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yesimwriting · 1 year

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Final Girl - Part 8

Series Masterlist (updated chapters 1 -9 and extras) Final Girl Masterlist

A/N this took awhile,, but i always want to put my best foot forward bc of how much this series means to me, which means i work when i’m in the right headspace for it and have the time to invest,, which hasn’t been lining up too much recently 😭 anyways i see all the supportive comments and appreciate them sm!!

also keep in mind that my priority is not the timeline, like if you’re feeling like the month before halloween is the longest month of all time,, it’s bc i want to give them bonding time before the heavy murder stuff!

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at the Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s/

Chapter Summary: Y/n tries to get back to normal and work on her friendships, but there’s nothing normal about surviving a serial killer attack, and it’s no one’s fault her friends keep noticing. She’s navigating the start of dealing with her trauma while also trying to be a good friend, especially since Billy hasn’t been feeling like himself lately. In a desperate attempt to feel like a normal, healthy teenager, Y/n crosses a personal boundary.

----

My mom has often told me that in many ways, I was born as an old lady.

She’d always say it after I tried being responsible. Suggesting that she give herself a curfew on weeknights, or at the very least, call if she was going to be late. Reminding her that there’s a reason people gave her the side eye when she took a visibly underage me into R-rated movies.

Now that I’m older, I guess she was right in a lot of ways. I wasn’t the kid-iest kid, if that makes sense, but there was one thing I was always good at: playing dress up.

With a mom like Gloria, it would have been hard not to. For years, my mom’s closet basically had the same magical properties as Disneyland. I thought that that mindset might have just been nine-year-old me, but apparently not, because Tatum and Sidney have been looking through it like it’s life changing.

“Okay.” Tatum picks up one of my mom’s shimmery wrap and tosses it over her shoulder. “It’s official, when I die, I want to be buried here.”

I look over in time to watch her observe herself in the mirror. “Then I hope you live for a very long time.”

She wrinkles her nose. “That better not be the only reason.”

“Course not, you know I love you very much, Tate-a-boo.” I make a quick kiss-y face, and Tatum almost giggles before returning the gesture.

Turning away from my mom’s dresses, Sidney smiles. “Please, for all our sakes, don’t let Stu hear you say that.”

After the joke settles, I practically snort. “Good point.” I step a little further into the closet, refocusing my attention. The only reason we’re all in here is because I wanted to borrow a pair of shoes before going out to the nail salon. It was Tatum’s idea, and the state of my cuticles made me agree. My social hibernation has not been good to them. “Okay, these are the shoes.”

Sidney steps out of the closet to give me the space to do the same. I slip on the shoes, happy with how they look with my outfit and their level of comfortableness. My mom rarely buys any shoes for herself that aren’t heels, so she ends up taking anything that’s remotely comfortable from my closet.

“I want to stay here.” Tatum’s hand brushes against the sleeve of something cashmere. “Maybe forever.”

“And leave your nail beds like that?” Sid glances away from the full length mirror that’s right outside of my mom’s closet. She turns her attention to her reflection, adjusting the fluffiness of her always, almost magically perfect bangs.

Tatum halfheartedly glares before stepping out of the closet. “You’re such a liar.” She raises a hand, studying her palm while walking out of the closet. “You told me they looked fine yesterday.”

Sidney almost smiles before throwing me a look. A quick raise of eyebrows that seems to say got her. “We’re gonna be late.”

----

The first nail appointment after awhile always feels like willingly volunteering to get a bunch of paper cuts. It’s not overwhelming painful, just a little irritating. After feels nice, though, now that my nails look fresh and I know I don’t have to worry about having my cuticles professionally gutted for a little bit.

And being around Sidney and Tatum is nice. Familiar in a way that’s still new. It’s weird in a good way. Like I could start throwing around cheesy terms like BFF and it wouldn’t even be dumb. It’d still be ironic, but I think they’d get the sentiment. It’s not that I’ve never had good friends, but this is different. A little more open.

Like right now we’re in Sidney’s room and we’re not talking about anything in particular, just going off of whatever comes up. I could probably say the dumbest thing in the world right now and it wouldn’t even feel unfitting or awkward.

“...Shut up, he was not that bad.” Tatum’s trying to sound more upset than she is. Somehow Sidney found a way to tell me about Tatum’s first boyfriend. A total middle school romance--they even went to the 8th grade dance together and held hands and had their first kiss under the bleachers. Sounds cute enough, but according to Sidney he was a total weirdo. Even by 8th grade boy standards. “He wasn’t.”

Sidney laughs again, the movement has her arm bumping into mine. “He tried to eat a live lizard because Stu dared him.”

“No way.” I snort. “Your first kiss was with a lizard eater?”

Tate sighs, dropping her head against the side of the mattress and crossing her legs on the floor. “Tried. It ran away and no one ever found it.” That’s still objectively hilarious. I can’t picture Tatum with anyone that out there, but then again, she is with Stu.

Not that he reminds me of an 8th grade boy trying to eat a lizard, but he was the one that came up with the idea. “Maybe Stu ate it.”

Tatum glares, halfheartedly shoving my leg as Sidney clasps a hand over her mouth to avoid laughing too hard. “I’ll ask him.”

It’s strange to picture them like that. A little younger, growing up together. “So you guys knew each other back then and now...”

She shrugs, “I don’t know...it just kind of happened. He was always hooking up with or seeing any girl with a pulse and I didn’t even see him like that until after--” She cuts herself off with no warning. “You know Sidney and Billy have a way nicer getting together story.” Tate snaps her head up to look at Sidney, whose expression immediately shifts. “Right, Sid?”

Sidney’s eyes briefly meet mine. There’s a bit of uneasiness there that I don’t get. What could the end of Tatum’s thought have been? What could she have been about to say that might have been--oh.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “Billy and I were hanging out for weeks--”

“You can say her name.” My throat feels drier than it did a second ago. “I won’t freak out if you mention Casey. Promise.”

Tatum’s eyes briefly shut. “That’s--” She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. I’m right. Why wouldn’t she think I’d freak out? After the way I acted at that party. “No one would blame you if you did.”

It’s easy to say that it doesn’t matter when you’re not the one that has melt downs. “Yeah.”

There’s a brief stretch of awkward silence, the light mood now tainted by the exact thing that’s kept me away from my friends for so long. Maybe keeping to myself was about more than the safety of others--maybe I don’t want anyone to know what I’m like now.

“It’d be weirder if you weren’t a little messed up about it.” Tatum hums the words with such casualness I can’t help but laugh, even when Sidney snaps her head to the side to give her a seriously look. “I’m serious, only a total psycho would be able to see that and jump back into things.”

Sidney sits up a little more, “And you took the SAT a week after it all happened. You’re doing a lot better than most people would be doing.”

I nod, glad that they’re at least good at pretending that I’m not a total mess. “Yeah, guess I’m just sensitive about it because I freaked out on Noel at that party.” Ugh. That’s been something I’ve been trying really hard to forget. “He probably thinks I’m a total freak.” My eyes squeeze shut at the memory of the party. I had been a total mess. I flip flopped on murder accusations like it was nothing and nearly ran to Casey’s house in the middle of the night. “He’s probably told everyone I’m a total freak.”

“You don’t know that.” Sidney’s nice for trying to comfort me, but it’s not the best argument. She picks up on my expression because she then immediately tacks on, “Okay, let’s be logical--why would he do that?”

“Why wouldn’t he after the way I acted?” Ugh. Every guy that knows him is going to think I’m a complete weirdo. This is what I get for trying to date. “And it’s not like he called after. He hasn’t even talked to me in class since.”

Sidney’s eyebrows draw together briefly before her hands move off of her lap and land on her comforter. She pushes herself to stand. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Noel’s a total scrub. You’re better off.” Tatum stands too, scratching the back of her arm once. She approaches the bag she abandoned near Sidney’s door, “I brought that eyeshadow I was telling you about. The sparkly, blue one that makes everyone look like Baby Spice.”

She exhales what’s almost a laugh and I find myself not being able to answer. That does sound like something I’d normally happily go along with. Even though Tatum tends to go for a more subtle look on the day to day, she has a solid makeup collection. Lots of trendy shimmers and bright colors that are fun to swatch and mess around with. But there’s something about the way she said it...breezed away from one topic to this.

And the way Sidney just got up like she was hoping that’d change something. I sit up a little straighter, trying to remember what it’s like to not feel paranoid all the time.

Sidney stops adjusting her hair and messing with her bangs in the mirror. “Or we could hold off on that and go to the video store.” Another change to a topic that normally I’d be all over. “I think Randy’s working, we could bug him a little and get something to watch later.”

Okay, another thing I’d normally want to do. It has been a minute since I’ve gotten to annoy Randy, and the itch is definitely there. Maybe they’re just trying to be good friends and cheer me up, but they’re spitting out suggestions in a way that feels like they’re really hoping one will stick.

“Are--do you guys know something about something?” Ugh. If this is my paranoia acting up, I’ll never recover. Why can’t I just go along with things? “I don’t know if it’s me and my head, but you’re acting kinda weird.”

“No, we’re just--” Sidney’s eyes don’t stay on me, they shift over to Tatum for the briefest second. I blink and almost convince myself I’ve imagined it. “You’re not crazy, we just don’t want to stress you out.”

I push myself onto my feet. “That is the worst thing you can say to someone you don’t want to stress out.”

Sidney’s eyebrows draw together like she’s worried. I almost feel bad for pushing. “Noel not talking to you isn’t an accident or your fault.”

“Sid.” I snap my head in Tatum’s direction. She hesitates beneath my stare and gives in with a sigh, “Okay, Noel’s a player who brags about crushing girls’ virginities and breaking up with them the next day. He talks about every girl he’s dated like they’re some kind of car and there are even worse things written about him in the handicap stall of the second floor bathroom.” Tatum pauses, considering how she’s going to word what actually happened. “You’re going through a lot right now and that’s the last thing you need, and we were worried about you, so we talked to Stu and Billy and basically...got Noel to back off.”

Oh my god. The embarrassment, anger, and shock are all fighting for dominance in my mind, but none of them overpower the other so the feeling is just really fucking bad. All I can picture is Billy and Stu talking to Noel like I’m some little kid or someone with brain damage that can’t make their own choices.

“You guys suck!” I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, exhaustion cutting into my irritation. “Like really suck. I’m not some child that can’t make her own decisions.” Ugh--I can’t even decide how to react. “It’s not like I was going to marry him or anything.”

Tatum watches me with a certain level of uncertainty. I don’t think I’ve ever snapped at her or Sidney before. “You’re not exactly a casual dater.”

“Well--I-I could have been.” It feels awkward, almost reluctant, and I hate myself for it. She’s technically right. I’ve never casually dated, but I’ve never seriously dated either, so it probably wouldn’t kill me. “Either way, it might have been a mistake, but it was my mistake to make.”

“I know, Y/n,” Sidney breathes the words slowly, “We didn’t mean anything by it, it wasn’t like a whole scheme or anything it just--” She’s trying, really trying. “We wanted to help you.”

I didn’t need help, I was fine. The genuine hint of worry in her tone keeps me from pointing that out. I just stare at her and then at Tatum. Why does it matter anyways? Everyone gets to be normal and do dumb things and have people they’re close with and relationships and all I have is the stupid ‘almost murdered’ label.

“Why does it matter enough for you to--” I cut myself off, not sure what I’m really asking or what I mean.

Tatum lets out a small sigh, the sound almost reluctant, maybe a tiny bit annoyed that she even has to talk about this. “Because you’re our friend,” she half shrugs like what she’s saying should have been assumed , “And we love you.” She presses her lips together briefly, “Duh.”

Sidney throws a look in Tatum’s direction, “Yeah, we love you so much we were willing to risk you being super mad at us because we were worried.” Sidney pauses to take a breath. “We shouldn’t have done it behind your back, and in the future we won’t meddle.”

When I don’t ease, Tatum tacts on, “If it makes things any better, Stu’s normally a total guy’s guy about this kind of thing and even he thinks Noel’s a total creep.” She scratches the back of her wrist, “And those two never care about this stuff, so, boohoo, we all love you.”

Okay, that doesn’t exactly fix things but it does take the edge off just a tiny bit. They all go way back, and that’s intimidating. And Tatum’s trying to be funny about it, layering on the sarcasm so that I’ll laugh. I hate that it’s almost working. “Well, as long as it’s just everyone being obsessed with me...” The joke feels like a bit of a betrayal, so I tact on something else, “I’m still mad, though.” That feels even weaker. I’m too in my head about all of it and still pretty embarrassed despite the fact that I didn’t do anything. It won’t last forever, but right now, it’s all feeling like too much. The safety of my bedroom feels miles away instead of the few blocks it actually is. “I think I-I’m gonna...”

“No,” Tatum huffs, “It wasn’t supposed to be a thing.” She tilts her head to the side, silky blonde hair bouncing with the motion. “We haven’t seen you in forever and it was more Stu and Billy’s thing, they’ve been ready to start a thing with him since like the 9th grade.”

More Stu and Billy’s thing? That almost makes sense for Billy, who Noel casually suggested could be a murderer. But Stu? Noel seemed to like him well enough. Maybe it’s a loyalty thing. I can see Billy and Stu having a bit of package deal friendship. You can’t hate on one without becoming enemy of the other. And with how generally protective Stu seems to be over his friends, it’d make sense.

But still. I am not a bargaining chip or an excuse or someone that needs their approval on who I do or don’t date.

“Let’s do whatever you want to do and then if you’re still mad, we can invite them over and you can yell at them.”

Tatum almost smiles, “You’re good at that.”

That...feels a little weird. “I’m good at yelling?”

“No, it’s like when you told off that reporter. One minute, you’re normal, but then, when you need to be--bam! You’re super bitch.”

I laugh, this time it’s genuine. “Super bitch strikes again.” The exit is still close, and some nervous part of me wants to cling to the out. I’m not sure if it’s out of some form of fear or genuine anger or both. But I do want to stay around them a little longer and go take way too long renting a video just to annoy Randy. “If I get to pick what we do, I say we go bother Randy and get a movie. He’s had it easy for too long.”

Sid half scoffs at my ominous tone. “How do you know?”

"Knowing whether or not Randy needs to be annoyed is my superpower.”

----

The video rental is surprisingly empty for early Thursday evening. Schools are out and it’s close enough to the weekend where normally there are more people stopping by to check out what they want to watch in advance. Today doesn’t reflect that. Good to know that my Randy distress radar is still in tact.

There’s an older man adjusting the latest release aisle, changing out movies. He’s the only employee that I see as I scan over the store and a part of me nearly deflates. Sidney did say she thought Randy would be working and I have no way of knowing. Our friendship has also been a victim to my recent hermit ways, and it’s likely suffered more than my connection with anyone else. At least my other friends are in a couple of my classes or need to walk down the same hallways. Most of Randy’s classes aren’t near mine and we only share a study hall, which he often uses as an excuse to leave early in order to get to work. Meaning that most days I only see him during lunch.

The door to the back swings open and behind a cart of VHS tapes, there’s a familiar face. Randy. I find myself smiling as I approach the counter he’s coming up from behind.

“Excuse me,” he glances up, a bit of surprise causing him to raise his eyebrows, “I was wondering if you have a copy of Child’s Play 2, but not the original, the extended cut with the alternate ending, Sorority House Massacre, uncut, duh, and/or Fox’s original version of Clueless.”

Randy blinks, unfazed by my bullshit. “I’ve been around you too long to fall for that last one.”

I almost laugh. I can’t believe Randy remembers my rant about the developmental nightmare that was the original Clueless pitch. Fox wanted a TV show, but they got a movie instead, and that took way too long for no reason. I had talked about it a lot longer than I meant to the other day at school. “You caught it.”

“Decoys are always more obvious than they seem to the person making them.” It feels like some kind of movie rule reference, vague enough for me to get how it applies but not so random I feel the need to ask. “So are you here to rent something or make my job harder?”

“A little of both.” Turning my head, I gesture to where Sidney and Tatum are. They’re in the same aisle, backs to each other as they scan through options. “We wanted something to watch and Sidney said she thought you’d be working today.” I tap my nails against the counter. “And I had this feeling that things have probably been too easy for you.”

Randy’s lips turn upwards but it feels a little different than a smile. “Yeah, nothing but peace since you...”

“Became a total paranoid PTSD recluse?”

He half shrugs, “Jack Torrence.” I roll my eyes, a little relieved that Randy’s joking about it instead of pressing. It’s part of the reason he’s a good friend to have. “You’re feeling better, though, right?”

Spoke a little too soon, but that’s an okay question. It’s not invasive, it’s just an offer. “Getting there.”

Randy nods, taking in the answer for what feels like a little too long for two words. Maybe he’s feeling the honesty of what does seem like a cop out answer. I’m not over it by any means, but feeling better is a process that’s starting to work. “That’s good.” He pushes the cart slightly before pulling back to place. “You’re good.” Randy lets out a breath, tugging and pushing the cart again. “I mean--deserve to feel good and normal.”

I grin at the stumble in words. It’s rare that we’re openly nice to each other instead of acting like little kids after one pulls the other’s hair. “I get what you mean.”

His lips part, but no words come out. Randy’s eyebrows draw together as his mouth shuts. What is--a firm touch on my shoulder snaps the question out of me. My head turns and some kind of comment about being rude to people in line rises and immediately falls back down. Stu! And then I remember my earlier conversation and it feels a lot more like: Oh. Stu.

It’s such an instant flip that for a second I don’t react. Stu pulls his arm around me in a quick attempt at a side hug, but I’m so stiff it’s more like being shoved into him. “Look who’s here.”

Bumping into him is by no means new to me. Small town, same friends, some overlap in hobbies. But this time it’s different. I promised myself that Stu and Billy would get scolded for meddling as soon as possible, but I didn’t expect run into him in public. It’s like being a parent with a child that’s misbehaving in church. You can’t do anything but redirect until you get to the car.

Stu drops his arm back to his side. “Thought you were doing something with Tatum and Sid?”

“They’re over there,” I gesture vaguely with a tilt of my head, trying to seem casual. I might not be willing to get into the whole Noel thing in front of Randy and the suburban mom trying to settle a dispute between two kids who can’t decide which movie to get, but Stu probably is. “I wouldn’t look too closely, girls’ night movies might make you sick.”

Stu misses by just a second. He does wrinkle his nose in a display of the kind of good humor I’d expect from him, but it doesn’t feel as natural. There’s nothing wrong about his reaction, it just feels lacking. Missing his usual brand of energy. “I have no issue with girls’ night movies.”

Clearly, I’ve been spending too much time with him because I get the joke instantly. Now it’s my turn to cringe. “Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because, buggsie, your life would be so boring without me.” The nickname does make my expression warp, but this time it’s more like trying to keep in a laugh than anything else. “If your only movie influence was Randy, you’d be a lot less likable.”

Randy sighs. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The words are just a little too sharp. They’re good enough friends in some senses. Not two I’d guess hang alone together, but I like to think at the end of the day they like co-existing. That doesn’t mean they don’t bicker from time to time in a way that feels different than when Randy and I fight like little kids or Stu and I fight like an old married couple too lazy to get divorced.

“No need to be bitter, dude,” Stu’s hand is back around my shoulder, “I gave you a whole five minutes.” That was a weird thing to say. Random, and not in a fun sort of way, but before I can ask, Stu’s pulling me forward. “You want to help me sneak up on Tay?”

I throw Randy a look that hopefully communicates my level of confusion and some sort of see you later. “Uh...” Stu’s already turning like I’ve answered, “Sure?”

When we’re finally closer to the shelves than the counter, Stu lets me go, his hand sliding down my arm a little before retracting. “So you go up to Tatum, talk to her, keep her distracted, and I’ll sneak up behind her.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He’s moving along so quickly and casually, but I’m still fixed on that last comment to Randy. It wasn’t banter-y and Randy didn’t say anything back, which feels a little weird. “That last thing you said, the five minute thing?”

Stu barely pauses, head tilting in a way that feels confused. “Oh. Gave him five minutes to make a move, but you know Randy, not a closer.”

It’s said casually enough that I could think Stu’s being serious, but there’s also a hum of sarcasm in there. And what he’s saying does feel too unrealistic to not be a joke. Randy and I are completely platonic, there’s no way he sees me like that. Plus, I’d like to think that if a guy I’m around that regularly liked me in any sort of way, I’d have at least somewhat picked up on it.

“Shut up,” I shove Stu’s arm, “You’re not funny.”

He holds his hands up in defense briefly. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

It’s said casual enough that I’m finally given a second to think. The nagging voice at the back of my head is finally given the opportunity to remind me that I’m supposed to be mad at him. Or, at the very least, irritated until I can tell him off for trying to make decisions for me behind my back.

“Interesting that you mention shooting you, be--”

“Ouch,” Stu hums, a little too pointedly, “Thought we were all good, angel.” I press my lips together, staring at the ground to avoid giving him anything to latch onto. “I’ve been on best behavior. Minding my business, just here to check something out.”

I stop, a motion I think is subtle enough but Stu picks up on it immediately. He turns and grabs my wrist. The contact is sudden enough to force me to look up. Stu’s watching me, his expression seems innocent, and not in that pretend way either. There’s a hint of confusion behind his eyes. I’m not sure I entirely believe it, but I think it’s possible that what I’m mad about isn’t coming to mind. He has no reason to think I’d know about it.

His hold is firm and oddly warm and bordering on distracting.

“Stu,” Tatum’s cheery voice snaps the two of us out of our stand off.

He pulls away quickly, eyes falling on Tatum. “There’s my girl.” Stu pulls her into a hug and gives her a quick kiss. “Y/n was going to help me sneak up and surprise you, but she’s in a mood.”

Ugh. Stu has a way of dismissing any type of reaction that doesn’t work for him as me being in a mood or pouting. “I am not in a mood.”

“Give her a break.” Stu’s hands are still on her. “Y/n found out about the Noel thing.”My gaze instinctually shifts back to Stu. His easygoing grin falters. Tatum smiles at him with a coy look that I guess could be interpreted as some kind of apology. “Don’t get moody, she pulled it out of us.”

It takes him a second, but Stu eventually eases off of her. He doesn’t look as content as before, but his expression hints at nothing else besides casual annoyance. “She can’t be too mad if she’s still hanging around you and Sid.”

“I got to tell them both off already.”

Stu turns, something smug tugging his face into an almost smile. It’s infuriating. “If that’s what you’re into, babe.”

Tatum scoffs and halfheartedly smacks his shoulders. “You’ve been around long enough that I don’t have to apologize for him anymore, right?”

“Right.”

Stu lets out a breath, “Geez, you two sure act like you love me.”

I am so not in the mood to say anything nice about Stu in front of him. “Maybe if you minded your business a little more--”

“Okay,” Tatum pushes herself into the budding argument and looks at me. “Save your energy for when there’s two of them.” Good point. If I yelled at Stu and Billy separately every time they messed up, I’d be yelling constantly. Tatum’s attention shifts back to Stu, “Is he around? Sid’s around the corner.”

Stu shakes his head once. “Nah, it’s still early and he only said he might call. He’s been a little out of it.”

Billy’s out of it? And out of it enough to not be around Stu for once? It’s not like they’re literally attached at the hip but a weekend evening where both me and their girlfriends are busy and they’re not hanging out together? That in itself hints at something being wrong.

I think through the last I heard from Billy, but nothing particularly stands out. He might have briefly mentioned his dad but not in a concerning way. Not in a way that indicated he’d have to spend extra time with him or anything.

Billy has also been weirdly absent. No recent warning-less appearances at my window. Has he been going through something and I’m just too caught up in my personal issues to notice? God, this serial killer nonsense has turned me into a terrible friend.

“He okay?”

Stu’s eyes flit up to meet mine. “You might want to hold off on the scolding, but last time I checked in, yeah. Just all angsty, you know how Billy gets.”

I blink. Last time he checked in. Maybe I’m idealizing their friendship too much, but I’ve always felt like they were looking out for each other. Closer than Stu’s current reaction warrants. Or maybe I’m overthinking things and Billy’s just taking some time. He doesn’t seem the type to want to talk about fuzzy things like feelings.

“We were going to ask you guys to come over, but if he’s not up for it, that’s okay,” Tatum says, “You can still come by later, but I think you should check in on him.”

Now I’m starting to feel antsy. Like I should go check in on Billy, but I don’t even know what that’d look like. The realization that I’ve never been to Billy’s house hits hard and with no warning. Whenever we all hang out, it’s at my place or someone else’s, and when it’s the three of us we go to Stu’s and sometimes my house. The thought rubs me the wrong way, like this one thing is pulling on the threads of our friendship.

He’s one of my best friends and I can’t even say I know what his room looks like.

“I’ll probably stop by soon.”

That makes me frown. Probably. Soon.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Tatum’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “Dewey wanted me to give you a head’s up that he’ll be trying to meet with you soon. He wants to go over some....stuff.”

Ugh, this again. I can’t escape it. “Yeah. He has my number, Dewey can call whenever, but the warning was nice.”

Stu shifts back like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “He wants to talk to her again?” He’s more offended than I am. “What? It’s not like anything’s changed.”

Tatum shrugs, “I don’t know. Dewey doesn’t give me the details.”

“Unless they have new evidence, they shouldn’t be dragging her back into it just because they don’t know shit.”

I should tell him to drop it. That this is my business and maybe it’s time we establish some firmer boundaries, but I can’t get the words to form. The whole thing feels hypocritical. I should be annoyed, but I’m not because he’s saying what I can’t.

It’s brief, but for a second it almost feels like Stu might be the closest to someone that gets what it feels like. The irony is insane, considering that there’s no way that empathy’s his strong suit.

“I don’t know. It’s not my thing.”

Tatum is understandably a little defensive, which is fair. Especially when considering our earlier conversation. This isn’t fair to her. “It’s okay.” The words feel like a flat cop out compared to Stu’s instinctual defense. “It’s not Tatum’s fault and Dewey was really nice about it last time--”

“Last time? You mean when they ambushed you at the hospital before they let you take visitors?”

My stomach knots at that. The feeling of waking up there, confused and unaware of what I’d just been through and then being made to feel like I was completely alone while Billy and Stu were waiting outside for me. “That’s not his fault.” A dry defense. “It sucks, but it’s for the greater good and it won’t take long.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince myself or him. “It’s okay.”

Stu half sighs. “I’m going to grab my movie and head out, maybe stop by Billy’s.” He tuns to give Tatum a brief goodbye kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll see you soon, Y/n. Make sure you get to yell at me before it builds too much.”

At that, I roll my eyes but still wave him off.

----

My eyes are on the phone again, staring down the extension on my nightstand like it’s keeping things from me.

Ugh. This is ridiculous. I snap my attention back to the homework in front of me. Some extra credit for my math class. It’s an attempt at damage control because the test I had to take the morning after being attacked by a serial killer is seriously bringing down my GPA. Too bad calc has never been my strong suit. The distraction that is my inability to move on from what Stu said is definitely not helping.

Even after Sidney, Tatum, and I left the video store, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Stu’s uncertainty and what Billy could be going through. Maybe Stu was playing down how much he knows because Billy didn’t want anyone else knowing. I could see that. Hope for that since the thought of Billy locking himself in his room and dealing with whatever it is completely alone tugs at my heart.

I could call. He might not answer, but that’s okay. It might make me feel better to just do something and it’s not like I’ve never called him. There’s also the more extreme option of showing up to his place. I’ve never been to his house, but he’s pointed it out before. Even though I physically could get there, that feels like too much. If I’ve never been over, it’s probably for a reason.

There’s also Stu. I could call him to ask about Billy. He’s more likely to tell me about how Billy’s doing than Billy. But that also feels weird for no reason. Again, it’s not like I never call them.

I glance over at the digital clock on my desk. 7:56. Okay--it’s not too late. Not weirdly late.

I stand before I can think about it too much, walking over to the phone. If it’s going to be distracting, I should just get it over with. Maybe having some kind of answer will make it easier to focus on things.

The phone rings about three times before there’s an answer. “Yeah?”

“Hey.” Okay, that one word feels super awkward for no reason. “Hi--it’s um--” Be more normal. It’s just Stu. “It’s Y/n.”

A quick breath that feels more like a laugh than it sounds. “Yeah, I figured that out.” Great, now he’s making fun of me. “I also know why you’re calling.”

“Really?”

I can feel his amusement over the phone. “You can’t stop thinking about me and want me to come over.”

I snort as soon as the words wash over me. What was I expecting? “You figured it out. This is a booty call.”

Stu sort of laughs. “Yeah? I can be over in five.”

Pressing my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, I sit up a little more. “Loser.” I reach over for a pillow and pull it on to my lap. “Okay, so actual reason, I was trying to do something for calc, so obviously my mind was wandering and thinking about literally anything else.”

“Obviously.”

My fingers brush the fluff of the pillow’s exterior. I brush the strands flat and then back into little spikes of hair. “And at some point, I started thinking about what you said at the video store. About Billy.”

There’s a brief silence, and then another one of Stu’s breathy-accidental-laughs. “Aw, you’re worried.” Ugh. “That’s cute, angel, I’ll make sure to tell him.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport.”

My nose wrinkles at that, nails smothering my pillow’s layer of fluff. “Is he okay or not?”

For a second, the only thing coming from the other side of the phone is the general static of someone’s movement. “Bossy.” I roll my eyes, but before I can tell him to spare me tonight, Stu continues, “Why didn’t you just call Billy?”

It’s a fair question, which only bugs me more. “Because there’s no way to call someone and ask if they’re okay based on a passing comment without sounding insane.”

I pinch the thin hairs of my pillows between my thumb and index finger. “And it’s less insane this way?”

Feels like it. “Kinda, yeah.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it. Billy’s fine, he’ll be back to his usual levels of brooding soon. Promise.” I don’t know what to make of that, so I just focus on my pillow. “It might help if you called him tomorrow. Let him sleep it off for a little longer.”

That’s probably a good suggestion. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” My eyes drift back to the still open textbook on my desk. My mom is out with Wells so I can’t even use her as an excuse to not be doing this right now. I briefly bite my tongue to give myself a second to think through what I’m considering. “You um--are you doing anything right now?” Even more awkward. Great. “I could really use an excuse to not work on calc right now.”

“Now it’s a booty call.”

Being friends with him is so annoying sometimes. “I hate you.”

“Ouch,” a brief shuffling before he speaks again, “You know I love distracting you--” I roll my eyes. “But tonight’s--”

“Shit, is Tatum over or something?” A hand flies over my mouth. Of course I’d call at a time where he had someone over and be a total mess. “I’m sorry.”

