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stevie-petey · 3 months

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episode eight: the battle of starcourt

He fights with it, tries desperately not to let it fall, all while his resume hangs from his mouth. “Shit! Oh, Fast Times! Ever heard of it? Top three for me, Keith.” Robin laughs and Steve turns the cardboard cutout to you, wiggling his eyebrows. “Own any red bikinis?” You flick his forehead, though you laugh as well. “In your dreams.” “I can sleep right now and find out–” “I will flick you again.” “A kiss is preferred, but whatever.”

Summary: jonathan becomes a certified surgeon, hopper returns and is oddly sentimental (wonder what that could mean !), you and dustin show off your musical theater talents, the mind flayer becomes a track star, fireworks become weapons, and really a lot just happens so suddenly it gives you whiplash. dont worry though, the rest of your summer involves painful goodbyes and the scary realization that youre growing up. absolutely disgusting. but at least steve gets to kiss you whenever now, so hooray for that ! side note: you keep making promises to people, surely there wont be narrative foreshadowing as a result !

Rating: general, violence and swearing

Warnings: blood, swearing, major character death, graphic depictions of violence, fem!reader, use of y/n

Words: 21.2k (ouch)

Before you swing in: this was my magnum opus. truly. so so so much happens in this chapter, this episode is INSANE. it took me a while, the scenes were hard and complex, but im happy with the final results :) ive been waiting a long time to write this ending, to set up the strings for later in season 4 <3 i sincerely hope this chapter is all yall have wanted. if theres any glaring typos, pls ignore because its 21.2k words and im weak from rereading it. anyways, i have a sneaky lil link right here that will make sense at the end of the chapter (spoiler alert: it's a mixtape jonathan makes for bug). enjoy !

El’s screams tear out of her body. She writhes in pain, sobs claw out of her throat. It’s unbearable to watch, the sight of her in immeasurable pain. It breaks your heart.

No one knows what to do.

Mike thrashes in your arms still. He tries to escape your hold so that he can cover his body with El’s. Take away her pain somehow. But you won’t let him. You know that it hurts him to see her this way, but his panic will only drive El’s panic further.

“What is that?” Disgust litters Erica’s face as she stares at the moving creature within El’s leg. Gently you push the girl away, not wanting to crowd El too much. She needs space to breathe.

“There’s something in her leg,” Mike sneers into your face as he fights against you again. He’s furious, he’s overwhelmed, he just wants to help. “Let go!”

Your arms tighten around the boy. He isn’t in the right state of mind. Frantic, you look to your left and start forming a plan. “Jonathan, my switchblade is in my left back pocket. Grab it.” He stares at you, unsure what to do, and you raise your voice into a yell. “Grab it.”

Jonathan jumps at the command and his hand disappears behind you. You feel him find the weapon and pull it out. He holds it in front of you, offering it, but you don’t accept it. “Go and disinfect it. There’s a gas stove where you found us. Heat up the blades so that we can–” you swallow as nausea fills you. “We–we have to cut it out of her leg.”

The moment Jonathan is gone, you turn your attention to Mike and Steve. You try to keep your voice leveled, try to contain the blinding panic that screams in your head. El needs you right now. Swallowing again, you start to speak to them. “I need you guys to talk to El. Keep her awake.”

“Right, okay.” Mike nods, and you finally release him. He hovers over El, his voice is gentle as he tries to calm her. “Hey, stay awake, okay?”

You tug Steve towards El’s legs so that he can help you move her into a better position. “Get her onto her side. Mike, put her head in your lap.”

Both boys do as they’re told. Everyone watches, and Robin tries to make light of the situation. She rambles about a girl from her soccer team who once broke her leg. How the bone had ripped clean through her skin. The story makes you shiver, and Steve sees the discomfort. “Robin, hey. You’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jonathan returns, out of breath. “Okay. Alright, El?” He looks down at the girl. Tries to steady his breathing. “This is gonna hurt like hell, okay?”

El whimpers out that she understands, and you take hold of her hand. “Sweetheart, you need to brace yourself. I promise it will be over soon.”

“I’ll be fast, but I need you to stay real still. Here,” Jonathan hands a wooden spoon to Mike. “You’re gonna want to bite down on this, okay?”

Teeth bared, El clenches her teeth around the spoon. Her body braces for what’s about to come. Kneeling next to her, you angle your body over hers and pin her arms down with your hands. You look at Mike, ordering him to do the same. “Hold her shoulders. Don’t let her go, no matter what.”

He pales, but swallows deeply and nods. When Mike is in position, you signal to Jonathan to start cutting. “Do it.”

“Okay,” Jonathan inhales. The knife you’ve given him shakes as he holds it over El’s wound. He’s fucking terrified, but he knows it’s the only way. Exhaling, he cuts into her flesh. Blood pours from the wound and El’s screams tear from her chest.

Everyone makes a sound of disgust and horror. Your own stomach lurches at the sight of Jonathan cutting into the leg. The image, the way El’s body convulses, the screams she releases, it’s all too much. You don’t feel yourself shaking until Steve guides your head into the nook of his shoulder, shielding you.

“Thank you,” your breathing is shaky. You aren’t even sure if he’s heard you, but Steve nods and his hand rubs up and down your back. He’s doing whatever he can to help, being the solid surface you need to lean upon. Lending you the strength you need to hold El down and save her.

You hear your knife glance against the ground, followed by El’s scream becoming deafening. Unable to stop yourself, you pull away from Steve to look at what’s happening. When you do, you almost gag. Jonathan’s fingers are now in El’s leg, digging underneath the flesh and muscle to find whatever the hell is in there. A horrible squelching sound fills the air. Faintly you think you can hear Will crying behind you.

Jonathan struggles, digs deeper into the leg, but it only seems to be making everything worse. El twists and contorts beneath you, in agonizing pain. Her screams only intensify. A tear from your eye lands on her shirt, and you force yourself to hold her down despite how desperately you want to end it.

“Goddamn it!” Jonathan can’t find it. He can’t find whatever the hell is in El’s leg. It keeps moving the moment he thinks he has it. Everything is slick from blood.

“No!” El spits out the wooden spoon, her voice raw from screaming. “Stop it!”

You can’t stomach her pain any longer. The moment she pleads for it to stop, you move off of El and push Jonathan away from her. Nancy helps, touches his shoulder to alert him as well. The moment she has the room to, El sits herself up. “I can do it.

“Do what, El?” You ask, though you think you know anyways.

She breathes heavily. Tears flow freely down her face. She’s sitting down, one of her knees is pressed against her chest. The injured leg remains flat on the ground, her hand outstretched above it. Static, the one you always feel when El uses her powers, surrounds you. There’s a low hum, she grunts and screams, and yet her hand remains steady. You rub her back, offering her all the strength you can give her, in awe despite the poor timing of it.

To have the strength to expel a foreign object from your body. You can’t imagine it.

El releases one final long, harrowing scream. The lights flicker, the windows behind you rattle violently. You only just barely manage to cover Dustin and the kids from the shards of glass before they explode. At the same time, a small, writhing creature shoots from El’s leg. It stalls in the air, hovering in front of her face as she continues to scream. The creature is no bigger than the size Dart had been when Dustin first found him. The idea that it had been buried in El’s leg makes you feel ill.

With the last of her energy, El flings the creature across the room. It lands with a sickening thud on the floor, before it starts to move. You watch in horror as it scurries away, releasing its own screech, until Hopper’s boot crashes down upon it, killing it.

You’ve never been happier to see that cranky son of a bitch.

Joyce stands behind him and you whimper pathetically when you see her. You miss your own mother. It’s been days since you’ve last seen her. You’re more homesick than you’ve ever been before.

