his silence as a yes.

“I want to apologize,” you begin.

He scoffs and shoves his hands into his pockets. A nervous tic. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

You swallow again. The lump in your throat is making it hard to breathe.

“Not for… what happened. I know you won’t believe me about that. I’m sorry I said you were just a job. You weren’t. Not in the slightest.”

He laughs, though it’s void of humour. Chuuya steps forward, closer and closer, until he’s only inches away. You can make out the dark circles under his eyes and the bitterness in his gaze.

You suck in a sharp breath at his proximity. His cologne is making your head spin.

“Liar,” he seethes.

You shift. You’re even closer now, but your expression has changed. “Believe what you want, but that’s the truth. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you; I still don’t want that.”

“Then why the hell did you leave?” He’s almost shouting now.

You anxiously run a hand through your hair. “I had to. I couldn’t face you knowing you saw me as your enemy.” The last word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“You could have stayed. We could have worked it out, somehow,” he argues.

You shake your head. “I was a spy. You wouldn’t have wanted—“

“You have no idea what I wanted! I didn’t care, [Y/N]. All I wanted was you. But you didn’t even stick around long enough to find that out.”

You’re tearing up now. The burning sensation in your eyes is at its peak as a tear rolls down your cheek. You can barely make out Chuuya behind such watery lenses.

“Damn it, why are you—“ He’s panicking now. Chuuya always freaks out when you cry. It’s comforting to know some things haven’t changed.

He yanks out something from his pocket and awkwardly tries to hand it to you. You start full-on sobbing once you realize what he’s given you—the embroidered silk handkerchief you got him for his birthday. You blame the alcohol for the sensitiveness you've experienced tonight.

A few minutes later and you’re still a mess, but a much less weepy mess than before. You’re leaning against the stone balcony, and Chuuya’s sitting across from you, much like that night in the tunnel.

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out weak—-strained.

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles. He’s supposed to be angry at you, but you’ve put him in an awkward situation. The moment he saw tears in your eyes, all logical thought flew out of his mind. At that moment, his only goal was to find a way to stop you from crying.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” you murmur as you fold the cloth into a tidy square. You try to hand it back to Chuuya, but instead, he briefly glances at it and pushes your hand away.

“Keep it.”

The knot in your chest tightens.

Silence fills the space once again. The party is still alive and electric, but it seems miles away from the pit of misery you’ve found yourself in.

Chuuya stares up—toward the glittering black mass above that’s decorated with thousands and thousands of stars. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. He has nothing more to say to you.

Chuuya’s going to leave.

That sudden petrifying thought sends you into a panic.

All at once, the sky tilts, and it takes your ability to breathe with it. Your lungs are screaming—begging for air, and your head feels like it has lifted from your shoulders and begun floating away. The world is distorted… warping… shit.

Everything is wrong.

Someone’s calling for you—crying out your name. They sound scared. Why are they scared?

Amidst the chaos, something soft is draped around your shoulders. A jacket. It’s warm. And it smells familiar—like cedarwood and nutmeg and—

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Can you hear me, [Y/N]? You’re safe, I promise.”

Chuuya.

He’s here. He didn’t leave. He’s right in front of you, holding your face in his hands so gently that one might think you were made of glass. Your hands dig into his suit as you clench your fists around the fabric. He is the only thing anchoring you to reality right now.

You draw in a deep breath. The dizziness is slowly fading. A few minutes of breathing exercises later, you’re no longer in hysterics, and the world is clear again.

Chuuya hasn’t moved, his hands still cup your head, and the worry in his expression doesn’t wane. He’s wiping your tears away, but you didn’t even know you were crying—and you definitely don’t care once you realize Chuuya’s eyes are shiny with his own tears.

Now you’re filled with a sense of concern. Automatically, your hands reach for his face, doing the same for him as he’s been doing for you. It must look ridiculous, but you don’t particularly care.

“Why are you crying?” You whisper.

Chuuya drops his hands from your face and clutches onto your wrists instead. “You scared me. You started heaving and sobbing, and I didn’t know what to do. I tried calling for you, and when you didn’t answer, I just—I didn’t….”

Chuuya grips you harder—as if making sure you're real. Like he‘s afraid you’d disappear again if he let go.

“I was fucking terrified, okay?”

You thumb away another droplet as he closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

“You’re supposed to hate me,” you note.

“I know,” he breathes.

The silence drags on for a few minutes as you let him gather his composure. Chuuya’s tears have stopped, but he doesn’t lean away from your touch like you thought he would.

“Do you?”

You’re not so sure you want to hear the answer. In fact, you’re not sure you can survive it.

Chuuya tilts his head until you see your reflection in his eyes. “I wanted to marry you. Had the ring ready and everything.”

You freeze. That is not the answer you expected. But you shake off the shock and give him a small smile.

“I would’ve said yes.”

Chuuya sucks in a sharp breath and pulls back—only a little. “Don’t…don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Lie. You think you’re making it better, but it just hurts more. I beg of you, no more lies—even the pretty ones.”

Another blade to the heart. It feels like you’re dying from the inside out. You’ve got nothing to lose at this point, so you say the one thing you’ve wanted to tell him for the past few months.

“I love you.”

Chuuya’s expression morphs into one of pure anguish. He doesn’t believe you.

“Stop,” he rasps.

But you don’t. You stare him dead in the eyes as you tell him again.

He’s shaking his head, silently pleading for you to stop. You ignore him. You have to do this. You have to convince him.

“I love you. I loved you then, and I love you now—that has never changed. And I know you won’t believe me, but if you asked me again, right now, I would say yes.”

You half-expect him to walk away and half-expect him to reject you. To your utter surprise, Chuuya does neither. Instead, he drops his head to your shoulder and mumbles something you can’t quite make out.

“Hm?”

“Marry me.”

You almost keel over from the shock. You didn’t think he’d actually ask you again.

“Chuuya, you’re not thinking straight—“

“You said you’d marry me if I asked again, so here I am: asking again.”

You’re trembling. “But you don’t believe me.”