Some more static before a response, “No, it’s--” He sighs once. “Billy’s here and he’s--” Oh. My embarrassment is definitely doubling, but there’s still some relief there. At least he’s not alone. “Maybe you should come over, help cheer him up.”

“You’re kind of an asshole for not mentioning that earlier.” I push the throw pillow off my lap and let my back fall onto my cocoon of larger pillows. “And it’s fine, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm him or anything.”

“No,” Stu’s answer is quick but feels a little flat. Almost worried. “You--I think it’d be good for him to see you.” There’s still a bit of hesitance there, like Stu’s not telling me the full story. Maybe he can’t. “We rented a few movies and I think I might still have those sour gummy things you like.”

I really do love sour gummies. “Is Billy okay with it?”

“It’s my house, bug.” When I don’t say anything, Stu sighs, “Kidding. C’mon, he loves you.” I don’t know why I’m debating so much, it was my idea, but now it feels a little intrusive of me. “And we’re a lot more fun than calculus.”

“Not a high bar you’re setting there.” Stu pointedly scoffs. “Okay--if you’re sure Billy’s okay with it, I’ll be over in a few.”

“Need to go ask your mommy?”

I’m already pushing myself to my feet. “Shut up.” An ‘at least I have a parent that gives a shit’ nearly slips out and I just barely manage to bite my tongue. That’d be like reacting to a playful shove with a punch to the face. Besides, my mom’s not a factor right now. She and Wells are out to dinner with some friends. She left me with a 20 to order pizza and maybe rent a movie. “I can still not go.”

Stu chooses to ignore the (empty) threat, “See you soon, babe.”

I push open the door of my closet and search through it as quickly as possible. It’s not like I need to get dressed up to go to Stu’s, but my stained pajama pants from the ninth grade and practically threadbare tank top aren’t things I wear out of the house. Especially now that fall is making evenings a lot chillier. “I don’t get our friendship.”

“I keep you supplied with those awful sour gummies.”

I smile despite myself, grabbing something out of my closet. “That explains it.” Bending down, I pick up another article of clothing. “See you soon.”

----

“There she is.”

Stu pulls me into a hug before I can think to react. He’s always so warm and everywhere. I think it has to do with his smell. It sounds weird but he’s so consistent about it. Enough expensive laundry detergent to drown out most of the usual teen boy body spray musk to a level that’s tolerable and sharpens the slight hint of weed that seems to cling to him. Even that is balanced. Subtle unless you know to think about it. But now it’s a little more overwhelming than usual...fresher.

Like he just finished a joint. I stare at him for a second and while his eyes seem mostly normal, there’s a bit of a red tinge there. If it wasn’t for the smell of weed, I wouldn’t have noticed. “Are you high?”

The corner of Stu’s mouth pulls up into an almost smile. He’s amused. “That’s a fun way to greet me.” I give him a pointed look. “Mmm...maybe a little.” Stu extends an arm, halfheartedly punching me in the shoulder. Instead of dropping his arm like usual, Stu relaxes his fist in order to squeeze the top of my arm. “What gave me away, angel?”

“With you, it’s always a safe guess.” He sort of frowns, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Kidding. You smell like a dispensary.”

Stu squeezes my arm a little harder. “Judgy.” He tilts his head slightly. “And here I was going to offer you some.”

“No one likes me when I’m high.” That’s true enough. I get all paranoid and clingy. Randy won’t even smoke around me if we’re alone just in case.

He half scoffs. “Nah, that’s just for people that don’t know how to handle you.”

Handle me? I’m about to give him some sarcastic answer, but when my eyes meet his, the reaction freezes over. He’s staring at me with a concentration that feels more prominent than his hand on my arm. I don’t know why, but I feel the need the redirect and break the silence. “Where’s Billy?”

“In my room.” Stu swings a hand around my shoulder and starts guiding me forward. “C’mon, he’ll be happy to see you.”

I should shrug Stu off of me, but it feels easier to just let him. Besides, there are other things to worry about. From the vagueness Stu’s been handling mentions of Billy with, I half expect him to be in a straight jacket or something. “He--he does know I’m here, right?”

The only answer I get is Stu placing a hand on his bedroom door once we reach it. He releases me to push open it open. “Hey, feeling any better?” Billy doesn’t get a chance to reply before Stu continues, “Because I brought you a present.”

Weird...and kind of objectifying, but in a weird way. It’s not so much the words, but the way he’s saying them. This is definitely an ambush. Stu pushes the door open all the way before I can really react. I still make a point of smacking his arm. “Don’t make it weird.”

I turn my head towards Stu’s room. Billy is in there, sitting with his back against the headboard and he’s looking at me but there’s little recognition. It’s more like he’s seeing through me. I want to assume it’s part of some kind of side effect of being high, but I can’t quite get myself to dismiss it as something so casual.

Any fight directed at Stu evaporates into the air and morphs into this weird veil of tension. Not good or bad. Just heavy and full, bleeding through the room and into the hall where I’m still standing.

“Hi,” it feels like an attempt at cutting through the harshness, “I heard you were feeling bad so I thought I’d come back and make you feel worse.”

Billy’s eyebrows draw together slightly, like he’s considering how to react. He settles on a, “Yeah?” It feels smaller than the way he usually is.

I swallow my instinctual reaction. “Yeah--things aren’t looking too good in Iraq and everyone’s getting too comfortable with nuclear bombs.”

The corner of his mouth turns up into an almost smile. It’s not quite there, but the thawing of the icy layer behind his gaze is cracking. “Anything else?”

“I still think the Princess Diana divorce is kind of a bummer.”

Stu sighs dramatically. “Of course you’re on her side.”

“There is no other side, Charles is the worst.”

Stu walks fully into his room and practically flops onto his bed. His head hits Billy’s calf and Billy throws him a dirty look before adjusting. “Charles is next in line for the throne. That entitles him to all the girls he wants. That’s just history.”

I wrinkle my nose and halfheartedly glare at him. “He’s also probably inbred.”

Billy sits up a little further, reaching for what I’m assuming is a joint. “Definitely inbred.”

The small vouch of support is strangely easing.

Stu tilts his head to look at me briefly. “You two deserve each other.”

“Don’t pout.” Maybe not my smartest joke, but it’s too easy to pass up on.

He props his head up just to glare at me. “I can still kick you out.”

I roll my eyes and Billy wordlessly extends what he’s been smoking. Stu reaches for it absentmindedly and Billy moves his arm away. “You need to slow down.”

Stu doesn’t protest, which has to be a byproduct of his easy high. I’m so distracted by that it takes a second for it to click. If Billy isn’t handing off the joint to Stu, he’s trying to give it to me...the person who’s going to be around their mom and a cop before the night’s over.

“Can’t tonight.” I’m so going to get bullied for this, “My mom would know immediately, and then she’d kill all three of us.”

Billy sits up a little more, not fully taking his hand back but relaxing it a little. Stu drops his head back down, accidentally landing on Billy’s leg. I suppress a laugh when Billy lazily shrugs Stu off. It doesn’t work, because Stu still glares at me as he curls into himself slightly. “You could stay over, sleep it off.”

Maybe Stu’s more high than I thought. I take a step forward, feeling awkward about the distance. “I don’t see how that helps the my mom killing us all thing.”

“You could call her from my home phone, tell her you’re staying over at Sidney’s or Tay’s.” Stu doesn’t wait for my response before stretching out an arm in my direction. “Come here.”

It feels a little bit like a trap, but at the same time, standing this close to the door is probably weirder than anything Stu’s going to try. I walk forward and sit down on the edge of his bed. Stu smiles lazily and adjusts so that his legs are on my lap. They’re long. He’s basically an arachnid.

With Stu, a firm approach is usually best, but this seems harmless enough so I don’t kick him off of me. “You’re like a spider.”

He laugh-scoffs, stretching even further. “Like a daddy long legs.”

There’s a weird attempt at sultriness in his words. It’s so stupid I can’t hep the terrible laugh that comes out. “Shut up. You’re so gross.” Now I do want him off of me. He won’t move so I try dragging myself back a little. All that does is make me bump into Billy’s arm. “Sorry.”

Dismissing my apologetic look with a short wave of the hand still holding the joint, Billy sits up even more, angling himself towards me. “You should be.” It’s sarcastic, but still oddly flat, like Billy’s putting work into being a part of the conversation.

Stu, clearly feeling forgotten, softly kicks his leg. “Your sobriety’s bringing old Billy Boy back down.”

I lean back, ignoring the way my fingers brush against Billy’s. “I promise me being high would only depress him more.”

“I like you high,” Billy muses flatly, “You get all jumpy.”

I roll my eyes, trying to straighten to pull my hand back but Billy doesn’t let me get that far. His hand turns over and pulls his fingers between my own. It’s a casual enough attempt to pull me back into place, but his eyes are so quick to meet mine. There’s something almost nervous about the shift, and vaguely familiar. An uncertain, begrudging request for reassurance I’ve come to associate with people going through some sort of depressive episode.

“That was one time,” I mumble, “And it was because you guys are assholes and didn’t tell me that it was extra strong.”

Stu’s leg moves again, “It wasn’t extra strong, we just didn’t pace you.”

“Either way--assholes.”

Billy moves his thumb along my knuckles. “We’ll be nice this time.” He takes a deliberate hit and exhales the smoke in a way that lingers. I can feel the smell of it, a paranoid part of me thinking it’s already caught up in my hair and clothes and skin. Like my mom will just be able to tell already. Maybe it is already too late.

And it’d upset her. She’s already worried enough about how I’m handling all the killer stuff, if she thinks I’m acting out and smoking she’ll probably freak. This also wouldn’t be the first time I did something like this and didn’t tell her...or the first time I stayed over at a friend’s house to sleep something off.

It’s also objectively nice to be around them. Also, Billy’s whole slightly off thing is something I’ve definitely seen before. The familiarity finally clicks into place, a few memories of my mother from when I was younger. Bad ones, days in which things slipped through the cracks before my mom was diagnosed and started managing that part of herself.

“Even if you don’t smoke, you should call your mom...stay over.” Billy gets the words out stiffly, like some invisible force was trying to shove them back down his throat. “Keep me from being alone with that one.”

Stu lets out a sound that’s sounds a lot like a tired “fuck off”. The casual disapproval makes me smile.

Billy takes another, much shorter hit. I let myself observe the process. The way the smoke goes in, how he holds it in, and finally the way he forces it out. Billy wordlessly turns the joint around in a silent offering. I give in with an exhale and reach over. Billy doesn’t let me get that far, moving so that his fingers are almost to my mouth. I part my lips and let him hold the joint there as I inhale. He doesn’t give me long before taking it back. He runs his thumb along my knuckles. “Hold.” I struggle, but follow through. “Good. Now breathe.”

I let it out with a slight cough.

“There ya go,” Stu mumbles, patiently dragging his leg up my thigh. “You’ll feel better.” I wish I had more experience with smoking outside of them. If I did, I’d have a reference point to tell me if Stu’s weed is actually extra strong or not. I’m sure what he gets is considered good shit, since he definitely has the money and tolerance. “You should call your mom before you get all giggly.”

I openly frown. “I do not get ‘giggly’.”

“Yeah, you do.”

I’m not in an argumentative mood. Maybe it’s the atmosphere or the weed is already starting to cloud my judgement. I should call my mom, though. It hasn’t been that long since I left, which means she’s probably still out with Wells. It’ll be easier to just leave a message on the machine. She always checks when she gets home.

Ever since the first incident, my mom keeps a cell phone on her that’s always on, but it’s still weird to both of us. I don’t have the number fully memorized yet, it’s written on a note held to the fridge by a magnet back home...a few blocks away. The cell phone isn’t exclusively emergency, but my mom doesn’t love portable technology. She thinks they’re tacky and breed rudeness.

I tap Stu’s leg, “Up.”

Surprisingly enough, Stu listens, letting me go. I let go of Billy’s hand and reach for the extension on Stu’s nightstand. I quickly dial my number and leave a flat message. Staying over at Sid’s, have fun but not too much fun, love you and see you tomorrow.

In a moment of straight forward association, I almost went with telling my mom I was staying at Tatum’s, but I have to talk to Dewey soon and my mom will probably be there and that felt like a potential loose end.

Stu half snorts, “Love you and see you tomorrow, mom.”

I shove Stu’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Have fun but not too much fun,” Billy mumbles, a lot more subdued but just as teasing.

Rolling my eyes, I move back to the edge of the bed where I was sitting before. “It’s an inside joke.”

Stu leans forward and pinches my cheek. “That’s adorable.”

The patronization doesn’t sit well and my eyelids feel heavier than they did a second ago. “I hate you guys.”

“Clearly,” Stu breathes, reaching over and taking the joint from Billy. “Oh, Billy, forgot to tell you, Y/n’s supposed to be mad at us.” Billy tilts his head a little too far to one side like that’s news enough for him to be curious. “Tay told her about the Noel thing.”

Billy feels imbalanced, head leaning one way and spine straight. His eyes harden over again. “Really?” He takes my hand again, this time a lot less softly. “Over that asshole?” I let him run his knuckles over my hand again, even though this time it feels a lot less soothing. “If none of your friends like a guy, that usually says something about the guy.”

I’m sure there’s some kind of joke I could spin. Maybe about where he learned that one from. Get that from Cosmo? But the bordering on defensive look behind Billy’s eyes is overbearing and messing with my head. Stu is seriously in danger for bringing this up right now.

“It’s not about the guy,” I manage, “It’s about...” All the points I had feel a lot less concrete under Billy’s scrutiny...or maybe it’s the weed. Or both. I swallow, dropping my gaze to my lap as I try to really think. Okay, it’s definitely both. “Timing and boundaries.” It feels fractured. “Like even if a guy totally sucks, you can’t go over my head about it.”

Stu lets out a sigh, dropping his head onto one of his pillow’s. I glare openly. This is all his fault. Why bring it up now? Billy was just starting to act a little more like himself. “I don’t know what you see in him.” Ugh. It’s like he’s not even hearing me. “Especially with the way he talked about Casey.”

That last part hits its intended goal. Stu’s staring at the ceiling, so I can’t see his expression, but he seems to take my silence as a win. I don’t know Noel as well as they do, but he did talk about Casey at that party and it wasn’t exactly kind.

I squeeze what I can grab of the comforter like that will tether me here. It half works but it does nothing to ease the tightening in my chest. The memories mix uneasily with the start of my high. The dip of panic doesn’t suit the way my body wants to feel and it all blends together in a way that leaves me on edge and a little nauseous.

There’s the sound of someone moving, but I barely pick up on it. Billy smacks the side of Stu’s head. “Too much, asshole.”

Stu throws Billy an offended look before craning his neck to look at me. I must look as off as I feel, because Stu does sit up. “Shit,” he pushes himself back, “Sorry. I didn’t think--”

“You never think.” The words are pointed, but not completely angry. If I was feeling any better, I would’ve laughed. He slowly reaches forward and I don’t stop him from prying my fingers away from the sheets. “Your trip going a little bad?” I nod. “Don’t think about it.” Easier said than done. “You could end up like Stu the one time he smoked too much while watching one of those old horror movies where the special effects are basically held up by a string.”

That cracks at the panic a little. “What did he do?”

“Convinced himself that it was real and we were the ones that were off.”

I almost laugh. “Actually?”

“Shut up,” Stu sighs, a little bitter but not actually mad.

Billy ignores him, “Actually.” He turns my hand over carefully before running his fingers over the thin scar on my palm and up my wrist. “So you’re already doing better than him.”

For a second, I let myself study Billy. The wisps of hair falling forward, the slight pinch between his eyebrows, his focused expression. Billy almost always holds himself with a certain tenseness. Whether that’s force of habit or natural to him, I’m not sure. Maybe that’s why he gets along so well with Stu. They balance each other.

“Are you...” I don’t know where I’m going with this. “Are you feeling any better?”

His expression briefly clouds, pulling into something much more blank. He drops his gaze and for a second I feel like I might need to take it back. “Yeah--yeah, don’t worry.” Again, easier said than done. Billy clears his throat almost immediately after, like that will erase the fact that he actually responded.

“Good.” It doesn’t sound overly positive, but he hasn’t convinced me. “I’ve missed you, a little.” That feels a lot more real.

Billy angles his head downwards, almost smiling. “Only a little?”

“It’s not like you haven’t been around at all.” He traces an invisible line up my wrist. “Maybe more than a little, anyway.”

“Aw,” Stu hums, his hand finding a place on my back. He leans forward and rests his head on my shoulder. “You two are adorable.” I’m not really given a chance to answer before Stu lets out a sigh that I feel against my neck, “Don’t be mad.”

Honestly, I’m not feeling any anger. I’m a little annoyed at him and frustrated that I’m still not normal. That’s all there is. It’s too tiring to turn into anger. “’M not mad,” it feels like a confession, “A little annoyed at you, but not more than usual.”

He breathes a sarcastic, “Haha” into my shoulder.

With no warning, I start to unweave myself from them. I think they’re too confused to ask until I’m actually standing.

“Where are you going, angel?”

I don’t really know, so I can’t really answer. Stu’s room isn’t super familiar. I’ve been in here a couple times, most of them brief. I take a second to really take in the space. A lot of posters, the ones that aren’t directly bloody movie posters feature practically naked women and some combine the two. It fits him.

“Getting a feel,” I decide on, “You can tell a lot about a person based on their room.”

Stu moves to the edge of his bed, grinning at my focus. “Really?”

I move to pull open the drawer of his nightstand. “Mhm.”

“You’re not going to like anything you find in there.” He places a hand on the front of drawer but doesn’t stop me.

It takes me a second too long to realize what he’s getting at. By then, I’ve already taken in a cover of a magazine with a model that’s wearing even less than the girls on the posters, a box of condoms, a surprisingly neatly stacked set of polaroids, an old deck of cards, and a few random odds and ends all crammed in there.

My nose wrinkles, but I’m too distracted by the polaroids to make fun of him. I can only see the top one, but it’s innocent enough, an accidental snapshot that sort of looks like a blurry person on a couch.

“Polaroids?” I pick them out of the drawer and flip to the next one. A small lump that looks like a cat in Stu’s living room. Weird, I’ve never seen one in his house and he’s never mentioned having a pet. Maybe these are old pictures. Before I can snoop any further, Stu pulls the stack of photos away from me. “You’re no fun.”

He rolls his eyes as he moves the first photo back into place. “You’re nosy.” I don’t say anything because I’m not so high that I’m clueless. This is a little weird of me, but I can’t help the impulse. “What if the next picture had been me naked?”

“You take naked pictures of yourself and keep them in your nightstand?”

Stu intentionally ignores my laughter. “You don’t need pictures for that, baby, you can see the real thing.”

My laughter picks up again. “Yeah? Let’s go right now.”

At that, Stu does crack a bit of a smile. “Let’s make Billy strip first.”

“Deal,” I mumble through another laugh.

Billy drops his head onto a pillow, “Fuck off.”

I turn my attention back to the card deck and dig them out with my nail. “Any naked pictures hidden in here or am I good?”

“No promises.” With that as my warning, I begin to shuffle the cards absentmindedly. “Why? You wanna play strip poker?”

Ignoring him, I move back to my previous position on the edge of the bed. “Think I’m good.”

I drag the nail of my thumb along the edge of the cards and focus on the sound of them. Billy nudges my knee with his. I look up as he extends his arm, silently asking for the cards. I hand them over without thinking much about it. Billy begins to actually shuffle in a way that would fit Vegas.

He has to notice my mesmerized stare, but he says nothing. “Do you actually know how to play anything?”

My mom briefly worked at a casino when I was in the first grade and she’d have to bring me in sometimes, but I retained nothing. “Not really.”

That starts something. A process that should have been short and easy. Billy trying to explain different versions of poker and Stu trying to trick me, but only sometimes so I couldn’t know to for sure not trust him. It’s a mess of laughter and a refreshing lack of angst. Every once in awhile, someone insists that a loser has to take a drag from a joint, so everyone’s progressively getting worse. I’m pretty sure Stu’s cheating somehow, but I have no proof and I’m too out of it to get any.

It’s so lighthearted and genuinely fun that I’m fighting against the heaviness of my eyelids. It can’t be that late, but I’m already starting to feel drowsy. I’ve finally been given good cards, so I really need to get it together. “I won.”

Stu scoffs, eyebrows drawing together as he eyes the cards I just set down. “No--that’s not--”

“I won,” a yawn cuts my sentence in half, “Don’t be a loser about it.”

Stu picks up all the cards, ignoring my protests. He’s already mixed me up a couple of times. “I can let you have this one, because you’re--”

“Because you have to.”

Billy turns his ankle, tapping his foot against my leg. “Don’t be mean about it.”

That was nowhere near mean. “Dramatic, both of you.”

Stu’s mouth falls open in a mock gasp as he continues to gather cards. I don’t know what he’s doing until he drops them all back into his drawer and shuts it. He then walks towards his dresser, pulls out a T-shirt, and tosses it in my direction. “After all I’ve done for you.”

I pick up the T-shirt and fold it onto my lap but make no move to go to the bathroom to change. “I don’t want to go to sleep.”

“You’re half asleep already.” Billy ignores the dirty look I give him. “Just change in case you fall asleep.”

Stupid voice of reason. I scratch the back of my wrist and decide to give in. If for no other reason than the fact that Stu’s shirt is almost weirdly soft. Rich people must have access to different kinds of fabric. I reluctantly get up and find Stu’s bathroom.

I change quickly and take a second to make sure Stu gave me a long enough T-shirt. Thankfully, he did, so I don’t have to feel extra awkward about anything. I fold my clothes and bring them back with me.

“Looks nice on you, babe.”

Drowsiness hits harder without any distractions. I blink, unsure on how to respond. Stu’s always a flirt with everyone, but it feels a little weird to react to it while standing in his room at night in one of his T-shirts. “It’s the rich guy cotton.”

The corner of his mouth turns up. “And those legs.”

“Shut up.”

Billy turns onto his side, fluffing his pillow. “Go to sleep before he gets worse.”

“Yeah.” The two of them look comfortable, all settled. “I’ll crash on the couch.”

Stu props his head up on an elbow. “You don’t wanna do that. Living room’s creepy at night and you’ve smoked too much. You’ll get scared.”

“I’m not 12.”

“It’s safer here, you wouldn’t be alone if something happened.”

Ugh, Stu can never resist trying to get me paranoid. “Nothing’s going to happen.” That’s what I thought when I was at Casey’s.

“Just get in bed,” Billy mumbles, half asleep, “I know how this argument goes with the two of you.” When I don’t move, Billy sighs, “If I fall asleep and you get freaked out, I’m not helping.”

Stu lays back down, “He means it. He’s an asshole when he’s tired.” He pauses for so long, I briefly think he might have fallen asleep. “...’S not a big deal.”

True. It wouldn’t even be the first time we all fell asleep in the same bed. And Billy’s slept over in my room enough times for that to barely phase me. “Yeah.”

I walk over towards the bed. “Drink water,” Billy mumbles the words with his eyes still shut. I look over at the nightstand and there’s a glass there that wasn’t there before. I drink a few long sips until Stu sits up to steal the glass from me.

Rude. “Give me--”

He downs the rest of it in a few gulps, “Go to bed.”

I roll my eyes, but unfortunately do listen. Stu pushes me towards the middle, ignoring my surprised huff. I smack his arm before covering myself with his bed sheets. I barely get to reflect on how much of an asshole move that was before I fall asleep.

----

A/n fun fact, there’s a moment in here where Y/n came superrr close to accidentally finding out who Ghostface is :)

Taglist: @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129 @i-amnotokaywiththis @fvcking-gxddess @suckmyass-things @im-better-than-your-newborn @michibuni @bigenargy @marli-lavellan @mushy-mushroom04 @neenieweenie @lone-ray @the-ruler-of-death @andthevillainshallrises @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @dixbolik-bby @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @peachycupotea @my5tica1ien @agustdeeyaa @astrial @3ll0kittylvr420 @zoleea-exultant @slaypussypop-21 @aonungs-tsahik @finnydraws @slytherhoes @vxarak @xofeeeeelsxo @thewayiknowyou @yourslashersfinalgirl @winterridinghood @maggieleighc

#scream #Scream 1996 #scream imagine #scream x reader #Stu Macher #stu macher x reader #Billy Loomis #billy loomis x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #Poly! Ghostface x Reader #poly!ghostface #slasher #slasher x reader #final girl fic

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pingutats · 3 years

Text

my dearest darling

in which you and harry spend a sunday morning having coffee & cake, and spontaneously decide to go engagement ring shopping together.

warnings: a little suggestive at the end. mostly just pure fluff!

word count: 3.4k

. . . . .

The little alleyway off the main street filled with café tables is a perfect place for you and Harry to sit unseen. In fact, in this little alcove, it’s easy to watch the world pass by the two of you. It’s a nice reprieve from the usual of the world watching Harry.

He’s wearing sunglasses anyway, just in case—despite the overcast weather.

You frown at him, resting your elbows on the table and lacing your fingers together to rest your chin on. “I really think that makes you more conspicuous.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Nah. Or at least, if people notice, they’re going to notice an odd bloke in sunnies, not me.”

“They’ll notice it’s you.”

He glances at the busy footpath. “‘S working so far, love.”

A young waitress rounds the corner from the cafe’s front entrance and sets your coffees down on the table. You move your elbows off the table politely to give her space.

“Thanks,” Harry says, reaching for his black coffee.

You smile at the waitress as you wrap your hands around the latte you ordered, warming up your freezing fingers. You notice the way she hesitates before she leaves, how she looks at Harry like she wants to say something before before quickly spinning on her heels and walking away. When she’s out of earshot, you look at Harry. “She knows.”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

The waitress reappears a minute later with the little cakes you ordered. This time, she’s braver. “I’m so sorry—are you Harry Styles?” she asks, saying his name in a voice that’s akin to a reverent whisper.

His eyes dart to you for a split second and he raises his eyebrow enough that only you’ll notice, conceding to you, then smiles at her. “Yeah, I am. Sorry, what’s your name?”

You watch him navigate the encounter easily, like you’ve watched so many times. The girl asks for a photo and he politely declines, explaining that he doesn’t want to draw attention, but offers to sign a napkin for her instead. He a short message (nice to meet you, all my love) to her and draws a couple hearts after he signs his name, then passes it to her with a sweetly genuine thanks her for her support.

“Oh my gosh, no, thank you,” she says earnestly. “It was so, so nice to meet you.” She glances at you, then, and her cheeks go even pinker. “Thanks,” she says again, and then she’s gone.

You let a giggle free at the awkward way his fans treat you, like they don’t know if it’s appropriate to talk to you as well, and how they struggle to find something to say to you anyway. Once it might have bothered you. It’s just amusing to you now. You raise your brows at Harry. “All your love?” you tease, quoting the message he wrote on the napkin. “Where’s my share?”

He pouts from behind his sunglasses. “Don’t be like that.”

You kick his shin gently underneath the table. “I’m kidding around. She was sweet. I like watching you do that, you’re so good at it.”

His foot swings around to trap your ankle between his. “Trying to play footsie at eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning? You little minx.”

You roll your eyes and wrench your foot free, rattling the table as you do so. He laughs—a sharp barking ha! that makes you smile through your embarrassment at causing a small commotion.

“Who’s conspicuous, sorry?” he asks.

You shake your head at him and stab your fork into your apple and cinnamon muffin. He keeps giggling as he slides his own plate with the carrot cake to his side of the table and picks up a fork himself.

“Mm, that’s good,” he says after he swallows his first bite. “Better than the one I make.”

“Well, baking isn’t known to be one of your talents.”

He claps a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.” He leans over the table and skewers a piece of your muffin on his fork, dodging your attempts to swat his hand away with great agility. He pops it in his mouth triumphantly, cocking his head like he’s challenging you.

In return, you steal a piece of his cake.

“That was a much larger piece than what I took,” he accuses.

You shrug.

His phone, face down on the table, dings. He glances up at you.

“Check it,” you tell him. You know he only has alerts on for his closest friends—otherwise his phone would be ringing all day long. “I don’t mind.”

He bites his lip apologetically and flips the phone over, reading it. “Oh, it’s Tom. Hang on a sec.” He starts typing back.

You crane your neck around to read the message—something about Tom being free at the end of July, and Harry is giving a thumbs-up to that.

“Where are you off to?” you ask.

“France, maybe,” he replies. You’re aware that discovering this kind of information so suddenly would be jarring for most couples, enough to even incite a fight—but you and Harry aren’t exactly a normal couple, and international trips are just part and parcel of your relationship. Hell, he goes on world tours for months at a time. You’re lucky, you suppose, that you function just as well long-distance as you do when you’re living together.

“Lads’ trip?”

He sends the message and clicks his phone off, leaning back in his chair. “Nah. Taking you to Paris and getting down on m’knee in front of the Eiffel Tower,” he says, nodding sagely.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, Tom’s there to get the photos.” He shovels a forkful of the cake into his mouth and then points his fork in the general direction of a street busker playing a violin across the road. He swallows. “And I’m getting that guy to play a little tune, for the atmosphere,” he adds.

You raise your brows. “Oh, you’ve got budget for this, then.”

He smiles. “Nothing but the best for my dearest darling.”

You snort.

He carefully cuts a piece of cake with the edge of his fork. “Nah, we’re thinking of doing a trip down to his friend’s studio in—somewhere in France, I can’t remember really. Friends and family welcome too, if you want to come. Apparently it’s a real nice place.” He eats his mouthful and then lifts his sunnies to look at you with clear eyes. “We are getting married, though. I mean that.”

Your cheeks threaten to burst from how badly you want to smile, but you force yourself to assume a serious face, just to humour him. “Of course we are.”

Despite the butterflies it inspires, this conversation isn’t new. You’ve been with Harry a couple of years now and you both know you’re on the same page when it comes to your shared future. There are no hard plans, but the direction is set. You’re getting there someday.

He puffs his cheeks out. “I feel like you aren’t taking this as seriously as I am.”

You sigh melodramatically. “Well, sweetheart, I haven’t seen a ring yet.”

“A ring? You should have asked,” he drawls, then suddenly sits up straight and points a finger at you. “Don’t take that as a challenge. I want to be the one to ask.”

You shrug. “Can’t make any promises.”

His arm shoots forward to grab at your hand and you almost laugh out loud at the puppy-eyes he’s making at you. “No, please, baby, I swear you can do everything else, but let me do the proposing bit.”

In your heart, you’re happy he’s so insistent, because this is exactly how you want it to be too. In your mind, though, you really enjoy tormenting him.

“I’ll think about it,” you concede, and he groans.

“I’m buying a ring soon as I can, just to lock it in,” he tells you as he destroys what’s left of his carrot cake.

