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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

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A Hold On You 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, bullying, depression, controlling and abusive behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to look on the bright side of life but a man comes along to blot out the sun.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your eyes narrow as you hunch over the folding TV table. You work at tamping the felt in just the right shape. The headless body, made of metal wire encased in more felt sits on the corner, awaiting its final touch. Your vision is cloudy at the edges. You let yourself have a cry last night at the cost of puffy eyes today. Those grey moods exhaust you.

You sigh as you blend the grey black and white. The small raccoon will be the first of many. At least twelve for stock.

A hobby and some extra income. You need it since they cut your hours to part-time. All the data entry firms are. You read on a forum that AI is slowly depleting the field. You don't relish going back to customer service... you're not very good at it. You can hardly make yourself smile at your reflection.

You sniff. You look up at the corner shelf, stuffed with similar figures to the one in pieces before you. Squirrels, bunnies, lots of cats. Those are a best-seller.

You put the head and needle down. You can't focus. Usually, the work puts a pause on the gloom. The grey sky outside your windows doesn't help. You sit back and press your hand around your forehead. You knead your temples with your thumbs.

It's too quiet. Well, not exactly. You can hear Katy yelling at her teens and Mr. Burton is hammering on the wall again. He needs to just call the building for whatever he keeps trying to fix. Or maybe he's breaking it?

You get up and go to the record player. You lay on the one album you've yet to listen to. That new poppy hit. It's probably a few years too young for you. You're in the limbo between twenty-five and thirty. A murky no man's land where all your friends are newly married, freshly pregnant, or celebrating promotions. You're doing neither of those.

You let the record spin the intro and retreat to the sagging armchair. The seat is molded to your shape but not comfy. You lean on the high armrest and close your eyes.

Oh, I leave quite an impression Five feet to be exact You're wonderin' why half his clothes went missin' My body's where they're at

You chew your cheek as you follow the lyrics as best you can. Scandalizing, scintillating, sexy. Not you. Maybe that was a bad choice. This is music for the young girls with their long lashes and coy glossy smiles. That was never you.

Affairs, flings, hookups, whatever the young ones say...situationships? You're not the type. You're not good for it. Too sad. Too quiet. You overheard the giggly whispering. It's your own fault you don't see your friends. Or that they aren't your friends anymore.

Knowing what they really think of you... you're not good at pretending like that. You can smile, you can chirp, you can run a script with stranger, but they were supposed to actually like you.

Choices can be liberating but they can also be oppressive. Cut the cord and you're free falling into the void. You sit up as the next song starts.

I know I have good judgment, I know I have good taste It's funny and it's ironic that only I feel that way I promise 'em that you're different and everyone makes mistakes But just don't

You wish you had that confidence. You get up and turn down the volume so you can hear the melody but the lyrics are obscured. You shuffle over to the couch and flop onto it. You're tired. Another night wasted.

🧡

Punk Rock Market. You've never been to one. Never heard of one. The flyer was mixed in with your mail. Bills, adds, some religious pamphlet. It was the only thing that piqued your interest. You keep it on your fridge until the date of.

You clutch it in your sweaty hand. It wrinkles as you keep checking the address. It's at an intersection. Hmmm. Okay. You think you know the one.

It's a few blocks further than you thought. You follow the swell of pedestrians into the browning green square. The grass is flattened from the traffic. Second thoughts slow your steps but the tides of patrons keep you moving.

You stop to look at jade and quartz medallions. Hand-made as the signs proclaim. The women behind the stall table have thickly-winged liner and lots of piercings. Their hair is shades of burnt-out bleach blond and pastels. One asks if you're looking for something in particular.

"Just look, I guess," you answer with a shrug. You bend to examine a cuff with opal. "Very pretty."

They don't hear you as they're already more interested in a customer who looks more like them. You move on. It's not unusual. Those who notice you, don't for long. Or if they do, it's never a good thing.

You stop to admire some hand-sewn dolls with twists of cotton for hair. You sell most of your things online, or a few places let you buy half a shelf for display, though they don't sell many. Something like this might be a good idea but you saw the prices for the other markets... you don't have that sort of overhead.

You're edged out of the stall by a group of platformed-booted shoppers. You back away and collide with a stroller. You spin and apologise, a glower from the mother and her husband as you do. You're trapped between them and the distracted group behind you.

Your heart picks up. You should've expected crowds but this is a bit much. You look around. You'll only hit the stroller again or someone else. You search until you see your only hope of escape. Between the stalls, right past the empty crates and thick electrical wires.

You flee, keeping your head down in case one of the sellers thinks to stop you. Your pulse tempos behind your eardrums. You curl around the back of the stalls and race toward the park entrance. You're going to call it another fail.

You slip out between a stall and the post of the banner for the market event. You're nearly taken off your feet as someone entering hits you with their arm. A rather thick arm that has you reeling and rubbing your side. You back up as the figure stops with a gruff growl.

It can't be. You're sure you recognise them. It's almost impossible to run into the same face twice in the city. Yet, your luck has always been grimly ironic.

As the deja vu clicks. You gulp. It's the man from the record store. You pout.

"Sorry, I..."

"What're you creeping around for?" He snarls.

"I... I was leaving--"

"Why were you back there?" He asks.

"Huh, oh, I got lost--"

"Dude, chill," his buddy peeks past him. "Place is packed."

The man's fist opens and closes, drawing your attention as his jaw grits. "I could get... through." You eke out.

"You," he raises his gloved hand and points in your face. "Girly pop."

You blink. Oh no. He remembers you.

"I..." you shrug. "Sorry, excuse me," you try to slip by and he catches your arm.

"You didn't answer me. What were you up to?" He drags you back as others grumble behind you, pushing to get into the park.

"Yo, she told you," his friend jabs. "Chill, Buck. Let's get going."

He narrows his eyes as his forehead lines. He squeezes until you feel your blood struggling to course past the tension. He lets you go with a subtle shove.

"Whatever," he turns back to his pal. "Let's go find that oil or whatever you were going on about."

He stalks by and you turn to watch him. He's not a very happy person but neither are you. You turn and flee before he can have second thoughts. Strange how his friend seemed familiar too.

You head down the street and reach for your phone. Maybe you'll find something else. Going back to your apartment just means giving in to the grey. It's a sunny day, you want to enjoy it.

There's a cafe near here. They boast of nitro brew and protein coffee. You're not sure of either but they must have tea.

You get lost a block down and have to back track. You can be so clueless. You finally find the front door, though it is easy to miss. Black windows, black glass, like some sort of secret meetup.

You enter and join the line. It's not much less crowded than the park. You wait patiently for your turn and order the 'booster' tea.

You shove your hand deep into your satchel. You fish around frantically. Your wallet? Where is it? You blink helplessly at the employee behind the counter and apologise.

You run out and look up and down the street. Your wallet is gone. You feel around your pockets and all over. You retrace your steps, along your detour and back to the market. You gape into the sea of people. There's no way you'll find it!

What can you do? Cancel your card and figure out how to replace your IDs... figures. Nothing nice ever happens. Every idea you have is just a mistake. Go home. Stop trying.

🧡

The New York skyline looms darkly through the windows. The moonless night invades your apartment, the single lamp doing little to light the space. You sit in its glow, shoulders wracked, neck bent, tediously poking the pattern into the felt. The leopard was an optimistic choice in subject.

The record player turns. Etta croons richly as the clock ticks on. It's midnight, probably later. You haven't checked in some time. You can't sleep but you also can't bare to lay and stare at the ceiling.

Your tendons strain with your efforts. Everything is so precise. Your fingers feel as if they might lock into place. Your head is throbbing.

The record plays through Side B and the player clicks. You don't get up to stop it for some time. Your hands shake as you put the needle back and hit the power button.

You push your head back and stretch out the kinks. Your stomach clutches with hunger. Dinner is in the fridge still. You didn't bother reheating the pasta.

You close your eyes as you rub your cheeks. You yawn then drop your arms. You look around the empty box you live in.

You flinch. The windows are so dark, obscured with the reflection of the lamp, yet you swear you can see something. You shake your head. You're imagining it.

You got back to the table and gather up the felt and unfinished project. You have a few new orders. You need to go get some packing stuff to send them out. You tuck it away in the shoe box and slide it onto the cube shelf beneath the record player.

Tap, tap.

You raise your head and look over your shoulder. Something must have bounced off the window yet there's no wind, no rain. The weather is painfully still.

You ignore it and stand. You go back to the table to shut off the lamp.

Tap. Just one but louder. You keep your fingers on the switch attached to the wire but don't flick it. You glance over.

Slap. Something presses to the pane. You can't tell what it is. Small, rectangle. You near as your adrenaline flows and your heartbeat thrums. Something tells you to go back but it's impossible that anyone could be there. There's no fire escape, no balcony. The building is short a few codes.

You stop at the window as your face stares back. The small image on your ID where you don't smile, just stare. DOB, height, number...

Another face appears behind the small card. A scream blooms in your chest but can't escape as the man stares back at you. He taps again. How on earth did he get out there? That man. That one from the record shop and the market. The one you seem to plague more than your own sanity.

He tilts his head and mouths. 'Let me in.'

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #a hold on you #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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luvseisagi · 22 hours ago

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—s. across the wrong universe.

chapter 07. rooftop talk

(🕷️) smau + narrated ch.

content. cussing. kinda angsty?? idk things get serious

after a long time trailing him through the city —and losing him twice after he left the skyscraper— isagi finally finds the local spiderman sitting on the rooftop of an apartment building. it’s dark, well into the night, but he has no trouble spotting his figure on the edge, legs dangling into the void.

he hesitates for a few seconds before stepping closer. the boy’s probably only a year or two younger than him, but sitting like that —shoulders hunched, head down—, he just looks like a kid. he almost feels bad for having called him spiderfail.

“hey,” isagi says, landing beside him with a long jump. “careful taking your mask off on rooftops at night. last time I did that, someone made a tiktok out of it and it went viral.”

the local spiderman lifts his head, a gasp of surprise crossing his face fleetingly. then, in one swift movement, he gets up, puts his mask on, and pins isagi to the ground.

he looked like a kid just seconds ago, but now he could very much be lethal.

“you finally show your fucking face” he almost spits, his forearm digging into isagi’s clavicles too close to his neck for him to be comfortable “who the fuck are you? what do you want, and what are you doing in my city?”

“hey, hey—chill.” yoichi tries to move his arms, but they’re trapped under his own body. he sighs “i’m not here to hurt you or steal your city. i’m here to help.”

“help with what?” the boy says bitterly “and how the hell do you even exist? there’s no way two radioactive spiders bit two people in the same fucking place.”

isagi swallows hard, but doesn’t respond. he just nods toward the arms still pinning him down, asking the other guy for freedom. a few seconds pass before the local superhero decides he’s not a threat and finally lets him go.

his voice is calmer now, but still bitter, when he repeats, cautiously, “who are you?”

yoichi raises an eyebrow —which, through the mask, probably looks like one eye opening way wider than the other— and answers simply:

“well, i’m spiderman. the amazing spiderman.”

the other boy stares at him for a second.

“no. i’m the amazing spiderman.” he replies, deadpan.

“okay,” isagi sighs. “look, it’s a long story, but i’ve been spiderman in my new york for four years. so i know what i’m talking about when i say: you need help.”

a mask identical to his own replicates his cartoonishly raised eyebrow.

“oh, do i?” the other guy replies, mocking his tone. “well, i do not want your help.”

“and that’s the first problem, right there. you can’t go around pushing cops, being rude to people, or refusing to help grandmas cross the street just because it feels dumb —even if they only want to grab your bicep while you walk them. you’re a superhero, people count on you.”

“i do save kittens in trees,” he mutters.

“that’s not the point.” isagi sighs, again. it sounds tired, though. he wants to be mad at him —angry like he was a few hours ago— but he can’t, really. he remembers too well what it was like to be new and alone, and it was hard.

“being a superhero means sacrifice. you won’t always be able to save everyone. but you have to at least try.”

the boy scoffs and puts a hand to his head—probably a habit, something he does to push his hair back normally. but with the mask on, it just looks like a movement of pure exasperation.

he doesn’t answer immediately. it takes a few seconds, like he’s trying to untangle something that's been sitting in his chest for a long time. something he’s never actually said out loud.

“i didn’t choose this. why should i have to do it if i don’t want to?”

isagi feels something shift in his chest, squeezing his ribs. of course he doesn't want to —he didn’t, either. none of them did.

“none of us chose it,” he answers softly. “but that’s what happens when you’re chosen. call it fate, or the universe, or dumb luck. it doesn’t matter —once it picks you, it sticks.”

the other spiderman takes a few steps toward him. under the dim light coming from the apartment windows across the street, yoichi catches a faint turquoise glow in his suit.

his voice is quieter this time, sounds muffled through the mask.

“you don’t get it, it’s not about being chosen or not, i don’t give a shit about that. luck? whatever. the universe? sure." he says, voice rising slightly. “but why do i have to save the world? what has the world ever done for me?”

isagi wants to answer, and it doesn't take long for him to realize that he has no words to say. that's something he's never asked himself before —what has the world done for him?

forced him to break up with his girlfriend. made him quit his job. turned him into a viral meme without his consent. took away his parents. left him with one friend. and put that one friend in danger every day, just because isagi had been dumb enough to let him know the truth.

he closes his eyes, then takes a deep breath.

that’s not what it is about, and he knows it. the point is not what the world does for you —being a hero means bringing a touch of color to a world that’s gone gray, making people laugh when things feel hopeless. being a sliver of safety for those who can’t protect themselves.

and it’s not a fun job, but it’s what they have to do and what the rookie superhero needs to understand. however, by the time he finds the right words to express all his thoughts, he realizes the boy is already gone.

and maybe that’s the problem —maybe he’s the one running from his own life. maybe he’s the one who can’t be saved, who doesn't want to be saved. maybe the universe made a mistake in choosing him.

yoichi moves fast to the edge of the rooftop. the other spiderman can’t be far —and yeah, there he is. he sees a bluish green blur drop into the fire escape staircase across the street and slip through a window in less than a second.

isagi takes a deep breath, again.

he’s not exactly thrilled about the idea of creeping on someone’s home, even if that someone is technically himself in another universe. but if it helps fix the anomaly —if it helps the city— it has to be done.

he crosses to the far end of the rooftop and crouches near the ledge, keeping a clear line of sight to the building. then, using his ability to defy gravity, he starts climbing down the wall until he reaches the third floor, and stays there.

it doesn’t take long to find the right window. he spots the boy inside, suit off now. he can't even deny that he resembles him in some way.

if he hadn't confirmed already that isagi yoichi doesn't exist in this timeline, he would've thought that guy was him if he listened to my chemical romance and went everyday to the skatepark.

“the universe must’ve had a laugh with this one.” he mutters, smiling bitterly.

the boy has black hair, same length as yoichi’s, only parted to the side. his eyes are the exact turquoise shade of his suit, and they’re framed by long, dark lashes. he’s tall—probably taller than him—and very pale in comparison. baggy black clothes hang off him, but they don’t hide the body shaped by the physical demands that being spiderman require.

for a second, isagi really considers taking a picture of him to search his face online, but he can’t even reach to the pocket in his suit when someone else walks into the room and gets into the frame of the window.

yoichi freezes.

if he weren’t naturally stuck to the wall, he probably would’ve fallen.

what the hell is his ex doing there?

chapter 06. ✦ masterlist. ✦ chapter 08.

tags ౨ৎ @levihanmyotp @inojuuy @blu3-l0v3r @rohfulike @inosukehana @cruziival72 @kuromixheartzzz @koko-77 @kurona-theshark @yoichiin @elliehenry24 @kuronarnze @sugarcor3 @ranzess @lovingmayday @vinzcoke @soph1sticatedly @l0v3ly-st4rs @milkteeboba @ilovewonyo @mivqko @beepbopzlorp @thatmf-jay @angelhqlo1111 @jnkosstuff @ssngkk @c4ttheart @risagichi @neeeooon @emicatz @chokifandom @n0tbelle @veyyluvezcats @saekisserfr @scoosh4you @ihsoti .ᐟ

﹫luvseisagi, june 2025.

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johnnycadesmuse · 2 days ago

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JOHNNY SMUT??? please.?? (Rough)

·. ˚ ༘ everybody here wants you

— ex!johnny cade x ex!reader

song 𝄞 everybody here wants you by jeff buckley

warnings: pnv, f!receiving, rough sex, harassment, alcohol, squirting

johnny laid on the curtis couch, his legs laid out and his arms behind his head. he hadn't gone out in weeks, not since the both of you split.

it didn't end on good terms, if anything, it was extremely messy. you had told him you wanted to talk after school and he could tell by your voice that it was serious. he thought that maybe he had gotten you pregnant or you were moving, something big— he didn't think that it would be so big to the point where he would be crying himself to sleep for weeks.

"I'm not good for you." you stated, attempting to hold back tears. your insecurities had gotten the best of you, no matter how hard you tried to fight them.

Johnny was surprised because.. well, you two were good. better than good, you two were amazing? at least, that's how it seemed. there were no signs that you were going to break up with him. you weren't pulling away and your behaviour toward him hadn't changed. the only thing that changed was the way you viewed yourself. you hated your body, the way you smiled, how many mental issues you had and the baggage that came along with it. Johnny has enough on his hands, he doesn't need me to add to that you always thought to yourself. but you were wrong, dead wrong. he did need you, more than anything, you just couldn't see it. you couldn't see what he saw in you.

"what are you talking about?" he responded, his heart breaking as he watched you explain how you were a burden to him and that he didn't need you. "I do need you. I need you more than anything. you are everything to me. you help me-"

"no, I don't. i'm only dragging you down ,Johnny."

the sound of you using his full name practically confirmed what was happening. you never called him Johnny, not even in serious situations. you only ever used Jay, JJ, or any pet names that you both used for each other.

after more bickering and Johnny trying to get you to stay, you left. you left him in the lot alone, the cold winds howling as the fire at his feet burnt out and the darkness consumed his surroundings.

now, he found himself moping around the curtis home for the 6th time that week. "man, you gotta get up." groaned Pony, clearly frustrated that his best friend wasn't doing anything except sulking. every time he asked to hang out, Johnny just mumbled "not right now" before turning over or going to the bathroom. "I get you loved her and all, but she ain't the only girl in the world."

"he's right." said Steve from the dining room table as he placed a card onto the deck in front of Soda.

Johnny didn't listen, he didn't want to. he simply rolled over, as he usually did, and closed his eyes in hopes he could sleep and forget about everything.

after a quick nap, he woke up 2 hours later to the sound of the gang hollering, making him groan and stuff his face into a pillow. "we are gonna pick up so many chicks tonight!" he heard Two-Bit cackle, patting Johnny's thigh as he picked his legs up off of the couch before placing them back down in his lap.