“If that’s all it takes to have you again, I’ll believe anything you tell me. I’ll believe the Earth circles the sun, that Bigfoot is real, and gravity doesn’t exist. I don’t care. I’ll make a fool out of myself if it means you’ll laugh for me again. I’ll defect if you want me to, just… stay. Marry me and stay.”

Chuuya’s voice is breaking, but his gaze is steady as it awaits your answer.

You nod. “Absolutely ye—“

You’re interrupted by the press of Chuuya’s lips against your own. You melt against him as his hand comes up to cup the base of your neck.

Chuuya groans. He’s died and gone to heaven. He forgot how good you tasted: like home. It’s dangerous how addicting you are—he could get drunk on your lips alone.

A sudden thought pokes into the corner of your mind as Chuuya pulls you closer.

“Wait!” You force him back with a palm to his chest.

He glares at your hand, annoyed that it’s pushing him away from you. “What?”

“Both the agency and the mafia will want to come, so I guess they got their neutral meeting ground, but who specifically do we invite?”

Chuuya makes a face. “Anyone but Dazai.”

You burst out laughing—partially because of the joke, but mainly because of how elated you are to be back in Chuuya’s arms.

#x reader #angst #but theyre soulmates #enemies to lovers #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya fic #chuuya angst #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chuuya #bungoustraydogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd oneshot #bsd angst #bsd #dazai osamu #part two

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zablife · 11 months

Note

Hi Lee! Hope you’re well! ☺️

Sooo….seeing your moodboard got me thinking about the lovely new John x Solomons!sister pairing and I was thinking………

I love their friendship and the bond that they’ve built off of banter but I wonder if there was ever a moment where things slipped into something more?? Like they were on a tough mission, or things got a little too close for comfort where one was almost hurt and they acted on the more promiscuous feelings that they’ve been otherwise teasingly (maybe they’re not teasing in nature, who knows) throwing around — like there’s so much emotion circulating between them because they’re so close with each other that they just slip … ??

And it could be a one off thing that they then dance around because they were caught in the heat of them moment, or it could be what tilts them into that realm — I’d be intrigued to read either way because I just love them.

Anyways…sorry for rambling…I hope what I’ve said makes sense! 😊

Shots Fired (Partners in Crime AU)

John Shelby x Y/n Solomons

Author's Note: Read previous parts Afternoon Tea and Co-Workers.

“Barney, wait!” you shouted, stumbling from the pub where you’d been celebrating Tommy’s win at the races. John had disappeared some time ago and you’d been looking for him ever since, hoping to win more of his money at darts.

“Y/n, is that you screeching like a bloody alley cat?” John asked, turning toward the sound of your voice.

Only the glowing end of his cigar was visible through the evening fog as you pawed for him to hold yourself upright.

Grasping his coat sleeve you nearly toppled over as you giggled, “Would you look at that, I went lookin’ for trouble and I found him!”

“You’re drunk,” John observed, pulling you to your feet.

“Your ma’s drunk!” you retorted with a snort.

“Alright, I’m taking you home,” John said, steering you toward his car by your elbow. God only knew what you’d get up to if he left you by yourself in Sabini’s territory and he’d be the one Alfie blamed if something happened.

“Not if I escape,” you whispered loudly, and quite obnoxiously, into his ear. Then you broke free of his grasp and ran in the opposite direction as quickly as your wobbly legs would allow.

“Y/n! M not chasing you,” John warned, clenching his cigar in his teeth and shoving his hands in his pockets. As he lost sight of you he growled in frustration, kicking the pavement. “Fuckin hell,” he cursed under his breath as he tossed his cigar aside, knowing he would have to break his promise.

He set out in long strides, looking out from under his cap with a scowl at the thought of playing hide and seek. Occasionally he heard the click of your heels or a peel of laughter echoing down an alley and he knew he was getting close. As he was about to call to you for the second time, gunshots rang out and his heart clenched in his chest.

Pulling his revolver from under his jacket, he pressed himself against the side of the building where he stood and cautiously made his way toward the noise. Tires squealed as a coupe raced away into the night and John broke into a run, a sick feeling of dread washing over him.

His suspicions were confirmed as he approached you, lying in a pool of blood under a street lamp. “Shit! Y/n!” He called out, sliding next to you to see where you’d been hurt. When you didn’t respond, he began removing your coat, hands roaming over your body for the source of your injury.

When his eyes came to rest at the crimson stain blooming over your chest he began to panic, clawing at your beaded dress to assess the damage. He pressed his ear to your mouth to listen for your breath, but only heard his own frantic heartbeat jumping into his throat at the thought of losing you.

At that moment your eyes fluttered opened and you gasped for air, sputtering, “You grabbin’ my tit?”

John fell backward from shock, landing on his ass. “What the fuck, Y/n? I thought you were dead!” he gulped, running a shaky hand through his hair.

You let out a strangled laugh, followed by a groan of pain as you attempted to roll over. “Jesus Christ!” you yelled.

John winced as he exclaimed, “Do you know you’ve got the loudest voice of any human being I’ve ever met?”

“Happy to know my lungs work though, ain’t ya?” you asked with a weak smile.

“What are callin’ him for anyway?” he mumbled, placing pressure on your shoulder as soon as he realized that’s where the bullet had entered.

You wanted to say something clever in return, but the loss of blood was making you woozy, giving the world around you a dreamlike quality. The lamplight made a halo above John’s head and you blinked to right your blurry vision. “You’re an angel,” you remarked at your delusion, focusing on the fading glow surrounding him.

“Now I know we’re fucked,” he joked. “That’s the only nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Watching the edges of John’s face darken forebodingly, fear gnawed at you and you briefly wondered if you might die. Your fingers reached for him, needing comfort, but your arm stubbornly refused to move. “Might be the last,” you warned him before you passed out in his arms.

——————————————————-

When you came to you were in a hospital bed, John’s profile staring ahead as his hands twisted his cap nervously. Your arm throbbed with pain as you rolled toward him and he startled, offering hushed apologies. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I shouldn’t have let you go off alone like that. If anyone should’ve taken a bullet, it’s me,” he said, looking at you with red, watery eyes. The guilt had been eating at him as he sat waiting for you to wake, hoping you’d forgive him for not protecting you.

“No, I’m glad it was me,” you choked out.