Once you’ve finished and Harry’s gone up to pay for the coffee and cake (he also took a moment to lean over the counter to snap a group selfie with the waitress who served you earlier and a couple others too) you walk back up the street in the general direction of your car that’s parked a few blocks down. The weather is pleasant today and the sun is even peeking out from behind the clouds now, justifying his sunglasses.

Your mind starts to drift (his arm wrapped loosely around your waist anchors you to the real world) as you think about how nice it is to be with Harry, how you’ve learned to appreciate each physical moment you have with him because they are so precious. After the tours, the promotional trips, the film sets, and all the little things in between, you understand how to be with Harry. You know not everyone can handle a life like this, and you’re sure that if it wasn’t Harry whose return you awaited, you wouldn’t be able to either. But he always returns.

Harry comes to a sudden halt in front of a shop window, gazing in. You’re nearly yanked off your feet as you keep trying to walk with your arm around him—he’s so steady that he doesn’t budge. You stand next to him and look into what you realise is a jewellery store.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“Huh?”

He looks down, his arm squeezing around your shoulder. “Said I’d get you a ring, didn’t I?”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “What, today?”

“‘M not asking. Just preparing.”

You raise your eyebrows up at him. “That is… that is really a technicality.”

“Humour me,” he says. “C’mon.” He shepherds you into the store, steering you by your shoulders.

It’s small and pretty in here, the air from the fans cool against your sun-warmed skin. There are hardly any other customers at the moment, so you have some kind of valuable privacy. There are a couple of glass counters that run along either side of the store with meticulously placed themed displays inside them. You gravitate immediately to the closest thing, a cluster of rough amethysts hanging from necklaces.

“Aren’t these so cute?” you comment to Harry.

His arms wrap around you from behind and you reach up to grasp onto his crossed forearms resting against your chest. “Oh, yeah, they are.”

You stay there looking at the necklaces for a little too long—it’s not like you’re really that fascinated by the jewels, but more that you’re just enjoying Harry’s head leaning over your shoulder and his chest pressed to your back as you stand there. When your gaze meanders along the counter and you see something new, though, you shake free of his grip and follow your whims.

This store isn’t labelled out front with a massive brand. You’re pretty sure it’s an independent jeweller, judging by the neat description cards that accompany each small collection, explaining the theme in a lively and personal manner. This is what makes you really fall in love with the place and feel sure that this is where you’ll find the perfect ring. You know Harry could afford any ring from any famous brand, the heaviest jewels imaginable, easily worthy of a feature article in Vogue magazine. He could probably organise to have a diamond dug up fresh specifically to go on your finger.

It’s the fact that Harry could give you anything in the world that makes you not want it at all. Special, to the two of you, isn’t something that you’ll find in wealth or the crowds that adore him.

It’s found in a day like this.

“Oh, my god, H, look at this one,” you gasp, grabbing his wrist and pulling him over.

He bends over the counter, his gaze following the line of your pointing finger. “Oh, that is pretty,” he says.

It’s a simple gold band with a small, neatly carved diamond fixed to it. It isn’t flashy at all, which is what drew you to it. You knew he’d like it too. Despite the decadence of his performances, he can be a different man behind closed doors and you love that part of him. The secret part, the one that only you know so well.

“I’m in love with it,” you tell him.

Harry nods. “Yeah, I think that’s the one.”

You never doubted that he would agree, but his assent sends a bolt of excitement up your spine. It’s all so real, suddenly, and you can’t wait to see him on his knee for you, to see that ring on your finger. You know your ring size off by heart (how could you not, being in a relationship with the jewellery connoisseur that Harry is), so there’ll be no need for you to try it on today. You’re left with only the raw anticipation of the day he’ll slide it onto your finger.

His hands come down to rest on your hips as you both stare at the ring. You imagine you can hear his heart, knowing that it’ll be beating erratically because his excitement must match yours—you know how he feels about the idea of marriage.

He spins you around to face him, leaving his hands on your hips. He looks at you very seriously. His sunglasses are resting on top of his head now, pushing back his curls and revealing his green eyes and furrowed brow to you.

“You know, if we’re seen buying an engagement ring…” he begins, trailing off. He shrugs. “Just want to think about that.”

You screw up your nose. “According to some magazines we got married last week, and also six months ago. Just being in here is probably going to spark something.” You glance behind you, as if you’ll see journalists scribbling away on their theories, then flatten your palms against his chest, smoothing out his shirt. “I’m happy to ignore it. I want to just do our thing, H.”

He nods, pursing his lips, and gradually the crease in his forehead disappears. “Okay. Good.” Twin smiles spread over your faces and you have the feeling of being two giddy kids, high-schoolers about to have their first kiss. Something new, unknown, exciting, that the two of you are going into together. His eyes are practically sparkling at you. If this was a cartoon, you think his pupils would be shaped like hearts right now. Something is starting to bud and you can feel it growing up inside you and between you, preparing to bloom.

“Alright,” you say, breaking the insulating silence to draw you both back to the real world.

He blinks a couple of times as if he’s just waking up. “Alright,” he echoes. “Let’s get it.”

He waves over a man drifting through the store in a neat suit and points at the ring. “Excuse me, can we please have a look at this one?”

The two of you watch the man unlock the cabinet and slide the plate of rings out, placing it on the counter. He picks up the one Harry pointed out. “It’s a lovely one, sir.”

“It is,” Harry says. His hand finds yours and squeezes your fingers. “What size is it?”

The man checks the price and tells you, and your mouth drops open. Surely there is something supernaturally perfect going on, because it’s exactly your size. You and Harry look at each other incredulously.

The man seems to notice your unspoken conversation, because he helpfully adds, “We can resize it if you need.”

Harry chuckles. “No, it’s perfect. I think…” he trails off, looking at you. “What do you think?”

You nod at him, grinning. You rub your thumb over the back of his palm as he tells the man, “Thank you. We’d like this one, please.”

You stand slightly behind him as he pays for it, flexing your hands and wringing them in front of you. You know it’s all in your head, but your left ring finger is tingling as if it senses that it’s missing a piece. You really just want to wear the ring at this minute, but when the man selling it to you offers, Harry shakes his head quickly.

“I’ll hold onto it for now,” he says. He accepts the little box from the man and slips it into his pocket. “Thank you so much.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir. Enjoy it, and congratulations to the two of you.”

Harry snakes his arm around your waist as you walk back out to the street. His hips knock against you as he squeezes you into his side, and you can feel the little box in his pocket. You can’t help the grin that takes over your whole face. You worry you look like an idiot, smiling so widely at nothing, but when you glance up at Harry, he looks exactly the same.

Your car is parked down a quieter road and you get to relax a little once you’re away from the crowds of the main shopping strip. You can walk a little more slowly and Harry loosens up a bit. His hyper-vigilance starts to strip away. You can see the tension in his shoulders dissolving and here’s your Harry, emerging from his defensive layers. Most people wouldn’t notice this change, but you do. You feel how he adjusts the grip of his hand on your hip, how he leans into you a little more as you walk. In your closeness, you can smell his cologne and you think of how you watched him spray it on this morning—and how you’re going to be watching him do that for the rest of your lives.

He glances over his shoulder and you copy him. The narrow street behind you is empty, but you don’t get a moment to really register this before you feel his arms tighten around your waist and you’re swept off your feet for a second as he crashes his lips into yours.

You close your eyes, letting the kiss envelop all your senses. The sweetness of the cake’s icing lingering on his lips; his arms locked around your waist, holding you up; the rapid beating of your heart. He pulls away slowly and your eyes flutter open. His face is just inches from yours and he’s looking at you with such intensity you feel naked. Not for the first time, you’re in awe of how impossibly green his eyes are; you could make a palette from every forest in the world, and it wouldn’t hold a candle to what you see in front of you right now.

“Y/N,” he says. He cracks a grin. “I’m so fucking happy.”

Your reply is simply to grab him by the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss. Your hand tangles in his hair and you feel his tongue running along your bottom lip before he pulls away again quickly.

“Fuck,” he says, sounding lost for breath. “Need to stop before I make a fool of m’self in public.” He even physically takes a step back from you, his eyes comically wide.

You giggle. Your gaze travels down his body and you notice the indent of the box in his pocket. “Is that a ring in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He shakes his head at you. “You’ve gone all giddy. ‘M getting you home right now and then we’re celebrating properly.” He turns around and starts walking towards the car, his long legs carrying him faster than you can keep up.

Your stomach flutters imagining what his idea of celebrating might be. Suddenly, the only thing on your mind is getting back to your house as soon as humanly possible. You run after Harry, skipping around in front of him and jogging backwards as you waggle your fingers in his face. “So, when are you going to pop the question?” you ask.

“Oh, honey,” he says, patting his pocket with the ring. He grins. “It’s going to be when you least expect it, I’ll promise you that.”

. . . . .

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed—if you did, a reblog or a message is really encouraging and lovely for me to see!! the title is taken from the song by etta james.

this fic is the first part of a series called “here we are in heaven,” and i’m really really excited about it. you can read my earlier fic, at last!, if you want to see where this will end up, but there will be more parts to fill the in-between. plus blurbs and stuff! let’s chat about it!

my masterlist can be found here. have a beautiful day!

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #fiance harry #fic #here we are in heaven

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Note

More drugged villain please?

Okay so I did not know if this was an ask for a new piece, or a continuation of Paying For It. Because I already am planning on Paying For It Part 2, this is going to be a new piece, so ladies and gents I present to you *drumroll*...

Villain Pursuit

@shydragonrider

Warnings: drugged whumpee, tranq dart, needles, fever, tired characters, chasing of whumpee, bullet wound, guns, infection, descriptions of injuries, knocked out by blunt force, kidnapping

*not edited, sorry*

"He is getting much weaker," Hero reported as she stood in front of her boss, Superhero. "His right leg is very swollen and he can hardly walk, much less run. I believe it is infected and-" a yawn "- and he can hardly walk in a straight line anymore."

"Then, why didn't you grab him if he is this easy?" Superhero asked, ignoring his employee's obvious signs of exhaustion- it has been a long, rough two weeks of chasing a villain across multiple states. One of the other heroes managed to shoot his leg in hopes of incapacitating him, but the slippery villain somehow walked it off. Or, he did and now the wound was badly infected.

"He disappeared into a crowd," Hero replied. "I think it's time to chase him down and sedate him or something. If he continues like this, he is going to die."

Superhero nodded curtly in agreement. "Okay," he sighed. "We go out there and we do not rest until Villain is safetly behind bars."

Hero narrowed her eyes at the bluntness in Superhero's voice, but decided that her boss was just tired. She also reckoned that was the reason he didn't mention the infirmary as Villain's first destination after capture.

He was just tired, right?

《~~》

"Okay," Hero said, adjusting the tranq gun on her belt. "There he is."

Villain was laying against the steps to a door in an alleyway. His head was thrown backwards against his shoulder, eyes cracked open in semi-consciousness. His injured leg was stretched out whereas the other was curled up in an attempt to use some leverage to support himself. One arm was propped to keep himself upright, the other strewn to the side.

"He looks horrible," Teammate commented, chewing nervously on his lip. "I doubt its going to take much to put him out."

"Yeah, me neither," Hero agreed, feeling a rising nausea in her stomach. The pair crept towards the injured villain. Hero glanced over to see more heroes also advancing to corner the man.

But, at the last moment before Hero was able to shoot the dart, Villain saw them. He scrambled up his feet, leaning heavily against the door and swaying wildy. He looked over all the heroes, before turning and running off.

Hero cursed under her breath and sped after the hobbling villain. For a moment, she felt absolutely sorry for him. He could hardly stay on his feet, his right leg not even stepping that much on the ground. She could hear his pained groans from where she was.

Hero stopped running and drew out her tranq gun. Whispering an apology, she let the dart fly.

The feathered dart hit Villain directly in the side of his neck. He stumbled a bit, the drug already taking effect. He made an awkward circle- more of an oval- before collapsing backwards on the ground, his arms limply trying to break his fall, but they failed. His head crashed into the ground, leaving him laying in a motionless heap.

Hero grimaced. She never saw someone go down that quickly from the tranq gun before.

She walked up to the villain, crouching down and staring at him. An odd mixture of defeat and relief expressed itself on his unconscious face. Hero sighed, running a hand through her hair, before taking a look at his swollen leg.

The bullet that previously imbedded itself in his leg was gone, leaving a very infected gash. His whole calf was twice the size it would normally be- due to the infection and the fact that he seemed to have a badly sprained ankle.

"Finally!" Teammate exclaimed, sitting down exhausted next to Hero. "I was getting to the point of just shooting him and being done-"

"Look at this," Hero gestured towards his leg. She pressed into the flesh, it wasn't like he could feel it. It was burning hot.

"Yeah, looks nasty. I'm gonna call Superhero and then let's get him to the infirmary," Teammate said and went to call their boss.

Hero positioned herself by Villain's head and placed it in his lap. For some reason, even though he was incapable of realizing her presence, she felt a call to comfort him.

"It'll be okay buddy," Hero whispered, brushing the unwashed hair out of Villain's face. "Just hang on for me, will you?"

Superhero came within a few minutes, oddly without the aid of doctors and nurses. Hero watched with a perplexed look on her face while Teammate shrugged, also very confused.

Superhero smirked down at the unconscious man, nonchalantly using his foot and shoving his shoulder over. Villain rolled deeper into Hero's lap, his muscles devoid of any resistance.

"Well good job my heroes," Superhero said in an annoyingly chirpy voice. "Help me get him into my car, and I'll take him to the, uh, infirmary."

Hero nodded curtly, but really she found this odd. Why was Superhero taking Villain? What if Villain woke up? Maybe he meant for Teammate and Hero to join him in the ride and just harmlessly forgot to mention it?

Teammate and Hero loaded Villain into the back of the car and buckled his limp body up. They had him in a sitting position with his leg dangling over his chest, arms lazily lying at his sides.

"Thank you so much, guys. Really, great job," Superhero applauded in an interestingly quick voice. Hero smiled back and prepared to ride shotgun.

"Wait! No, no, no," Superhero chuckled nervously. "Honey, why don't you and Teammate go home and get some sleep. You two have been working incredibly hard."

Hero detected the tension in her boss's voice, but chose to ignore it. Truthfully, she was too tired to argue and the thought of collapsing on her bed and sleeping was too tempting. She stepped back and Superhero got into his car and drove away.

《~~》

"It's been a week Hero," Teammate spoke over in between sips of his morning coffee. "A week and no signs of Superhero, we can't visit Villain, and the agnecy is a mess."

"Yeah, kind of odd," Hero agreed, looking out the window and across the busy street. She took a lip of her own coffee and glanced bavk over at her partner. "Maybe we should call him."

"Yeah." Teammate nodded, then a mischievous grin dawned on his face. "You do it," he challenged.

But Hero was not in the mood for games. She flipped out her phone and dialed her boss's number.

"Hey Hero, how are-" cough "-you." The superhero on the otherside of the line sniffled.

"Are you sick boss?" Hero asked, brow furrowing in concern.

"Yeah, just the flu. Nothing serious, just miserable."

Was it Hero's ears playing tricks on her, or did Superhero's voice seem suddenly much less congested?

"Oh well I'm sorry. Rest up and we'll see you next week."

"Is everything okay Hero?"

"Yep all good."

It was not all good. Hero hung up and looked over at Teammate. A wordless conversation passes between them and they both hustled to their feet and practically ran out the door.

Superhero lived on the outskirts of the city in a vintage farmhouse. Hero's sport car felt very out of place in the picturesque view of the red barn and old tractor.

Teammate knocked on the screen door and stepped back. Hero tried not to notice, but he had a gun with him.

"Coming! I'm coming!" Superhero's clearly not sick voice rang out. Hero heard the poudning of footsteps before Superhero, dreased in a sweatpants and a tank top, opened the door.

His face paled at the sight of his employees.

"Oh, hey ack. What brings you here? I said I was totally good," Superhero chuckled, tapping his fingers against the doorframe.

"Cut the bull Superhero." Teammate drew his gun. "Where is Villain?"

Hero was shocked. She didn't really piece two and two together, but it seemed like Teammate did.

Superhero had Villain.

"No where. What makes you think-"

Teammate brought the barrel of the gun to Superhero's temple, knocking him out. He immediately rushed over and stuck his boss with a needle.

"What?" Hero asked, astonished.

"I'm always prepared. Never trusted that guy anyways," Teammate replied, turning his nose up slightly at Superhero's sleeping form in amusement, before rushing into the house. Hero followed.

They found Villain unconscious on the floor of the basement. His arm was strewn over his face, bruised and bloodied.

Hero ran over and took one look at the villain an immediately knew that he was in reallt bad shape. The original infection seemed to be drained, but it was still quite pussy. Also, the swelling did not yet go down.

Teammate grabbed Villain's arm and turned it over to reveal tiny holes. Hero swallowed. He has been drugged, she realized with a shudder.

Teammate, without another word, scooped Villain into his arm and carried him back up the stairs. Hero followed, stunned into silence.

When they came across Superhero's peacefully sleeping form, Hero brought her heel down onto his nose. With a satisfying crunch, it broke.

"Serves you right," Hero whispered, voice dripping with malice.

Teammate had Villain lying in the backseat of the small car, his bad leg resting against his jacket as a pillow. Hero scooted in next to him, laying his head on her lap. "Okay, let's go," she said and Teammate droved to her house.

The first thing the two did was get the disgusting, soiled articles of clothing off Villain's partially starved body. He immediately started to shiver, convulsions overtaking his body.

"Okay, he need to be warmed up," Hero said. "Bath?"

"No, wrap him in warm blankets and then sit with him on the couch. I need to tend to this leg ASAP," Teammate said, voice completely focused and monotoned.

Hero did as she was told, swaddling Villain in a fluffy beige blanket. She laid his upper body across her lap as Teammate went to work on properly draining the abscess. Villain didn't stir and Hero got worried. She checked his pulse finding it too fast and erratic to be normal.

"Okay done." Teammate cleaned his hands off on a paper towel and doused the wound with antiseptic. When that was done, he wrapped the gash in thick bandages.

Hero clutched Villain, dragging him closer to her. Waking up slightly, he nuzzled his face into her arm. Then, he stilled again, asleep.

"What are we going to do about him?" Hero whispered. "Superhero won't let us get away..."

"I know." Teammate rubbed his eyes. "That's why I am going to pack and we are running away."

#villain whumpee #superhero whumper #hero caretaker #teammate caretaker #hero x villain #drugged whumpee #drugged villain #evil superhero #guns tw #unconscious villain #kidnapping #injured villain

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬4

Warnings: nonconsensual touching, fingering, deceptive behaviour, allusions to abuse.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Note: I haven’t updated in a minute but I got the yen to come back to Arvin so here we go! Also working away at my gif requests which are super fun :)

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The fight echoed in your head as Arvin buttoned up the front of your dress, although a few were missing. He helped you to your feet and you leaned on him heavily, barely able to see ahead of you, let alone support yourself on your shaky legs. You climbed the stairs as your mind passed through a tunnel of shock. You didn’t realise you’d even left the living room until you were lowered onto the bed.

Arvin sat beside you, his hand on your shoulder as he spoke softly. You didn’t understand his words as you turned your face away and tears trickled down your tender cheek. You weren’t sad that Roy was gone, you were embarrassed that another had seen what you let him do to you, and terrified of the nice man with the pistol.

Was he really so nice? You barely knew him at all and he’d had a gun under your roof. Sure, Roy had a rifle but that was for hunting. You couldn’t say or even try to imagine why Arvin had a handgun.

The lamp clicked off and the end of the chain clinked against the long stem. You laid in the dark, not daring to move, and after hours of dazed disbelief, you dozed off, your back wracked with pain from the tension and awkward position.

You woke with a stiff neck, a swollen face, and a weight in your chest. You sat up slowly and held your forehead as the bed shifted. Arvin dumped an armful of Roy's old flannels into the open suitcase at the foot of the mattress. You blinked and rubbed your eye as you leaned on one arm. You yawned and stretched your shoulders.

"What are you doing?" You asked.

"I'll see him today," he said as he pulled open the chest of drawers and grabbed the stained and torn denim from within, "make sure he stays away for good."

"What? Arvin," you bent your legs and crossed your arms over your knees, "he's my husband."

"He didn't act like one," he continued to toss Roy's clothes haphazardly into the bag, "he beat you!" He stopped and put his hands on his hips, "he never talked to you nice and…" he stopped and shook his head and closed the suitcase. He zipped it up with a sigh, "I heard him that first night. I figured, you weren't my wife, I could live with it. Well, I can't. You deserve better than him."

"It's not that easy. I can't just toss him out--"

"No, I did," Arvin insisted, "and I'll keep him out."

"You shouldn’t have done that. Last night. He'll be mad."

"So?" Arvin hauled the bag off the bed and dragged it to the door. The bottom of his shirt moved and revealed the butt of the gun sticking out of the top of his jeans.

"Are you gonna make sure with that?" You asked as you turned your legs over the side of the bed, "you can't just shoot him, you know that, don't you?"

"Of course, but he doesn't know I won't," Arvin looked back at you, "I'm gonna make breakfast then head out… how's your head?"

"Feels like there's a rock in my temple," you groaned and stood, "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"No one but you, huh?" He challenged, "Look, I won't hurt him, I promise, but I also won't let him hurt you."

You neared him meekly as you hugged yourself, "why?"

"Because you do," he said, "because if you won't save yourself, I will. I have to," he looked down at his scuffed shoes, "I seen too many girls, too many women, hurt in my life. I ain't that old, you know? But I can't stand no more."

You watched him go and listened to him descend the old stairs. You frowned and flinched as you glanced around and caught a glimpse of yourself in the antique oval mirror your mother had left behind all those years ago. You looked as bad as you felt, worse; you couldn't help but be comforted by Arvin's concern, in fact, it felt good to have someone who cared about you.

🚬

It was hard to concentrate that day. Even a chore as simple as the dishes or sweeping the floors took twice as long as usual as your mind strayed to the night before and fears of what was to come.

You tried to convince Arvin to leave the bag there but he wasn’t folding, not like you. You admired him for that, but at the same time it made you squirm. Something had changed. He was no longer the sweet young man staying in your attic, he became the indomitable and angry man waving the gun around as he spoke about killing others without so much as flinching.

You remembered what he said. He’d killed a man before, or was it men? It wasn’t like you had anyone who could or would help you. You doubted Roy would come back even if you wanted him to, and on that front, you just couldn’t be sure. He was your husband and it was improper to put him out but let another man sleep under your roof.

The only woman in town who’d dared divorce her husband was Carmen Dolan and there was no where in town she went where people didn’t whisper about her; at the store, in church, and even on the sidewalks. It didn’t matter that her husband was sneaking around or that he was little better than Roy in his manners. It was a small place and people had too much time to talk.

Well, how many friends did you have there? Noreen couldn’t be called as much and all the girls you knew in school were married and too busy to keep up those old teenage ties. You could bide them at the sewing circles, they never were very nice, and you went to church out of obligation not out of a need for that ridiculous shallow socializing of housewives. Besides, you’d failed at all that, hadn’t you?

Then you began to worry. What if Roy flipped and hurt Arvin? Or Arvin hurt him? The suitcase would hardly be taken with a thanks. If Roy was ashamed enough he might just grumble and ignore the other man for the rest of the day, but if he wasn’t, he might just pick up where they left off last night.

You were hanging out the washing when a faded old Chevrolet drove up the dusty drive. You squinted past the stiff jeans as it steered closer and the engine stopped. Arvin climbed out and jingled the keys as he went around the other side. He took out a paper bag and crossed the yard.

“How was your day?” he asked with a smile.

You stared, dumbfounded. How could he act so… normal?

“Wh--what happened with…” your voice trailed out and you unclipped a pair of his jeans.

“Roy? Oh, he took his things and tucked tail after lunch,” he scoffed, “he didn’t look too good. Probably didn’t feel good neither.”

You nodded and dropped the jeans into the basket and tucked the pegs into your pocket. He crinkled the paper bag and stopped you from reaching to the next pair.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You shook your head and stepped back so that his hand fell from your arm.

“I know last night was-- hard. I only did what I had to, not anything I wanted to,” his brows drew together, “here.”

He held out the paper bag and you eyed it warily. You chewed your lip and he stepped closer.

“Please, it’s, uh, I want you to have it,” he said, “you deserve it and maybe it is an apology. I went a little far but… I don’t regret it. Roy got what was coming.”

You took the bag and he tucked his hands in his pockets. “You didn’t have to get me nothing,” you said.

“Like I said, I wanted to. You do all the hard work here,” he replied, “and I’ll finish this up.”

He reached up and took down the next pair of pants and put them in the basket with the rest. He moved down the line as you watched him, the bag under your arm. You didn’t move, just watched. You looked over at the Chevrolet and frowned.

“Where’d you get the car?” you asked.

“Used,” he said as he folded a shirt in half and dropped it into the basket, “they had it down at the shop for a while now and I told the boss to take out installments from my next few checks. He didn’t mind much, he ain’t been able to get rid of it. Some work to be done but--” He lifted the basket and neared you, “you didn’t look yet?”

“Inside,” you said, “I didn’t wanna just leave you out here with all that.”

You nodded to the laundry and he pointed you toward the house. He followed you up onto the porch and through the screen door. He stopped to slip off his shoes and continued on after you into the living room. You put the bag down on the end table and uncurled the top.

You pulled out the large square and held up the record. The man who stared back at you had sparkling blue eyes and black hair. Elvis Presley smiled as if it was all a funny joke.

“There’s more,” he said.

You set down the record against the arm of the couch and reached into the brown bag again. You pulled out the fabric and a finely tailored pink dress in the latest style unfolded before you. You stared as he neared and he took the bag from the table. He revealed the last piece from the bag and set them down on the carpet, a pair of brand new heels.

“Why did you do all this?” you shoved the dress at him, “I can’t accept it.”

“You can,” he stepped back, “and just so you know, I’ll be paying my rent to you direct now.”

He sidled past you and took the album from the couch. He went to the record player and slid the vinyl from the sleeve. He carefully placed it on the player and lined up the pin. He turned back to you and crossed the room. He pulled the dress from your hands and let it slump over the couch cushion.

“Do you know the shimmy? I could show you? It’s the new thing,” he said as he took your hand, “you just move your hips, bend your legs a little, keep your arms out like this.” He moved slowly at first as he drew you into the middle of the room, “just with me, to the rhythm.”

“I can’t,” you protested, “really, I’m not a dancer.”

“Me neither, but it’s fun,” he tugged on your hand, “come on.”

He sang out of tune as he kept his hips moving. You watched him and tried to copy him, hoping to placate him long enough that you could escape to the kitchen. The dress, the album, the dancing, it all felt so wrong.

As the song ended, he brought you close and wrapped you up and slowed down. He swayed you with him as the record kept spinning. His eyes clung to yours.

“He didn’t know what he had,” he said.

“Arvin, I gotta start supper,” you whispered as you pushed on him, “please.”

“I got you the new dress so we could go to the drive-in,” he kept you against him, “Friday night. You like Audrey Hepburn?”

“I… haven’t seen much of her,” you confessed, “Arvin, really, the ham--”

“He’s not coming back,” he released you reluctantly, “I told you. I told him.”

“He’s still my husband,” you crossed your arms and looked down.

“Is he? He never treated you like his wife.”

“It’s the law--”

“Divorce him. You’ll keep the house, it’s yours. Your daddy left it to you.”

“And do what? I can’t afford it on my own--”

“You got me.”

“You won’t stay here forever,” you uttered.

He didn’t say anything and narrowed his eyes. He shrugged and turned away. “You have options and Roy is the wrong one,” he said, “you can’t hate yourself that much.”

You barely heard him and didn’t know how to respond. So you didn’t and left him to Elvis’ soft tones as you went to pull out the honey ham. You still had some of your sweet mustard left in that jar from last year or maybe the apple sauce. It was easier to focus on the food and not the madness of men.

🚬

The nights and days drifted by like sand in a glass. Whenever Arvin was there, even when he was in the attic and you were below, you were painfully aware that it was only the two of you in that big house. You weren’t afraid for yourself really, he hadn’t done anything to you. You should hate Roy for how he’d been to you all those years but you didn’t want to be the reason he got hurt.

But as the time went by, it was also harder to tell Arvin no. You never thought anyone could be overly helpful, especially after Roy’s indifference, but you were overwhelmed by his presence. He was always lurking around when you least expected, watching you, waiting. He always offered to finish the chore or kept you from doing it entirely. You should be thankful but it made you feel more guilty than anything.

When Friday came, you carried on your usual routine. You were mopping when the Chevrolet pulled up. He’d spent the night before with his head under the hood. He said it wasn’t too bad for the price and the repairs were minimal and none so urgent.

The car door closed then his steps walked up onto the porch. As he entered the house, you hit the mop against the wall and kept your head down, swiping back and forth against the wood. He didn’t dare to step past the threshold and mess your clean floors.

“You should finish up and get ready,” he said.

You looked up at him and feigned ignorance. You hoped all day he would forget about the movie. You didn’t want to wear the dress, it made your wedding ring chafe just to think of it. You focused again on the mop and kept back stepping away from him.

“Maybe not tonight, Arvin,” you said, “I’m tired.”

“You don’t have to work yourself sick,” he leaned against the doorframe, “really. You can always just take a day and… relax.”

You put the mop in the bucket and rested it against the wall. You took a deep breath but didn’t look at him.

“I don’t think we should go at all.”

He sighed and rubbed his cheek, “Really? Roy hasn’t even tried to come back. Hasn’t even tried to apologise. In all these years, did he ever once say sorry to you for anything?”

“Maybe not but I married him. I made that decision and I have to see it through.”

“Not like that,” he tutted, “besides, it’s just a movie…”

“Just a movie,” you repeated and walked over the drying floor, “alright then.”

He watched you and the thoughts wrinkled on his forehead. He let you go as you grabbed the railing and ascended the stairs. You felt his eyes on you, even after you turned down the hall, as if he could see you through the walls.

“We got time,” he called up, “no rush. It’s not even close to dark but I don’t want you to worry about… all this.”

You didn’t reply and closed the bedroom door. You sat on the end of your bed and clasped your hands. You still felt terribly trapped. You didn’t think so much of what Roy would say, he always said the worst. You thought about your father and how disappointed he would be. You knew he wouldn’t have let Roy treat you so bad if he was still alive, but he would still be sad if he knew how it all worked out.