"where are y'all going?" Johnny asked, finally sitting up, his hair messy and ungreased.

"Bucks. there's a huge party there tonight since Buck is celebrating something, I dunno" Dally informed him, mumbling the last part. Johnny hummed in response, leaning back as he watched whatever show was on the TV. Dally stared at him for a bit before a lightbulb basically appeared over his head. "come with us."

"what?"

"you heard me. you've been moping non-stop for weeks. it's time you get out and find a new chick to fawn over. forget about her."

"I can't just do that Dal, yknow that." Johnny mumbled, playing with his nails. Johnny never listened to Dally about relationship advice, not unless it was about sex. Dally knew everything about pleasing a woman right, yet he knew nothing about making a woman happy outside of the bedroom. his longest relationship lasted 6 months, and that was on and off.

"Dal is right" Soda said, sitting on the arm of the couch that was next to Johnny. "maybe going to this party will help you forget about her, just for tonight. you can have a few drinks, maybe play some pool.."

the idea sounded somewhat intriguing to Johnny. he had been trying everything to avoid thinking about you, and the only thing that ever works is sleep— the only bad part about that method is that you can't sleep forever, no matter how much Johnny wanted to. "fine" he groaned, getting up for the first time in hours. "can I borrow some grease Pone?" Johnny asked, Ponyboy nodding with a smile as he was relieved that his friend was finally up and no longer melting into the couch.

Johnny walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him to get ready for the party.

as soon as the gang entered Bucks, it reeked of alcohol, sweat, and tobacco. It made Johnny's stomach churn, his nose burning at the stench. because Johnny hadn't been to a party in a while, he was no longer used to the toxicity of a party atmosphere. now, he had to readjust whilst trying not to hurl.

the boys immediately went over to the bar, ordering a round of beers for everyone. Dally handed Johnny the beer before giving him a pat on the back and shouting over the music, "drink up man!"

Johnny obeyed, almost chugging the first beer in a few minutes before ordering a second, surprising everyone. Johnny wasn't much of a drinker. sure, he got drunk and would sometimes have a beer to cool down, but he never did it excessively. he wasn't one to rush to the bar when the opportunity arose, not like Two-Bit or Dally.

as he took a sip of his second beer, tuning into the gang's conversation, Soda suddenly stopped mid story, making everyone confused. Soda's face was no longer bright, but was instead concerned, as if he had just witnessed a car crash or something.

he stared at a specific area of the room, making everyone stare, Johnny included. when he turned around, he felt his heart sink. there you were, leaning against the wall as you talked with your friends.

you looked so beautiful. you were wearing the short black dress that he loved so much paired with fancy lace stockings. you looked as though you had just walked out of Vogue, practically taunting him with your beauty.

Johnny quickly chugged down his second beer before ordering a 3rd. "Johnny, slow down man." Soda said worried, patting him on the shoulder.

"I'm fine" Johnny said sternly, shrugging him off.

halfway through his 3rd beer, he began to feel its effects wearing on him. he wasn't entirely drunk, but he definitely wasn't sober either. his thoughts were getting a bit fuzzy and the music somehow got louder, despite the volume of the jukebox in the corner staying the same.

as he continued to listen to Two-Bit talk about one of his bizarre adventures he had gone on earlier that day, a sudden commotion began on the other side of the room. everyone turned to see what was happening, Johnny included.

he felt his heart stop as he saw some guy trying to get a hold on you, gripping your arm tightly as you yelled at him to let go. before Johnny could think, he began rushing toward you in anger, the ground practically shaking. he grabbed the guy by the shirt, swinging him around and down onto the floor, causing the wind to be knocked out of him. Johnny was stunned, stunned that he even managed to get the guy down, stunned that he even found the courage to do it.

sure, he fought in rumbles and knew how to fight, and he would always defend you against guys when they were trying to make a move on you, but those situations never got violent. this time, it was different. the mixture of booze and heartbreak gave him confidence, a confidence he never had before.

as the guy began to stand up, fury boiling within him and his fists clenched, Johnny, without a second thought, grabbed your hand and dragged you upstairs to safety. you didn't argue, continuing to trail behind him as you both entered an empty bedroom.

as soon as the door was closed and locked, the both of you began to catch your breath. the room was silent except for heavy breathing and muffled music from downstairs. "you okay?" Johnny asked, walking toward you.

"yeah.." you said softly after a few moments of silence. the air was thick, tension high. the both of you stared at one another longingly. you stared into his eyes as he stared into yours, your pupils filled with things you were desperate to express but were too scared to say. "thank you." you finally said to him, sitting on the bed.

"no need to thank me. that guy was being a creep."

"yeah" you chuckled as you looked down at your shoes, the room silent once again. Johnny walked over, sitting next to you yet still keeping a good distance as to not make you uncomfortable. he wanted so desperately to reach out and hold you, to feel your skin against his after so long. "i'm sorry."

"what for?"

"you know what for, Johnny." you looked up at him sadly, your eyes resembling those of a lost puppy. you could feel tears brim your waterline, threatening to fall as you thought about what had happened between you two. you blinked them away the best you could, turning away as a few fell. you quickly wiped them, sniffling before laughing to yourself.

Johnny made his way closer to you, scooting on the mattress ever so slightly. "you don't gotta be." he began, "I know what it's like to feel.. lost. like you don't deserve nothin' good. like you're nothing"

you looked back at him sympathetically, him giving you a small smile that you missed so dearly. then, you burst into tears. you couldn't help it. your emotions, mixed with booze, mixed with everything that had just happened, it was all too much.

without hesitation, Johnny pulled you into him, holding you tightly as if you would slip away forever if he were to let go. he laid soft kisses on top of your head as you sobbed into his chest. "I'm so sorry." you cried, clinging onto his shirt, tears staining the fabric.

"shh, you don't gotta be sorry baby." he whispered, the pet name along with his voice making your heart soar.

you pulled away from his chest, looking at him, your faces merely centimetres apart. before either of you could say anything, your lips met in a passionate kiss. you held his face in your hands, his hands in your hair before slowly sliding down onto your waist. he helped lift you into his lap, your legs now straddling him. he licked your bottom lip, asking for entrance to which you happily allowed.

as your tongues melded together and your lips pressed against one another, you could feel warmth begin to pool between your legs. Johnny felt his dick get hard as you ever so slightly grinded against him.

"do you want to-"

"yes." you said breathlessly without a second thought. Johnny's hands immediately flew to the bottom of your dress, slowly lifting it up and over your head, tossing it onto the floor.

you two continued making out until you were both left in only your underwear. he laid you down against the mattress before leaving harsh kisses down your body, making his way toward where you needed him most.

he looked up at you for permission, hooking his finger into the waistband of your panties. you nodded, leaning on your elbows as you watched him discard your underwear, spreading your legs and placing his face between them. he peppered soft kisses on the skin of your inner thighs, making you whine.

without warning, Johnny began eating you out like a man starved. his tongue massaged every spot perfectly, his mouth now covered in your slick. you were a moaning mess, your breath and legs both shakey as he continued to lap at your pussy. "f-fuck" you whimpered, trying everything in your power to not clamp your legs together. you began to play with his hair as he continued to please you, lightly tugging at his roots whenever he hit your sweet spot.

as you felt yourself get closer to the edge, you spread your legs wider for him, something he knew you always did when you were close. he began to suck harshly at your clit, the sound of slurping along with your moans filling the room. "fuck, you taste so good" he groaned into your pussy, giving off vibrations that made you want to scream. "I missed this."

"I'm gonna.. cum" you panted, moaning and whimpering as he continued his harsh assault on your clit.

"cum for me, let your pretty pussy cum all over my face." and you did, you came with a loud moan followed by a soft whimper as you came down from your high. Johnny left a few more kisses on your pussy lips before coming back up, his lips glistening and chin wet.

you both smiled at each other before Johnny began to suck harshly at your neck, leaving marks that were sure to be very obvious tomorrow.

"I wanna fuck the shit out of you." he whispered into your ear, his boldness making you more and more needy.

"please.." you groaned, running your fingers through his thick strands.

Johnny began to pulling down his boxers before throwing them onto the pile of clothes below, his dick now free, his pink tip covered in pre-cum. he pumped himself a few times as you spread your legs again.

he stared into your eyes as he slowly slid into you, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your warm walls enveloping him. "fuck" he moaned, waiting a few moments for you to adjust.

"move.. please" you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling you closer (if that was even possible). Johnny wasted no time in beginning to thrust into you, his pace somewhat fast but not too harsh. "more.. please. fuck me harder"

"yes ma'am" he smirked as he began to practically pound into you, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. "oh fuck!" Johnny groaned loudly, making your pussy flutter around him, his noises making you want to cum right then and there. "fuck. you feel so good baby. you're such a good girl. god, I missed you so much."

"I missed you baby" you whimpered before pulling him into a passionate kiss. you slipped your tongue into his mouth, holding his jaw as one of his hands held onto your waist, the other beside your head for support. as he continued to fuck you, you felt that you wanted more of him, that you needed more of him. "I want more." you whispered against his lips. as if he could read your mind, Johnny pulls out of you, flipping you onto your stomach with your ass in the air.

he rubs his slick between your folds a few times, making you whimper before slipping back inside of you. he continues his rough and fast pace, making you moan his name over and over. "you're so fucking beautiful" he says breathless, his hands massaging your ass before giving it a firm smack, making you squeal. "god I fucking- fuckin' love you."

"I love you too, Jay." you moaned out, your nickname for him making his heart pound as it brought back all of the memories you two shared together.

without thinking, Johnny began to pound into you as fast as he could, making you practically scream. "fuck! oh fuck!" you yelled, holding onto the headboard for dear life as you felt yourself about to finish. "i'm cumming!" you shouted, a warm feeling of pleasure bubbling in your stomach. suddenly, clear liquid shot out of you, soaking Johnny and the sheets below.

despite catching Johnny by surprise, the sight of it turned Johnny on, making him cum thick ribbons onto your stomach, the feeling of your warm liquid soaking his dick pushing him off the edge.

as you both came down from your highs, you collapsed, laying on your back, Johnny still on his knees. "well.. that's new." he chuckled. you laughed in response, nodding. "did you know that you could?.."

"no.. that's a first" you joked, Johnny nodding with a smile as he reached over the nightstand, grabbing a few tissues. he immediately began to clean you up, softly opening your legs and gently rubbing any residue off of your pussy before wiping his cum off of your stomach. he cleaned himself up, tossing the dirty tissues into the trash nearby.

he laid next to you, pulling your body into his. as you laid there together, both of your legs intertwined, you couldn't stop thinking about how much you missed one another.

"I missed you." you finally spoke, nervous about what Johnny would say.

"I missed you too" he mumbled into your hair before laying a soft kiss a top of your head, stroking the strands lightly.

"I wanna be with you, if you'll have me" you told him nervously. there was silence for a moment before he lifted your chin up with his finger, laying a soft kiss onto your lips.

"course I will"

#johnny cade #johnny cade x reader #the outsiders johnny #johnnycakes #ralph macchio #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #1980s #1980s movies #1980s television #greasers #1980s aesthetic

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algrimthestrong · 2 days ago

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The corners of Aednan's mouth dropped pitifully when Mal slid off his lap to sit beside him instead. There had been a few instances in the past where his pleasure had been cut short by unfortunate circumstances or ill-timed interruptions, but never had a lover left him unsatisfied on purpose. It briefly occurred to him that he could have simply suggested that they delay their departure for another hour, but it was plainly written on Mal's face how much he relished the fact that he had the power to make royalty wait. The elven prince reminded himself that the sooner they arrived in Alfheim, the sooner there would be an opportunity for them to pick up where they left off. "Soon," Aednan corrected Mal when the other man stated his intentions to see to the prince's satisfaction, eventually.

Aednan sank back against the chaise, closing his eyes and drawing slow, deep breaths into his chest in an attempt to will his libido to calm down. Being forced to deny himself the release that his body craved was unpleasant to say the least, a rare and entirely unwelcome exercise in exerting control over his physical needs, made all the more difficult by the fact that the object of his desire was sitting next to him.

"I will open an interdimensional portal, yes." Aednan's eyes fluttered open to meet Mal's gaze, his tone slightly sheepish as he explained, "I have yet to master teleportation." He leaned over the arm of the chaise and fished his discarded shirt from the floor of Mal's cottage. The prince swung his legs over the edge of the chaise, pausing to put his shirt back on and shake out his long hair behind him before pushing himself to his feet.

Aednan retrieved his boots from where he had left them by the door and took a few steps into the centre of the room, where he positioned himself and held out a hand for Mal to take. With his other hand, he drew a series of arcane symbols into the air, his brows pinched tightly in concentration as he began to softly recite ancient words in elvish. The air rippled and shimmered as his spell took hold and an arched doorway materialised before them, a glowing purple portal that bridged the distance between their worlds. Flashing Mal a quick, reassuring smile, Aednan pulled the other man with him as he stepped forward through the magical doorway, right into a lush garden.

The rich, sweet scent of roses wafted through the dusky evening air. Crickets chirped in the grass and a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves. A little further ahead, water trickled from the top of a large marble fountain decorated with peacocks to a clear pool at its base. Fireflies, who upon closer inspection would turn out to be faeries, drifted between the flowers and bushes like tiny lanterns. A magnificent palace rose above the trees beyond the garden, its graceful curves and sumptuous whorls reminiscent of an orchid in bloom, nestled between gigantic leaves. Aednan turned towards Mal with a smile, his eyes glimmering in the low light. "Welcome to Alfheim."

Everything?

Well, if Aednan insisted — and that certainly took care of the matter of packing.

For all his initial resistance, Mal couldn’t quite deny just how excited he was by the prospect of seeing the prince’s home for himself, and all the better if the elf had no qualms with spoiling him and catering to his every need whilst he was at it; he figured he would only stand out like a sore thumb in his own clothes after all, no matter how much Aednan seemed to approve of his sartorial choices.

“That’s very generous of you.” He acknowledged with a smile, though it swiftly broadened to a cheeky, boyish grin as the other man’s gaze dipped to his lap, eyeing up his current…predicament trapped between them. As well as feeling awfully pleased with himself (who wouldn’t?) Mal couldn’t help but find the situation utterly hilarious, but not enough that he didn’t take a smidgen of pity on the elf, laughing delightedly at the playful swat of his ass as he slid out of Aednan’s lap and then settled on to the chaise beside him, reaching for his shirt and sliding his arms back into it. “Who said I didn’t intend to finish it?” He added with an arched brow and a teasing curl to his lips as he began to fasten the buttons once more, smirking as he followed the way that the other man’s gaze flickered downwards, then met that sparkling amethyst gaze, utterly unrepentant. “Eventually.”

Trying his best to behave and keep his amusement at bay when Aednan apparently needed his focus to be able to send them between the realms, Mal hoped that a slightly more practical line of enquiry might take the prince’s mind off of more…stimulating matters. “How does this work, then?” He queried, propping his chin on his hand. “Do you make a portal, or something?” Truth be told his only frame of reference was passing to and from Faerie through the nearby tears in the veil, but any sort of magic was fascinating nonetheless.

#beautifulmischief #beautiful-mischief #:side muse aednan:

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doormuncher3 · 2 days ago

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Young Lovesick Sevika x Young DocReader

Lovesick Sevika who met you in an undergrad biology class she accidentally walked into because she confused it for the architectural design class going on next door. She was getting up to leave when you decided to sit beside her and wipe any coherent thought coursing trough her mind paralyzing her to that chair.

Lovesick Sevika who added herself to the class knowing she knew nothing about biology just so that she could make you fall for her. She never missed a class sitting beside you at every single one.

Lovesick Sevika who introduced herself in her second class with you and asked you out by the end of it. You said no, but she didn't give up following you out of the building cause she didn't know what else to do. It was raining heavily outside and she followed you to the bus stop putting her jacket over your head so that you wouldn't get so wet. You didn't take it off.

Lovesick Sevika who wore down your defenses after enduring rejection after rejection from you. It wasn't beacuse you didn't like her but you were too emotionally unavailable to give her what she needed. Yet she presisted and you let her in. Thinking that she would walk away once she could see that you couldnt give her the availability she would eventually long for. But she stayed slowly winning you over by the end of it.

Lovesick Sevika would eventually follow you across the country so that you could accept the residency of a lifetime. Leaving behind her well paying job at a big architectural firm. Packing up all your furniture by herself. All because she couldnt live without you.

-----------------

This was not what residency was supposed to be like right? You questioned trying to get yourself motivated enough to get off your office chair. You were exhausted, to say the least. They called you at the last minute the resident on call was not answering and someone had to pick up the slack. For 12 hours you ran around like a maniac emergency after emergency piled up like wildfire with you as the sole fighter.

You were running on adrenaline and when it wore off you finally could clearly see the time. And the guilt settled heavily on your chest. How could she forgive you after missing your first anniversary in the city?

You had to drag yourself to the car exiting the hospital tired and starving head hung low as you slowly made your way through the mostly empty parking lot. You looked up as you got closer to the car smelling the familiar scent of a particular cigarette when you saw her.

She was leaning against the side of your car, cigarette in her mouth head thrown back and arms crossed as if no care in the world. You walked up to her stopping close enough for her to reach you and she straightened up looking down with a smile that made your heart melt.

"What are you doing here"

"You shouldn't have come, its late" You said looking up at her with tired eyes and a monotone voice

"You're mean you know that?" She said as she looked down into your eyes with a playful smile

You reached for her cigarette and took one last drag before throwing it on the ground and extinguishing it with your foot. Before sliding your arms inside her jacket wrapping your hands around her waist putting your head on her chest and hugging her tightly as she took in your embrace.

"It's stupid to smoke you know... What would people say knowing your girlfriend's a doctor huh" You started lecturing her

"Won't do it again I promise," she said with a grin amused at your pestering

"How long did you wait for me?"

"Not long," she said absentmindedly

The guilt ate at you. You could tell by the coolness of her chest on your face that she must've waited a while. Her briefcase beside her on the ground telling you she came as soon as she got off work. And although the guilt chipped away at your resolve to her you could do no wrong.

"I would have waited for as long as it took," she said trying to appease the guilt she knew you would not let go of easily

You stayed silent unable to voice a reply. Her heartwarming words the salt to your wound.

"How was work?" She said changing the subject giving the top of your head a kiss

"Fine" you said muffled into her chest

"U hungry?" she asked

"Yeah, but don't move" u said back

"I won't" she spoke

A beat of silence followed. It was a typical and comfortable silence the kind you could only get from her presence

"I'm so sorry" you spoke quietly

"There's nothing to be sorry about," she said leaning down to kiss your neck then rising to kiss near your mouth to try and comfort you

"Besides I'll find a way for you to make up for it" she then spoke into your mouth before kissing you deeply

You didn't go home right away that night you both fell asleep in the back of the car until dawn. You were on top of her body using her body heat and her leather jacket on top of you for warmth as she slept under you.