Alongside Joyce and Hopper is a man you’ve never seen before. He has glasses and a beard. As you study him, Jonathan makes a surprised sound. “Murray?”

“You know him?”

Jonathan nods at you. “He’s the detective Nance and I visited last year.”

“He’s insane.” Nancy says, though there’s a nostalgic smile on her face.

Hopper steps forward, investigating the scene. Glass crunches beneath his boots. He stops in front of you and El. He looks down at you. “Always at the scene of the crime, huh?”

“Yeah,” you blow hair out of your face. “Can’t seem to ever stop myself.” Then, finally noticing his aggressively bright and floral shirt that he’s wearing, you tilt your head to the side. “Nice shirt, by the way. I like the color on you. You’ve been direly needing some color in your life.”

Dustin snorts and El manages a tired smile. Hopper rolls his eyes at you, though you can tell it’s more from fondness rather than annoyance like it usually is. You watch as his eyes drift towards Joyce, uncharacteristically shy. “Thanks, kid.”

“Anytime, old man.”

–

“The Mind Flayer, it built this monster in Hawkins, to stop El, to kill her and pave a way into our world.”

You sit on the fountain’s edge. Dustin is next to you, Steve leans against you on the other side. Mike’s words surround you.

He explains what he and the others have been dealing with while you’ve been gone. Innocent people have been getting possessed and turned into chemicalized substances. Their bodies melting together, conjoining to create a monster meant to kill El. With every detail Mike remembers, your stomach twists uncomfortably. It doesn’t sound real. It sounds like a thing from nightmares.

And somehow Billy has become the face of it.

The last time you saw him, he had been a shell of who he used to be. He had been in pain. Obvious pain. Sweat had run down his flushed skin and his eyes had a frost in them unlike anything you had ever seen before. Instead of helping him, instead of telling anyone about this, you had abandoned Billy.

“How big is this thing?” Hopper asks, shifting so that El can rest more comfortably against him.

Jonathan sighs. “It’s… It’s big. Real big. Thirty feet, at least.”

“You’ve seen it?” Your eyes draw to the bruise on his forehead. The pained noise he made when you hugged him still rings in your ears.

“We’ve had a rough night.” Nancy whispers, eyes downcast.

“It sorta destroyed Hopper’s cabin.” Lucas looks up at the chief, a poorly feigned apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry.”

Steve interjects now. He asks questions, tries to make sure he understands. As he speaks with the group, your head falls onto his shoulder. Your head spins. Only hours ago you were dealing with Russians and national emergencies. Now, you and Steve try to wrap your heads around the idea of a giant human goo creature wreaking havoc on Hawkins.

Which, according to Max, is still very much alive.

But that doesn’t stop Will from trying to help. “But if we close the gate again–”

“We cut the brain off from the body.”

“And kill it.” Lucas finishes for Max. “Theoretically.”

It sounds so simple, but you’ve been here before.

You’ve heard this conversation already; you were standing in the Byers’ dining room. Steve had been next to you, just like he is now, and Jonathan had been on your other side. The people surrounding you were the same, only now Robin and Will join. That November, the conversation had terrified you. Closing the gate. Killing the Mind Flayer and destroying its army.

It had been the exact same conversation. And it terrifies you still, now. Only this time the fear is accompanied by an emptiness.

You’ve been here before. It hadn’t been enough.

“How many more times are we going to kill it?” Your head remains pressed against Steve. Your eyes don’t lift from the ground. Exhaustion sags your body. “We thought we already killed the Mind Flayer. We went through hell and back to close the gate, only for it to be opened again not even a year later. By another country. I mean,” laughter crawls out of your throat. “Who’s to say that they won’t just open the gate again? They’ve already done it once–”

“Loverboy over here,” The bearded man from earlier, Murray, suddenly appears and slaps the back of Jonathan’s head. The man has a mad smile on his face, the kind that tells you he’s an insane genius. After Jonathan shoves him away, Murray stops in front of you. He looks down, a curious glint in his eyes. “He told me you were a ray of sunshine. Gotta be honest. I’m not really getting a real sunshine vibe from you.”

Steve subtly shifts your body so that he’s in front of you. His eyes are narrowed, body tense. “What’s that in your hands?”

Murray seems to now remember what he interrupted the group for. He clutches the pieces of paper in his hands, waves them in the air. “Ah. These, my perfectly coiffed haired friend, are blueprints.”

“That’s just a poorly done drawing of squares and lines.” You squint at the papers. They’re no better than the map Mike had scribbled to navigate the tunnels last year.

“Seriously,” Murray turns back to Jonathan again. “I thought she was supposed to be the nice one.”

You open your mouth to argue, not at all liking whatever this random man is insinuating, but Hopper steps forward first. “Just start talking.”

He sighs, but agrees. Motioning everyone to follow, Murray guides the group to a nearby table so that he can lay his drawings out for everyone to see. “Okay, this is what Alexei called ‘the hub’.” Murray points to the center of the first drawing. “Now, the hub takes us to the vault room.”

“Okay, where’s the gate?” Hopper hovers over him, attentive.

“Right here.” Murray now points to a random box, far from where you know the gate actually is. You bite your lip, unsure if you should speak up just yet. “I don’t know the scale on this, but I think it’s fairly close to the vault room. Maybe fifty feet or so.”

You snort obnoxiously loud, getting everyone’s attention. “You’re so wrong that it physically pains me.”

“I’m sorry?” Murray gives you an odd look. When Jonathan and Nancy showed up on his doorstep last year, the two of them had nothing but great things to say about you. Jonathan had waxed poetry about you while Nancy had sat at the dinner table, resentful. Now, meeting you, Murray is really struggling to understand where that all came from.

“It’s more like five hundred feet.” Erica says. When she sees Murray’s exasperated expression, she can’t help but laugh at the old man. “What, you’re just gonna waltz in there like it’s commie Disneyland or something?”

“And who are you?”

“Erica Sinclair. And who are you?”

“Murray… Bauman.”

“Listen, Mr. Bunman.” You have to stifle a laugh into Steve’s shoulder. You love Erica, you really do. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do things, but I’ve been down in that shithole for twenty-four hours. And with all due respect, you do what this man tells you, you’re all gonna die.”

“I’m sorry, why is this four year old speaking to me?”

You slide off the fountain’s edge and stand. Whoever this guy is, you don’t like his snippy attitude. “She’s ten, actually, and she’s right.”

“Yeah, you bald bastard!” Lucas reprimands her, but she doubles down. “Just the facts!”

While you enjoy her quips, you gently grab Erica’s shoulders and place her behind you. There isn’t time for her to make a grown man cry. “We went through hell down there. It won’t be as easy as walking fifty feet. The place is huge.”

“They’re right.” Dustin speaks up. “You’re all gonna die, but you don’t have to. Excuse me, may I?” Even before Murray has consented, your brother is already grabbing the blueprints. He sits down and starts explaining. “See this room here? This is a storage facility. There’s a hatch in here that feeds into their underground ventilation system.”

“It’s how we accidentally got in.” You add, figuring any extra information could help.

“Wait, you accidentally broke into a secret Russian lair?” Mike tries to hide it, but you can see that he’s impressed. You know that once this is all over, he’ll grill you for details later.

“No, we thought it’d be fun to get tortured by commies on the fourth of July.” Steve points to his swollen eye. “Yes, Wheeler. It was an accident.”

“Guys!” Dustin shouts. When he has everyone’s attention again, he sighs. “Jesus. Anyways, these vents will lead you to the base of the weapon. It’s a bit of a maze down there, but between me, Y/N, and Erica, we can show you the way.”

Hopper stares down at the three of you, unamused. “You can show us the way?”