🚬

You hadn’t been to the drive-in since you were going steady with Roy. It was a singular occasion and an unpleasant one. He got drunk and couldn’t drive home so you had to get behind the wheel and pray you didn’t crash. It wasn’t that you couldn’t drive, you just hated it. Thinking of it then, you should have expected all that came after.

Arvin pulled in as the sky dimmed slowly and he left you to go to concession and grab popcorn. When he returned, he handed you a box of chocolates as he cradled the large paper bag of kernels. You thanked him and opened the box, distracting yourself with the chewy caramels covered in milk chocolate. You offered him some as you looked around and waited for the screen to flash into motion.

There were a few families among the patrons but mostly teenagers, couples and groups, rowdy as they impatiently hollered for the film to roll. You hadn’t heard of this one, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Arvin said he read about it in the paper and it was supposed to be a flick meant for ladies. He said he didn’t mind as he liked the actors.

When at last it was dark enough, the movie began and you set the box down on the seat and munched on a handful of popcorn out of courtesy. The credits began and you were quickly swept up into the life of Holly Golightly. You were almost agog to think that a woman could live like her. City life seemed so different, so free, so scary. And she didn’t let all those men rule her.

You felt Arvin slide closer to you and his arm snaked around your shoulders. You tensed as you focused on Hepburn’s waifish voice and offkey plucking of the ukulele. You tried to ignore him as you felt his warm breath and the kiss on your temple made you wince. Your eyes flicked over to the car on the other side of you, then the next. The audience was rapt.

His hand grazed along your skirt and he kissed your cheek. Your heart raced wildly. You wanted to stop him but didn’t know how. And he was so sweet and he did so much for you. He’d brought you all the way here and kept Roy from cracking your head open. Could you really say no?

“I know I said it already,” his hand lingered on the pink fabric, “but this looks wonderful on you.”

“Thank you,” you whispered as you kept your wide eyes on the screen.

“Really, you’re beautiful, honey,” he purred as he nuzzled your throat, “living so close… it’s hard…”

He pushed his hand under your skirt and up between your thighs. He wiggled until you parted your legs and grabbed your chin with his other. He turned you to face him and crushed his lips against yours. He leaned on you until you were flat against the seat and he brought your legs up onto the leather as he held himself over you.

He kissed you even deeper as his fingers tickled over the front of your panties and crawled up to the top. He slipped his hand down the front of your underwear and you whimpered. When he touched you, you were afraid but confused. It felt good, better than anything you’d ever done with Roy.

You gulped and turned your head as you gasped. You grabbed his shoulder and shuddered. His fingers delved between your folds and swirled. You murmured and squeezed his arm.

“Please, I’m-- I’m still married, we can’t--”

He nibbled at your neck and blindly reached up to grab your hand. He gripped the ring on your finger and forced it off and flicked it away. It rolled under the seat as he rasped against your throat.

“He’s gone,” his fingers danced around your clit eagerly, “don’t you understand? I’ll make sure he doesn’t come back, honey.”

“Arvin, I--” you squeaked as the waves swelled and flowed down your legs and you were caught in the tide, “please…”

You closed your eyes, your mind stormed with how wrong it was but your body pulsed with delight. He pushed his fingers further back and the heel of his hand pressed to your bud. He curled his fingers inside of your and you moaned as he rested the weight of his pelvis against his hand. He rocked his touch in time with his hips, as if he was fucking you, and kissed you on the mouth again, swallowing up your desperate cries.

Your legs wrapped around his as you came and you tilted your pelvis as you rode the high. He lifted his head to watch you orgasm and your lashes fluttered as you succumbed to the ecstasy. You squirmed as he slowed his fingers and stilled his hand entirely. You were out of breath as he stopped at last but kept his hand nestled between your legs.

You covered your face with your shaky hand and exhaled deeply. He pulled your hand down and rubbed the tip of his nose against yours.

“I’ll buy you a new ring,” he purred, “a nicer one.”

#Arvin Russell #dark arvin russell #dark!arvin russell #arvin russell x reader #the devil all the time #Of something beautiful but annihilating #series #fic #dark!fic #dark fic

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missvifdor · 3 years

Text

(The continuation of this post where during a spell class a portal opened and the boys' female doubles as well as MC's appeared in the class) (I think I could make it an independent "story" for the adventures of my MC /OC /YUU)

My MC /OC /YUU and his double crossing the gaze in the class: * Double bi panic *

*Now we will have to find a solution to bring these young ladies and this gentleman back to their reality, but in the meantime here is the look of our twisted guys if they were girls*

Dorm leaders:

Riddle: Looks both serious and cute, with a round cheeky face and big eyes with long thick lashes as well as a pretty pixie haircut. Obviously she stays small but is always bigger than my MC OC YUU, her voice both soft and sharp, a very interesting contrast.

Leona: Made more of a woman than a young girl, still has magnificent hair, bewitching eyes and has a very toned and nicely muscular body. His voice is deep with that tone both seductive and bored. She knows perfectly well that she is beautiful, that she has charm and adores the handset with her immense intelligence. It's an absolutely formidable combo. She is the same height as her male double.

Azul: Gives that mafia-like aura (Or Sugar Mummy), with her hair styled in an impeccable bun and her tailor that is both professional and flatters her gorgeous figure perfectly. Her smile is both sweet and dangerous. But we all know that deep down she is a sweet girl who needs reassurance and who needs to realize how smart, hardworking, and beautiful she is (and we know any of us don't would stop proving it to her). She must be two or three centimeters shorter than her male double.

Kalim: She's still a sun ball and a full cinnamon roll! So positive and supportive! Tie up her long silver hair with a cute headband and always do her makeup in warm tones (where instead Jamil helps her with her makeup like that). Always wears tons of gold bracelets on her wrists and ankles, is very tactile, and has no problem cuddling the people she loves and appreciates! Is the kind of friend who makes sure you eat well and that you don't miss anything. (I can see her thinking that she and Jamil have more of a sister relationship than a master and servant relationship). Is exactly the same size as her male double.

Vil: Let's be honest here, Vil would be the most gorgeous woman who hasn't set foot at Night Raven College for decades after The Beautiful Queen! You almost feel like she's straight out of a fashion magazine but no, it's just that our Reine des Poisons takes so much care of her and works so hard to come to such potential! Her magnificent hair would reach her shoulders, her voice would be as beautiful as honey on a slice of bread and her makeup and manicure would be as perfect as it gets! Maybe she would be a little taller than her male double (even without heels). (I don't know why but apart from her care and makeup, I also see her very well making her own jewelry as well as her perfume).

Idia: Haired with two long, fiery quilts, she would be more the type to have an e-girl style but with very loose clothes that would not show her forms (the poor one does not realize that she has the potential to become a model for lingerie). Her voice would be both sweet and high-pitched, and she could also be smaller than her male double. (And Husbando, so many Husbando!). Doesn't trust her smile because of her sharp teeth but that is her charm and she is so fucking cute! Maybe she would be more organized and manic than her double even if her room would still be in a very big mess (at least she didn't leave her underwear lying around in plain sight, she would die of shame if anyone saw the cute and childish little designs on it).

Malleus: This woman ... Would be exactly the same size as her male double! And she would be so beautiful and elegant! With long black hair that she would let hang down her back, as well as her incredible figure! (Also gives those Magical Sugar Mummy vibes). His voice, by all the gods ... The most sensual and that playful note we've ever heard. Her voice is also so deep and sweet (let's not even talk about her laugh or I'll die of happiness). Still gives that awesome and intimidating impression on people but is so sweet when you get to know her (Always make that adorable pout when she's sad or upset, you feel like hugging her tight and telling her that even though she is scary in the early days, she's the sweetest person we've ever met!).

The Vice-leader:

Trey: Don't lie to each other, give these married vibes over and over again. But beware, also hides his game very well because in private ... 🥵. Her beautiful hair tied in a ponytail and her voice in playful tones. Would be the type to wear stockings with his uniform and is the same size as his male double. Smells like cake and vanilla, it's both so nice and it also makes you so hungry!

Ruggie: Is quite skinny because as we know Ruggie often endures difficult months. Short and messy hair, has a cheerful voice and an infectious laugh (Quite fond of pretty things in the background, but since she doesn't have much money, she can't really afford it. If she could, she would certainly treat herself to some pretty hair accessories). Perhaps an unacknowledged Tsundere side. Since she cannot feed herself properly for someone her age, she is most certainly smaller than the average for a Beast Woman. Would probably like to have a cuter look, unfortunately she can't afford it as she doesn't want to look "weak".

Jade: Holy shit, this woman is so dangerous and sweetly sadistic, if you ever pique her interest and she likes you on top of that, I'm sorry for you. Her body is certainly muscular and graceful (She also has quite incredible strength). Has long, wavy hair that she wears half-loose and is exactly the same height as her male double. Her voice and at the same time so soft and cold, you don't know if you should feel comfortable or on the contrary, run as far as possible. Obviously loves going for long hikes, (Her legs are so muscular, if she catches you with that, you won't be able to go anywhere). His tone is so teasing, you can't resist him for long.

Jamil: Very tall, even a few inches taller than her male double. Just like Trey, she smells so good, like cinnamon. Has a fairly athletic build, and remained a very, very good dancer. Very skillful, maybe makes her own wrist and ankle bracelets, also wears a lot of jewelry (not as expensive as Kalim's, but still very pretty and it shows her really well, especially the snake designs ), also wears a lot of ear piercings. His hair is very long, silky, and worn the same way as the male Jamil (maybe with extra pearls in his hair). Her voice is deep (sensual) and with a note of irony and sarcasm. Her make up apply lightly but always in such beautiful warm tones (she also highlights her cheekbones), especially with eyeliner to highlight her intense gaze.

Rook: His hair is worn in the same way as the male Rook, also wears a multitude of hats as well as pretty earrings. Likes to tease those around her, smiling and bright. Has a French accent, of course. But remains someone dangerous in the end. Is the same height as her double, is athletic, skillful and has excellent eyesight (Normal for a hunter). See beauty in everything and everyone! Don't you think you're handsome? Rook will give you ten points for why she thinks you are beautiful and why you should stop thinking that way because otherwise she will stalk you until you accept this truth. Her voice is happy and confident, deep and warm. May like to wear accessories like long socks with natural or animal designs. Specialized in throwing knives.

Ortho: So cute! The little sister you will want to protect at the risk of your life! So smart and friendly, curious too. Wears a cute fiery pixie hairstyle and has a cheerful, thin voice. Is so small and skinny.

Lilia: Oh boy ... see Draculaura from Monster Hight? She has the same look. So much into jokes, loves to surprise people to scare them. Her voice contrasts completely with her appearance since it is deep and velvety. Same size as her male double. Even though she looks so young, she still acts like a child mom. (Obviously, is always so bad in the kitchen, she brings out stuff, sometimes you are afraid that it will come to life to devour you). Despite her jokes, she is still very good advice and listens.

The rest of our boys:

Cater: If fashionable, is certainly a great influencer. Cater pays so much attention to everything, especially the little details and accessories that she wear. Makeup always on top and colorful, could become a model if she wanted. Is smaller than her male double. Joyful and higher pitched voice, her hair is a bundle of silky curls always worn in a cute way (Like Ariana Grande). (Has a multitude of fans and contenders) carefree and likes to give cute or silly nicknames to people she loves and appreciates. Would be the type to flirt with his friends for fun. Probably has a passion for nail art and would be so proud to show off her designs on her Magicam account! Would act with the first years like a big sister although she is not always good advice. She is so teasing.

Ace: Short, messy hair! Pretty tomboy style, enjoys teasing others too much for his own good, always smiling like shit and communicative. Is a sporty person, and quite arrogant, maybe also a little Tsundere side. Is a hopeless hideaway romantic. Even though she likes to do her makeup, she doesn't like taking fifteen years to do it and does the minimum required. Of course has a more feminine side when she's out of school, but honestly, feminine clothes are never practical for big movements. Act confidently but not too deep down. Her voice is happy and dynamic. Is one or two centimeters smaller than her male double. Likes to wear necklaces and chokers. Rather skinny but not as much as Ruggie.

Deuce: So sweet and so want to do her best to make her mom proud of her. Wearing long hair tied in a low ponytail, her voice is high-pitched and strong. Is quite tall (even taller than her male double). Read romance books on the sly but can't help herself when someone finds out. Probably already dyed his hair blonde during his delinquent period and dyed it before entering Night Raven College. Likes to wear barrettes in her hair, also does her best with her makeup but was not used to it before (it was mainly Ace who taught her everything she knows). Secretly loves wearing skirts and dresses, she hasn't been able to experience it before because she didn't think it would look pretty on her (But she's actually pretty). Certainly be shy and insecure when she finds new people, afraid of doing things badly. Blushes so easily that it is funny. When his delinquent side resurfaces, his voice becomes more serious, threatening, his posture leaves no room for shyness! She might want to change for the better, but that doesn't mean she's going to let others do if they want to bully her!

Jack: Do you see Jasper in the Steven Universe? You now have Jack as a woman. She is muscular and strong! The part she's most proud of is her muscular back! His silvery hair his savage and remained indomitable (But that gives him a crazy charm). Don't take shit from people and still is a Tsundere. But her wagging tail always betrayed her about her emotions, as well as her ears. Same size as her male double. Secretly loves cute things and certainly has an army of adorable stuffed animals in her room in Savanaclaw. Wears a biker style, and because she lives in a cold region with her family, she doesn't get cold easily, so her muscular arms are uncovered all the time (for your viewing pleasure 😏). Her voice is serious, so serious! But if you're friends, you definitely hear that thoughtful little note in her voice. If his male version is the Best Boy, his female version is the Best Girl! She takes care of those she loves and is always ready to help!

Floyd: Is exactly the same size as his male double. Wear her hair short cut in a boyish style (she doesn't have the time or the energy to dwell on her hair). Her voice has high notes, especially when she finds something or someone cute! Very expressive, has no filter. Like her sister, she is muscular and graceful. Her dress style could be similar to those of men in the 40's (she much prefers masculine clothes because it is more comfortable and she doesn't have to worry about her chest with large shirts. does not have to wear a bra!). Love accessories like earrings or piercings. Has immense strength and doesn't always control it. Dislikes makeup, she doesn't want to bother with it (but finds it charming on others, that's just her personal opinion). If its male version is not to be upset, it also works with its female version! Especially when it is at this time of the month, run away poor fools!

Epel: The same problem as with its male version! Except that instead of being manly, she wants us to find her sexy and not cute! All her life in her hometown has not to stop telling her that she was cute! Really ? Was she nothing else ?! She wants people she finds attractive to find her sexy, not cute! Just because she is petite, because she has big, innocent eyes and a round, youthful face, doesn't mean it's her definition of beauty or femininity! Much like her appearance, her voice is cute, slender. Her hair is long, wavy and held up with a red ribbon in an elegant manner. Compare to her male version, Vil lets her speak with her accent because it is one of her charm assets. Her face is decorated with delicate freckles. Is quite skinny with a tiny bit of shape but not a lot (let's say she has a lot more than Riddle). Epel is a little smaller than the male Epel, but not much.

Silver: She is the equivalent of Disney Princess Aurora. Except that, unlike, even if she falls asleep anywhere, she doesn't need a knight to protect her, she is her own knight! Remain a formidable swordsman! In spite of everything, remains someone calm and taciturn, very easygoing. She is very fond of animals and as they naturally flock to her, she is very happy about this fact. Wear her hair up to the shoulders and tie it in a ponytail for practice. She has a fairly toned body, but not too much. Her voice is soft and measured. She is much smaller than her male double.

Sebek: Acts hard but is so soft in the end. Looks pissed off all the time but that's just her natural expression. Wears her hair like her male version, and is the same size. Her voice carries so far, it's very impressive the first time you hear her! It is a bit sharp, but not in an unpleasant way. Carries so much esteem and respect towards Malleus, she would also like so much to be like her but she would never dare to compare herself to her! Blushes so hard and so quickly if you press the right buttons, it's so funny to see her get annoyed! Her figure is quite toned and sporty.

And finally, My MC /OC /YUU: Just like his female version, he wears round glasses, is always 150cm tall and has long wavy hair. Has fairly broad shoulders and is slightly muscular without really being so. Does everything possible to make girls feel comfortable and safe in his presence! He knows how exhausting the life and daily life of women is because of societal pressures and the male gaze. He knows that because of assholes, women are afraid of men and are afraid to even be in the same room as them, so he will do his best to ensure that she never feels that way around him! And if someone has the audacity to make one of them feel these feelings, oh boy ... that person won't last long! He was raised by his mother alone, and she taught him respect, consent and righteous values. He is an ally, so rest assured 😊😉. His voice is soft and serious (Also watching him get angry and argued in French is quite impressive! The sound of Rs in his mouth sounds even more aggressive).

#Twisted boys girl!au #Girls!au #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland imagine #twisted wonderland imagines #Disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons #Twst #twst x reader #Twisted boys #Savanaclaw #Heatslabyul #octavinelle #Scarabia #pomefiore #Ignihyde #Diasomnia

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bffsoobin · 4 years

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Spurred On

↳ Every year you worked your uncle’s fair simply for the extra cash and free food. It was far from glamorous, but you’d long since decided the benefits outweigh the costs. That was until you were forced into tending to the massive, intimidating cows your uncle raised for show. Hopefully, the new ranch hand can ease some of your pain.

➤ cowboy!yeonjun x reader, fluff, a lil angsty (you shouldn’t be surprised), they have tension but in a good way, suggestive, mutual pining, stereotypical Country Boy shit

Word Count: 8,102

Warnings: none other than some swearing and some making out (a little tiny bit suggestive)

A/N: I had absolutely no plans to write another fic anytime soon but seeing Yeonjun’s teaser possessed me so here I am to deliver a cowboy!Yeonjun fic I never ever knew I needed. And yes the fair mentioned is based off of the one I go to every year in my college town and the one that happens in my own home town every summer too okay don’t judge me shhhh

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Sweat was beading on your forehead, streaming down the sides of your face in an almost constant torrent as you wiped a wet rag over every cleanable surface you could find. Every summer since you turned 16, you had helped your uncle set up and run his annual fair. It was far from perfect, but the job gave you some extra cash to spend and copious amounts of fair food to eat to your heart’s content. This year, you had managed to secure a spot working at the funnel cake stand- which had always been your favorite- and a promise from your uncle that you would get to go on all the fair rides for free.

It was a very busy day, as there was only one more day to go before the grounds opened to the public. All day you had been cleaning and helping people who rented barns to show their livestock find the way in. From where you stood now, you could see the line of barns and the people bustling back and forth from them. Arguably the busiest man you knew, your uncle, was hurrying over to you with a slightly panicked look on his face.

“Miranda went into labor,” he simply stated. If it were possible, he was even sweatier than you had become, with a thick layer of dirt on his hands and part of his face.

“Okay...” you began, unsure of where he was going as you turned your attention back to wiping down the funnel cake machine.

“So that means Steven can’t help me with the cows, an’ they’re here now and I can’t expect the new ranch hand to it all himself.”

Blankly, you stared at him, still totally unsure why he was bringing this problem to you.

“So that means I need you fill in for Steven for a few weeks. Working in the barn.” Your uncle prodded, gesturing behind him to the barn bustling with activity as the cows were being ushered into their hay covered stalls.

“No!” You groaned, dropping the wet rag with a plop. “No, I had to fight with my sister to get the funnel cake spot and now you’re gonna demote me to cows?” This had to be some kind of sick joke. Your uncle sighed, laying a heavy hand onto your shoulder and squeezing.

“Please, Y/N. Your funnel cake spot will stay open for you until Steven comes back, I promise. But for now, if you want paid, you have to go to the barn.”

----

By now, you were used to the scent of a barn. Your uncle had been showing cows for as long as you can remember, and as a child you often spent time following his older kids around the barn and caring for cows.

As you stepped in now, you found yourself cringing at the chaos. Although you had always worked the fair, you never came close to dealing with any of the livestock shows, especially involving your uncle’s own group of hulking animals. The barn was as nice as a barn could get, with layers of hay on the floor and pens lined with silver food and water buckets adorning each one. Handmade signs boasted the name and age of each animal so that visitors could learn about them. Most of the cows were already in their place, so you simply walked between the stalls, glancing at them absentmindedly.

“Are ya lost?” A smooth, low voice asked.

“Uh, no,” you began, a little bit annoyed at whatever probably middle aged man assumed you didn’t know what you were doing. Whoever had spoken to you was wearing sleek, all black cowboy boots with a pointed toe. They seemed to have been freshly polished; free of any scuffs or scratches although it was clear by a few wrinkles in the leather that the boots had been well worn. Intrigued by the idea that you didn’t know any of your uncle’s workers to wear all black boots, you quickly flitted your eyes to the man’s face.

Long, pinkish-blonde hair fell around his shoulders, cascading down his back in slight waves. The black cutter style hat with silver detailing covering the top of his head made it a little tough to put together the full picture, but you assumed from the few loose strands framing his face that he was sporting a mullet. Simple silver hoops hung from both of his earlobes, glistening in the low sunlight inside the barn. His eyes were a captivating amber-brown with a sparkle of gold that you could only catch on certain angles. His eyebrows were a bit darker than the blonde of his hair, cluing you in to the fact that he had most likely bleached the tresses some time before. From his taller vantage point, he looked down on you over the perfect slope of his nose. He was remarkably younger than you’d expected- probably only a year or two older than yourself. You swallowed harshly.

“Are you lost?” You quipped back, in disbelief at the vision of the man in front of you who had seemingly blended the usual, tired cowboy fashion you were so accompanied with alongside an alternative flair that made your heart hammer wildly in the confines of your chest.

The man snorted out a laugh, short and low as he leaned himself casually on a wooden support beam. Underneath the fabric of his black button up, his muscles flexed and glided deliciously as he settled his body weight again.

“No, I wouldn’t say I am. I work here, and although I just started around here,” he passed an unabashed look up and down your body that made you flush, “I wouldn’t forget meetin’ someone like you.”

At a loss for words, you simply gawked at him as you tried to reform yourself.

“I-uh, my uncle owns the fair, and the uh-the cows, and I got stuck working in here until Steven can get back. So I’m really just looking for-”

“Oh, you’re Y/N? Your uncle mentioned he’d be sending someone to replace Steven.” He interrupted, arching an eyebrow lazily when you nodded. There was a slight smirk befalling his lips, the perfectly plump flesh twisting in his clear scrutiny of your words.

Simply nodding your confirmation seemed to be good enough for him as he pushed his lean body off of the wooden beam and took two measured steps closer to you. The heels of his boots clicked loudly each time, only punctuating his current upper hand. He stuck his hand straight out in front of him, simply waiting for you to meet him halfway.

When you finally did, you hoped he would disregard your clammy palm that only compounded upon feeling his perfectly calloused skin tight against your much less worn hand.

“Yeonjun.” He simply said, pressing his fingers into you harder as you finally actually shook hands. The blunt press of his fingernails digging into the back of your hand sent shivers down your spine, mind jumping to what they would feel like raking down the sensitive skin of your back or down the inside of your thighs or between the strands of your hair or-

“You okay there?” Yeonjun questioned, dropping your hand to cross his arms over his toned chest. Caught red handed, you busied yourself with looking at the stray pieces of hay which had littered the barn’s floor before you answered with a meek yes.

‘Well,” you finally looked back up to see that his eyes were still trained intently on your face. There was absolutely no way he hadn’t seen your blush by now.

“I’m your uncle’s new ranch hand, so it’s gonna be me and you in here till Steven comes back.”

At his words, you suddenly realized just how calm the once bustling barn had become, and you were sure that everyone who had helped bring in the cows had moved on to other tasks. It seemed that you and Yeonjun were the only two people left in the barn. He was still standing dangerously close to you, bodies just about a foot apart until you took a tentative step backwards. Your heart was beating double the normal rate, distracted by the absolutely perfectly crafted man you somehow ended up in the sole presence of. He simply watched you back away, never dropping the sly smirk as he watched you panic. Damn Yeonjun and his perfect looks and perfect charm.

Maybe you should go to your uncle and tell him that there was no way you could work alongside Yeonjun. You could easily make up some kind of story that the two of you didn’t get along, and that he would need to find someone else to help out until Steven could be back and-

“Look out!” Yeonjun suddenly called, eyes widening in the split second you could still see them. In all your thinking, you had continued to slowly back away from him, so lost in your own mind that you didn’t realize you were seconds away from tripping over a stray bucket and hitting your head. Which is exactly what you did.

The floor of the barn, although partially cushioned by hay, was harsh against the back of your body. Your head bounced with a sickening echo, coupled with the skidding of the metal bucket in the opposite direction, it’s contents of some feed spread out messily through the hay, some kibbles sliding into the pens of eager cows who bent to gobble up their extra snack.

Yeonjun appeared over you as soon as you could open your eyes again, pain shooting through your head and top of your spine- where your body had bounced the most.

“Are you alright?” Yeonjun pulled you up gently, laying a large, warm hand on your back to keep you steady. His eyes were still wide, roaming your face in quick succession to see if you had any physical evidence of pain.

“Just- uh- gonna have a headache, probably.” You supplied, head still spinning. Yeonjun frowned, continuing to roam his hands over the back of you body. Although you knew he was simply looking for injuries, a shiver ran down your spine at his delicate yet assured touch.

“‘Don look like you’re hurt too bad, but I’m sure you’ll bruise,” his voice had become more gruff since he began his examination. “C’mon,” was the only warning he afforded you before hooking one arm under your armpits, easily pulling your weight off of the floor where you laid. The other arm came to hook under your knees until you were laid bridal style in his arms. Instinctively, both of your arms flew around his neck, almost sending his hat flying with your haste. Up this close, you could smell the intoxicating mix of the whatever musky-vanilla cologne he had sprayed on, undercut by the faint smell of the outdoors that was much earthier and full. You barely took notice of where he was hauling you off to, more than content to stare up at the smooth, sharp plains of his face.

Shortly, the two of you arrived at what seemed to have been his goal all along- his impressively well kept Chevy pickup. It was sleek black, shining in the high noon sun as if it had just been polished. The tires were sporting a bit of mud- but it was much cleaner than the pickup of any other man around your town. Carefully, Yeonjun led you out of his arms and on to the ground, but not before holding both of his hands on your hips until you steadied yourself.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you commented as he swung open the drivers side door, giving you a good thirty seconds to marvel at the way his jeans stretched deliciously over the curve of his ass and fullness of his thighs. He was searching for something, rummaging through the center consol of his vehicle in intense concentration as you waited.

“Here,” he finally left the car, spinning back around to you smoothly and extending a small bottle of Advil in one hand and a water bottle, warm from the sun, in the other. “Take some of these.” You nodded, downing the two small pills with a little swig of the too-warm water. It was an uncomfortable feeling but you tired your best to mask it knowing that the cowboy was still keeping a close eye on you.

“I meant it, earlier. That you didn’t have to do that. Or this.” You waved vaguely to your throat to indicate the pills you’d just taken from him.

“Is’okay. Used to helpin’. Now are you gonna come back to the barn with me or should I expect to tough out the rest of the day alone?” Happily, you noted that the teasing inclination of his voice had returned. You assessed the pain in your head, carefully weighing his question before you decided that yes, you would come back to the barn with him.

——

The next morning you arrived at the fairgrounds, still fatigued from all the work you’d done the day before. Your feet ached deeply, seeping into the muscles of your calves even as you stretched your legs in every way you could think of. The temperature of the day had already risen to an unforgivable heat which blanketed your every move and had your thin T-shirt sticking to your skin with perspiration. Every step you took reminded you that the air was still and hot and unforgiving. Not to mention the still occasionally throbbing pain in the back of your head from yesterday’s misfortune. As you neared the barn, catching a whiff of the distinct scent of cows exasperated by the heat, you wondered if you’d finally gone insane.

And then you spotted Yeonjun, intently speaking to one of the largest cows your uncle owned as he brushed her, ensuring that her coat was nice and shiny for the visitors that would begin funneling in once the evening fell. He was dressed almost the same as yesterday, except he had swapped the traditional black button up for a simple white T-shirt, most likely due to the sweltering temperature. It was tucked perfectly into the waist of his belted jeans, slightly stained with dirt as evidence of his work so far. Every movement he made to brush at the cow defined the lines of his biceps, drawing your attention steadily toward his veined hands which you noticed had rings adorning them today. The silver metal matched the gleam of his earrings, shimmering in the streams of light that the sun provided.

Quietly you stood at the entrance of the barn, marveling at his physique and the way his voice filtered through the air until it collided with your ears. You held back a laugh as he began cooing at the cow, complimenting her for being so good as the animal chewed at some hay nonchalantly. His hair seemed less messy today, like he’d taken the time to style it despite the nature of his work. You would have been more than happy to stand at the entrance of the barn and silently watch him work, but life can be cruel.

“You see, pretty lady...” you heard Yeonjun continue talking to the cow as he put down the brush. “I would love to spend all day with you, but unfortunately I gotta lot to do around here. And Y/N...well she’s spent the last 5 minutes staring at me instead of stepping up to brush any of your friends.” Shock and embarrassment washed your nerves, and you were sputtering in an instant.

“I wasn’t just staring- I was, I was waiting until you were done so that I could ask-“

“Didn’t say I minded.” Yeonjun supplied calmly, finally fixing his deadly auburn gaze onto you. Fuck, how did he always look so good? Unabashedly, he swiped his eyes over your body, and although you would normally feel scandalized, you wanted nothing more than for him to look at you. For a moment, the two of you stared at one another from across the barn, appraising each other as your mind ran wild. A feeling akin to electricity sparked under your skin, as if you’d be connected to a live wire as soon as he took a calculated step closer to you. The heels of his boots clicked against the wooden floor with every step, punctuating just how slowly he was making his advance. You felt a bit like prey being stalked as your larger, more skilled hunter circled in on you, but you were far from complaining.

About a foot away from your now trembling body, Yeonjun stopped. Your heart was hammering so hard against your ribs that you assumed it was trying to escape the confines of your chest and jump to the floor.

“Here, you’ll be needin’ this,” he drawled, lifting the brush which he’d been using on the other cow up toward you. Carefully, you grasped the tool, pretending your digits didn’t shake when he purposely brushed the delicate pads of his fingers against yours. When he finally dropped his hand away, you cradled the brush close to your sweaty form and gripped onto it for dear life. Without another word, you hurried away from him to tend to the nearest cow. You needed a breather, to be honest. Too much Yeonjun could put you at risk for a heart attack if you weren’t careful.

For a while, it seemed as if he had vanished completely. It was easily to get lost in the simple work of brushing the cows, especially along with the low warbling tones of whatever country station the radio inside the barn had been set to. You were never one for country music, even considering your upbringing, but between the work you were doing, the oppressive heat and the yearning crush weighing on you, it just seemed right to listen to the twang of Jason Aldean.