--------

Lovesick Sevika who had the idea for your future family home sketched out after that first class, and who built that same house for you years later.

#sevika x reader #sevika fluff

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lucimaaie · 3 days ago

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save the day ✧.* spiderwoman au

pairings - ellie williams x fem!reader

summary - with you missing and the city in shambles, ellie's pushed to her limits.

warnings - whew, it's been a bit i feel like coryxkenshin, angst but fluff at the end i promise, sort of happy ending, dunno if this makes sense but this is my first time w/ a series this long so bare with me, mostly proofread, r and ellie are apart most of it, but they get together i promise, 6k word count, its the end but not the end hopefully

playlist | spidey masterlist

Being on the other end of the ambiguous waiting game you often experienced wasn’t fun. Ellie had spent half the hour hoping you’d come back at any moment, free of frustration. The other half was spent coming up with the ideas of where you could be instead of here with her. Maybe you stopped by that sub shop you both liked or a random cafe on the way home. None of her ideas seemed to soothe her growing anxiety..

But you said you’d come back and Ellie trusted you. That was never the problem.

She had tried to sit still and trust in your return, but five minutes later, she was on her phone, checking your location. No biggie, she was just being a normal–as normal as she could be–concerned girlfriend.

She let out a sigh of relief, seeing your contact photo right above your apartment. Good, you’d be getting home soon enough to talk this out. She'd wait.

Soon the idea of you coming through the door seemed delusional so she checked again. Still close. What, were you just sitting outside? She opened the window, peeking her head out to look down and..still nothing. Her brows furrowed as she looked back inside like the solution was in the house.

The exhaustion was starting to set in and you still weren't home.

Still, knowing you were out there, angry didn't sit right with her. She tugged on a jacket and flicked all the lights off, getting ready to leave. She was at the door when she scanned the room. Her eyes stopped at the small reflective rectangle. Of course, you'd left without a thought to your phone or anything.

You could probably handle yourself and find your way back, but that fact was nothing to Ellie. She needed to see you and quell the nagging feeling in her gut—that something was wrong.

The dark had become familiar in the past few hours. That and the circulating ache in your head. You had no idea how long you had been out for but you could tell they had moved you since then. No matter how much craziness New York experienced, it still hadn't become the place for spontaneous kidnappings. Okay, well, at least not done by men with winged-like jetpacks and glowing tails attached on their arms.

It had become hard to move anything with the tight pressure around your wrists and ankles. The rope roughened your skin as you shifted and squirmed to loosen them. It didn't help that they hadn't bothered with a chair. You were bound on some cold industrial floor while they whispered in the corner.

With no success on the restraints, you finally opened your eyes and looked around. The room was a small garage with work desks and lamps packed into the space. Each desk was cluttered with varying sizes of unfinished tech, though almost all had some type of glowing compartment to them. That was the only light source in the garage along with the small amount the far away city provided.

You turned your head to the whispering bodies. Past one of their heads you could see mechanical wings compacted to a jetpack looking size, sitting on an identical workstation holding every other part of his technically intricate costume. The man who was floating in the sky was unmasked, talking to his partner like this was a regular Friday night.

You must've been looking far too long that he noticed. A small gasp escaped you as you shrunk down and took in a shaky breath, trying to find the strength not to panic.

"And she rises." His smug voice made your blood boil. His steps were heavy in the dank, humid garage. You hesitantly craned your head up to get a good look at him.

The man wasn’t familiar one bit with older, scorned features you’d never seen before. He looked even more villainous with a brown leather jacket and matching gloves. Would he leave you in the river, rid himself of the blame or were you just jumping to conclusions? “What do you want?”

“Golden question, hun.” He squatted down in front of you, shadows clinging to his features.

“Yeah it’d be nice if you answered it,” You squirmed against the wall you were posted up against, the pressure of the rope burning into your wrists. As you realize his eyes were glued to your struggle, you stopped. "Seriously. Money? Attention?" The only response was only dignified with a chuckle.

"You want to know my whole supervillain plan, do you?" He rose to his full height, turning around and waving away his goons. You met each of their curious looks as they all filed out the room on command. Who the hell was this guy? The mystery man braced himself against one of the work desks and focused back on you.

"You seem like the monologue type."

"Funny." He discarded his gloves on the table behind him. "But it's not you I'm concerned about. It's your girlfriend—she cooperates and everything will work out just fine for ya." He said coolly.

He had the wrong girl. He had to be some unknown mob boss that had mistaken you for somebody else. The thought that Ellie's..profession, for lack of a better word, would come back on you wasn't new, but you had figured you had some time to get used to the fact before it actually affected you. At least be able to prepare. You didn't want to walk around New York defenseless with your only plan being calling said superhero.

"My girlfriend?"

The man scoffed, exaggerating his irritation at your playing dumb. "Spiderwoman?" He said. "What, you think I don't know? That I just picked you up for fun?" He pushed off the table and walked towards you in slow steps. "You can calm down. I just want to talk. For now." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small watch. "Guess we'll have to draw her out. "

Ellie had become worried sick the longer you had taken to get home. You were likely lost and upset, and she had no way to get to you other than hitting the streets and hoping for the best. So, she did just that.

She thought she was organized in the way she checked all your favorite spots, but there was still no sign of you. No one had seen you. She was starting to get a little more than worried, but she couldn't panic. That'd be no help to you, wherever you were. Though, that didn't mean she could stop the nerves working their way through her limbs.

She had tried deep breathing, counting, and it still hadn't gone anywhere. Just when she had started to accept the feeling wouldn't go away till you found you, it got stronger. Stronger in the way that every hair on her body stood up straight. Her ears wouldn't stop hurting due to a thin, high-pitched ringing that let her know something deeper was wrong. Wherever you were, you weren't safe.

Sudden vibration in her pocket made her shoulders hunch before she realized it was her phone. Her heart stuttered in its already abnormal pattern when saw your mom's contact cover her screen. Regardless, she answered within a second. "Hello? Mrs— No, everything's fine, I just wanted to check up on you." She inwardly cringed at her failed attempt to calm your mother. Losing her girlfriend, lying to said girlfriend’s parents–her track record was just getting better and better, wasn’t it?

“She’s not still upset, is she?”

“Upset?” Ellie’s walking slowed as she waited for a response on the other line. Had you gone to see your parents? Her heart couldn’t help but sink at the thought of running you away this far.

“Yes, well, we had a bit of a disagreement earlier today.”

“An argument? What about?”

“Just—“ Ellie flinched as a loud boom struck her ears. The whole street scrambled to hide behind blaring cars. Your mother’s worried words became mere mumbles as Ellie laid her eyes on the source. Your apartment building, surrounded in flames coming out of the middle floor.

“Ellie? Hello? Are you okay—“

“I’m alright, listen I..I gotta go.” She hung up without waiting for a response, something she’d sheepishly apologize for later. The ringing in her ears was almost unbearable as she made her way through the crowds of panicked and nosy bystanders.

The added vibration in her pocket only overstimulated her more. She hastily declined and broke out into a sprint, quickly turning each corner back to your shared home. She knew you weren’t in there, but..what if you were? What if you’d wandered back home and she’d just missed you?

She was nearly thinking about crushing her phone when she heard whirring just above her head. It was from a small device, not bigger than a tennis ball yet it was loud. Too loud. Everything was.

“Ignoring me won’t make me go away.” It spoke?

Ellie scanned the alley. There was no logical source of the sound except this tiny hovering device. She’d never heard the voice before but she could recognize the work. The pulsing glow of blue in the center of the sphere was a familiar indicator.

“You did this.” She said in realization. She hadn’t gone as far as she wished she’d gotten in her investigation, but she could see the signs. Only recently learning about the businessman named Adrian Toomes had before he was shut down by none other than Tony Stark. As far as she was concerned, he had the motive, but then again many wannabes popped out the shadows after alien tech hit the black market. She wasn’t going to point her finger at some random man if she wasn’t sure. Look where second-guessing herself had put her.

“Surprise surprise, spidey. You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

“You just blew up an apartment building. So, no. No, I couldn’t.” She barely spared the device another glance as she continued in pursuit to the burning building. She couldn’t deal with supervillains, not now. This couldn’t be happening. Not when you were still missing. Eventually, she broke down and suited up–in the privacy of another alley of course– before swinging right into the smoky floor.

While the mask protected her from the smoke, nothing could prepare her for the heat surrounding her. She could only imagine what your neighbors were feeling if they were still in here, surviving somehow. Please, still be alive.

Ellie worked quickly, moving past collapsed dressers and cabinets to usher civilians to the safety of the firefighters below. All throughout she held back the urge to make the search for you her first and only priority. She tried not to think of the worst. The absolute worst being..she couldn’t stand to think about it, losing you.

She searched what was left of your apartment. It was as lonely as she left it, only now your things were charred if not ash. The sight made her surge with fury. Fury that she had ran you away so far she couldn’t find you. That your safe place was a thing of the past, swallowed up by the fire that was no doubt the doing of the man that had already caused so much chaos in your lives.

None of this was an accident: You going missing, this fire. It was the consequences of digging too deep. She swung onto the side of the building, eyes squinted in the search for that small, speaking device again. “Toomes!” She called out. No response. Now, he wanted to go silent? She pulled herself onto the roof, using the height to her advantage. “You wanted my attention! You got it.”

Her shoulders tensed as that familiar whirring filled the space behind her. She turned around to face him, met with almost a dozen of the devices she had seen before.

“Took you long enough. Let’s have a civilized talk.”

“Would be nice if you would actually be here to face me instead of hiding behind robots.” She remarked coldly, her firsts clenched. Civilians, helicopters, first responders all became background noise to her as she zeroed in Toomes’ mascots.

“I know, I know, but I gotta keep your girlfriend company, don’t I?” Ellie only tensed further at the confirmation. Some of her anger had started to give way to the same anxiety from before.

“Yeah, there you go. It’s all clicking isn’t it?”

“What do you want?” She asked bluntly.

“Well, I want you to drop your little Inspector Gadget investigation, but it doesn’t look like that’s in the cards right now. So, we’ll play a game.” Toomes’ voice became louder as more bots joined the swarm in front of her.

“I don’t have time for games.”

“Oh, but if you want your girl back, you do.”

Ellie couldn’t find it in her to respond with anything, her mind wandering to you. She wondered how long he had you. Where you were, if you were hurt. Maybe it was the smoke, but it started to feel like there was a barrier in her lungs, stopping her from taking any air in at all. It didn’t help that her heart was stuck between almost jumping out of her chest and stopping completely. “You’re sick.” She choked out.

“I’m efficient, there’s a difference. At least my hero complex won’t have me running around New York City.”

Her brows furrowed. “Wha–”

“Whoops, couldn’t wait.” His words were muffled by the sound of simultaneous rumbles around her. She had no idea where to look first. Buildings across the city were groaning with the threat of crumbling. She could barely process the man’s sudden absence–well he was never really here, was he?– before she was forced to jump into action. She could only hope you weren’t in any of these burning buildings.

The sound of whispers and sparse footsteps had become white noise to you. You were never left alone, accompanied by a duo of men that got switched out every few hours or so for whatever reason. The man in the brown leather jacket had been gone for an hour since his conversation with Ellie.

He let you listen in as if this was some typical business call and not your girlfriend being tested by a sadistic “businessman” as he called himself. You had tried to take the opportunity to let her know you were okay, but your attempts were quickly muffled. Gagged then silenced with duct tape. His goons hadn’t taken another look at you since.

The dark garage had been occasionally lit by another skyscraper starting its way down. You scooted over, trying to get a glimpse of the damage only to be met with the familiar burn on your wrists. Why’d they have to use rope? Every shift and movement scraped at your skin deeper and deeper, bringing a muffled hiss from your lips.

The sound must’ve caught one of the men’s attention because now he was squatted next to you, tightening your restraints. “Stop moving.” He grumbled.

The added pressure only angered you more. Without much thought, you dug your nails into his arm with all the strength you could muster up, hoping for an opening to escape. He pulled back with a hiss and held his arm. “Shit!” He hissed, delivering a swift, hard kick to your stomach, making you double over and let out a strangled cry.

“What’d she do?” The other man questioned, rushing towards the angered man. Their words became unclear as your stomach pulsed. You had been more focused on trying not to cry than anticipating what would come next. You were sure they were coming up with ways to punish you without Toomes knowing. As soon as you braced yourself for another blow, your head was yanked back by your hair and your vision covered by thick cloth.

The loss of sight was even more anxiety inducing than the addition of footsteps into the mix of ambient noise. That was until the pressure on your wrist eased and you were pulled up to your feet, deeper into the garage you assumed until the hot air hit your face. It was a brief moment of freedom, ended by being shoved into the back of a truck. The stuffiness did nothing to soothe the pit in your stomach. Each bump and groove in the road was unfamiliar. They could be taking you to the edge of town and you wouldn’t know. Your pride didn’t like it, but Ellie seemed like your only hope at this point.

Ellie was swamped with more rescuing than one woman could handle. The police were doing their best to care for injured and usher civilians away from each hearth, but with so many attacks in one city, it was hard to anticipate.

Her suit, though protective, had become something of a human incinerator as she swung from floor to floor in each building. Toomes had chosen some of the tallest properties in the city, it seemed. That’s what it seemed like until she was once again surprised and pulled from one major wreck to a smaller incident in the suburbs. She was being dragged around the city, being played with.

None of this made sense, for him to torment not only her but the city like this. No other explanation other than being evil. Or that she had pushed him too hard.

She wasn’t the only one stuck in the ruins and worried about her people. She wasn’t the only one distraught, worried sick about you. She couldn’t pinpoint where exactly she saw your dad, but he looked more frazzled than she’d ever seen him. It stung to think about how your mother was handling this. Especially after she stopped answering her phone.

Ellie needed to fix this. Now.

She nearly collapsed, landing for what seemed like the hundredth time. The little girl in her arms ran to her mother as soon as her feet hit the ground. She hardly caught herself, watching as numerous firefighters tried to wrangle the fire now that civilians were out. Maybe it was a foolish thing to do, but she thought just for a moment, she’d rest before she passed out from exhaustion.

“Fight’s not over yet.” She flinched at the gruff voice, then she recognized the sound: your father. She had known the man long enough to know this was closest she was getting to a check in.

“Captain.” Her voice was rough as she pushed off the wall and back onto her feet. She resisted the urge to pull off her mask for fresh air. The last thing she needed in this moment of chaos was for him to know it was her behind the mask.

“I’m assuming you know somethin’ about why the city’s on fire?” He asked. The remaining officers filed into their cars at the firm command of your father through the walkie. Once they were off the scene he turned his attention to Ellie again. Waiting for another explanation as to why the New York was involved in her and whichever supervillain of the week’s spat.

She cleared her throat in an effort to make it unrecognizable. “I don’t think hearing the answer would make this..any better. Sir.” Great answer.

Her response was met with an unimpressed sigh and deeper furrow in his brows. She was too tired to feel embarrassed. This whole thing was a mess. The only thing she could clearly feel was her stomach—bubbling and stirring, anxiety eating away at her insides.

Her moment to rest was over as a screech burdened her ears. The feedback from syncing radios and walkies broadcasted the voice of the very man she’d like to drive her fists into. Everyone on the scene tensed with fear for what would happen next.

“Alright, let’s get this over with, spider. While it has been fun watching you play whack-a-mole, I don’t have all day.” His nonchalance was infuriating.

“What do you want?”

“Jesus, be patient, will ya?” His taunting was followed with enough shuffling to make her uneasy. At least more than she already was. “I’ll leave you with one more parting gift.” Echoing footsteps. He was somewhere empty. A warehouse, maybe? “Captain. Spidey. Your girl.” Her brows furrowed, heart jumping like it wanted to crawl out of her chest at the mention of you.

“Dad?” Your voice was broken, probably from screaming–she hoped not. If he had laid even a finger on you, her morals would have to go out the window. She looked to your father. There was no missing the way his features softened, filled with fear and outrage all at the same time.

His fingers were quick to grab his radio. “Honey? Are you okay? Can you tell me where you are–”

“Uh-uh. You gotta find her first. That’s half the battle, y’know.” Toomes voice was firmer, less playful than before. There was an unsettling quality to his coldness than the taunts. Unpredictable, she never knew what to expect. What his plans were for you, where he had you locked up. She felt powerless.

Before your dad could muster up a reply, she grabbed his radio. “Stop playing and tell us where the hell she is.”

“Fine. I’ll be nice and give you a hint. Let’s say she’s back to where it..all started.” He was hardly finished with his words when the sound cut out. Leaving her with nearly enough information to get to you before he inevitably cuts up again.

“Fuck.” She cursed, pressing her hands on either side of her head. She had to think quickly. Where it all started, where it all started. Her and Toomes? No, he wasn’t the type for some big showdown. He would’ve showed up already, when she least expected it. No, this was about you and her. He already knew who you were, it wasn’t a far fetched idea. He was holding her identity in his pocket. Where it all started..

“Mayfield.” She blurted. Your father was too busy conspiring with his officers to hear her. Ellie bristled. She knew better than anyone where you were. She’d be damned if she lost you because of stubborn, up-their-ass officers. “Mayfield.” She repeated louder, walking closer to the conversing group.

“What?” Your father questioned.

“She’s at Mayfield Community College. It’s a few streets over.” Her answer was hasty as she was already shooting a web and swinging away. They’d just have to catch up.

There hadn’t been much movement since you were left alone. Each turn and shake in the truck scrambled your ideas of where you could be going. You thought maybe a warehouse like the movies but there was no echo where you were. Then, an office came to mind. Somewhere high up where the layers would crumble beneath and on top of you. To say the least none of these thoughts calmed you.

No sane person could be calm throughout this process. You were shoved around and guided for what seemed like a mile. Then your hands tied together with the same frayed rope before. They’d forgoed the blindfold, which was both a relief and terrifying. That of all places you could be brought to for your possible death, it was this place. It was personal for this guy. Whatever he wanted.

The silence had started to get worrying. You thought that was the worst part until unexpected bellows sounded. Your senses were flooded with the suffocating smell of smoke and burning plastic and the crackling hiss of fire starting up, just like with the others.

Of course you hadn’t been waiting to die the whole time. Getting the ropes off your wrists had proved to be not only uncomfortable but useless with the tight knot against your already chafed skin. You had, however, been able to separate yourself from the chair.

They had left you in one of the lab rooms. The chair was so high you couldn’t help but tumble to the floor, falling face first into smoke. You squirmed to get up quickly, pushing yourself onto your feet.