“Hey, hey, don’t say that,” John hushed you, pushing the hair from your face. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”

You tried to sit up, looking at him incredulously. “I didn’t mean I deserved it!” you exclaimed, scrunching your nose in disapproval. “I meant cos you’re a fucking candy ass,” you chuckled at him.

Irritated by the suggestion, John’s voice rose defensively, “You think you took a bullet better than me?”

“I know I did and I won’t be whinging about how it looks either.” Lowering your voice to imitate his low timber you continued, “Oh, me face! If it hadn’t been for that shrapnel in France…”

Your chat was interrupted when the door to your room opened with a quick push and a nurse peeked in to check on you, her bright smile widening at the sight of John.

“You should fuck her,” you said a bit too loudly, the after effects of the morphine still clouding your judgment. “I ain’t his trouble, love! You fancy him?” you called to her, oblivious to the fact that the poor woman was now turning a deep shade of red.

“Alright, that’s enough,” John said, pushing you back against the pillows.

“He doesn’t have the clap….anymore,” you shouted as the nurse scurried away. John dragged a hand down his face.

“That’s how you thank me for saving your life?” he asked wearily, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Pffft, can’t kill me,” you said dismissively. “You’re such a dramatic little cunt, Shelby” you added with a roll of your eyes.

John huffed out a laugh. “Good to see you're feeling like yourself again. Last night I was your angel, remember?”

“Well I was dying, weren’t I?” you said innocently, pulling your blankets to your chin.

“For fuck sake,” John muttered.

Read Part 4-The Runaway

#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #John Shelby #John Shelby x Solomons sister #John Shelby x you #John Shelby x reader #John Shelby x y/n

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fivewholeminutes · 4 months

Text

so. wembley.

Once I have finally gathered my wits the words did not want to stop coming. This rambling is long; apologies for that. And for the messed up tenses I hate tenses we only have one past tense why is English like this

No photos/videos yet, they are still not properly checked/deleted/edited by me.

It was. Unsurprisingly. One of the best days of my life. But also, I don't remember much from my life, so don't trust me on this one. (Kidding, it totally WAS one of the best days of my life). And uhh... I have a problem with processing events and emotions, so it still feels like I have seen it on a TV screen instead of, you know, actually, physically having been there? Idk how to explain that, I still have to convince my brain that I've been there. I feel detached from it completely. But!! I!! Have!! Been!! There!!

I woke up so early that foxes were still roaming the streets. Didn't talk much with people around me in the queue (hello anxiety), but they were lovely! I signed the blue flag for iii from me & Lia, got the sticker for Projekt Atlantic, received some bracelets, exchanged some bracelets, put some sea creatures tattoos on people (LIA I FORGOT TO GIVE YOU THE WHALE!!!), slept on a pavement, bought merch for myself and others (I've never had anyone to buy concert merch for before, it's such a nice feeling 🥺).

And queueing for so long was so fucking worth it! Third row, baby!! For the first time in the middle!! (Which was my downfall later, but the pre-show me was not aware of that just yet). I couldn't actually hear HEALTH that well, but I really liked their drummer, he was enjoying himself and his joy was contagious. (I've checked them later though and. Last album, my beloved.) During the break, well, you all know what was happening, I have been liveblogging everything (sorry about that <3). The moment someone in the crowd literally screeched when they saw the new masks on instagram was a blessing, I wouldn't have survived seeing them in new masks without a warning. Also, my blind ass would probably realise 3 songs in that they have different masks, I shit you not. Besides, it was super fun having a mental breakdown here on tumblr with y'all <3

When Espera entered the stage, everything else stopped being of any importance to me. I remember my first thought was "oh yeah, sure, the ladies are dressed up and moving like this and you expect me to focus on anything else that is happening on this stage?". And of course, my second thought was "I GOTTA TAKE PICTURES FOR DARYA". Naturally, I was trying to keep up with everything else anyway. I haven't seen ii all too well though and it makes me sad :( Alas. I've had a good vantage point for the ladies. Yeah. Brain went brrrrr every time I was looking at them. Where was I again-

I was still coughing at that time. I got a terrible coughing fit after literally 3 short screams during HEALTH and my idiot ass has left all the lozenges except one in the hotel room an hour before the door opening. I thought I would have to spend the rest of the night not singing along nor screaming and felt utterly heartbroken for a few minutes, but after my Holy Grail Lozenge (and a LOT of water from the venue's crew) my cough has abandoned me for the duration of the whole ritual (thank you, Sleep). Even though, when Sam told us that we have to sing, my only thought was "I CAN'T FUCKING SING EITHER, MATE". But I did. Oh, I so fucking did. I sung my lungs out and did not cough even ONCE.

But you know. I was exhausted, anxious, surrounded by strangers and had more sugar in my veins than red cells at that point, so I wasn't my best self. I really thought the karaoke was for shits and giggles at first. "Oh yeah, it's The Most Popular Song, let's see how it sounds when 10k people sing it without the singer's help!", you know. Thought it was for the recording the announcements warned us about. But then we sung Granite. Ohhhkay. And then The Love You Want - certainly not a song they would leave for an impropmtu singalong. It was then that I (belatedly) realised that yeah, something really was wrong and so my heart broke again. So many preparations! Their biggest gig so far! Even iii managed to be there! And something had to happen!! Specifically!! To Vessel!! Of all people!! That was just not fair. He totally didn't deserve this. But it's just life and its endless fucking bad surprises for everyone, huh.

I didn't have enough time to collect all the broken pieces of my heart from the sticky floor and mend them after this realisation, because after Vessel joined the singing for the last few lines of TLYW, he dropped to his knees in front of us crying and thanking everyone. That sight is now carved into my brain. This is when I realised the 3rd row was a mistake. The psychic damage it gave me is irrevocable. Do you have those moments that you will never forget? A few seconds of an (usually traumatic) experience that will haunt you forever, replaying in your mind like a broken record? It was a bit like this for me. It wasn't traumatic, mind you, but it was definitely something that made a permanent dent in my heart and a home in my brain. And I wouldn't change it anyway.