When he came back, he seemed to materialize out of thin air. You had just finished up brushing the last cow and had moved on to rewriting some of their name tags when he shortly announced that he was back.

“Oh, hey,” you spoke meekly in the hopes to mask your excitement at his return. Cheekily, he grinned, showing off pearly white teeth and perfectly pointed canines.

“Missed me that much, huh?” He chided, brushing past you easily as he took in your improved handwriting on the tags. “Damn. Didn’t even know her name was Daisy. Your uncles’ writing had me calling her Paisly this whole time.”

A low hum of a laugh lifted into your throat as you nodded, focusing on the delicate loop of a J in the next cow’s name. There was silence for a bit, the only sound being the scratch of the chalk you were using to write.

“How’s your head?” Yeonjun asked, hazarding another comment that made your surmize he was trying his best to start a casual conversation. A smirk played onto your lips. In all your 20 years of living, you’d never had the pleasure of having the cat and mouse game being reciprocated.

“It’s okay, just hurts a little bit. I do have a pretty nasty bruise too.” You weren’t lying. The fall had created a large, purple-brown bruise on your lower back that extended slightly to your left ass check, where you must have taken most of the impact of the fall. Yeonjun fell silent, and you were a bit disappointed that he couldn’t come up with a counter as you focused on writing the next cow’s name. The aforementioned bruise had given you a little bit of a limp, and maybe you exaggerated it now in the two steps it took to reach the next pen.

“Need someone to take a look at it?” His voice was suddenly right behind you, tickling the hairs on the back of your neck until they stood up straight. How he had snuck up behind you without the tell tale sounds of his boots was beyond you. Even though you were already sweating, you welcomed the radiating feel of his body heat coming off of his chest in waves. Trying your best to keep your letters from becoming shaky, you hummed in thought.

“Looks and feels pretty much like a nasty bruise to me, Yeonjun. Dunno if I need a second opinion when the damn thing makes it hard for me to even walk. But if you’re so inclined,” you turned your head to make eye contact with him, subsequently catching him in the act of staring down at your ass. He didn’t even bother to stutter out an apology or excuse- just simply looked back up at you with his steady gaze. You remarked that his lips looked plumper than normal, almost raw, like he had been biting at them during some point in the day. He didn’t bother to take a step back; simply maintaining his close distance and waiting for you to make the next move. He had placed the fate of this interaction in your hands, and now you were free to play with him a bit. Slowly, you lifted the hem of the back of your shirt just enough that you knew he could see the blooming bruise in most of its glory. He took a small step back now, to appraise the full scale of the bruise that spanned from left to right across your body.

“Why the hell did you come back today sportin’ an injury like that?” His voice was gruff, punctuated with the same concern that you had heard yesterday when you fell. The pads of his fingers skidded carefully across the afflicted skin, touch so light that you almost missed it. Suddenly insecure and a bit overwhelmed by his touch, you dropped the hem of your shirt and turned just enough that his hands fell away from your back.

“I didn’t want to leave you here all alone, and who knows how long it’ll take to heal? I promised my uncle I’d be here. Plus I kind of really need the paycheck, so...here I am.”

Eyebrows knitted, Yeonjun opened his mouth to make his next comment when the loud, familiar voice of your uncle busted through the relative silence of the barn. Yeonjun shuffled away from you quickly as if he had already been scolded. It hurt a bit, but you understood his hesitation in being caught in a possibly compromising situation with his employers niece.

Yeonjun called back to him, walking briskly toward the entrance of the barn and leaving you behind to strain your ears in an attempt to catch any important bits of information. You could have sworn you heard your name being passed between the two men, but there was no way you could be sure from so far away. A welcome breeze passed through the barn, bringing your attention back to the actual job at hand although you could still feel the ghost of Yeonjun’s touch.

----

About a week later, the temperature had plateaued to a pleasant level and brought along a fresh wave of visitors to the fairgrounds. All morning, the barn had been bustling with wide eyed children and experienced farmers who came to size up the competition. You were busy refreshing the hay inside of one of the pens when you heard Yeonjun’s smooth voice for the first time in a few hours. The barn had been so noisy and loud as soon as the grounds opened for the public that you hadn’t seen him since you arrived in the morning. Across the barn, he was entertaining a group of girls, all listening intently to whatever information he was spouting. They all had perfectly styled hair and legs to die for- stretching perfectly out of their cut-offs and practically begging for attention. The one closest to him was staring at his arms with no regard for how obvious she was being, and you were sure that every other girl in the half circle was ogling him in some fashion. You shouldn’t have been surprised, you guessed, since he made you feel just as brain dead, but you still boiled inside at the sight of two of the girls murmuring amongst each other. It was tough to tell exactly what he had said, but the raucous round of laughter that shot into the air clued you in to the fact that he had probably just served them one of his sub-par farming jokes.

He flashed them the same smile that had made your heart stutter countless times, and a sick feeling of anger pushed through your veins. With an unnecessarily hard push, you exited the pen you had just refreshed and moved on to the next. There was no doubt that Yeonjun took note of the unnecessarily loud clink of the metal gate, and you really fucking hope he got the message. Anger still bubbling just under your skin, you ignored the cow who sweetly bowed it’s head in search of affection.

“Hello?” Someone asked as soon as you turned your back. Taking what you hoped would be a soothing breath, you spun on your heel to address the visitor. He was probably in his mid to late twenties, with cute curly hair and the usual t-shirt and jeans combo you were used to seeing men around your town wear. The way he looked was just about exactly what you would expect from a man visiting your uncles fairgrounds, as they all dressed about the same. He wasn’t your type, but over his shoulder you could see that Yeonjun had refocused his attention on you after you apparent fit with the door. A sickly sweet smile pulled your cheeks until they hurt, but you laid it on thick as you walked over to the door of the pen.

“What can I do for ya?” Making sure to lay your voice on the extra sweet side, you took careful note of the way the man roamed his eyes over your face, stopping to flick between your lips and the low-riding cut of the shirt you’d worn today.

“I was just uh, looking around. Got some pretty nice cows here, they yours?” You forced a laugh, throwing your hair over your shoulder before shaking your head.

“Oh no, I just help out around here, ya know, cleaning and brushing the cows. They belong to my uncle. Like anything you see?” Deliberately, you tossed the bait and looked over his shoulder to find Yeonjun in the exact same spot as before, bottom lip locked between his teeth as he watched the interaction. Good. He deserves to have to watch this after you had to see him make those girls trip over their own feet just by existing.

The man chuckled, clearly picking up on the inclination of your question as he hummed in thought. “I think I have my eye on someone,” he responded, resting his arm casually on the metal gate just a few inches from where you had draped your own. Instinctively, you looked at his arm- much less defined than Yeonjun’s- and noticed just about the biggest red flag you could ever see on a man you’re flirting with. A wedding band.

“Ah, better be your wife you’ve got an eye on,” you quipped, mostly upset that your revenge on Yeonjun had been partially spoiled. There was no way you could stay here and flirt with a married man just to make Yeonjun jealous. Defeated, you made to pull your arm off of the gate and go back to working on the hay when the man grabbed at the supple skin of your forearm to stop you.

“She won’t mind, sweetheart,” he drawled, the cool press of his ring a persistent reminder of how much of a scumbag he was being.

“No, somehow I really think she would mind.” You yanked your arm again, managing to gain just a few inches back from his hold. He huffed, pinching his blunt nails into your skin enough to scratch thin red lines.

“I’d let go if I were you. Move on along, huh?” Yeonjun’s familiar tone met your ears, and you belatedly noticed that he had come right up behind the guy. You had never seen him look quite so intimidating as he did in the moment, with his eyebrows pulled together grimly. His mouth was set in a harsh line, unforgiving as he gripped at the man’s shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his tshirt. Finally, the man dropped his grip from you, shot Yeonjun a nasty look that you were sure he thought was manly, and strode off to presumably find his poor wife.

Feeling small under Yeonjun’s gaze, you simply looked down at the faint red tracks now decorating your arm.

“He could have really hurt you.” He muttered, keeping his voice low as to keep other visitors from overhearing.

“He didn’t.” You spat, annoyed that he had to save you from yet another mishap.

“Guys like that...they don’t have any respect for people like you. People who have a backbone.” His eyes were large, imploring you with the intensity of his stare. You avoided his gaze for a few more seconds, knowing that your resolve and previous anger would disappear. You shuffled some hay under your sneakers and a piece of you hoped Yeonjun would simply walk away, but you could still see the toes of his boots poking underneath the metal gate.

“Thank you,” you whispered, finally meeting his gaze and feeling the tension melt from your bones. His features had softened considerably, and you almost forgot the pain that had split your heart upon seeing him flirting with other girls. You knew he wasn’t yours, but you wished more and more every day that he was.

----

“I won’t be needin’ you in the barn tonight, by the way,” your uncle bellowed from across the barn. In the whole time you’d been working alongside Yeonjun in here, you had never once seen your uncle actually come into the barn. You knew he was busy with dozens of other things, but for as much as he loved his cows you were shocked at his lack of attendance. Today he stood right in the middle of it, patting the head of one of the cows with a contented look on his face as visitors swirled around. Yeonjun, who was in the middle of refilling a trough of water, popped his head up in shock at the words.

“Really?” You enthused, dropping the rake you had in your hands to rush over to your uncle and see if he was joking.

“Really. Got an old friend comin’ in who I wanna show off the cows to, so I won’t need the two of you caring for ‘em. He’ll be here in about,” he paused to glance down at the watch he’d worn for as long as you could remember, “about twenty minutes, if the two of you want to take off now.”

Not having to be told twice, you waved your uncle goodbye, shot a quick smile at Yeonjun, and made a b-line to your car. Just as you pulled on the handle of the driver’s side door, Yeonjun was calling your name.

“Hey!” He called, a little breathless from the jog he’d taken to catch up with you. “What are you uh, gonna do with the night off?”

“Why, you wanna hang out?” You offered, half-teasing but very much offering your time to him.

“No- I wasn’t, that’s not what I was...”

“I’ll be here,” you responded coolly. “Might come with some friends, might just come to stuff my face full of fair food. All the things I normally do when I work somewhere that isn’t the barn. I’m finally gonna get myself a damn funnel cake. But first, I’m going home to shower.” You opened your driver’s side door all the way and hopped in before he could respond. “See ya there?” You asked, hoping to probe him toward offering to meet you there. He stuffed his hands in his front pockets, swaying on the balls of his feet. His face twisted as you assumed he was contemplating his options.

“Maybe,” he finally conceded, nodding softly as he watched you through the rolled down window of your car. “Maybe I’ll see ya there, Y/N.”

----

The sun had just begun to set when you got back to the familiar fair grounds, painting the sky in a orange-pink mix that delighted you beyond words. You had ended up coming to the fair alone; partly because all of your friends had already gone on other nights you were working and partly because you were hoping to run into Yeonjun. The parking lot was full to the brim, and you found yourself looping around to the slightly hidden employee parking lot instead of being sanctioned to the overflow lot down further down the dirt road. As you pulled into the closest spot, you caught a glimpse of a very familiar sleek black Chevy pickup in your rearview mirror. Excitement made you dizzy, hands shaking as you flipped down your overhead mirror to straighten yourself up. If you were going to see Yeonjun tonight, you were going to make it count.

Throngs of visitors swirled around you, chatting and laughing over the piped in country music that you’d been hearing almost nonstop all summer long. With the sun setting, everything was casted in an idyllic golden glow that made you feel like you were in a coming-of-age film and not just your uncle’s fair that you had come to every year since your birth. A group of visibly drunk friends barreled past you, slurring and hiccupping as they narrowly avoided spilling their beers all over themselves. Grease and sweat mixed to create an atmospheric scent that was so inherently fair that you almost wished they sold candles that smelled the same way. Without even thinking about it, your feet carried you toward the funnel cake stand which was supposed to be your fate for the summer. To be honest, you were still quite upset that you hadn’t got to spend your days munching on pieces of fried batter and chatting with the family friends your uncle hired every year.

Finding yourself at the back of a winding line, you resigned to the one thing that sucked about coming alone. There was no one around you to make conversation with as you waited for food. You had come to the fair many times with your friends from school and various dates, but you couldn’t think of a single time you visited the fair all by yourself. Idly, you scrolled through your phone and inched up appropriately with the line.

“Y/N! Hey!” Yeonjun yelled, approaching you quickly. A wide smile split your face, giving away your excitement at spotting him.

“Oh hey! I’m finally getting a funnel cake!” He was wearing his usual outfit, closer to the look you had seen him in the very first time you met. Outside of the barn he seemed much more casual, and even casted in an odd mix of setting sunrays and the harsh neon from the rides behind him, he looked ethereal. His eyes sparkled with that unmistakable mirth that he always seemed to harbor around you.

“I saw that. Looked pretty lonely over here with your nose in your phone, figured I’d come see if you could use some company.” He was throwing you the line, waiting to see if you’d latch on. And who would you be if you didn’t?

“Hmm, I think that would be nice. Although I really can’t promise I’ll share the funnel cake.” You stepped forward with the line again, and he came with you easily, falling right beside you so closely that you could feel the heat radiating from his side.

Once you finally had the hot treat balancing on a thin paper plate, you rushed Yeonjun to the nearest empty bench and dug in. The dough was still scalding, having just been pulled from the fryer, but the amazing taste was good enough for you to ignore the burn. Yeonjun sputtered a laugh as you shoveled in the dough, wiping powdered sugar onto your legs with reckless abandon. Teasingly, he snuck a hand up to the plate and pulled off a piece of funnel cake; pulling a teasing whine from your throat as you shook your head no rapidly.

“Too late,” he mumbled, “already in ma mouf.” Swallowing your own piece, you widened your eyes and punched at his thigh, firm and muscular.

“Rude! You should have gotten your own!” He smiled cutely down at you, nose crinkling as he finally swallowed. Some powdered sugar had slid onto his button up, but you decided not to tell him in favor of keeping his attention focused on you the way it was now. You felt hot but extremely comfortable under his gaze, feeling a stutter in your chest that increased the adrenaline in your veins. He was so close, and so endearing, and the way he was focused on your face was so fucking cute.

“You’ve got,” he motioned to his own face, brushing his finger against his chin. You tried to mirror his action, swiping at the same spot, but the frown on his face told you that you had missed.

“Lemme, can I?” You nodded before the words even came out, eager to feel his calloused hands on the sensitive skin of your face. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he cupped your jaw and inched his thumb, much slower than what would be considered normal, toward your chin. With one gentle swipe, the stray powdered sugar was gone, yet his hands remained. God, you wanted to kiss him so badly. The lighting had casted a gorgeous shade along his cheekbones, highlighting the beautiful length of his eye lashes and the rounded tip of his nose.

Up this close, you examined the curve of his lips; the soft definition of his cupid’s bow and the perfect pink of his mouth.

“Yeonjun-” he surged forward, stalling the words in your throat as he finally pushed his lips against yours. His fingers gently curled around your neck, gripping at strands of hair like he was afraid you were going to run away. It was quite the opposite, actually, as you happily hummed and leaned into the kiss you’d been waiting for. He tasted like funnel cakes and a faint hint of mint gum, just intoxicating enough to have you clawing your hands into the collar of his shirt. The funnel cake plate began to slide off of your lap, but you could not have cared less as you swiped your tongue over the seam of his lips, greedily pushing to get more out of him.

He hesitates, still eager to kiss you back, but not enough to let you have full reign. Pouting a little, you decided to make the best of your time by nibbling at his bottom lip playfully. Yeonjun pulled away just enough to separate the two of you gently, chests heaving as you both readjusted to a life not attached at the lips.

“Sorry,” he grunted, voice much rougher around the edges than you’d ever heard it. The sound sent a chill down your spine. “Sorry that I didn’t, uh, wanna-” his cheeks flushed startlingly fast and he sighed. “I just don’t want to mess this up, whatever this is. I just...I like you too much, ya know?” The shyness in his voice was endearing, and it wasn’t hard at all to let your own desires fall to the wayside. He likes you.

“That’s okay, Yeonjun. You know I really like you too, right?”

“Hmm,” he pondered, leaning back into his usual persona at your acceptance. “Did I know that? Maybe all those times I caught you staring, or how fuckin’ clumsy you get if I even so much as compliment you...yeah. I think I know.” A permanent smile was stuck on your face, unbreakable in the presence of Yeonjun and his intoxicating aura.

----

The next morning, you’d walked into work on clouds. You and Yeonjun had spent the whole night together; strolling hand in hand, eating your way through the grounds and dragging one another on the carnival rides.

He wasn’t around when you entered the barn, but the evidence that he was somewhere around was enough to kick you into gear. You were shoveling food into a trough, making one-sided conversation with the cows in front of you when you heard him stroll in.

“Hey!” You called over your shoulder, too focused on getting the food actually inside the container to turn around. Yeonjun didn’t answer, but you just finished the task at hand and figured you’d try again in a few moments. Once you were done with the food, you spotted him walking back from the storehouse with a fresh bale of hay in his arms.

He plopped it down on the floor of the barn and you tried again.

“Good morning,” you smiled, approaching him with a grin. He looked up at your breifly and simply nodded, turning on his heels to go back to the storage. Your heart plummeted to your feet just like it had on the rollercoaster he had forced you on to just about 12 hours ago.

What the hell had happened in between the time you parted and the time you both came into work? If you hadn’t known him better, you would have chalked it up to a bad morning, or maybe he was still too tired.

But in all the time you had worked together, he had never once ignored you. He always greeted you in the morning, began a conversation about nothing or at least asked you how you slept. No matter how shit he was feeling, Yeonjun had always made it clear to you that you were worth his time. Did you ruin it all with the kiss? Even though he had seemed so ecstatic last night, maybe he woke up this morning with regrets stacked up. Maybe he was afraid of what your uncle would think. In your idle thinking, you hadn’t noticed the accumulation of hay bales that he had brought in. A stack of four now stood before you, and he was just feet away with the fifth. He was huffing, face reddened with the sheer weight of the bales.

“Yeonjun, do you need help?” You tried again, hoping that maybe lodging a question would garner a real response, but you got nothing. He simply dropped another bale and made to leave the barn again.

“Yeonjun!” You bellowed, hopping around the bales to catch up to him. You jumped in his path, holding one hand to each shoulder. Despite his strength advantage, he stopped in his tracks and gazed down at you. You noticed that he looked tired, slight bags residing under his eyes, and you wondered if we had gotten any sleep at all. “What’s up with you?”

He sighed, pushing his fingers into his temples.

“I don’t have time for this, Y/N.” He tried to pass around you again, but you planted your feet and pushed at his chest with all of your might.

“We are going to talk about this. The cows are fed, and the new hay can wait. Why the fuck are you avoiding me? After last night? If you don’t actually like me, or you regret it, just tell me the truth. Be a big boy, Yeonjun. Don’t leave me out here high and dry.” The steeliness in his eyes softened at your words and a frown marred his flawless face.

“No, god no. I do like you, Y/N. And yesterday was great and I don’t regret any of it but I just...I just don’t trust myself. The last person I dated,” he rubbed his hand into the back of his neck, “I messed it up. Bad. And the last thing I want is to do that to you, too. I’m trying to keep you away from all of this mess. So I’m sorry, but you have to just...forget last night.”

You were stunned to silence, disbelief bubbling in your chest. How bad of a fuck up could his last relationship have been? The Yeonjun you knew was nothing but caring, goofy, smart and charming. Everything you could have ever dreamed up in a man.

“Look, I don’t know what happened last time, but I know that you’re being way too hard on yourself. You’re...Yeonjun, you’re as close to perfect as anyone could get. And even if you are a mess,” you made sure that his tired eyes never left yours, “well, so am I. I fell flat on my ass the first time we met, I step in cow shit on the daily, and somehow you still find it in yourself to like me back. So whatever you’re worried about, forget about it. Okay?”

A small, slow smile cracked onto his face, exposing the white, pearly teeth that you were so envious of. “I never told you this,” he began, the cheerful inclination of his voice made your heart soar, “but I had to try so hard not to laugh when you fell. Like- the look on your face!” His voice tapered off into a full-bellied laugh; music to your ears.

“Okay, okay! I was trying to cheer you up, and now you’re just bullying me!” You yelled, pushing at his chest gently in a bid to get him to stop.

“Hmm, well you did help make me feel better, but ya know what would really cheer me up?” His laughter had ceased, but the apples of his cheeks were still risen and rosy from the effort. His hands encircled your waist delicately, pulling you into his chest. “If you could just...kiss it better?” He pouted exaggeratedly, leaning down to level your heights. And how could you resist?

You met him halfway with the same vigor as yesterday, still shocked by the easy way your mouths fit together. With every intention of respecting the boundary he set yesterday, you were more than happy to lean into the sweet roll of his lips until you were in need of a breather. The hands on your waist tightened, pulling your bodies impossibly closer and Yeonjun mumbled something that you didn’t quite catch, although you didn’t have time to ponder it as he took the imitative to deepen the kiss.

Finally kissing him the way you’d desired made you feel like you were on fire, every inch of your skin sensitive. Yeonjun was persistent, guiding you backwards slowly. You couldn’t see where you were going, but right now you would have trusted him with your entire life as he intoxicated you with his touch. Suddenly, your back was pressed against what you figured was the wood paneling just inside the barn’s entrance. Yeonjun finally backed away from you as your chest heaved, mind fuzzy from the rush of serotonin. Without a word he descended on you again, kissing sloppily down your jaw and neck, leaving at least two purpling bruises in his wake. Frantically, you knocked his hat backwards off of his head, weaving your fingers into his fading pink hair as he worked at the junction of your neck and collarbone. Losing yourself in his touch was easy, sliding your eyes shut as the flat of his tongue soothed the skin he had just finished raising into a blooming bruise.

Yeonjun was just as consumed, mumbling compliments against your neck as his hands wandered to the hem of your shirt, sliding his large, warm hands under the soft cotton; roaming higher and higher-

“MOOOOO-” the cow closest to you bellowed, sliding her foot across the floor in a loud shuffle that alarmed you both. Yeonjun’s hands dropped away immediately, eyes comically wide as the cow stared at the both of you.

“She defintely just told us to knock it off and change the hay.” You joked, trying to pretend like the loud animal hadn’t scared the living shit out of you. Yeonjun was flustered, fumbling to readjust his trusty hat as he cleared his throat and threw you a shy look. His eyes flitted to your neck, no doubt admiring his handiwork, before straightening his shirt.

“I’m going to go...um, start on that hay now.”

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fakecrfan · 3 years

Text

POV: You wake up in the TMA universe at the start of season 1.

You find yourself on the streets of London, cold and confused.

You try to figure out what happened and get home. You discover the place you lived no longer exists. The place you worked no longer exists.

You try to call the numbers of family, friends, anyone you knew. Baffled voices that you don’t recognize answer you, and then hang up.

As you're wandering around the streets getting increasingly terrified, you pass by the Magnus Institute. Then, everything makes sense.

You hurry in and blurt out: "I would like to make a statement"

Rosie smiles politely.

“Alright, let’s get you the proper forms then.”

She tells you that the Archivist, Jonathan Sims, will see you in a moment. As you are waiting for him, you recall what happens to people who give statements to Jonathan Sims. Unceasing bad dreams. Unrelenting panic attacks. Enough that Jess Tyrell stopped being able to go out in public.

"Ah," you think. "I will not do that then."

You leave in a hurry. Outside, you realize:

oh, I'm the only one who can stop the apocalypse now, aren't i

You shiver. That thought can wait, you think. For now you need to find... somewhere to stay. You are effectively homeless. No, not effectively. You are straight up homeless.

You pull out your wallet to pay for food. Your card is declined. You try to use cash, only to be told it’s counterfeit. Everything is just a little too much to the left of your reality for you to navigate.

Finally you find social services of some kind. They ask for your information, including your NIN. you aren't surprised when they say the info they have on file for that number is.... not you. You are disappointed though.

They help you to a homeless shelter. You sit on your cot and cry self-pityingly for a bit, and then that pressure comes back to your mind:

The world is going to end. You know the world is going to end. You're the only one who can do anything about it.

You turn over and decide that's something you can deal with in the morning.

----

The next day, you think about it again.

"That's something I can deal with when I have an apartment," is what you think then.

So that becomes your next project. Finding your footing as a displaced person. Social services helps but it's... sporadic. It takes months for you to get more stable housing.

When you lie down on the couch of the new, well, new associate you've made, you once again remember that the world is going to end. That you are the only one who can do anything about it.

"I'll think about that when I get a job"

-----

Time continues to pass. As you are trying to get on your feet, you make feeble attempts to... start something.

You go to the Magnus Institute a few times. But it's hard. You've always had terrible social anxiety,. And everyone there seems so cold. You can feel eyes on your back: staring, watching your every move. Normally that alone is enough to make you quit for the day.

A lot of times, the main cast you remember is out doing research. When they are there, you are about to walk up and speak to them when the anxiety hits you again.

What if Elias sees you talking to them? What if he kills you?

You decide to retreat for a little while, then. Just to think of a better plan.

You spend the next month getting your first job in this new world. You start a timeline of when you think the apocalypse is going to happen, but remembering the canon dates is hard. It's not a very helpful timeline, and so you give it up.

Eventually you think the best thing to do is to wait until Elias has been arrested and then talk to the others. When Elias is in prison, he can't murder you for revealing your plans.

This means Sasha and Tim will die. But--they might have died anyway, even with your intervention. Who’s to say? Anyway, you’re not the one who will kill them. It’s not your fault.

You scan the news every day for things about the Magnus Institute, particularly the head of it getting arrested.

During this time, you do a little better. You have a nice apartment now, you think. Nice by your own standards, at least. You decorate the place a little. Get some video games that you like--or well, they aren't the same ones as in your world, but close enough you think?

Months pass.

One day it hits you that maybe the papers would never actually report on Elias being arrested.

Oh shit, you think.

You go back to the Magnus Institute then. By this point, Rosie recognizes you. She grants you the same expression one grants a wayward alley cat. You ask who the current head is. You are told "Peter Lukas."

Shit.

"Can I make a statement?"

Rosie looks nervous. "Um, the Archivist is on medical leave."

"Okay can I talk to one of his assistants?"

Rosie gets this very tired look in her eyes.

"I'll... ask."

Rosie phones the archives extension

it rings

"They've all really been through it recently," Rosie tells you. "They don't--like to talk to anyone else, now."

"I have to talk to them," you say. "Um, can you--can you tell Martin Blackwood specifically that I need to talk to him? That it's about Jon?"

Martin is--you like Martin. Martin will be nice and safe. He'll be easier to talk to than Melanie at this point, or Basira. Still, Rosie looks tired again.

"I'll have a chat with him," Rosie says. "How about you go home for now, and I'll call you when I've talked to him."

"But--"

You're bad at this. You were always bad at this. You can barely sign up for anything on your own. Your mother has done so many calls and filled out so many forms for you.

You never cultivated the skill of standing in a lobby and insisting to talk to someone. Maybe you'll just irritate Rosie and she'll blacklist you if you dig in your heels now. Anyway, you're already so tired from this. You think about going home, and playing some Medal of Honour IV.

"Fine," you say.

You go home. You play the game. You sleep.

You're not giving up, you say to yourself. You're just--biding your time.

Rosie does not call you.

It pains you, but you realize you have to go back in and ask to speak to someone again. You'll go today after work, you decide.

No, wait, you're too tired from work today. You'll go tomorrow.

Maybe on the weekend.

----

You finally go back

Rosie tells you she just--hasn't been able to get a hold of Martin.

"Fine," you say. "Any of the other assistants."

Rosie actually looks a bit worried for you. "Um, they're not--they don't take well to unexpected visitors. Let me wait and chat them up about it."

You do not listen this time.

You march down into the basement level where the archives are. The door is--well. Shit. It's barricaded? You knock. You keep knocking.

"Melanie! Basira!" you say. "I have to talk!"

The door opens too quickly. You barely get a glimpse of Melanie's snarl before she strikes and your vision goes white.

She hits you a few times. No knives, just fists. You hear Basira in the backround, barking for Melanie to stand down. Once there is an opening and you can blearily see again, you run away in terror.

It's not--you didn't intend to run. You were just afraid.

----

You go home, and realize that Melanie didn't even really hit you in a super serious way. Nothing that would warrant a hospital trip, at least. Nothing that has left you with a lot of pain, outside of the immediate terror of physical violence.

You probably could have stuck it out there. You should have.

You think about all the months--no, years now--that have passed without you making any progress.

"But that’s not my fault,” you say.

"I was having a really hard time. I was homeless. I've been struggling with my mental health. I still have to keep the rent paid and feed myself."

"It's not my fault. It's not."

"I will do something. Just--I need some more time."

You sleep.

You decide to wait a bit for your bruises to heal up before going back.

When you do drag yourself back to the Institute, now there is a PTSD reaction to going into the Institute on top of the social anxiety.

You leave quickly. Rosie looks so sad for you.

You do try to go back. You do try to get back in contact with the Archives, or go back when Jon is back up. But there's always something. Not something directly stopping you. Just--

Tiredness. Work. Illness. Doctor's appointments. Panic attacks. The Archives staff being unreachable.

The world is going to end. You're the only one who can stop it.

"That's not true though," you think. "I mean, technically anyone could. I just have a little more information that could help."

"It's never one person's fault," you tell yourself as you crawl into bed after another flight of anxiety struck you as you were about to cross the street to the Institute. "It's everything. It's--a whole system. It's Jonah's fault really. If I don't--I'm not to blame."

“I’m not to blame.”

----

You are playing Medal of Honour V when your phone lights up with a notification that there was an outburst of violence at a place known as the Magnus Institute, and billionaire Peter Lukas has disappeared in the confusion.

You should get up. It’s going to happen, and happen soon. You hand twitches on the controller.

You remember a quote you saw before you ended up here, on Facebook of all things.

"Don't wonder what you'd be doing in Nazi Germany. Whatever you're doing now, is what you would have been doing then."

Because bad things were happening in the world all the time, your preachy Facebook aunt said. There is always genocide, and famine, and war. It’s not some movie fantasy from the past.

You think about that. About the horrors in your world. Those movements that you retweeted support for and occasionally donated $5 to. The protests you awkwardly passed by on your way to work.

You quietly realize what kind of person you are. What you would have been doing in Nazi Germany, or the civil rights era in the U.S., or during the catastrophes in your own world, or right now.

It's what you were always going to do.

And so you get back to Medal of Honour V.