Stood up, it was easier to see the orange light in the hallway peeking from the windows and under the door. Shit, that smoke. You rushed to the door, snatching a white coat off the hooks and packing it under the door. That’d have to work for now.

You scanned the room for anything and found nothing. Windows high to the ceiling. Tables clean of anything you could use. For a moment, it seemed hopeless. It was, if you would let it be.

No, you had too much to lose. Your ma, pa..Ellie. You weren’t going to lose what you had to some sociopath. Before you could psych yourself out of it, you were dragging a chair over to the counter. It was taller than the counter, still shorter than the window. How the hell were you gonna do this?

The frustration was quick to set in, making you uselessly kick the chair over. Your chest heaved as you fruitlessly attempted to force the restraints off your wrist. Skin had broken over again, barely healed from before.

It burned, though not worse than the fire would, a feeling you were supposed to be feeling in a few minutes. You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t die, not like this. The last words you ever spoke to your parents and your lover being angry and fed up.

Okay, another try then. Think, think, think. Anything.

You couldn’t do anything with tied hands. Dragging another chair over to the cabinet, you then rammed it into the glass cabinet you glanced at earlier, and again until it fractured. The piece of glass was small but sharp, cutting into your palm as you sawed back and forth into the weaved material around your wrist. It hurt like hell to a girl that hadn’t even broken a bone, but you kept going.

Just when an ounce of progress seemed to set in, another thrum sounded off. Louder than the others, closer and it shook the room, making you drop the glass.

Here you were, an out of breath, helpless bleeding mess trying to save yourself with no plan. Wherever Ellie was, she needed to be here soon. Please hurry, Els..

Ellie hadn’t loved college, but there was a devastating quality to seeing it become a blazing disaster. Even worse to think that you were in there somewhere and she had no idea where exactly.

She had no hesitations on heading into the fire, rushing out civilians–some of them her classmates–onto the sidelines. The crew would be here soon, hopefully. Sighs of relief and thank you’s usually nice to hear fell on deaf ears. She knew she shouldn’t be this one track minded when lives were at stake, but she had cleared building after building and there was no sign of where that psycho had left you.

All efforts of trying to stay calm were gone. She was getting tired as she stubbornly pushed through fallen debris. The science building has proved to be a challenge, flames fanning much hotter by the combination of gas and who knows how many chemicals there were. It was a ticking time bomb, she knew that. But the theater, the main building–everywhere else was all cleared.

You were here. You had to be here. She just needed to get you before..Ellie flinched at the feeling of a warm hand on her shoulder. She was half-way ready to take on your father before he revealed himself.

“It’s just me. It’s me.” He said, voice oddly sincere compared to the stern voice she had grown to remember. Like calming a frightened animal. He was sullen, weighed by the possibility that you were already gone. That this was just beating a dead horse.

She allowed herself a shaky breath, before turning back to the raging inferno at the end of the hall.

“Everyone’s out.”

“No,” She denied quickly. “She’s..She’s in here somewhere. One of these rooms o-or..” She was too drained to come out with an answer to placate her growing panic. She couldn’t stop. Soon her limbs would give out and the opportunity to find you would be lost.

“A sweep’s already been done as far as we can go. This place is volatile. We need to go.” His words were cold. Like this was any other case and while she knew it was deeper than he showed, she wasn’t in the right mind to be too considerate right now. She pulled her shoulder from his grip.

“I said no.” The temporary surge in anger gave her the strength to push past two fallen pillars, moving them to the side. She couldn’t help but fume further. “She’s still in here. I’m finding her.” She said intently.

As if to challenge her stubborn denials, a piece of ceiling came down. She didn’t care, shoving the last piece of the banister to the side. “Agh,” A sharp spasm in her arm made her stop.

“You’re tired and you’re beat up. You can’t find anyone if you’re already dead.” Your father pulled her back, forcing her to rest even for just ten seconds. “This ain’t something you have to do for me.”

Ellie was too exhausted to fight being guided to the ground. Her limbs screamed for rest as she touched the ground, even while her mind was against it. “Yes! I do. She’s my—“ She cut herself off with a frustrated huff. It was all too much— the secrets, the sneaking around keeping her from you. She had taken her eye off you and her life and hadn’t known she was throwing away everything. “She has to be here.”

“And how do you know that?” Your father sunk down next to her, silencing his radio.

“I just do.”

“You just happen to know where my daughter might be? When I don’t.” He sounded skeptical.

Ellie pulled her head from the wall. She was exhausted. Of pushing you away. Of lying. Letting what was supposed to be this amazing thing come between you. Either she wasn’t in her right mind or it really was time to tell the truth. She snatched off her mask before she could really decide. Her first whiff of cloudy air made her cough harshly.

The captain had rushed to her side before he was able to realize the pesky Spiderwoman he was used to seeing, and criticizing, was unmasked. That her auburn strands sticking up in all places were familiar. “No,” He said slowly. He had thought many things of Ellie in order to fill in the blanks—A liar, possibly a fraud. Never a hero. Especially the same one who saved his daughter's life. He had given her much more respect than he did before, but he wasn’t fully for a masked vigilante he knew nothing about. Guess he knew more than he thought.

“I can..” She grunted as she pushed herself up. “explain everything after we find her. After.” She liked the sound of it. The certainty. If she could just hold on to that feeling a little longer.

As her firm features came into view, it became clear to your father that there was no use in convincing her against it. Nor in doubting her. “After.”

Their brief moment of understanding was cut short by a rumble deeper in the hallway. It shook the ground until the destruction, cutting off the path she was previously making. “Shit.”

“Those damn things.” The Captain grumbled. “We need—“

“You have to get out of here.” Ellie was already pulling on her mask.

“What? No,” The captain pulled out his gun. “It’ll kill her if you end up gone.”

“And it’ll be worse if she loses her dad. Go, sir. Please.” She pleaded hastily.

She watched the internal fight going on in your dad’s mind, a sigh of slight relief leaving her body when he hesitantly retreated. She turned to the flames in front of her. She really hoped you weren’t in there surrounded by the heat and fear she wasn’t coming for you. Even if it killed her, she’d find you.

The heat crept under her suit as she scaled the hallway’s safe spots but she endured it. Several labs turned up empty. She pressed herself against the wall, just dodging the jagged edge of a broken light fixture. Or so she thought she did until she felt hot air lick the fresh tear in her suit and her skin. She hollered as her side stung sharply. It was too humid to notice the blood dripping down. She leaned her forehead against the wall as she let out a trembling breath. No stopping, keep pushing. None of the pain will matter when you find her.

The fixture was able to get one more jab in on her arm before she grabbed it and tore it down. This all distracted her from the revelation that she was at the last lab. If you weren’t in there, you weren’t here. And she would be wrong and possibly too late. But she couldn’t be.

She pushed through the door, wood thudding heavily against the floor. Her eyes had little a journey before they landed on you, frantic yet determined to escape the lab cabinet on top of you. The wall it was previously against was wrecked, pieces having already joined the pile of broken beakers. Flames from the other threatened to spread through the opening.

Ellie rushed over to you. Her heart sank at your flinching before you realized it was her. You’d never done that at her touch. She called your name softly, slipping off her mask. She pushed the cabinet off of you and brushed the shards of glass away from you.

“Ellie.” You barely made it through your words without jumping into her arms. Damn the ache in your legs. “I didn’t know if you would—“

She held back a pained hiss. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” The words were breathless, desperate apologies mumbled into your hair. She tried to hold back tears, but everything she was feeling boiling beneath her skin had started coming out, her body quivering against yours. “I’m not letting you out of my sight for a long time.” She had no idea how tight she was holding you and you sure as hell weren’t going to tell her to lighten up.

It was a pain pulling back, but you both needed to get out before the place blew. She’d have to hold you longer later. She hastily wiped her face. “We have to go. You okay to walk?”

You nodded before you could attempt to push yourself onto your feet. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, Bug.” She guided you into her arms. “Put this over your nose.” She said, giving you her mask.

The school had becoming a living, breathing inferno every second you spent escaping. Ellie dodged unexpected ceiling fractures and roaring flares all with you in her arms. Once you made sure her mask was back on, she was running to the medics though it was hard to let them wheel you away. That didn’t mean she took her eyes off you. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Weeks went by.

Cuts sealed and aches faded, making the only reminder being the charred decrepit structures throughout the city and check in’s with doctors. Efforts for reconstruction were well under way along with numerous fundraising events for the city.

Your old apartment was just another construction site on your way to your parents’ house. They had been quick to offer—practically demand, with you and Ellie’s injuries—and you weren’t in the position to turn them down. Ellie wasn't either.

Rest had been hard to come by for her, even harder considering the bastard responsible had disappeared. The city was still discombobulated and she still hadn’t found the man. He had used the chaos to fly under the radar, used you–the thought had her fuming and unsettled. It took everything in her not to throw herself back into work. She needed to stick around, help the city clean up the mess she dragged it into, be there for you.

The process was anything but sunshine and rainbows. She came home drained just like the one before, but relieved to see you nonetheless. And your family, they weren't hers, yet the feeling of the full home wasn't nothing. They treated her like her presence was nothing out of the ordinary.

Your father, despite knowing her secret, had come to appreciate her presence. Both as herself and the.. other guy. Girl? Woman? You get the point.

It was nice to have people in her corner again. She just hoped she wouldn't mess it up.

But as she did after every fight, or rather life-threatening experience, she had to return to her roots for a little.

Ellie still wasn't sure she should've brought you here. It was no doubt depressing and you had already had your fair sure of the mood recently. As always you insisted. "You said you'd never let me out of your sight. Your words, verbatim." You said, both genuine and teasing.

So, she let you pick the flowers and here you were placing them carefully in front of Joel's grave. She sighed as she eased down onto the ground, her fingers interlocking with yours as you did the same.

"You didn't have to come with me." She had said the same thing a million times already. She just couldn't help it.

"Ellie, what did I say?" You admonished gently, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"If you say it again.."

"I'll say it till you get it." You snickered softly.

God, you had no idea how much she had missed that sound. How she had missed making you smile. She had unintentionally brought this chaos into your life and somehow you still wanted her.

"Seriously, it's not just you anymore.” Yours were as gentle as your touch on her shoulders.

"I know." She said instinctively.

"Do you?" Her eyes flickered to you almost immediately, eyes widening a little at the callout. She knew she had been acting like a free agent. She neglected you and she knew that. It'd take a long while for the guilt to go away, if it could. “Cause you promised we’d do things together and we ended up apart. I’m not just here for the easy stuff.”

"I know, I swear I do." Her brows furrowed, trying to keep her emotions in check. It was all still there: the anxiety and paranoia, the guilt most of all. "You and me." A firm promise.

She looked to the gravestone before her, her father’s name carved boldly. And it still hurt. She hoped he’d be proud of what she was doing. She hadn’t exactly been content with her losses lately, but she swore she was trying to do the right thing. Her powers had become a tool to help people instead an isolating one used for revenge.

She looked at you and her ache was dulled and replaced with warmth.

Her life was a rollercoaster since she was bit by that spider. She had taken on this big responsibility and fell and got up more times than she could count. She had done it alone and she didn’t have to anymore.

“You and me.”

thank you for reading!

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #spiderwoman au

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soakedstar · 1 day ago

Text

✹・ﾟ “BLEED FOR ME” ・ﾟ✹ (1/1)

﹕✧ synopsis:

they didn’t even look at each other.

she performed. he danced.

she bled. he touched

﹕✧ pairing:

ni-ki x f!reader

﹕✧ warnings:

explicit content, dark themes, emotional dependency, unhealthy coping mechanisms, manipulation, consensual pain, possessiveness, ballet tights (yes this needs a warning)

﹕✧ author’s note:

sex is not therapy. go cry to a professional. or at least write something good about it.

Y/N walked in with three people. She laughed at something one of them said but didn’t really hear it. Her bag was expensive, her hair tied loosely. The kind of effortless that takes hours.

She sat down near the window. She always sat near the window.

People kept coming in. Some waved. Some leaned down to say hi. She smiled at all of them, said names back like she meant it.

But by the time they were seated, she didn’t remember who had said what.

The professor was late. Someone played music through a phone speaker for a few seconds until they got shushed. A girl asked if anyone had a pen. Someone else handed her three.

Then the door opened again.

She didn’t look at first. Just another person coming in late. Whatever.

But the smell hit first. Not cologne. Not strong. Just… clean. Something citrusy, expensive, and soft like skin right after a shower. Limoncello, maybe. And soap that didn’t come from CVS.

He walked in slowly. Not like he was trying to be seen — like he didn’t care if he was or not.

Black sweater. Duffle bag slung over one shoulder. Hair still wet. Not soaked, just… like he didn’t bother to dry it all the way.

He scanned the room once and sat near the front, a row over from her, back perfectly straight.

“That’s Ni-ki,” someone whispered behind her. “He’s in the conservatory. Ballet.”

Y/N didn’t turn. Just blinked a little slower.

The professor came in three minutes later, apologizing for traffic and fumbling with her slides.

“Let’s do quick intros,” she said. “Name, discipline, and why you chose this class.”

A few theater kids went first. Then a girl from experimental movement. Then some guy from music who made a joke no one laughed at.

Then him.

He didn’t stand up. Didn’t clear his throat.

“Ni-ki Nishimura. Ballet. I’m interested in what stillness does to the body.”

That was it.

A few people nodded. Someone wrote it down like it meant something. Maybe it did.

Y/N leaned forward just a little, voice casual, not loud.

“Stillness. That’s… poetic.”

A couple chuckles. Nothing mean. Nothing loud. Just enough.

He turned slightly.

Their eyes met for a second too long.

“You think it isn’t?”

His voice was low. Clear. Almost quiet. Not fragile — just unbothered.

Y/N tilted her head.

“I think some people hide behind it.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at her for another beat, then turned back to the front.

The professor kept talking. Y/N let her fingers play with the ring on her hand.

She didn’t look at him again. But she kept hearing his sentence.

What stillness does to the body.

She didn’t know why it stuck. Maybe because it felt like something was already doing something to hers.

The class ended five minutes late.

Students stood, stretched, shook off the weight of sitting too long. Some lingered, packing slow. Others left in a hurry, already late for wherever they had to be.

Y/N stayed seated. Not for any reason. She just didn’t feel like moving.

Sophie leaned in.

“He’s weird, right?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She watched Ni-ki zip his bag, smooth and precise, then stand like he hadn’t been sitting at all. Like his body didn’t creak or crack the way everyone else’s did.

He walked up the steps toward the door. Passed her row. Didn’t slow down.

She spoke before she thought.

“Hey.”

He stopped.

Turned slightly. Not all the way. Just enough to acknowledge.

“You’re not gonna say anything back?” she asked, still in that calm, soft, too-polished tone she used with people she didn’t trust.

He blinked once. No reaction. Nothing mean. Nothing amused either.

“You already did,” he said.

A pause.

She let out a laugh — short, a little breathy, like she couldn’t decide if it was funny or not.

“Okay. So you’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

“Silent, serious, artistic. The mystery act.”

He tilted his head just slightly, like he was deciding whether or not to care.

“Is that how I seem to you?”

“A little.”

“Then maybe you’re not looking close enough.”

That shut her up. Not because it hurt.

Because it didn’t.

Because it should’ve sounded arrogant, or pretentious — but it didn’t.

It just sounded… quiet.

He didn’t wait for her to reply. Just nodded once and walked out.

No lingering glance.

No smug smile.

Nothing.

Y/N stayed seated for a while.

People kept passing. Waving. Saying see you later.

She said “bye” at least five times. Smiled four. Faked three.

When the room was mostly empty, she finally got up.

The seat under her felt warm.

The theater was cold, and quiet in that heavy way only old places are. Velvet curtains drawn halfway. Scuffed stage floor under dim lights, the kind that made everything look a little bruised.

Ni-ki came out from stage right, steps soundless, towel loose around his neck. His chest still rose and fell slightly, the kind of breath that comes after movement — controlled, sharp, but real.

He wore black ballet tights, high-waisted and unforgiving, a thin gray shirt that clung to his skin, sweat darkening the fabric at his back and under his arms. His ankles were wrapped. Feet bare now, but calloused from hours of work.

And that smell.

The air changed around him — citrusy and dry, sweet but bitter at the edges. Like limoncello left on warm stone. Like something expensive that didn’t try to be. It wasn’t a perfume. It was him. Like he carried it under his skin.

Y/N entered through the side hallway, pushing the door open with her shoulder. Her heels clicked once, then twice. She stopped.

She had coffee in one hand, half-cold. A script under her arm, folded, creased. Lipstick too red for 5 p.m. Eyes lined sharp like she had somewhere better to be.

She saw him before he saw her.

He was stretching — back arched slightly, arms overhead, spine impossibly straight. His hair was damp. His expression blank.

She stared. One beat. Then two. Then:

“Nice dick.”

It came out dry. Almost bored. Like she’d said it before, to other people, in other theaters.

He didn’t react right away. He finished the stretch. Turned slowly. Not surprised. Not offended. Just… done.

“Do you always talk like you’re five, or is that just today?”

His voice was quiet. Clear. No edge. Just a fact.

She took a sip of her coffee. Winced. It was bitter and watery. She didn’t throw it away.

“You’re still wearing tights in public. That’s on you.”

“They’re ballet tights.”

“Still tights.”

He looked her over once. Not up and down — just once. Just enough.

“You wear skirts that don’t cover anything and call it art. I don’t judge.”

She tilted her head. Her smile didn’t move past her mouth.

“That wasn’t judgment. That was commentary.”

“Same thing when you’re insecure.”

That stopped her.

Not because it hurt.

Because it landed. And she didn’t like that he could see anything at all.

She shrugged, forced casual.

“I’m not insecure.”

“You don’t even believe that.”

She looked away, toward the empty seats. The light caught the dust in the air. Everything felt too quiet, suddenly. Too still.

“You really think you’re deep, huh?” she asked. “With your silence and your quotes about stillness. You’re just another boy who thinks moodiness equals meaning.”

He dropped his towel into his bag. His hands were red from floorwork. His knuckles, raw.

“And you’re just another girl who says shocking shit so no one asks what you’re actually thinking.”

That one wasn’t said loudly.

It didn’t need to be.

She stared at him. She could feel her pulse in her jaw.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re right,” he said, finally looking her in the eye. “But I know enough to not be impressed.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

Someone called her name from backstage. She didn’t answer right away.

Ni-ki turned. Picked up his sweatshirt. Walked toward the side exit without hurry.

That scent again — lemons, cold metal, something like memory — brushed past her as he left.

He didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t look back.

She stood there alone for a while. Lights buzzing overhead. Coffee going cold in her hand.

The script felt heavier than it had earlier.