Dustin is about to agree, but you cover his mouth with your hand. “Yes, I can show you the way. The kids can stay here, but I remember everything from when we were down there. If you want all the hero glory, then fine. Fight some Russians. But I can be your navigator.”

“No.” Hopper, Steve, Dustin, and Jonathan say at the same time.

You roll your eyes at all of them. “Okay, I was only talking to Hopper. The rest of you,” you glare at your brother and the two teens next to him. “Aren’t a part of this conversation.”

“There isn’t a conversation to be had, kid.” Hopper scoffs at you. He doesn’t want to hear whatever you’re about to say. He won’t let you back down there again. From the state Steve is in, Hopper doesn’t even want Joyce coming with him. “You’re not going. End of discussion.”

“You don’t seriously expect me to let you walk into a death trap, right? I mean, I know we argue a lot, but you can’t be that dumb.” Hopper has started to walk away now, trying to put an end to the conversation, but you follow him anyways. “Listen to me!” He ignores you, doesn’t turn around. Instead, Hopper starts gathering bullets as he picks up a shotgun from one of the guards on the ground. Groaning, you continue to chase him.

You don’t care how annoying you’re being. You’ll nag him until your last dying breath. If he doesn’t want you getting hurt, then he has to understand that you don’t want him getting hurt either. “Hopper, I’m serious. El…” You look at the girl, who is far behind the two of you now as she rests near the fountain. Your voice grows thick. A wave of emotions rush over you, seeing her. She’s so small. She’s still just a kid, despite the power that lies within her. “She needs you. You–you can’t get hurt.”

“And I won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” you grab the man’s shirt, but he tries to walk anyways. You plant your feet on the ground and grit your teeth. He’s frustratingly strong. “Please, just–you’re her father. You–you can’t leave her–” You stumble over your words, try to think of how to convince him. There has to be a way, a middle ground. Isn’t he the one who taught El what compromise means?

In your nagging midst, you overhear Dustin and the party all catch up. Talk about how they missed one another. It’s a sweet reunion, seeing them come together again after being separated for so long; your boys are together again. It feels like a lifetime ago where they were all together on Weathertop hill. Seeing them together again, it hits you.

The walkies. Cerebro.

“What if I could still communicate with you from above?” You shout, frantic. Hopper stops walking. He still doesn’t look at you, but he indicates that you have his attention. Taking a deep breath, you don’t waste any time. “We have walkies. Dustin, all the kids. It’s how they communicate with one another. Always have. What if… what if I give you directions using them? That way, you’ll fulfill your annoying need to be a hero while I fulfill my annoying need to protect everyone.”

Your words come rushing out, messy and jumbled, but Hopper seems to understand. He’s quiet, mulls what you’ve said over and over again in his head. He inhales, closes his eyes, and then exhales agonizingly slow. When he opens his eyes to look at you, he’s resolved. “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

A relieved smile graces your face. Knowing you’ve gotten through to Hopper, you finally release his shirt. You straighten it back out, wipe some dirt off of it. It really is a good shirt, one you know was almost definitely purchased for a woman named Joyce Byers. “It adds to my charm.”

Hopper chuckles, shakes his head, before walking over to where your brother stands with the others. He fishes a walkie from his back pocket, tosses a spare one to Dustin. “Hey, heads up. Your sister came up with a shockingly genius compromise. You guys can navigate, just from someplace safe.”

Dustin sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

“The signal won’t reach.” Erica clarifies for him.

You motion at them to explain faster. “But…”

“But,” Dustin quickly explains your idea. “We’d need something with a high enough frequency band to relay with the Russians’ radio tower. But for that to work, you need someone who has both seen their comms room and has access to a super-powered handcrafted radio–”

“Dustin,” you hit his shoulder, urging him to get to the point already. “Just tell him about Cerebro.”

“I was getting there! Look, we have one already situated at the highest point in Hawkins.” Your brother shakes his head. “If you need us to navigate, we got you. But we need a head start… and a car.”

“Hey, chief.” You stand beside Hopper now, grinning ear to ear. “Don’t you have a car?”

He stares past you, and the rage in his eyes amuses you immensely. It’s taking everything within him not to start yelling, which only causes your shit eating grin to grow. You extend your arm, hold your hand out palm-facing upwards. This is the best day of your life. “Come on, give me the car keys, Hopper.”

Sucking his teeth, Hopper drops the car keys into your hand. “I hate you.”

Hopper stands in front of you, annoyance and irritability in his eyes as he stares at you, but you don’t care. A surge of warmth cascades through you instead. He listened. It means more to you than the man could ever know. Your arms find their way around him, surprising both you and Hopper, as you pull him into a hug. “Thank you for listening to me.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t make me regret it.” Hopper says, his voice rough. He clears his throat, allows his hand to pat your shoulder. He may not know what you’ve gone through, but he thinks he can understand the weight the history has left you. It’s the same weight that he carries every day. The guilt, the anger that follows it. He clears his throat again and pulls you off of him, keeping you at arm’s length. “Do me a favor, will you? Make sure El and the others are safe.”

You sniff, wipe away tears. You’re not sure why you’re crying. “I will, I promise. Good luck, old man.”

“Good luck, kid.” He hesitates, still holding your shoulders. His breath hitches and his eyes don’t leave yours. There’s something in them, almost a certain kindness that once reflected in your father’s eyes when you were younger. The gaze burns you at first, but you stare back at Hopper through it. After he seems to find what he’s looking for, Hopper swallows. He says what Joyce has always said about you; from his conversation with the woman back at Melvald’s. “You’re the best of them.”

More tears well in your eyes, but you wipe them away before he can tease you. Hopper releases you, shoves you in a playful manner, and you can’t help but laugh. It’s a warm moment. His words simmer on your skin. You’ve heard them before, you know what people say about you, but the words are different coming from Hopper.

Praise doesn’t come naturally to him. Words have always plagued him; the ones he has just told you hold a weight that’s even heavier than the guilt the two of you carry within yourselves. You’ve known Jim Hopper for three years now, but as you watch him walk over to El, soft smile still on his face from his conversation with you, you finally understand him.

–

Steve is waiting for you at the fountain, whispering quietly with Robin. The two of them stand off to the side, away from the others. He’s nervous, uncomfortable. He stands with his back away from Jonathan and Nancy, who are a few feet away talking to Murray. His arms are crossed over his chest and his fingers tap together in an anxious tick you’ve become familiar with.

The moment he sees you approaching, all the tension in Steve’s body melts away.

He grabs your hand the second you’re within reach. Pulling you into his chest, he kisses the top of your head. “Any updates, angel?”

You hum against him, allowing yourself a moment to bask in his warmth. It’s been a long day. It’ll be an even longer night. “You know Weathertop hill?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Good.” You place Hopper’s keys into Steve’s hand. “You’re driving us, then.”

Robin points at Jonathan, who sneaks glances at the three of you. “Define ‘us’. Because, no offense, he seems nice and all, but he keeps looking over at you like a lost puppy and it’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Be nice, he’s still my best friend.” Flicking her forehead, you silently scold Robin. “And it’s just going to be the three of us with Dustin and Erica. Jonathan and Nancy are taking the rest of the kids to Murray’s bunker. He’s just… He’s worried. Probably wants to make sure he says goodbye to me before we leave.”

Robin makes a confused face, reminding you that she’s new to all of this. That she hasn’t had to say goodbye to her loved ones every year with the fear of them not returning. You sigh. “It’s… Kinda a tradition, at this point. A final goodbye before all hell breaks loose.”

“How many times do you guys almost die on a weekly basis?”

Steve snorts. “Depends on the month. November seems to be our worst one, though.”

