#those fears that make you run up the stairs real fast at night
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“You had better tie me up, darling…” very nsfw (f*ck or die) update for Rogue Astarion in part 7 “Bites in the Night”
Astarion x F!Reader |E| 5.5K F*ck or Die Smut
Summary: He isn’t well… something he’s consumed… the blood of a Succubus in the heat of battle by mistake. He needs release… help… or else undead won’t be an accurate description of your vampire rogue any longer.
CW: rough sex, bondage, Sex Pollen Trope but blame those Succubi, feral rutting, blood kink (does that go without saying yet?), implied shared infection, tongue bath, raunchy and yet sweet confessions from his undead lips.
Read on AO3 | Series on AO3 | Master List
Better get your rope…
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Sunset always brought the demons out to play… and this time it had been real. Everything about the Shadow Cursed Lands fit the name… but you had all made it at last to the Last Light Inn.
Not without blood spatter and slaughter, fear and relief once victory over the Hellspawn was won.
Now at last, you can take your rest. In peace.
Most of your companions still drink and eat to their heart’s content. Of course, not your Rogue. After the fight, he had looked… gaunt. Tired. You had promised to come and let him feed, but first you needed your fill. He had flashed his smile at you before heading up the creaking stairs.
That was an hour ago. Now, you make your way to those same stairs, only to catch Shadowheart hustling down with wide eyes, Gale looking much the same as he follows.
“Come with us,” they whisper, leading you up the stairs in a hurry.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, anxiety darking your tone.
“It’s Astarion, he’s… unwell.” Gale… always so vague and polite.
“He’s in a rut,” Shadowheart snips back, exactly. “Literally.”
“What?” you startle.
“During the fight, he must have bitten and drank Succubus blood.” Gale rubs his fingers at his temple. “He’s locked in his room, but I fear he will claw his way through the door until he finds… relief.”
“Sex, you mean?” you can’t help but correct him too.
“It’s bad,” Shadowheart presses her lips together. “The blood is ten times worse than the spittle. Like, if he doesn’t find relief soon he could expire. Again. It’ll last him a full day to work out of his system.”
Your eyes go wide, your stomach sinking as well as your jaw. “Isn’t there some countermeasure? Some spell or… or potion?”
Shadowheart opens her hands, a small scroll in it. “Not for him, but for…”
“Me…” you realize. Your body tingles with the idea, that heady mix of fear of death and thrill of fucking with him. It always swims in your system before you go to his bed, but this time. It feels… more… exhilarating. More deadly. Riskier.
“It’s a scroll of Greater Protection… just in case he gets carried away.” Gale’s face screws into a look of discomfort.
“Keep your cunny from giving out on you.” Shadowheart winks.
That sinches up the knots in your stomach now. And by the time your cleric recites the spell, the dust in the air swirling into your lungs, you know you can’t turn back. You can’t forsake him.
You take a breath once they both wish you good luck, reassurances that the spell should be enough to keep you safe… but that they would come running if needed. That’s when Shadowheart stops you one more time, behind Gale’s back. She makes her face shush you silently as she shoves something into your hands.
A coil of rope. It tingles… enchanted probably for extra strength… that it could hold a deranged, sex-crazed vampire if worse came to worse.
That’s when you head up another flight of stairs, your heart beating faster with each step. Especially as you hear the grunts and growls that crescendo as you reach the landing. It’s easy to tell which room is his, the light under the door burns bright… the sounds of his voice raw and feral…
You hover your hand over the knob, sensing the magic that’s sealed him in. But you stop… that sound inside, you can tell already how he’s plagued. Rough, wet, and fast. The slap of his own hand tending to his… need.
You swallow, the beating of his fist on his cock already making you wet. Hells below… if there wasn't part of you that was just… tantalized. A small part, mostly cloaked in that heady fear to preserve your life.
But you feared no danger. And you by now… he would listen.
Maybe.
One last squeeze of the chord in your hand, you gripped the charged metal of the door, throwing it open.
He is naked, sitting on the edge of the bed at the back of the little room. His teeth glint in the firelight, his ivory skin glowing with sweat. Gods, if he had blood in his body, you are sure he would be beet red. His profile cut like the masterpiece he was. His throat bobbing as he swallows, the muscles of his arm bulging as he pleasures himself at a terrifying pace.
The sound as you shut the door behind him finally draws his attention.
He is… wild. Feral. Eyes so dilated, you can barely make out the ring of scarlet in them. His face shines from his exertions, he growls… like an animal… the second he sets eyes on you. His nose sniffing so hard at your scent… you can watch it open and close.
“Out!” He snarls, rising to his feet. That’s when you take in the full extent of his… suffering. He’s so erect, bigger than you have ever seen him. Harder. Throbbing so hard you witness it… where it stands almost vertically. Those intricate veins that usually rise subtly from his length strain dark, a web over his pale skin. “I’ll not hurt you, darling. Not you. Get out! I won’t have you!” He snaps his jaws. Every muscle in his body straining as he stands in place.
As if he’s fighting with himself.
“You will have me,” you snap back. “You don’t have a choice, do you?”
“Of course I do!”
“Not if you want to keep yourself in this realm. Undead you might be, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you alive… undead…”
That made him smile. Dark, wicked and still slightly manic. But it was there.
His eyes rake down your body, devouring you as he dares to let himself take one step. His eyes fall to your hand, the tangle of rope hanging visibly at your side. “Seems someone had the wisdom to not to send you in here defenseless and you stink of protective magic. Good,” he shudders as he talks. That voice sounding hollow. Pressed. Barely above a snarl. “I haven’t said this to many… but you had better tie me up, darling…”
He groans, forcing his body to move stiffly to the bed. The wood frame creaks and cracks as he crawls in, his rigid frame laying down.
That erection makes your mouth water, despite the obvious agony your vampire is enduring. But you can’t help but be mesmerized by how tall it stands as he pants on the bed. You cross to him, he can’t look at you, holding his hands out for you to bind.
Your hands work quickly, securing his arms firmly together, wrapping them to the scrollwork of the headboard.
His breathing is rough, ragged. His body twitches, shuddering each time your fingers barely grazie his arms and wrists. “Please,” he groans. “If you’re going to do this, then by the hells do it!”
His eyes are wide as he strains to look at you.
Your body aches, sympathy pains twitch down your spine to watch him quivering on the sheets. Your skin feels hot, your own body breaking into a sweat. He’s licking his lips, “Gods, if you go any slower getting something on this cock of mine, I can’t promise your safety, darling…”
You reach for that straining length, the second you wrap your fingers around it, he throbs and groans and twitches. His hips bucking into your hand, legs propped up so he can fuck anything you can get around his cock. You beat against his thrusts, that hardness unrelenting even as you move quicker than you usually do. Looking into his face, you move even faster, his face contorted in agony, his teeth biting so hard into his lips he’s bleeding.
He thrusts and groans and cries as he comes. Spurts of his seed drip down his shaft, coating his already damp lap, trailing milky streams as far as his belly.
But his breathing eases for a moment, his muscles softening just a bit perceptively. And Astarion gives a single contented sigh. “All that with just your hand. You little minx… pacing yourself?” he purrs. “Won’t you at least kiss me hello?”
You give him a small grin, at least he sounds like himself. His eyes are a bit more focused, his voice a bit more silken.
What harm could one kiss do?
You lay alongside him, pressing your lips to his.
The moment you touch, you can feel it, the heat, the lust, and the agony roaring full force through his veins. He’s straining on his bonds, trying to claw you into him. His mouth consumes you, sucking your lips inside his mouth, drawing them deep enough for him to bite. The tang of blood covers your tongue. And his.
He’s frenzied for more, biting you again and again. Drinking the blood that leaks from your kiss. Then you feel it, his legs, untethered, grip around your waist, sliding you to cover his naked, throbbing body. “Astarion!” you cry, muffled by his mouth. But he has you pinned between his thighs. Not unlike that first day in the wreckage.
His erection presses into your belly, he’s grinding it against the linen of your shirt. Rough and aggressive. As if he means to tear a hole in the soft fabric. He keeps you there, humping and riding into your abdomen. Grinding against your mound. Sucking and drinking your kiss as long as you let him.
Not that you have much of a choice, caught in his legs. “Easy,” you breathe, managing to steal your mouth back for the moment. “Easy…” you soothe again, making your body bear down against where he dry fucks against you.
“There is nothing I have in mind to do to you that would be easy…” he hisses. His voice almost sounds… not of this realm. And you press out of the clutches of his fangs. But he just raises his head higher, eyes crazed at the sight of the wounds he’s made on your bleeding and split lips.
“Sorry,” you murmur as you catch his throat under your palm. “It’s for your own good.” You feel his breath rasp, the ragged swallows of spit under your palm.
“The minx has claws…” he growls as you keep his head down.
“Only when you make me use them, Astarion,” you smirk. “Now, if you can keep your mouth to yourself, I’d be more than happy to put mine to other uses.”
“Gods, yes,” he moans. “It’s unbearable, the lust, the need to drive into you. Please put me out of this agony, darling. Please…”
The second you wrap your lips around that fleshy, pulsing head, his cock twitches out of your reach. With a smile and a lick of your tongue, you grip his straining, iron length, holding it steady as you run from base to bulging tip. The bitter tang of his cum fills your mouth. Making you swallow. Making you realize just how used to it you will be before the day of this torment is through.
You manage to still him enough with his squirming and bucking to get your mouth around him. Gods, it’s like stone in your mouth, every vein dragging over your tongue and you suck. You manage to bob your head up and down, avoiding the way he’s thrusting to get more of him down your throat.
The noises from his throat sound pained… agonized panting for more. “That’s it…” he’s hissing as you swirl your tongue around that ridge of his head. “Gods, do that again.” You do, laughing in your throat as you run your tongue over that seeping slit in his tip… so tight as you lap the stains of his cum. You feel it under your hand that works the base of his cock, that thickening, quickening spasm.
He howls, jamming his length into your pursing lips. And this time, you let him. His seed spills down your throat, spurting over your tongue and dripping in your cheeks. More with every pulse as he slowly begins to still again.
One last suck, you swallow him down. Greedily. Wondering if that succubus magic isn’t somehow in your system too. It’s heady, intoxicating. The way he’s glaring at you with his flame-kissed, glistening sweaty face.
But for now, he’s calmer. For now. “Darling…” he’s sighing as he tries to ease into the bed. “You… didn’t have to do this, you know. It’s still such a risk… if I didn’t… care for you… who knows how much of your body would be in one piece when this finally passes.”
“Oh I’m sure I’d leave in one piece… but maybe mostly bloodless and unable to walk straight…” you laugh leaning over him, placing a kiss on his dampened lips.
He slips his tongue in right away, searching for the taste of him in your mouth. He growls again, that throbbing suffering of lust raging beneath his skin again. “I want to see you,” he snarls. “I want to take you naked this time, my pet.” You shiver at the echo of pure desire in his silken voice. As if it doesn’t always drip with seduction. This… you shiver. This was even more wild, unchecked, feral. The need to rut. To fuck.
He looks at you with those heavy-lidded eyes, so dark with his lust, his attraction for you, you feel your own arousal dripping between your thighs. He purrs,“I want to be inside you, darling…”
Your hands couldn’t tug your clothes off fast enough, cursing the practicality of breeches. At last, you stood as he wished. Bared. Ready.
You scramble on the bed, throwing your legs around him. He seems… steadier. Still harder than rock, but less desperate. He strains against his binds, wriggling his lean and wiry body beneath you. So beautiful, every etched line of his muscles, every rise of his stomach, every vein that protrudes in his arms.
You caress him, once on his chest. So damp with sweat. Running your tongue up the center of those muscles, he shivers. The salt of his body makes your mouth water again.
“Hells, are we sure you haven’t ingested the same as me, my sweet?” He croons with a soft little laugh. “Or is this just all for me, darling, to ease my suffering.”
“To keep you alive? I’d do so much more than just lick the sweat from your body,” you taunt back, your voice so low and sultry, you barely recognize it.
He flashes his fangs at you, licking his lips. “Like slipping that sweet cunt on me? Riding me until you are dripping again?”
Ugh… you moan. “Yes,” you pant, “like that.”
The moment he feels your drenched folds hover over his cock, he spears into you. He screams at your union. “Sweet hells,” he groans, voice rasping and sore. “Yes, darling, give me everything. I can take it all…”
You lean over him, your hair cascading down in a curtain as you splay your hands on either side of his head. Barely brushing against his damp, unruly silver locks. You give the smallest rise of your body, the steadiest drag of your walls around his cock. He cants his hips beneath you, timing just right to shove up into your cunt as you settle back down.
A chorus of groans escape you both. He’s sputtering, “Please, darling, again,” over and over. Each time you give him what he wants, only to have him careening up into you harder. Begging for you to go faster.
Soon, your pace is breakneck, your own body shimmering in sweat as you buck and writhe and groan.
His eyes never blinking, those dark black pupils are wide as he watches your face twisting as you chase your own climax, flickering to the swaying of your breasts as they slap together each time you fuck him. They dart to watch where you are joined, where his stiffening cock pierces between your thighs, drenched in his cum and your arousal with every loud, squelching slap you make.
He’s merciless, finally hitching his hips to drive the hardest into you yet. You feel it when he comes inside you now, the sheer volume of his spew, hot and dripping from inside those walls where he’s buried in deep. Your belly aches from where he’s hammering against the end of your channel. More cum with each twitching spurt you feel. He screams like one wounded, his orgasm drawn out as you chase your peak yet. But he’s panting beneath you, catching his breath as he licks his lips.
Even more limp this time.
You’re relieved in your heart, even if your loins ache from the friction, the need to still release your own bliss. His brows furrow, his lips pouting as he looks into your eyes. “I’m… I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be,” you gasp, even as your arms quiver and your thighs shake with the need to continue.
“No,” he squirms and tugs at the tethers. “Infernal rope. If you just let me free, I swear I’ll make it up to you…”
Your mouth waters. He would probably just find a way to break it or chew through that rope if he had to. A smirk plays across your lips, leaning forward to reach your knots. His cock slips out from inside you as you do, making him groan again.
The rope tugs apart in your fingers. Instantly his hands pull free, he shoves you over his face, so close already as you lean forward. He growls, his tongue slipping into your folds. His hands claw into your, gripping at the backs of your knees, spreading you wider as he eats into your cunt with all the hunger you feel raging in his body.
Starving, he feasts on you, and it takes all your strength to hold yourself up, hands splayed on the mattress over his head. That swirl of his tongue… that sucking of his lips on your clit, you already creep closer and closer to that swirl of heat simmering ready to consume you. It sweeps through you, cresting and tearing from your core up your spine.
And then, the world spins. His arms clutch around your legs, throwing you over. You're screaming, still spasming and clenching around nothing. Until your back is sprawled on the bed… until he’s shoved his cock into the last dregs of your orgasm. It makes you whimper his name once more, until you feel another spasm ripping through you.
Only this time, he’s pounding into you, thrust by thrust. Giving you something long and hard and cold splitting you in two as you go limp beneath him. His mouth descends on yours, sucking your breath from your body even as he traps your lips, your tongue with his own.
Manic, driven, he fucks you like one possessed, eyes wide as he finally pins you beneath him. Having his way with you as he chases that required release.
You lay back, still swollen and numb from your pleasure. But he is nowhere near close, not as his hands claw down your side, latching around your legs to make you wrap around his narrow waist. “Gods, you’re so tight, so wet… there have been none like you, darling. None I have wanted as badly as you.” He growls, fingers reaching around the backs of your ass, clamping into your cheeks. He raises you just enough to drag his length all the deeper. Making you keen and mewl and sputter incoherently.
Every nerve in your body hums, every patch of pleasure between your thighs feels him inside you. Gods, if it wasn’t for that scroll, you are certain you would pass out, lying there unconscious while he works this tainted blood from his own body.
By using yours.
By using you.
It makes you smile. Twisted and delighted to be so at his disposal. You were used to his fangs in your neck, his cock plowed into your cunt and his hips clenched between your thighs… but this…
This was intoxicating. Unbridled, unihibited fucking.
For his own sake of course.
That tainted blood and its magic being burned up with each time he filled you to bursting with his seed.
And as if his fixated eyes, hazy with his lust, can read your thoughts, he groans as he thrusts the harshest into you yet. So deep and hard and wild, you wriggle and claw against him as if you could shove him away from where he prods at the end of your cunt. But he only laughs. A laugh swallowed up as he is thrown off by another climax, another spilling of his cum that runs down your body and sticks to your skin. He pants as he looks straight into your face, manic and depraved.
“By the time this is through, your belly will swell from me, won’t it, darling? So filled with my cum, gods, you’ll be leaking for a week. For a fortnight.” He kisses into your neck, your body shivering at the chill of his breath on your skin. “And I’ll have the pleasure of smelling it, of remembering every time you took it so well, darling. I’m so very pleased…”
You look at him, half lidded and panting as he lifts his mouth from your flesh. “As I am…” you hum, running your hands up the ridges of his back, over those mysterious lines of Infernal, to thread your fingers into his damp silver hair.
He purrs as he kisses your lips, a sigh of his satisfaction as he tangles his tongue with yours. You taste yourself still in his mouth. Always so hungry, he is. It makes you wonder… “Aren't you going to beg me to feed, Astarion?”
“Hmm, if the offer is on the table, I’d love nothing more than to sup on… all… that you have to offer…”
He slowly slinks down your body. Your breath quickens, heart racing as he wraps his arms around the backs of your thighs. “Sweet hells, you're going to…”
The lap of his tongue up your seam again unravels you immediately. Your hands fly into his hair, pushing him away and pulling him deeper into your cunt with equal measure. You don’t know which you want more. He’s feeding on you, humming in delighted pleasure as he licks his cum from your folds, his eyes gazing up into your face as you pant and watch. Mesmerized by every dart and swirl of his pink tongue.
He licks his lips, “There is only one thing sweeter than the taste of us,” he purrs, low and deep in his throat, before he laps in a long, wet streak up your thigh. “Your blood, darling, my first living blood, and the last I ever want to drink in the realm…”
Your heart skips a beat, his words sweetening the pain of his bite into your thigh’s supple flesh. “Yes, love, yes,” you feel the wave of your joining… your connection by blood as you now fill him as he has filled you.
“That’s why I call you my sweet, you know… my little treat. None I have tasted… nothing comes close to how your blood sings in my veins like the way your body trembles beneath me.”
He bites you again and again up and down your thigh… little nips of his fangs, making blood drip down the softness of your skin as he licks every tiny trickle.
And all the while, he growls hungrily as he feeds.
It isn’t pain that fills you… not even pleasure. It is pure rapture. Pure bliss that rides up and down your spine. His fingers slowly, languorously curling into your folds, catching on that secret spot just inside that he knows so well.
“You’ve been so generous,” he purrs, letting the low rumbles of his voice shake into your already throbbing folds. “So good to help me through this. Giving me everything.” He glances up from between your thighs, pure wicked delight on his handsome face. “Well, I hope you haven’t given me everything. I think this tainted blood is going to take much, much more before it’s through…”
He pauses his sweet words to circle your clit, sucking it hard in time with the pulsing of those long, cold fingers inside you.
“You will come for me again, won’t you?”
You can’t even get a word in before he builds you to bursting. Driving you to shatter on his hand, under his mouth, as that voracious tongue laps at the arousal that spills from you. Your world spins, nothing but his touch on your skin, his fingers still clenched deep in your cunt.
You’re floating, limp as your muscles flood with warmth and pleasure. Steadied only by the bed at your back and the little sucks of his lips and the wet passes of his tongue over the blood on your thighs.
“Mmm,” he hums as he draws himself up to sit between your outstretched legs. “Every time with you is just perfect. And not just because it’s chasing the devil from my veins, you know…”
He shifts over you, dragging that heavy, cold, unyielding body across your skin. Making you shiver. Spasm. Making you reignite with desire for more of him again and again. That knee… that wicked, provocative knee… it creeps beneath yours to hook you, to spread you wide again as he glides his cock through the mess of your unions already drenching you.
“Seems you still have some of the devil in you, needing to be driven away, hmm?” you flirt, trying to maintain some composure, until he grinds against your already overstimulated folds, your aching clit, reducing you to nothing but moans and spasm.
And he laughs. “Why, my darling, it seems your body is as raging as mine.” His hands stroke against your cheek, fingers teasing their tips into your errant strands of hair that stick to your face. “Why, if I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were the one infected, if I didn’t still have this raging erection needing release…”
You catch him by surprise, buckling your knees around his waist, the wetness of your cunt almost drawing him inside you as you buck against him.
He groans, just a little thrust of his hips and he’s sheathed, so deep and already pulsing with that tainted, blinding need to fuck again.
You giggle, watching his eyes darken, his lids lowering to gaze with all the raging lust in his body upon the one he desires. The only one. As he is yours. You sigh, running your hands up those intricate scars of his back, “I am infected too, you know. Infected by my need for you, perhaps.”
His kiss descends to cover your lips, but it is one of tenderness. Longing. Unsated need softened by the affection that brims in the way he takes you this time.
He is slower, deliberate. Each thrust an offering of adoration for your body. Each drag of his cock inside your folds an expression of his gratitude, his devotion.
His proclamation that you are, in fact, perfect.
Your body rides his, melting into every motion your legs tight around his narrow waist, his arms slinking around your shoulders, pressing your face into the broadness of his shoulder. You gasp against his neck, wrapped in his pleasuring of you, as if you could pull him into your very being more.
That rhythm, that rocking, it begins to sweep you away, binding you to his body. Claiming you for his own. That same fever crawls in his veins as he clutches at you, that tempo increasing harsher. Faster. Until he’s groaning with all his feral drive again.
He pulls out from you, only to slam himself into your cunt, every inch of that long, pulsing length of his filling you to bursting.
He can’t take his eyes off you, raised up in his hands now. His crimson glare consumes your every reaction, every twitch and grin and grimace of painful bliss that he commands from you. Pummeling into you over and over again, your hands claw into his shoulders, slipping down his back to savor the feeling of every undulation of his hips into your core.
“So good… so perfect…” he purrs, ravenous in his gaze, “my only blood… my living blood…” the hard lines of his body ride over every nerve in yours. Your body burns. On fire. Consumed. His words tingle in your ear, caressing your heart that raps in your chest, pattering in time with his merciless thrusts.
It’s brutal, it’s unrelenting.
It’s wonderful. The sliding of his sweat soaked body over yours, your skin flaming and damp. “Hells,” you groan as that thick head of his cock presses and drags over that sweet spot in your channel. “Astarion…” you moan his name, almost incoherent aside from all he is.
“Mmmm darling,” he rasps, “no sweeter sound than my name on your lips… well,” he hums giving you thighs and extra hard slap that squelches with all your sweat and arousal, “aside from the way your body sounds as you take me over and over again so eagerly…”
Your eagerness peaks, your body ripping in two around the rapid plundering inside you. You sputter his name again, a moan that tears from your throat, a scream that makes his handsome face twisting in ecstasy as he rams hardest yet, pulsing and hitching and forcing his eyes to stare as you unravel. Sopping and drenched, the warmth of your fresh slick mingles with his, coating your thighs and his as it seeps from where you couple.
He groans, dropping his weight on you, blanketing you in his scent and sweat and panting frame. He places his damp forehead against your cheek, his cool breath making you shiver as he finally seems to relax. Even if his cock is still hardened and buried inside you.
You feel the rigid planes of his body slipping across yours with every one of your combined breaths. Signing in relief, you relish just how dirty you feel.
How dirty you’ve been.
“Once this has worked its way from your system, you will need to bathe me,” you pant. Your fingers linger and stray through the damp and sweaty curls of silver that stick to his face.
“That can be arranged…” those eyes, that face suddenly twisting again with all the depravity he still has simmering under his skin and in his mind. “Or would you settle for my tongue instead, darling?”
You shake your head, face bright, amused and skeptical. “As if you could accomplish that without bending me over in your state…”
“Mmmm,” he nuzzles against you, tilting his face to run the cold, damp pad of his tongue up your jaw. Laughing as you tremble. “You assume I could accomplish such a feat as resisting your charms without this suffering of tainted blood…”
He slips his cock from inside you, and you moan into his mouth, turning to bring that taunting smirk against your lips. Just for a moment kissing him, before he returns to lapping and caressing your sweat soaked cheek. You sigh with relief, stretching your legs, clenching them together to relieve the throbbing of your muscles.