The hallway lights buzzed above her head as Y/N walked barefoot down the corridor. She held her heels in one hand, her phone in the other, scrolling without reading. The glow lit up her face unevenly.

She pushed open the stage door with her shoulder. The metal creaked. Cold air swept in.

Outside, the night smelled like damp wood and old leaves. The back of the theater was quiet, tucked between two brick walls and a rusted railing. Someone had left an empty coffee cup on the ground.

She stepped into the corner where the wind didn’t reach. Lit a cigarette, holding it between her fingers like she’d done it a thousand times. She had.

It wasn’t about addiction. It was about ritual. Inhaling something and letting it go.

The first drag didn’t calm her. It never did. But it filled the air with something she could control.

Then came the smell. That familiar mix: citrus and clean cotton, with a sharpness beneath it like cold steel.

She didn’t have to look. She knew.

Ni-ki stepped around the corner, hoodie on, tights still clinging to his legs like second skin. He was rubbing chalk from his hands with a small towel. Quiet. Self-contained.

Their eyes met briefly. He said nothing. Just took a cigarette from the inside pocket of his bag and leaned against the opposite wall.

“Didn’t peg you for a smoker,” she said.

He lit his cigarette. Exhaled like it bored him.

“Didn’t peg you for much, actually.”

She smirked, shifting her weight.

“Wow. That was almost a flirt.”

“Wasn’t.”

The silence settled. The wind moved through the alley in soft pushes, carrying a few leaves with it. Her skirt fluttered, barely.

She stood near a broken light, so her face glowed half gold, half shadow. Her hair lifted with each gust, wild around the edges.

“So,” she said after a minute. “You’re allowed to smoke, even if you’re a dancer?”

“Technically, no.”

“And yet here you are.”

“You already said that yesterday.”

She rolled her eyes. Took another drag.

“Guess I repeat myself when I’m around people who don’t talk.”

“Or maybe you’re just hoping I will.”

That one sank in.

She looked down, then at him. He wasn’t smiling.

The wind picked up again, a sharper gust this time. It lifted the hem of her skirt—not high, but enough.

Just enough.

Just enough to see the faint red line across the top of her thigh. Thin. Delicate. Angry. Fresh.

She reached down instantly, smoothing the fabric. Too fast. Too defensive.

He looked away—but not like he was flustered. Like he saw, and didn’t need to stare.

“Pervert,” she said, sharp. Automatic.

He took a drag from his cigarette, slow.

“Maybe.”

The word landed strange. Not playful. Not guilty. Just… still.

She stared at him for a beat. But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was watching the smoke curl into the cold air.

“Say something,” she muttered, quieter.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. You just saw my—”

“I didn’t see anything.”

He looked at her now. Direct. Flat. Not cold, but serious in a way that made her pulse jump.

“And if I did, it’s yours. Not mine.”

She blinked. Then scoffed, because she didn’t know what else to do.

“You talk like you’re reading subtitles in your own head.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“And you talk like you’re performing for people who already left.”

That shut her up.

Not in a dramatic way. Just… like turning off a switch.

She dropped the cigarette. Crushed it under her bare foot like it didn’t matter.

“You’re a dick,” she said, barely audible.

He nodded once.

“Yeah.”

She walked past him then, back toward the door, and he didn’t follow her with his eyes. He just smoked, and let her go.

The light above them flickered once, then gave out.

The room smelled like dust and disinfectant. Long mirrors lined one side of the wall, streaked from fingers and breath. The floors were black-painted wood, worn down by years of movement, cracked just enough to catch a shoe if you weren’t careful.

Ni-ki was already there, sitting on the floor with one knee bent, hoodie on, script unopened in his lap. His hair was damp at the edges again, like he’d just washed the sweat out from something else — probably another rehearsal.

He looked like he didn’t want to be there. He also looked like he didn’t care that anyone knew it.

People filtered in, loud and laughing. Some dropped their bags with a thud. Others sat cross-legged, chewing gum, scrolling through their phones. It was the kind of energy that made Ni-ki feel further from everyone else than usual.

And then Y/N walked in.

Different today. Not in her usual skirt, not in heels. Just black pants, loose and sharp. White button-up tucked in like it didn’t mean anything. Her mouth was still red, though — always red — and her eyes didn’t miss much.

She didn’t look at him. Not right away.

The professor clapped her hands together twice.

“Alright. Molière today. Le Malade Imaginaire. Scene 3, Act II. You’ve been paired.”

Groans. Laughter. Some people already whispering who they hoped they got.

“Y/N and Ni-ki.”

Silence.

Someone let out a low whistle. Y/N blinked once. Then sighed, scribbling something into the corner of her script.

“Seriously?” she said under her breath.

“Is that a problem?” the professor asked, looking over her glasses.

Y/N glanced across the room. Met Ni-ki’s eyes.

“Not for me,” she said. “He just doesn’t talk.”

“You didn’t think I could act,” Ni-ki said from where he sat, not moving.

“I still don’t.”

He didn’t respond. Just stood up, finally. Moved to the center of the room like he’d been told to do it. Not like he wanted to.

Y/N followed, script in hand, shoulders relaxed like this was nothing new.

They faced each other under the warm, high light.

The professor sat on the edge of a chair with her pen in hand.

“Toinette and Argan. Read it once slow. Then try it again without reading. Let’s see what you discover.”

Y/N was first. Her voice slipped easily into the role — bright, slightly mocking, with a hidden intelligence behind every word.

“Why are you looking like that, monsieur? What’s happened now?”

Ni-ki looked down at the page. His lines came out stiff, too careful.

“Toinette, I… I feel sick. It’s spreading. I feel the sickness rising in my blood.”

He winced slightly at his own delivery. She raised an eyebrow.

“Really?” she whispered. “That’s your sick voice?”

He ignored her.

She stepped forward. Circle-like, lazy but controlled. Her tone shifted.

“Maybe it’s not sickness at all,” she said, voice lower now. “Maybe it’s… desire. Repressed. Disguised as fever.”

The professor tilted her head, interested.

Ni-ki froze for half a beat. He wasn’t used to this. His body knew how to move through choreography — not words. Not tone.

He tried again.

“I need— I need a doctor.”

Y/N smirked.

“Do you, though? Or do you need someone to press their palm to your forehead and tell you you’re burning?”

The room got quieter. Even the professor stopped taking notes.

Ni-ki blinked. She was too close now. Not touching him, but close enough that he could feel the heat off her breath.

He dropped the script. Let it fall to the floor.

“You’re good at this,” he said quietly.

“I know,” she said, stepping even closer.

His hands were at his sides. Her fingers brushed past his — not fully intentional, not fully accidental.

“But you’re not,” she whispered.

“No.”

They stood there like that. Two inches apart. Breathing each other in.

Y/N didn’t smile. Her face was unreadable.

Ni-ki’s eyes drifted down to her mouth, then back up. He didn’t say anything.

And then the professor clapped once.

“Stop there. That’s enough.”

The spell shattered.

Y/N stepped back fast, brushing her hair from her face like it had just gotten too hot in the room.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “You’re terrible.”

“You’re terrifying,” he said, without looking at her.

She laughed once — short, flat.

“Yeah. I’ve heard.”

They moved back to the edges of the room while the next pair took the stage.

Ni-ki didn’t watch the others. He just kept his eyes on the scuffed floor, running his thumb along the seam of his hoodie.

Y/N sat across the room, flipping through her script, pretending to be bored. But every few seconds, she looked up.

And when he did finally glance back at her, her gaze didn’t drop.

Something shifted then.

The class had ended, but the tension hadn’t.

People were packing up — scripts shoved into backpacks, water bottles snapped shut, the air filled again with useless chatter and forced laughter. The kind that feels louder when something real just happened.

Ni-ki sat near the mirror, lacing his shoes like nothing had happened. His face was blank, perfectly calm, as always. As if his hands hadn’t just brushed against hers. As if she hadn’t been so close he could smell her skin under the perfume.

Y/N lingered by the door, flipping through her script with one hand, casually. Too casually.

She looked over at him.

“You know you kind of suck at this, right?”

He didn’t look up.

“Yeah. I figured.”

“Do you want acting lessons? I mean, clearly someone should help you before the performance.”

He tied the last knot on his shoe. Slowly.

“I’ll survive.”

“Oh, I know you will. You’ll just drag me down with you.”

That made him glance at her. Not annoyed — just patient, like someone watching a cat knock things off a shelf.

“You really want to spend more time with me?”

“No. I just don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“You’re already playing a maid. I think that ship sailed.”

She let out a breath of mock offense.

“Wow. The dancer makes jokes.”

“Only when pushed.”

She walked toward him now, stopping a few feet away.

“The professor said I should help you, by the way. Her exact words were: ‘Y/N, maybe you can knock some personality into him.’”

“Touching.”

“I thought so.”

He stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

“When?”

“Tomorrow. After six. There’s a studio upstairs that’s usually empty. I’ll bring the sarcasm, you bring the deadpan.”

He started to walk past her, but she blocked the door just slightly. Enough to slow him.

“Unless you’re scared.”

He didn’t blink.

“Of what?”

“Of rehearsing with someone who might actually make you feel something.”

For a second, he said nothing.

Then:

“Maybe I’m scared of what you’d do if I did.”

She tilted her head. The smile on her face was half-real.

“See you tomorrow, Argan.”

She stepped aside.

He walked past her, silent, the faint scent of citrus and sweat trailing behind.

He didn’t look back.

But she did.

Just once.

The studio was quiet except for the low hum of the lights and the sound of her pacing.

Her socks slid over the wood floor with every turn. She glanced at the clock again.

7:12.

Of course he was late.

She bent down, picked up the script again, and tossed it onto the chair. She hated waiting. Hated it even more when she didn’t know why she cared.

The door opened with a soft creak.

He walked in like nothing had happened. Hoodie half-zipped, hair still damp at the ends. Bag slung low on one shoulder. Ballet tights, again. And that look on his face — unreadable, like always.

“You’re late,” she said without looking at him.

“I came.”

“Fifteen minutes late.”

“Traffic.”

“You don’t drive.”

He let his bag fall to the floor with a soft thud. “You’re in a mood.”

“I was ready. You weren’t.”

“You’re always ready.”

She paused, just briefly. Then rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“We’re doing Act II. The scene where Toinette calls him out for being pathetic. Which means you have to actually sound like you care.”

“I do care.”

“Your face doesn’t.”

He blinked once, slow. “You say that like you’re trying to piss me off.”

“If I wanted to piss you off,” she said, stepping toward him, “I’d tell you you look like a backup dancer in a luxury soap commercial.”

“Better than looking like a failed drama student still clinging to applause.”

She smiled. Not because it was funny, but because it hit something.

“There he is,” she murmured. “I was wondering when you’d finally talk back.”

They were closer now. She could feel the warmth of his skin, see the slight rise and fall of his chest. His jaw was tight again. He always looked like he was holding something in.

“You’re stiff,” she said, softer this time.

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re bracing for impact.”

“Maybe I am.”

Her eyes searched his face.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Good.” She stepped closer. “Close your eyes.”

He hesitated. Just for a second. Then obeyed.

She raised her hand to his forehead. Her fingers brushed against the skin just below his hairline. Then his temple. He was warm, but not relaxed.

“Relax here,” she whispered. Her thumb slid along his cheekbone, tracing down to his jaw. “You don’t have to hold it all in.”

Her hand moved to his throat, pressing gently against the base of it. She felt the tightness in his voice before he even spoke.

“And here. This is where you lock it all down.”

“You’re thinking about it.”

Her breath caught. “About what?”

“Kissing me.”

She didn’t pull away.

“You’re the one with your eyes closed.”

“You’re the one touching my neck.”

“You’re the one letting me.”

He opened his eyes. Their faces were close — too close now to pretend this was just an exercise. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back up again.

“So,” he said. “Are we going to kiss, or are you just going to keep pretending this is professional?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“You already do.”

And just like that, the space between them disappeared.

Their mouths met in something too fast to be soft. Her hands slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His fingers found her waist, anchoring them in place.

The kiss deepened, messy and real, nothing like the roles they were playing. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t practiced. It was what happened when two people tried not to want something and failed.

She pulled back first, barely an inch, breath shallow.

“You’re still a terrible actor.”

His lips brushed hers again. “You’re still exhausting.”

“Perfect.”

Neither of them stepped away.

And neither of them knew what the hell to do next.

They were still close. Too close.

The silence had thickened between them, and neither had moved since the kiss. His hands were still at her waist, her fingertips still resting against the back of his neck. Both of them breathing too loudly, not looking away.

She broke it first. Not with a step, but with a smirk.

“I can still see your dick through those tights.”

His mouth twitched — the first real smile she’d seen from him. Not cruel. Not controlled. Just amused, and real.

“Just admit you like looking.”

She didn’t say anything. Just met his eyes.

And then they were kissing again.

Harder this time. Hungrier. Less like a mistake and more like a decision they’d both been putting off.

Her back hit the mirror wall, soft and quick. He didn’t press — just followed her there, one hand at her hip, the other curling behind her neck, lips rougher now. She arched slightly, one leg shifting between his.

His hand slipped down. Over the side of her thigh. Light. Careful.

But then — she flinched.

Just a breath. Just a twitch. But he felt it.

He froze.

She pulled back, chest rising and falling, lips red and parted.

His hand stayed frozen at her leg, fingers slightly wet.

He looked down. Blood. Just a streak. Not his.

She stepped back quickly, eyes wide — not panicked, just caught.

He didn’t say anything for a second. Then he looked at his fingers again, then at her.

“Let me see.”

Her jaw tightened.

“It’s nothing,” she said too quickly.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not—” She swallowed. “It’s fine.”

“Let me see.”

He didn’t say it like a demand.

He said it like it mattered.

Like he already knew. Like he wasn’t leaving without knowing more.

She didn’t move for a long second.

Then, slowly, she sighed — that sharp, tired kind of breath that comes right before surrender — and reached for the hem of her skirt.

She pulled it up. Not all the way. Just enough.

Three red lines across the top of her thigh. Thin. Raw. One still open.

His face didn’t change.

He just looked.

And then looked at her.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t explain.

There was nothing left to say that wouldn’t make it worse.

But he didn’t move away.

He just stood there. Still. Quiet.

Like the world had shifted slightly — not violently, just off-axis.

And she hated that he saw it.

And hated even more that he didn’t flinch.

The blood on his fingers hadn’t dried yet. She was staring at it — her own blood, warm and bright against his skin — as if that made it less real.

“You’re bleeding,” he said again.

Her voice came out tight. “It’s nothing.”

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t argue.

Just… stayed there, eyes fixed on her thigh. He kneeled.

The silence stretched. Then he reached for her again.

She didn’t move. Not away, not toward. Just stood there, breathing like she might forget how to if she thought too hard about it.

When his fingers brushed the edge of the cut, she flinched.

He didn’t pull back.

Instead, he leaned forward.

And kissed it.

Not soft. Not sweet.

His mouth met her skin like it belonged there, like he was testing how far she’d let him go. His tongue followed, slow and steady, tracing over the open line. Salt and heat. Her skin twitched under him.

She gasped, sharp and breathless.

“What are you,” she murmured, almost laughing, “a fucking cat?”

He looked up at her.

There was blood at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe.”

His voice was too calm.

She stared at him, chest rising and falling. Her face was flushed, but not from embarrassment.

“You’re disgusting,” she said.

He smiled — not kindly. “You’re still standing here.”

He pushed himself up, walked over to his bag like nothing strange had happened. She watched him pull out a small black pouch — not a full first aid kit, but it had the basics: wipes, gauze, bandages. Of course it did.

Of course he carried that.

He crouched again, not asking this time. Just cleaned the cut carefully. Efficiently. No dramatics. His touch was exact, like he’d done it before — maybe on himself. Maybe on someone else. She didn’t ask.

When he placed the bandage, she didn’t look at his face.

“There.”

She finally spoke. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

Another pause. He stayed crouched, still looking at her thigh.

“You really shouldn’t do this,” he said. Not soft. Not cruel. Just plain.

She swallowed hard.

“Don’t tell me what to—”

“If you want someone to hurt you,” he said, cutting her off, “I can do it properly.”

Her breath caught.

There was a flicker of something in his eyes — not anger. Not concern. Something in between. The kind of thing you say when you’re daring someone to react.

She met his gaze. It wasn’t comfort. It wasn’t care. But it was honest.

The city outside her window didn’t sleep, but her apartment felt like it did. The walls were still. The air, heavy. Her knees pulled up to her chest on the edge of the bed, phone glowing in her hand.

The message she wrote sat unsent for five minutes.

are you still up

Delete.

Then:

can you come over

Delete.

Then:

do you want to come hurt me

She didn’t delete that one.

She sent it.

He answered two minutes later.

Send me the address.

She didn’t think he’d come.

She thought maybe he’d laugh at the message.

Ignore it.

Screenshot it.

Use it against her later.

But thirty minutes after she sent it, he was standing at her door.

She opened it slowly.

No words. Just her in a giant shirt and nothing else. Hair messy, face clean, eyes hollow.

He didn’t look surprised.

He stepped inside like he already knew where everything was. Dropped his bag. Looked around her room like it bored him.

“You really called me for this?” he asked, his tone light. Almost amused.

She closed the door behind him. Didn’t answer.

“You couldn’t wait to be alone again, huh?”

Still no answer.

He walked past her, slow, brushing against her shoulder just enough to make her catch her breath. He kept going, toward her bed.

“Tell me,” he said as he sat down. “What happened tonight?”

She stood across the room, fists clenched. “Nothing.”

He laughed softly. “Right.”

“You don’t care.”

“I do. I just like asking things I already know.”

He leaned back on his palms, looking at her legs like he was studying bruises on a painting.

“So?” he said. “You want me to hurt you?”

She nodded, slow.

He tilted his head. “No. Say it.”

She swallowed. Her throat was dry.

“I want you to hurt me.”

He smiled — not wide. Just enough to let the silence stretch.

“I knew you were fucked up,” he said, “but this is a new low.”

“You came,” she shot back.

“Of course I did.” He stood now, walking toward her. “You don’t text someone that and expect them to stay home.”

When he reached her, he touched the hem of her shirt. Barely. His fingers grazed the edge.

“You want me to fuck you up?” he asked, voice soft like a dare. “Or do you want to pretend this is about healing?”

Her voice cracked. “I don’t care.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

He lifted the shirt slowly, inch by inch, until the top of her thigh was bare. The same spot. The cut not fully closed. Red. Angry. Still warm.

He crouched. Looked at it closely, like he was appraising a flaw in porcelain.

Then: “You did this tonight?”

She nodded again.

“You were thinking about me when you did it?”

Silence.

That amused sound in his throat again — not quite laughter, more like satisfaction.