“Astounding…”

You leave Steve to deal with Robin’s amazement on his own, though you laugh as you walk away. Ever since the events of Will’s disappearance, you’ve done everything you can to not think about what you’ve all been through. However, seeing the bewildered amazement on Robin’s face the more you reveal to her, you can’t help but laugh.

Jonathan sees you approaching him and Nancy and steps aside to make room for you. They’re still talking to Murray, although the man is more lecturing them than anything. He holds up a bunch of keys, explaining in great detail which one goes into specific locks. It’s dizzying trying to keep track of it all.

Secretly, you’re grateful that you’re going with Steve and the others. Easier key instructions.

“This one is for the second to last bottom lock–”

“Murray, can I cut in real quick?” You try to be polite about it, but truly you don’t care whether or not you have the man’s permission.

He glares at you. “Aren’t you already?”

“Good point!” You grab Nancy’s and Jonathan’s arms and pull them away with a wicked smile on your face. When you’ve dragged them far enough away from Murray, you wrap your arms around them both. Jonathan sinks into the unexpected embrace. Nancy stiffens. You try to ignore it. “Get to that old man’s bunker safely, please?”

“Of course, bug.” Jonathan has wrapped an arm around you. He closes his eyes, his fingers span across your back. “Stay at Weathertop, get to safety. Maybe even get some rest while you can.”

“I’ll try, bee.” Your laugh is wet. This will never get any easier.

Nancy shifts in your embrace, and for a moment you’re afraid she’ll pull away entirely, but instead she surprises you by wrapping an arm around you as well. Her chin is tucked against your neck, she still hasn’t melted into the embrace like Jonathan has, but she’s trying. Lips close to your ear, she whispers, “I’ll keep him safe.”

You suck in a breath. You hadn’t known how desperately you needed to hear Nancy’s reassurance, to hear her silent apology. Pulling away from them, you look at Jonathan and Nancy. “I love you. I love you both.”

Jonathan smiles, the same way he did the night you met him on the Wheeler’s porch. Nancy ducks her head down shyly, the same way she did the night she opened the door to let you into her home.

You squeeze their hands one last time before leaving to say goodbye to the others.

Lucas wishes you luck, Will hugs you as tight as ever, and El offers you a partial smile. She’s still recovering from whatever the monster did to her leg, so you brush some hair out of her face and kiss her head.

“Sucks you were down in hell this whole time. Could really go for a brownie right now.” Mike says, a light in his eyes as El’s head rests in his lap.

You stick your tongue out at him. “Sorry, couldn’t find a way to bake while getting chased by Russians with guns.”

“Lame.”

“Goodbye, Wheeler.”

Then you turn to Max, who has been silent this entire time. She hugs you tightly when she sees you. “He’ll be okay, right?”

Your body goes stiff. Somehow, in the midst of Hopper and the others, you had forgotten about Billy. How he’s infected. Flayed. It hasn’t escaped your notice that no one seems to want to bring the matter up, either. When it had been Will, everyone had wanted to make sure he wouldn’t die if the gate closed.

But no one has asked the same question for Billy.

Swallowing, you slowly reciprocate Max’s embrace. “We’ll… We’ll find a way. We always do.”

Though the words aren’t meant to be a lie, you can’t help but feel that you’re breaking an oath when you say them.

–

Steve hadn’t noticed what brand of car the keys belonged to at first. However, the moment his brain recognizes the iconic Cadillac logo on its keychain, he practically starts to drool. A fucking Cadillac.

It doesn’t take him long to round everyone up and drag you outside.

“I was saying goodbye to Joyce,” you grumble, struggling to keep up with Steve’s quick footsteps.

“It’s a Cadillac, Y/N!” Steve can almost feel the foam pooling around his mouth. His footsteps increase even more, his body vibrating at the knowledge that he gets to drive his dream car. His dad hadn’t wanted to buy him one, said that the BMW was more practical. Reliable. When Steve pushes the mall’s front door open and sees the beautiful, timeless car parked perfectly in front of him, he almost collapses. “Oh, man, now this…This is what I’m talkin’ about!”

“‘Toddfather’?” Robin points out the license plate and its horrible name.

You make a face, but Steve doesn’t let her ruin his moment. He’s ecstatic. This is arguably the best thing that has happened to him all day (besides maybe kissing you). For fuck’s sake, it’s a goddamn Cadillac. “Oh, screw Todd! Steve’s her daddy now.”

Steve hops into the car’s front seat like a little kid with a toy car. Meanwhile you, Robin, Dustin, and Erica retract your heads in disgust at what he’s just said. Robin looks at you, repulsed. “Did he just talk about himself in the third person?”

Erica follows up with her own creeped out question. “Did he just call himself daddy?”

“I’m choosing to ignore him right now.” You say to both of the girls, pressing a hand to your forehead as you walk to the car. There’s so much you don’t want to unpack with what Steve has said.

“You can’t ignore me, Y/N.” Steve leans over the center counsel and opens the passenger door for you. “We already established that I’m really annoying.”

“Just take us to Weathertop, please.” You buckle yourself in and make sure the kids have their seatbelts on as well. When you see that Robin has found herself in the middle seat, you snicker at her. She’s squished between Dustin and Erica, her knees are pressed uncomfortably to her chest.

“Why did I get stuck in the middle?” She complains.

Steve fixes one of the mirrors before revving the engine. As he pulls out of the mall’s parking lot, he offhandedly responds, “Passenger seat is reserved for girls I’m dating.”

Everyone in the backseat gags, and you blush furiously. You and Steve haven’t had the time to talk about your relationship. Or if there even is a relationship. But he’s just referred to you as the girl he’s dating. He kissed you yesterday, or was it today?

Time has blurred together, but Steve’s hand rests on your thigh as he drives and you’re his girl.

There will be time to talk about all of it later. You’ll make sure of it this time.

Steve’s foot presses on the gas, speeding through Hawkins. Neither of you were given an exact time frame from Hopper, but he presses down harder on the pedal and sends the car flying. There’s music on the radio, doing its best to distract everyone, but your hands are still antsy. You’re nervous, there’s still so much left unspecified within the plan. Steve notices your fidgeting fingers and removes his hand from your thigh to play with them; he’s trying to soothe you.

You intertwine your fingers through his and smile at him. Steve winks back at you, and you admire how lovely he looks as he drives. The moment is broken when Robin shoves her head between the two of you. “What the hell is a Cerebro?”

“It’s basically a radio tower that Dustin built for his girlfriend, Suzie.” You explain to her, voice raised to be heard over the music and wind. “She lives in Utah.”

Robin raises an eyebrow, intrigued. She leans back in her seat and pokes Dustin’s shoulder. “Suzie must be really special, huh? I mean, if you built this thing and lugged it all the way to the middle of nowhere just to talk to her.”

Your brother preens at this, pleased someone has recognized his romantic efforts. “I mean, nobody’s scientifically perfect, but Suzie’s about as close to being perfect as any human could possibly be.”

“She sounds made up to me.” Erica snarks from the backseat. She looks over at Steve, tries to get his opinion. “She sound made up to you?”

Steve hesitates for just a fraction of a second too long, and you sigh. Dustin notices it, too. “Why are you hesitating, Steve?”

“I–I’m not!” He looks to you for help, but you only shake your head at him. All he had to do was respond promptly. This is his own fault. “I’m not hesitating! I–I think she sounds real. You know, totally, absolutely real.”

“Not really loving your uncertain tone, Steve.” You say, and Dustin nods in agreement. “Suzie is real. I mean, I’m almost positive that she is.”

Dustin does a double take at your use of the word “almost”. He’s about to say something, demand to know why you’re not certain Suzie is real, before he notices that Steve is about to miss the Weathertop turn. “Left, turn left!”

“There’s not a road here?” Steve argues, squinting his eyes in the dark to see whatever the hell the kid is seeing.