And this was with that magical healing to sustain you.
You shake your head, in amused, affectionate irritation. Feeling his still erect cock beginning to rub against your hip. His tongue darts across your neck, the unvoiced question in the deliberate lapping and dragging of his fangs on your flushed and pulsing neck.
“For the love, please,” you pant, arching into him with your feverish body, your lust still matching his each time it rises, even as your muscles and marrow scream for reprieve. “Just a bit of rest, love, surely that tainted blood’s hold on you is lessened…”
“But what of your hold on me, hmm?” he rasps into the rapid pulse of your neck. “What if it’s not the succubus whose magic has consumed me, driven me mad and feral, making me no more than a rutting beast…” he gives that low throated giggle. “Your fault, you know, my sweet.”
You breathe heavily, aroused and exhausted in equal measure. “I take full blame,” you laugh weakly, “but it’s only because you’re so beautiful…”
“And witty… and passionate…” he adds a roll of his hips as he utters that last word, grinding that still hardened cock against your side.
“Just… a breath,” you plead. “Just a moment. You don’t seem to be so near death’s door now…”
“I’ll try not to take offense at that barb, given how good you’ve been and how much I’ve fucked you senseless,” he chides.
You laugh again, a bit of a whine in your voice. “Can’t you take care of just one by yourself…”
He murmurs in your ear. “Darling, I’ll take my pleasure from you in every way, in every hole, until this tainted blood is burned up in the blaze of my lust for you,” he groans, “or until I’ve completely exhausted you, leaving you spent and heaving. And then I’ll simply seek my own pleasure just at the sight of you sleeping.”
You stretch, clenching your whole body hoping for that release and rest. If he lets you have it for a moment. “Mmmm, well love, sounds like I’ll really need that bath in the morning any way you come at it…”
He giggles again. Naughty. Dirty. His hand now wrapped firmly around his cock, rubbing for himself, letting it beat against your skin softly. “Oh… I’ll come at it, don’t you fret… darling.”
#astarion smut#astarion x female reader#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarion x f!reader#reader x astarion#fuck or die#sex pollen#but let’s blame the succubus blood#astarion baldurs gate#baldurs gate astarion#baldur’s gate astarion#baldur's gate 3 astarion#bg3 astarion#astarion bg3#astarion#vampire rogue#astarion romance#astarion fanfic#astarion fic#bg3 smut#bg3 spoilers#baldur’s gate iii#baldursgate3#baldurs gate smut#baldur’s gate 3#baldur's gate#baldurs gate 3#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate
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darlin’ i’d wait for you
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (plus platonic Ellie Williams x fem!reader)
Author’s note: Inspired by my real life love for my godchildren. Mis almas, no hay nadie que ame más que tú. Gracias por elegirme.
Summary: “Ten fingers. Ten toes. And even if you had none of them, you’d still be the grandest thing I’ve ever seen.” - Emily Henry, Beach Read aka you and Joel have a baby [3.0k]
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of labor and delivery (nothing graphic), swearing, lots of emotions, fluff
"You need to be resting!" Maria says as you pace the living room with your hands on your hips. Ellie is watching you move from her space in the kitchen, her knee bouncing with anxiety as she sits there.
"You need to find Joel!"
"Tommy's getting him right now. Please, just lay down."
"I'm fine," another contraction ripples through your body, and you grip the back of the couch. "Fuck! I can't believe Joel convinced me to do this again!" You yell. The pain tightens in your lower abdomen, and you drop your head to the cushions, unable to focus on anything else. Strong hands press against the small of your back, applying the perfect counter pressure to your contraction. The tension releases just enough for you to pick your head up and find Maria standing over your shoulder, a knowing look in her eyes. No words need to be exchanged for her to know how grateful you are for her presence.
The contractions have been coming and going since late last night, but you didn't think much of it. They were sporadic and not painful enough to make you think you were in labor. You had false contractions with Jane and expected the same thing with this one, except that these contractions became very real very fast. Joel was already out on patrol when you had Ellie run to Tommy and Maria's for additional help because they were getting so bad. This baby is coming soon.
"Do you have a bag ready to go?" Maria asks as the contraction ends, and you nod, pushing yourself up.
"In our bedroom closet, but it's missing some stuff."
"Okay, tell me what you need, and I'll pack it."
"I can do it."
"Honey, if you walk up those stairs, there's no way you'll make it back down." She says, and you sigh. Reluctantly, you list some last-minute things that need to get thrown in the bag and where they'll be. Maria turns on her heels and sprints up the stairs, ever a woman on a mission. Ellie walks over to you as Maria's figure disappears, standing awkwardly near you as you hold your belly.
"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to scare you." You say, wrapping her in a hug or as much of a hug as you can manage with the baby in between you. She relaxes and lets out a big breath as you rub her back.
"I feel like I should be the one comforting you."
"I've done this before. I know what I'm doing."
"Yeah, but that was before," the fear in her voice rattles you to your core, and you pull away to look at her. Her bottom lip is cracked and bleeding from her teeth worrying at it all morning, and she looks like the scared kid you met in Boston. "You really should be on the way to the hospital."
"As soon as Joel gets here, I'll go, okay?" You say, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. She shakes her head, and you open your mouth to say something more, but the vice grip returns, and you grip her shoulders. Your head bows under the weight of the pain, and you clutch Ellie like a lifeline.
"Okay, they're getting closer together. Maria!" Ellie yells as she holds you upright. You vaguely register Maria rushing down the stairs and telling Ellie something, but you don't have enough energy to listen. Time could've stopped right there, and you would've had no way of knowing. No stab wound, gunshot, or punch even comes close to this pain level. Your breathing is uneven, and you can feel yourself sweating bullets despite the cool August air. You thought you were ready. You thought you knew what to expect after Jane, but this is different. You wonder why you thought you could have another baby as the contraction fades. Maria says your name, and you pick your head up from Ellie's shoulder.
"We need to get you to the hospital right now. Joel will meet us there." She says, but you shake your head, the lump of panic in your throat tightening. Memories of begging your mom, Jane's dad, friends, or anyone to come to the hospital so you wouldn't be alone replay in your head. You were alone and scared and sixteen fucking years old when you had Jane on a stormy Tuesday morning. The nurses looked at you like a kicked puppy and mumbled, "a baby having a baby," under their breaths when they left you to cry alone while holding your newborn.
"No, no, no. Joel's not here yet. I'm not going without him."
"I promise that Tommy will bring him to you. I'm sure they're on their way back now."
"I'm not going by myself!" The harshness in your tone makes everybody in the room pause. "I've already done this alone once, and I'm not fucking doing it again. So, we are going to wait for Joel even if I have this baby on the fucking floor! Do you understand me?"
"Hey," Ellie says softly. "Hey, you're not alone. At all. We're all here because we love you and want you to be safe. Nobody is going to leave, okay?" She says, rubbing your back as tears fill your eyes.
"I can't do this." without her, you want to add, but you don't. Ellie pushes the sweaty hair out of your eyes and holds your face so you can look at her. Your breath is shaky, and you feel like you could shatter into a million pieces, but her brown eyes are looking into yours so intently that you have no choice but to look back.
"You can. You can do this. You're doing so good. You're going to have this baby, and it'll probably be the cutest fucking baby ever. And we'll all make stupid faces at it and love it even though I don't even think I like most babies, and you'll be okay. Both of you," her eyes don't move from yours as she speaks, even when you start crying. "You're not alone, but I can tell you're in pain, and we need to get to the hospital before it gets worse, okay?" She asks, and you take a shaky breath before nodding. Ellie and Maria seem to let out sighs of relief at the same time, and they start ushering you to the door when it opens.
"I'm here! I'm here! I'm sorry I'm late," Joel yells as he and Tommy run in. He smiles and runs over and kisses you. You have half a mind to smack him for looking so giddy when you're in so much pain, but let him kiss you anyway. "You ready to have a baby?" He asks as another contraction tightens in your stomach, making you squeeze him tightly. You don't get to see your family scrambling to get out the door, but you feel it. Bags and coats find owners as your entourage helps support you down the steps of your home and on the path to the hospital.
Four contractions come and go on the way to the hospital doors, where Maria, Tommy, and Ellie cheer and promise to wait there until you're ready for them. "Almost there, baby. We're gonna get you all the good drugs, okay?" Joel tells you quietly as he flags down a nurse and a wheelchair for you. The nurse asks rapid-fire questions as she rushes you into a delivery room, and Joel does his best to answer them. You curl into yourself the second your body hits the hospital bed, yet another contraction hitting you, but this time with a familiar splitting pain. You're not going to have time for the good drugs.
The rest is a blur of doctors, nurses, questions, and Joel whispering praises into your temple. Your vision struggles to focus on anything as pain radiates from your hips to your back and up your spine. It's excruciating and dizzying, and you think you'd throw up if you weren't so focused on getting this fucking kid out. "One more, baby. One more push, and then it's over." Joel tells you. You don't respond. You can't. All the blood rushes through your ears, and you squeeze his hand hard. For a moment, the whole world stops, and tears fall down Joel's face as the tiny baby is placed on your chest. You gasp and hold them close as they screech, announcing their arrival loudly.
"It's a girl!" Someone announces, and you laugh weakly, struggling to catch your breath. You look down at your daughter and kiss her head as she continues to cry.
"You're okay. I've got you. We're okay, sweetheart. You're safe," you tell her, rubbing her back. Joel reaches out to trace the apple of her cheek and grabs her tiny hand. You and Joel join her crying, everything besides your family becoming obsolete. Joel presses a chaste kiss to your lips and smiles when you laugh against him. "I told you so." You say, and he laughs.
"You were right," he says. "I'm so proud of you." He kisses you again as your daughter cries beautifully on your chest. Jane didn't cry at first when she was born, effectively scaring the shit out of you and everyone else in the room, but when she finally did, it was like you were breathing for the first time, too. You think this may be the first time since her death that you've felt that much peace.
Joel cuts the cord, and the room devolves into a controlled madness with nurses and doctors calling things back and forth to each other. You don't care. The little girl on your chest has settled down and tucked her head under your chin, listening to your rapid heartbeat and recognizing the pattern. "We're right here, baby girl. We're not going anywhere, okay?" You whisper to her, kissing her over and over again. She smiles, and you immediately recognize Joel's crooked smile— nine months of carrying her and a record-breakingly fast delivery for her to be his twin.
"Mama, we're gonna take her to get cleaned up and get her measurements, okay? The doctor's working on getting you fixed up, too." A nurse says, and you nod.
"Just be careful, please. I made her from scratch, and it took a really fucking long time." You say as you pass her to the nurse. Everyone, including Joel, laughs even though you're serious. Joel leaves your side only to follow the nurse to the other side of the room, watching her every movement meticulously. You keep eyes on both of them. She starts fussing as the nurse cleans her up, and Joel reaches out to smooth her hair. He says something to her that you can't hear and watch him start crying again. She settles down again, but Joel is a mess. The nurse offers him a tissue, and you laugh to yourself but don't do anything to get his attention.
Let them have their secret conversation. You have a feeling it will be the first of many.
She's asleep, but you can't stop looking at her. Joel is lying in the hospital bed with you as she rests in his arms, your chin hooked over his shoulder so you can stare at her. The little girl who gave you enough excitement for a lifetime is bundled up in a white blanket with a striped hat covering her dark hair. Her legs are long and skinny, but she's strong, grasping anything within reach.
She has his nose and lips, but your eyes match. Her little chest rises and falls steadily, and little sighs come from her occasionally as she sleeps. Her hand somehow escaped the swaddle, and her fingers flex around the blanket's fabric like she's trying to decide whether she likes it. Joel reaches for her tiny hand and tries to tuck it away again, but she resists, making an angry face until he lets go. You laugh and melt simultaneously at her actions.
"She's perfect," you whisper as you kiss Joel's shoulder. He hums and turns to kiss your temple. "How did we get so lucky?"
"I've no idea," he whispers back. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Her. This. Making me a dad again." His voice is so tender and raw that your eyes mist up again. You sniffle and wipe your eyes.
"Anytime, cowboy," you rest your hand on her chest to feel the little heartbeat you made from nothing but stardust and blood. Her face scrunches up in her sleep before her little fingers find yours. "Well, maybe not anytime, but you know what I meant."
"Oh, 'm ready for another one right now."
"Never in a million fucking years could you convince me to do that again."
"You did great." He says, and you smile. You're both exhausted and should be sleeping, but you can't stop looking at the life you created together. She's not even a day old, and you know you would tear the world into a thousand pieces if she asked you to. You would do anything for her.
"D'you still like the name we picked?" You ask, and he nods.
"Do you?"
"I think it's perfect for her."
"Hey, guys," a nurse peeks her head in the door. "Are we ready for some visitors?" She asks. You nod, and Joel adjusts baby girl in his arms. Her little arm reaches up in a stretch, and she fusses when she loses the grip on your hand. You tell her you're not far, and Joel bounces her.
"Hey," Ellie says softly as she enters the room. You smile and sit up, ignoring the jarring pain in your hips at the movement. "Oh, my God. How are you feeling?" She asks as she hugs you like she's afraid she'll break you if she holds you too tight. You rub her back and kiss her head.
"I'm okay. I delivered pretty much the second they could get me to lay down."
"I knew we should've gone to the hospital sooner!" Ellie says, and Joel shushes her. She makes an eek face as she looks at him.
"A baby's tryin' to sleep here."
"Holy shit," she breathes, taking in the bundle in Joel's arms for the first time. "Girl or boy?"
"I'm pretty sure the Millers are only capable of having girls at this point," you say, and Ellie smiles. "Do you wanna hold her?"
"Can I?" She asks as Joel stands. She's unsure what to do but copies Joel's position and puts a hand under her back.
"Support her head," Joel instructs quietly as he carefully transitions your daughter into Ellie's arms.
"I got it. I got it," she says. Instinctively, she starts swaying back and forth and patting the baby's back. Joel stays nearby, watching as Ellie gets comfortable holding her. Your heart could explode seeing the three of them together. "Who are you?" She asks quietly, pulling the blanket under the baby's chin so she can see her.
"This is Charlotte Elaine Miller," you say. "Charlie, for short."
"Hey there, Charlie girl. My name's Ellie."
"She's your big sister." Joel adds. Even though he's talking to Charlie, he's looking at Ellie. She takes a shaky breath as she processes his words. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and kisses her forehead.
"I'm one of your big sisters," she says. The pregnancy hormones and the day's emotions catch up with you, and you couldn’t stop the tears even if you wanted to. Something about seeing Ellie with Charlie hits you hard. "I've got so much to teach you and tell you about when you're a little bigger, though. There's not much I can do with you right now except, well, this," She shrugs as if to make her point to the sleeping baby, and you laugh. Charlie stretches again, probably getting used to having so much room now that she's out of you, and yawns. "Oh, big yawn. Good job." Ellie praises.
"You're a natural," Joel says, making her smile.
"I dunno about that, but she does like me. Right, Charlie girl?" she asks, and the Charlie girl in question chuffs. "Oh, we're gonna have so much fun together." She says sincerely. Joel meets your eyes, sending you a knowing look and a crooked smile, and you smile back a little sadly. He works at his jaw, and his Adam's apple bobs as his eyes sparkle with tears again. No words need to be exchanged. You know. You may be one of the only people who know. Ellie rambles to Charlie, ever the present audience, and you remember, silent and pious in your devotion.
You think you'll spend your whole life remembering, a constant scramble for pieces of memories that bring her closer. You think you'll find bits of her in music, the summer sun, and your girls' eyes. You think you'll tell Charlie of her big sisters, who were loved and cherished beyond belief, and their shared adoration of Patti Smith. You think you'll be able to find a way to talk about her that doesn't feel like your soul is desperately ripping away from you. For Sarah, Jane, Ellie, and now Charlie, you think you would do anything.
Even after so much loss, destruction, and nights spent hopelessly staring at the wall like it would be enough to start Jane's heart again, you think you would do it all again. The world can be a really shitty place, and you've seen firsthand how horrible people can be to each other. You and Joel have been a million different versions of awful people, and you can never escape that. But you have Ellie and Charlie. And each other. And for a moment, in this horribly lit hospital room, every minute of that misery has meaning.
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taglist: @evyiione @nyotamalfoy @abbyhaslongshorts
#the last of us#joel and ellie#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller fic#the last of us x reader#joel tlou#ellie williams#joel miller the last of us#joel miller fluff#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x pregnant reader#big sister Ellie Williams#there’s such an Easter egg in the baby’s name#first person to look up the name meanings gets a kiss on the mouth#look for the light
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Real Talk.
Warning: the following post contains mature themes and references to drug overdose, death, and Fentanyl.
For the record, what I'm about to say in regards to NARCAN has nothing to do with me standing on a soapbox. Instead, I'm asking that people do what they can to educate themselves on the importance and necessity of this life-saving drug.
And I'll start by telling you a story:
This morning, I went to check on my roommate who lives on the floor above me. She had asked me to make sure she didn't sleep through her many alarms like she always did so that she could make it to work on time. She's a server at a steakhouse chain - and a damn good one at that.
She's also my friend. A friend who, just like myself, is nearly nine months sober.
Except this morning when I knocked on her door, she didn't answer. And when I opened the door and peeked in her room she appeared to be fast asleep. But she was half naked, and the fan she had borrowed from me the night before was set to full blast. Even though it was cold outside.
Her room was like an ice box. And she was so pale. And no matter how loud I said her name, she wouldn't open her eyes and look at me.
She wouldn't wake up.
So I poked her in the shoulder. I shook her. I yelled her name. And then I realized her lips were blue. Her body was stiff. And she was cold to the touch.
The only sound she could make was that of a low, almost eerie groan. If I'm being honest, it's a sound that I'd never quite heard before. And I don't want to ever hear it again.
What I would come to realize seconds later was that my friend had overdosed on Fentanyl. Possibly a few hours earlier. Which meant she was fucking dying.
I panicked, of course. Because I'm an alcoholic. I've never touched Heroin, let alone witnessed an overdose. I know what to do if someone was suffering from, say, alcohol poisoning...but this...this was brand new territory.
Because with Fentanyl, seconds fucking matter.
I sprinted to wake up another girl. Seconds later we were back with our friend where our worst fear was absolutely confirmed.
Fentanyl Overdose.
I'd never fucking seen this. Never. But we didn't have time to fall apart because from there we dashed down the stairs. She went straight for the NARCAN and I went for my phone to call 911.
Less than a minute later, she and I were back in our friend's room to administer the NARCAN, only for us to realize that she wasn't breathing anymore.
By this point, another one of my housemates had joined us as well. And the others were soon to follow. While I was on the phone relaying instructions from the dispatcher on how to revive our friend, the others were moving her limp body to the floor.
They were doing chest compressions. Two were racing to find more NARCAN stashed in someone's glove compartment. And then another was directing EMS on where to go in the house.
It was a team effort to make sure this girl fucking lived. We could yell at her for this tomorrow. But for now, all we cared about was her living today.
I had never been through this. But as much as I hate to say this, today I was grateful that there were others in the house who had been through this before. For those who knew how to administer NARCAN.
In total, we administered something like 28 milligrams to bring her back. Which is a lot. A cop may have mumbled out something about us not waiting long enough in between doses to see if we'd given her enough before administering another. But he can go kick rocks.
Because we did the best we could all while running on straight adrenaline and doing everything we could to save someone while not falling apart in the process.
In the end, what matters is that she woke up. She was in pain. And very ill. And has since been admitted to the hospital.
Now the rest of us are left to deal with the tears and the adrenaline comedown, along with the guilt of all the signs we may or may not have missed. And that is really fucking shitty. I am so mad at my friend.
But at the same time, I love her so damn much. And I'm grateful that I will hopefully have the opportunity to share all these feelings with her one day soon.
She was fucking lucky. And so were we.
I'm grateful we found her in-time - because the paramedics made it very clear that we cut it real close. I'm grateful I live with people who found it in them to unite to save someone's life.
I'm grateful for NARCAN.
And beyond that, I'm grateful that I now know what to do with it. I never completely comprehended the weight of its importance until today. I didn't quite understand why my friend kept a stash of it in her glove compartment when she had no intentions of getting high anymore.
But today that stash saved her life. I'm begging you, if you have a loved one who suffers from this disease, please consider keeping this life-saving drug within reach.
Read up about it. Talk about it. Even if it makes you uncomfortable. Even if you can't fathom why someone would think of or want to use. Even if the idea of having to use it scares you.
I'm sure if it ever came down to it, you would rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it. Wouldn't you?
I've come to learn that many people who relapse, even after months of serious sobriety, don't plan it. It just happens. Impulsivity is a deadly part of this disease. One lapse in judgement - just one - could very well mean death.
It's really that serious.
Because with this disease, you're always guaranteed another relapse. But you're never guaranteed another recovery.
Thanks to NARCAN, my friend will have another shot.
That's all I've got for now, guys and gals. I'd be lying if I said we weren't all emotional wrecks over here. But it's all gonna be okay.
And finally, but most importantly: if you're struggling with anything, be it addiction or mental health, there is no shame in asking for help. Not now. Not ever. We're all human. We all need love.
We all deserve support to overcome our darkest of days.
Love,
Britt
#britt's notes#addiction#sobriety#drug overdose#sobriety journey#narcan#substance abuse#today was a hard day#i love you all
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an arm's length | kim taerae
pairing: taerae x reader
genre: angst, fluff
word count: 951
warnings: some minor swearing. lowercase intended, not proofread
notes: loooooove me some angst into fluff. i feel like this is still kinda rough but i got a couple angst with a fluff ending requests for taerae so i thought i'd fulfill those :D i hope u all enjoy <3
close, but not close enough to burn. that was your rule. never let anyone close enough to burn you, don't let yourself get hurt. you had lived by those words for as long as you could remember, and you were pretty good at sticking to them; until kim taerae came along. and now you find yourself basking in the warmth, not worrying about the flames.
that would be your downfall, you just knew it. but you couldn't help it, couldn't help but getting close. keeping an arm's length turned into keeping yourself in his arms, and you didn't know how to handle it. didn't know how to go back to being cold.
sure, the two of you weren't anything official. nothing more than two friends.
two friends who kissed behind closed doors. two friends who fell asleep together more often than not. two friends who danced around the word love as if it would suddenly make everything too real, too fast. as if it would ignite and burn everything you had done, just like it burnt the walls you had built up.
even just the thought of love, the prospect of it all; of loving him, and the potential of him loving you back. the feeling tore at the walls of your heart brick by brick. years of hard work crumbling before your very eyes.
you were falling, you knew that. whether you meant for him, or falling apart, nobody would ever know. was there even really a difference?
fight or flight. a human's innate response to dealing with a threat. even if that threat was on your heart. and what would save you from falling? flying.
so you couldn't have been too surprised at the pounding at the door one night, opening the door slowly to reveal a disheveled and worried taerae. the one who had shown you what it meant to love, who made you face the fear of falling.
taerae was looking how you were feeling; a mess. out of breath from presumably running up the stairs to your front door, hair disheveled and glasses askew on his face.
"i have't heard from you in days," he panted out, "and when i tried to call you it wouldn't even ring through, i thought something happened." his voice was laced with worry, and you couldn't stop your heart from beating out of your chest. he cared. he really cared.
you opened the door wider, ushering him inside to take a seat in the familiar living room. "sorry about that," you muttered, remembering why you were ignoring him in the first place, "my phone's been dead and i just forgot to charge it." only a partial lie. your phone really was dead, but not for the last week or so that you hadn't messaged him.
"that's bullshit and you know it," he shook his head, "just talk to me."
talking. easier said than done with a heart seemingly beating in your throat. it didn't leave much room for the words to push past, now did it?
sitting opposite of him on the couch, the two of you sat in silence. the tension was so thick you felt like you were choking on it, trying not to breathe it in; your chest tightened, clawing for a breath of air. and so, you stopped holding your breath. you let yourself be vulnerable, even for a moment.
"i'm scared," you breathed out, not knowing what else to say. you hadn't thought this far ahead, but the softened eyes and small, urging smile seemed to help the words form.