----

You're still dreading the apocalypse of course. It won’t be easy. It will be around six months to a year of full on torture, specifically designed to be the worst you have ever felt. Something about that soothes you. Something about knowing you are a victim too, or maybe knowing that you’ll be punished.

But--it will end, and then you'll be alright. Everything will return to normal, and you can go back to your apartment and your job and your games. It’s not all that bad.

You feel a twinge of guilt for Martin and Jon, who you could ave intervened for. You feel more than a twinge for the worlds the Entities will infect after. But--maybe it will all work out okay. Maybe the universe is a kind place. Maybe other worlds will be able to handle the fears better.

Who knows! There is always hope!

----

[When the sky turns red and the great Eye opens, when you start to hear the howls of your apartment neighbors through the wall--

Nothing happens to you. You are fine. It does not touch you.

Oh.]

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #self insert #reader insert #my writing

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specialagentsergio · 3 years

Text

all we can do is keep breathing || chapter one

summary: He’s out of prison now, but your boyfriend is very much not okay. When he isn’t reinstated, he spirals down quickly, and you don’t know how to help him out of it. (or, spencer relapses post-prison and goes to rehab)

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: angst (eventual happy ending)

content warnings: swearing, drug abuse & addiction, an overdose, substance use disorder, ptsd, mentions of suicide, mentions of/implied sex, references to sexual assault, description of a panic attack/ptsd episode. please read with caution; this content can be triggering.

a/n: honestly, i just wrote this for myself. but it was partially inspired by @zhuzhubii ‘s brilliant and heart wrenching fic i know what’s best for me (but i want you instead). mine takes a different turn, but theirs is amazing as well.

a/n 2: disclaimer that while i have both been a patient at a residential treatment center and currently work at one, i don’t have substance use disorder and we don’t treat it specifically at my current workplace. my experience is also all in adolescent centers rather than adult ones, so this won’t be entirely accurate.

word count: 8k

song: paralyzed by nf

fic masterlist || masterlist

Nothing’s been the same since Mexico.

You weren’t naïve. You hadn’t been expecting things to go right back to normal when he got home from prison. You were prepared for Spencer to struggle. And you were ready to do whatever it took to help him recover from this trauma.

But you had never expected that that dedication would lead you to here—sitting on the couch at 11 o’clock at night, tired but wide awake, waiting for him to return from god knows where. A few cardboard boxes filed with the last of his things are stacked neatly beside you.

Spencer’s six-year sobriety coin sits in your hand. You’d found it in the trash a few days after he got home. You had tried to talk him into keeping it—"you were drugged; it’s not your fault”—but he had refused, leading you to believe there was something he wasn’t telling you. But you hadn’t pushed him on it, as that would just be a surefire way to make him double down on keeping it to himself.

He didn’t want the coin, but you kept it, hidden from his sight, hoping he’d want it back someday.

Now, three months later, you weren’t sure that day was going to come.

He had managed to get by for six weeks. He’d been plagued by nightmares and suffered multiple panic attacks, but he’d pushed through the cravings, gone to all his mandated therapy appointments, and attended refresher courses on procedures and firearms. He did everything the bureau required to consider reinstating him.

The day of the meeting, Spencer had seemed a little nervous, but stable. He’d gotten a good night’s sleep, free of bad dreams, and he had given you a kiss goodbye that felt just like the ones he’d always given you before. Then he walked out the door, and you didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day.

You got the news from Emily. The bureau had decided not to reinstate him “at this time”. They recommended that he reapply in six months, but for now, he wouldn’t be getting his badge and gun back.

Your initial reaction had been relief. Although you had shown Spencer nothing but encouragement, you weren’t sure he would ever be ready to go back, let alone so soon. You didn’t even know why he was reapplying. He’d worked for them for over a decade and become a well-respected agent, but when he needed help, the bureau had abandoned him and refused to help him prove his innocence. You had been so furious you could barely speak when JJ told you their decision.

Spencer didn’t share your sentiment—or if he did, he didn’t want to face it. On some level, you understood. The BAU was his home before you were, and you could imagine that after the chaos of the last three months, he desperately wanted his life to just go back to normal. So even though you weren’t sure that this was the best decision for him to make—especially since he seemed to have barely thought about it at all—you’d supported him. Whatever he needed, right?

You tried calling him after talking to Emily, but he didn’t answer. It didn’t worry you too much at first—Spencer often needed space to process things on his own before talking about it. You wouldn’t be able to have a proper conversation until you were off work anyways.

It was around six when the anxiety kicked in. You’d tried calling him a few more times throughout the day to no avail. You hadn’t even gotten a text back. Then you started getting messages from his team, asking how he was doing and if he was okay. They hadn’t heard from him either.

When you’d gotten home, you had immediately looked to the chair Spencer always left his bag on. It was empty. You’d looked through all the rooms anyways, trying to ignore what your gut was telling you he was off doing.

It was a few more hours before he stumbled through the front door, his eyes glassy and footing unstable. You stood in front of him, putting your hands on his upper arms to keep him steady. When he had caught your eyes, he had started to cry.

He’d been more or less inconsolable for the rest of the night, blubbering out apologies as you guided him through the motions of getting into bed. He’d clung to you and you’d murmured reassurances against his skin and into his hair that you still loved him, that you didn’t think any less of him, that he would be okay. You had truly thought he would be at the time.

But he wasn’t okay, not at all. He quickly became stuck in a cycle of using, promising it was the last time, staying clean for a little while, then relapsing. You had pleaded with him to get help, but he’d become... aggressive when you suggested inpatient treatment.

“Don’t ever say that,” he’d snarled. “I’m not my mother.”

Then later that same night, he had crawled into bed next to you at 2 AM, curled up against your side, and begged in a trembling voice, “please don’t send me away.”

You haven’t had the courage to bring it up again until now.

Four days ago, you hit your breaking point. You’d come home from work and found him limp on the couch, barely breathing, a syringe and little glass vial next to him. You’d dialed 911 as you ran into the bedroom, yanked open your bedside table, and pulled out the auto injectable dose of Narcan you’d acquired a few weeks ago just in case. Thanks to that, Spencer was conscious again by the time the EMTs arrived. He resisted being taken to the ER, alternating between scowling at them and looking at you with pleading eyes.

But you didn’t give in. When he had checked himself out of the hospital an hour later (you had refused to do it for him), you had driven him home, but the entire time you were formulating a plan. You’d realized that you were padding his rock bottom, and you couldn’t do it anymore.

So now here you are, waiting on the couch. You hope it will work this time. About a month ago you had tried staging an intervention with his team, but as soon as he saw them, he’d walked right back out of the room and you hadn’t seen him again for nearly two days.

It’s another hour before he arrives home, and it takes his drug-fogged mind a full minute to process what he’s seeing. His voice is hoarse when he asks, “You’re leaving?”

“No,” you reply. “You are.”

Spencer sways slightly on his feet as he thinks. “You’re kicking me out,” he realizes.

You try to ignore the prick of tears in your eyes and focus on keeping your voice steady. “Yes. I am.”

His bottom lip starts to tremble. “You... you can’t do this,” he whispers.

“No, I can,” you say. You take a deep breath before you continue. “But more than that, I have to.”

For the first time in months, Spencer doesn’t try and hide his tears from you. He cries openly. His back hits the wall and he slides down it, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It’s unbelievably hard to watch.

You stand and approach him cautiously, almost as if he’s an animal that you don’t want to spook, reaching into your back pocket and holding out a keycard. “I booked you a room for the night at that motel a few streets over, so you can... sleep it off. But after that, you’re on your own.”

He looks up at you with those big brown eyes that you love so much, but they don’t look like they used to. Now they’re bloodshot and his pupils are pinpricks. “(Y/N), please, please don’t do this,” he whimpers. “Please, this is the last time. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

You just shake your head. His words are nothing new. “Your car is already in the parking lot there with the rest of your things.”

It’s like a switch flips, his broken expression contorting into a glare. “Fine,” he practically growls. He pushes your hand away and staggers to his feet. “I don’t want that shitty motel room. I’ll just go stay with JJ. She actually cares about me.”

You expected him to lash out like this, but the words still sting. “You really think JJ’s going to let you be around her boys like this?” you ask quietly.

The anger on his face is offset some by the tears and snot still running down it.. And you know he knows that you’re right. “So this is it, huh?” he says coldly, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “Six years together, all we’ve been through. It’s just over now.”

You retreat back to the couch, placing the keycard on top of the boxes. “That’s actually up to you.”

His laugh is derisive. “You could have fooled me!”

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I don’t want this to be permanent. You can stay now, or come back, on one condition.”

Spencer folds his arms over his chest defensively. “Which is?”

“You have to agree to check into a treatment center.”

The look of betrayal on his face breaks your heart. Tears spill out of your eyes before you can stop them; you swipe them away and take a deep breath to try and hold the rest of them off.

It’s a while before he speaks again, and his voice is quiet when he does. “How can you say that.” It’s not a question.

“It’s what you need, Spencer,” you answer. “You’re not coping with what happened to you. Not just prison, everything that’s happening to your mom, too—”

“Don’t talk about my mother!”

You flinch. He’s never raised his voice at you before. It’s the drugs, you try to remind yourself. It’s just the drugs, he doesn’t really mean it.

He storms forward and you scurry out of the way on instinct. He scoffs. “What, you think I’m going to hurt you?”

“You’re scaring me right now,” you admit quietly.

Spencer tries to cover up the hurt with a scowl, but you can still see it in his eyes. “You really think that little of me?”

You open your mouth to speak, then close it again. You don’t know what to say. Spencer would never hurt you, you know that without a doubt. But the Spencer you know, the man you fell in love with... he’s not the same person when he’s using. And with how high and emotional he is right now, you don’t know what to expect. “I... I don’t know anymore, Spencer,” you answer honestly.

He shrugs. “Maybe you’re right to think that. I did some awful things in there, you know.” He says it matter-of-factly, but you recognize it as a glimpse of one of the things he’s using the drugs to escape from, one of the things he won’t talk about.

He gathers up the boxes in his arms; you pretend not to notice him pocketing the keycard. You’re worried about him carrying them safely in his current state and almost reach out to steady him before recognizing from the tension in his shoulders that touching him right now will only make things worse.

He stops at the door and you hurry to open it for him. “I really believed you loved me, you know,” he whispers, the anger falling off of his face.

The words are like a blow to the stomach; it knocks the breath out of your lungs. “I do,” you choke out. “I do love you.”

Spencer doesn’t answer. He just shakes his head and walks out the door.

He doesn’t look back.

---

It’s been the longest two weeks of your life.

You haven’t heard from Spencer since the night he left. You weren’t expecting him to come around to the idea of rehab quickly, but you thought he might try and call you within a few days and try to talk his way out of the hole he’d found himself in.

He didn’t.

All you could do was wait, and hope that that night wasn’t going to end up being the last time you saw him alive. In a way, it was worse than it had been when he was in prison, because this time, you were the reason he was gone.

His team has mixed feelings on what you’ve done.

JJ is mad. She asks, “how could you?”, and, “you really think this will work?” You try to be patient with her—you know she’s so upset because she loves him. She already lost her older sister and now she’s scared of losing the man who’s practically her brother. But when she (perhaps unintentionally) insinuates that you did this because you’d just had enough of him, you snap, telling her she has no right to say that when you know she wouldn’t let him stay at her house while he’s using. She keeps her thoughts to herself after that.

Emily is sympathetic. She was there the first time he started using and had subsequently gotten her head bitten off when she tried to reach out and help him. “I know how hard it is to get through to him when he’s... like this. You just let me know if I can help at all.”

Luke is much the same. He’s had his own struggles with PTSD and understands the toll it takes on everyone, not just the one with it. He’s always happy to offer you some time with Roxy, because he’s right—things really do feel better when you’re petting her.

Rossi isn’t... indifferent, exactly. He just doesn’t seem to have much of an opinion one way or the other. You think it’s because he doesn’t know what an alternative would be. For all his experience in psychology, he’s unsure of how to help Spencer.

You don’t know Matt very well yet, but he’s kind to you, even going so far as to bring you a dish of his wife’s lasagna.

Penelope is an absolute angel with her warm hugs and baked goods. She keeps an eye on Spencer’s cell phone location for you, in the event that he ends up at a police precinct or hospital.

Out of everyone, you like talking to Tara the most. She’s so supportive and understanding. You feel like she’s the only one who truly knows what the past few months have been like for you. She just gets it, having lived with a partner with substance use disorder before. “You’re doing the best you can and that’s all that matters,” she tells you. She even goes to a Narcotics Anonymous family meeting with you.

It’s day fourteen without Spencer, and it doesn’t feel much different. It feels bleak. You go to work and run errands, but you only manage it because it’s habit.

You’re rinsing off your plate from dinner when there’s a knock on the door. Your heart leaps into your throat. You aren’t expecting anyone. You try—in vain—not to hope too hard as you go to answer it. It could just be someone dropping by on a whim, or, god forbid, a police officer with bad news.

Please, Spencer. Please let it be you.

When you look through the peephole, you’re unable to hold back a sob of relief. His eyes are fixed on the doormat so you can’t quite see his face, but you’d recognize that head of hair anywhere, even in its current unwashed and disheveled state. You take a few deep breaths before opening the door, for his sake. You crying all over him is likely the last thing he wants or needs.

He doesn’t look up when you open the door, and you realize he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

“Spencer,” you say softly.

It’s a few more moments before he responds. “I’ll do it,” he finally mutters; you can just barely hear him.

Your breath catches in your chest. “You’ll do what?” you ask.

He glances up then, a look of annoyance flashing across his face.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” you say, voice shaky from the effort of holding back tears. “I just... I need to hear you say it.”

He sighs and looks back down, tugging on the ends of his sleeves. “I’ll... I’ll go to... to re—rehab.”

Tension you didn’t even know you were holding in your body melts away. You step to the side. “Come in,” you whisper.

He shuffles inside. When you turn back from closing the door, he’s just standing still in the middle of the room. You get a better look at him now. His clothes are rumpled and his hair is an absolute mess, tangled and dirty. It doesn’t look like he’s had a shower or shave for at least a week—you figure he’s probably been sleeping in his car. His face is pale and his hands are trembling; as you move closer, you can see a light sheen of sweat on his face, leading you to believe that he’s currently sober and starting to experience withdrawal symptoms.

You touch his arm gently and he makes a distressed whining sound. You guide him to sit on the couch. When you sit next to him, he looks at you with teary eyes. You open your arms in an invitation and he collapses into you, bursting into tears. “’m sorry,” he stutters out between sobs. “I—I didn’ mean it. I... ‘m so s—sorry, (Y/N).”

You cry too, holding him tight against you. “I know, baby,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I know.”

---

Spencer’s mostly nonverbal for his intake process. Whether it’s by choice or not is something you’re unsure of. In a private room a few hallways away from the main ward, you’re introduced to the admissions supervisor, Susan, whose voice you recognize from the phone calls you’d made to get him into one of the beds here. You also meet Spencer’s new therapist, Lara. She has a kind face and seems to have a good sense of humor. You just hope Spencer will like her.

You’re both given paperwork to read through and sign, as he’s on your health insurance now. Naturally, he’s done with them before you’ve finished the first page. Susan is taken aback. “Oh. Um, sir, we do need you to actually read this paperwork,” she says.

Spencer folds his arms and stares down at the carpet. “I did.”

“He, uh, he can speed read,” you explain. She still looks skeptical, so you add, “I’m serious. He reread War and Peace on the drive here.”

He doesn’t talk again until everything’s in order and you’re given five minutes alone to say goodbye. “I don’t want to do this,” he whispers.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” you ask. When he nods, you pull at his arms gently until they relax and fall open, then take one of his hands and squeeze it. “I don’t want to, either. I’m so tired of being away from you. But...” You take a deep breath. “But I also don’t want to bury you. You know this is what you need, right?”

He shrugs, refusing to meet your eyes. You can’t quite tell what that means—whether he agrees but wishes that wasn’t the case, or if he’s only doing this to appease you. You hope it’s the former. While it’s a possibility that this might not work either way, you feel like that’s more likely to happen if he isn’t doing this for himself as well, if he doesn’t want to get better.

But it’s out of your hands now. All you can do is trust in the people here to take care of him and that they want what’s best for him.

You put your hand on his cheek and turn his head towards you, trying to get him to look at you. His words from that night run through your head—I really believed you loved me. When he glances up, you seize the moment.

“I love you, Spencer. So much. If there’s just one thing you can trust in right now, please let it be that,” you plead.

He sniffles and you think you see a nod from him, but you can’t be sure. And it hurts a bit—you’re not used to him not saying “I love you” back. You can’t dwell on that now, though. You’ve only got a few minutes left before you have to leave him.

You stand, pulling him up with you. “Can I hu—” you start, but you’re cut off by him lunging forward and clinging to you. You comfort him as best as you can, running one hand up and down his back and using the other to cradle the back of his head as he cries into your neck, muttering incomprehensible words against your skin.

When the door opens, his entire body tenses against you. “Spencer,” you say gently, trying to stop your voice from wavering too much. “You have to let go now.”

He doesn’t budge. If anything, he holds onto you tighter. “Baby—“ you start.

“No,” he says suddenly, his voice louder than you’ve heard it in days. “No, I can’t—I won’t—”

Before you know it, he’s twisted around to stand behind you. You open and close your mouth a few times, startled and unsure what to say. “Spencer, what—what’s wrong?”

“No,” he repeats, shaking his head. “I can’t do it again. I—I won’t.” Then he starts to rub at one of his eyes in the way you’ve seen so many times since he came home from prison and it hits you—he feels like he’s getting locked up again.

A glance at the door shows expressions of sympathy on Susan and Lara’s faces. What with the “war on drugs” sending addicts to prison, this probably isn’t the first time they’ve seen a reaction like this.

You doubt any of their previous patients were framed for murder and had their mother kidnapped by a vengeful psychopath, though.

Spencer’s entire body is trembling when you look back at him, and it’s not from the lingering withdrawal symptoms. It’s heartbreaking, but it only affirms your belief that he needs to be here. It’s clear that he can’t tolerate what he feels and what he knows without turning to self-destructive coping mechanisms.

“Take me home,” he whimpers. “Take me home, please. I want to go home.”

You swallow hard. “I can’t.”

“But they’re gonna hurt me,” he cries. “They’re gonna hurt me because I hurt them; don’t you care if I get hurt?”

You think you know what he’s talking about. You don’t know the details—Spencer wouldn’t let Emily or JJ tell you—but you do know he was hurt in prison by the other inmates. You had seen the bruises yourself. And then you’d heard that some of the inmates were poisoned. He’s a graduate chemist—you’d put it together. You don’t know why he did it, but you assume that he hadn’t had much of a choice.

“They’re not here, Spencer.” You try to stop him from scratching so hard at his eyes, but he flinches at your touch. “They’re not here; they can’t hurt you anymore,” you repeat instead.

Lara comes up to your side. “Let us take care of him, okay?”

Oh, but you don’t want to. Spencer’s so upset and you can’t bear the thought of leaving him like this, not when all you want to do is hold him and never let go. It’s what you’ve wanted since the moment he stepped out of Millburn. But isn’t this the whole point of bringing him here? You can’t help him on your own. You have to let him go.

When Lara coaxes you to take a step back, Spencer makes the most awful, wounded noise. “Don’t leave me, please,” he begs. “Don’t leave me again.”

You press the back of your hand to your mouth to hold back a sob. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” you manage to say. “And I’ll visit you as soon as I can.”

“No, it’s not o—okay,” he protests, his voice breaking. “It’s not—I—” He presses his hands into his eyes and backs up until he’s in the corner. He drops to the floor and curls up, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in them.

Susan is able to get you to take a few more steps back; Lara takes a step forward, in Spencer’s direction.

“Um, don’t—don’t touch him,” you stutter out, desperate to help somehow. “It’ll—it’ll just make it worse.”

“I won’t,” she assures you. And she doesn’t—instead she sits on the floor several feet away from him; not close enough to be threatening but not far enough that he’d be completely unaware of her presence. It makes you feel a little better, because that’s what you do for him at home.

You let Susan guide you out of the room and to the entrance. “He’ll be okay,” she tells you as you walk. “This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, and Lara’s fantastic. It’s actually a good opportunity to start building therapeutic rapport.”

You just nod as she talks, not quite listening to what she’s saying. You just keep thinking of his face when you took a step away from him, and how small his voice sounded. It’s a storm of emotions inside of you, but among them is... relief. You don’t have to worry about keeping him safe anymore.

Leaving him in that room, terrified, surrounded by people he doesn’t know, is one of the hardest things you’ve ever done. You just hope it will be worth it.

---

It’s Spencer’s thirty-sixth birthday. You have the day off, but the alarm still sounds early in the morning. You rub your eyes and stretch, trying to shake off the sleepiness. You were up late last night, looking through the entire apartment just one more time for anything you could have missed.

It’s something you’ve done half a dozen times since he was admitted. You haven’t found any needles or Dilaudid since the first time, but you keep doing it anyways. For some reason, when you were feeling anxious about... well, everything, it would calm you down.

You can’t stop yourself from checking once more before you leave to pick him up—though not as thoroughly since you don’t have the time. You just check his hiding places—the desk drawer with the false bottom, the pair of socks he hates that stay in the back of his sock drawer, the gun safe (he’d told you the code years ago just in case and hasn’t changed it since, more worried about you being in danger and needing it than you finding things he doesn’t want you to), and the two hollowed out books at the back of two different bookshelves.

You want to believe that even if there were anything there, he wouldn’t go looking for it anymore, but you aren’t there yet. He’s been in treatment just shy of six weeks, and it’s been up and down. Two steps forward has always seemed to be accompanied by one step back.

While he usually thrived on routine, the enforced structure of the treatment facility would remind him of Millburn multiple times a day. It took the better part of two weeks for him to adjust to it. The first time you visited him, he had curled up in your arms and cried about it, saying that he was barely sleeping because he didn’t feel safe and that he just wanted to go home.

It didn’t help that he didn’t get along with his roommate. Spencer found him to be too loud, complaining to you multiple times that he always wanted to talk during quiet time. Apparently he was also working on his GED, and would constantly ask him for answers to his homework. “I wouldn’t mind helping him, but he just wants me to give him the answers instead,” he’d told you. So Spencer had just tried to ignore him.

But his patience had finally snapped a few weeks ago when his roommate drank both his own and Spencer’s shampoo in a suicide attempt, because he’d “read somewhere that shampoo was toxic.” Spencer had yelled at him, calling him a “fucking idiot”, among other things (they were promptly separated). His roommate was fine in the end—he just threw up a lot. But he was permanently moved to a different room, to both you and Spencer’s relief.

Spencer had a meltdown the next night, though, when it was time to shower. He had been given replacement shampoo from the treatment center’s supplies, but he didn’t like the smell and couldn’t stand the texture, so he’d refused to take a shower. That then resulted in him losing points for not following the structure. (Points were given for good behavior and meeting goals, and were mainly how privileges were earned.)

Naturally, Spencer had protested that this wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have shampoo that he could use. He’d been told that these were the rules, and he wouldn’t be given an exception. In response, Spencer had thrown the shampoo across the room, thrown himself onto his bed, buried his head under his pillow, and refused to talk to anyone.

But that night ended up marking a turn for the better in his treatment. He hadn’t responded when shift change happened and one of the night staff, Matt, checked in on him—in fact, he hadn’t moved at all. When he’d said, “tell me if there’s anything I can do to help you feel better”, Spencer had had no intention of taking him up on it.

A couple of hours later, though, when everything was quiet and he couldn’t sleep because he felt sticky and dirty from not showering, he wandered out into the commons area, holding his favorite blanket from home around himself. When asked what he needed, he’d shrugged, because he didn’t know what he needed, besides his old shampoo, and there wasn’t much to be done about that at midnight.

“I heard you had a rough time this evening,” Matt had said.

Spencer nodded absently, looking at everything but the two of them sitting on the couches.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

“Okay,” Matt had replied. “Well, you can sit out here with us for a little while if you want. How’s ten minutes sound?”

Spencer had shrugged again, but sat down on the corner of the couch, pulling his legs up against his chest. He pressed his nose into the fabric of the blanket and breathed in deeply. He’d held off on washing it since got here because it smelled like you. It was comforting, and he felt himself relax some. Then, without thinking about it consciously, he opened his mouth... and talked.

He started with the shampoo incident. His voice had raised an octave and hot tears stung his eyes as he talked about how much he hated the replacement shampoo and how he felt that he was being treated unfairly by people who didn’t understand why it bothered him so much. And then he had just... kept going. He didn’t talk about specifics—he said he was framed and wrongly incarcerated, then went straight to everything that had happened since he got home. He talked about losing his job and his first relapse because of that. He talked about how he couldn’t seem to stop going back. He talked about your ultimatum and his two weeks living out of his car.

When he finally stopped, he was breathing heavily and exhausted, but he felt... lighter. It was like the dam burst. The next morning, he started talking, really talking, to his therapist. When you came by that evening to bring him new shampoo, he’d told you all about what had happened, sparing no detail. To say it shocked you was an understatement—he hadn’t been so open with you since Mexico.

The two weeks since had gone well. There were a few bumps, but otherwise he was improving, and he’d been able to earn a day visit for his birthday.

Spencer looks... good when you see him. He’s fully dressed, wearing the cardigan he knows you like the best, and it no longer looks baggy on him. He’d come back from prison a little underweight, and it had only gotten worse since. But he’s been steadily gaining it back here thanks to sobriety and regular meals. He’s got his satchel across his shoulder but he isn’t clinging to it protectively and the way he rocks up on the balls of his feet appears to be excited rather than nervous. It looks like he may have even run a brush through his hair for once.

Then he sees you, and the smile that spreads across his face... he looks like himself again. Your smile back is so big that it probably looks goofy, but you don’t care.

He hugs you as soon as you’re close enough. It’s tight, but he’s not clinging to you like you’ve grown accustomed to over the past six weeks, which you think can only be a good thing—he’s not feeling insecure or unsafe anymore.

“Happy birthday,” you say. “You look really nice.”

“Really?” he asks. “Because I got up a little early to get ready, but I didn’t shave since I’d have to check out my razor and that’s a hassle, and if you don’t like it, that’s fine. I’m not really sure myself—”

“Spencer, I don’t mind the facial hair at all,” you interrupt. “You look great. I mean it.”

He glances away shyly, his cheeks turning a little pink. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

You both sign the checkout paperwork and head out. Spencer insists on holding your hand the entire time. When you get to the car and start to let go, he tightens his grip instead and pulls you closer to him. “(Y/N).”

“Yes?”

He hesitates just slightly before placing his other hand on your cheek. “Can I kiss you?” he asks softly.

You blink, realizing that it’s been a long while since you’ve kissed. And just like that, you’re aching for his lips on yours. “Please do.”

Spencer lets your hand go then. Cradling your head in both of his hands now, he leans in and kisses you so gently. You soak it in, feeling warm inside as something you didn’t realize you were missing returns to you. When he pulls back, he looks more at peace than you’ve seen him in months.

You just look at each other for a bit. Eventually, you place a kiss on his cheek and say, “We should go before we get in trouble for loitering.”

He wants to hold your hand whenever he can on the drive home, and you let him. He tells you how his week has been going—someone in his group therapy is graduating the program in a few days, and they’ve started a new project in art therapy. You knew about the art project already, since he’d spent half of his phone time on Monday telling you how much he didn’t want to make a pottery project because he can’t stand how the clay feels on his hands when it dries. But you’ve always loved to listen to him talk, so you don’t remind him of this.

As you’re getting off the freeway fifteen minutes later, you tap the back of his hand twice to signal that you have something to say. He pauses in his infodump about the history of pottery so you can speak. “I’ve got a few presents for you at home, but I was thinking we could go to the bookstore and you can pick out some more things?”

He makes a happy humming noise. “That sounds great! There’s something I want to read up on.”

He veers off to the nonfiction section when you enter his favorite bookstore; you idly browse your favorite section as you wait. When he returns to your side, he’s holding a stack of five books, all on the same subject.

“Horses,” you say.

He nods enthusiastically, his hair bouncing. “I’m starting an equine therapy program next week.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I hope it goes well.” You don’t know much about horse therapy—seems like that’s going to be what you read about on your phone in bed tonight while you wait for sleep to come.

Spencer’s quiet on the car ride home, content to flip through his new books. He doesn’t notice when you park the car; you have to touch his arm to get his attention.

“What?” he asks without taking his eyes off of the full color spread of a mustang in his lap.

“We’re home,” you point out. With how many times he’s told you he wants to go home in the past weeks, you expect him to be excited, but he’s not. He tenses when he looks up and sees the building in front of you. “What’s wrong, Spencer?”

“Um...” He fiddles with the book’s dust jacket. “There’s... there’s not a surprise party waiting for me inside, is there?”

“Oh. No, there’s not. Just a few balloons and little banner. You, uh...” you wince a little as something occurs to you. “You weren’t wanting one, were you?”

“Absolutely not,” he immediately replies.

You chuckle a little at his certainty. “Well, good. Because I had a hell of a time convincing Penelope not to throw you a birthday party, and I don’t know if she’d ever forgive me if it turned out I was wrong and you did, in fact, want a party.”

That gets a small laugh out of him; your heart leaps at the sound. It’s been far too long since you’ve heard that.

He seems a little apprehensive as you unlock the front door, and when he walks in, he stays standing on the living room rug for a while, his eyes traveling from one side of the room to another, looking over everything. “It looks the same,” he says eventually.

“Were you expecting it not to be?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he answers, running his fingers across one of the seams of his satchel. “It’s not that I thought you would change anything, it’s more like... I feel so much different than I did the last time I was here that it’s kind of strange to see that everything’s just like I remember it.”

You’re reminded of the last time he was standing still in the living room like this, stick-thin, dirty, and trembling from withdrawals. “Different in a good way, I hope,” you say, nervously fussing with the pile of presents on the coffee table.

He gives you a small smile. “Yes, in a good way,” he affirms softly. He notices the presents and scrunches his eyebrows. “I thought you said you only had a few presents here.”

“Most of these are from the team,” you explain. “Emily brought them by last night. They had to fly out this morning, but she wanted you to have them on your birthday.”

“Oh.” He raises his hand and it looks like he might rub at his eye but he presses his knuckles to his mouth instead. You can’t really tell what’s going on in his mind. You figure his feelings towards his team are complicated. On the one hand, they got him out of the prison, and he’s known some of them for over a decade. On the other, he wasn’t allowed to rejoin the BAU and the whole experience had made him feel humiliated. You think he wants to see them, but he also doesn’t; he’s stuck in the middle and can’t decide.