Dustin screams at him again to turn, and you only have a second to brace yourself before Steve jerks the wheel. The car’s tires screech on the asphalt as your body gets thrown forward. You scream, getting war flashbacks to when you’d been in the back of Billy’s car as Max had very recklessly driven you and Steve to the tunnels. Somehow, this is so much worse.

The car breaks through a fence and your screaming only intensifies. “What the fuck?”

“Hendersons, where are we going?” Steve screams to you and your brother. He’s desperately trying to keep hold of the steering wheel as the car struggles against the hillside’s grass.

“Up!” You and Dustin exclaim. One hand clutches the door, the other clutches the seat. The entire car is practically at a ninety degree angle as Steve continues to drive up the hill. It’s bumpy, your head hits the back of the seat more times than you would like, and your heart races.

The car makes a concerning amount of strange noises the further up the hill you drive. Robin clutches her stomach. “We’re not going to make it!”

“Yes we are!” Steve does everything he can. His foot never leaves the gas. “C’mon, baby. C’mon!”

“Sweet talking the car won’t help!” You shriek after a particularly rough bump leaves you nauseous. The poor car strains against the giant hill. The tires, not at all made for off-roading, get caught in the grass.

Steve hits the wheel and curses. “C’mon! Please!” He presses harder on the gas, but the car comes to a stop. The tires move uselessly against the slick mud underneath.

Ill and desperately wanting to get out of the car, you unbuckle your seatbelt. “We can walk the rest of the way, Steve.” He gives you a despaired look, pleading with you to let him continue playing with his new car, but you roll your eyes at him. You’re five seconds away from vomiting, he can deal with abandoning the car. “The Toddfather is dead. We can mourn her later.”

Steve groans but turns the car off as everyone gets out, preparing for the walk ahead. The hill is just as steep as it had been earlier this week when you were with the party. While you’re annoyed you have to walk it again, at least this time it’s night and the heat isn’t as suffocating.

When you reach the crest of the hill, Dustin immediately runs to Cerebro. He crouches next to the radio and turns it on. “Bald Eagle, do you copy? Bald Eagle, I repeat, this is Scoops Troop, do you copy?”

Bald Eagle had been your idea.

“Scoops Troop?” You ask your brother.

He nods, proud. “Thought of it myself.”

“Not bad, buddy.”

Murray’s voice crackles over the walkie. “Yes, I copy.”

Everyone lets out a breath of relief when you hear him. So far, the first phase of the plan seems to be working. Cerebro can reach all the way down to the lair; you can communicate with Hopper and Joyce. So far, so good.

Dustin starts to give Murray the directions he’ll need for the vents. You and Steve roam the perimeter of the hill, weary and needing something to do. While you’re far from the Russians below you, you still don’t necessarily feel like you’re out of harm’s reach. Robin stays with the kids, figuring it’s best to give the two of you some time alone.

You stare out into the view of Hawkins from so high above. Weathertop has always been your favorite spot in the small town. Your first summer in Hawkins, Jonathan had introduced you to the hill; you used to spend all your time up here with him. You’d spend hours running up and down the length of it, giggling and sunkissed. If you stand still enough, you can still hear the laughter in the breeze. You miss Jonathan and being kids with him.

“I haven’t been up here in years.” Steve stands next to you, voice soft. He stares out into the field as well, admires its beauty the way you are, though really he just wants the excuse to look at you. “Forgot how peaceful it was.”

“I love it here,” you tell him. “Late in the summer, dandelions appear. They scatter the entire hilltop. I like running through them.”

“Well, when they start to bloom,” Steve wraps his arms around your waist, pulls you back into his chest. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, lingers. He hasn’t held you in so long, his body aches with the weight of yours against it. “We can run through them together.”

You smile into the embrace, lean into the kiss, tremble into the words. He will always make you weak. It’s an exhilarating feeling, knowing someone can dismantle every bone in your body with less than six words. “I think I’d like that–”

From the corner of your eye, you see lights flickering in the distance. They catch your attention, standing out against the black backdrop of the night sky. You shrug Steve off, feeling a tug in your chest to walk closer to the hill’s edge. You need to figure out what you’re seeing. With every step you take, the more your vision focuses in on the lights, the more dread fills your body.

It’s the mall. The lights are coming from the mall.

You freeze.

The lights are going haywire, flickering wildly. It’s supposed to be deserted. Jonathan and the others were supposed to have left already, but still your stomach sinks. Something isn’t right.

Steve stumbles after you, confused as to why you pulled away, but when he sees the mall as well, he stills. “What the…?”

“They left. They said they would be gone by now.” You try to calm yourself down, try to focus on the reasoning. The mall is empty. It’s supposed to be empty. Jonathan promised you he would make it to Murray’s safely. He wouldn’t lie, he would never lie to you.

Robin, Dustin, and Erica come up behind you and Steve. You all stand there at the crest. No one moves, transfixed by what they see. The lights continue to flicker, miles below, impossibly too far away from help.

Someone has to help.

Your feet move, twisting your body to run back to the radio. You need answers. You need to know what the hell is going on, if everyone is safe, and Dustin is right behind you. He falls to the grass in front of the radio and frantically brings it to his lips. “Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troop. Do you copy? Over!”

He repeats the call over and over, but no one responds. With each passing moment of silence, your panic turns into blind fear. “I repeat, do you copy–” A sudden, horrifyingly familiar screech, one that has haunted your nightmares for years now, rips through the radio’s speaker. It’s loud and gruesome and sends ice into your body. Your brother’s concern rivals your own. “Griswold Family, please confirm your safety. Are you enroute to Bald Eagle’s nest?”

Dustin is screaming into the radio at this point, demanding answers, but there’s only snarling on the other side. Your breathing quickens, the edges of your vision blur. Sweat trickles down your neck. You can’t breathe. Jonathan is still at the mall. Mike and Will. Nancy, Max and Lucas.

El.

The Mind Flayer has them.

Steve tries to grab your hand, but you’re blind to it all. In raw desperation, you tear the radio out of Dustin’s hands and bring it to your own lips. “Jonathan! Nancy! Mike, anyone.”

Your pleads fill the void of a response in the night air. Steve sits next to you, all he can do is watch as your pleading turns into begging. Your voice cracks, the words scratch your throat. Seeing your white-knuckled grip on the radio, Steve can’t take it anymore.

“C’mon,” he takes your hand and pulls you up. Numb with fear, your body is limp. You try to fight him, you don’t know why he’s pulling you away from the radio when your friends need help, but Steve has made up his mind. He takes the device out of your hands and makes you look at him. “They need our help.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!”

“Y/N, look at me.” Steve motions to the car, and finally you understand. “We’re going.”

Relief threatens to make your knees weak. Too wired from the debilitating combination of fear and helplessness, all you can do is nod at Steve and allow him to guide you down the hill. Dustin and Erica see that you’re leaving and try to stop you. “Where are you going?”

“To get them the hell outta there!” Steve calls over his shoulder, fumbling through his pocket to retrieve the keys. “Stay here, contact the others!”

Dustin calls out your name, anxious. He doesn’t want you to leave, and you hate that you have to leave him. But right now, he and Erica are as far from danger as physically possible. Weathertop hill is miles away from Starcourt. Right now, Jonathan needs you, and so do the others. Breaking out of Steve’s grasp, you run back to your brother and kiss his forehead. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

You run back to the car where Steve awaits, and Robin is quick to follow. She runs after the two of you and catches the walkie that Dustin tosses her. “Stay in touch,” he orders the three of you, still entirely against the whole thing.

“We will!” You shout back at him, already crawling into the car. “Stay safe, don’t do anything stupid, and stay here.”

The backdoor closes, Robin’s seatbelt clicks into place, then the Cadillac’s engine roars to life.