Another thing that made me think that I will just fall down and never get up was iii & iv's hug. It was. So full of love and reassurence. Idk, you could just feel that emitting from them, okay? I was standing there thinking "yeah sure, just fucking murder me tonight instead, okay. Should've kept staring at Espera only-". Ah yes. The ladies. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Where was I again-

The goosebumps when the whole venue yelled "they won't be missing you" during Nazareth, oh my fucking god. On my previous rituals, in way smaller venues, there's always been a handful of people screaming it. And everyone doing it? Unparalleled feeling. Bordering on the shrimp emotions scale.

The lights were spectacular. I cannot describe how amazing the light show was. I am sending a kiss to each and every light crew member.

Also, Vessel being more emotional during the ritual as a whole. The TLYW moment was the worst for me, but there were many others. (Ascensionism and Bloodsport stabbing me with a rusty knife the most.) I mean, who could've blamed him for the emotions, he would probably be very emotional even without the voice issues. Who wouldn't be!! It was a big night, after all. God, it must have been so difficult for him, I really, really fucking hope the love coming from his bandmates, crew and the crowd was enough to help him focus on the good parts of the evening only. And!! It wasn't even that bad!!! Sure, he lost his voice for a while, but once it was back you could!! Barely!! Hear!! The difference!! I have a whole new level of respect for Vessel because of that. And for staying onstage with us for the songs he couldn't sing. Didn't know I could respect him even more than I already did, but hey. Love being surprised like that. I have seen concerts where the singers were singing way worse live while being completely healthy. Like sure, you could notice he's not using so many uhh, how do you call this in English, vocal ornamentations??? and that his voice is strained, but it was still beautiful. Take care of your voice now though, dude, jfc. Thanks for the sacrifice, much appreciated, but TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL FUCKING FIND YOU- (kidding, kidding. or am i.) I also liked that he was leaving the more screamy moments in songs for us. Aiming the microphone at us, positive we'll have his back. Like yeah, yeah, other bands do that relatively often, but it's not something they usually do, you know.

I can't vouch for everyone in the crowd, but I sure as fuck did not have a SINGLE thought that the show sucks because of his voice issues. Like it didn't even occur to me. Honest to god. I was shocked when I saw on tumblr that people were leaving? Asking for a refund????????????? I was having the time of my life singing those songs. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, probably!! Who can say they karaoked whole 3 songs with the band playing for them live?? Your local karaoke bar could never. (Bonus points, you could hear Espera better bc of that! Yes, I know, you are not supposed to hear backing vocals too loud in general, I'm just saying it was nice hearing them, bc usually I hear them on recordings only.)

Yeah, sure I was disappointed after the show that there was no Euclid, but that's just me, a total whore for Euclid. It's a completely different thing than being a bitch who leaves halfway, because something out of the ordinary has been happening.

Anyways. I would like to wish all the crowdsurfers a very fuck you. Hope you will all step on a lego every day for the rest of your lives <3

Crowdsurfers and constant giving away of water (which I understand, it was terribly hot there and it was needed) were a bit distracting, I missed some things because of the commotion, the drum solo has been disrupted by me getting a (fortunately very light) kick in the mouth and DRUM SOLO IS SACRED. I HOPE THE CROWDSURFER WHO DECIDED TO GO UP IN THAT MOMENT WILL STEP ON 3 LEGOS DAILY. IT'S LITERALLY THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THE RITUAL FOR ME AND THEY HAVE RUINED IT. Thanks to another crowdsurfer, I missed the moment the band was throwing stuff into the crowd and I promised Lia I will catch a pick/drumstick for them!!!!!!! I've had a banner for this occassion and all!!!!! And!!!!! For the whole time things were flying from the scene!!!! I have been under someone's legs and ass!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Side note: Vessel was throwing away his rings. That's so fucking cool, ahh.

All in all, half of the things that happened there, I've learned from tumblr. The announcements about the recording, people leaving, Vessel being covered in runes (I WAS STANDING RIGHT BEFORE HIM AND DIDN'T SEE ANYTHING. A N Y T H I N G. I HATE BEING A BLIND IDIOT), the Espera ladies laughing at iii for not coming to the photo, hell, even Vessel trying to get his attention. I have NO idea what I've been doing back then, it's a blur again lmao. And. The most important thing: Vessel's "thank you". I didn't catch it back then. I don't hear it on my recording. Tbh I couldn't believe y'all for a long while that it really happened (I'm sorry). But it did and you know what? I'm glad the broken pieces of my heart were left on the arena's floor earlier during the show. I don't want them anymore.

I would also like to thank that one security guy in huge headphones who was our warning that another fucking crowdsurfer was coming our way. I hope the headphones guy's pillow is always cold on both sides, his skin clear, his crops- and so on. Our hero <3

There was also a moment during Atlantic (another important moment disrupted. Smh) where 2 security persons dived into the crowd?? I still have no idea what was happening, bc if someone faints for example, they are always brught to the barricade by the crowd and security picks them up, I've never seen security getting into the crowd before. And because of that, people around me were talking loudly during Atlantic. Kill kill murder kill

Still, Projekt Atlantic was a huge success and I am so proud of the organisers!! They're in the same category of lovely people as the big headphones security guy

Sending a kiss to @murderofcrow for this gif 🖤

To sum up. I will forever be grateful for this band. This music has activated the dormant parts of my mind. I am making art again. I am meeting cool people because of them. I have people to talk about it with who are as excited about it as I am. For the first time in ages I really feel alive again. And life is not good, far from it, to be completely honest with you, they haven't magically fixed all my problems, but I do have something that actually fucking works on me. I know Vessel wouldn't agree, but they are saving people. And you all, lovely ST pocket of tumblr motherfuckers who are reading this, you are saving people too.

And, last but not least!! In hot pink, because I can! Thanks to this ritual I could finally meet @vesselsscarlet and @thevenomousseprent in person!!!!!!!!! I love you guys, you are amazing and I can't wait to see you again 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 You've made me feel so loved that weekend and it's something I haven't felt in a while!!