Either way, it doesn’t matter today. It’s his birthday and you want him to have a good one, so you redirect his attention. You sit on the couch and pat the spot next to you. “Will you show me your new books?”

The corners of his mouth turn up and he pads across the floor towards you. “Yeah. So, here’s what I’ve learned so far....”

The day continues in much the same fashion—quiet and laidback as you simply enjoy each other’s company. Once he shows you all of the books, you move on to the TV, catching up on the episodes of Doctor Who you’ve both missed (you didn’t want to watch it without him). You order his favorite takeout for dinner, after which you bring out his dessert—half a dozen chocolate frosting and sprinkles donuts arranged in a circle around two candles displaying 36.

“You know, it’s not really sanitary to blow all over food before sharing it,” he says.

You roll your eyes fondly. “We go over this every year. We kiss; I’m not worried about your mouth germs.”

“But it’s not just my “mouth germs”,” he corrects, making air quotes with his fingers. “It involves the entire respiratory track, so—”

“Spencer, as always, it’s a risk I’m willing to take,” you interrupt. You’ve heard this explanation before. “Now make a wish.”

He takes a moment to ponder it, then blows the candles out. You put the plate down and hand him a napkin. “We’re not going to be able to eat all of these before I have to go back,” he says, but the way he bites eagerly into the first one nearly makes you question that.

He gets through two; you only eat one, mostly full from dinner. He wants to go lay down on the bed after, “so we have more room to cuddle”. And cuddle he does, pressing as much of his body to yours as he can. One of your hands settles in his hair automatically. “Did you have a good day?” you ask, running your fingers through it.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Obviously this situation is not ideal,” you start carefully. “But I’m just so happy that you’re still... well, around for your birthday.”

Spencer turns his head into the fabric of your shirt and breathes in deeply. “Me, too,” he says quietly on the exhale.

You lay together in silence for a while, and you savor the feeling of having him in bed next to you again. Sleeping alone wasn’t anything new in your relationship, as his job took him around the country. You’d gotten used to it for the most part, but every night he wasn’t with you because he was in prison was just plain awful. After, you had him back for six weeks, then it became sporadic again as he started using. It’s been so much easier to sleep since he went into treatment, but you still miss sharing the bed with him terribly.

You look at your phone briefly to check the time. “We’ve got about three hours until we have to start heading back. I’m happy to stay like this, but we still have time to do something else if you want to.”

All he says verbally is, “okay”, but the way he squirms against you tells you that he does have something on his mind.

“Just let me know if you do,” you say gently; you don’t want him to feel pressured into speaking. Plus you’re content to lay here playing with his hair and listening to his breathing.

“Well, there is something,” he admits after a few minutes.

He doesn’t continue, so you say, “Okay. What is it?”

He sighs and sits up. “It’s... it’s nothing bad, or—or even that big of a deal, really. At least, it shouldn’t be.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position next to him. “Well, why don’t you tell me so I can help?” you ask. “I can tell that it’s bothering you.”

“That’s exactly the point. It shouldn’t be bothering me,” Spencer complains. “Because I really want to do it. It’s just...”

You put your hand on his back and run it up and down to try and comfort him. You don’t say anything; you just give him time to get the words out.

He takes a deep breath. “I want to have sex,” he says. “I really do, I’m just... not entirely sure I’m... ready yet.”

“Oh.”

It’s not where you expected the conversation to go, because it’s something that hasn’t really been in your life at all since Mexico. He’d... taken care of you a few times during those first six weeks, but hadn’t let you return the favor. Each time he had scurried off to the bathroom and run a cold shower before you could even touch the waistband of his pants. Then on the night he came back to you, you had been helping him undress since his hands were trembling so much. When you unbuttoned his pants, he had breathed in sharply and frantically pushed your hands away.

Clearly something had happened to him, but he’d never even alluded to anything of the sort. And that was okay—you didn’t need to know. You just wished you knew how to help.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid,” he says, running his hands down his face.

“Oh, baby, no,” you soothe. “It’s not stupid at all.”

He just shakes his head. “You deserve more than this.”

“I don’t know about that. But,” you continue, pushing his hair back so you can see his face better, “I do know what I want, and what I want is you.”

Spencer chews on his bottom lip, doubt clouding his eyes. “Look at me,” you implore. He meets your gaze hesitantly and you take his face in your hands.

“I love you, Spencer Reid. And nothing is going to change that.”

His eyes grow wet. He sniffles once, then lunges forward, capturing your lips with his own. You kiss him back just as passionately, holding onto him as tight as he is to you. It may have been a long time since you kissed at all until this morning, but it’s been even longer since he’s kissed you like this.

“Love you, too, (Y/N),” he mumbles against your lips when he pulls back to take a breath.

You press your forehead to his with a happy sigh. But he’s only content to stay like that for a few moments. He bumps your nose with his and tugs slightly on your shirt, requesting permission to kiss you again. You’d love to do that, and you’d love to do more than that, too, but you don’t want him to rush into something he’s not truly ready for.

“You know what we could do?” you ask, running your hand through the curls on the back of his neck.

Spencer’s eyes keep flicking between yours and your lips. “What?”

“A good old-fashioned high school make out,” you say, smiling at him softly. “And I’ll keep my hands above your waist.”

When he visibly relaxes, you know it’s the right decision. “I’d like that,” he says quietly. “I mean, I never kissed anyone when I was in high school, but I get the idea.”

The shy look he gives you before climbing onto your lap reminds you so much of how he was when you first started dating. He’s still there, your Spencer, the Spencer you fell in love with. You never truly thought he was gone, but there were plenty of moments of doubt, moments when you wondered if he’d ever be able to pull himself out of the wreckage, out of the grip of trauma. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t do it for him.

As it turns out, he could. He can.

It’s far from over. He still has a long way to go. You both do. But for the first time since the day he came home from prison, a return to normal seems possible.

It won’t be the same as it was before. He’s always going to be a little different. But... that doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing.

He kisses you, and it feels like it used to, full of respect, adoration, trust, and love. It feels like Spencer.

Despite everything, it’s still him.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading. this was very much a personal work but i decided to share it anyways because why the hell not, i'm proud of it. the next chapter will explore horse therapy, a treatment i did and loved, among other things.

i'd like to encourage you please seek this kind of help if you think need it. i see how it changes lives every day at work and it changed my own as well. there's no shame in getting the treatment you need, whatever that may be. recovery is worth it.

if you’re interested in learning more about trauma and the treatment of it, i cannot recommend the book The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk, M.D., enough. it was my favorite book i read last year and i referred back to it several times while writing this.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #angst #my fic #the shampoo incident is something that actually happened on one of my shifts last august #and yet that's not the craziest thing that's happened while i've been at work lol #don't drink shampoo kids #tw substances #tw suicide

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peachyteabuck · 4 years

Text

bitter to the taste

summary: after a long mission, natasha and steve return to find you’ve broken their number one rule.

pairing: natasha romanoff x steve rogers x reader

words: 2,045

trigger warnings: brat taming, degradation, punishment (spanking), dirty talk, fingering, orgasm control

notes: this is my birthday present to @domromanoff! not only a wonderful writer, they’re a fantastic friend and the owner to a simply adorable kitten. enjoy!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

You cling to Steve’s pants leg, expertly manicured nails gripping into the fabric as you tuck your face behind his calf. The man sighs as he feels you sniffle against the expensive fabric, doing your best to hide from the wrath of the woman standing just in front of the sitting man.

“You know how I feel about rule-breaking, Steve,” Natasha sighs, looking between her husband and your trembling form below him. “If we don’t punish her, she’s just going to break more rules.”

Steve tsks, leaning down so he can pet at your hair. “Oh, baby, our little girl wouldn’t do such a thing,” he turns to you, sticking his bottom lip out to mimic your pout. “No, you love following directions from Daddy, don’t you baby girl?”

You grin up at him, playing with the hem of his pants in an attempt to look extra cute. “Yes, Daddy!”

Natasha scowls, shaking her head. “That’s bullshit and we fucking know it, Steve. You saw how wet her panties were when we came home. It’s obvious she touched herself without permission!”

The man just rolls his eyes, continuing to rub his thumb into your temple. “Babe, when we set that rule at least one of us always been there whenever her desperate little cunt needed us. Even if she broke it, we’ve been gone so often we can’t really blame her, can we?”

Your core heats at his words – speaking about you as if you weren’t digging your perfectly manicured nails into his muscular calf and could hear everything they were both saying. You love it when he does that, when he gives you no choice in whatever he chooses to do, when he makes you feel all small and dumb as his cock fucks in and out of you without mercy.

Natasha rolls her eyes, heeled foot still tapping against the hardwood floor at a tempo that makes your head spin and your whole body clutch at Steve’s leg even harder than before. You’re not sure why becoming something akin to a needy koala would protect you from the wrath of the redhead, but it’s still your only hope for avoiding your ass spanked raw – even if its chance of working is slim to none.

“Steve, we absolutely can,” she bites back – stomping closer towards you as you bury your face into Steve’s calf. At the least second she crouches down, her body awash with a faux caring demeanor. “Do you want me to be mean baby?” she coos, pouting her bottom lip. “You want me to tie you down so you can’t move, can’t squirm or writhe when it gets too much? Is that it? Do you want me to edge you all night, edge you until it hurts and then ruin every single orgasm I let you have until you cry so pretty for me?”

You shake your head, tentatively moving so that you can look at her with your own large, round eyes that silently plead for mercy. For a moment you have hope that it’ll work, that she’ll go easy on you or even give you what you want. But it’s only a second later that you realize you were wrong – very wrong.

Steve exhales deeply as Natasha reaches out to grab you by the hair – his actions relaxed as you yelp in reaction to the sharp pain spreading from your scalp to the base of your spine. She drags you through the large house, ignoring your whines as Steve follows close behind. His stride is casual, almost bored – he’s witnessed this back and forth before, seen the fire in Natasha’s eyes and fat, watery tears from fall from yours as they beg Steve for mercy, pity, anything. It’s unwavering – the look you give him – even as Natasha sits on the edge of their shared king-sized bed with her feet flat on the floor, bending you over her knee as she pins both your hands behind your back with one hand wrapped around where she’s crossed them on top of each other.

Steve sits next to his wife so that your head is resting in his lap, gazing down at you an unfortunate, disgraceful painting his face. There’s nothing there for you to pull at, nothing you can manipulate to get you out of the compromising position you’ve found yourself in, even as Natasha begins one of her famous punishments.

She doesn’t both undressing you before she begins, flipping your white tennis skirt up over your ass and tucking it under your hands before pulling your matching cotton panties as far as they’ll go to reveal your bare ass. Her spanks are hard and succinct, never stopping to coo over your tears or rub at the heated parts of your ass. You keep position, though, keep your arms behind your back as your wide, tear-filled eyes beg Steve for intervention, for praise, for something. At this point you’d even accept him degrading you – a job normally left to Natasha.

Unfortunately, it’s become obvious that tonight is different than the others – Natasha and Steve particularly stressed from the bullshit Tony handed down to them since the billionaire is unable to manage is own emotions weaning their capacities for your bullshit down to near nothingness. You consider sending the man a strongly worded email as the spanks enter the double digits, the pain causing you to weep openly into the fabric of the pants you once clutched for support. You count to twenty-four before she’s rubbing a rough hand into the heated skin and commanding you to thank her.

When it comes out more mumbled, more hushes than she would like, Natasha immediately grabs your hair to yank your head straight back.

“Say it again,” she hisses through grit teeth, ignoring your cries of pain as her other hand comes down to leave a quick smack! to your face. “I don’t care if it hurts - I want to hear you.”

Your voice is high-pitched and desperate “Thank you, Mommy!”

“Aw, so our little slut can follow directions,” Natasha coos, her voice tinged with laughter that should make you feel much more ashamed than it does horny. “Too bad she has to be beaten into it.”

She punctuates her words with a final harsh SLAP! against your dripping pussy, eliciting another high-pitched scream that only dies when Steve begins to pet over your face and hair to calm you down.

“Nat, do you always have to be so harsh?” he sighs, wiping a few tears that stain your cheeks.

The woman in question just grins, ghosting her fingers over your abused skin and nearly laughing as you twitch under touch. “Is there any other way to be?”

Steve rolls his eyes at his wife’s dramatics, but still manhandles you into his lap at her direction – pressing your back to his chest as your breasts rise and fall with your heavy breaths. He knows what Natasha wants, positioning his legs over yours to keep them open while one of his hands holds your skirt up so reveal your now-soaked panties, the cool air hitting nearly-transparent fabric and sending a feeling down your spine that makes you moan.

Natasha’s eyes zero in on your trembling cunt, smirking as she looks up to see your face heating up while you try to hide behind your hands. “You’re so needy, aren’t you? And all it took was some discipline and now you’re a little crying mess, all small and obedient for Daddy and Mommy…”

She gives Steve a small nod, giving him the cue to push your panties to the side, her grin getting impossibly wider as you melt against him.

“You’re our pretty little toy, aren’t you?” Natasha murmurs, watching as his fingers rub circles around your clit. “Our cute little toy with cute little whines and whimpers…”

Steve grins as well as your wanton moans fill the bedroom, leaving kisses on your temple as your pussy tightens around Natasha’s fingers. His voice is sweet, filled with love – and it makes his words all that much filthier. “Such a pathetic little toy for us, aren’t you baby? Just our dumb little toy…” Your fervent nodding, your mindless agreement with his degradation of you – it makes his cock strain even harder in his pants. “Don’t need to think at all…just be soft and pretty and do what we say, don’t you baby?”

You cry out as Natasha begins fucking her fingers in and out of you even harder – your face scrunching up as your legs twitch where they’re held in place. “Y-yes Daddy! I’m your dumb little baby!”

Your cries get even more pathetic, though, when Natasha pulls her fingers out of you to use that hand to slap you once more – leaving a trail of your own slick against your cheek. “Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” she snaps, ignoring your cries as her fingers slip back inside of you. “It’s a shame you’re stupid…at least you’re pretty.”

Her words shouldn’t make your head swim like it does – shouldn’t make heat pool between your legs as she fits one more finger inside of you, working in tandem with Steve to illicit humiliating wet sounds from your cunt.

“You want me to fill this wet little pussy don’t you?” Natasha murmurs, more speaking to herself than to you. “You want Steve and I to fill your filthy little cunt? Want to feel both of us inside of your tight little hole?”

Your eyes are wide and pleading, desperate for something – anything.

But then Natasha sighs, and that’s always a bad sign. “It’s too bad you’re a bad little slut.”

Yup. There it is.

“You’re going to come on my fingers,” you immediately moan in anticipation but it’s almost immediately cut off with a yelp as another SLAP is landed on your pussy with Natasha’s free hand. “And then you’re on no-touch for a week. You’ll be Daddy and I’s adorable little fleshlight until we say otherwise.”

You gasp and shoot forward, the reality of your future crashing down on you at once. “N-no Mommy! Please! Please I’ll do anything please don’t put me on no touch Mom-!”

You’re cut off by one of Steve’s large hands covering your mouth, pulling you against his chest and holding you in place.

Natasha smiles up at him, eyes knowing as you get tighter and tighter around her fingers. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it babe?”

Steve just rolls his eyes as she speaks down to you, her sweet voice an incredibly hot juxtaposition to her words “It’s so easy to make you beg, isn’t it? So easy to make you into a desperate little whore? All you little brats are all the same, you act out and do whatever you want and the second someone threatens a modicum of structure or punishment and you fall apart…”

Her words trail off as she realizes how close you are, as she sees each muscle in your body tense while your hands tangle in the sheets and your jaw goes slack and your brow furrows and

“Do it,” she leans forward to whisper into your temple, your head tucked under Steve’s chin as your eyes roll to the back of your head. “C’mon, baby girl, c’mon – you can do it, you can come on from Mommy and Daddy’s fingers all over your pretty little pussy…”

You finally – finally reach your peak with a moan that sounds more animal than human, Steve holding your trembling body as you shake near-violently, your cunt gushing onto the sheets below as your already soaked panties and the seat of your skirt become drenched with your slick and sweat. It’s disgusting but so hot, and makes you pant even harder as your lungs claw at your throat for air.

Steve moves his legs so that you can curl into his lap, whole body folding into itself as Natasha moves closer to hold your face with both of her soaked hands. “Go to sleep baby,” she murmurs between kisses. “We’ll discuss your full punishment tomorrow.”

As unconsciousness overwhelms your senses, a sense of relief floods your veins as the pleasure subsides. Natasha only negotiates when she knows she’s lost…especially when it comes to you and Steve.

#natasha romanoff x steve rogers x reader #romanogers x reader #romanogers #natasha romanoff x reader #steve rogers x reader #lukis writes stuff #this took longer than i wanted but 1) iM a StUdEnT 2) i have adhd and time is fake

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novantinuum · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Words: 800~

Summary: His family’s not present, the third time he runs away.

Early corruption AU.

In which the Gems continue to muse about the mystery of the wrecked house and the missing teen.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

____

Pearl can sense half the light drain from the extremities of her form as the harsh truth of what Amethyst is suggesting creeps over the morning horizon. Her fingers fidget with the lapels of her jacket, seeking some source of stability amidst all these unknowns.

“So... so you’re saying he came back?” she exclaims, desperately trying not to sound as panicked as she currently feels. “And we never noticed??”

The shorter Gem shrugs. “I’m just saying that he only has one pink jacket, and I’m pretty sure he was wearing it when he ditched us.”

“He was,” Garnet confirms in an even tone, blankly staring off into the distant ocean horizon, now plainly visible through the giant hole smashed through the side of the house.

Balling one of her hands against her chin, Pearl begins to rhythmically pace along the border between the destroyed living room and the smooth stone of the temple’s doorstep. Her steps are even, precise, her heel lightly touching the toes of her opposing foot with each stride. It’s every bit as much of a distraction as it is a calming technique, given the level of concentration she’s pouring in to this movement. She just needs to focus, she just needs to think. This isn’t the first time she’s had to search for a missing comrade, after all. The war provided plenty of opportunity for her to hone her search and rescue skills. And this situation is quite like that, isn’t it? A Crystal Gem is MIA, and there’s a few scattered clues left behind as to their whereabouts. Their job now is to locate all of these clues. This should be simple for a former rebellion strategist like her.

Except she’s not searching for merely a fellow comrade. She’s searching for Steven. She can’t help but fear she’ll be unable to distance her investigation from the strong affection she feels for him, and that is sure to make everything more complicated.

“So,” she says, a small tremble of emotion still evident in her voice. “I think we should propose a series of most likely possibilities, and then weigh the evidence we find against those.”

Amethyst nods, clutching Steven’s favorite jacket securely to her chest. “Sounds as good a place to start as any.”

“Possibility number one,” she continues, raising a single index finger as she spins 180 degrees on the balls of her feet. “A corrupted Gem, as I suggested earlier. Perhaps Steven returned from Homeworld to find a stray corrupted Gem on the beach, and attempted to contain it alone. This would account for the roar we heard from inside the temple, and the damage to the house.”

“Or maybe it was like, a kidnapping,” Amethyst shrugs, shifting a few steps to the side to allow Garnet room to crouch and examine the worst of the wreckage. “We all know there’s still Gems out there that hate our guts.”

She hums, both concepts equally troubling in their own ways. Regardless of what truly happened, the most important question of this mystery is clear: given that Steven must have been here at some point prior to his bedroom’s destruction, where is he now?

Until they find any more concrete clues, they genuinely have no leads on whether he’s alive somewhere, injured... or worse.

“Possibility three,” Garnet’s voice cuts in.

The two turn to face her, and watch as she pulls a thin phone from the rubble, an item no human or half-human teenager would normally dare be apart from, if they could so help it. Its screen is fractured beyond repair.

“It was Steven himself,” she says, holding it out to show them. “We’ve seen him crack the windows before.”

Pearl’s eyes widen, recent memories flooding through her core. “And I... I’ve seen him shatter the floors at the Reef with only his voice. But do you really think he’d—“

“It’s only a possibility, Pearl,” her friend says, standing to her feet. “Like you said, it’s wise of us to consider all options.”

Soul aching, she buries her face into her hands. Oh, how desperately she wishes to be anywhere but here, having this sobering conversation where she has to consider the harrowing possibility that the boy she’s long come to consider as her child was caught in the crossfire of some terribly destructive conflict, or worse- caused this.

“You’re right,” she murmurs in time, a faint shiver running along the path of her hard light veins. “But for his sake, I truly hope that isn’t the case.”

#su #su future #pearl #amethyst #garnet #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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sugoi-writes · 4 years

Note

Hope you're having a lovely day!! If its not too much, how do you think Fatgum, and Hawks would react to their s/o that has wings ( angel wings 😳) that got torn off in battle? Mm angst 🤩

OHM-- AGH?? OUCH??? Absolutely (also yeah the day has been good! Thank you so much! Safe from Hurricane Sally at least!)

Tw: Violence, body horror, gore... y e ah (slight yandere*?)

Premise: You were pinned to the ground, breathing ragged from your attempts to get free. There was a foot to the base of your spine, just beneath your ethereal wings.

You were going feral, your arms pulled behind your back to further hinder you as you thrashed violently. You were terrified, and praying for any help. And with one swift tug and a press of the heel… CRACK.

Your wings were dislocated violently, leaving you unable to fly, even if you could. You screamed in agony as your vision turned hazy from the pain. You struggled in vain, afraid of what would happen next. And as soon as it had started, your pain quadrupled.

A clean edged katana cut through your wings, right at the compromised base. You were now a flightless hero.... and this terrified you. Your screaming fell on deaf ears as you let out a slew of curses and pleas. This wasn’t real, right? You were dreaming, RIGHT?

Fatgum

The moment he heard you scream, he was on the verge of losing self control. He tripled his pace, but his speed is still TERRIBLE. He hustled anyway, praying that you could walk this off, whatever injury you had.

He heard your second scream, and immediately knew something was terribly wrong. He called for you by your hero’s name, and rounded the corner. And there you were... a broken, wingless hero.

If your wings weren’t severed, the look of you, folded on the ground weakly would have been almost beautiful. But this... this was something that brought along a feeling of fury and absolute horror.

How could this happen? How could he let this happen?

It didn’t take you long to black out from the pain, the sounds of Fatgum’s frenzied shouting filling your senses. You came in and out of consciousness, and feeling your body shift around before being lifted. No doubt, your wings were tenderly taken off of you, before you were gently draped over Fatgum’s shoulder (as to avoid touching your wounds).

By the time you wake up, you’re in a hospital, and you have the urge to stretch.

As you stretch your legs, straining as your toes popped from curling, but suddenly you wince in pain. You can’t stretch your back, let alone your... your...

Your eyes widen in realization, as you’re unable to feel your wings. You start to shake, your breath picking up. However, before you let your tears fall, you feel a hand rest on your shoulder,” Please... don’t move around too much. You need to rest.”

You look to see Taishiro next to you, in between his slim and fat form. By the number of takeout boxes, beer bottles, and snack wrappers... you could tell he was stress eating. You asked how long you’d been out, and you pale when he bites his lip.

“About... 3 days. They really did a number on you... and me, but... I’m not nearly as bad off.” You notice one of Taishiro’s arms are in a sling, and you want to throw yourself onto him, hugging him close. You know that with him being in this weaker form, with a broken arm... this was something that probably drove your partner crazy.

“Tai... I’m so sorry...”

Fatgum smiles sadly, cupping your cheek,” I should be the one to apologize to you... maybe... maybe if I had made it to you in time, I could have stopped this. Maybe... you could’ve... had your wings, still...”

You glance away, shaking your head,” This isn’t your fault... I rushed in without you, and... well, I faced the consequences.” You see Taishiro tense up at your words, and he immediately pulls you in for a hug, shuddering.

” D-Don’t... angel, don’t you ever blame yourself for this... Heroes like you and me know the dangers associated with our work, but... this... this wasn’t a rookie mistake. You were doing your job, and you actually managed to wear this asshole out. This... that villain was powerful. He could take out anyone if he tried... we were lucky to have subdued him... The fact that you lasted as long as you did, before I got there... it’s a miracle. I really... could have lost you...’you know that?”

Fatgum would continue to hold you, nearly crumbling as he recounts how scared he was when he found you, and how hard everyone fought to save you. It turns out you got a pretty horrible infection from your wound, and that was why you were out for as long as you were. You could have died in the fight, AND outside of it.

You had no idea... and, you were equally upset, knowing that Taishiro risked his ass to save you. But, you could hardly scold him, as he did save your life.

You both unload and unpack a lot from what happened that day, and end up in a pile of discarded chip bags and blankets. Fatgum would lay his head in your lap as you stroked his hair, since he couldn’t immediately cuddle you (even in his skinnier form).

There were tears and reflection. Confessions and promises. Fatgum still feels guilty, but you were able to help him understand that this wasn’t on him. He is grateful that you are alive, and promises to do whatever he can to help you physically and mentally recover.

And of course, you take FG’s word for it, as you’ll need all the support you could get to feel even a little bit normal again.

Hawks

On the scene, the both of you are doing a major number on the BBEG, until he gets a hold of you. He had managed to incapacitate Hawks, knocking him out momentarily as he did the unthinkable to you. As he came back to, he awoke to the sounds of your wails and curses. He can’t believe what he’s hearing.

And he goes. Absolutely. Ballistic.

He immediately turns ever single feather on his body into a sharp, pristine blade, and shows zero mercy. He had full intentions of taking this villain in, and having him reflect in jail for his crimes... but it was past the point of no return.

As you lay on the ground, your pleas for Keigo to stop fall on deaf ears. He was absolutely feral, and would not let this man walk away.

Once others arrived on the scene, you had immediately been picked up and rushed to the hospital. Hawks was still on the scene, blood splattering his hero’s uniform as his legs bounced, and his wings bowed up uncontrollably. He was shaking. He was absolutely blindsided by rage... but he knew that he needed to give a statement, and face his punishment for what he did to the villain. Murder is still murder.

When you do come to (suffering from the aforementioned infection), you didn’t see Hawks at first. This puzzled you, as you knew he was the one who saved you. Then, the weight of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. When a doctor walks in to check on you, you gently ask about Hawks as you still reel from your new reality.

Luckily, the hero only get a firm slap on the wrist, and is currently on house arrest. He would have to take some training/classes to better process what he had done, and to manage the stress from the encounter... but he had no idea that you still did not have your wings. He had prayed that there was a chance they could be reattached.

When you facetimed him later, his heart shattered at the sight of you, without your beautiful wings. He would almost cover his face, shaking his head,” Babybird... I’m... I’m so sorry... this is... I shouldn’t have taken you with me...”

You try to talk Hawks down, but he can hardly listen to you, and you can hardly get through to him. Hawks will always harbor the blame on himself, and will go absolutely ballistic on any person who tries to hurt you or touch you. Despite him working on it, the event itself has made him hyper protective of you, to a fault.

When you get out of the hospital, you move in with him. You mutually take care of each other, and help each other heal. But the wounds that are left on Keigo’s heart are deep, and will take many years to heal.

Most nights, he will lovingly caress your back, and tell you how stunning and angelic you are. You can never see the glassy look in his eyes when he says this, his hands slowly tracing your scars.

When he finally gets off of house arrest, he makes it his personal, top priority mission to infiltrate, and track down the rest of this villain’s organization. This is the most vigilante/anti-hero he will go, but damn if he doesn’t do his best to make you happy when he’s “off work”.

He is a mess and a half, but will absolutely get revenge for what they did to his Babybird.

Thank you for this request, I hope it’s up to snazz! I am a little burnt out, hoduhdoudho

#fatgum x reader #hawks x reader #taishiro toyomistu x reader #bnha x reader #keigo takami x reader #mha x reader #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: body horror #tw: hospitalization #tw: yandere #tw: near death experience #yeah this one is full of angst and I would love to do these as stand alones #but until I get the inspiration I hope this is up to snuff! hoduhdohd

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secret-rendezvous1d · 3 years

Note

what about spencer having the BIGGEST crush on you but he has never said anything abt it so he just wants to be near you all the time. one day he overhears a conversation between u and penelope talking about a guy so immediately he thinks its a guy that you’re talking to (when it’s not) and things go on from there

Oh, stop-

YN gets to a point where she can’t take it any longer; she needs to tell someone the goings on in her mind.

She’s been at the unit for less then three months and everyone had welcomed her so politely and so warmly and they invited her in like she had been there for years, sharing inside jokes with certain members of the team and holding a spot in the team that no one could fill if she wasn’t there due to illness or holiday. It was a hole that was massive to fill, shoes too big, a void that hung heavy when she wasn’t around. She had her moments with each member of the team, she had already made personal memories that she would cherish forever and she had bonds stronger to some than others... or to one other person, if she had to tell the honest truth.

Spencer.

From the very first day on the job and as soon as she stepped foot off the jet for the first time for her first case as an agent, she was plunged into an order with Spencer. He made it his priority to show her the ropes; what they did when they were travelling to a scene, what to expect when they arrived at a crime scene, what they spoke about with the victim’s families and how the dealt the grief that they felt when a case was taken to heart and he made sure to tell her that if she needed to take a break then it was more than okay to hide away and shed a few tears before coming back with a clearer mind. She remembered that so clearly and so vividly; it was their first conversation, apart from their brief exchanges of ‘hello’ and ‘good morning’ when they arrived at the unit and saw one another before the day began, and and it was a conversation that started off and helped blossom their friendship. From then, they were almost inseparable at the office and they worked best when they were put on an order together... the ‘dream team’ was the name they were given by the unit and it stuck so perfectly that it ended up becoming personal and meaningful.

YN just never expects to gain feelings from it...

So what was she supposed to do when she was three months into a job, three months into a friendship she felt so grateful for and three months into a chapter in her life which was something so incredible to her that she feared losing it over something as minor as falling for a colleague? A friend? What did she do?

Garcia seemed to be her only option.

A sisterly figure who always seemed to be so chipper, so bright and spritely, so sweet and kind and caring and YN felt like she could share anything and almost everything with her without worrying she was going to spread it around the office as cheap gossip that she thought should be shared. A figure she adored from the moment she met, from the moment they shared their hobbies and from the moment she offered YN a pen holder that was eccentrically designed with paper clips and pom-poms and pipe-cleaners that were glittery and brightly coloured.

With an extra coffee in the cardboard holder and a warmed croissant in a paper bag that had Garcia’s name written in scrawny handwriting, she knocks on the door and enters at the permission she was given.

“Good morning, sugar plum. How may I assist you today?”

YN grins as she leans against the table beside Penelope and passes a coffee to her, which she gratefully accepts and takes a rather heart sip and lets the warm liquid trickle down her throat, a groan of pleasure filling the room.