–

Your hands won't stop shaking as Steve drives. Nothing he says can reassure you. The car hasn’t gone below seventy miles an hour despite the narrow road, and still it doesn’t feel like it will be enough.

“I’m sure they’re okay.” Steve tries again to sound convincing, like his hands also don’t shake as he grips the steering wheel. “I mean, they have El. She’s a superhero.”

“Total superhero.” Robin unhelpfully chimes in. Her own nervousness is on display as she twists her fingers together.

You draw your knees into your chest, trying desperately to make yourself smaller. You’re terrified for your friends, you should’ve never split up. The party always does better when it’s together. Forcing air into your lungs, you stare out the windshield. “How much farther?”

“A minute, maybe even less.” Steve promises, pressing down even harder on the gas pedal. The engine’s roar deafens your ears, and you welcome the distraction.

In the distance you see Starcourt’s blinding neon lights. They grow bigger and bigger with every passing second, and you release the breath you had been holding when you see that you’re close. The moment of relief is short lived, however, when you hear gunshots pierce through the night. The sound rings in your eyes and the sight of Nancy firing the gun chokes you.

“There!” You point towards where she stands and Steve changes the direction of the car. The tires screech and your body thuds against the door but you don’t care. All you can focus on is Nancy standing in front of Jonathan’s car, unmoving as she fires bullet after bullet. Something seems to be wrong with his car, you can hear the engine fail each time he turns the key.

You squint your eyes. At first, you can’t see what Nancy is firing at, but within seconds you see the third car barreling straight towards her at a terrifying speed. In the driver’s seat is Billy. “Steve!”

“I see him!” He floors it.

The impact knocks all the air out of your body. It all happens so fast. Glass shatters. Metal hits metal. Your body gets thrown, your head roughly hits Steve’s shoulder as the car spins out. Your eyes squeeze shut at the momentum. You can’t remember if you scream.

“Are you guys okay?” Steve asks, panting, as soon as he car comes to a stop. His head is spinning yet the first thing he does is look to see if you’re hurt. There’s some glass in your hair, but for the most part there isn’t a scratch on you, which he’s thankful for.

“Ask me tomorrow?” Robin stares blankly ahead, still trying to process what’s just happened.

It takes a few moments for you to come to. Your ears are ringing. Your neck aches from being thrown so suddenly to the left. “Let’s never do that again.”

“Agreed…” Robin swallows, but quickly her mouth goes dry. “Oh, shit.”

You follow her line of sight and nearly throw up. The Mind Flayer crawls over the mall and releases a thundering screech, and the size of it alone makes you want to cry. It’s huge, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen before.

A car honks behind you, breaking you from your terror. Your head whips around, finding Nancy in the passenger seat of Jonathan’s car. “Get in!”

Quickly the three of you scramble out of the wrecked car. There isn’t room in any of the passenger seats, so you yank the trunk door open and scream at Robin and Steve to crawl in. It’s a tight fit, you have to press your back against Steve’s chest, but it’ll have to do.

As soon as the trunk is closed, Jonathan steps on the gas. You’re thrown further into Steve’s chest and Robin, who sits in front of you, lets out a quiet yelp when she sees the Mind Flayer chasing after the car, not far behind. Seeing this as well, Jonathan takes a rough turn and everyone in the car tries to brace for the rest of the ride.

“Are you okay, bug?” Jonathan shouts over his shoulder, eyes still on the road.

“Fine and dandy,” you pick a piece of glass out of your hair. Steve helps, carefully combing through your hair as well. The Mind Flayer screams, tries to lunge at the car, and your heart skips a beat. You try to distract yourself. “I crash cars every day. How about you guys, what brought y’all out here tonight?”

“Billy.” Everyone in the car says in unison.

You wince. “It’s always him, isn’t it?”

No one answers. Your quips don’t land. Robin hasn’t looked away from the Mind Flayer yet, Steve doesn’t want to look at it. Jonathan stares at the road ahead of him and Nancy flinches every time the Mind Flayer’s body thuds against the earth. The rest of the kids are silent, the echoes of its footfalls pounding against their eardrums.

It’s grim in the car. Really fucking grim.

“Dusty-bun, you copy?” A girl’s voice comes through over the radio. It’s not a voice you recognize; never in your life have you heard anyone besides your own mother refer to your brother as Dusty-bun.

Steve’s bewildered expression matches your own. Then Dustin’s voice crackles through the radio, and your bewilderment turns into relief. At least your brother is far away from whatever the hell is chasing you right now. “I copy, Suzie-poo. It sounds much better now, thanks.”

“Suzie,” Steve and Robin breathe out at the same time. You smile at them, smug. They had their doubts, but you were almost certain she had been real. Serves them right.

The nickname Dustin has for his girlfriend, however, is awful. “‘Suzie-poo’? That’s the best nickname he could’ve come up with?”

“I like bee, better.” Jonathan agrees.

Steve scoffs. “Honey has a nicer ring to it.”

“Both of you shut up!” You don’t have time for their weird ‘my horse is bigger than yours’ competition. Dustin’s started speaking over the radio again and you’re trying to listen in case it’s important. He’s asking Suzie whether she knows what Planck’s constant is, and you have no idea how any of this is relevant to the situation at hand.

“Okay, so I know it starts with two sixes, and then a…” Dustin’s voice trails off. Apparently this Planck thing is a number, one he can’t seem to remember. “W-What is it?”

“Okay, let me just be clear on this.” The tone of Suzie’s voice makes you pity your brother. It’s an angry tone, annoyed and fed up. Whatever she’s about to say, it won’t be pretty. “I haven’t heard from you in a week, and now you want a mathematical equation that you should know so you can… save the world?”

You whistle, commending the girl’s sense of self worth. “She’s got a point.”

Dustin pleads with her, promising that he’ll make it up to Suzie as soon as he can. You feel a bit bad for him, honestly. He really had been trying to contact her ever since he got home from camp. How was he supposed to know his week would end up being dominated by Russians?

“You can make it up to me now.” Suzie’s voice lowers a frightening octave. You have no idea what she’s about to say, and a large part of you wants to throw the radio out the window before you’re forced to find out.

“What?” Dustin sounds frightened as well, which doesn’t make you feel any better.

“I want to hear it.”

Horror fills you. It’s worse. So much worse than you ever could’ve imagined. You know exactly what Suzie wants from Dustin. “Oh, no… He told her.”

“Told her what?” Steve asks you, confused by this entire ordeal. Dustin and Suzie argue in the background. She’s insistent and your brother tries his best to convince her otherwise.

Jonathan’s eyes meet Steve’s in the rearview mirror, mischief in them. “Theater camp.”

“Jonathan Byers, I will hurt you!” You hiss at him, utterly mortified. Sometimes you despise the fact that he’s your closest friend. He knows far too much about you.

Steve has so many questions, but he forgets all of them when Dustin starts to sing. “Turn around, look at what you see.”

His voice is clear and beautiful, a testament to the countless hours the two of you were forced to endure in vocal lessons. When you were younger and still living in Virginia, your mother made you and your brother attend a musical theater camp every summer. She loved having you guys perform little shows for her around the house. Said your voices were like angels to listen to.

The day you and Dustin moved to Hawkins, you both swore to never tell anyone about the camp. The secret would die with you.

Jonathan only knows about it because your mom had him video tape Christmas carols a few years ago (like the traitor that he is). It had taken several batches of cookies, numerous pleas, and a handful of threats to ensure he wouldn’t tell anyone what he saw.

“In her face, the mirror of your dreams.” Dustin’s melodic voice floats through the car. The song had been one the two of you sang frequently at camp, its verses simple yet fun to sing together.