"i just," another deep breath, "i'm scared because, i've never felt this way about someone. i've never let myself be vulnerable, and it's terrifying." you don't know when his hand found it's way to yours, but you were thankful for it, for the way it tethered you back to the earth and away from your mind. "i love what we are, and i want it, want you, permanently. but i can't get past the voice in the back of my head saying that i'm going to ruin it, or that i'm gonna get hurt again."
you felt like you were running out of breath, taking a moment for another inhale and exhale before letting the words continue to spill.
"kim taerae, i don't know how you did it but you got past the walls that i had built up, the ones meant to keep you out, meant to keep my feelings locked away. and now you're here, and i want you here," you choked on the tears now rolling down your face, "but i'm scared."
taerae gently lifted his free hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks, looking at you with more fondness than you were even sure was possible. "i'm scared too y/n," he pressed his lips together, "every day i am terrified that maybe you don't want me beyond our bedroom doors, that beyond the threshold, i'm just another friendly face to you."
he lightly squeezed your hand as the tears threatened to spill from his own eyes. how long had his eyes been so glossy? so full of stars, and yet so full of the fear of a sky without them.
he took a moment to collect himself, now holding both of your hands in his. "but it's a lot less scary alone," he smiled gently, "you don't have to be scared alone, not anymore"
the tears had begun rolling again as you leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his lips, feeling his own tears on your cheeks, mixing with your own.
maybe falling wasn't so bad, as long as you had a partner to do it with.
#zerobaseone#zerobaseonefics#boys planet#boys planet fics#boys planet imagines#boys planet reactions#kpop#boys planet drabbles#zb1#zb1 x reader#zb1 imagines#kim taerae imagines
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fear of the inky blackness of night or whatever
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Finally! A stupid and incoherent one!!!!
I still don't even know what this one is or what the point of it is, it was definitely one of those where I just started writing with zero real ideas. However despite all of THAT, I like it a lot, it's a different Eddie voice than I usually write and maybe is closer to his canon voice than I usually do?
(CWs: maybe home invasion and general fear? everything's fine I swear)
rated T maybe? and it's Steddie! And it starts from the beginning of the fic
So when Eddie walks into his room, as he does, you know, like a person will just walk into the room he sleeps in, bed and dresser and guitars and all, he doesn't expect there to just be…
A fucking guy in there.
It's dim, the light from the hallway not illuminating that shit enough for him to see more than just the shadows of whoever this guy is, but maybe he doesn't need to see who it is if he judges by how fucking fast his heart rate kicks up.
He gives a brave little choked off scream and scrambles back down the hallway, grabbing his shoes on his way out the front door, not bothering to put them on as he bolts towards his van-
-And runs right into the car parked right in the way, close enough to the trailer to be an unexpected nuisance, an absolute fucking monster of a hurdle towards his safety. And now he's partially flattened over the hood of this parked car like he'd run out into a busy street, groaning at what will become bruises on his legs.
He peels himself back up to his feet and glares at the car, biting back a hiss of annoyance, not worked up enough yet to start making animal sounds about it.
The fucking car is Steve's.
Fucking Steve, and his fucking car, and parking it so fucking close to their front steps that he didn't even notice it despite it being as wide as the gravel driveway. Eddie always parks just to the side of it, and his Uncle usually parks closer to the end of it, and so Steve really should've gotten with the program and parked somewhere else.
Steve, whose car Eddie does secretly hope has no fucking dents in it, dithers at the doorway to the trailer, shifting on his feet enough to make creaky noises that get Eddie's flight response back online as he whips around, already walking backwards towards his van.
"Uh, are you okay?" Steve asks, a lost puppy frown on his face that Eddie usually can't get enough of.
Eddie gestures at him, shoes flinging around violently by their laces as he draws a line between the front door and Steve's car, making sounds of frustration that are probably super easy for Steve to decipher.
"…Right," Steve says, shrugging as he heads back into the trailer, casual, as if there wasn't a reason why Eddie ran out.
Oh God, Steve's going to run right into the shadow guy.
"Come back here!" Eddie yells, halfway up the stairs to the door before he gets cold feet. "I swear to fucking god Harrington!"
Steve just turns at his own leisure, tilting his head at him with another look of confusion that on a better day Eddie could eat right up with a fork and knife.
"When you chill out maybe you can tell me what you're upset about," he says, pulling the same shit he does with the kids, his hands propped up on his hips and everything.
Infuriating to be treated like he's fifteen and not a whole half a year older than Steve.
"Fine! Get serial murdered by the shadow guy in my room!" He yells, stomping off back down the stairs. His stomps turn into gingerly crossing the gravel under his socks pretty quickly, but he makes it to the worn grass by his van and flings the driver's side open.
He's just hauling himself up into the seat when Steve comes out, politely shutting the screen door behind himself and heading over at such a sedate pace that he wonders if he's burnt out the ability to feel fear or not.
He stops in front of Eddie, - standing in a way that looks cool and had to have been practiced at some point, nobody just stands and looks cool without even leaning on anything - and tucks his hands into his back pockets.
"Munson," he says, getting back at Eddie's last name crime with one of his own. "What did this shadow guy look like?"
Eddie squints at him, glaring at his face and his broad shoulders and the way his jeans are pulled just a little bit tighter across his hips with his hands taking up valuable real estate in the back.
"How am I supposed to know that? It was dark, he was some guy, and he was looming in the shadows of my room," he says, tossing his shoes in the passenger seat so he can cross his arms.
Steve nods, looking serious for all of three seconds before he cracks, a smile breaking out over his face.
"Well, sorry man. I didn't see him while I was looming in the shadows of your room, so I must have just missed him."
Eddie's glad he doesn't have anything in his hands anymore, or he thinks he would've thrown his shoes through Steve's face, though the bastard probably could catch them with his jock superpowers.
"Asshole," he hisses instead, pointing at him. "Why the hell were you just standing there in the dark?"
Steve shrugs, licking his bottom lip as he thinks. It should look stupid, and it totally does, the way his tongue presses into it as his lip curls back over his teeth. An awkward thing for a face to do, absolutely, and even more awkward when Steve does it.
"I was like, doing that thing. Exposure therapy," he says, rocking back and forth on his feet. So casual. "I'm trying to get used to the dark again and I didn't want to do it alone in my house."
Eddie wants to call bullshit, but it sounds both weird and smart enough for it to be a Steve original, though he knows he wouldn't have said it was a good idea if anybody else asked him.
"So you did it alone in my house instead?" He asks, grabbing his shoes. Time to go back inside, he supposes.
"Well, yeah. It's like, not haunted, probably. And you were on your way home," Steve shrugs, backing up a step as Eddie hops out of his van.
He slams the door shut a little hard just to try to get some of his adrenaline out, taking a few tries to get the key in to lock it properly, trying not to think about how he forgot to lock it the first time.
Nothing like getting the life scared out of you to remind you about the safety of your noble mechanical steed.
"Right, I guess if you really want it to, that can make sense," he says, heading back up the driveway once again. "However, you could've fucking warned a guy!"
Steve laughs as he follows behind him, something hearty and nice that helps settle Eddie's nerves a bit. He still wants to punch something or go climb a tree and hide up there for a few hours, but he tamps it down as he tosses his shoes by the front door and heads back to his room, letting Steve lock up the doors behind them.
"I could've, yeah. I just didn't think you'd get scared," Steve's saying, and Eddie wants to call him selfish for it but the problem is that Steve still thinks Eddie is brave, despite… literally everything.
"Next time just tell me," he says, starting to peel off his clothes on his way to his room. "I'm going to take a shower, go ahead and hide in the dark recesses of my lair and try not to get eaten by old socks or whatever."
Steve's laugh is a little strangled this time and Eddie hopes that he doesn't think his socks have been living on the floor for so long that they're actually sentient. He's moved recently, after all. These are new old floor socks.
He drops the contents of his pockets on the bathroom counter and keeps his boxers on to come back out, stuffing the rest of his clothes into the hamper by their new washer-dryer combo, fully aware of Steve's ability to see him in all his pasty, bitten up glory, not willing to add even more to that at the moment.
"Also think about what you want to eat for supper, and if it's like, not in the pantry, think about how you'd like to acquire it," he says, glancing back at Steve who's looking a little pink around the edges.
It's cute, in a completely different way than his lost puppy looks, and so Eddie just gets a fucking move on and gets into the bathroom before he starts blushing right back at him.
--
He should've been prepared for it, when he got out of the shower, heard absolutely nothing, and went about drying off. Humming under his breath to fill the silence as he combed his hair and put weird cream over his scars and wrapped his towel securely around his waist.
The stillness in the trailer as he opened the door, finding even more lights turned off than earlier, now just a lamp in the living room and the light over the stove top illuminating the place enough for him to see.
Things he didn't bother noticing or acknowledging until he got to his dark room and let the door creak open, revealing the shadowy figure of the same fucking guy standing in his room.
He caught himself just before he bolted again, this time for some kind of weapon instead of the front door, hands clenching around his door frame as he forced himself to speak.
"Steve?" He asks, voice barely making it past his throat.
"Hmm?" Steve replies, the shadow tilting it's head. "Oh, right."
A light flicks on and there's Steve, just standing in the middle of Eddie's room again.
"I ordered a pizza, I hope that's cool," he says, moving aside to let Eddie get to his dresser.
"Yeah, totally cool," Eddie replies absently, waiting on his heart to stop fucking pounding in his throat before he goes to get dressed. He feels Steve's gaze on him as he valiantly ignores him and the shiver that goes up his spine.
Steve turns while he gets dressed, which is kind, since it means he doesn't have to give away his nervousness and ask him to like close his eyes or something. It also lets him cycle through blushing way too hard for the situation and back down, only his ears still feeling hot as he makes sure they're covered by his hair.
"I scared you again, didn't I?" Steve asks, poking at a poster on his wall. It's a little wrinkled, salvaged from the old place, but it suits the rest of the room.
"You sure fucking did," Eddie mutters, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. "Though I don't know what I was expecting, considering you're becoming more of a freak than I am."
Steve laughs and Eddie finishes getting dressed, torn between wanting to throw something at him and wanting to tackle him onto his bed to swallow his amusement right down.
"How about we leave my blood pressure alone for the rest of the night, huh?" He asks, heading out of the room to the living room.
#chats from the abyss#fun things#griefabyss69 writing#thanks for asking about this one!!! I forgot that I actually like it and don't hate it LMAO
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CHAPTER 7!
A Child and A Mother
------------------------------------
In the night, you awaken to complete darkness. Considering you see very well in low light conditions, thanks to your quirk, it's rather alarming. But you feel warm as if there was heat coursing through the home. Then you remember there was supposed to be another body in the bed. You fumble your hand in the darkness, feeling the empty spot where Bakugo should have been.
"Huh. Must not have gotten very much sleep."
You pull yourself from the bed and wobble from the sudden rush to your head. "Aaand I got up to fast." you hum to yourself. "Bakugo must be downstairs."
You make your way down slowly, still trying to wake up and dragging your hand along the wall for support in the darkness.
At the bottom of the stairs, you see Bakugo sitting on the couch, a blue glow illuminating his face from the TV.
"Woah, how long have we had power here?" you ask.
"Hey, sleepyhead. It kicked back on maybe an hour ago. I didn't want to wake you. I just came down to check the news when I noticed it." he held out his arm, inviting you to sit next to him.
"Oh. You know you need to take it easy, right? You've barely been alive for a month. We don't exactly have a handbook on how much you should be pushing yourself right now." You sat and rested your head on his shoulder as you mindlessly watched the screen.
"Tsk. Says you? How many times have you patrolled the neighborhood this week? How many supply runs have you secretly gone on without me, huh? You're just as stubborn as I am." his voice was scolding, but the smirk on his face told you how proud he was to be with someone as driven as him.
"Shut uuup. Those people need our help. And unlike you, I've always been alive. And I know my limits, thank you very much." you stuck out your tongue as he flicked your forehead.
"I know," he conceded, "But anyway, on to more important matters, eh? Are you hungry?" his lips pecked the small red mark he left on you, then he got up, heading to the kitchen. "I've got some, only slightly, expired pancake mix with your name on it."
"Yum, my favorite!" you roll your eyes, grinning.
"I know, that's--- hey, what's this?" Bakugo cuts himself short to stare at the mess on the floor.
You turn your head from the couch and see the large puddle of deep red, almost black substance on the ground. Bakugou stands over it, illuminated by the TV, and deep shadows engulf his face.
"Oh, I thought that was your blood?"
"No, it's not mine."
"Then who is it?" you ask. You stand from the couch, and when you turn around to get a better look at the floor, you can see the mass moving. You watch as the blood slithers and swirls around Bakugo until finally it crawls up his body and begins entering his now-empty eye sockets. The blood looks like a running river of tears going in reverse and you stand there, unable to move even when you try.
"It's my moms." he finally says. His body is decayed and green. His hair is matted and black at the roots, like how it was when you first met him. He isn't human anymore.
"It's my mom's, and I killed her."
Your eyes opened, and you've awoken once again. This time, there is light coming in from the second-story window that sits on the wall next to the bed. You're frozen in fear and covered in a layer of sweat. You take a moment to realize it was only a dream. But the instant memory of the first one hits you. The dream of Bakugo needing your help turned out to be real, leading you to fear the worse of this new dream.
Bakugo turned and then killed his mother. That was the blood downstairs? If he killed her, his flesh and blood, what chance did you have of saving him and not being eaten yourself? It was already a fear you battled with most days but it was the first time the weight had finally settled in the pit of your stomach. This was too much pressure for just one person to handle. And you of all people? Before meeting this blonde Dead, you stuck to your paths of safety. Now you were doing the most dangerous thing of all, lying across from one, practically in the arms of danger.
You could feel him still there, his weight on the bed causing the smallest divot in the mattress. Inclined almost enough that you could fall back into him if your body wasn't stiffened with anxiety.
You got up as slowly and as quietly as you could, turning to make sure he was still asleep or meditating, or hybernating? Whatever it was that he did to shut his unliving body down for rest.
You needed a moment.
You silently crept from the house and inhaled the crisp morning air outside.
"What am I doing? Who do I think I am? Why did I think I could do this!?"
The back and forth in your mind was stifling. You needed to go for a walk. By choosing the alleyway, you could take comfort in not being exposed and out in the open. It was easy enough to use your quirk, but you didn't want to. You just needed some moment of normality. A time before the Dead, before the dangers of the world, before the need to hide.
You promised you would help Bakugo. And you still wanted to, but the reality of how difficult that could be was creeping up on you.
What was that dream? What parts of it should you even think about? The fact that you're pretty sure that blood belongs to his mother, or maybe that you two were.... like... A THING? in your dream?
You shook your head. It wasn't real. The idea of a relationship during the apocalypse seemed the most trivial thing imaginable.
Considering it was just a dream, the possibilities it created in your mind were endless.
Before long, the walk came to an end. You were so lost in thought that you hadn't noticed you'd gone down a no-outlet street. You turned in a hurry to double back.
A rustling noise came from the nearest dumpster to your left, so you activated your quirk and waited before continuing. Out of the pile of garbage fumbled a body. It shuffled to its feet and took a few steps where you had last been seen before realizing there was no longer anyone there. Its groan sounded confused and desperate as it reached out into thin air. You took a few steps back to stay completely out of reach but he seemed persistent. He must have been able to scent you out just enough as Bakugo did, though perhaps far less accurately.
You would have considered the chainlink fence to your right, making too much noise as you try to make it over it, or you could have considered the crumbling wall of an old house to your left, the chance of a firm grip, not the most promising. But, instead, you hadn't time to consider any of that when a furious firey-eyed beast came barreling down the alleyway towards you both.
Surprisingly, your first thought was how much trouble you were in. But more in the way of how a child gets in trouble with a parent after coming home after curfew.
Your second thought was how he was absolutely coming to kill the Dead that now slowly turned towards all the noise he was making.
Your third and final thought was how stupid it was that you instinctively put yourself between Bakugo and the Dead, revealing yourself in the process.
Very smart. Yup, save the Dead guy that is about to chomp down into your neck from behind.
You came between the two just before Bakugo was able to slam his sizzling fist into the Dead's droopy face.
His reflexes may not have been what they used to be, but you noticed the improvement in them over the past few days. He slowed his arm and diverted it away from you, just over your shoulder. You could hear it connect with a pop.
"No!" you cried. You turned your head to check the damage to the Dead, surprised to see that instead of a shattering punch Bakugo instead had an open palm wedged between a struggling set of teeth. The pop you heard must have been the jaw opening wide enough to accommodate the intrusion.
Bakugo held the skull steady as his palm built up heat.
"Stop. Please. Please don't do this." you grabbed his arm gently, pleading with him.
"Danger." he seethed, true anger in his eyes, and not the kind he carried with him on a regular day.
"I know. I know, but he doesn't deserve it. The same way you don't. Please. Don't be the monster."
His brows twitched at the word Monster.
He pushed the Dead back, far enough out of your reach. He fumbled to the ground but kept his eyes on you. There was some small shift in them, you thought, but it must have been imagined.
You two didn't stick around, knowing if the Dead attempted to approach you again, Bakugo would have no choice but to do things his way.
You both sat in silence a while back at his old home.
"Thank you." you finally managed to say. "Thank you for not killing him."
"I'm not..." his voice cracked as you listened intently.
" 'M not... monster."
"Blood. Not mine." his eyes flickered to the spot on the floor just past him.
"I know. It's your mother's, isn't it?" you already knew.
His face scrunched up in pain. A memory he couldn't forget.
"What happened to her, Bakugo?" you were desperate for the answer.
"She became Dead... She attack. I was strong, but not enough for her. She bite. She's gone."
It was the most he'd ever attempted to talk. But you understood all of it.
To see his mother become one of these things. He wasn't strong enough to stop her because he loved her. He couldn't kill her until it was too late for him.
You got up and stood over him where he sat. You ran a hand through his now soft locks and leaned down, placing a kiss on his forehead. You held him a moment. His deep breaths getting lost in the fabric of your shirt.
"I think we can help the others. There are more like you. Will you help me?"
He leaned away to look up into your eyes, before nodding, "Yes."
#bakugou x you#bakugou x reader#bakugo katuski#mha zombie#Bakugo zombie#warm bodies type of story#mha au#bakugo x reader#my hero academia#bakugou katsuki#bakugou katuski x reader#zombie au#zombie fic#bakugou is dead but not#AU#uuuh how does one make tags#Zombie bakugou#bakugou needs help#fantasy romance#bakugou love story
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🤰💖 Van had always been extra affectionate around Christmas. He would make the effort to hang mistletoe everywhere so you couldn’t deny him a proper snog. He’d hang it in doorways, on the fridge, in the car, above the bed, the toilet and more. You name it, there was mistletoe.
“Daddy’s snogged you 64 times today mummy.” Grace would groan. “I want a boyfriend for Christmas”. Van always feared his kids growing up too fast. Every second of their childhood he could hold onto he took advantage of. “No boyfriends till you’re 16. You’re all mine till then” Van would state. Grace would March towards Van keeping eye contact with him. “I want a boyfriend!” she’d exclaim again, making a grumpy face at him while she sat in his lap. He’d give her a forehead kiss and brush her hair with his fingers. He had found that helped her silently calm down whenever she was frustrated. “Why do grownups get to do everything? It’s not fair”.
“Mmm, boyfriends aren’t always good sweetheart. Mummy can tell you all my bad behaviour before we got married. Mummy set me straight after a big argument when she left me in Italy all alone. Realised that night I couldn’t live without mum and needed to change”. “3 months later daddy gave me a ring and asked me to marry him. I love our little family so much. Can’t imagine life without you three” you’d smile at Van then turn to the Grace. “Fell madly in love with daddy when he listened and treated me well. Not all boys will. It’s important to find someone who loves you just as much as we do”. “Daddy’s still naughty sometimes. I don’t want a naughty boyfriend” Grace would state softly. “Maybe I’ll get a well behaved boyfriend” she’d joke as you and Van would give off a mild chuckle for being so persistent.
That night, Van had to go to the studio to finish tracking guitars after the kids had gone to bed. He'd be given a Santa suit to wear for photos and come home late at night still dressed. All throughout the week, Grace had been sneaking a look downstairs late at night attempting to catch anyone, especially Santa leaving presents early. She’d see a man dressed as Santa sitting with you by the fireplace talking about her and Leo’s gifts. “Leo’s new guitar is in the car and Grace’s tickets for Liam Gallagher are in the tin on the tree” Van would mention. “The kids have it the best” you’d smile at Van, pulling him in for a snog underneath the mistletoe Van had attached to his Santa hat. In complete shock, Grace would run back to her and Leo’s shared bedroom saying “wake up Leo! Mummy’s snogging Santa! Mummy’s being naughty!”
Leo would roll out of bed half asleep and hide at the top of the stairs with Grace. “That’s daddy!” Leo would exclaim while rubbing his eyes and take another look. As an older brother, he had always tried to help Grace out. “Those are daddy’s boots and Santa’s a bit thin. There’s a cut on his face where daddy cut himself shaving. Let’s ask mummy tomorrow. I’m tired” Leo would rub his eyes again and yawn while grade would nod. They’d both quietly crawl back into bed, wondering what they just saw. The next morning would throw you off guard.
“Why were you snogging Santa under the mistletoe last night? What about daddy?” Grace would question first thing in the morning. You’d nearly spit out your morning tea unprepared with how to deal with such a question. “Santa has special privileges if it’s an emergency!” Van would shout from the other room before you had a chance to respond. “Only for Christmas emergencies” he’d continue, rushing to your side. “Santa was thin and shaved his beard off” Leo would give Van the biggest “don’t mess with me” look. “Santa looked a lot like daddy”.
“My kids are too smart for their own good!” Van would admit in total defeat. He’d turn to you and say “I should’ve kept the elf costume. We’d get a few more years of getting the kids to believe Santa is real out of them.”
“You two were supposed to be sleeping! Why were you not in bed?” you’d question, still recovering from the initial question. “Trying to catch Santa” Grace would respond with a big smile. “We caught him!”
🤰💖 anon I loved it so much!
“Santa has special privileges if it’s an emergency!” 😂
I never knew I needed to see Van in a Santa outfit but now I do! Can’t wait to hear more of your Christmas thoughts. And would you mind if I pinched a few of your ideas for some dad Van Christmas Headcanons? Xxx
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Bro wtf
Spoilers here
"What happened?!" Y/n asked, running down the stairs and barely tripping
"Where is lord Barrymore?"
You all then heard a pounding on the door of the manor
After it was opened, a villager came inside, breathless and looked shocked
"The demon hound. The great hound is here!" Said the villager
"No!"
"The hound?"
You all put on your coats and ran as fast as you all could to where the rest of the villagers were
They were chanting the song that the old lady sang when you guys first got there
"What's happening?" Sebastian asked, disturbed
"Snap out of it! What are you all doing?" Bardroy asked a woman
Lighting struck and there he was, lord Barrymore, murdered
Sebastian went to go investigate
The villagers were asking for forgiveness and Angela passed out
Your mind was spinning, lord Barrymore dead? You all had solid evidence that he made up the demons hound, was it actually real? But he made up the demon hound to keep control, he used it to his advantage! Was he telling the truth and lies? Was he telling the truth or not? Was the demon hound real but not kill anybody and only lord Barrymore? You were shaking, it was all so confusing!
You were so confused, you didn’t notice that the itchiness on your face was pain as you scratched it harshly
You all went back inside to try and process what was happening
"Well, this was unfortunate, master, mistress. To think, all this happening after the case was closed. I'm sure you two are a bit annoyed."
"Are you quite finished?"
"Where is Angela?"
"We left her resting up in her bed for now. She seems tired yes she does."
"It's to pitiful to watch, the poor bird."
"This village isolated itself completely from the rest of society out of fear of the demon hound's curse."
"He was covered in bite wounds. Maybe the villagers are right. Maybe it really was the demon hound."
"Maybe he's upset at being blamed for lord Henry's misdeeds."
"Yes, maybe. For now there's only one thing we know. It wasn't human."
"The hound, then."
You were waiting in bed for Ciel to get finished putting on his nightwear when Sebastian asked a question
"Is something the matter?"