“You’re sicker than I thought.”

Then he licked it.

Slow. Intentionally.

She gasped — not from pain. Not from pleasure. From something else entirely.

“You’re disgusting,” she whispered.

“And you want more.”

He kissed higher. His breath warm now, tongue brushing over skin that had nothing to do with pain.

“You’re going to let me do this,” he murmured against her leg.

She closed her eyes.

He bit — not hard. Just enough to leave something behind.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

She didn’t.

He smiled into her skin.

“Good girl.”

He tugged on her shirt and it aside, leaving her in nothing but her panties. He smiled—too satisfied, too calm.

“I’m gonna mark you so much you’ll forget about cutting yourself,” he said with a chilling softness.

Then he lowered his head and began to kiss, suck, and bite her skin, leaving trails of bruises and red welts along her shoulders, her chest, her thighs. She flinched. He noticed. He grinned wider.

He didn’t ask. He just grabbed her, maneuvered her onto her hands and knees, as if her body were his to rearrange. She trembled beneath him, presenting herself.

“You want to feel pain so badly?” he said. “Then take this.”

His hand came down hard on her ass. Once. Then again. She lost count after the fifth blow. Her skin was stinging, but she didn’t know why it felt so good.

Then, with no warning, he yanked her panties down. Spit on her cunt. Shoved two fingers inside.

She screamed in pleasure, and in shock.

He laughed. “Is this too much for you, babygirl? Just wait until you feel my dick inside you. Then you’ll really have a reason to scream.”

He curled his fingers, searching for her sweet spot like a keyhole, trying to unlock her body. She cried out pleasure twisted in with confusion, pain layered with shame.

“Niki… Niki… I’m gonna cum…”

He stopped. Just like that. Withdrew his fingers, leaving her empty and shaking. She could feel his spit dripping between her thighs.

And then came the stretch. Deep, burning, slow. His cock pushed inside her.

“Fuck. Fuck. Niki—“

“That’s it, baby. Say my name.” He growled, throwing his head back. When he looked down again, he slipped a finger into his mouth, wet it, and without pause, slid it into her ass.

She was crying now. Her voice cracked from sobbing—pleasure, yes, but also shame. Raw, unfiltered shame.

“Niki—Not my ass…”

He only grinned.

“Thought you said you wanted me to hurt you?”

He kept thrusting with no mercy, adding a second finger, forcing her body to adjust to his will. Her moans were strangled, confused. She didn’t understand why it felt good.

“Why does this feel good?” she whimpered.

He laughed again. Slapped her hard across her ass.

“You’re such a kinky little slut.”

The words pierced through her, and her body responded. She came violently, helplessly, squirting all over him.

He groaned. “Oh, you’re squeezing me so hard. Fuck.” And then he came inside her. Deep. No warning.

“Carry my babies, bitch.”

He collapsed beside her, breathless, content.

“Did I hurt you enough… or do you still need more?”

The room was still.

Just the sound of their breathing — deep, uneven, slowly syncing back into something human.

Y/N lay on her side, her skin burning in places she didn’t want to name. Her breath trembled against the pillow. She wasn’t crying anymore. She wasn’t anything.

Just raw. Quiet. Present.

Ni-ki was beside her, one arm draped lazily over her waist. His fingers rested on the dip between her hip and her stomach. Not possessive, just there.

He didn’t speak for a while.

Then, gently, like the words might spook her, he asked,

“You okay?”

She nodded against the sheets.

But he didn’t let that be enough.

“Was it too much?”

Her voice came out hoarse. “No.”

“You sure?”

She rolled onto her back, blinking up at the ceiling. The air felt heavy. Her legs ached. Her voice was quiet, but steady.

“That was exactly what I needed.”

He turned his head toward her, one brow raised.

“To get fucked like that?”

She exhaled a broken laugh.

“To get pulled back down,” she said. “To feel something that wasn’t mine. That wasn’t shame or silence or… razors.”

His expression changed. Just a little. Like he understood more than he’d admit.

She looked at him. “You grounded me.”

He studied her for a second, then leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone. Then another. And another. Nothing hungry now just warmth.

“I don’t usually do that,” he murmured into her skin.

“Be nice?”

He smiled against her shoulder. “That. Or fuck someone like they’re made of dynamite.”

Her fingers curled in the sheets.

He kissed the curve of her neck. “Do you want me to stay?”

She hesitated. Then nodded.

“Okay,” he whispered.

He got up quietly, walking to the bathroom. She heard water run. He came back with a warm, damp towel in one hand and a bottle of lotion in the other. No theatrics. Just calm. Focused.

Without a word, he sat beside her and began to clean her gently — between her legs, along her thighs, where sweat had dried and where spit and come had mixed. His touch was clinical, but careful. Not embarrassed. Not cold.

She bit the inside of her cheek, not knowing why it made her want to cry.

When he was done, he tossed the towel into the corner and uncapped the lotion.

“Relax,” he murmured.

He started at her calves, kneading the muscles gently, slowly working upward. His thumbs pressed into the sore spots like he could read them. The backs of her thighs. Her lower back. Her shoulders.

No words now. Just hands.

She didn’t even realize how tense she’d been until he softened her.

When he finished, he reached for the blanket, pulled it gently over her body like she was something worth covering. Then he pulled her close, chest against her back, arm around her waist. His chin tucked near her shoulder.

He didn’t say anything else.

But his fingers stroked lazy patterns along her arm, again and again.

And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like hurting herself.

She just let herself be held.

The room had gone quiet again. She was curled against his chest now, both of them warm under the blanket. His fingers ran slow patterns down her spine, lazy and constant. She hadn’t spoken in a while, and he hadn’t pushed.

But then:

“Why do you do it?”

His voice was low, but direct. No buildup. Just the question.

She didn’t answer at first. Her breath caught. He felt it.

After a long pause, she said quietly, “Because sometimes I can’t feel anything.”

She turned slightly, resting her chin on his chest.

“Or I feel everything at once. Like I’m suffocating in my own head. And I just… I need to bleed a little to make it stop.”

He didn’t blink. Just nodded, like he’d already suspected as much.

“And you think pain makes it better?”

She looked up. “It’s not about better. It’s about real.”

His hand trailed along the curve of her waist. She could feel him thinking — that dangerous quiet right before he said something he shouldn’t.

“Well,” he said, “next time you feel like cutting yourself…”

She waited. His thumb pressed gently into the side of her hip.

“…just call me.”

She blinked.

He smirked.

“I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll forget why you wanted to bleed in the first place.”

She hit his chest lightly. “Ni-ki.”

“What?” His grin widened. “You said you needed to feel something, right? I’m just offering a healthier alternative.”

“Psycho.”

“Maybe. But I guarantee it works.”

His hand moved up her thigh slowly, tracing along the edge of her shirt.

“You don’t need razors,” he murmured near her ear. “You need dick.”

She burst out laughing, despite herself, her face heating up. “You’re the worst.”

“But you’re smiling,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I really don’t.”

“You’d beg for me.”

She rolled onto her back, hiding her face with her hands, still laughing — not because it was funny, but because he made it possible.

He kissed her shoulder softly. Then her collarbone.

“Call me,” he said again, quieter now. “Anytime you feel it creeping in. I’ll come over.”

“And do what?” she teased, looking at him from under the blanket.

He met her eyes.

“Remind you you’re alive.”

The apartment smelled like skin and sleep. The light came in soft through the window, falling across the tangled blanket at the edge of the bed.

Y/N stirred first.

She shifted against the warm weight behind her, stretched lazily, then turned to face him. He was still half-asleep, one arm under his head, the other sprawled across her stomach like he owned it.

She watched him for a second.

“Hey,” she whispered.

His eyes stayed closed. “What.”

“I’ve never seen you dance.”

He groaned.

“Seriously,” she pressed, nudging his ribs with her knee. “You’ve seen me act. You’ve seen me cry. I’ve literally cried on your dick. And I’ve never seen you dance.”

“Exactly,” he mumbled. “Let’s keep it that way.”

She sat up, pulling the blanket around her. “You’re a coward.”

He cracked one eye open. “You want a pirouette in your living room? Should I bring stage lighting next time?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t move.

She raised an eyebrow. “What are you scared of? That I’ll fall in love with you?”

He stared at her for a long second. Then sighed.

And got up.

Without a word, he crossed the room. He was still half-naked, hair a mess, eyes heavy from sleep. But he stood tall. Straightened his spine. Rolled his shoulders back.

Then he moved.

No music.

Just breath and control.

He turned slowly, arms sweeping out. Every line was exact. Every shift was grounded. It wasn’t flashy — just elegant. Quiet. And stunning. He didn’t perform. He simply existed inside the movement, like it had always been part of him.

She didn’t say anything.

Until he stopped.

And looked at her.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “I think I just fell in love with your dance.”

He tilted his head, walking back toward her, loose and fluid again now.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes still wide. “You wanna be my boyfriend?”

He raised an eyebrow.

She grinned. “Come on. I’m fun. I give good head. I’m emotionally unstable. What more do you want?”

He sat back down on the bed, pulling the blanket off her chest with one hand.

“You don’t love my dancing,” he said.

“No?”

“No.” His voice was calm. Smug. “You just love my dick.”

She laughed.

“Okay,” she admitted, pulling the blanket back. “But like… I love it artistically.”

“Sure you do.”

He leaned in, mouth brushing her collarbone.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Say you want me for my dick and nothing else.”

She pushed his face away, laughing into her hands.

“I hate you so much.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

She kissed his cheek. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up and go make coffee.”

“You’re already addicted,” he called over his shoulder, standing to leave the room. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The hallway was full. Too full.

People milling around after class, waiting for rehearsal, pretending to be busy. Y/N pushed through like always — sharp chin up, half-tired, half-powerful — but this time, something was different.

Her neck.

A mess of bruises trailed down from her jaw to her collarbone, uneven and impossible to miss. A few had already darkened into purple. Others were fresh, red and angry.

And she wasn’t covering them.

Not with makeup. Not with a hoodie. Just a black off-the-shoulder shirt that might as well have come with a neon sign: Yes, someone did this to me. Yes, I liked it.

She held her iced coffee like a weapon. Walked like she didn’t care.

Next to her, Ni-ki matched her pace. Hands in his pockets. Hoodie up. Always a step too quiet to be noticed, until you noticed him too much.

His eyes kept flicking to her neck.

Then to the people staring.

Then back to her.

“Everyone’s looking at you,” he murmured.

“No shit.”

“You like it.”

She sipped her drink, deliberately. “You like that they know it was you.”

He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

They turned the corner toward the rehearsal wing, and someone from their acting class — tall, nosy, name-forgotten — stopped mid-step.

“Y/N. Uh… your neck—”

Y/N didn’t slow down. “What about it?”

“It’s just—did something happen? Are you—?”

“I’m thriving.”

Ni-ki stepped slightly in front of her then, blocking the view just enough. Not aggressive. Just deliberate.

“She’s fine,” he said coolly. “She wanted marks.”

“And he delivered,” Y/N added, brushing past.

The guy blinked. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

They kept walking.

When they were out of earshot, Ni-ki leaned toward her, voice low and close to her ear.

“You like wearing me.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “You’re such a narcissist.”

“I’m right, though.”

“Keep talking and I’ll bite you next.”

He looked at her like that might actually be a welcome idea.

Then he did it again — that gaze. Slow. Heavy. Direct. Like he was scanning her all over again, taking inventory of what belonged to him.

“You should be mine all the time,” he murmured. “Not just when we’re alone.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I already am.”

“Then let me show everyone.”

“You already did.” She gestured to her neck. “You’ve basically branded me.”

“Not enough.”

He stopped walking.

She turned to face him — annoyed, amused. “Seriously?”

He looked down at her like he was trying to decide whether to kiss her or start another fight.

Then, with infuriating calm: “I don’t like people looking at you.”

“You literally made me look like I got mauled.”

“Exactly.”

She laughed once, loud. “You’re insane.”

He shrugged. “I like what’s mine to stay mine.”

She shook her head, pushing him lightly with her hand. “I don’t even know why you’re my boyfriend.”

His expression didn’t change.

“I mean it,” she said, smirking. “You’re rude. You barely talk. You embarrass me in public. You act like I’m your property.”

“I fuck you like you are,” he said without missing a beat.

She shoved him harder this time, laughing despite herself. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“You love it.”

“I actually don’t even like you.”

He grabbed her wrist gently. “Sure, baby.”

“Not even attracted to you.”

“Want me to remind you?”

She turned her face to hide her grin, pulling her hand back. “Shut up.”

“Thought so.”

They reached the door to the theater. She opened it without looking at him.

“You’re disgusting,” she muttered.

“And you’re obsessed.”

“I need therapy.”

“I am your therapy.”

She scoffed. “My therapist would quit.”

He leaned down, brushed her ear with his mouth, and whispered:

“She’d quit because she knows I’m doing a better job.”

She slammed the door in his face.

He just laughed.

And followed her inside.

#enha smut #niki smut #enha imagines #enha scenarios #enhypen fic #enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen niki #ni ki

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milk-is-stable · 2 days ago

Text

The Shoot From the Hip Hunger Games: Day/Night 5

Masterpost (<-START HERE! the posts are best read in order)

Content Warning: descriptions of violence, blood/injury, major character death

The sun rises on the fifth day of the Hunger Games, and the first pale tendrils of dawn have barely appeared in the sky as the camera zooms in on Julian, Inga, and Michael's campsite. Johnny's face is creased in a frown and he tosses and turns in his sleep, muttering to himself. Suddenly he cries out and his eyes fly open. He reaches out with his right hand, but stops when it finds only dirt and leaves.

"Wha–" Michael sits up, his face stretching with a long yawn. "What's happening?"

"Sorry," Johnny says, sitting up and wrapping his arms around himself. "I was just dreaming."

"Really?" Inga asks blearily, cracking one eyelid open. "Was it a future dream?"

"I do have normal dreams sometimes, you know," Johnny says.

"What'd you dream about?" asks Michael. "Whatever it was, it sounded bad."

"I...it was the kid from District 10," Johnny finally admits. "He was raiding our camp, and he was about to shoot Inga when I woke up."

"Sounds like our next target then," Inga says with a yawn. "But I need at least another hour of sleep before I can think of any plans."

"That's fine," Michael says. "I think I'll get up and check some of the rabbit traps I set around the woods. Johnny, you good?"

"I'm fine. I'll go back to sleep," Johnny says.

Michael nods, picks up one of their tree branch spears, and inches his way back across the bridge over their trench. The camera lingers on Johnny, who watches Michael as he disappears into the trees...then when the other boy is gone, his gaze drifts and lands on Inga's sleeping form.

The camera zooms in closer to her, then cuts to a similar extreme close-up of Alexa, who's asleep with her head leaning on Benjamin's shoulder. Peter is awake, watching the sunrise through the trees, so he spots the sponsor parachute as soon as it descends into view. He reaches and shakes the other two awake, pointing as the mystery gift drops to the forest floor below them. The three of them clamber down the tree, and Peter opens the package to reveal a light compound bow and a quiver of wickedly sharp arrows.

"Well, at least now we have something to use against that mutt," Benjamin says. "Do you know how to fire that?"

Peter shrugs.

"It can't be that hard, can it? Just pull back the string, point, and let go?"

"It's better than nothing, I suppose," Benjamin says.

Alexa opens her mouth, but before she can speak, her stomach growls audibly and she winces.

"It would probably be good to try and get some food today," Benjamin says. "We didn't eat much yesterday."

Peter looks between the two of them for a moment, then nods.

"I know a place we can go to get enough food for all three of us," he says, strapping the quiver to his back. "Follow me."

He heads off into the woods, and after a moment, Benjamin and Alexa follow him.

The camera cuts to show Chip walking on his own, eating a handful of berries as he goes. A rustling noise in the woods catches his attention and he stops, looking around cautiously as his hand drifts towards the knife sheathed on his belt.

Suddenly, there's a snarling sound, followed by the high pitched keen of a small animal dying. Chip's face goes pale, and he turns and hurries away in the other direction, glancing behind him every so often to make sure there's nothing following him.

The camera cuts to a close up shot of Michael, who is walking back towards his campsite and carrying two dead rabbits by their hind legs. The shot zooms out and swings around to the back of his head, so that the viewer sees what he sees at the same moment he does: Johnny standing at the campsite, one of the sharpened branches held in both hands. He's looking down at something on the ground, then he squeezes his eyes shut and lifts the branch up over his head and drives the point straight down.

The camera cuts to Inga's face as her eyes fly open in shock, a gasp of pain on her lips. Johnny staggers away from her, and she stares at him in disbelief.

"Y-you..." she coughs, and her breath comes in a strangled wheeze. "But...the future..."

"Can be changed, "Johnny says quietly.

He turns and begins gathering up as much of the supplies from their camp as he can carry, pointedly not looking at Inga as the last of the life bleeds out of her. Finally, the cannon fires, and Johnny carefully makes his way over the makeshift bridge and takes off into the forest...passing the bush that Michael is hidden behind by mere feet.

The camera cuts back to Alexa, Peter, and Benjamin, who have reached the part of the arena where the forest gives way to the rocky terrain surrounding the ravine.

"We've got to find the stream, then follow it down to a cave," Peter is explaining. "Hopefully whatever the gamemakers did to the water hasn't affected the food that's growing there."

"Are you okay, Alexa?" Benjamin asks suddenly. "You've been awfully quiet today, and I know I haven't known you super long, but that doesn't seem like you."

"Ah...I suppose that's true," Alexa says, looking down and picking at her fingernails. "I do usually like to talk, to tell jokes...I guess I was just thinking."

"What about?" Peter asks, and Alexa shrugs.

"Back before the reaping...I had this little apartment in the city, just me and Janusz. It was small, and drafty, and we only had one thin blanket to sleep on and one little candle to burn and some nights all we had for dinner was a thin cabbage soup that the lady downstairs would share with us."

"That sounds awful, I'm sorry," Benjamin says, but Alexa shakes her head.

"No...no, living in that little apartment was the happiest that I have ever been. It was the first time that nobody wanted me to be something that I was not. I was just thinking...I miss that."

"I miss home too," Peter says. "I miss my room and my toys and the back garden. I even miss my dumb old PS5." He sighs, and kicks a rock ahead of them as they walk. "Mostly though, I miss my parents."

"Me too," Benjamin adds. "And Clarissa, and all the other kids my mum and dad took in after the accident.

"Maybe you'll see them again," Alexa says, and Benjamin huffs.

"But the only way for me to do that is if both of you die," he says. "And the only way that Peter gets to see his family again is if we both die."

Peter looks away at that, a troubled expression on his face.

"The fucked up thing about this game," Benjamin continues, "is that even if you refuse to play, you still lose."

Alexa shakes her head.