Steve and Robin share a look of disbelief. They’ve completely forgotten about the Mind Flayer still chasing after the car. Suzie, a surprisingly good singer as well, now joins Dustin. They sing together, in a sweet, childish way. You can’t help but sing along, harmonizing with them.

Everyone in the car looks at you as if you’re insane, but you’re too tired and exhausted to care. You’ve had the weirdest two days of your goddamn life. Sue you for singing along. It’s a good song.

That, or maybe you’re just delirious from dehydration.

After a minute or so, the song comes to a close, and you’re almost saddened by that. You’ve missed singing with your brother. You make a mental note to bug him about it later. “Planck’s constant is 6.62607004.”

Dustin laughs into the radio, happy that Suzie finally revealed the number. “You just saved the world!”

“Gosh, I miss you, Dusty-bun.”

The two continue to go back and forth with their baby talk, which you cringe at. It’s disgusting to overhear, although you guess you understand now why Dustin hates being around you and Steve. You’ll apologize to him later.

Dustin’s voice cuts off unexpectedly, which you assume is Erica’s doing. You’ll also thank her later. The car goes quiet again. No one knows what to follow Dustin’s impromptu performance with.

“So, theater camp, huh?” Steve finally breaks the silence, squeezing you gently in his arms as he teases.

“Tell anyone and I swear I’ll–” The Mind Flayer suddenly turns around, catching your attention. It runs away, back towards the mall. It doesn’t make any sense. Everyone is here, in the car. It only wants El. Unease twists your stomach. You lean forward and look at who is in the car. When you see Will and Lucas in the seat in front of you, you panic. “Where are the others?”

You’re practically crawling over the seat to try and get to Jonathan and Nancy. “Where’s Max and El? Where the hell is Mike?”

Nancy tries to distance herself from your anger. “We got separated, but they’re–they’re fine. We had to guide the Mind Flayer away from the mall–”

“So you left them?”

“We didn’t really have much of a choice, Y/N!” Nancy screams back at you now, insulted that you truly believe she would ever leave her brother behind willingly. She wouldn’t do that. She knows that you know this.

“It’s going back for them! It fucking turned around, can’t you see that? We need to follow it, now!”

“Y/N–”

“Turn. Around.”

“Steve, sit Y/N back down!” Jonathan’s yell cuts in between you and Nancy. You’re about to start spewing curses at him, but Steve’s arms are strong and force you back into his lap. You’re livid. “Hold on!”

Jonathan knows you’re right. He tightens his hold on the steering wheel and stomps on the brakes. The car spins, he twists the wheel, controls it as best as he can, before he steadies the vehicle and accelerates back towards the mall.

–

When you get to the mall, Lucas announces that he has a plan.

“Fireworks have an insane amount of gunpowder in them.” He explains to the group, waving around a handful of fireworks he left in the trunk. You’re all carrying some as you run through the mall’s parking lot. “If we tie them together, we can mimic the damage of dynamite.”

“Think it’ll be enough to kill the Mind Flayer?” Nancy asks, hesitant.

“If we throw them from above, yeah!”

You kiss Lucas’ cheek, only barely managing not to trip over your feet as you run. “I think you’re a genius, Sinclair.”

Inside the mall, everyone quickly sets the fireworks up. Faintly you can hear the Mind Flayer lurking somewhere, its roars echoing throughout the building, but it hasn’t found you guys yet. Lighters get passed around, fireworks get messily taped together, groups are divided in an attempt to cover the most ground. Jonathan with Nancy. Will with Lucas. You and Steve with Robin.

You’re taping together the last of your fireworks when you look down over the railing. You almost drop the fireworks in your hand when you see Billy hovering over El. He’s so much bigger than she is. She’s hardly even visible beneath him. Your stomach churns. “He’s here.”

Thuds shake the ground. The Mind Flayer descends from the rooftop and crawls over to where Billy has placed El. Its mouth opens, preparing for the kill, and Lucas throws the first firework. “Flay this, you ugly piece of shit!”

Bursts of light collide into the monster. It hisses, turns to face the direction the firework was thrown, and Lucas throws another into its mouth.

Smoke begins to fill the air. The whistle of the rockets sting your ears. The light blinds you. It’s loud and messy and fireworks rain down upon the monster. Everyone throws the bundles they have, and yet still you hesitate. Billy’s eyes flash through your mind. How the red in them overtook the icy blue. The sweat that poured from his face. The cruelty that seeped through his skin.

It’s horrible what’s happened to him. He didn’t deserve to become a pawn in this maddening game.

But someone has to end it. You breathe in, relax your body, and bring your lighter to the first firework. Its heat licks at your skin as you release it into the air. You hit the side of its body, sending the Mind Flayer stumbling back.

“Hey, asshole. Over here!” Steve throws a firework and its blasts almost scorches the two of you. It’s dangerous, stray fireworks threaten to crash into everyone, but the plan seems to be working. WIth every hit the Mind Flayer takes, the more he weakens.

Your thumb burns as you light fireworks over and over again. The motion is repetitive, just enough to keep the fear in you at bay. It’s deafening within the mall. It’s exhilarating. It’s dizzying. Reds, blues, yellows, greens all light up the sky.

Distantly, through the haze of smoke, you watch as the fireworks affect Billy as well. He cowers each time the Mind Flayer gets hit, but it also seems to enrage him as well. He grabs El’s wounded leg and drags her closer to the monster.

Helplessly you wish you were down there with El, helping her. However, all you can do is continue throwing fireworks in a crazed attempt to save the ones you love. You scream with every throw, exerting all your strength to throw them as far as you physically can. But you’re quickly running out of ammunition.

“Dustin, we’re out of time!” Steve screams into the walkie, breath heaving with soot on his face.

Your brother screams back, pleading with Hopper to close the gate. No one answers him, and you hold back exhausted sobs as you throw the remaining fireworks. They won’t be enough. Someone has to close the gate, sever any connection the Upside Down has to your world. It’s the only way any of you are making it out alive.

Yet it remains open, and Billy has now crawled back on top of El.

She seems to be saying something to him, but in the cloud of smoke and explosions you can’t be sure. Robin helps you light the last firework, Steve aims it, and you’re numb to it all. He throws it, it explodes into a shower of purple. Its ashes scatter around Billy, singes his back, and you see now that he’s stopped moving.

“That was the last one!” Robin shouts over the screams of the fireworks. Steve runs a hand through hair and curses. There isn’t anything else the three of you can do.

You run to the railing and look around, feverish to find any way to help. Jonathan catches your eye from across the plaza. He looks just as distraught as you are. Your palm hits against the metal of the railing in frustration. There has to be something. Then you see Max and Mike below, standing on the outskirts of where Billy and El are, all alone.

“I’m going down!” You scream to Robin and Steve. You have to get down there. Someone has to be with them. They’re too close to the fire and explosions and monsters.

“Y/N, wait–” Steve tries to stop you, but you plead with him.

“Steve, I need you to trust me.” There’s a raw, overwhelming feeling within you that something bad is about to happen. You can’t shake it, the feeling of loss being inevitable frightens you. For three years now you’ve saved everyone, done everything right. For three years, you’ve gotten lucky. You don’t know how to explain all of this to Steve, the fear that has followed you ever since you first intercepted the Russian code. “Please.”

Maybe it’s the way you say it. Maybe it’s the tears that stream down your face as you look at him. Whatever the reason may be, Steve reluctantly lets go of you. Endlessly thankful for him, your hands cradle his face as you kiss him. He makes a cute, surprised noise, and you wish more than anything that you can bask in the warmth of his lips, but you can’t.

You force yourself to pull away. “I’ll be back, take care of the others.”

And then you’re gone.