"It's about what you said earlier-"
Ah, yes, those words that Sebastian let out, it scared you, and made you confirm most of your suspicions, suddenly, you got an idea
"Ciel, Sebastian, you know those stories about werewolves right?" Y/n asked sitting up and crawling over to the end of the bed
"Yes, why?"
"So, what if the demon hound could disguise as a human and be in the village during the day, then at night, it turns into a demon hound and punish the people who broke the rules?"
"I guess you could be right. But there is a slim chance of that. I deem it to be a fairytale that’s all.”
"Come on, let's go, you need sleep." Ciel said, pushing you to the bed
TAKI DUST GOT IN MY FUCKING EYE
It was the next morning, you were eating your breakfast with Ciel, mey Rin and finnian came in and complained about Angela being gone, the servants went out looking for Angela while Sebastian stay with you two.
"You know, I'm quite interested. What color is your blood?"
"At any rate, it looks as if we do need to hurry now." Ciel said, drinking from his teacup
"Go out there and put on a good show from me and N/n, am I clear?"
"Perfectly, my young lord."
"Come, this is no time to be playing with a puppy, Y/n wants to get things done and over with."
"Master, mistress!"
"Certainly, I shall finish it off at once."
The demon hound came back up but then started sniffing the air
"It's smells irresistible doesn't it dog? This is what you want, right? Inukko, the treat no dog can refuse."
"Dog treats?" The servants asked
The dog happily jumped towards Sebastian for the treats
"Look out, Sebastian!" Mey-Rin warned
"There is only one way to properly train a bad dog. You must teach the creature to obey your every commend using rewards and punishments."
"Firstly reward!" Sebastian jumped up in the air to bite the dogs nose, making the dog happy
The servants took a couple of guesses of what Sebastian was doing
"And now... punish!" Sebastian jumped up in the air once again and kicked the dog in the nose, sending him flying
Sebastian was giving the dog rewards and punishments left and right
"Well I suppose I did ask him to put on a good show."
"And finally, a hug!" Sebastian ran up to the dog with wide opened arms and started levitating with the dog, then letting the dog go letting it hit the ground
You and Ciel walked up to the hole that Sebastian had created and told him to come up
"Yes sir."
You all heard rumbling and Ciel grabbed your wrist to pull you away from the water coming out of the hole
Sebastian came out of the water, talking about how it was a resort of the queen, a luxury need for the central attraction so Sebastian made the hot spring
You were just standing there, wondering how his skin tissues were doing
Wait, HE HAS A NAKED MAN IN HIS ARMS, WHO IS THAT?
"If I couldn't find a hot spring or two for my master and mistress, well then what kind of butler would I be? The idea simply unthinkable."
The naked man started licking Sebastian's face happily, making Mey-Rin bleed and blush
"Pluto!" Angela yelled, running for the man and the man running in an.. animalistic way?
"I'm sorry for the confusion, this is Pluto. I found him last month. I've always been a big dog lover, and he was so adorable I absolutely had to take him in."
"Adorable?" The two servants asked each other
"He does kind of have a bad habit of turning human when he gets excited."
Bardroy lost his rocks and started yelling while Sebastian asked Angela a question
"I beg you sir, please take him with you. I know it's an imposition, but would you bring him to live at the Phantomhive manor?"
Bardroy called the man a monster, resulting in you hitting his arm
"He needs a firm hand. I think if Sebastian were there to train him, he would become a good dog."
"No, thank you. I'm a butler, not one hell of a dog trainer."
"Why not? I'm sure Y/n would like to play with him in his dog form when I'm busy"
"Master, is this an order?" Sebastian asked, glaring at Ciel
"It is I think I'll find it amusing in several ways."
"... rate, our work here is done."
"I seem to recall you were forced to eat your words earlier. Would you like to say it again now that it's true?"
"Why don't you do it for us?"
"This case is now officially closed." Sebastian said proudly
You and Ciel were now bathing in a hot spring, relaxing after the long day.
"Excellent, this is just perfect."
"Allow me, sir. Traditional hot springs service. You see my lord, this is how the Japanese enjoy hot springs." Sebastian drifted a try with cookies and tea towards you and Ciel, Ciel grabbing his tea cup first and you grabbing the cookies
"It is a nice addition."
Ciel and Sebastian were talking about worries when Pluto came inside of the water and started swimming like a dog and howling
"Nice and snug, don't ever forget me, dear Pluto." Angela kissed the dog on the cheek before Bardroy started yelling to Pluto about putting clothes on
After everyone said their goodbye's you all went back home
#black butler x y/n#black butler x reader#Ciel Phantomhive x sister reader#Sebastian x child reader#BB Angela x child reader
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Arthur Morgan/reader, desperate sex
Here is my second fic for kinktober! The next should be up on Wdnesday <3
Arthur Morgan/fem!reader | desperate sex, dominant Arthur
Mentions of death and injury, mild angst. I made the cowboy cry.
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: ~2000
“Who goes there?” a gruff voice demanded as you rode up the trail to camp.
“It’s just me, Bill,” you called back, tipping your tattered hat.
“What the hell?!” He blinked and rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t believe you were right in front of him. “You’re alive?”
You grinned, opening your arms wide. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”
He watched dumbfounded as you rode the rest of the way up to Horseshoe Overlook. You had been gone more than a few days, and your worst fear was that the gang would have packed up and left. The job had gone terribly -- so terribly you had been stranded and lost with no way back -- which was a good reason for the gang to move on to somewhere where the law didn’t know their faces.
But everything was exactly the same. People milled about, scrubbing or packing or chopping. Dutch’s gramophone played on, louder than a dynamite blast and seemingly never ending.
“What in god’s name?” Hosea took one look at you, bruised and battered and covered in every inch of wilderness you had hiked through trying to get back to camp.
“Glad to see y’all are still here.” You groaned in pain as you slid out of the saddle, smacking your ‘borrowed’ horse on the rump and pointing her back to the road. “Go on, girl. Find your way back home.”
The horse slowly headed back the way it came. Hosea was staring at you.
“I know,” you frowned. “I look terrible.”
“No,” Hosea waved his hand, shaking his head. “It’s not that -- though you do look like shit. We thought you were dead. We mourned you.”
It was your turn to look taken aback. “Dead? You gave up on me that quick?”
“Sweetheart.” He gripped your arm as if he was still trying to convince himself you were real. “You fell off a bridge. Those rapids… the rocks…” he trailed off.
You grimaced. “It certainly wasn’t my best performance.”
“There wasn’t any time to go back and look for you, but we weren’t even sure we would have found a body.” He looked ashamed. “We failed you.”
“No,” you took his hands in yours, squeezing. “You did what you had to do. I couldn’t bear it if you had lost someone trying to come back for me.”
Sean was walking by, bottle in hand. He did a double take when he saw you standing there, glanced at his bottle, and then back at you. “You mean Dutch gave that long fancy speech for nothing? You had better not die again.”
You laughed and shot him a wink. “I don’t plan on it.”
Sean seemed satisfied with that response. “Your man’s been a right mess since we lost you. Hopefully he quits moping around all the time now.”
“Arthur?” you glanced around. “Is he alright? Where is he?”
Sean shrugged. “Probably the same place he’s been for a week now.”
You turned to Hosea, desperate. “Where?”
“He’s been at his wagon mostly. I didn’t want him going out in the state he’s been in.”
His words only made you more worried. You had finally made it back to camp. All you had been able to think about -- the only thing on your mind as you clawed your way out that ravine and stumbled through the woods -- was that you had to get back to him. You couldn’t leave him. “Is he hurt? Did something happen?”
Hosea didn’t get the chance to answer. Whispers of your arrival back at camp must have spread fast, because Mary-Beth was dragging Arthur by the arm to where you and Hosea were standing.
“Arthur.” You were running -- as fast as you could move with all your injuries and exhaustion. He finally saw you, freezing in place and staring in disbelief.
You slammed into his chest, flinging your arms around him.
He hesitated before returning your embrace, leaning in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. The two of you stood there for a long while as you sniffled into his chest. Arthur held you tightly, as if you would disappear if he let go.
“Isn’t this sweet,” a familiar booming voice rang out. “Glad to see you alive and well, dear.” You didn’t even turn to look at Dutch. Not when Arthur was clinging to you.
The ground disappeared beneath your feet and you found yourself hoisted over Arthur’s shoulder. The crowd that had gathered around the two of you dispersed as he stalked across camp. The world flipped right side up again as Arthur sat you on his horse, swinging into the saddle behind you and taking off at a full gallop.
You made it to Valentine in record time. The ride was harsh and agitated your injuries, but you didn’t mind with Arthur at your back. He helped you down to the ground and practically carried you inside the hotel, slamming the door open. “A room for me and my wife, please,” he demanded.
The hotel clerk handed over the key. You clung to Arthur the whole way up the stairs, nuzzling against him and just glad to be near him again.
The lock clicked behind you and Arthur… changed. His embrace became more insistent. His eyes darkened. The edge of the bed hit the backs of your knees and Arthur laid you down. It was gentle, but he pressed you into the bed, climbing over you. “Where are you hurt?” he asked.
“It’s not too bad-” you tried to play it off.
He cut you off. “Where. Are. You. Hurt.”
It was terrifying, but thrilling. You shivered under his intense gaze. “My hip,” you grabbed one of his hands and gently lay his palm over your hip. “Makes walking and riding hard.”
He nodded. Clearly waiting for you to continue. “My back is pretty messed up, and my shoulder.”
He noticed the rips and tears in your shirt. All the places you had scraped or torn. His hands went to the buttons, lifting you carefully so he could get you out of the sleeves.
Your trousers were next, slowly pulled down over your hips. When you winced in pain, Arthur stopped to kiss you, cradling your face in his hands.
He stripped you down. His expression was pained as he took in the full extent of your injuries. You had fallen off of the rail bridge and gotten swept into the freezing rapids. The current slammed you into the rocks and swept you down the ravine before you washed up on the bank of the river. From there, it had been a grueling process of making your way out of the ravine and through the woods.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you reassured him. Glancing down, you got a good look at just what he saw. “It does look pretty bad, though,” you frowned.
Arthur’s expression was hard to read. You wondered if he was disgusted by you. It would take a long time to heal, and you knew he might not want to look at you while you were so beat up and battered.
He nearly collapsed on top of you. Luckily, he knew to brace his weight. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breaths ragged.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he gasped. “I didn’t know what I was going to do.”
You reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “I’m still here,” you promised. “Busted and bruised to hell, but I’m not gone yet, honey.”
He kissed his way along his jaw until he found your lips. It was perfect. You had missed him so much, so worried you would never make it back to him. But now you were here in his arms and kissing him.
“I love you,” you said as soon as you caught your breath.
“I love you so much, darling.” He hovered his hands just above your skin, too scared to touch you.
You placed your hands over his and guided it to where you weren’t scraped or bruised. “Touch me,” you begged.
He sighed as soon as he felt your skin against his palms, as if he just needed to know you were really there.
“I need you,” you tried to pull him against you, attempting to slot your hips together. “Please, Arthur.”
He hesitated. You could see the desire in his eyes, how badly he needed you, needed to feel you. But he didn’t want to hurt me. You would have to convince him.
“Arthur,” you grabbed the waistband of his pants. “I fell off a bridge and climbed out of a ravine and walked across half the damn state. I want you to fuck me, and I don’t care if it hurts.”
He seemed dazed, but lust clearly won out as you tried to slide your hand under his shirt. He was undressed in seconds, kissing his way over your neck and unable to keep his hands off you.
The pain was bearable, and you were too distracted with the warmth of Arthur’s skin under your hands. You couldn’t get enough of him, so glad to be near to him after all of those cold nights in the wild.
He was impatient, desperate. He wanted all of you at once, and he didn’t know where to start. Now that you had given permission, he wasn’t afraid to take what he needed. And take he did. He sucked a mark into your collarbone before kissing down to your chest. You gasped as his lips found your breasts, teeth scraping along the skin.
“Please,” you rocked your hips.
He got the message, gently pressing your thighs apart so he could stroke your clit. It felt so good. The stretch when he slipped two fingers inside made you cry out. You sighed and pulled him closer, winding your fingers in his hair as he pulled moans and gasps from your lips.
“That’s it,” he said. “Good girl. I wanna hear you.” He doubled his efforts, determined to make you come around his fingers.
You pulled him up for a searing kiss, biting his lip as you came. “Fuck me,” you breathed.
He was just as needy, cock hard and aching against your hips. He grabbed your less injured leg and hooked it around his hip, dragging his cock against your slit. The teasing was going to drive you mad, but luckily he was just as impatient. He sank into you with one slow motion.
He hissed a curse against your skin, lost in the feeling of you around his cock. “God, darling. Need you so bad.”
He didn’t even try to start slow, setting a quick, frantic pace as soon as he began to move. His fingers dug into the bruises on your skin, but you didn’t mind the pain. It only reminded you that Arthur was there, that you had made it home to him.
You were so close, clinging to each other so desperately. You couldn’t imagine what Arthur had been through the past several days. He had truly believed you were gone, he had been in mourning. While you were focused on not getting eaten by wildlife, he was grieving your death.
It made sense why he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, why he sighed so deeply every time his hips met yours. The way he drank the taste of your lips as if he could never get his fill. You gave him everything you could.
The two of you went three rounds that night, fighting through your exhaustion in a desire to be close to one another. You fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, curled together on the rickety hotel bed.
“I can’t stop seeing it,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off you. “The sight of you falling off that bridge, the way you just disappeared. It’s kept me awake every night.”
You can see it. The dark circles under his eyes, how haggard and underfed he looks. You can only imagine how broken up he must have been.
“Not tonight,” you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You have me here, safe and sound.”
#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan/reader#arthur morgan#rdr2 fanfic#rdr2#smut#kinktober 2021#lemons
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Crows
Everyone has a symbol on their palm that somehow relates to your soulmate. You have a crow, which led to you joining the Dregs in Ketterdam. Every Dreg has a soulmate symbol that in no way relates to you- except Kaz Brekker, as no one has seen his palm at all.
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You stare at the crow inked into your palm. It stares back at you.
You hesitate for a second longer, then snap your hand shut, letting the unblinking eyes of the black bird disappear back behind your fingers. This is the price of a soulmate, of wandering too far from your home and never finding the one person you were meant to belong to. This is the price of being a canal rat, a Grisha, of being anybody still foolish enough to believe in a soulmate in the midst of all this darkness.
Soulmates may technically be real, but people only believe in them as much as they do Inej’s Saints, or anybody else’s long-held dreams. Between the wars and Shadow Folds springing up across the world, it’s getting pretty hard for anyone to find their soulmate at all. It’s supposed to be simple- one mark on each person’s palm to designate their soulmate, a mark that will disappear at the first touch of their hand on yours. Sometimes, you wonder what mark would be on your soulmate’s skin: a flame or sparking coal, maybe, for your branch of the Small Science, or a skull, for all the death that seems to shadow your path.
The crow has been on your palm for as long as you can remember, as long as anyone has ever had a soulmate. It was there when you were born, but judging by your trend in luck, it’ll probably be there until the day you die. Soulmates aren’t for girls like you, girls who flee their homes to trade a life amongst the Grisha for a death in the gray-streaked streets of Ketterdam.
You were born an Inferni, that much is true. You witnessed the Ravkan civil war, and you were there to flee it for safer tides. You weren’t sure what cruel twist of fate landed you in Ketterdam, one of the worst places for a Grisha, but you were at least able to keep your identity a secret. You’d seen what happened to the luckless Grisha trapped inside neverending indentures, and you know what tortures would await you if word of your firestarting habit got out. So, you never spoke a word, and pretended you were just another otkazat’sya traveler in need of safe harbors.
You hadn’t been wandering the canals long before your path turned into the Barrel. It wasn’t an intentional choice, just an eventual fate that you would end up in the worst part of the twisting sidestreets. There was no escaping the Barrel, not unless you were a wealthy mercher or some other lucky sap who the Saints blessed with the ability to avoid getting dragged down into the muck like everyone else. You learned the names and locations of all the gangs like everyone else: Black Tips, Dime Lions, and most notably, the Dregs.
Your breath had caught in your chest when you heard of them. They frequented the Crow Club, some were called the crows themselves, their leader had a crow on his cane. Everything seemed to point in a glaringly obvious arrow towards your soulmate mark: a crow for a crow. Where else could you have ended up?
You knew better now. You had met Kaz Brekker, the boy with the crow cane, and you knew that any chance of finding a soulmate among his crew was near impossible. You had been walking home after dark one night when you found yourself set upon by a duo of thugs. Not Dregs, possibly Dime Lions with a bone to pick, angry that the Dregs had such control over the pigeons of Fifth Harbor. They had been expecting an easy mark, somebody they could thunk over the head with a pair of brass knuckles and walk away without a scratch. They weren’t expecting you to beat them into the dust in a matter of seconds.
No matter your status or location, you were still a Grisha, and you’d been trained by Botkin long enough to be able to defend yourself. When the goons were finally laid at your feet, unconscious, you had allowed yourself a moment to smile. It was easy to feel low, a gutter rat in the canals of Ketterdam, but being able to use your fists again almost reminded you of the training halls at the Little Palace.
Enjoying this one brief memory, though, was a slip that you shouldn’t have made. When you looked up, you weren’t alone- a boy stood before you, gloved hands clasped over a crow’s head cane. You didn’t particularly know who he was, or make the connection between him and the Dregs, and moved to get out of the alleyway before he decided to make the same mistake as the thugs. He had slid his cane in front of you, fast as lightning, stopping you in your place. “I think we should speak about your future in Ketterdam.”
You were annoyed at this sudden interruption. “I think you should leave me alone.” You had retorted, using your hand to move his cane back in front of him. You had also been irritated, both by the fight and this boy’s brashness, and slipped your hand into his pocket for just a second to retrieve a newly shined pocketwatch. No one could have possibly seen it, this tiny movement, and the boy certainly didn’t, as he let you pass without another word.
You were still grumbling when you got back to the ramshackle building you called an apartment complex, and your landlady had raised an eyebrow when she saw you. “What, have you finally realized that it was a fool’s errand to come here?” She asked, and you shook your head. “No, just bothered by some guy with a crow’s head cane. Weird prop to carry around.” The woman had blanched, face suddenly seeming to age a decade in a second.
She had bustled over to you, voice low as if terrified that the boy might be able to hear her. “That’s Kaz Brekker, you fool. He runs the Dregs. Saints, he might even run this city.” She had hurried away from you then, forcing herself back to her work. Even then, you had known she was wrong. There was nothing the Saints could know about Kaz Brekker, nothing they could even hope to involve themselves in.
You had shaken the experience away, climbing up the stairs to your apartment. When you pushed open the door, however, you saw that you were not alone. The boy from earlier was back, this time leaning against the far wall. He gestured for you to close the door, which you did, albeit hesitantly. You had no idea how he got in- you had changed the locks when you first arrived at the apartment all those weeks ago, barred the windows, made it impossible for anyone except you to make their way inside. Yet here he stood, with knowledge of both where you lived and how to get there before you. It was impossible. Well, impossible for anyone except Kaz. The Barrel was his home, after all, and you doubt Dirtyhands had ever bothered to knock.
His fingers tapped the crow’s head of his cane. “I don’t think we quite finished our conversation. You could do more than just wash dishes, you know. The Dregs could always use a new member. That, and I’d like you to return what you stole from me. I’m impressed, actually. No one is that good at pickpocketing except me, and no one would try something that daring except for, well, me. I think you’d fit in nicely with my gang.”
You had folded your arms across your chest. “And I’m meant to believe that my pickpocketing was impressive enough to warrant a visit from Dirtyhands himself?” Kaz had shrugged, the movement stiff in the darkness. “You can believe whatever you want. I just want to see if you’ll take a good offer when you see one.” After a while, you had accepted, and Kaz had left, but not before whispering something in your ear. “If you steal from me again, I will cut off both of your hands. I don’t tolerate theft, not from me.”
You had heard enough threats to know that he meant good on this one. As it turned out, however, Kaz would not have to fear theft from you again. You found a home amongst the Dregs, a home you weren’t likely to give up due to the thrill of pickpocketing Kaz Brekker. You had a room at the Slat, a place at the table, a voice in the masses. It was something you weren’t willing to trade away.
Even amongst the many crows of Kaz Brekker’s gang, however, you still couldn’t let the issue of your soulmate go. You can remember one night, late into the night’s bells when you, Inej, Jesper, Matthias, and Nina had all made the journey up to Kaz’s office, slumped against chairs and floorboards and chatting the night away. Kaz was sitting at his desk, apparently doing paperwork, but you did notice that he kept coincidentally chiming into conversations even when he said he wasn’t paying attention.
At some point, Nina steered the conversation to soulmates. She held up her now blank palm, proclaiming that at some point it had held a wolf’s head. She had been terrified, she said, terrified that she would have a drüskelle or some other weirdo for a soulmate. Matthias had acted affronted at that, but if he was feeling particularly charitable he might relent and tell the gathered Crows about how he’d had a heart on his hand, and how frustrated he’d been when it had disappeared the second he’d locked Nina away on that slaver’s ship.
Nina had turned to Kaz then, intent on poking the bear and having some sort of fun that night. “So, Brekker, what’s your soulmate mark? Or do you not do that sort of zealot human thing we call soulmates?” Kaz had raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly bored. Of everyone in the room, you’re pretty sure that only you and Inej would be able to tell that he was holding back a smile.
“I’m not entirely a monster, Zenik. I do have a soulmate.” Nina had leaned forward, intent on clarification. “Then what’s the mark? We can’t just take a gander at your palm, remember? They’re hidden by your gloves.” Kaz had let his papers fall back to the desk with a thunk, turning to her with an expression laced with both exasperation and studied disinterest. “It’s a fire. A small flame. Happy?”
Nina had looked fascinated. “Beatific. I wonder what that means. An Inferni, maybe?” She wiggled her eyebrows at Kaz. “Maybe it’s supposed to show that they’re devilishly attractive. Really hot, get it?” Kaz had made a sound that was either a dry cough or his best attempt at a laugh. “Hilarious, Nina. I see why you’re a Heartrender- you could make a person want to die based on your jokes alone.”
Nina had acted affronted, making sure everybody knew that her jokes were hilarious, thank you very much, but you couldn’t help but think about the repercussions of this. What if Nina’s first guess was right, and Kaz’s soulmate was an Inferni, like you? If your tattoo was of a crow, and Kaz’s was of flames, then surely it was too much to just be a coincidence. You’d never know, anyway, because soulmate marks only disappeared on flesh to flesh contact. Kaz always wore gloves, so you’d never find out the truth. Besides, you remind yourself, the chances of this were superbly unlikely. A crow could mean anything, so could a flame. You need to stop getting your hopes up.
Despite the possibilities and impossibilities, you’ve still been running with the canal rats long enough to know that you can’t dwell forever on what might have been. You’re a Dreg now and you need to focus on that instead. When Kaz announces an upcoming settlement with the Razorgulls, yet another one of the gangs that roam the streets of Ketterdam, you’re eager for a chance at something entertaining after a long while of nothing. Kaz will meet with the leader to negotiate their way through a claim on the various pigeons coming and going from the harbors, and that will be that.
However, this is the Barrel. Negotiations are rarely easy. This is why, when Jesper arrives as Kaz’s second, he’s shunted aside to a separate room to stay out the duration of the meeting. Kaz and the leader of the Razorgulls are on the opposite side of the street in an empty courtyard, far away from any help should they need it. Kaz was prepared for this, as always, and set up a plan. Inej will shadow Jesper, making sure that he’ll have a way out if he needs it, and you’ll be shadowing Kaz himself. You’re not sure why Kaz chose you instead of his faithful Wraith, only that he rarely makes decisions based on nothing and you would do best to follow his judgement. The times he’s let you down are few and far between.
You and Inej split up, staying amongst the rooftops to avoid detection. She follows Jesper and the Razorgulls’ second into a crowded tavern, and you head towards the abandoned courtyard. Ahead of you, Kaz’s cane taps against the crooked cobblestones as he wends through desiccated hedges and marble statues severely lashed by time. The Razorgulls’ leader is waiting for him there, but you can’t follow now. Instead, you stick to the edges, climbing stairs and making your way into the empty buildings that watch over the courtyard like silent sentries.