#it was surprisingly hard to write #took a lot of editing and rewriting whole paragraphs and it's still not a proper description of everything i wanted to say #i don't know how to talk about emotions #and i have. a lot of them since wembley #a word of advice: attend concerts. beg for money for them from your family members sleep in tents during rain #or in hostel rooms filled with random people #go for gigs without a place to sleep and spend 4hrs waiting for your bus home in a local mcdonalds #watching drunk guys split their eyebrows on the stairs there #(not now tho now we're boycotting macdonalds #but there are other places open 24/7)#go to gigs alone #but by god. go to them if you are able to and if your health allows you to go #(and yes it is coming from someone with anxiety. i wouldn't travel or sleep in a tent alone for anything else trust me)#it is always worth it. ALWAYS #sleep token

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takingchences · 3 months

Text

ultraviolet pt. 9 - BAKUGOU

A descendant of a legendary quirk longs to separate herself from her family name, but first she'll have to confront villains, ghosts from the past, and her growing attraction for Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x OP!fem!oc

Warnings: mature language

series masterlist + face claim

After the attack, U.A gave the students the following two days off to rest and recover from their traumatic ordeal. Their first day back, Sana was horrified by the state of their homeroom teacher. Mr. Aizawa was wrapped head to toe in gauze, his eyes mere slits, with both of his arms in casts.

He looks like a freshly dead mummy.

She applauded his badassery and dedication, but after hearing from the others how serious his injuries were, she'd assumed (like a normal person) that the Pro Hero would at least be on bed leave for a few days. Considering how sleep deprived he seemed all the time, she thought he'd be thrilled. Apparently not.

He reminded them that the world famous U.A Sports Festival was drawing closer, and after recent events, all eyes would be on them. But no pressure, right? She balanced her chin on her fist.

Classes resumed like normal, as though USJ never happened. It wasn't until the final bell rang that things got, well, strange. Students from all grades and classes swarmed their classroom door, blocking them in.

Shinso made a dramatic appearance, where he proceeded to declare war on their class and challenge the entire Hero Course for a spot. He'd made his intentions of joining the hero course clear very early into their friendship.

From how her classmates had described the entrance exam, people with quirks like Shinso's were doomed from the start. He never stood a chance making it into the Hero Course... until now.

He was determined to get noticed this time around, and Sana was willing to help him reach his goal however she could. She gave him tips to improve his training regimen and offered to spar with him whenever he wanted. The two had lunch together at his usual spot two or three times a week, and spent the majority of it exchanging memes and gushing over cute cat videos. Shinso was funny in a dry, sarcastic way that she appreciated. He was easy to talk to, and his laid back attitude put her at ease.

He wasn't ready to join her at her table just yet, but she always kept a seat open just in case.

After finishing her homework, showering, and eating dinner, Sana set her grand plan in motion. Stretching out across her bed on her stomach, with her phone in one hand and a piece of paper in the other, she started typing.

Sent 8:03pm

Hey hotshot

Sent 8:06pm

The fuck

Sent 8:08pm

How the fuck did you get this number

Sent 8:09pm

I'm surprised you're still awake. You walk around like a grumpy old man with arthritic knees so I figured you'd be in bed by six

Sent 8:09pm

WHO THE FUCK IS THIS

Sent 8:10pm

If I told you I'd have to kill you

Sent 8:11

I'd kill you first

Sent 8:12pm

Good luck with that considering you have no idea who I am

Sent 8:13pm

Fuck you

Sent 8:13pm

How the hell did you get my number

Sent 8:15pm

I gave Midoriya an offer he couldn't refuse

Sent 8:16pm

FUCKING DEKU! ILL EXPLODE HIS ASS

Sent 8:16pm

That's kinky

Sana smirked down at the screen as the message bubbles danced, anticipating his reply. She giggled quietly to herself, picturing him stomping around his room throwing a fit. She could practically hear his demonic screeching through the device.

Irritating Bakugou brought her a special type of joy. The only other experiences that could compare were rebelling against her father, or cracking Shoto's mask of indifference. The ability to provoke such intense emotions in someone was addictive.

It took a few minutes for the boy to respond.

Sent 8:21pm

I'm losing fucking brain cells talking to you

Sent 8:21pm

Well I know you only have so many to spare so I'll make this quick

Sent 8:21pm

Train with me

Sent 8:23pm

The fuck

Sent 8:25pm

You know that's not technically a question right?

Sent 8:26pm

Meet me at Yoshida Park at 10:00am

Sent 8:26pm

Fuck off

Sent 8:27pm

You're right. What could you possibly teach me? I'd be better off asking Midoriya

Sent 8:27pm

YOUR ASS BETTER NOT BE LATE OR ILL FUCKING STRANGLE YOU

Sent 8:28pm

Another kink? I'm learning a lot about you Bakugou

Sent 8:29pm

FUCK OFF

Sent 8:31pm

Lmao

Sent 8:31pm

Good night hotshot

The blonde tossed his phone across the room, screaming curses at the unknown number.

"Shut up, ya damn brat!" His mother's loud voice scolded him from downstairs. "Isn't it past your bedtime?!"

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

Bakugou walked with purpose towards Yoshida Park. He was familiar with it, having spent most of his childhood exploring the grounds with his followers. It was a short walk, but he'd had all night to plan. The unknown number had disrupted his sleep schedule after all.

First, he'd go to the park and murder whatever extra had been unlucky enough to mess with him. Then, on his way back, he'd pay Midoriya a special visit.

He had a list of suspects he'd been going back and forth on. First on the list was Shitty Hair, but Bakugou quickly realized it couldn't have been the spiky-haired boy. The redhead was putting in a lot of effort to befriend him—even more so after their team up during USJ—but the boy was far too shy. Second and third on his list were Dunce Face and Scotch Tape. They shared one brain cell between them, and both were confident enough to say such provocative things, but not so dumb that they'd ask to meet him face to face afterwards.

They had to know it would only end in bloodshed... theirs to be exact.

That left Raccoon Eyes or Flashlight. He hadn't interacted much with the pink-skinned girl, only in group settings, and even then, she'd barely stop to acknowledge him before getting into shit with Dunce Face or her "wifey."

One by one he marked names off until only one dumbass remained.

He stopped at the entrance of the park, spotting said girl leaning against a tree. Thick lashes fanned out across her cheekbones, her arms loosely crossed. A red and white gym bag was slung over her shoulder. She wore black leggings paired with a cherry red sports jacket, her hair held back by her signature ribbon. Bakugou himself sported his usual baggy black sweatpants and low cut black tank.