"No...no, I don't believe that's true. I told you that I do not care about winning, but that's not quite it. I don't care about winning the Hunger Games...I have to win the fight I am having with the people who want us to do bad things. And at least for now, I am still winning that fight."

Peter opens his mouth to speak, then he freezes, staring off into the distance.

"What?" Benjamin asks, and Peter points wordlessly.

The mutt has returned, and is slowly stalking towards them from the treeline.

"Not again," Benjamin groans.

"Nowhere to run this time," Alexa says, looking around frantically. "Could it follow us if we climbed up those rocks there?" she asks, pointing at a small formation of boulders near the edge of the ravine

"Maybe?" Peter says, though he doesn't sound very sure. "You may as well try, I'll see if I can shoot it down before it gets here."

Alexa and Benjamin hurry forward, and Alexa begins climbing up the side of the rocks as Peter fiddles with the bow and arrow for a moment. He manages to knock an arrow on the string, but it's clear that he is unsure of what he's doing. He pulls the string back as far as he can, aiming his shot towards the mutt as it approaches, but the arrow flies wide and instead of hitting the creature, it strikes Benjamin in the back of the calf just as he begins to climb.

"Aaagh!" Benjamin screams in pain, stumbling forward. "Fuck!"

"Benjamin!" Alexa screams as Benjamin slides back to the ground.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Peter exclaims, flinching violently. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"Shoot it!" Benjamin shouts.

The mutt's attention is trained entirely on Benjamin now, its nostrils flaring wide as it prowls closer.

"Blood..." Peter says, his eyes widening. "It's drawn to the scent of blood!"

Benjamin looks down at his bleeding leg, then back to the beast as it draws nearer, and he takes a deep breath. Turning, he limps his way towards the edge of the ravine.

"Benjamin?" Alexa asks, and he looks up at her, his eyes wide with fear. "Benjamin, what are you doing?"

"You were right," he says, and he forces himself to smile. "What you said about winning. So I'm going to win, in the only way they'll let me."

He turns to face the mutt as it begins to run at him, and he takes a step back so that he's standing right on the cliff's edge. He looks up towards the sky, his breath coming in quick, shaky bursts.

"Mum...Dad...if you're watching...I'm sorry."

He closes his eyes, and as the mutt leaps forward to tackle him, he leans back. The creature slams into his body, then the two of them go flying down the ravine together. Benjamin's scream is drowned out by the monster's panicked howl, and once again, a cannon fires as a body lands at the bottom of the ravine.

Peter rushes to the edge and peers over, then looks back at Alexa.

"The mutt isn't moving," he says quietly. "I don't think it made it either."

Alexa doesn't speak; her face is white as a sheet and her hands are trembling at her sides.

"Listen, I'm so sorry," Peter says, taking a step towards her. "About everything. I'm sorry about Benjamin, and about your other friend, about scaring you on that first night when all I wanted was to ask if you would team up with me..." he trails off as Alexa slides down the boulder onto the ground, wincing as she lands on her weaker ankle.

She wordlessly walks right past him, heading back towards the forest. When she reaches the treeline, she pauses and looks back.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," she says quietly. "If you do win...try to remember that."

She turns and disappears into the trees, and the camera fades out on the shot of Peter standing alone at the edge of the ravine.

The screen fades in on a shot of Johnny trudging through the forest. He moves slowly due to his wound, and he is so focused on walking steadily on the ground in front of him that he almost doesn't notice Chip watching him from a berry patch until he's right on top of him.

"Shhhhh!" Chip hisses when Johnny flinches, and he puts a finger to his lips. "Listen, I'm going to be straight with you," he says in a low voice. "I think there's something in the woods. Some kind of wild animal, maybe a mutt. I've been hearing traces of it all day."

"Really?" Johnny asks, and Chip nods.

"You heard the cannons, we're on the final five now. I know alliances are probably all moot at this point. But I'd rather die on my feet fighting than be torn apart by whatever...thing is out there stalking us. I say we agree not to kill each other for one night, so that we can watch each other's backs and try and both get some sleep. Agreed?"

Johnny looks at Chip for a long moment, then slowly he nods and holds out a hand. Chip takes it, and they shake.

"Agreed."

The camera cuts to Michael, who has gathered as much food as he can from the forest surrounding his ransacked campsite. With his flint taken by Johnny, the rabbits he killed that morning are useless to him, and he's back on a diet of foraged berries and roots.

"Four more to go," he mutters to himself as he walks back towards his camp. "You just have to make it through four more. You can do that, can't you?"

He lets out a groan, and rubs a hand over his face before continuing through the woods.

For a time, the woods are silent, then a soft, eerie sound drifts towards him through the trees, and he freezes.

It's a small voice, singing softly in a different language than what's been spoken in the arena thus far.

"Bayu-bayushki-bayu, Ne lozhisya na krayu! Pridet seren'kiy volchok,I ukhvatit za bochok."

Michael quickens his pace, and finds Alexa walking a few yards ahead of him, in the same general direction as his campsite. Her arms are wrapped around herself and she's hunched over slightly as she walks, and all the while she sings.

"On ukhvatit za bochok, I potashchit vo lesok. I potashchit vo lesok Pod rakitovyy kustok."

She gets closer and closer to the campsite as she sings, and Michael is listening so intently that he almost doesn't realize where she's walking.

"Wait!" he calls out, and Alexa spins around, her song cutting off in a gasp of surprise. "Don't move," Michael says, holding out a hand in warning.

"What do you want?" she demands, her voice quivering, and Michael takes a deep breath.

"Nothing," he says carefully. "I don't want to hurt you."

Alexa laughs, and the sound is bitter and hollow.

"I don't think it matters what you want anymore, does it? It doesn't matter what either of us want."

"Look, just listen to me," Michael says, and he takes a step towards her.

She takes a step back on instinct, then her eyes widen in shock as the ground beneath her feet vanishes. She falls backwards, her arms flying out in a vain attempt to catch herself, and one of the dozens of branches that fill the pit surrounding the campsite pierces her through the back and sticks out through her chest. She makes a pained, choking noise, and Michael rushes forward.

"I'm sorry!" he cries out, raising his hands to his mouth in shock.

"I...I did it," Alexa says, her voice impossibly small. "Did you see?"

"Did I see what?" Michael asks, but she doesn't even look at him; her gaze is fixed upwards, and the reflection of the stars shines bright in her eyes

"Did you see, Janusz?" she asks. "I didn't let them use me...I won after all." She smiles, and a tear rolls down her cheek. "I'm coming after you, Janusz. Now we can finally be free..."

She lets out a shaky breath, and does not breathe in again.

— — —

The day ends and the Capitol anthem plays. The sky lights up with the fifth nightly ceremony honoring the fallen. The face of each tribute that died, in District order, appears in the sky. Your TV shows a brief clip of how each death occurred, though the projection in the arena doesn’t show this to the tributes.

You see Alexa fall and a spike pierce her chest, Benjamin go over the cliff with the mutt, and Johnny drive his spear into Inga's stomach.

The anthem ends, and the projection in the arena goes dim.

This concludes our broadcast for the day! Please tune in again tomorrow to see what will become of YOUR favorite tribute!

Game Summary

Deaths:

Inga was killed by Johnny

Benjamin was killed by an animal

Alexa was killed by Michael

Kill Counts:

Pinocchio: 2 (Maria, Jimmy)

Inga: 2 (Jim L, Scottish Robin)

Caesar: 2 (Juliet, Pinocchio)

Chip: 3 (Clarissa, Marty, Hugh)

Jasper: 1 (Pinocchio)

Robin: 1 (Janae)

Peter: 2 (Priscilla, Caesar)

Michael: 2 (Scottish Robin, Alexa)

Johnny: 1 (Inga)

Game Meta

MY DISAPPOINTMENT IS IMMEASURABLE AND MY DAY IS RUINED

Look. I was low(read, high)key rooting for Alexa. The whole seed, she was my favorite, the one I wanted most to win. There were other tributes I would have loved to see take it and who I was sad to see die, but I was rooting for Alexa the whole time and I almost threw the seed out when she died. But that felt like cheating, and I'm not a cheater /silly.

Shout out to everyone being like "Inga is gonna betray them isn't she" because YEAH she probably would have, had Johnny not beaten her to it. Which he only DID because he was certain that she would. That whole storyline was born of getting the incredible back to back punch of "Johnny begs Inga to kill him and she doesn't" and "Johnny stabs Inga with a tree branch" and asking the question "How would their relationship have to progress for that to make any kind of sense?" I think I like what I ended up with!

Housekeeping: Chip getting the picture as a sponsorship I put yesterday, to make it so that each tribute group got something after the interviews, and Peter's nightmares will be mentioned in tomorrow's post since I couldn't really figure out how to pace a mention of that with the last death scene.

Final four tributes now....which means why not, have another poll.

#sfth hunger games #shoot from the hip #sfth fanfic #sfth fanfiction #sfthposting #sfth #sfth alexa #sfth johnny #sfth benjamin #sfth michael #sfth inga #peter steven #sfth peter #my writing

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wizzdot · 23 hours ago

Text

The Patron Saints of One Way Trips

Chapter 31

description: More shit goes down. Laika wakes upand goes feral. Cops are cops. Simon is Simon. Laswell is a bit harsh to the boys. Johnny and Kyle are lovesick. Simon feels feelings. John feels guilty. Needs to make it up to you in the next chapter…

*Simon’s POV*

No. No. NO. NO. FUCK.

How could she have slipped away without me noticing?! Why did I let this happen?! She’s gone…

I sling the sniper rifle to the side, not bothering to pack it away. It’s not important right now. The elevator is right down on the bottom floor so I waste precious seconds waiting for it to return. Still quicker than using the stairs from the top of a fuckin’ sky rise.

I’d already alerted the pack Alpha, and I know that the two sergeants would have heard my voice over the comms as well. This has turned into a massive shit show.

Laswell’s voice comes over the radio then.

“No visuals on Laika. Simon, any idea how long she’s been missing from your post?” -

“No. She crept out. Could have been anytime. I was watching the scope the entire time”

“God, Simon..” John rumbles disapprovingly through comms. It makes my stomach lurch.

The last time John and I ‘spoke’ we were about to have a fist fight over the Omega we wanted to claim and make a member of our pack.. And now she’s gone. And I am to blame.

“Kate - I’ll find my weapon and then search for the omega.. I’ll need medical once we’ve got her. Broke a couple of ribs, I reckon..” John’s breathier-than-usual voice rasps through my earpiece.

“Solid copy. Let me know immediately of any sightings. We can’t let her disappear”.

*Laika’s POV*

I see black. My head thumps and my shoulder aches. It’s warm, but stiff. Something’s wrong.

I still can’t will my body to follow my consciousness, my eyes won’t open, my voice - silent. I can hear John rumbling from across the hall, and I hear him moving slowly from his position over the hall. He sounds winded and short of breath.

“Shit. My gun” he groans to himself “- and my fuckin’ hat”

He sounds close now. So close. I know that I can’t be too far from the blast site, as I tackled Hassan right in front of the doors. I hear his heavy boot hit flesh, as he rolls and moves the two dead guards and the dead marine in an attempt to try and locate his gun and his stupid bucket hat. I hope he rolls me over and realises that I’m right here.

No such luck. It’s at this moment, I really start to regret my decision to wear scent patches. He doesn’t know I’m here. He obviously finds his gun and hat, as he checks his remaining ammo and I hear fading, uneven footsteps. He must be leaving. I wish I could move. I wish I could call out to him. I try to force my brain to force a movement, but all it does is send more pain to my shoulder. I feel the tiniest whimper escape from my throat. Good. I must be coming round.

*Johnny’s POV - a couple of hours later*

Kyle and I manage to wrap up the objective, with a little help from Simon and a well timed head shot on Hassan. The missiles were redirected and detonated safely. But I felt no pride. No relief. She’d gone. She’d left us. Just upped and left while Simon had his back turned...

We’d all stayed at the facility for ages, searching for her. But she’d gone. At least we hadn’t found a body… I guess that’s one small positive from this situation.

John debriefs with Laswell and re-tells the mission and how he has a bit of a close shave when Hassan had him on his knees, about to shoot him point blank range from behind just after that explosion knocked us both out. Thankfully Kyle managed to drag us away but the poor marine that tackled Hassan just as he pulled the trigger on Price wasn’t so lucky, poor bastard.

Officials are saying a power surge is to blame for an explosion over downtown Chicago last night due to severe winds leaving thousands of residents in the dark. Electricity is expected to be restored by this evening.

We land at a shady bar in Chicago with Laswell.

She sits at the bar watching the news as Price brings two glasses of alcohol for him and Laswell.

“What’s the plan on locating Laika. We need to find her. She’s not just vanished. Surely someone saw something.”

“-John, I’m sorry to be negative, but she very obviously left on her own terms. Perhaps she will return once she has cooled off. I noticed the atmosphere was a little bit tense on the helicopter ride in. Look - I’m not in the best place to theorise what went down, but I’m assuming there was a disagreement? She may have left, John. She never liked conflict. You’ve all read her files. She’s a flight risk. One upset suspected-Omega, coming off suppressants for the first time, unbonded but glued to a pack of Alpha’s who are yet to claim her… I reckon she’s ran… she needs time…”

-“we don’t have time, Kate.. what if -”

“She’s smart”

“They’re after her. You know as well as anybody…”

-“and if she wants to go back, she will. John. It’s out of my hands. She has the ball in her court.”

My brows furrow and my stomach lurches. I can’t just listen to this absolute pile of piss. There’s no way…

“Naw. That’s Bullshit, Laswell -”

I’m shouting before I even realise I’ve stood up and interrupted their conversation.

“Sergeant…” she warns me with a raised eyebrow.

“Naw, she was with me and Kyle before we left for this. Perfectly fine. She was happy. She widnae’ just have left us. They’re no fuckin’ way. Kyle..? Tell her!”

I motion Kyle over to the bar.

“It’s true, Kate. She was acting normally this morning. It was just the Captain and Lieutenant who she was pissed off at. But she wanted to prove a point. Not run off. We went shopping. Had lunch.. nothing would have suggested she was planning to run off..”

“Sergeants, look. I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t have any leads or suggestions. Of course, I’ll keep my ear to the ground. It’s in all of our best interests to find her and return her to the pack, but my best advice is to let her make her own decision. That’s the end of the matter. I’m sorry it’s not what you want to hear.”

“Now. About Iran…” Laswell turns back to Price, clearly suggesting that me and Kyle butt out of their private conversation.

I can smell the anger and frustration in Price’s scent, and I know that my own scent is sour and thick.

I grab Kyle and Simon and leave the bar.

“She cannae be serious” I shout once we are out on the street. I kick a rubbish bin and growl, angrily. I want to punch someone. Or something.

“Johnny-”

“Don’t even fuckin think about tellin’ me to calm down, LT” I growl back, before he has chance to finish his sentence.

“Kyle, have you got your phone on you? Mine got busted in the blast”

“Uhm-” Kyle pats his pockets and pulls out his phone, placing it in my palm.

“What.. you goin’ to just call her and ask her to come back.. think that’ll work do ya’?” Simon teases, sharply.

“I dinnae see you comin’ up with any better ideas. And it was you who fuckin’ lost her” I growl, ready to punch him.

“Guys.. this isn’t helping. Is it?” Kyle tries to calm us down.

I press her name on Kyle’s phone and the line just goes dead immediately.

“FUCK” -

*Laika’s POV*

I eventually woke up. Cold, and stiff. And stuck. Stuck under a body.

It takes me a few attempts to get the dead man off of me, especially with my shoulder being completely unusable. I’m covered in blood and dust, obviously from the dead guy I’d been unknowingly using as a flesh blanket.

I stagger to my feet, feeling dizzy, and weak.

I hear voices. They sound American. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, so I decide to keep myself hidden. I manage to eventually find the exit, without alerting any of the others in the huge high-rise building. I don’t know what time it is, and my phone is broken.

When I get to the ground floor, there is what looks like an ocean of body bags. That is what those people must be doing. The clean-up crew. It’ll probably look like nothing ever happened here by tomorrow morning. In and out. No one gets hurt. Hah. Yeah right.

I stumble my way into the dark night. Still feeling totally drowsy and nauseous. I must have taken a hard hit to the head. I feel warm and cold all over. I really need help. I check my phone again, as if it might miraculously un-smash itself. I long to see one of the Alpha’s name on the screen. But I’m alone. In Chicago. Just limping down a random street in Chicago. Covered in blood.

I jolt when I hear a shocked voice.

“Holy shit, lady. What the fuck?! I’m callin’ the cops” - wait what?

Oh no, a civilian has seen me.

“Oh. No no no that won’t be necessary, sir… I’m fine!” I try and smile, holding my hands forward in a placating manner.

“You crazy-ass bitch walking about like that. Stay back!!”

I shake my head.. “no.. no, please!”

“Yeah - 911? Uhm, there’s a woman walking about covered in blood. Looks like she’s been blown up, good lord.. she’s carrying a gun..”

I gulp, and tremble. I don’t know what to do. I can’t run. Not in my condition. I can’t argue with this civilian, he’s clearly distressed by my appearance. Surely I don’t look that bad, right..?”

“I-I’ll wait.. I won’t run..” I plead, hoping to calm the guy down. He can’t cause any more of a scene if he tried. I see curious passer-bys start to look.

I try to stay close to the walls, in the shadows.

That’s when I hear the distant sirens. A couple of minutes later I see the blue lights flashing off of the night sky, and nearby buildings. I kneel on the ground, praying that the police would be kind enough to just listen. And maybe they’d even let me borrow a phone..

Shit! SHIT.

Four cars screech to a halt in quick succession and I can hear a helicopter from above and then I see that I’ve been lit up in a huge search light, by said helicopter. What the fuck is going on?!?

“ARMED POLICE, LAY YOUR WEAPON DOWN AND PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD” a voice yells over the megaphone.

I whimper, terrified. I can feel my omega clawing to come out. No. NO. This can’t happen now. You can’t go fucking feral now you stupid mutt.

I slide my gun away from myself, and then reach into my tac-vest and throw a knife to the ground. It clatters sharply against the road.

I try to place my hands behind my head as instructed, but that damn shoulder of mine doesn’t play ball.

One arm is up. The other is - well - limp to my side.

“I SAID BOTH HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD”

I shake my head, trying my best. Tears flow freely down my face, my body racked with my harsh sobs. “I can’t” I whisper, pained. Weak.

“WHY AREN’T YOU COMPLYING. ALL UNITS, ARMED AND DANGEROUS - I REPEAT. ARMED AND DANGEROUS.”

All of a sudden I’m rushed by a team of about 8 Alpha officers and one of them grabs both my arms, wrenching them both behind my back as they hand cuff me, tightly.