You’re not sure what trouble you’ll be walking into, only that it will exist in some crooked form. There’s no logical reason the Razorgulls would want the seconds in another building unless they were planning something, and no reason Kaz would agree to this at all if he wasn’t sure you could have his back when he needed it. As you creep along the buildings, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings through the few broken windows, you notice that the two gang leaders have begun to speak. You can’t quite hear what they’re saying, only a few whispers here and there.
You’re just rounding a corner, ready to make your way into a neighbouring building, when the lights flash off, landing you in darkness. Instantly, you panic. Lighting is scarce here, only the moonbeams and a couple of oil lamps, but there’s no reason they should have shut down this quickly. You hear footsteps on the stairs, along with two pairs of voices: Razorgulls, discussing how important it is to stick to the shadows so Brekker can’t see them.
Your heartbeat thuds in the dark as you realize they haven’t spotted you yet. In fact, they have no idea you’re there at all. When Kaz was giving directions for the negotiations, he specifically told you to make sure that you weren’t seen, even if rival gang members showed up. If you want to go along with his plan and make sure he lives to see the end of this shoddy deal, you’ll have to stay in hiding.
This, however, is easier said than done. If the lights were on, you would be able to see the wooden beams of the floor and tell which ones would creak and which wouldn’t, which large shapes of furniture to avoid and which holes in the floorboards you should step over. A chill washes over you as you realize what you’ll have to do. You move your fingers together, quick as scraping flint against steel, and a small flame materializes at the pad of your index finger. It’s small, barely visible to anyone except you, but it’s enough to help you get out of the room before the Razorgulls notice you.
Even as the thrill of using your Grisha power after so long sends a charge of energy through your veins, you can’t help but feel uneasy. The only reason you’ve been able to survive in the Barrel and avoid unwholesome indentures is because you never used your power, not once. Even if it was necessary, this still feels bad.
You’ve found a new hiding place in the corner of the room and move to extinguish your flame now that it’s no longer useful. However, it’s been too long since you last used your powers as an Inferni, and your concentration wavers. The flame grows brighter and you start to panic, eventually clamping down your mind and forcing the fire to disappear.
The disappearance comes too late. The Razorgulls have seen some light in the shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there and are now edging your way, careful not to let you out of their sight. You have no choice but to take them down, standing over their unconscious bodies and feeling a wave of nerves crest over you. Kaz specifically said not to mess with the gangs, but you had no choice. You can only hope that this won’t ruin his plan too much.
Quietly, you step through the room and unlock a window, letting the panes move open in the wind. Now, you can hear the voices echoing up from the courtyard, and your heart sinks as you realize that things aren’t going well. The leader of the Razorgulls has revealed his ace in the hole, that he’s got guns trained on Kaz right now. Kaz just laughs, the sound as cold as rocks scraping against a ship’s hull, ready to damn a hundred men to the depths of the ocean.
“Do you, though? Who are the men you sent up- Dirk Struik and Niels ter Avest? Your coffers may be deep, but mine are more extensive. Gentlemen, take down this man, if you please.” Your stomach twists as you realize Kaz was counting on the men you just knocked out. Without them, he’s alone with a man pointing a gun at his skull. There’s no way around this- you’re going to have to break your most cherished rule again.
You thrust your palms out in front of you, letting tendrils of flame arc out of your hands and cascade onto the leader of the Razorgulls. He twists in agony, burns appearing on his skin. He only suffers for a moment or two, however, until he becomes unconscious due to the pain. Kaz’s head jerks up, staring at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kaz Brekker truly surprised, but he most certainly was not expecting this.
You don’t think there’s anything you can do except try to explain yourself. You jump down from the open window, letting your heels land lightly on the stones of the courtyard. Kaz seems frozen in place for a second, then moves forward until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Your breath comes wild in your chest. Kaz speaks after the longest of moments. “Where were the guards?”
You hold up your hands uselessly. “They saw me. I had to take them out.” Kaz’s eyes dart to your palms, faster than a sharpshooter pulling the trigger. He takes in the smoke still curling around your fingers, then the crow mark in the middle of your hand. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its icy edge. He just sounds like a boy again, young and confused.
“You never told me you were an Inferni.” You sigh. “It was a secret I needed to keep. You know what happens in the Barrel, the indentures and the tortures. If I used my powers, I would have died a long time ago.” Kaz jerks his head in a harsh nod. “I don’t blame you for surviving. We have all committed worse crimes to live” Your voice gains a confidence it didn’t have before. “Then what do you blame me for? You’re upset, anyone could tell that. If it’s not with me keeping my Grisha abilities a secret, then what is it?”
Kaz hesitates, as if pulling himself back from a yawning chasm. “Me.” You stare at him, at the indecision wracking his brow, then at the way he’s pulling at the glove at his palm. His hands almost seem to shake, like he’s still not sure that he’s doing the right thing. He pulls the glove off, inch by inch, seeming to dread every second that his hands aren’t covered by the black leather. At last, you see it- the mark on his palm, the flame sparking into being right there on his hand.
He reaches out tentatively. “I need to know.” He manages, and at last you understand. You move your own hand slowly, stopping when it’s only a few inches away from his. Kaz squares his shoulders, as if preparing to jump from another broken building, then closes the distance and lets his hand rest lightly on yours. As you watch, your soulmate tattoos shimmer for a second and then vanish, erasing from your skin as if they’d never been there at all.
Kaz lets his gaze linger on the empty skin of your palm, and then he seems to come back into himself, snatching his hand away like he’s flinching from a blow. You can see it in his eyes that he regrets this, that he can’t keep his hand there, but you understand. You can understand quite a lot from him.
Kaz’s voice is like the grating of metal. “I’m not somebody you want as a soulmate. It won’t be easy. It won’t be good.” You laugh quietly in the night. “If I wanted something easy, I would have never come to Ketterdam.” Kaz nods at this, something almost like relief in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” You manage. Something almost like a smile flits across Kaz’s face. “Good. We have much to discuss.”
#kaz brekker#kaz brekker imagines#kaz brekker x reader#kaz brekker oneshot#grishaverse#grishaverse imagines#grishaverse oneshot#shadow and bone#shadow and bone imagines#shadow and bone oneshot#six of crows#six of crows imagines#six of crows oneshot#kaz#kaz imagines#kaz x reader#kaz oneshot#soc#sab#soulmate au#soc imagines#soc oneshot#sab imagines#sab oneshot
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Nat. NAT. I just saw your concept about naoya "training" his wife by just throwing her in the room and just watching her struggle to defend herself... Until she ofc breaks and begs him to protect her🙈 you have a MASSIVE brain, the biggest and horniest brain nat can you please write this concept for the event😭😭 maybe w 45 and any other dark or spicy add ons that you see fit!
traditional discipline - naoya x fem!reader (3.3k)
naoya has had enough of you, and resorts to an unusual method of discipline.
warnings: not sfw/minors dni. DARK CONTENT. unhealthy relationship/marriage. fearplay, dacryphilia, finger-sucking, cock-sucking, punishment, threat of violence and death. dubious consent. afab reader with fem pronouns.
[a/n: this concept literally wouldn’t leave me alone. i’m sorry to all of the readers who are naoya’s wife i’m always so horrible to them]
The room goes quiet as Naoya hauls you out of it by your upper arm.
It’s an easy mistake, a simple slip-up; accidentally talking over your husband. But it’s one in a slew you’ve been making recently, despite Naoya thinking that you were polite and well-bred and knew your place. He’s sick of it, to be quite frank; he doesn’t have time to be correcting you when you should already know how to behave.
You’ve done accidental, small things since the two of you were married. Denying him when he rolled you onto your back at night. Not standing quite as far behind him as you should. Pouring tea for other people before him. He’s given you swift reprimand with both his words and his hands, but . . . it’s clearly not sinking into your pretty little head, is it?
He warned you about this.
“Next time,” he’d growled to you, when you’d laughed too loud at a joke that one of his brothers had made and not laughed at one of his, “I’m going to teach you a real lesson.”
He tells you about the ‘training and discipline room’ on the Zenin estate later that night. A room that the family use for honing cursed techniques, both for practising and for learning purposes, when someone needs to be brought down a peg or two. It’s full of cursed spirits – all the way up to grade two, which makes your blood run cold.
Of course, you have cursed energy. You even have a careful little technique; one that would wrap your enemies up in vines, if you’d ever been allowed to train to use it for anything other than keeping your well-appointed garden neat and orderly. Naoya would not have married someone without either of those things, lest they not bear him fruitful children--
But you have never been allowed to use it for anything more.
The women of your clan are pretty decoration, with no need to learn anything other than how to behave and how to please their masters-and-husbands. You would be useless, thrown into the den of the wolves like that.
“Please don’t,” you’d said to him, your voice all soft and gentle, trying to be appeasing. “Please. I promise I’ll try harder.”
Naoya had taken your chin between thumb and forefinger, the grin across his face very sharp as his light eyes took in the pleading in your own gaze. You remember how the light had hit his earrings, the look of satisfaction at your begging and having you utterly and completely under his thumb.
“Be good,” he’d breathed, all slow and drawling. “And I won’t have to, will I?”
And he’d bid you to get on your knees for him and show you just how good you could be. Starting with your mouth.
So you know where he’s dragging you, down the labyrinthine halls of the estate. You try and pull back, feet sliding on the tatami mat, your voice pitching as you say;
“Naoya, please, I’m sorry--”
“Women should be seen and not heard,” he says to you. “Don’t make a fuss like that. You earned this.”
Your eyes are filling with tears, hot fear clawing its way up your throat.
“I’ll do anything,” you say to him, despite knowing that it’s a dangerous bargain to give him. He almost considers it for a moment, pausing – but then, his fingers just dig harder into the softness of your bicep (you’re going to bruise), and he tugs you.
“You’re making a scene,” he says. “If you don’t stop, I’ll leave you in there even longer.” You try to wrench your arm out of his grip, all of your self-defense mechanisms going into overdrive as you recognise the door he’s leading to you too. You’re breathless, so frightened you think that your heart might stop.
Naoya opens the door and pulls you in. You almost stumble at the flight of stairs, but he clicks his tongue at you in annoyance.
“So clumsy,” he drawls. “And here I was, under the impression I was marrying a graceful, lovely, credit to her family--” More steps, until he’s gotten you in the middle of the floor. He gazes around him, and you hear the low hum of a hundred cursed spirit’s voices murmuring the same things, over and over again. “The only time you’re a credit to them is with your legs spread.”
“Naoya,” you whimper, torn between pushing yourself into him for the comfort and protection that you know he can offer, or trying to tear away from him and escape the room yourself. You know the second option won’t work – he’s far faster, far stronger than you – but it’s hard to think of anything when you feel like your very survival is teetering impossibly over your head.
“If you run,” he says, still in that cold, uninterested drawl, “I’ll break one of your ankles.”
You don’t think he’s bluffing. Naoya says a lot of things, yes – but he’s also reckless and proud enough to mean them. You stand there, next to him, feeling yourself begin to tremble.
“W-why aren’t they attacking yet?” You ask him, voice very small. He looks at you pityingly.
“They’re afraid of me, obviously,” he says to you, very slowly, like he’s explaining it to somebody very stupid. “I didn’t get this good at everything by not training myself, darling.” He lets go of you, finally, a whistle escaping his pursed mouth as he rocks on the balls of his feet. He’s supremely unconcerned by your fear. “When I’m gone, they’ll come out for you.”
Your eyes fill with tears.
“What am I supposed to do?” You ask him, desperation leaking into your cracked voice. “I can’t—I can’t protect myself--”
Naoya narrows his eyes.
“You should have thought about that before you were such a pain,” he replies. And, without further ado, he turns around and begins to ascend the stairs again. You turn with him, moving forward, stumbling in your haste and ending up sprawled at the bottom of the stairs with your hand pathetically fisted into the hem of his hakama.
He looks down at you with a disgusted sneer on his face, and you hate that even with that expression his features are still unmistakably handsome.
“Let go,” he says. “Have some dignity.”
“Please,” you repeat. You can feel a fat tear spilling from the corner of your eye down the curve of your cheeks. You know the ‘dignity’ statement is a dig; the fact that you’ve heard his family members calling your clan power-hungry undignified gold-digging whores, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you can see the beginning of shadows spilling out too far into the main floor of the room. “Naoya. Please.”
He kicks out at your wrist, face twisted in distaste, and you let go to avoid it being stood on and crushed under his strength. You cradle it against your chest, looking up at him still all desperate and afraid.
“If I helped,” he said to you, “you’d never learn your lesson.” He takes a step up and turns away completely from you, as if you’re nothing more than an ignored child on the street. “It will be good for you, beloved wife. Character-building.” You hear the smirk in his voice and you hate him.
You want to strangle him. You want to beg him to protect you. You want to tear him limb from limb, but you want him to let you bury your head in his chest as he dispels the spirits with ease. You want--
The door slams shut behind him. He’s too cheerful as he throws behind him;
“Good luck!”
And you are left alone.
It takes a moment before anything slithers out from the shadows, and you clap your hand over your mouth to stop yourself screaming. The first cursed spirit is a hunched over creature with the face of a Pierrot clown, mouth stretched impossibly wide with gaping black abyss where eyes ought to be. It’s whispering something over and over to itself, but the wide mouth is so crowded with teeth that it comes out as an incomprehensible noise, dripping drool as it begins to move horrifically slowly towards you.
Oh, God. You’re not supposed to look at them, are you? You dimly recall something about many sorcerers wearing glasses so the creatures can’t tell where their gazes are, but this one has already got the scent of you; those dark pits staring at your crumpled form.
Everything you’ve ever been told in passing about jujutsu and cursed spirits and cursed technique just seems to flow out of your mind to be replaced by mind-numbing fear. You’ve not been trained for this; when your clan had arranged your marriage with Naoya, you know that they’d expected fine silken kimonos and traditional food and you being a pretty trophy on the arm of the future leader of their clan. You know they’d be horrified if they saw what was happening.
More of them are melting from the shadows, the whispering and moaning reaching a terrifying crescendo. You’re trembling. Your heart is beating so fast inside of your chest you think it might break free of your ribcage and sputter out onto the floor.
The Pierrot monster is close enough that you can see the six hands it drags on the floor are all tipped with claws that are sharp as blades. You scramble up the stairs on your ass, too afraid to turn your back on the creatures. You realise you’re shouting, but it seems just as blurred as anything that the cursed spirits are saying. You’re crying, too – howling, whimpering, so scared you’re surprised any noise is able to come out at all.
You’re going to die.
It hits you with cruel certainty as you reach the top and throw your weight at the door, only for it to not give an inch. You scramble at the heavy wood, not caring about your careful manicure (Naoya wants you to be a credit to him, and that means manicures and facial treatments and a fancy bathroom full of soaps and creams that he expects you to use and that he slathers, too, on himself). You hear a nail break but you can’t bring yourself to worry about that when the Pierrot monster is dragging itself up the flight of stairs, one step at a time. It makes a hideous sliding thump, like it’s both wet and heavy – and you notice, too, the scent of blood invading your senses.
Your tear-blurred eyes can see all of the other monsters, too – not quite as close, but still too close for comfort. Too many eyes and not enough eyes, too many legs, claws and teeth and misshapen bones and blood leaking from holes. What are you supposed to do?
Naoya has left you here, alone, to teach you a lesson. You hadn’t realised the lesson would culminate in your death, but with all of the spirits so close to you, you cannot see any other way.
All of the fight goes out of you and you sag against the door, a broken sob escaping your lips. Your throat is dry from hoarse screaming.
You are going to die. You hope it will come quick; you hope the Pierrot monster will tear you limb from limb and you’ll die in instants from the shock. Your voice whispers Naoya’s name one last, hopeless time.
Will he find another wife? Will they even bother covering up your death, or will they spin some rumour or lie to your family and the whole of jujutsu society that you brought it upon yourself?
You would do anything to be rescued right now. You would crawl on your hands and knees behind Naoya for the rest of your life, refer to him only as ‘Master’, fulfil every single thing he ever asked you with no more than a meek nod of your head. Pull out your tongue so you couldn’t make any more mistakes.
But the time for pleading seems to have gone entirely, and you are useless and stupid and weak as you run out of tears, eyes burning. All you can do, you think, is wait for death.
The door swings open behind you and you’re dragged backwards, onto tatami, by powerful hands gripping your shoulders as it closes once more with a massive clunk that echoes in your ears--
And you find yourself strewn out on the floor, face caked with dried tear-tracks, a trembling, pathetic mess looking up at your husband’s face.
He leans against the door, listening to you scream. He can hear his name mixed in with sobs and screams and pleading; saying that you’ll do anything, you’re sorry, you’ll never disobey him again you’ll take any punishment he metes out with a smile on your face, if he just helps you. He hears you call yourself weak and pathetic and useless around the tears clogging your throat; he hears the thump of you hitting the door and the sound of your nails scratching down the wood, uncaring of anything other than getting away from them.
Yes, he thinks as he opens the door for you and you fall, shivering and sobbing, in front of him. Yes, he thinks you’ve learnt your lesson.
You’re so pretty, he thinks, closing it once more (he sees the cursed spirits begin to creep back to where they came from at the very sight of him, now their preferred victim is protected), with your eyes all glassy and wet. You’re extra pretty looking at him like he’s a conquering hero who’s saved you from certain death – which he supposes he is.
You cling to his arm, pulling yourself up, burying your face in his chest as your hands cling to him like you’ve been lost and he’s the first familiar thing you’ve seen in months. Your tears soak his kimono, but . . . he finds himself not really minding, as big, lean hands pet you gently on the back.
“It’s alright now,” he soothes you, murmuring low. “Your husband has you.”
“Please, please, ‘m so sorry--” You’re mumbling into him, whimpering, your shoulders shaking. “Please never m-make me, again--”
“Shhh,” he continues, gently beginning to move towards his chambers. You cling to him, adrift in a sea of your own fears. “It’s better now. You’ll be better now, won’t you?”
He receives a fierce nod for that, your fingers twisting into his clothing. It’s nice, having you so wrapped around him; seeing him as the strong protector that he knows he is but you needed reminding of. You’re still mewling little pleas into him even as he unlocks the door to his bedroom and gently pushes you in. Letting go of him even for a moment seems to cause you physical pain--
Good. You should feel like that. You should feel incomplete without him at your side. Naoya rewards you with a rare, soft smile.
“You know why you had to be punished like that, don’t you?” He purrs to you, petting your hair and carefully drawing back so he can look at your face. Your lips are all swollen from crying and biting; he thinks you’ve never looked quite so kissable as you do right now.
“Yes,��� you nod, fiercely. “I’m sorry. I’ll do a-anything, I promise. I . . .” You swallow, your eyes filling with tears again. Naoya has been hard since the moment he heard you call out his name from inside the training room, your voice filled with choked tears, and watching them well up again does nothing for the stricture against the fabric. “I needed you.”
“And I saved you,” he says, arching an elegant brow – to which you nod again, and your hands drift towards him like you’re aimless without him in front of you to serve. “I’ll protect you, darling, as long as you learn your place.”
“I will!” That’s said with such conviction that he can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I will. N-Naoya . . .” Your voice trembles a little. “’m willing to do anything for you. J-just please . . . not again.”
“Shh,” he reaches out and deigns to touch you, to gently and soothingly rub his thumb over your cheek, where the tears have dried. “If you’re really going to be so good for me, I won’t have to, will I?” You stumble forward onto your knees and Naoya’s brows shoot up in surprise as your hands tug at his hakama.
“Please let me show you how grateful I am,” you whisper, your eyes wide and bright and desperate. “Naoya, please, please, please--”
Oh, there’s something so gratifying about you like this, begging to suck his cock. It stirs between his thighs again, reminding him that he’s painfully stiff; and you are here, a willing mouth, scared out of your skull and desperate to please him. He’s smirking at you but you do not register it as such; all you see is the smile of your rescuer.
Your protector.
Your husband.
“Say what you want to do to me, darling,” he tells you, keeping his voice as sweet as he can make it. “You’re a big girl. You can use your words. What do you want to do, to show me how grateful you are that I saved your paltry life?”
You’re pouting; your mouth is sweet, pretty. He wants to pry your jaw open and fuck the back of your throat, and his body roars as your fingers tug on the hakama again and your meek, soft voice whispers;
“Please let me suck your cock.”
“You have a dirty mouth,” he coos to you, leaning forward to brush a finger over your lower lip. “Not befitting of a woman of your station. I suppose that means that it’s up to me to keep you quiet, hmm?”
You obediently open it, letting his finger gently rest on your tongue for a moment.
Desperate to please, your mouth closes about it, your tongue gently swiping over the pad, your cheeks hollowing a little as you suck on the digit inside of them. Naoya’s smiling again, the victorious grin of someone who’s gotten exactly what they wanted. He pulls his finger out and thrusts back in with two, whispering to you;
“Do you think you deserve my cock, after what you put me through today?”
You shake your head, but you don’t stop lavishing attention on the fingers in your mouth, a string of drool falling from the corner of your mouth as he presses his third finger inside of it. So warm, and wet. He needs his cock to be inside of you or he thinks he may embarrass himself.
The fingers are pulled out, wiped on the hakama fabric, before he says (the carefully adopted tone almost disinterested);
“Take them off, then. Don’t make your promises empty words. I wouldn’t appreciate such thoughtlessness in a wife.”
You’re eager, stripping off his clothes. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his cock; elegant, flushed, hard and straining with a light upwards curve that he knows will hit you in the right place at the back of your throat to make you gag.
“Wait,” he says, as you lean in to bring him to your lips. “What do you say, darling?”
Your eyes (still brimming with tears, he notices – and fuck, he loves how you look teary-eyed and pouting. He has to make you cry more often) meet his, but the look in yours is worshipful so he doesn’t chide you for having the insolence to meet his gaze directly.
“Thank you,” you breathe. “For saving me. For letting me suck your cock. For everything.”
Naoya is smiling.
“Good girl,” he says, placidly, as you place a delicate kiss on the head of his cock and slowly envelope it in the warmth of your mouth. “Very good.”
#naoya x reader#zenin naoya x reader#naoya x you#naoya smut#jjk x reader#dark jjk#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#dark content#not sfw#writing#jjk writing#afab reader#fem pronouns#jjk posting#dub con for ts#unhealthy relationship#fearplay for ts#dacryphilia for ts#5555 event fic
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𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐕
PART FIVE- “Just Because They’re Not Here Doesn’t Mean They Stopped Being Wonderful.”
part one here
part two here
part three here
part four here
short series- jj maybank x kook!reader
word count- 4.3k
tw- guns, knives, mentions of weed, stabbing, swearing, mentions of death, fluff 😊, angst 👿, mentions of murder, fighting, drinking, mentions of stitches and hospitals. lmk if I missed anything
a/n- don’t u all love how I said this was gonna be a “short” series and now we’re at 19.2k words total and five parts? and not even done yet? lol. anyway, this chapter is a fucking rollercoaster of emotions and shit gets really real really fast so hold onto your hats, grab some popcorn, and happy reading!
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
“Wait, what the fuck?”
Your friends all stared at you with wide eyes, mouths agape. JJ’s grip tightened on your thigh, you winced a little but he didn’t let up, which you were glad he didn’t.
“Wait, your mom is dead?” John B asked, earning a smack on the back of the head from Sarah.
“You had a sister?!” Pope explained, confusion plastered on his face. “I thought that was just a ru- OW!” A smack from Kiara.
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Yeah.”
“You think you know a person then all of the sudden she has a dead mom and sister who were killed by her step brother that you didn’t know about.” John B said, a hint of humor in his voice.
“This isn’t funny, John B.” Sarah scolded.
“It’s fine, Sarah.” You assured your friend. “Look, I know I’m a shit friend for not telling you guys things about my life. Tyler, the abortion, my mom and sister. And I’ll work on getting better at it but all of that isn’t important right now, okay?” You looked between John B and Pope, waiting expectedly before they both nodded and backed off.
“What makes you say that, (Y/n)?” Kie asked you, fully turning her attention to you.
“Well when- um, when Tyler showed up at my house that day,” You swallowed your fear, sitting up straight and taking a deep breath. “When Tyler showed up at my house that day, he said ‘I did everything I could to get my mom to marry your dad. My mom doesn’t know, but what she doesn’t know won’t kill her, and now you’re ruining everything with your fat fucking mouth.’”