Her eyes fluttered open, the jewel-like irises sparkling in the morning sun. "Right on time." She pushed off of the tree. "Have you stretched?"

"I'm not here to train." He glowered down at her, their faces inches apart. Sana's expression remained neutral, but her amusement was obvious in the curve of her lips. "I'm here to kick your ass-"

"Again with the ass thing," Sana tutted, shaking her head in disapproval. "Is that all you can think about?"

"Shut the fu-"

"Language, asshole." she hissed, smacking his arm as a family of four walked by them. Sana gave him a coy smile. "There are children present."

Bakugou was seconds away from blowing a fuse, crackling sounds filling the air as his palms smoked. "Come on," she slid her hand down his arm with a soft, feather-like touch to grab his wrist. "Let's get started."

Bakugou muttered threats and curses under his breath, but continued to follow her to a secluded area with a dense tree line. A few feet ahead, the trees parted to reveal a decent sized clearing.

"How did you get that damn nerd to give you my number?" The blonde grumbled, ripping his arm from her grip.

"Oh, that?" She shrugged. "I bribed him with a limited edition All Might collectible." She remembered how flushed the greenette became after she cornered him after class the other day. He'd been a sweaty, stuttering mess until she'd unzipped her backpack and shown him what she'd hidden inside. Seeing Bakugou's pissed off face now, it was definitely worth all the yen.

"... which one."

Sana blinked. His gruff voice was so quiet that she nearly didn't catch the words. The boisterous blonde she'd come to know was now scowling passionately at a tree, but his mouth was... is he pouting?!

Her lips split into a chesshire grin. "My, my. Is the mighty Bakugou secretly a fanboy?"

His brows furrowed even further at the teasing. "Do you ever shut the hell up?" His hair seemed to puff up even more in anger. Cute. "I'm nothing like that nerd!"

"Aren't you the nerdy one, though?" Sana tapped her chin with her pointer finger, eyes rolled upwards as she pretended to think. "I'm pretty sure you scored higher than him on last week's test."

She smirked in delight as Bakugou's body began to vibrate in anger, his nostrils flaring.

She stretched her body, warming up her muscles in preparation for what was probably going to be one of the hardest training sessions of her life. Bakugou wasn't the type to do anything without giving it his all. It was as admirable as it was daunting. She rolled her shoulders back, her neck popping with a satisfying crack. "Ready?"

The blonde smirked, his hands sparking to life. "I'm gonna enjoy this."

Fighting Bakugou proved to be even more of a challenge than she'd anticipated. He was strong and fast, every movement well thought out and well executed. He was also relentless, refusing to give her any time to recover or even think. It was purely instinctive, forcing her to rely on her reflexes. She was suddenly grateful for the decade of combat training Endeavor had instilled in every fiber of her being.

It was different, to say the least.

She was so used to going up against Shoto. Back when they were still talking, she'd been able to anticipate his movements with one look. Maybe that was part of the problem. Were they so intune with each other that there was no longer room for improvement? Had they reached a point in their training where they were unable to learn from each other going forward?

Sana groaned, returning to the problem at hand. She threw the blonde a dirty look for the particularly hard kick he'd just delivered to her side. He huffed a laugh, his lips parted in a crooked smile. "Not so cocky now, huh?"

"That's funny coming from you." She lunged, finally landing a hit to his jaw. They'd been at it for hours now, and Bakugou showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. There was no way he wasn't as exhausted as she was, but she knew he'd rather die than admit to such a thing. As if being human was equivalent to him being weak.

After another half hour of this, she finally gave up.

"Okay, okay." Sana backed away, holding her palms up in surrender. He stopped mid punch, his eyes narrowed. "Let's take a break."

He clicked his tongue, watching as she approached the gym bag she'd abandoned in the shade, walking back to him and dropping it at his feet. The pastel teen crouched to unzip the bag, removing two towels, some protein bars, and two water bottles. He caught the towel she tossed him with ease, swiping the fabric across his face and jaw. She plopped down on the ground, motioning for him to do the same. With an annoyed grunt, he complied, snatching the water and snack out of her hands.

She shook her head in amusement, knowing he wasn't nearly as frustrated as he pretended to be. "So dramatic," she muttered under her breath.

Surprisingly, the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was actually pretty nice. She could hear the small sounds of nature around them: the low buzz of insects and the soft rustling of tree branches above their heads. It was something she'd never associated with Bakugou before...

Peaceful.

After practically inhaling their protein bars, the two teens laid down on their backs in the grass. The sky had darkened to a dark blue, a few stars already visible.

Sana turned her head to peek at the boy next to her. Both of their chests were heaving lightly, their skin dewy with sweat. He had his arms folded behind his head with his eyes closed. As if feeling her gaze, he cracked one eye open and grimaced.

"What're you staring at?" Even in the limited light, she could've sworn his cheeks were now dusted in a rosy hue.

"Nothing," she averted her gaze, her own face burning under his scrutiny. "It's just... I'm glad you stayed." Sana admitted softly. Never in her life had she felt so bashful. It took everything in her not to squirm uncomfortably as she waited for him to say something. Anything. Bakugou scoffed, his eyes hooded as he watched the sky slowly darken. Sana joined him in stargazing. After a few minutes, the blonde cleared his throat.

"I guess it wasn't a complete waste of time."

Sana snickered. "That was really hard for you to admit, wasn't it?" A tch was his only response, but in the limited light, it almost looked like he was smiling.

They stayed like that until the sky glittered with stars, like diamonds against midnight velvet. The two teens climbed to their feet, dusting dirt and grass off of their clothes. Sana called out just as Bakugou made to leave.

"Wait." The blonde turned to glance over his shoulder. The solar-powered girl riffled through her gym bag before pulling out a medium-sized package. "Here," she held it out for him to take. Bakugou removed his hand from his pocket and took the box. Flipping it around, his eyes widened. His jaw loosened in shock.

"The hell...?"

Sana rubbed her neck, avoiding looking directly at the blonde. "I figured I owed you for coming down here." She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. "You don't have that one, right?"