I wail. My shoulder feels like it’s on fire. It feels as though it’s getting cut off. I’d never felt pain like it. I scream, and thrash. And my omega turns feral. I growl and scream, kicking officers away from me as I fight the pain. The Alpha’s causing me pain. I try to run away. Run away from my shoulder. The pain.

They tase me. I fall to the ground, face first, no arms to break my fall. Of course it’s my shoulder and face that takes the fall. My omega decides it’s time for her to take the drivers seat, now. Everything goes black. I’m like a passenger in my own body. I can hear everything. And some of the sounds are coming from me. Ok, maybe not some. Maybe the majority.

*Simon’s POV*

I am on a short fuse. One wrong move and I’ll kill someone. I blame myself for this. For the tension in my pack. Johnny would shoot me if he could. I am not helping myself either. It’s not easy when I get like this. I withdraw from the situation. Pretend to be cold and unattached.

In reality, I would kill every last person that stood between my pack and her. Every last one. If it meant she’d be safe, back where she belongs, hell the whole fuckin’ world could burn for all he cares.

I feel hopeless. Utterly hopeless. I consider walking to the Chicago bridge and throwing myself off. But that wouldn’t bring her back. So I don’t. I just throw snarky comments at Johnny instead.

I feel a pit of guilt in my stomach. He’s just trying to help find her. But it’s useless. She probably left because of me. Probably decided the Russian bastards were better than us. Probably decided that she didn’t want us anymo-

AGGHHHHHH

My blood runs cold. The Alphas walking beside me freeze. A fleeting moment of eye contact between us all, and our feet are carrying us toward the blood curdling, pained scream.

Kyle’s the fastest. Because of course he is. Johnny is slower, but still faster than me. I can’t stand that I’ll be last there. I push myself faster. Faster than I’ve ever moved.

*Kyle’s POV*

My legs are moving before my brain has time to catch up.

It’s her. She’s screaming. But she’s alive. And close.

As I get closer, I see sirens and cops. Loads of cops. My alpha growls. And then I feel Johnny’s presence behind me.

“Laika? LAIKA?” He shouts into the sea of officers and police cars.

“ALPHA” she screams. Terrified.

“HELP. HELP ME.”

Johnny and I shove through the cops and civilians who had gathered to watch. If any of them got punched or knocked out. Well that was their own problem.

Then I finally see her.

She’s covered in dust and blood. How? She wasn’t -

Her eyes meet mine. Feral Omega eyes. Her face is scraped, her shoulder’s been torn through - looks like a bullet wound. She’s a mess.

“ALPHA..”

*Laika’s POV*

Alpha. Alpha’s here. He came for you. Sweet Alpha. He’s here.

I try to crawl towards the safety. But I’m roughly stopped by another officer. I hear a growl.

My other Alpha.

“Get your filthy fuckin’ hands off her, ya fuckin’ brutes. Cannae you see she’s fuckin’ hurt?!” Johnny yell at them .

“Alpha..” it’s all my omega can whine. It’s the only word my omega knows, it seems.

I crawl again, towards Kyle. My hands are still cuffed behind my back, so I’m pushing with my legs, scraping my shoulder along the stone.

Ass up, face down, so to speak…

Kyle surges towards me. He gathers me in his arms, gently. He cradles my face, like I’d break in his hands, and seep through his fingers like sand.

“Alpha..” I whine happily.

“Shhh baby. Shhh, it’s ok. It’s ok.. calm down. Come back to me baby. Y/n..?” He coaxes into my ear, trying to let the omega know she can leave now. Her job was done: survive.

“Which one of you cunts has the key.. before I fuckin’ detonate this whole fucking city” a voice bellows from behind Kyle’s back.

Simon.

“STEP AWAY FROM THE SCENE. THIS IS A POLICE ARREST!”

That does it. That’s the straw that breaks the camels back.

“I’m a fucking Lieutenant for her majesty’s SAS. And I’m HER fuckin Alpha. So hand me the fuckin keys, so that I can uncuff her, or I’ll call a fuckin air strike on your family’s home. And your mother’s home. And all of your friends’ homes”

A shaking hand reaches forward, presenting a key to Simon.

“Good fuckin’ choice. Now piss off. All of you” he growls, dangerously, squaring his shoulders to the entire crowd.

Meanwhile, the omega watches on. I am slowly emerging from my feral state, but that only brings my attention back to my current situation what with my shoulder, and new scrapes to my face. And the fact I was tased. And my concussion. And so on..

I slump against Kyle slightly, feeling pure relief. He continues to coo at me, and stroke me gently.

“Bonnie? You broken..? Shit baby, look at yer Alpha.. need tae see yer pretty eyes..” Johnny’s rich accent floods through my brain.

“Johnny..” I smile, using what was left of my strength to look up at him from Kyle’s hold.

“Mate, she’s not good. We need to get her seen to now” Kyle plans aloud, for Johnny to hear.

“Aye.. need to find a hospital”.

“NO, med-evac landing in 2 minutes” Simon barks, finally making it over to unlock the handcuffs from my wrists.

My arms swing forward, having been released from their position behind my back, causing me to yelp in pain again.

Then I feel as if I’ve been torn from Kyle and I’m suddenly being held, bridal style, by Simon. I whimper, my shoulder jostling against his rough coat.

My nose finds his scent glands. I press my nose firmly into his neck and breathe him from the source. He grumbles and coos, his Alpha instinctively trying to comfort the omega in his arms.

He goes to press his nose into my scent glands, and a growl - an angry growl - comes from the gigantic Alpha.

“Johnny. Take those fuckin’ scent patches off her NOW”

Oh. Oh..

“M’sorry Alpha. Didn’t mean to leave. Please don’t give me into trouble. I’m sorry…” I cry against his throat.

I feel gentle hands slowly peeling the scent patches from my neck. Then I feel his nose pressing into my neck, then his lips, just brushing the shell of my ear.

“Don’t you ever do that again. Ever. Y’hear me?”

“I- I’m sorry. Please don’t -”

“Scared us. Scared me..” he finally admits.

*Captain John Price’s POV*

“Iran.. that’s your next step, John. I’ll make a plan, but do expect to be deployed within the next couple of weeks”.

“Cartels... Russians...?” I enquire.

“Shepherd... Shadows... They got past us”

Fuckin’ Shepherd. I glare into my whiskey glass, angry.

“Any sign of Shepherd?” I ask.

“He’s totally off the grid” - “Well, we'll find him.”

“No, we've got bigger fish... I've done some digging on the Russians”.

“Well, that's a dirty job, Kate” I grumble.

“Ultra-nationalists ambushed that convoy, John.”

“Kate, this conversation is over. You know, especially with Laika involved, that this isn’t a job for us”.

“They were working with someone new.”

That piques my interest. Slightly.

“Who?” I can’t help but ask.

Laswell takes out a photo from her vest and gives it to me to look at. I take a good look at the photo.

Makarov.

Laswell’s phone rings. She excuses herself to answer the call, and stands from the bar, leaving me sitting, staring at his picture.

My fist thumps the bar, glasses rattling and drinks falling. I scrunch his picture into a ball and squeeze.

He will die for what he did. Mark my fuckin’ words.

The door to the bar slams and I hear rushed steps coming toward me.

I turn to see a panicked Laswell. She’s not easily rustled up like this.

“John. You’ve got to go. Your pack - they’ve found her-”

My chair is pushed back and I’m barging from the bar before she’s even told me where I’m headed. I ignore her, calling Kyle instead. He answers on the first ring.

“Kyle. Where is she? Is she ok?”

- “she’s not great, Cap. She’s Uhm - she’s broken. But she’s alive. We got med-evac for her. All of us are here with her. Just come home, John. We’ll be there..”

Kyle ends the call.

Home. Go home to your omega..

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dreamwatch · 3 days ago

Text

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Somewhere Over The Rainbow event.

Look Up at the Storm

Prompt: Red | Song: Welly Boots by The Amazing Devil | Word Count: 2287 | Rating: T | CW: implied/referenced child neglect | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Eddie & Al Munson, Eddie & Wayne Munson | Angst, emotional hurt and a little bit of comfort, flashbacks, Good Uncle Wayne, Eddie needs a hug, S01 setting, Al loves his son he's just not a great father

Thanks to @kikidoesfanfic for sending me this song! 💗

Eddie struggles with his red rain boots. Daddy takes care of it though, tickles Eddie’s feet while he’s getting his thick socks on, because the boots are still too big for him and they help fill the gaps, Daddy says, and he knows the best way to get Eddie’s feet in without getting his jeans all wriggled up his leg the way he hates. And they splash and splash in the rain and Eddie screams with laughter and Mommy sits in her window laughing at the pair of them. Eddie has a rain coat, a blue one with little white dogs, and the hood keeps slipping off. It’s getting too small but it’s okay, Daddy says, they’ll get him a new one soon, go all the way to Fort Wayne to go and look, and Eddie asks if Mommy can come and Daddy brushes Eddie’s wet curls out of his face and says “Maybe next time.”

But there isn’t a next time.

Eddie sits in first period history, his knee bouncing and bouncing, his wallet chain and the desk rattling slightly behind the beat. Mrs Click throws him pointed looks over her glasses until she eventually outright tells him to stop it. So he does for a minute or so, but then his mind slowly drifts and so does his knee.

When the class goes quiet, everyone with their heads in their books, he can hear the tick tick tick of the grey clock on the wall over the scratching of pencils; he knows the minutes are counting down but he watches the clock all the same. The court hearing is at nine thirty, and Wayne says the lawyer thinks it will be over in half an hour or so. So he’s spent all morning in classes keeping an eye on the clock, watching the hands creep painfully toward ten, and then trying to work out when Wayne might get home after the long drive from Indy. He has coins for the payphone ready, burning a hole in his pocket.

When the lunch bell rings he’s out of the door before anyone else has even got out of their seats.

The payphone is free and he lets out a relieved breath as he pulls the coins from his pocket and drops them into the slot. His fingers tap out a shaky rhythm on the side of the phone. He lets it ring until he’s cut off because no one picks up.

Wayne’s not home. He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. Wayne warned him to be prepared, and he is, or at least he was trying to be. But the last time he had spoken to his dad he’d told Eddie that the lawyer had said there was a shot he could just get time served, or maybe six months if the judge was a dick.

“It’ll be alright, Eddie, you’ll see? Have faith in your old man.”

Eddie wanted to, he always tried to, but it just got harder the older he got.

Wayne, he was the realist of the two Munson brothers.

“I know what he’s telling you,” he’d said to Eddie after a visit, “because he’s telling me too. But this isn’t like last time. You need to be prepared for this one, okay?”

And Eddie had scoffed and spat like a camel all night if Wayne so much looked at him. Al wasn’t a saint, Eddie’s not stupid, but sometimes when Wayne talks about his dad it’s like he doesn’t even like him. Like he can’t even stand his only brother. His dad made mistakes but he was looking after Eddie on his own, and Eddie remembers acting up after his mom died, he knows he was an asshole even if he didn’t mean to be, and his dad could have left him with his mom’s family, they offered enough times. And sometimes it was nice having the place to himself for the night, being able to bring his friends over, getting to stay up late even on school nights. Dad always left him money, he never went without. And if worse came to worst, well Uncle Wayne was a few minutes away.

Worse came to worst when he was eleven and he went to live with Wayne for six months. Worse came to worst again when he was fourteen and he went to live with Wayne for a year.

After he got out, Dad came to see him, and he said he’d probably have to stay in Indy on account of seeing his parole officer and then he just never came home. But he called from time to time, and he’d ask Eddie about his grades, told Eddie he was proud of him because no Munson had graduated high school before and Eddie was going to be the first. And he told him how he could be anything he wanted, he could go anywhere he liked, and Al would be right there with him, just not at the moment, because he’s getting things set up for them both, and he wants him to have a nice home and to give him all the things he had missed out on when he was growing up.

But he’s still growing up and the only thing he’s missing out on is his dad.

He doesn’t eat lunch in the cafeteria, instead he sits on the wall nearest the payphone staring the thing down and glaring at anyone who dares to come near it. He’s not hungry, just picks at a bag of potato chips he brought from home, but he throws them in the trash because his stomach is swooping and turning on a constant churn and he knows he’ll be sick if he eats anymore.

The bell rings and he tries the phone once more before going back to class.

The phone rings three times before Wayne picks up.

“Hello?”

His gut tightens.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says, and he hopes he sounds casual, hopes that the rising anxiety stretching him taught isn’t making it’s way down the phone line. “How did it go?”

There’s a long moment, a stretch where time seems all pulled-out like dough, until eventually Wayne sighs, one of those big ones, weary and tired and Eddie’s stomach drops again but this time it doesn’t come back up.

“Ed…,” and the way Wayne says his name is so sad and weighted that Eddie has his answer.

He hears laughter coming from a classroom, and he drops his head forward onto the payphone, folding in on himself. He clears his throat because he wants to sound strong for Wayne.

“How long?”

He says it like a man, but he feels like a boy.

His dad always says he’s proud of him, would that make him prouder?

“Why don’t you come on home, I’ll call the principal—“

“How long?” he asks again, firmer this time.

Another deep, loaded sigh comes from the end of the line.

“Fifteen years.”

Eddie’s brain whites out after that.

That’s not right. That can’t be right.

He thinks he can hear Wayne say something about appeals, about an early release for good behaviour maybe, but his brain keeps skipping on fifteen years, fifteen years. Fifteen fucking years.

“— be there in ten minutes? Eddie? Did you hear me, son?”

It’s painfully soft: son. Eddie’s not his son though. He wants to scream it but none of this is Wayne’s fault.

“Uh…” He swallows hard, he’s not going to cry, not here, not at fucking Hawkins High. “ I have a… I have an English test. This afternoon.”

There’s no way Wayne doesn’t hear the shakiness in his voice, the way he can’t catch a full breath, but he doesn’t mention it and Eddie’s grateful for that.

“Alright. But come straight home after, okay? We’ll talk properly then.”

What is there to talk about?

He’s late for class, and Mr Mundy makes a remark he doesn’t hear before giving him a tardy slip. He just takes it from his fingers without comment, and wanders the hallways in a daze.

He takes his test, because his dad said he was going to be the first Munson to get a high school diploma, and he promised Wayne he’d keep going, even after his grades slipped when his dad got arrested.

He reads the questions, and then reads them again but his head is full of ants and his dad is going to prison for fifteen years. Al will be pushing sixty and Eddie will be thirty two and Mrs O'Donnell taps him on the shoulder softly and asks him if everything is okay, because class is over and everyone’s left but him. He nods wordlessly and hands her his empty test sheet.

The hallways are full of kids making study plans for the evening, or talking about their dates, and they’re all laughing because their dads aren’t going to prison.

Steve Harrington has his arm around some snooty sophomore girl and that Byers weirdo is putting up more posters for his missing brother and at least they’ll know Al couldn’t have done it because he was in jail. At least Hopper can’t pick him up for that one, fat fucking pig that he is.

He doesn’t want to go home but he doesn’t want to see his friends either so he gets in his van and drives around town, and he stops for cigarettes but they won’t accept his fake ID today so no beer, more's the pity.

He drives and he smokes and he drives and the shadows get longer and the sun dips lower and he finds himself at the park. He takes his cigarettes and a can of warm root-beer with him and he plants his ass on a swing.

His dad lied.

But Eddie knew that, didn’t he?

This was Al’s third conviction and he got off light before on account of having a kid at home and no mother in the picture, but everyone’s luck runs out eventually.

And it was there in the tone, there in the words, when Eddie cares to notice.

“I know you’re strong enough to this on your own now.”

He takes a deep drag from his cigarette as he lazily pushes himself backwards and forwards on a swing he outgrew years ago.

Al was supposed to be here, he was supposed to see him graduate, was supposed to be here to take him for his first legal beer, he was supposed to see him be a success, to fall in love, to have kids. He doesn’t want to do this on his own, he wants his fucking dad.

He doesn’t care that he’s nearly eighteen, doesn’t care that he’s nearly a man, doesn’t care that he’s too old to cry about it.

He just wants his dad.

Rain spits from the sky and a pair of little girls squeal as their parents pull them back to the safety of their car.

Eddie’s eyes burn.

“Eddie?”

If he looks up he’ll cry so instead he stares at Wayne’s boots, splattered with mud. He’s supposed to be at work and shame smacks Eddie square in the chest because he won’t have slept today, and having to chase after Eddie’s useless ass wouldn’t have helped.

Wayne sits on the swing beside him and reaches across to squeeze Eddie’s hand. He’d have yanked it away yesterday, he’ll yank it away tomorrow, but today he lets him do it.

Course fingers sweep his wet bangs off his face and the warm touch of his Uncle's hand is the final straw and he hopes Wayne will just think it’s rain streaming down his cheeks because he’s nearly eighteen and he doesn’t do this anymore.

“He lied,” he chokes out. Wayne nods in reply.

“He didn’t want to worry you. He loves you, Eddie. He’s so proud of you—”

“Don’t!”

“I’m proud of you, too.”

The rain eases, but the tears don’t.

The chain of the swing clinks as Wayne stands.

“Come on,” he says holding his hand out, “Let’s go home.”

Uncle Wayne helps him pull his red rain boots on. He’s rougher than Daddy, doesn’t know the right way to stop his jeans from getting caught up his legs the way he hates. They’re getting tight for him now and one of them has a split in the side but Uncle Wayne taped it up and he said it’ll last till they can get some new ones over in Fort Wayne.

Daddy leaves him here sometimes since they said goodbye to Mommy. Eddie doesn’t know why.

Uncle Wayne lives in a trailer and Eddie hates it because when it rains the forest looks creepy, and the windows rattle and the lights flash. Sometimes when it’s bad it sounds like a monster trying to get in.

He walks into the rain with his taped up boots pinching his toes but he doesn’t feel much like splashing today.

Big hands grab him and scoop him up into the sky.

“Look up at the storm, Eddie.”

He throws his arms around Uncle Wayne’s neck and follows the line of his hand pointed up into the sky. The sky is big, and some of it’s angry and grey, the clouds round and black and he tightens his arms around Uncle Wayne’s neck as a clap of thunder roars. But Wayne shakes him a little and when he opens his eyes he sees the blue peaking through the clouds and the fattest rainbow he’s ever seen. Colours like jewels hanging in the air.

Uncle Wayne kisses his wet cheek, and Eddie squeezes him tight, and they sit on the porch together and wait for the storm to pass.

****

It's 4am and I am sleep deprived but I think I got most of the typos and nonsense sentences. and if I didn't, well sucks to be me I guess!

@the-unforgivenn I got it finished! 💗

#corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson #wayne munson #al munson #corrodedcoffinfest: somewhere over the rainbow #good uncle Wayne Munson

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