The room was silent. Nobody really knew what to make out of all of this, all this time you had come off so unbothered, like your life was picture perfect and there was never a dark cloud in your sky. Everything that had happened the past couple of weeks came out of nowhere for the group of friends, especially JJ, John B and Pope, who didn’t even know you had a step brother. But when the three thought back on it, they never really asked.
After about a minute of everyone sitting in shock, Sarah spoke up, “Well, we need to tell your dad and Christine, right?’
You shook your head, “Not until I have enough proof. The entire island’s eyes are on me right now and if I’m wrong I make a fool of myself. I know this is gonna sound really stupid but, I need to find Tyler.”
“No.” JJ protested, his voice sharp.
“You’re right, (Y/n). That does sound stupid.” Pope agreed.
“Super stupid.” John B chimed in.
“I love you, but I have never heard more stupid words leave your mouth.” Kiara said.
“Guys, maybe hear her out.” Sarah said.
Kie whipped her head to the side, looking at the blonde girl in bewilderment. “Seriously? I’m not listening to you when all you seem to do is put (Y/n) in more danger.”
“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know what the fuck to do!”
“You tell someone, dumbass!”
“Jesus, you two! Shut the fuck up!” You interjected, standing up and stomping your foot, ignoring the shooting pain going up your leg.
“I came here because I need help, not to sit here and be judged and have you two fight with each other. Kie, lay off. I begged Sarah not to say anything until I was ready, and promised not to go home until I said something, okay? And you two.” You gestured to John B and Pope, “Telling me I’m stupid for something that I haven’t even explained yet is a little premature. Can we all fucking focus?” You had your time to cry and allow yourself to be broken, but now it was time to get shit done.
Kie shrunk in her seat, muttering a half assed “Sorry” under her breath and crossing her arms. John B and Pope nodded, both boys looking down at their shoes. You sat back down and JJ’s hand returned to its rightful spot on your thigh.
“Now, just, listen to me for a second. We,” You put the emphasis on that word so everyone would be a little bit more open to the idea, “Need to find Tyler so we can somehow record a confession from him. I’ll rile him up, and once I get the confession we get the fuck out. Got it?”
“How the fuck are you gonna find him? Even the Sheriff's department can’t find him.” Sarah said.
“Right,” You responded, “First thing to consider, the police are incompetent, especially here. They probably looked at my house and his job before giving up.”
JJ chuckled, shaking his head as he listened to you talk in awe.
“Second thing to consider, I have his number. I can ask him to meet up and talk it out.”
“The more you talk, the more I really don’t like this plan.” JJ muttered, raking his fingers through his hair.
“The more you talk, the more I wanna kick your teeth in.” You smiled sweetly, “This is the only way.” You tried pulling a joke, but JJ’s face remained concerned, so your face fell and you leaned into him. “I’ll be okay, JJ. I’ve been dealing with Tyler for years, okay?”
JJ nodded, taking a deep breath before pulling away from you.
“So what can we do?”
“Wherever I meet up with Tyler, I need you all to be on standby. Someone on lookout, someone hiding near me just in case things go south, and someone waiting in the vam.”
Everyone agreed in unison, nodding their heads. “Anything we can to get this asshole put away.” John B said, giving you an encouraging smile.
+
After going over a few details, and finally sending the text to Tyler that you wanted to meet up, the pogues dispersed around the chateau. Pope was talking Sarah’s ear off about the latest book he had just finished while she politely listened and even threw in a couple of her own thoughts, John B and Kie playfully jabbed long sticks at each other, and JJ stood on the porch, watching you swing by yourself on the hammock, lost in thought. He was trying to decide if he should approach you, or give you space. Just then you turned your head and made eye contact with the blond boy, a soft smile on your face, your signature red lipstick back where it belongs.
Fuck space.
He bounded down the stairs and made his way over to you on the hammock, plopping down next to you. Neither of you said anything for a couple minutes, there wasn’t much to say.
“I was 14.” You said, breaking the silence, causing JJ’s head to turn towards you. He stayed silent as you continued.
“Hit and run.” You laughed bitterly. “My little sister was 12. We were finally getting to the point where we didn’t fight everyday, we were becoming friends. She had just started asking me for advice about boys and was always asking to have sleepovers.” You smiled, remembering your little sister fondly. “It still hurts. It’ll always hurt, I think. But, I’ve learned I can’t change what happened, and I try to be thankful for the time I had with her. I would say she probably wouldn’t want me to be sad, but that’s not true, she loved attention.” JJ laughed with you this time.
“What’s her name?” JJ asked.
“Layla.” You responded, her name feeling weird on your tongue. You hadn’t said her name in years. “And my mom, gosh there was no one like my mom.” JJ wasn’t asking, but you were telling.
“She just always understood, you know? She’d let me stay home if my mind was taking over, she continued to buy the ice cream I told her was my favorite when I was 7, I didn’t have the heart to tell her I didn’t like it anymore.” You frowned, staring at your hands. “Christine is great, I love her with everything in me. But sometimes I wish she was in my life under different circumstances.”
JJ nodded in understanding, taking his hand in yours and pressing a lingering kiss to it. “They sound wonderful.”
“They are- were.”
JJ shook his head, “Just because they’re not here doesn’t mean they stopped being wonderful.”
You yanked JJ’s hand so his arm wrapped around your shoulder and you leaned into him, earning a sweet kiss on the top of your head.
“You’re sweet, princess.” You teased, using the nickname that you would use when the two of you fought.
“Tell anyone and you’re dead meat, baby.”
You laughed, resting your head on his chest. “What changed your mind about me?” You asked, biting your bottom lip.
JJ thought for a moment, mulling over his words to avoid saying the wrong thing.
“I never changed my mind.”
Your heart dropped as you began to pull away, feeling embarrassed.
“Uh uh uh, let me finish.” JJ pulled you back against him and you huffed. “I never changed my mind because I’ve felt this way about you all along. I’ve never had such strong feelings for a person before, so when you came along I mistook all of the signs as hatred. My mom left and my dad…” JJ trailed off for a moment, trying to put together his words in the least concerning way possible, “My dad takes his anger out on me. And I just never really learned how to receive love, or how to understand it.”
Your heart sank at JJ’s words. All those times he’d show up to the Chateau with bruises and scrapes, telling everyone to fuck off instead of boasting about how he “totally kicked that kooks ass”, it was his dad.
“JJ-”
“Mmm, let’s not do that now, yeah? Just know I’ve adored you this whole time, I was just too stupid to see it.”
“When did you change your mind about me?” JJ asked.
You pondered for a moment, thinking back on when you first started thinking of JJ differently.
“That night at the Boneyard, when Tyler showed up. I was dancing with Pope and all I could think was, ‘I need JJ’, and then there you were. I didn’t want you to ever leave my side again. When you took me back to the Chateau and sat me down on the couch, I was confused because I felt so safe and loved, more than I ever have. It was so out of the blue. Hours before we had just been screaming at each other and then I never wanted you to let me go.”
“You’re making this really hard, Red.” JJ huffed, running a hand over his face.
“What?” You asked craning your neck to look up at him.
“Not kissing you.”
You sat up from your position on his chest, turning your body so you were facing each other, your legs hanging off one side of the hammock and his off the other.
“Then kiss me.”
“(Y/n)...”
“What, scared?”
JJ didn’t say anything, he just looked at you. You had that striking red grin, and your eyes held that glint of mischief and joy.
“You were just inconsolable like, an hour ago.”
“But I’m not now.”
“I-”
“Please, JJ.” You pouted, your eyes big and your frown deep as you slowly reached for him.
And he couldn’t say no to that face.
He slowly brought his hand up to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb resting on your cheek as his face slowly leaned into yours, his hand softly pulling you closer by the neck. You brought one hand up to the back of his neck, burying your fingers in his hair as his other hand found its place on your waist. You stared at each other for a moment, noses barely touching. Your heart was beating so fast you felt like it was about to crawl out of your throat, the anticipation was driving you crazy but you were also cherishing every second of it, just being so close to him, knowing what’s about to happen.
His lips just barely brushed over yours and your entire body erupted in butterflies, goosebumps dancing all up and down your arms and legs.
“You fucker.” You teased and JJ giggled before fully planting his lips on yours. You felt like you had been on fire and had been dumped into an ice bath. The relief that covered your entire body and soul was something you had never felt before. You had kissed plenty of people in your lifetime, and nothing had ever compared to the feeling you had kissing JJ.
You pulled away for a moment to catch your breath, but JJ whined and pulled you back into him, bringing you to sit on his lap as he continued to kiss you. You both giggled and broke apart when you nearly toppled out of the hammock, JJ’s hands immediately steadying you. He looked up at you while stroking your cheekbone with his thumb before planting soft kisses to your arm, trailing his lips up to your shoulder, neck, cheek and finally one last sweet kiss on your lips.
“Well it’s about goddamn time!” John B yelled as the rest of the pogues whooped and hollered, jumping up and down. Both of you flipped off your friends and JJ kissed you once more, your middle fingers still in the air.
“You’re fucking incredible.” JJ muttered once you broke yet another kiss.
“I know.” You smirked.
Once JJ helped you off the hammock, with a lot of wincing and you telling him his kissing made your bruised lip hurt, you made your way back over to your friends, an unmistakable feeling of joy filling everyone’s hearts.
John B handed you and JJ a beer, which you had to decline because of your concussion, much to your dismay, but you gladly took the joint that Kie offered you, blowing out the smoke into JJ’s mouth before taking the hit for yourself. The sun started to set on the Chateau, so Pope and John B set up a fire and Kie brought out her ukulele, her and Sarah singing in harmony to Over the Rainbow by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. Your heart swelled in your chest listening to JJ quietly singing along with his arm slung around your shoulders, his face was tinted the slightest shade of pink from being in the sun all day, making his eyes look impossibly more blue. You knew tomorrow brought troubles and anxiety, but you pushed them to the back of your mind, enjoying this beautiful moment with your friends. You rested your head on JJ’s shoulder, your hand coming up to hold his that was around your shoulder, placing a gentle kiss on his hand. JJ blushed and squeezed you just a little bit tighter.
“(Y/n), you staying the night?”
You smiled and nodded, your eyes a bit droopy from the weed. You had texted Christine already, telling her you were staying the night and assuring her that everyone was staying the night and you were safe.
“Yes!” Sarah exclaimed, getting up from her spot next to John B. “More beer?” Everyone apart from you nodded as Sarah made her way inside the house to grab more cold beer.
“Aw, well if it isn’t the goonies.”
That voice.
Tyler approached the Chateau, Topper, Kelce and Rafe hot on his heels.
Everyone stood up immediately, JJ pushed you behind him without a second thought.
“Heard my baby sister wanted to meet up tonight, thought I’d come to her, spare her the trouble.” Tyler said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
You were appreciative of JJ’s protectiveness over you, but this was your fight. “I know what you did, Tyler.” You said, trying your hardest to hide the shakiness in your voice as you pushed JJ out of your way, taking a couple steps forward.
“There she is!” Tyler exclaimed, gesturing his arms to you. “You don’t know shit, dumbass.”
“You killed my mom and sister.”
“Me?” Tyler raised a hand to his chest in shock and turned to his friends, who all shook their heads like you were crazy. “I would never do such a thing.”
“You said-”
“Did you hit your head too hard the other day? Sounds to me like you’re making things up.”
He was trying to make you feel crazy, and you weren’t putting up with it.
“What was your plan, huh?” You asked, standing your ground. “Hit my mom and my little sister with your car, devastating my family so my dad could go running into your unknowing mother’s arms. Were you gonna kill all of us next so you could get the money? How exactly did you plan on doing that?”
Tyler’s chest was heaving up and down, sharp breaths coming in and out of his nose.
“Layla was 12 years old, you psychopath.”
“I never meant to kill your fucking sister!”
And there it was. Eerie silence fell over the Chateau like a heavy blanket.
“You motherfucker.” You shrieked, stomping forward and sending your hand flying across his cheek. Before you could even blink, Tyler had his hand around your throat and the barrel of a gun pressed to your jaw. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. You could see the pogues, Kiara with a hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes, hugging Sarah close to her, John B and Pope holding JJ back, his eyes wild with anger and fear. You could see Topper and Kelce with wide eyes, obviously unaware of the gun in your step brother's possession. You could see Rafe with a knowing grin on his face. Bastard.
You were terrified, panic surging through your body as you tried to stay still so you wouldn’t anger him with any sudden movements.
“Any of you even think about moving and I kill her!” He screamed.
“Tyler, put the gun down man, what the fuck?” Topper said, his voice calm, trying to talk him down.
“Fuck you!”
And suddenly Tyler was on the ground, the gun flying into the darkness. JJ wasted no time running to your step brother, grabbing him by his shirt collar and beating his face with his fists. You and Rafe made eye contact before both of you made a break for the gun, scrambling through the darkness. Rafe tackled you down and tried to reach for it, but you kneed him in the crotch, hoping to buy you a couple seconds. The Cameron boy groaned and held his area, toppling over and whining in a fetal position.
“Pussy boy.” You rolled your eyes and crawled toward the gun, smiling once it was in your grip before Rafe pulled you back by your ankle. You flipped over onto your back and pointed the gun at him.
“You don’t have the guts.”
“Self defense, bitch. Now get off of me.”
Rafe backed up with his hands in the air and you made your way back to the group, gun in hand, still pointed at Rafe. Tyler and JJ were going at it, both throwing punches and kicks, the rest of the group fighting off Topper and Kelce.
“Back off my friends or I'll shoot!” You yelled, and everyone stopped and turned to you with your gun pointed at Rafe. The three kooks backed off with their hands up in surrender.
“You won’t shoot me, Little Red.” Tyler said, walking closer to you.
“I will if you try anything.” You responded, taking the gun off of Rafe and shoving him forward so he was still in your eyesight, now pointing it at Tyler.
“You stay away from her!” JJ yelled, charging towards Tyler but quickly being held back by Rafe and Topper.
Tyler got so close to you that the gun was touching his t-shirt.
Why was he testing you? He had to have something up his sleeve.
The motherfucker literally had something up his sleeve.
Tyler tore a switchblade out of his jacket sleeve and jabbed it into your collarbone, and in the same second you fired the gun.
Your brain felt fuzzy, you couldn’t even feel the knife in your collarbone, the only way you knew it was there was because you could see it sticking out of the corner of your eye.
You heard screams, multiple screams.
Footsteps running away.
Was someone crying?
Were you crying?
Everyone ran to you, JJ leading the group, so he got to you first. He immediately put his hands on your face, frantically searching your eyes before you dropped to your knees, JJ following suit.
“Baby, look at me.” He said firmly. Someone gently took the gun from your hands, why were you still holding it? You brought your hand up to touch the knife, crying out in pain from the smallest touch.
“No, don’t touch it, okay? Leave it alone, paramedics are on their way okay?”
You still didn’t look at him, your eyes were wide as you stared at everyone around you, their faces full of concern.
“She’s in shock.” Pope stated. He was crouched in front of you, next to JJ. “Try to bring her back to reality.”
“How the fuck do I do that?” JJ snapped.
“Chill, JJ! Talk to her, touch her, anything!”
JJ’s left hand continued to cradle your face and you leaned into his touch as his right hand threaded through your hair. “You’re okay, okay? Can you talk to me?” His voice broke, tears beginning to fill his blue eyes.
Your eyes wandered away from the group and landed on Tyler’s body, lifeless. You let out a gasp as if all of the wind had been knocked out of your body.
“I killed him.” You rasped.
JJ quickly moved in front of the body, blocking your view of him. Your breathing was shallow as you brought your hands up to your neck, trying to claw at the skin to make way for you to breathe. Pope’s hands gently grabbed yours, moving them away from your neck and holding them in your lap. JJ gave him a thankful nod and he situated himself in front of you.
“Christine-” Your body flooded with guilt and sadness for your stepmom, that was her son. He may have done unspeakable things to you and her family but that was her son. And you killed him.
“Hey, hey, hey. Shhh,” JJ was quick to stop the terrible thought. “You had to, okay? She’ll understand. Just focus on me, baby.”
You nodded and squeezed Pope’s hands, focusing your eyes on JJ’s.
“You’re doing so good, pretty girl. Just a couple more minutes, okay?”
You nodded again. The pain in your collarbone was beginning to worsen as your shock wore off and you whimpered.
Great, you thought, another fucking injury to make my life even better.
Really your whole body hurt, your concussion and bruises worsening and stitches ripping open from Rafe tackling you to the ground.
“It hurts.” You whine, a single tear escaping from your eye, JJ wiped it before it could run down your face. “I know.” He whispered. “I know, my love, I’m so sorry.” He rested his forehead on yours, trying his best to give you as much comfort as he could without pulling you against him and driving the blade further in.
“Fuck, you guys. We didn’t get a recording.” Kie said, slapping her palm against her forehead. You removed one hand from Pope’s and worked through your pain and brought your phone out of your back pocket, tossing it on the ground, not having enough strength to hand it to her.
John B picked it up and smiled, your phone had been recording the entire time, starting just a minute after Tyler made himself known at the Chateau.
“(Y/n), you magnificent kook.” John B said, giving your arm a squeeze. You had moved your forehead to rest on JJ’s shoulder, your body posed awkwardly to avoid the knife being touched, one hand still in Pope’s.
Everyone was relieved, but the dead body in their presence and the knife in your body made it hard to be completely relieved. Once the paramedics and police arrived, JJ had to release you from his hold, watching the paramedics put you on the gurney and load you in the back of the ambulance, by yourself, for the second time.
Kiara and Pope were talking to the police, showing them the proof on your phone and the gun and walking them through everything that happened while JJ watched the ambulance drive away, as soon as it was out of sight he broke down, John B quick to pull his friend into his arms, Sarah gently leaned her head on his back, her hand coming up to stroke his back
“She doesn’t deserve any of this.” JJ cried, holding onto his best friend. He knew you were gonna be okay, the paramedics said the knife would be easy to remove and they could stitch up the wound easily, but he was worried about you. You would never be the same.
“She doesn’t.” John B agreed.
“I just want her to be okay.”
“I know, bubba, me too.” John B replied, his own tears brimming in his eyes, “She will be.”
JJ could feel Sarah shaking against him, her tears wetting his shirt and he unravelved in arm from John B to bring her into the hug. “Get in here, kook princess.” JJ teased through his tears. Pope and Kiara soon joined the group hug, comforting their friends through touch.
“What did Shoupe say?” JJ asked once they all pulled away, wiping at his tears.
“They said (Y/n)’s okay, a very obvious case of self defense, but they’re still going to ask her a couple questions once she’s of sound mind.” Pope answered and Kiara nodded.
“Thank God.” Sarah breathed out and JJ’s shoulders relaxed in relief, one less thing to worry about.
“Well why are we all just standing here?” John B asked after a couple moments of silence. “Let’s go see our girl.”
+
“I am still meeeeee you are still youuuuu” I couldn’t get that damn song out of my head while I was writing this
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nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy
read on ao3
Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.
Why shouldn’t it be? Things could be worse — he could’ve lost his arm, could’ve been shot in the spine instead, could’ve not survived the trip to the hospital. But he did — he’s healed, he’s still breathing, and he’s ready to get back to work on Monday, to stop staring at the inside of his house and get back to the life he’d finally started to feel settled in. There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.
He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.
~~~~~~~~~~
It doesn’t really register, the first time it happens. There’s a glint of light in his periphery, and for a second, his arms go numb. It’s just a second, though — he sees the flash again, sunlight shining off an axe Ravi is packing onto the truck, and he moves on, doesn’t think about it again.
The next time, the wind whips by his ear a little too fast after a call at the pier, and he turns around so quickly he cracks his neck, the thought of bulletbulletbullet ricocheting in his head. It gets him a concerned look from Bobby and reminds him that he never called that therapist his doctor mentioned at his last visit, but he elects to deal with it later and moves on.
Things keep happening, but they’re all small, insignificant — someone laughing too loudly at dinner, the feel of hot asphalt under his hands as he reaches under the ambulance for a runaway bandage roll, a phantom jolt of pain in his shoulder when someone accidentally jostles him running to the truck.
Tiny things, meaningless, not even worth remembering.
He’ll get used to them, eventually. He’s been healing, isolated from the real world for months now, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to his system and his senses.
He doesn’t call the therapist.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buck’s happy. Genuinely happy, in an open, honest way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen. His laughs are still loud but they’re freer, unrestrained, and his smile is bright enough to light whatever room he’s in. It makes something sing in Eddie’s chest, especially when all that wattage gets directed at him. If he’s honest, the music’s been there for a while, it just took lying in his own blood, reaching toward the only thing that felt like safety, for him to finally put a name on the song that’s been playing.
Talk about shitty timing.
Because Buck’s with Taylor now, and as much as he still doesn’t care for her, she’s helping with Buck’s new attitude too. He sees the soft smiles that linger after a text from her, and he only gives himself a minute to wish it were for him instead before reminding himself how much of a miracle those smiles are at all.
If he had watched Buck get shot, been splattered with his blood, been soaked with it as he tried to stop it from leaking out of his chest, he’s not sure he would’ve had any kind of happiness to spare.
So he adds this feeling, this particularly green beast twisting in his chest, to the list of things that he’s just going to have to get used to, and moves on. Buck is still in his and Chris’ life, still at their house more than his own, still the center of both of their worlds, and that’s enough.
It has to be.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Wow, Eddie, you look like shit.”
He glares at Chimney as best he can, but he’s too tired for it to hold any heat. “Good morning to you too, Chim.”
Hen sits next to him at the table where he’s nursing his second mug of coffee of the day, downing the first one before driving Chris to school. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tries not to melt into the touch too much.
“You don’t feel warm,” she says, “but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”
He shrugs, staring down at his coffee. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”
That may be an understatement. Not sleeping well implies sleeping at all, which Eddie’s not sure he’s been able to do in the past few days. It was easy enough when he first got home, still on pain meds that made his eyelids constantly heavy. And when Chris crawled into his bed the night after his sling came off, quiet but sniffling and burrowing into his side, it was a relief to gather him up close, a hand stroking through his hair as they both drifted off, clinging to each other. It was good for both of them, necessary to remind them both that Eddie is still here, but Chris went to his own room on Monday night instead of Eddie’s, and Eddie refused to take that choice away from him.
So he’s been alone, in a too dark room with a too big bed and a too loud brain that only shows him flashes of light and blood and fear whenever he does try to close his eyes.
Just another thing he has to get used to.
He sees Chim and Hen exchange a look and hopes to God they don’t press it. He’s beyond frayed, his state of exhaustion warring with his almost constant state of hypervigilance, and he’s not sure if he’d snap or cry or both if they try to ask him any more questions. Either way, that’s not how he wants them or anyone else to see him, especially not at work. At work, he’s Mr. Cool, always level headed, always in the game, always on top of it. Despite the jumpiness, despite the sense of dread that seems to be a permanent fixture under his skin, he’s been able to keep that attitude going, even getting lost in it sometimes, feeling like the Eddie of four months ago again. If that starts to unravel, who knows what other parts of him will fall apart with it?
Luckily, they seem to get the hint, a pat on the back and a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the loft to restock the ambulance. But even once they’re gone and he’s alone in the quiet of the loft again, Eddie feels exposed. Fragile. Vulnerable. Teetering on the edge of an abyss he can’t afford to fall into. And he hates it, because this isn’t him. He’s the protector, the provider, the guy who’s survived getting shot twice now, and as much as he encourages Chris to be open and emotional, it still feels wrong to him, like something too close to failure. He knows, rationally, that talking about the mess in his head would probably help, but it would also feel like a loss. Like this one-sided war he’s been fighting was all for nothing.
He hears Buck before he sees him, his unmistakable bounding up the stairs echoing through the whole loft. Just that sound, just the knowledge that Buck is about to be in his vicinity, is enough to yank Eddie back from the edge. He’s not settled or calm or better, but he’s not worse. These days, that’s all he can really ask for.
Buck takes Hen’s vacant seat, stealing a sip of coffee and chattering about a traveling art exhibit he thinks they should take Chris to. Eddie feels the vice on his ribs loosen, letting Buck’s voice and enthusiasm wash over him, pushing him back to center. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Buck stops talking mid-sentence, brow furrowed and looking so intensely at Eddie he can probably see right through him
“You look tired,” Buck says.