“You know me all too well,” she smiles and squeezes YN’s hand, “what’s the matter though? You don’t normally bring me coffee or a croissant so what can I help you with?”

“I need your help, Garcia.”

“With what? Come on, fill me in.”

YN shyly giggles and looks at her feet, the support of the table holding her securely enough that she could lean on the heels of her shoes, her thumbs picking at her nails nervously. The tingling in her stomach made her feel sick; was she really about to admit a secret she had been dreading to say aloud? For some reason, she felt like if she said it aloud then everything became real and having it become real was something she hadn’t necessarily thought about.

“So, I, uh-” she coughs nervously and takes a glance at Garcia, “I think I’ve developed some feelings for someone I just met and, and I guess I’m little nervous about it because this is the first guy I’ve actually really liked but there are things holding us back and I think it’s against the rules to even go on a date with him.”

“Against the rules? Have you never read Romeo and Juliet?”

“It’s not so easy,” YN sighs, “I don’t think he likes me anyway so it’s not really a Romeo and Juliet love story. I’m pining after someone who doesn’t like me back in that way.”

Garcia reaches over and squeezes her hand.

What neither of them notice is the movement of Spencer appearing in the doorway of the office, feeling a little intrusive as he hid himself around the corner yet still at a distance where he could hear when the conversation came to its end. A conversation he didn’t really want to listen to because it tore him to bits on the inside. His heart almost torn to shreds because the girl he liked... the only girl he had ever felt close to, who he felt a connection with, only saw him as a friend and a friend only when he saw her as something so much more than that. A reason to wake up and get to work early, a reason to find the best result in a case, a reason to smile and laugh and joke because life was for living and he felt like he hadn’t done much of that in his solo reign.

“Garcia, he’s driving me mad. Like, the good kind of mad. It’s the kind of mad where I’m thinking about him constantly, I’m imagining what it’s like to be with him in certain situations like when I’m cooking breakfast or making dinner or watching some television,” she sighs and even though her shoulders dip down, she feels a huge weight lifted from her shoulders, “heck, I even think about them when I’m you know what-ing, Garcia. That’s not healthy, is it?”

“I’m no profiler, sweet-cheeks, but I think you’re in a little too deep for this guy. He’s lucky. You should go for it with him, don’t hold back on what you feel on the inside,” she softly pokes a fingertip into YN’s chest, “your heart tells you a lot and if thats how you’re feeling towards him then ask him out. Be that big and bold girl I know you are.”

“You think so?”

Spencer desperately wants to hear Garcia deny everything that she had said before; don’t encourage her to date some idiot who didn’t know about a neat thing called respect when she could have someone who treated her perfectly, he thought to himself, someone who was standing under her nose and praying she saw him like he saw her.

“Absolutely, YN. And you have to bring him to meet me and the rest of the team as soon as possible, okay? I want to know all about the guy who stole your heart and turned you all soft and happy,” Garcia smiles.

If only she knew that she’d already met him, YN thought. xx

#spencer reid chats #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagines #matthew gray gubler imagines #also hello 2am!! this is a new time for me

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todorokiaimee · 3 years

Text

Dopamine Chapter 8

Previous Chapter

“I hope you know I’m an indoors person,” Jada mumbled as she walked behind Bakugou. “I don’t do well in the elements.” The pair were deep in the mountains of the Koburi Pass, trekking up the remote hiking trail. She clicked her tongue as she looked down at her Timberland boots, careful not to step in any mud. She still couldn’t believe he had managed to drag her out into the wilderness on this so-called date.

“I knew you were high maintenance but I didn’t peg you as a priss,” the hero huffed as he stomped ahead, looking over his shoulder.

“Hey, I ain’t no priss. I just don’t see the point in roughing it and getting dirty when our ancestors worked so hard not to be.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes as he pushed a tree limb out of their way, “Don’t try to make it a noble thing. The fresh air will do you some good.”

The ravenette clicked her tongue as they continued making their way through the brush. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re luring me away to death to hide my body out in the woods.”

“Are you saying you trust me?” The blonde asked with a smirk.

Jada rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore his comment. “Where are we going anyway?”

“You’ll see.”

The two continued to hike through the wilderness in a comfortable silence until they reached a small clearing. Just ahead was a tall cliff, easily 10 stories high. Jada tilted her head up as she tried to see the top, Bakuogu interrupting her thoughts.

“We’re here.”

“What do you mean we’re here?” She gaped at him, motioning to the rocky barrier in front of them. “It’s a dead-end!”

“We’re rock climbing stupid,” Bakugou grunted as he took a knee and pulled his backpack off of his shoulders, taking out its contents.

Jada crossed her arms in defiance as she sat into her hip. “You must be stupid if you think I’m climbing that.”

“The only way around is up and I ain’t carrying you.” The hero hummed as he began tying the safety ropes together. The ravenette didn’t budge, her emerald green eyes staring down at him.

“Fine, I’ll leave you here and let the animals and “elements” deal with you.”

Bakugou’s idle threat hung in the air between them for a moment before Jada finally relented, waving him off with her bare hand and a heavy sigh, “You’re lucky I’m in between sets right now.”

“That’s what I thought,” He chuckled smugly, pulling out a harness from his bag. “Now come here and let me get you hooked up.”

Jada begrudgingly approached him, watching him carefully as he worked. After a moment, he lightly patted her thigh uttering a command.

“Spread ‘em.”

“I would say you should take me dinner first but that would be a moot point.” The dark-skinned beauty smirked with a raised brow.

The hero chuckled as he helped Jada step into the harness before pulling it up in place over her wide hips. He carefully adjusted the steps making sure she was secure. “How’s that feel? Not too tight?”

“It’s good.”

“You ever done this before?” Bakugou hummed as he attached her safety line to his harness.

“Do I look like I’ve ever done this before?”

He rolled his eyes at her sass, clearly, she was just nervous. “You’ll be fine. I know you’re not afraid of heights.” He bit his lip as his thoughts went to her heavenly body twirling high upon a pole at the strip club. Unfortunately, Jada also caught his distant look, knowing exactly what he was daydreaming. Bakugou cleared his throat as he looked away, preparing the last safety measures before starting their descent. “Just one foot and hand at a time.”

With a deep breath, Jada reluctantly nodded her head, walking up to the intimidating 50-meter high wall. Carefully, she placed her boot on the first nook she could find, hoisting herself up. Alright, so it’s not as hard as I thought. She continued to climb, quickly finding a rhythm, her upper body strength giving her an unexpected edge.

Bakugou smirked to himself as he watched her climb, following suit. He knew she had it in her. If she could lift and hold herself up on a pole by squeezing her thighs alone, she could climb a rock wall with no problem. The pair continued to climb in silence for a few minutes until the hero finally spoke up, “Not bad, Dimples. Maybe one day you’ll be half as good as —”

Bakugou looked over to his side expecting to see Jada’s long black locs, but was met with nothing but open air. What the fuck… He looked around feverishly but there was no sign of her. Could she have fallen? He didn’t feel any weight on her lead rope. He called for her, concern growing in his voice with each passing second, “Dimples? Dimp- Jada?!”

“What are you hollering about?”

Following the sound of her voice, Bakugou looked up above him. There at the top of the cliff, was Jada Jackson. She stood with her hip cocked to the side, looking down at him from her perch. Even from this distance, he could tell that she was quite pleased with herself. How the hell did she get up there so fast? “I turn around and you’re gone! How about some heads up?” he barked as he clung to the side of the rocky cliff.

The dark-skinned beauty only giggled at his comment, turning on her heel before tossing her long locs over her shoulder. “How about you keep up?”

Clicking his tongue, Bakugou quickly climbed the rest of the way up, not wanting to be shown up any further. Hoisting himself over the edge of the cliff, he was met with Jada’s smug face, offering him a hand. With a playful roll of his eyes, he took it, admiring her guts to take him on.

The hero then took off his climbing gear, before helping Jada do the same. His eyes and fingers lingered on her skin, and she was quick to notice. “See something you like?” Before he could answer, the ravenette backed away with a confident smile, leaving the hero where he stood.

Making her way further down the path, Jada continued to tease the blonde, purposefully swaying her hips with every step, until her timberland boot slipped on a wet rock along the trail. Even as she tried to catch herself, her ankle rolled causing her to fall over and into dirt and brush, “Oh fuck!”

“Oi! You alright?” Bakugou yelled as he rushed over to her aid. The woman was now flat on her ass, wincing in pain.

“You mean besides eating shit while just trying to walk? Yeah, I’m just peachy.” Jada hissed as she brushed off the dirt and mud from her arms and legs.

“You should be more careful!”

“I told you I didn’t like the elements! I am an inside person!”

The hero sighed as he kelt down, taking off his backpack, “Alright stop your bitching and let me look at it.” with the softest touch, he took her ankle in his hands. Carefully, he rolled it slowly as Jada grimaced in discomfort. With a nod, he tenderly let her ankle back on the ground before standing, “Okay, so it’s not broken or you’d be screaming bloody murder. I’ll wrap it up for support and it will be back to normal in a day or two.”

Bakugou helped her up to her feet before taking his backpack from the ground. Instead of placing it back on his back, the blonde wore it on across his broad chest before turning his back to the woman expectantly. Jada stared at him for a moment unsure of what to do. “What are you waiting for?! Hop on, I ain’t got all day!”

Finally, it clicked that the hero was offering her a piggyback ride. She scoffed as she slapped her sides with her arms in frustration. “Try using your words next time! I ain’t no mind reader!” Carefully, Jada climbed onto his back. Her long chocolate arms draped over his shoulders while his strong calloused hands gripped her thighs. “You better not drop me,” she grumbled under her breath.

“Don’t squirm and I won’t.” Bakugou stalked up the trail in silence for a while as he carried her effortlessly. Even out here in the 80-degree heat, he could still smell her jasmine perfume lightly caressing her skin. With her this close, his mind instantly went to their first meeting; the feel of her soft skin against his; The sound of her quiet moans ringing in his ear. Shaking off those thoughts he scoffed to himself, “I can’t believe you dance every night in 6-inch heels only to roll your ankle in fucking boots.”

“I’m not dancing on loose and wet rocks!” Jada argued, turning her face away from the hero. “You’re talking a lot of shit for a dude that begged me to go out on a date with him.”

“Tch. Whatever.”

The pair continued forward with only the sound of crunching leaves and twigs under Bakugou’s feet between them. The ravenette sighed as she resolved herself to taking in the scenery of their nature hike. If she wasn’t such an inside person, this view would be quite beautiful. While she took in the sights of the lush trees, a warm and familiar scent reached her nose. Is that… sugar cookies?

Before she could question the scent further, a small cabin began to come into view at the top of the hill. It wasn’t long until they reached its front door, Bakugou pulling out a pair of keys from his backpack, unlocking the door. Very carefully, he walked her inside, letting her put her weight on his shoulders. Once they reached the kitchen, the hero lifted the woman easily to sit on the kitchen counter before disappearing into another room, “Be right back.”

Jada looked around the small cabin, taking in the subtle decor. It was cozy and inviting, adorned with rustic flannel and neutral colors. Honestly, it looked like something out of a magazine. “So this place is yours?” she asked as the blonde came back into the room.

“Yeah. I stay here pretty often. Whenever I want to get away and recharge.” Bakugou hummed as he approached the woman, crouching down on one knee. “Now let’s see about this ankle, you klutz. Lucky enough for you, I’m with a hero who has a pretty extensive first aid kit.” He shook the first aid kit in his hand while flashing a cheeky smile.

“Does that mean you get hurt a lot?”

The hero scoffed to himself, before looking up at her with ruby red eyes, measured and sure, “It means I never run from a fight.”

Fuck, don’t look at me like that. I’m still mad at you. Jada bit her lip as she looked away from his gaze.

“There,” He chuckled as he finished wrapping her ankle in an ace bandage. “Maybe now you’ll stop falling for me before you really hurt yourself.”

“Is that really the best line you could come up with?” Jada huffed, crossing her arms.

“It must be pretty good, Dimples,” Bakugou smirked, resealing the first aid kit, “You’re smiling.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I call it persistent.”

Bakugou slowly stood to his feet, before reaching one hand behind her to rest on the cool tile of the countertop she was perched on, effectively leaning over her. “Come on, Dimples,” he cooed in his trademark rough voice, entrancing her. With her full attention under his sultry gaze, he brushed his calloused fingertips down her warm brown thigh, before sliding his hand underneath her knee, gently lifting her long leg up to rest on his hip. “This needs to stay elevated and I know the perfect way to pass the time.”

Jada took in a breath as she looked up at the blonde hero, their lips inches away from each other. Her mind wanted to resist out of principle but her body wanted him in the worst possible way. What are you doing to me, Blasty?

Fuck it. Finally, she closed the gap, their lips connecting in a fiery passion. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him even closer, wanting nothing between them. Bakugou returned the favor, skillfully moving his lips against hers before letting his tongue softly trace her bottom lip, silently asking for entry.

Of course, Jada complied. The hero hummed as his grip on her leg tightened as he began to explore the inside of her mouth. Their tongues wrestled for dominance until she finally relented, a soft moan leaving her throat.

“Mmm, that’s a good girl.” Bakugou breathed against her full lips, as he continued to mold himself to her. Taking his hands from her body, he reached down to his pants, unbuttoning them. Just as he was about to push them off his hips, the ravenette placed her hands over his, stopping him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, a confused look on his face.

Jada paused as she looked up at him, searching for something in his fiery red eyes she couldn’t quite name. Finally, she turned away, shaking her head, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah…” Her voice trailed off as she nibbled on her bottom lip.

“So are we doing this or…” Bakugou watched her for a moment, but her eyes never returned to him. He knew she had something on her mind. “Spit it out, woman!”

“You hurt me!”

“Huh?” The hero quirked a blonde brow, unsure of what she meant. He hadn’t even touched her.

“I’m the baddest bitch there is and you hurt me. That’s saying a lot.” Jada confessed as she looked him square in the face, Bakugou instantly taking notice. “Look it’s obvious that we have chemistry and I’m into you. I said I’d give you another shot after you showed your ass at the club but... I still don’t trust you.”

The dark-skinned beauty could feel her face heating up in her embarrassment. She couldn’t believe she was being this honest and candid with her feelings. With this man she barely knew. Taking a deep breath, she continued in a soft voice as she dropped her gaze, staring into her lap. “I have to protect myself. I’m not sleeping with you again until you can prove to me that this is real. I’m no one’s dirty secret and I’m nobody’s fool.” Finding her confidence again she lifted her head, her emerald green eyes locking with his. “I need no man, hero or not. If you can’t hang with that then it was nice knowing you I guess.”

Bakugou crossed his arms as he took in everything that she said. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to just pick things up where they left off before that fateful night. Of course, he would be in the doghouse. If he was being honest, it was that fire that drew him to her even after all of that drama.

With a heavy sigh, the hero rebuttoned his pants before running a hand through his ash blonde hair. “Look, as fun as it was, I don’t need sex to function like some punks and I get why you don’t exactly trust me. But I need you to get one thing straight.” He paused as he walked around and behind the kitchen island where she sat, Jada turning and craning her neck to follow. “I’m not some schmuck you can string along for kicks. That said... I am interested, so I’ll pursue.” He then leaned forward and across the island so that his lips were next to her ear as he whispered, “But I won’t chase.”

Jesus Christ, why are you so sexy? Jada did her best to hide her smirk from the blonde, refusing to give him the satisfaction. He’s the one that should be begging and salivating, not her.

“I’m hungry,” Bakugou said as he clapped his hands, effectively breaking the sexual tension in the air. “Let’s see what I have here.” With a huff he began to rummage through his cabinets and refrigerator until he whipped together a quick lunch. “That will do. Here,” he breathed as he slid a plate across the kitchen island to his date.

“PB&J?” Jada quirked a brow as she picked up the simple sandwich.

“Yeah, something I picked up from the states,” He said as he took a bite. “Nothing fancy but it gets the job done.”

Jada hummed as she took a bite herself. She had eaten more than enough PB&Js in her life. In a way, it was somewhat comforting. “So you lived in the states for a while?”

“Yeah, I was there for about a month for a mission. It was alright I guess,” the blonde paused as he grabbed two bottled waters from the fridge. “I’m surprised you left when most Japanese people would kill to live in America. ‘The land of opportunity’ and shit.”

The land of opportunity… the dark skinned woman hummed to herself as she took another bite, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “Yeah, maybe for some.”

“What do you mean?” The blonde questioned.

Jada paused as she looked over to the man. He rested his forearms on the countertop as he watched her carefully, sensing her sudden change in demeanor.

He really has no idea. She took a deep breath, unsure why her words came so freely from her mouth, when for years she kept silent, “My mom couldn’t afford to go to college so she started working at McDonald’s after high school. Minimum wage didn’t cover rent so she started stripping. Then she got pregnant with me and whoever my dad was didn’t stick around. With her growing belly and stretch marks, she got less and less tips dancing, so she started hoeing to keep us afloat.”

Bakugou set down his sandwich on his plate as he stood up straighter to listen. He could tell that her words were not easy for her to say.

“After a while, the stress and shame of that got to her. Really messed her up,” She paused, fighting that familiar tingle of her nose. “She started self-medicating with prescription drugs and heroin. She ODed when I was 13. I wound up in foster care and the cycle continues.” Jada chuckled dryly as she took another small bite of her sandwich, unable to meet his eyes. “So… you can say the land of opportunity didn’t do us any favors.”

“Hm,” Bakugou hummed simply as he looked at the ravenette intently, stroking the stumble on his chin, “So you…”

Jada looked up at him with a puzzled look until she finally understood where his question was leading. “No fool! I just dance,” she scoffed as she crossed her arms. “And I’m clean too.” She paused, a flash of heat rising to her cheeks. “Fuck, I don’t know why just told you all that.”

“Well,” the hero breathed as he tossed his now empty plate into the dishwasher. “I won’t pretend to know what that’s like. But it’s still not enough to scare me off. I never back away from a challenge and you, Dimples,” he paused, giving her a sly smirk, “are one and a half.”

The ravenette chuckled to herself as a familiar warmth rose to her cheeks. She turned away from his gaze on instinct but Bakugou knew he had hit his target. Fighting a soft smile, he gestured to her half eaten sandwich, “Finished eating?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s get you back down the mountain. It will take longer with you on my back.” He tossed the rest of her sandwich in the trash before putting the plate into the dishwasher, turning it on. “Ready?”

“I guess so.” Jada stretched her muscles for a moment before she looked up to see the hero slowly saunter in front of her between her legs once again. He licked his lips while he looked her up and down, a smug smirk forming across his face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he shrugged. “Just thinking about how sweet victory is going to taste when you finally say yes to me.”

Jada rolled her eyes playfully as she smacked his broad shoulder, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Blasty.”

Bakugou laughed as he turned around before hoisting the cynical ravenette onto his back, “Please. I’m inevitable.”

Chapter 9 | Masterlist

41 notes · View notes

costellos · 4 years

Note

HI i LOVE ur "____ realizing they fell in love" series thing AND idk if you've done stardust crusaders but if you haven't i'd love to request that pretty pls luv u Aaa c:

I haven’t done the Crusaders yet!! today is your lucky day. 🥰 ty for supporting this series and I hope you enjoy this one!

BUCCI GANG | LA SQUADRA

tw: general violence, stabbing

❥ ┋ ❝ stardust crusaders realizing that they’re in love!

joseph joestar.

Joseph falls in love with you after you put yourself in danger.

the first thing you need to know about Joseph Joestar is that there’s always something up his sleeve. the second, that he prizes his family above all else. only one of those applied when you sacrificed yourself for his sake.

it happens during a stand battle. Hermit Purple is more of a defensive stand, with its ability to disarm and capture enemies. your stand works best offensively. as such, you make quite the pair when you encounter two of DIO’s subordinates in India.

but while Joseph was distracted, using Hermit Purple to wrap one of the goons in its violet vines, the other came barreling behind Joseph. he sees a glint in the henchwoman’s eyes, a look that tells him that she’s ready to kill. he knows you see it too. and that’s why he’s crying at you to get away.

it only took a moment. yet in that moment did you save Joseph, push the henchwoman back, and find a kukri in your side. it’s the one time that Joseph didn’t have anything up his sleeve, and one of many that he could feel his heart drop.

you didn’t have to defend him. he had already lived his life, and at that point, he had accepted he could die at any moment. he knew exactly what he was getting into when it came to DIO. and he was starting to wish that he hadn’t gotten you involved, too.

he knocks both of the goons out, leaving them in the alley. you’re not quite sure what happens next. all you can feel is Joseph holding you in his arms, frantically looking for help in the streets of Kolkata. he’s screaming. crying maybe? you lose consciousness soon after.

Joseph would visit you in your hospital room once you came to. he makes quite the scene, pushing doctors aside and slamming your door open. at first glance you think that he's mad, with his gritted teeth and clasped fists. he stops for a moment, studying your face. and it’s here that you realize he isn’t mad — no, his face quickly melts to concern, his lip quivering as he wraps you into a tight hug. ↳ “come here.” his voice is shaky. he sounds breathless, as if he ran here as soon as he got word that you woke up. “what the hell were you thinking? don’t go throwing yourself at anyone for my sake! you talk to me in battle, okay?” alright, maybe he’s a little mad. he’s trying to say his words as gently as he can, though. “we need you, [Name].” and it’s true: the team does need you. but he of all people needs you most. he’s already losing one child. he can’t bear the thought of losing another.

muhammad avdol.

Avdol falls in love with you when he sees how patient you are.

he's a mentor above all else. Avdol’s career depends on guiding others to their destinies, leading them to something that he cannot posses. he’s never particularly minded. like all things, he just thinks that is his own destiny. he knows that fate can’t be changed.

it’s part of the reason why Avdol’s given up on Iggy. the dog is hopeless, fighting for his own wants and needs. he doesn’t care about the team or DIO or why he’s in Egypt. hence, aside from giving him coffee gum when Avdol needs him, the fortune teller leaves him alone.

then he sees you interacting with Iggy. “it’s hopeless,” Avdol tells you. but you look up at him and shake your head, asking him to just give you some time. Iggy will come around, you promise.

Avdol chuckles. “if you say so.”

despite his doubts, he keeps a close eye on you. you keep at it. you’re trying to get the dog’s trust, offering pets and belly rubs during moments of peace. Iggy seems disinterested.

in time, Avdol watches as you realize that Iggy hates being treated like a dog. you share your food with him and talk with him, even if he can’t understand what you have to say. one day, while driving through Egypt, Avdol peers into the rear view mirror and sees you asleep with Iggy on your lap.

the Boston terrier follows you everywhere now. he trots beside you and barks at whoever gets too close to you (much to Polnareff’s chagrin). Avdol can’t help but find this amusing.

well he’d be damned. you really did it. Avdol always thought of him as a good judge of character, and you proved him wrong. not that he minds; Iggy’s cooperation will make this mission much less difficult. it’s just that your unyielding patience and dedication is... well. it’s quite nice with all the other interesting characters on this trip.

Avdol approaches you while you’re reading in the hotel lobby. as always, Iggy is at your feet. he’s fast asleep, thankfully. the fortune teller tries to be quiet so as not to wake him. ↳ “I apologize.” he takes the armchair across from yours, resting his cheek on his fist, an amused smile on his lips. “you’re a lot more patient than I gave you credit for.” maybe Avdol had unknowingly guided you to Iggy. maybe it was fate that Iggy would be brought here, only to be loved by you. “I admire that of you. though I suppose there’s a lot I admire about you, hm?” fate can’t be changed. he knew that. but maybe it was fate that like Iggy, Avdol was brought here to be with you.

jotaro kujo.

Jotaro falls in love with you after you call him out.

he hates showing his true colors. that kind of vulnerability is something that he’s never gotten accustomed to, nor does he think that he ever will. it’s part of the reason why he dislikes displaying more emotion than what’s necessary. a slight twinge of his lip or brow can show enough of what he’s thinking. any more than that is a waste of energy. they get the gist, he tells himself.

you proved him wrong when you lost a game of checkers. it’s a humid day in Cairo and during a rare moment of peace, you and Jotaro opt to play a friendly game of checkers with some locals. though the word “friendly” is subjective. if either of you won, 2500 Egyptian pounds would be yours.

it’s your turn. the game is a close call. although it can be over within the next two turns, you can’t tell what your opponent’s next move would be. thankfully, Jotaro is standing behind him, giving you cues for your next move.

...yet because you misunderstand his cue, you watch as you promptly lose any pieces that you had left. your opponent takes your pieces and the 2500 Egyptian pounds with it.

“what the hell was that?” Jotaro is angry. you are too. after losing the game, you collected your things and began to head back to the hotel, with Jotaro at your heels. “I was nodding my head! that was your cue to move left.”

you stop in your tracks. “that wasn’t you nodding! you just moved your head down! how was I supposed to know?”

he clicks his tongue in response. a beat, and then finally, “you’re really damn annoying, you know that?”

“yeah, and you’re an asshole.”

Jotaro’s been called many things. sweetie, honey, the hottest guy at school, but asshole? that’s a first. while he won’t admit it, the name stings. it sounds foreign coming from you. he didn’t think he had upset you that much.

he lets the day pass, partly for you, mostly for him. he needs to gather his thoughts. it’s the first time anyone had called him out for his behavior. moreover, Jotaro hates the fact that you may know him better than he does himself. what else do you know about him? did you know that you could upset him this much? ...when did you start to occupy this much space in his head?

so at sundown the next day, you get a knock on your hotel room from Jotaro Kujo himself. you try to close it, but he sticks his foot between the door and the frame before you can. ↳ “look, I’m sorry, alright?” he’s refusing to look at you. “I just... really wanted to win. I pushed that on you. and...” he sighs. "I’m sorry.” he’s apologizing through gritted teeth, yet apologizing nonetheless. it’s the right thing to do and he doesn’t want to lose a friend to his pride. especially one who calls him out on his bullshit. despite everything, you just smile and unfold your arms, telling him that you forgive him. and for a brief moment, he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. although Jotaro Kujo hates being vulnerable, he would hate losing you more.

noriaki kakyoin.

Kakyoin falls in love with you while eating breakfast together.

he’s never had any real friends. any attempts to share facts about himself, whether about his stand or his interests, would be met with scorn. it wasn’t until he had breakfast with you — one tiny moment in a trip filled with wacky happenings — that led him to believe that maybe the world wasn’t so lonely.

it’s 7 AM. normally at this time Mr. Joestar and Avdol are off running errands or planning something privately. Kakyoin turns beside him to find Jotaro and Polnareff fast asleep. he wonders where you’d be at this hour, yet when he enters the dining room, he quickly finds the answer to his question.

"good morning,” he says, taking the seat from across you. his voice is gentle though far more awake than you’d expect for seven in the morning. you greet him as enthusiastically as you can muster, flashing a toothy grin. but upon realizing that you were still chewing your food, you quickly turn away and wave your hand, apologizing for the scene. Kakyoin laughs in return.

the conversation itself is rather tame. you ask about his life, what Japan is like, if he misses his parents. Kakyoin answers all of this truthfully, because... well. no one else has ever taken the time to ask. it feels odd to be interviewed. though not uncomfortable.

and you take genuine interest in what he has to say, too. you ask follow up questions and give real, emotional responses. while you sympathize with him, you don’t pretend to know what he’s gone through.

you didn’t have to engage with him. sure, you’re the only ones awake right now, but he didn’t expect you to be so real with him. Polnareff never takes anything Kakyoin says seriously. Jotaro doesn’t even pretend to care. Mr. Joestar and Avdol have their own things to worry about. it feels... nice to be considered.

needless to say, Kakyoin feels his heart sink when the others wake up. is that too selfish? should he be disappointed in himself for wanting to spend more time with you?

yet even with them there, with Polnareff hogging the conversation and Jotaro being his usual cool self, you try to keep Kakyoin involved. you refuse to let him fade in the background.

he stops you as everyone starts to clean up and go on with their days. ↳ “we should do this more often.” he’s trying to keep it casual. “ah, if you’re up this early again, I mean. I really enjoyed our conversation. it’s a lot more productive when Polnareff’s not awake.” now it’s your turn to laugh in response. you agree, saying that you enjoyed your time with him, too. at this, Kakyoin could feel his cheeks start to burn. right here, right at this moment with you, did Noriaki Kakyoin feel that he wasn’t so alone.

jean pierre polnareff.

Polnareff falls in love with you when he hears you humming to yourself.

although he would never admit it, he’s lost. what he’s looking for he’s not quite sure. vengeance? honor? it’s something he’s constantly asking himself. behind those dumb jokes and loud laughs is someone who just wants to find himself.

to be honest, he’s always fancied you. it was pretty obvious from the start. the way he looked at you, how his hands were always at your hip, guiding you away from the others. he just thought it was another crush until he heard you humming to yourself.

it’s such a simple happenstance. he didn’t mean to walk in on you. yet there you are, standing on the roof of their hotel, hanging everyone’s laundry to dry. you look so at peace here, with your eyelids low and your fingers at work with one of Polnareff’s shirts. you’re handling it so gently despite it not being your own laundry.

it’s in that moment that he realizes what he wants to do. Sherry’s murderer is dead. she can finally be at peace. Avdol has been found, affirming that he didn’t die for Polnareff’s sake. and here you are, humming a song that he doesn’t know but appearing so content.

while he may not know who he is, he does know that he wants to make you that happy everyday.

Polnareff takes this as his cue to approach you. you bend down to reach into your laundry basket, and when you come back up, the Frenchman is there. he’s not pulling any dumb moves, though. he’s much quieter here.

he follows your lead, reaching into the basket for one of his pants, then comes back up to hang them. you return his actions with a smile, a wordless indication of thanks, and continue to work. that song you were humming returns once more, and Polnareff swears that he can feel his heartbeat pounding in his fingertips.

you and Polnareff continue to work like this until the laundry basket is empty. it’s the first time he doesn’t say anything for 10 minutes, at least that you’ve noticed. what you don’t notice that he’s trying to avoid staring, sneaking quick glances as you focus on the task at hand.

when all is said and done, you stretch your arms far above your head, cuing a satisfying pop from your back. you thank Polnareff for helping you and begin heading back to your room. however, he’s quick to stop you. ↳ “hey, wait!” yikes. did that sound too much? “err- let me know if you need any help. I’m always here for you, [Name].” he sounds defeated in that last sentence. he can tell. he wonders if you can, too. but when you grin and tuck your hair behind your ear, telling him that you’d keep him in your thoughts, Polnareff can’t help but feel his heart swell. did he make you happy here?

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