Bakugou clutched the box containing the limited edition Silver Age All Might figurine tightly. He remembered demanding his parents for one as a child. How they'd waited in line outside the store for hours, only for the shelves to be completely empty once they made it inside. How every store they went to was the same: the toy having sold out nationwide just hours after being released.

But here one was, after a decade of searching, in perfect condition... right in the palm of his hand.

"Bakugou?"

He slowly lifted his head, vermillion eyes clashing with dark pink. A million questions raced through his mind. How had she known?

Sana bit her lip to contain her giddiness. She inched closer to him until there was hardly any space left between them. She inhaled the sweet scent of caramel and cologne that always clung to him. "Your number isn't the only thing Midoriya told me," she lifted herself on the balls of her feet, her breath hitting his cheek. "Katsuki."

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

They met up the next day, and the day after, until it became almost routine for them. They'd meet at Yoshida Park, or make the trip together straight after school if neither had plans. It came as a surprise to them both how well they got along when no one else was around. Sure, they still had the occasional spat, but it was mostly playful bickering and teasing to rile the other up. They both had a dark sense of humor, an almost unhealthy competitive streak, and a punch first, ask questions later approach to situations.

One afternoon, Bakugou had to leave earlier than usual. He'd grumbled something about 'dinner with the old hag' before storming off. Sana figured his grandparents were in town or something and decided to take off early too.

She texted Mina, asking her if she was free to hang out. The pinkette responded to her message at lightning speed, sending her the address of a cute new bakery she'd been dying to try. The walk took fifteen minutes or so. She spotted Mina waiting outside, the pink-skinned girl squealing as soon she noticed her. They shared a hug before entering the shop, quickly ordering drinks and a few desserts to share. Mina led her over to a table by the window, her hands clasped under her chin.

"So," she narrowed her black and yellow eyes suspiciously. "Where's your shadow?"

"My what?" Sana leaned forward. Mina followed suit, lowering her voice as if her next words were top secret.

"Bakugou, duh."

"What?" Sana fell back in her chair with a laugh.

Mina waved her hand around dismissively. "You know what I mean. Wherever you are, he's bound to show up sooner or later." The waiter appeared with their order, interrupting the energetic girl before she could go on.

Sana reflected on her friend's words as she sipped on her bubble tea. It was true that Bakugou always seemed to be around whenever she needed help. He'd helped her during the stampede in the halls, as well as telling off that reporter for her. He'd been by her side before the class was separated by the warp villain. While she'd been recovering after the USJ attack, Shoto had briefly mentioned something about her helping Bakugou, though she didn't remember much. The blonde hadn't said a word to her about it, and she'd been too preoccupied with not thinking about USJ.

"I guess I..." she answered softly. "I hadn't noticed."

Mina paused mid-sentence, having already moved onto another topic. Some third year gossip she'd heard from Hagakure, who'd overheard some upperclassman whispering about it during break. She'd noticed how her friend had been pushing herself harder since the villain attack. How busy she was with training. Mina hadn't been there with her when she was attacked, but she'd seen the damage inflicted on the villains. Afterwards, Kirishima mentioned how strange Sana had acted right before the teachers' arrival.

"You'd tell me, right?" Mina pressed, her pretty face troubled. "If something was wrong?"

It was odd hearing the bright, cheerful girl suddenly sound so serious. It didn't fit her character at all. Sana forced a radiant smile, wanting any doubts about her or their friendship to disappear. She trusted Mina, she really did, but she didn't want to burden her with her problems, especially when she was still trying to figure them out herself.

"Of course," Sana assured her. "We're best friends after all."

A scarred, yet handsome face came to mind. She wondered if it was normal for best friends to hide things from each other. In Recovery Girl's office, Shoto had implied that she'd betrayed him in some way. If only she knew what the hell he was talking about.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #bnha x reader #boku no hero acedamia #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugō #bakugou fluff #bnha oc #bnha fluff #bnha shoto #shoto todoroki #aizawa shouta #bnha eijiro kirishima #mina ashido #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakusqaud

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ohthatstragic · 1 year

Text

Right Beside You - b.b

a/n: long time no type, i watched top gun again a couple days ago and it seems to have re-ignited my love for the franchise, so i went through my requests and sort of chose the one that spoke to me the most. i haven't typed up anything in a looong time so forgive me if there is any mistakes or if it's ass :( <3

also pls don’t repost or translate any of my work.. i don’t give you permission to do that.

pairings: dad!rooster x gn!reader,

warnings: fluffy afff :3

the request: @callsign-whiskey 'Bradley has a daughter that no one knows about, so when he is called back to Top gun he has to take her with him… single father and all.. one day after training he gets a call from the daycare saying that she got really upset/sick/scared so Bradley rushes out trying to get to his child and Mav notices he is rushing and becomes worried. So he goes to roosters house to see what is wrong and when he knocks on the door Bradley with a little girl in his arms curled into his neck, opens it and Mav is shocked. Bradley is just trying to get her to calm down and Maverick remembers something from when Bradley was a baby and he takes her from rooster and calms her down. Then they have a big talk about what they missed out on when they were out of contact.'

"Daddy has to go to work, okay sweetheart?" Bradley's heart was currently breaking in two as he stared at your sweet, innocent eyes; his protective hands engulfing your tiny toddler shoulders. Being no more than two years old, you couldn't help but feel your little lips quiver as a sob started to choke you.

"No!" You whined tearfully as you watched your daddy stand up, the warmth and security of his grasp quickly dissipating. Bradley clenched his jaw as he helplessly watched his little one cry for him. Your brows knitted together as the growing bubble of uncontrollable emotions boiled within your small body; cheeks growing impossibly red from the anger and upset you couldn't control.

"I'll be back soon okay, sweetheart?" Your daddy softly said as he bent down to your level again, almost instantly silencing your tears. "Be good for me," He whispered, pressing a prolonged, soft kiss to your forehead. "I love you." As his lips left your forehead, another strangled sob fell out, and you tried reaching up to grab him with your small hands - as if leaving you behind was hard enough, how could he leave you when you looked so scared and helpless? Bradley felt like he was abandoning you, and it took everything in him to walk out of the daycare, only turning around once to see the nanny pick you up, trying her hardest to soothe you.