Tired isn’t a strong enough word. But he smirks half heartedly instead, willing a little bit of his confidence back to get the subject changed sooner. “And here I thought I looked good today.”
“No, you always—“ Buck clears his throat and shakes his head, “You just look like you could use a nap. Are you okay?”
And for the first time since he woke up in the hospital with a new hole in his body and extra demons in his head, Eddie doesn’t want to say he’s fine. In the face of earnest blue eyes and worry lines, he doesn’t want to lie, and that’s exactly what an I’m fine would be, no matter how much he’s been trying to ignore it. He doesn���t want to downplay and pretend that it’s nothing, because it’s Buck. Buck who has seen him lower than he’s ever let anyone see, who slept on his couch so he was never too far away from him or Chris, who knows when Eddie needs to be pulled or pushed or pressed or none of the above.
He doesn’t want to just say he’s fine, because he’s not.
The courage to say so finally fills him, just in time for Buck’s phone to light up, Taylor’s name flashing across the screen on two messages. Buck doesn’t even glance at his phone before flipping it face down and pushing it to the side, but it’s too late — Eddie feels his walls going back up, any bravery leaving to make room for the reminder that Buck is in a good place and Eddie will do anything to keep him there. He’ll take another bullet, he’ll keep every emotion under lock and key, he’ll carve his own damn heart out of his chest if he has to. He cannot — will not — be the reason that smile that’s become so natural on Buck’s face dims by even a watt.
The crease in between Buck’s brow has only gotten deeper the longer Eddie hasn’t answered, so he musters up the most genuine smile he can. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise.” The lie cuts through his throat like broken glass.
Buck squints at him, scooting forward until his knees are digging into Eddie’s thigh. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”
“Of course,” he says, another lie, more salt in the wounds he’s already given himself. Buck’s quiet for a few long moments, studying Eddie’s face, and Eddie prays that he doesn’t crack, that Buck doesn’t keep pressing. By some miracle, he doesn’t, just rests a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes before heading to the pantry for a snack.
The vice is back as soon as he’s out of sight, and Eddie’s list of things he has to learn to live with is starting to feel a little too long.
~~~~~~~~~~
Healing isn’t linear. It’s something he’s heard from every doctor he’s seen, every therapist he’s been assigned to, something he’s experienced first hand, physically and emotionally. So when he wakes up one morning feeling rested, energetic, and normal, he’s wary. He doesn’t want to focus on it, afraid he’ll scare this fragile feeling away, but he also wants to soak in it as much as he can. Wants to remember the easy laughs with the team and the night of board games with Chris and Buck when he’s inevitably surrounded by darkness again tomorrow.
He falls asleep and he doesn’t dream and he wakes up and feels...normal. Again. Same thing the morning after, and the morning after that. For a whole week, he doesn’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth or a soreness in his shoulder. He hears birds and sees the sun peaking in and feels something dangerously close to good. The wariness is still there, but every day it gets pushed a little farther back in his mind, making it a little easier to believe that while this feeling might not last, maybe it won’t be as dark when the clouds roll back in.
He’s wrong.
The restlessness comes back with a vengeance — a thrumming in his blood that won’t let him sleep, that amplifies every sound to sharp snaps that remind him too much of the gunfire he’s been trying to forget, putting him constantly on edge again. There’s a heaviness too, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, even though staying in one place for too long feels like putting a target on his back for the monsters that have made a home in his head.
He tries to keep his cool, tries to keep the facade up, but it’s hard to keep your balance on a frayed tightrope.
Bobby notices the shift right away.
It doesn’t help that even the quiet thump of the oven closing makes Eddie flinch where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter. He had hoped that watching Bobby make breakfast would calm him, remind him of the countless hours he’s spent in Abuela’s kitchen doing the very same thing, but it doesn’t. He’s still jittery, worse than he can remember being, and everything just feels like too much.
Bobby sets a to-go container down in front of him, and Eddie flinches (and curses himself) again. He looks up, confused, and is met with Bobby’s I’m about to tell you to do something and you are not allowed to say no look. Usually it’s Buck on the receiving end of that one.
He tries for a deflection. “Are we going somewhere, Cap?”
The look stays in place. “We are not. You are. There’s enough in there for you and Chris, take it home and don’t let me see you here for the next 48 hours.”
“There’s still three hours left of shift.”
Bobby pushes the container closer. “Go home, Diaz. Be with your kid. We’ll talk when you get back. And if you won’t talk to me, we’ll find someone you will talk to.”
Normally, he’d fight back. Raise his hackles, insist he doesn’t need any special treatment or intervention. But he feels like his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead and cement and he’s tired. He barely has enough left in him to keep himself upright.
He slowly picks up the container and gets up to leave. Bobby calls his name as he gets to the top of the stairs.
“We’re here for you,” he says. “You’ve been through too much to be handling this on your own. Just let us know how we can help.”
I would if I could, but I don’t even know where to start.
He just nods, hopes his face looks some degree of reassuring, and heads to the locker room.
~~~~~~~~~~
The way Chris’ face lights up when he sees Eddie waiting for him in the front office is enough to thaw the ice in his chest for a minute. He can hear the exact octave his mother’s voice would reach if she heard about him pulling Chris out of school for “no good reason”, but he also could not give less of a shit.
He feels a little bit more like a person with Chris in the backseat. That’s a good enough reason for him.
They set up camp in the park near their house, Bobby’s food and extra snacks Eddie picked up spread out between them, and Chris fills Eddie in on all the things he missed while he was working. He tries to focus on everything — Chris’ excitement about his upcoming science fair, the Sour Patch Watermelon sugar stuck to the tip of his nose, the way his hands move with his words. Eddie feels better, more settled, just getting to bask in the sun and in Chris like this, but he still feels heavy, like every move he makes has him fighting against gravity, threatening to pull him into the dirt.
There’s a crack from the playground in front of them, and Eddie’s blood turns to ice. He’s halfway to standing before he sees it’s just some kids snapping sticks in half to build some kind of log cabin. He lets out a slow breath as he sits back down and wills his heartbeat back to normal.
Chris is staring at him, eyes intense and brow furrowed, very similar to someone else they know.
Shit.
As soon as he’s settled, Chris moves to sit in the criss-cross of his legs. He’s a little too on the lanky side for this anymore, but Eddie’s absolutely not going to complain. Chris twists until he’s looking Eddie in the eye. Eddie does his best not to look away.
Chris rests a hand on his cheek. “It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he says. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”
The crack comes from Eddie’s own heart this time. His kid has been through so much in 10 short years, and it’s only made him wiser than he should be, compassionate and understanding and open, ready to be there for anyone without a second thought. He’s good in every sense of the word, and Eddie’s in awe of the fact that he, somehow, has something to do with that. And the last thing he wants to do is lie to his son, but he just...can’t. Talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not in a way that will keep Chris this good.
He has no way of articulating all that, so he just wraps his arms around Chris’ middle and squeezes him close.
“I know, buddy. Thank you. I’ll be okay, and we’ll talk soon.”
It’s not a lie, but it’s not everything.
It seems to be enough for Chris, though. He nods and pats Eddie’s face before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a library book. “Well, I’m gonna read to you until you feel better, just like you do for me.”
It’s the first real smile Eddie’s cracked in months. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, settling his chin there as Chris leans back into his chest.
“Sounds like a good plan to me.”
They sit there for a while longer, Chris reads to him about Percy and Annabeth and Grover, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels a little bit lighter.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buck’s Jeep is parked outside when they get home, and Chris practically breaks down the door to greet him. It looks like he’s gone all out, too — Chinese food on the table, the promise of cookies and cream ice cream in the fridge, and a list of movies that Chris ecstatically agrees with as Buck lists them off. Chris hurries off to change and clean up for dinner, and Eddie moves to start opening plastic lids and cardboard containers.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says. He leaves out just having you with us is enough.
Buck waves him off. “Anything for you two.”
He could leave it at that, keep up the comfortable silence as they move around the kitchen in tandem, but there’s a nagging memory that he has to ask about or he’ll never stop thinking about it.
“Didn’t you have a date with Taylor tonight?”
Buck tenses ever so slightly, a container of dumplings shifting in his hand. “Cancelled,” he says with a shrug.
Eddie knows there’s more, but Chris comes back before he can ask, and it doesn’t feel like a conversation they can have in front of a 10 year old. So they eat, and fall into the familiar banter between the three of them, and for half an hour, Eddie can be present. He can forget the last six months and the weight still hanging off of him and live in this moment, with the two most important people in his life, and pretend that this is all there is. Just these two and their joy and warmth that wraps around him tight enough to make him feel alive again, if only for a little while.
Two bowls of ice cream and one and a half movies later, Chris is dead to the world. Buck carries him to bed and Eddie tries to ignore the new ache that’s sprung up of the course of the evening, the one that wants and pulls towards Buck like a magnet. The one that almost purrs when Buck settles back on the couch so close they’re touching from ankle to (good) shoulder, contentedness washing over the living room as they find a rerun of The Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. It’s not perfect, there’s still a roiling in his blood that won’t seem to leave him alone, but he feels better than he has in God knows when.
Buck shifts closer to Eddie, eyes glowing in the light of the TV, and Eddie never wants him to leave. “Thanks for coming tonight. I— Chris and I both really needed this, I think.”
“I told you, anything for you two. Always.”
He ignores the way his stomach flips and tries to focus on the movie. He gets about five minutes of peace before another thought comes back, still nagging him, mixing with his anxiety enough to actually force him to say something.
He aims for cool and casual. “So, you and Taylor...everything okay?”
Buck gives him a very long, almost challenging look before turning off the TV. Seems he missed that casual mark. “I should be asking you the same thing.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not trying to be. I’m really worried about you, Eds.”
“This isn’t my first time getting shot, I know how to handle it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but he can’t bring himself to care, either. He doesn’t have the energy to keep a filter up anymore.
“Eddie, I’m serious.”
“I’m fine, Buck,” he says sharply, and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out of his head yet with how hard he’s lying through them. He hates that he’s lying to Buck at all, but those smiles he’s gotten used to have been fewer and farther between recently, and he knows it’s his fault. He might feel like his own seams are coming apart, but he’ll be damned if he rips Buck open too, even if it means pushing him away from his mess. “You’ve got a life and a girlfriend to worry about, I’ll figure everything out on my own.”
“I don’t.”
“What?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up.”
Eddie pauses, curses the faint hope that sparks in his chest. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been a little distracted by someone else for the past few months. It didn’t feel fair to her to keep it going.”
He gives him another long look, and Eddie might be a little dense when it comes to things like this, but that look breaks through loud and clear. This is it. This is real. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months — and probably longer than that — but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. Buck was happy, free, finally settled into his own skin, and it’s all gone now because of Eddie and his stupid, broken everything. He knows he won’t be able to give Buck everything he needs, at least right now, but Buck needs to know that too. “Buck—”
“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I know you’re gonna try and blame yourself for this somehow, but…don’t. It was bound to happen anyway. Because you’re right, I do have a life, but it’s you two. You and Chris. That’s all I need it to be. That’s all I want it to be. And I hate that it took so long for me to figure out, that it took you getting shot, but we’re here now.” His eyes shutter a bit as he looks down at his hands. “At least, I hope we are.”
And there it is. So simple, so easy, for Buck to admit this huge thing that Eddie thought he was dancing around on his own. The ease reminds Eddie, through his fog of sadness and anger and every other bleak feeling that’s been controlling him, that that’s what makes them work so well together. Honesty. Being able to show all their ugly, mismatched inside parts to each other and still find the beauty, the ways to help, the ways to hold each other together when they need it the most.
And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever needed to be held together more than he does right now.
“Ask me,” he whispers, the sound seeming to echo around the room.
“Ask you what?”
“Ask me if I’m okay.”
Buck shuffles on the couch until they’re facing each other, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his.
“Eddie,” he says softly, “are you okay?”
The world blurs as the tears he’s been fighting finally break free, but he feels strong. Brave. Like he can do anything now that Buck’s holding his hand.
“No,” he says, a crack in his voice but the conviction behind it still firm. “No, I’m not okay.”
The floodgates open, and he lets everything wash over him, all the things he’s been holding back, forcing away in the hopes that they’d just disappear one day. He’s floating and sinking and lost in the waves of it all, but strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, and there’s relief. Not a lot, not enough, but it’s there, for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He feels safe here, with Buck wiping away his tears and pressing kisses along his hairline. He honestly forgot what safety felt like, was sure he’d never feel anything like it again. But he knew it that day he was bleeding out on the street, and he knows it now — it feels like Buck’s sweatshirt and smells like his aftershave and sounds like whispers of it’s okay and I’ve got you.
It all subsides, eventually, but Buck still holds him close, presses their foreheads together so there’s nothing else Eddie can focus on. His eyes are piercing, bright like Eddie only usually sees when Buck has a plan that refuses to be derailed.
“Let me help, Eddie,” he says, punctuated with a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I know you think you can do this yourself, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to. Let me help you carry it.”
His voice left with the rush of everything, so all Eddie can do is nod before sinking back into Buck, into relief. Even that simple motion, the silent acknowledgement that he’s not alone anymore, is enough to let small seeds of hope sink into him and take root. They’re still weak, still unfamiliar, but they’re here, waiting to grow.
And Eddie knows, with a certainty that he forgot he was capable of, that Buck will be here to help tend to them, no matter how long it takes for them to blossom.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he still feels weighed down. There’s still an edge, an unease low in his gut, anxiety still crawling through his veins.
He’s not okay. But he looks over and sees Buck — breathing even, arm thrown over Eddie’s stomach, keeping him close — and the ever-present darkness fades from an angry black to melancholy grey. Not perfect, not even close, but better.
He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while. But now, finally, he feels like he will be.
#eddie diaz#evan buckley#buddie#911 fox#buddie fic#911 fic#tim i know you read fanfic you can HAVE this one so we can get a recovery arc#i don't even need credit just DO IT#ficcery
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Whumper 4, caretaker 5 caretaker (doesn't know it's blood)
Is that ok?
Whumper 4: “Let's see what's more important to you. Your dignity, or their safety?” / Caretaker 5: “Let me help you.”
Yeah, of course that's ok :) I'm guessing that the parenthesis was supposed to go before the 'caretaker' and they don't know about the blood? well, I hope that's it because that's what I wrote haha, but if it wasn't, please feel free to send me another ask <3
Also, some content warnings because this one ended up a little intense: implied noncon (didn't mean to write it like that but the vibes are there so), noncon drugging, a very creepy and intimate whumper... there's comfort at the end though!
-
Whumpee should’ve known there was something weird about Whumper. No one could smile that big and talk that kindly without wanting something in return. They just never thought it’d be this.
“Come on, now. I don’t have the whole night. What’s your choice?”
All Whumpee does is close their eyes and shake their head, too overwhelmed to force any words out of their quivering lips.
“Whumpee, it’s not a hard one,” Whumper huffs, and they can hear the annoyance in their voice but they can’t convince themself to say the words. “Do you need me to repeat it to you?”
They don’t, the sound of Whumper’s offer still echoes inside their head, loud and clear.
But Whumper takes their silence as agreement.
“Here’s your choice: you can take these pills and be the entertainment of my party tonight, or I can go snatch someone else to do it. You’ll only stay if you agree, and if you don’t, I’ll let you walk away and never see me again. It’d be a shame though, because everything is ready for you. I’ve been watching you, and oh Whumpee, you are just so… perfect. But, in case you say no, I can always go after someone else. Say… Caretaker? I’m told they are a friend of yours.”
Their heart pounds in their ears, so loud Whumpee is almost surprised Whumper can’t hear it too.
“I can go get them if you want me to. Can’t promise they’ll come out in one piece after my guests finish playing, though. Not like I can promise you. You are far too precious to be permanently damaged, you I can promise to keep somewhat safe. Caretaker on the other hand, not so much. Who knows what those troglodytes could do to them if I give them a free pass?”
Whumper’s laugh fills the basement Whumpee woke up in only minutes ago, bouncing off the walls and making Whumpee’s skin crawl. How could they trust the mysterious stranger who offered them a ride? Why hadn’t they been more careful? Now here they are, locked in a basement with someone twice their size and no hope of escape. If only they’d been more careful–
“Well?” Whumper says, drawing Whumpee’s attention back to those narrowed eyes, glinting with cruelty.
“W-what will you do to me?” Whumpee whispers through the thick layer of fear enveloping their world. “If, if I say yes… what then?”
Their smile is almost as horrid as their laughter. Whumpee shrinks against the wall, pulling their knees closer to their chest. “If you say yes my love, the pills will start working in a few minutes. I will give you a nice new outfit while the drugs do their job and then when you are barely able to walk, I’ll help you up the stairs. Everyone will be so happy to see you, Whumpee.” Their eyes burn, but no tears fall when Whumper scoots closer and touches their hair, gentle fingers brushing back sweaty locks. “And then we will have fun. You’ll barely remember it afterward, but I will remember it forever. You might be left with some sore spots but all temporary. Well, almost all temporary, won’t promise one or two marks for you to remember me later. Maybe a few scratches, some of my friends are remarkably fond of knives. But the point here is that you’ll make anything we want you to, and that’s the real fun.”
“And if I say no?”
“If you say no, I’ll go after your friend. Kidnap them, just like I did you. And when they awake, they won’t be given the choice I’m giving you since it wasn’t them I really wanted. I’ll take them upstairs, and we’ll make them hurt. Scream. Cry. Maybe I’ll record it and send it all to you so you know what fate you chose for them. Now, what's your choice, Whumpee? Tell me.”
As they speak terrible word after terrible word, Whumper’s fingers continue to play with Whumpee’s hair. Twisting and brushing and caressing. Always so soft, so awfully soft in comparison to the nightmares they spit into Whumpee’s brain.
“Let's see what's more important to you. Your dignity, or their safety?”
A tear finally escapes, only to be brushed away by Whumper’s touch.
“But don’t worry. If you make the right choice, It won’t be all pain, baby. It’ll be about those big scared eyes and that delightful little quiver on your lip. About how gorgeous you will look when you’re barely able to walk, and how you will cling when you can’t think straight. And I’ll be there the whole time. I’ll take care of you.”
Whumper is right.
In the end, it isn’t a hard choice.
Whumpee closes their eyes and nods at the same time a soft, broken “okay,” slips out of their lips. It doesn’t feel like the lock of a door they were expecting. It feels like taking a step into the void, and knowing there’ll be thorns waiting for them when they fall.
Still, it’s with Caretaker’s smile in their head that they force themself to swallow when two round pills touch their lips. They don’t open their eyes until a bottle of water is held for them to drink from. It is only when there is no more chance for them to break and plead to be let go, even if they want to, desperately, that they let their eyes flutter open.
Whumper is waiting for them with a wide smile when they do.
“Let us begin then.”
And so they do.
Whumper brushes Whumpee’s hair and gently applies makeup to their face. When they ask Whumpee to undress and give them new clothes, they don’t hesitate to obey, and only when Whumper is closing their zipper for them do they realize how faint they feel.
When they are placed in front of a mirror, Whumpee looks at the shiny clothes but forgets what they looked like as soon as they are led away. By the time the door is opened and music first hits their ears, they are leaning against Whumper to keep standing.
They try to climb the stairs. Narrowing their eyes to concentrate, they raise their foot, but the world is filled with blurred colors and too-quick movement, and the only reason they don’t fall is Whumper’s fast hands holding them up.
Whumpee is almost grateful when Whumper chuckles and whispers against their hair. “Easy there, baby. Let me help you.”
They rest their head against Whumper’s heart when they are picked up bridal style, and stay that way until the lighting changes and voices fill the air.
They are placed on the floor, and with Whumper’s help, manage to keep standing, even though the floor refuses to stand still under their feet.
And then there are hands on their hands, squeezing and hurting, and Whumpee tries, they try so hard, but instead of the firm no they want to say, only a moaned “n-hng, I, I, d-don, wha-what’s hap-happe–,” comes out.
And then the world slips away, and though their body still moves, they are barely there anymore to see it.
-
When Caretaker’s doorbell rings, they don’t hesitate to jump out of bed and run to the door. They’ve been sending Whumpee messages all night without response, and concern rings louder than sleep. Only when they open the door and see the sunrise do they realize how early it already is.
And then their gaze slides to the figure leaning against their doorframe, head bowed and shoulders slumped, and their heart misses a beat.
“Whumpee?” Caretaker calls, reaching out their hand.
But before they can touch sparkly clothes they’ve never seen their friend wearing before, Whumpee cowers away. Caretaker retreats, but their heart races even faster.
“Whumpee, what’s wrong? Where were you, did something happen?”
Whumpee looks up, and Caretaker doesn’t need an answer to know what happened. Wide pupils, half-lidded eyes, smudged makeup and parted lips tell them all they need to know.
“Oh, Whumpee.”
There are stains all over their clothes, too. Is it spilled alcohol? Is it vomit?
“Oh, Whumpee,” Caretaker sighs again, taking a slow step in their direction, feeling a sad, involuntary frown settling on their forehead. “What did you do?”
Whumpee follows their steps with their eyes but keeps still. It is only when Caretaker comes close enough for touch and extends their hand that they wince and shrink into themself again.
“Honey, I can see you’re not okay,” Caretaker says as calmly as they can. “Let me help you.”
Another step, and this time all Whumpee does is close their eyes and let out a low whimper. Caretaker sighs again as they help Whumpee wrap their arm around their shoulders and lead them inside.
Whumpee is almost a dead weight in Caretaker’s arms as they help them get into the bathroom, to seat on the toilet and lean back against the wall.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Caretaker asks, crouched down in front of Whumpee.
“I, I, I don– don’t, W-Whum-per. They, they, they did... something.”
“Who’s Whumper, love?”
But all Whumpee does is shake their head no as tears stream down their cheeks.
“Okay, you can tell me later. Can you at least tell me what did you use?”
The look Whumpee gives Caretaker is so utterly lost, that they nearly start crying as well.
“Don’t… kn-know. Pills?”
“How about a shower, and then we talk more, huh?” Caretaker tries, nodding encouragingly. Whumpee swallows, but doesn’t nod along with them. Instead, their eyes dart around the bathroom, searching for nothing.
With a reassuring squeeze on their knee, Caretaker gets into the shower and turns on the faucet. As the water warms up, they take one look at Whumpee’s slumped form and walk over to the mirror.
Clutching the cold porcelain of the sink, Caretaker looks up at their own image in the mirror – tired and disappointed, but also patient. Worried.
“You can do this,” they mouth to themself, “Whumpee needs your help.”
With one last sigh, they turn their head to Whumpee and take a step in their direction. And then a step back, when something grabs their attention at their peripheral vision.
Caretaker stares at their image in the mirror again and feels their heart stop when they see their sleeve stained red. The sleeve where their friend’s arm had just touched.
It isn't alcohol or puke on Whumpee’s clothes.
It is blood.
“Whumpee,” they call, dropping to their knees in front of them. Whumpee jumps and meets Caretaker’s stare with wide, scared eyes. “You are bleeding. Are you hurt? I need you to tell me where you are hurt, Whumpee.”
But all they do is breathe faster and faster, pure helplessness on their face.
“If you can’t tell me, I need to find the source of blood on my own. I’m taking your shirt off, okay?”
Caretaker doesn’t wait for an answer, and Whumpee doesn’t give them one.
They don’t fight Caretaker’s hands when they pull the shirt over their head, even when a pained hiss leaves their lips.
Caretaker holds their breath when they see Whumpee’s bared skin.
Bruises color their entire torso, as well as long crisscrossing welts. Their arms are covered in small, rounded marks that look dreadfully like cigarette burns. Cuts, deep and superficial litter everything, some already closed, some still weeping blood. There’s barely any smooth skin left.
“What happened to you?” Caretaker breathes, searching for answers in Whumpee’s terrified eyes. “Who did this?”
All the answer they get is a soft sob and a cold forehead hitting their shoulder as Whumpee falls forward and nuzzles into their neck.
Caretaker hugs them back, careful not to touch or press on sore skin, feeling their stomach churn when their fingers bump into more cuts along their back.
“I’m here now,” Caretaker whispers against their hair, tears of their own rolling down their cheeks, “I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again, Whumpee. You are safe. You are safe.”
They stay like that until the bathroom is foggy from the warm water falling from the shower and Whumpee’s shoulders stop shaking, but when Caretaker helps them undress and oh-so-carefully cleans the wounds, there’s only drowsiness and chemicals behind the fear in their eyes.
They have no idea what they'll do once Whumpee comes to. Or what they'll do to whoever Whumper is if they get the chance.
-
Prompts from this list. Still taking them but I can't promise how fast I'll write it haha
#whump#whump writing#creepy whumper#intimate whumper#drug whump#noncon drugging#kidnapping whump#vomit mention#noncon touching#caretaking#implied torture#implied noncon#self sacrifice
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I have an idea for another tomxreader story. So in this one Tom, reader, brothers and Harrison just finished a scary movie night, and they all decided to prank Tom by doing to tik tok trend where they hand under the bed and throw stuff and like touch them.
i can just so see this happening😭
｡☆✼★━━ requests are closed ━━★✼☆｡
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Tom yells, scrunching up into a ball and squeezing his eyes shut, gripping your shoulder in fear.
You share a laugh with the boys around you. “C’mon, Tom. This isn’t too bad.”
“Not too bad?!” Tom repeats dramatically. “There’s literally a clown! On screen! In an old abandoned house! That’s the worst kind of horror movie!”
“What could possibly have expected from Stephen King?” Harrison chuckles, eating a handful of popcorn from the bowl in his lap.
“You said he was a good writer! I didn’t think that was equivalent to scary!”
“Oh no, Tom,” you chuckle, “He’s quite the man when it comes to scary stuff.”
“Just watch the ending, Tom,” Harry suggests calmly, sipping the rest of his soda. “It’s almost over, anyways.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, sitting straight so he can view the television. The movie ends not twenty minutes later, and while Tom says something about cleaning up in the kitchen, Harry leans over to whisper something to you and Harrison, and Sam.
“You guys wanna pull some pranks?” he grins, and Harrison mirrors his smirks.
“What are you guys on?” Sam chuckles. “You’re going to give Tom a heart attack.”
“Awesome, then!” Harry says, before going on. “C’mon, it’s the perfect opportunity.”
“Oh!” You sit up, “I saw this thing on tiktok that’d be perfect for right now.”
“Really? What was it?”
You hum, “But we’d have to go upstairs right now.”
“Go, go, go!” Harry ushers you out, and you whisper the plan into his ear. “I’ll film it, just go!”
The three of you clamber your ways up the stairs, taking refuge in yours & Tom’s bedroom. You pull Sam under the bed with you, grabbing a number of things on your way down, things you can throw out at Tom. Sam found his glove from his Jeepers Creepers halloween costume , so he put it on his right hand for the occasion. You have to hold back a chuckle when you realize how mischievous you’re being.
Harrison, on the other hand, stays put in the closet. You don’t know how, but somehow he’d gotten a hold of the controls for the lighting in this room — Tom wanted to control the lights with his phone, something about proving to you that he’s not an old man with technology — so he’s got the app opened on his phone, and he’s ready to rattle some things around to make noises. He’s safely tucked away in the corner, though, so Tom won’t be able to see him, especially not if he’s too scared to even look.
“I don’t know why we couldn’t just watch that new Benedict Cumberbatch movie,” you hear Tom’s voice from behind the door, and it’s getting louder which means him and Harry are approaching.
“God, Tom. You’re such a wimp,” Harry’s looking down at your phone, discreetly recording on your tiktok.
“Clowns are not for the weak,” Tom defends. “They are for the severely advanced fearless citizens.”
“And you’re in that category?”
“Yes!” Tom exclaims while grabbing his shirt, which lays in the center of the unmade bed. As he steps closer, you reach out and delicately caress his ankle. Tom shoots back immediately, frightened.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” Harry shoots back.
Looking around the room, Tom doesn’t want to make himself look even stupider, so he lets it go. “Nothing, never mind.”
“Whatever you say, mate.”
“Alright, well, g’night,” Harry says, holding back his laughter. You have to bite your lip to do the same.
“Goodnight,” Tom says, back still turned to his brother. It gives Harry the opportunity to prop your phone up against the wall, getting a clear view of everything that’s going on. When the door shuts, Tom turns around, back now to the bed, and you throw a plastic water bottle out, the noise crinkling as it thuds on the ground. Tom gasps in surprise, running away from the bed and leaning against the other wall, the one by the closet.
Realizing where Tom stands, Harrison rattles the closet door, and it shakes and pounds. The noise is so startling that Tom lets out a small “fuck!” and he moves towards the window. Sam faces this way, and as Tom steps closer, slightly letting his guard down, Sam reaches out with his right hand and grabs at Tom’s ankle, securing his tough grip.
Tom looks down only for a split second, to see an abnormally looking hand pulling at his ankle and tugging him under the bed. Harrison plays with the lights, making them flicker and brighten. Tom screams, wholeheartedly and purely out of fear, and he attempts to lose the grip of whatever monster wants him — the monster that happens to be his brother’s hand.
In a haste to run away, Tom hops on one foot before losing his balance and tumbling to the ground. He crawls a bit of the way, and as Sam loses his grip, Tom comes into your view. You’ve acquired a clown mask, from last year’s Halloween party, and you shine a creepy flashlight on yourself.
Tom screams again when he sees what’s under the bed, and he runs for the exit. He moves too fast, though, because he runs right smack into the door, and as Harry comes in from all the commotion, he finds his brother on his back beside the door.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“There’s- there’s-” Tom stands quickly. “There’s a bloody monster under the bed!”
That’s when the laughter rings through the air, and Tom’s eyebrows pull together in confusion. Harry leans on his knees to contain his laughter, and you clutch your stomach while crawling out from under the bed. Harrison emerges from the closet not a second later, and as the final person — Sam — comes out with those costume gloves, it all comes together in Tom’s head.
“Y/N! You guys!” Tom groans. “You guys are so mean!”
“You have to admit, mate,” Harrison says between laughs. “That that was pretty fucking hilarious.”
“You screamed like a little girl!” You hold your stomach again, leaning on your knees just like Harry.
“Oh my god,” Sam giggles. “Did you run into the door?”
Tom rubs his elbow and his forehead, slightly bruised from the collision. “Shut up. You guys scared me!”
“That was kinda the point,” Harry rasps out. You pad over to the wall that your phone is against, and as you pick it up and press the video, the boys gather around to watch it. Immediately, you cower back in laughter, heads shooting back at how hilarious the result is.
“Stoppp!” Tom says from his place, whining. “That was so brutal.”
“That was literally the best thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.” You post the video and click your phone off.
“Just you wait, love,” Tom says “I’ll get you back. I’ll get you back real good.”
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angst fic where ravenclaw!reader has thalassophobia and is playing with the water by the shore in the dark lake with the necklace draco gave her before they broke up a few years back when the new girl he’s been going out with throws the necklace into the middle of the lake in spite, and the reader cannot afford to lose it djeiwis sorry if it’s messy u dont have to do it ure uncomfyyy
Prompts:
If you die, I’m going to kill you.
Jump In || Draco Malfoy
Requested: Yes
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader
Warnings: ANGST, a bit of swearing, panic attacks and thalassophobia mentioned.
Summary: Years after breaking up with Draco you find that the last gift he gave you is still the only thing comforting you, and his new girlfriend doesn’t like that.
WORDS : 3546
Gleaming, twinkling
Eyes like sinking ships on waters
So inviting, I almost jump in
The crescent moon outside begs for your company and you oblige, preferring to be alone than stuck in a room full of people who pity you. You lift the bottom half of your dress from the ground and sneak out of the ballroom nonchalantly, anxiety dissipating as the soft breeze comes in contact with your face.
The sound of your heels clacking against the cobblestone fills the air as you walk toward the boardwalk hanging above the lake, and it reminds you of a time when Draco would bring you down here. The lake behind the Malfoy Manor has always been subject to your fear, and you rarely ever go toward it, but tonight you’ll do almost anything to feel alone and normal for once.
The tiny ripples forming on the surface send shivers running down your spine and you look up at the sky immediately in an attempt to subdue your anxiety. A few meters away lies the ballroom, full of dignitaries and old family friends of the Malfoy’s who attend their annually ball every time without fail, and you can hear the faint sound of laughter mixed with a beautiful crescendo. You shut your eyes, take a deep breath and drag your fingers up to your neck to toy with necklace lying around it, as you try to imagine that you’re anywhere else.
You’d thought that it would be easier, coming to the ball and seeing him with his new girlfriend, but it had proved to be a bigger challenge than you’d anticipated, and residual feelings that you’d been trying to stuff down for months had resurfaced like anchors being pulled up from the bottom of the sea. It reminded you of what he said that day, “I’m yours forever, even if you’re not mine.”, and the only thing that stopped you from running back into his arms was the chain hanging around your neck.
A silver chain with a midnight blue sapphire dangling on its end, worth one of your arms and a gift from the blond himself. He had given it to you as a promise, one to love you till the sun stopped rising, and at the time you had thought that it was the perfect gesture. But reality hit and you soon realized that a life with Draco Malfoy would be one filled with envy and uneasiness, and you knew then that you both deserved more.
The necklace’s monetary value reminds you that Draco belongs to a long and esteemed family line which demands attention that you cannot cope with. But the fact that it had been his proclamation of love reminds you that in order for you both to lead happy lives, you must be apart. The way it gleams beneath Chandeliers is so captivating that it always brings you back to earth; a life with Draco is inviting, but some invitations mustn’t be accepted.
But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush
I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush
I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch
Everybody wants you
Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you
All eyes instantly fell on him the second that he appeared; sporting that notorious smile which always brought people to their knees, and a priceless suit that hugged his figure so well it made all the straight men positively envious. A true Malfoy; charming, rich, attractive, easily the whole package. You didn’t get a chance to speak with him because he was instantly preoccupied with the ramblings of his mother as she dragged him around the room with pride, showing off the son that she’d done such a good job at raising.
Draco’s life had always been politics and he’d been raised to invariably stand tall, look presentable, get good grades, converse well. You watched him in awe every time, admiring the grace and ease with which he conducted himself. But it made you wonder when he’d been taught the art of letting the spotlight go, to focus all of his attention on the one he loves instead of the search for approval. And the answer was that he hadn’t, Draco never grew out of the desire to have everyone’s praise and approval.
‘If everyone loves you, if everyone wants to either be you or be with you, then you’ve succeeded.’ He’d told you late one night after one these balls. You’d looked at him with pity, not having the heart to tell him that love and validation are not synonymous, and you’d hugged him so hard that somehow you both knew it was all coming to an end soon.
He grew up being a magnet to both jealousy and admiration, a symphony of applause being the background track to the movie of his life, and he didn’t know how to live any other way. When all you’ve ever known is lustful stares from fellow peers, stolen glances at the back of your head, and unbridled acclaim masked behind attraction, then it’s hard to put that life behind and settle for the love of only one person.
Walk past, quick brush
I don't like slow motion, double vision in rose blush
I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush
Everybody wants you
But I don't like a gold rush
He truly was magnificent though, even you couldn’t deny. Years ago, when he’d walked down the stairs in one of those clad black suits, he had met you at the bottom of the stairwell and you could’ve sworn that you were floating on cloud 9. He had smiled so brightly at the sight of you, had laughed so sweetly in the space of your ear, and fit so tightly into your side like it was a home made only for him, that you were intoxicated on the feeling of him and hadn’t noticed what was happening.
You were falling in love. You weren’t flying, no, you didn’t have wind beneath mystical wings that you’d somehow managed to grow. You were falling, and at a speed so treacherous that you didn’t even realise it was happening until it was too late. One day you were falling, and the next you were ruins buried so far into the ground that you couldn’t even tell where the earth stopped and you started.
Falling in love with him was fast, like a bullet train, but everything after was so slow that you felt as if you weren’t even moving at all.
What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?
With your hair falling into place like dominos
I see me padding 'cross your wooden floors
With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door
At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit
And the coastal town we wandered 'round had never seen a love as pure as it
And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea
'Cause it could never be
Promises to run away together and start a life somewhere off in a distant town.
Fingertips, laced with the narcotic effect of young love, tracing lines across the expanse of each other’s faces and trying to figure out which of the other’s features would be inherited by your children.
Dreams about a time when your lives would no longer be dictated by the paths your parents had set out for you, but instead by the spontaneity and reassurance that came with endearment.
Tastes of tea replaced instead with the taste of each other as long-forgotten tisanes made home on bedside tables because you both got lost in the haze of tenderness.
Arguments about mundane and useless concepts that would go on for longer than necessary, because he insisted on disagreeing with everything, and always ended with your acute responses.
Lives that had once lacked passion, that had once been so dull they compared to Snape’s drawling, instead replaced with all the colours that the world had to offer.
It was the perfect life, the one you two had planned.
But it was too perfect to ever be real.
You take a deep breath and unhook the necklace to observe it once more, hoping that it’ll provide some comfort for the ache in your chest.
'Cause I don't like a gold rush, gold rush
I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush
I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch
Everybody wants you
Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you
Walk past, quick brush
I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush
I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush
Everybody wants you
But I don't like a gold rush
“Y/N.” A voice slurs behind you.
You turn with furrowed eyebrows and roll your eyes when you see who it is, “Pansy.”
“Don’t be rude.” She hisses and hiccups as she stumbles toward you, “What are you doing out here?”
“Could ask you the same thing.” You narrow your eyes at her, “Are you drunk?”
“Just a tad.” She replies as she hiccups again and finally stands before you. You watch silently as she gracefully sits on the wood below her, making sure not to create creases in her dress or fall over in her heels.
“Shouldn’t you be in there? On his arm like a trophy?” You ask, and inwardly groan when you hear how jealous you sound.
“Probably.” She shrugs and looks out into the water. “It doesn’t matter though, I’m not you.”
She looks up and into your eyes, you look away immediately. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to take from that.”
“Yes, you do.” She states bluntly, “He told me why you left him. That was really selfish of you.”
You gasp and turn to look at her, “How dare you? You have no idea-“
“No, actually, I do.” She gets up from the ground swiftly as a fire rages in her eyes, “You think I don’t know what it’s like to be like him? We’re the same, we were practically raised on the same blueprint. Despite what you think, there’s a lot more to the issue than what lays on the surface.”
“Oh and I guess you have all the answers?” You spit out with a scoff.
“I thought Ravenclaws were meant to be smart.” She shakes her head and hiccups as she turns to face the water, “Draco’s entire life has always just been this.” Pansy turns and gestures toward the Manor with a grimace.
“It’s always been about being the best in the room, just so that he can earn five seconds of approval from his parents. But you came, and you showed him more, you gave him a glimpse of what love feels like. Then, because you were scared and couldn’t hack it, you left him.” She continues and you grip the necklace tightly in anger.
“That’s not what happene-“
“How can you possibly expect him to come back to me, to this bullshit, when he’s experienced actual happiness? How is he supposed to come back from you?” She finally turns to face you and you hear a slight crack in her voice with the last words, “I love him so much and if I could make him half as happy as you do then I would.”
“You can.” You breathe out shakily, “If you two try a little more then you’ll realise why it just makes sense.”
“Love isn’t about sense Y/N. It’s not about appearances, it’s not about applause, it’s not about any of the crap that him and I were raised to prioritize.”
“You call it crap but that’s all he knows, and he just isn’t ready to give it all up.”
“Why do you get to decide that for him?” She tilts her head to the side and raises her eyebrows, you look away from her.
“I should probably get back inside.” You mutter as you start to turn toward the manor.
“You’re righ-“ She gasps and you turn to see what’s shocked her, “You still have it?”
“Have what?”
“The necklace.” She points to your hand and you nod awkwardly in agreement, “I helped him pick it out.”
“Oh.”
“A sapphire to match your virtue and faithfulness.” She says absent-mindedly as her eyes lock on the piece of jewellery. “Guess he got that wrong.”
She laughs coldly and you scrunch your face in confusion, “Excuse me?”
“You’re just like the rest of them.” Before you even know what’s happening she’s reached for the necklace in your hand, “You love him until it’s no longer convenient, until the paint starts to chip.”
“That’s not true.” Your voice comes out shaky and lacking conviction, it makes her laugh again in disgust.
“And then who has to pick up the fallen pieces? Me.” She continues to ramble as she walks toward the edge of the boardwalk, you feel your breathing start to pickup as you try to focus on her instead of the lake behind her. “As if I don’t have my own pieces to pick up.”
“Pansy, please just come here so we can talk about this nicely.” You respond and swallow.
“No. You don’t deserve a civil conversation.” She spits out as she finally reaches the edge of the boardwalk and hangs the necklace out by her arm, “In fact, you don’t deserve anything. You don’t deserve his love and you definitely don’t deserve this pendant.”
“No!”
What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?
With your hair falling into place like dominoes
My mind turns your life into folklore
I can't dare to dream about you anymore
Everything after falling in love with Draco happened in slow motion. You don’t know how, or when, but your life had become a slackening slideshow of bad decisions.
You hold your breath as you watch the necklace fall into the lake. It’s as though minutes, hours, days pass in that moment, but you know that it’s merely a few seconds. When the splash finally sounds, you let out a huge gasp and Pansy laughs as she turns to leave.
Panic sets in and you start to contemplate your options. You could jump in and get it yourself? No, that’s absurd, you’re not going to overcome your fear that easily. You could rush into the manor and find someone who’s willing to get it for you? No, no one would take you seriously.
You shake your head and decide to just do the easiest thing; try and work up the courage to get it yourself. You start to pull off your heels and scrunch up your dress so that you can step into the water and you walk toward the edge of the boardwalk.
But as soon as you’re near the water you realise that you can’t do it and your panic rapidly worsens. You step back a few paces before falling to the ground and pulling your head into your knees as silent sobs begin to shake your core.
Breaths, in rapid beats, are going to and from your lungs as the sound of the water swishing fills your ears. Nausea begins to set in your stomach as you think more and more about your terrible predicament, your fear of bodies of water and your sadness at losing the necklace combining to form one indestructible lump in the pit of your stomach.
“Y/N? Are you out here?” A voice calls out from a yard or two away and you try to recognize it, but everything is foggy in your state of trepidation.
“Shit, Y/N!” The voice calls out once more and you hear footsteps pick up to a run as the person approaches you. “I swear to Merlin, if you die I’m going to kill you!”
You realise that the person still hasn’t noticed you, and is probably assuming the worst, so you try your best to croak out a word- any word.
“Here.” You manage to rasp out between sobs and wheezes, and the person immediately runs toward you.
“Y/N? Are you okay?” They ask as they pull your head out from your knees and you try to nod slowly.
You blink back a few tears and try to focus on the face in front of you, “The- the-“ You try to say and shake your head of the confusion as the words refuse to formulate.
“Hey, breathe princess.”
You recognize the nickname and then soon enough your eyes register that Draco’s kneeling in front of you. “Draco?”
“Yes, it’s me.” He responds softly as he cups your face in his hands and tries to wipe a few of your tears, “Take a few deep breaths for me, yeah?”
You nod and do as told, breathing until you finally calm down and manage to think clearly again. “I’m okay.” You breathe out and he sighs in relief.
“I was so worried, Pansy came in rambling about getting back at you and something about tossing and water- And I was just so scared that she’d thrown you in or something, because I know that you can’t swim and you’re terrified of the lake so I-“
“Hey, slow down, I’m okay. I’m right here.” You respond and manage a weak smile. He nods and sighs again. “She didn’t toss me into the water, though I think she would’ve liked to. She threw in the necklace. Shit! The necklace, it’s still down there!” You exclaim as you try to stand up but find that your legs are asleep, and end up coming back down instantly.
“Calm down. What necklace?”
“The one you gave me, the one with the sapphire that you said was a family heirloom?” You ramble and he furrows his eyebrows.
“You still have that?”
“Yes, I do. And it’s at the bottom of the lake and I need to get it back!” You stand up and Draco immediately does the same, placing his hands on your shoulders to keep you still.
“It’s just a necklace Y/N, you don’t need it.”
“It’s not just a necklace, it’s-“ You pinch your nose and sigh, “It just means a lot to me, okay?”
He narrows his eyebrows but nods in understanding, “Okay.” He steps back from you and pulls off his suit jacket, looking absolutely magnificent with his toned shoulders showing beneath the well-fitted shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to get it for you.” He shrugs and you shake your head.
“You don’t have to, I can figure something out.”
“You tried to figure it out and you had a full on panic attack, I’m the best option.” He says sternly as he looks at you and you nod in agreement, “Now just wait, very far away, and let me find it for you.”
“Thank you.” You call out behind him but he doesn’t respond.
At dinner parties I won't call you out on your contrarian shit
And the coastal town we never found will never see a love as pure as it
'Cause it fades into the gray of my day old tea
'Cause it will never be
“Here you go, in perfect condition.” He says as he drops the necklace into your hands and runs a hand through his hair. He looks gorgeous and you look down to avoid getting lost in his eyes.
“Your suit is wet.” You mumble with a sniff and he chuckles, the sound makes your heart race.
“We have magic, I’ll dry up.”
“Thank you.” You whisper as you finally look up at him and he smiles, that same hypnotic smile. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without it.”
“It’s just a necklace Y/N.” He smiles softly and you shake your head as tears begin to stream down your face again.
“No, it’s not just a necklace.” You sniff, “It’s you and I. It’s all that I have left of the love that we had, it’s all that I have left of the life we were going to build together.”
“Y/N.” The sternness in his voice makes you swallow hard, but you pull your hand up to indicate that you’re not done.
“Let me talk, please.” He nods and you continue, “This little gem is all the words that we never had the chance to say. It’s the nights we would’ve spent climbing into bed together, in our little house that’s tucked safely into a small town. It’s the cups of coffee I was going to make you when you woke up in the mornings, and the cups of tea you would’ve made me when we went to sleep. This little gem is the only thing I have to remind me that our love was real.”
“It also doesn’t hurt that it costs a fortune huh?” He asks with a grin, despite the fact that there’s sadness in his eyes, and you nod with a choked out laugh.
“Definitely a bonus.” You say as you laugh a little more and wipe away a few tears.
Draco pulls the necklace out of your hands and opens it to put it around your neck once again, and you turn around so he can put it on. “Look, Y/N, life is too short to fill up with ridiculous mistakes. You left me, like I never mattered to you, and it broke me.”
You turn back around quickly, “That wasn-“
He twists you back around abruptly, “Let me talk now.” You nod and he continues to hook the chain around your neck. “It took me months to decipher what you meant when you said that I had too much love for the spotlight, that I didn’t have the capacity to let it go. It took me months to finally grasp what you meant when you said that people fall at my feet, that my contrarian demeanor is a crowd-puller. And the recognition hurt, a lot, because I realised that you we right about most of it.”
You feel his fingers leave your neck as he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, “What was I wrong about?”
He pulls you back to face him and smiles as he looks down at you, “The only thing you were wrong about was my unwillingness to let it go.” He pulls you into his arms for a hug, and you sigh in his arms.
“You can’t just leave this life Draco, we both know it isn’t that simple.” You muffle into his chest and the vibrations of his chuckles make you smile.
“That’s where you’re wrong angel, I can just leave this life. You never gave me the option but,” You pull apart and he smiles so wide that you think his face might come apart, “I would give it all up, for you.”
Gleaming, twinkling
Eyes like sinking ships on waters
So inviting, I almost jump in
His eyes are shining as they look down at you with adoration and commitment, and it takes all the strength you have left inside to not pull him back into your arms. He brings his fingers up to the sapphire and rubs his thumb along it.
“It’s not all you have Y/N.” He pulls your chin up so you look him in the eyes, “I’m still right here.”
~~~
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~~~
hi lovies! guess who’s finally feeling good enough to write again! :) we’re going to ignore the fact that the FOOLWAG sequel is beating my ass though
I will not lie, I had a great time writing this, possibly one of my favourite requests by far. I was originally going to make the ending angsty but I figured @evermoreeve (thx sweetie<3) reminded me that we all deserve a happy ending now and then.
anyway, i love you all,
jean <3
#draco#draco malfoy#draco x y/n#draco imagine#draco fanfiction#draco fluff#draco angst#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter imagine#draco malfoy angst#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy fluff#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy fanfiction
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