It wasn't hard for Maverick to clock that something was off with Rooster - almost immediately he noticed how he kept checking his watch every few minutes, the way he chewed anxiously on his bottom lip, how he rubbed his mustache... Despite the gnawing feeling Maverick felt in him, he knew better than to press Bradley, especially when he seemed this tense. He was a ticking time bomb from Maverick's perspective.

The second Maverick dismissed the class, Bradley was up in a heartbeat; the screech of the metal chair leg against the concrete floor in the room caught the attention of just about everyone. Maverick watched his late best friend's son dash out of the room in a jog, fishing his phone out of his pocket and planting it straight to his ear.

"Jeez, what's got him in such a hurry?" Hangman sneered, his lips curling back to reveal a taunting grin. Maverick shot the young hot-shot a glare, in which Hangman quickly withdrew his grin and swapped it for a sheepish glance. Bob and Phoenix shared a perplexed look as they stared at their captain, quietly shuffling out of the room with the rest of the class. Like before, Mav knew better than to chase Rooster up and poke him for answers, but this time something in his gut was pushing at him to go and investigate.

"Ahh, shit." The captain breathed out with a strenuous grunt, eyes staring at the ground, different outcomes speeding through his mind. He slammed the paperwork in his hands onto the desk he stood before, quickly running to his motorbike. It's probably nothing, he thought. But something just seemed odd, and besides, Maverick promised Carol that he'd look out for her little Bradley no matter what.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Bradshaw, we couldn't calm her down. She really wanted her daddy." Miss Darlene sighed softly as she met Bradley's worried eyes. Immediately, Bradley heard your soft, strangled breaths from behind Miss Darlene. "We don't usually call the parents, but she was really worrying us."

"It's not a problem," Was all that Bradley could muster as he bent down to meet your petrified eyes. "Hey honey." He cooed, a smile of relief reaching his lips as you peered out from behind the nanny with one hand in hers and one in your mouth. Instantly your eyes lit up with happiness, any sign of sadness quickly melting away as you dashed into your daddy's arms.

"Daddy!" You cried out, your little legs carrying you as fast as possible to Bradley's open arms. He scooped you up with a chuckle, pressing soft, ticklish kisses all over your cheeks, prompting his favourite sound in the whole world. Your giggles were the reason he worked so hard everyday, to keep you happy and healthy - and most importantly out of harm's way.

"You wanna go home, my little love?" Bradley grinned, pressing another kiss to your nose, earning a squeal of excitement from you as his thick, bushy mustache tickled your soft cheeks.

"Mutash, daddy!" You squeaked and pressed your tiny hands on his cheeks, another squeal of happiness leaving your lips. Bradley felt his heart fill with pride as he stared at you, your bright and inquisitive eyes staring right back at him.

"Let's go home, sweetheart." Bradley said softly as he threw a gentle smile Miss Darlene's way.

It was around five o'clock when Maverick arrived at Rooster's house, his electric blue bronco sitting pretty out front. Maverick sat still on his motorbike as he stared at Rooster's house, internally debating whether this was still a good idea or... not at all.

"Nope, you came all this way-" Maverick grunted as he stepped off of his bike, sighing deeply. "You're going in." He scolded himself, marching over to Bradley's front door. He paused momentarily before rapping a couple knocks, stepping back to wait for an answer.

The door creaked open, revealing a tired and dishevelled-looking Bradley, and... and a toddler? Maverick's brows instantly shot together to form a confused frown as he stared, open-mouthed at his friend. From what Maverick could see - and hear - you were currently having a tantrum, curled right up into Bradley's neck. His eyes were wrinkled and bags had formed underneath them, and as Maverick stared into them, he could see how stressed Rooster truly was.

"Um," Maverick blinked, still slightly gobsmacked at what he was looking at. "Wha-" Before he could get another word out, Bradley had pulled his captain inside, silently pleading with his eyes for help. "Alright, let me take them." Maverick smiled, holding out his hands for Rooster to pass you to him.

"Hey, sweetheart," Maverick cooed at you as you cried. He wiped your tears away with his thumb, and smiled gently at you. "It's okay." He chuckled softly, watching your lips quiver as you tried to fight back the sobs that were currently flowing out of you. Maverick bobbed you up and down as you seemed to slowly calm down, slowly swaying you from side to side. "Are you happier now?" Maverick grinned as he watched you lay your head against his shoulder, your eyes slowly falling as you were lulled into a gentle sleep.

"How did you do that?" Bradley whispered, his face in complete shock. Maverick couldn't help the smug grin that spread across his face as he passed you back to your daddy.

"It was a technique I mastered when you were a kid." Mav answered, his grin softening into a gentle smile. "Your dad could never get you to calm down either." He laughed. Bradley blinked slowly as he felt a proud smile pick at his lips as Maverick spoke of his late father. "But err, are they yours?"

"Yeah," Bradley sighed, setting you down for a nap. "I suppose I should explain," He chuckled, though Maverick saw the change in his demeanor almost immediately. A frown reached the captain's face. "I was dating this girl for a while, I was even going to propose when we had the baby. But things didn't really go our way." Bradley chewed on his bottom lip, never meeting the captain's eyes.

"She passed away during the birth," Bradley met Maverick's eyes, but only for a split second. During that short glimpse, Mav noticed how tears had formed in Rooster's eyes. "To this day they still don't know why or how it happened, and it haunts me every night." Bradley muttered with a sharp inhale, obviously trying to get a hold of his emotions.

"Bradley... I'm so sorry," Mav's face fell as he watched Bradley stare down at the ground, his eyes never shifting from the one spot he was so focused on. He shut his eyes and shook his head momentarily, either dismissing Mav's condolences or trying to forget the flashback he was currently experiencing. "If you ever need anything, I'll be right beside you, kid." The captain gently said, stepping forwards slightly, testing the waters.

Bradley finally looked up, tears streaming from his reddened eyes. He was biting down on his bottom lip to stop himself from completely losing it in front of Maverick. He nodded, and shuffled himself towards Mav, quickly engulfing him in a hug - one that he needed desperately.

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