Footsteps echoing against the walls of the mall, you run down the stairs and straight towards Max and Mike. They hear you approach and suddenly they’re both in your arms. They hold onto you tightly, none of you can tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you. Billy slowly stands up and away from El. His movements are labored as he walks in front of the Mind Flayer, blocking its path to her.

They stand, face to face, unmoving. Predator against prey. Your heart pounds in your throat as you watch, too scared to move. In an almost imperceptible velocity, the Mind Flayer extends its claws.

Billy raises his arms, stopping the monster from piercing through El, protecting her. “No!” A guttural, animalistic scream tears apart his vocal chords. He screams, over and over again, as the Mind Flayer struggles against him.

Max freezes in your arms, you feel her choke on her gasp.

Everything happens slowly after that.

The first claw that penetrates Billy’s side.

The second one that cuts through his other side.

Then the third one, the fourth and the fifth and the sixth. They pierce through his skin, sink into the flesh. His body goes limp as he’s suspended into the air. The Mind Flayer hisses down at him, its teeth bared, and Billy, who has never been afraid, screams in the face of death as the monster fatally punctures his chest.

Everything stops.

“Billy!” You will never forget the pain in Max’s scream. It will become yet another sound that haunts your nightmares.

As you stand there with a paralyzed Max in your arms, the Mind Flayer drops Billy’s body onto the ground. He lands with a sickening thud. The Mind Flayer’s body crashes into the walls, it convulses, spasms, leaving destruction in its wake. Then, all together, it stills and falls to the ground.

The gate has been closed.

Mike tears himself from your arms and runs over to El. He pulls her into a hug and she begins to sob. You and Max walk numbly over to them, neither of your eyes leave Billy’s bleeding body. He shudders weakly where he lays, a pool of blood encasing his body.

“Billy?” Max knees next to him. She’s crying, she doesn’t know what to do. There’s so much blood. “Billy, get up. Please, Billy. Get up, please.”

You kneel next to her, at her side through it all.

Blood pours from Billy’s mouth. He coughs and the wet sound only makes Max cry harder. He looks up at you, his eyes are finally blue again. “Talking to you… sweetheart.”

But if you need anyone to talk to, about anything, come find me, okay?

Those had been your last words to him.

“Billy…” He had tried to find you. He had been lost and scared and alone. He didn’t know what had been happening to him, why his anger became venom. A sob is wrenched from your mouth. He had been all alone, and he had tried to find you.

Billy coughs again, more blood leaks from his wounds. With the last of his strength, he turns his head to Max. “I’m sorry…” His chest heaves in pain, he labors two final breaths, before his chest falls entirely. It doesn’t rise again.

Max shakes his shoulders, uncaring for the wounds there. She shakes him, begs and pleads with him to wake up, but his body remains lifeless. She lets out one final, anguished sob. “Billy.”

She buries her face in your chest and sobs. You hold her, El joins. The girl tries to soothe Max, she tries to keep you together, but you break as well.

You cry for the boy Billy had once been. Max had told you stories from before. How he would drive her to the skate park, scare off any older boy who tried to taunt her. She told you about how he used to love surfing in California, before his mom had left them and his dad became violent.

Max told you about how kind Billy had once been, she knows he used to be kind. How she could see it in him still, hiding the bruises from his father to not scare her. To make her feel safe in their own home even if he intimidated her as well; it was the violence in him that was created by a monster far more vile than the Mind Flayer.

You cry for Max, too young to lose such a complicated loved one. You know the pain better than anyone else. How it hurts to grieve them, how it makes you feel pathetic to miss someone who has only hurt you, but the tenderness of knowing them tethers you to it all. Billy had been her brother. There is no greater tether than that.

You cry because you loved and have lost. You will blame yourself for having not said anything about Billy’s off behavior. You had seen the first signs of what the Mind Flayer did to him. He had been stranded on the side of the road, bloodied and bruised, blue eyes darker than normal, and you had done nothing except tell him to come find you.

And then you had left him.

Billy Hargrove died alone.

You and Max will share the burden of this guilt.

–

Jonathan finds you first, then Steve. You’re on the floor, kneeling with Max in your arms, two broken pieces finding solace in the other. Billy’s body lies next to you, neither you nor Max can bear to look at it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they’re the only words you can say to the girl.

Max clutches your arms around her and her tears soak your shirt. El and Steve try to coax her out of your arms, but she doesn’t move. She refuses to let go of you, though she allows Jonathan to drape his arms over you and hold you as your own sobs echo within the mall.

Nancy and the others join. They leave a wide berth around the dead body before them. Nancy sees that you’re in no condition to guide, so she takes over for you. She instructs Steve and Lucas to take Max from your arms so that they can stand the two of you up. The fire from the wreckage is quickly spreading and you’ll need to evacuate soon.

“It’s okay, bug. You’re okay.” Jonathan whispers in your ear, one hand delicate on your arm. Steve’s hands rest upon your other arm, and together the two of them are able to get you onto your feet.

Your body shakes, grief sits heavily upon your chest. Steve’s eyes never leave your weak frame.

It’s all a blur after that.

Firefighters break through the mall and evacuate the building. Nancy and Jonathan do all the talking. Someone, you think it’s Steve, carefully guides you through the maze of burning rubble and bodies. It’s raining outside and the soft thunder almost drowns out the drone of the helicopters that swarm the building.

There are ambulances amongst the military trucks and you’re shoved into one by a concerned medic. The woman explains to you that you’re in shock, that your body is in a state of perpetual flight. She allows Steve to sit and stay with you only after she’s finished patching up his split lip and bruised eye.

“It’s going to take some time to heal,” the medic explains to you. She’s soft spoken, maternal, and in your numb state she reminds you of your mother. “You kids went through a lot tonight.”

Time.

It always goes back to time.

Steve rubs your back and kisses the top of your head every few minutes. You rest your head against his shoulder, body pressed against his, a blanket draped around both of your shoulders’. Neither of you say anything. His hand on your back is warm, it unthaws the ice that the shock has left behind. His touch grounds you, keeps you afloat.

A car pulls up in the distance and its doors slam. Your eyes drift up, finding Joyce’s as she stumbles through the crowd of armed soldiers and firefighters. She stumbles around, lost in some haze that clouds her once shining face. Joyce looks around in concern, trying to find her sons, and somehow you know, even before her face crumbles when she sees you, that something terrible has happened.

Her eyes meet yours.

Hopper isn’t with her.

Will rushes towards his mother and almost knocks her down with how hard he hugs her. Joyce clings onto him and breaks into heartwrenching, bone crushing, sobs. You can hear her from where you sit with Steve, you can feel the weight of her loss like thickened water in your lungs.

In the other ambulance next to you, El, who had been resting in Mike’s lap, stands up when she sees Joyce. She walks towards the woman as she embraces her son. Though El faces away from you, standing alone in the middle of the parking lot, the way her shoulders shake as she begins to fall apart indicates the remnants of her childhood have died tonight.

“Hopper’s dead.” They’re the first words you’ve spoken all night. Your voice is hoarse from disuse and the words echo, taunting you.

Steve doesn’t say anything, only a heavy sigh leaves his body.

There were three deaths tonight. Billy, Hopper, and El’s childhood. One for every year you got lucky. The fear that had been creeping through the back of your mind finally presents itself to you. It manifests in the humid July air and it laughs at you. Saving Will, closing the gate, destroying the Mind Flayer. They were debts needed to be fulfilled, and they were paid for tonight.

You see Max and Robin sitting on a stretcher across from you. Max also hasn’t said anything all night, lost in her own grief and remorse. Joyce still sobs in Will’s arms. El grieves alone, mourning the closest thing she’s ever had to a father.

You see Jonathan and Nancy whispering quietly to one another in another ambulance. They share a blanket like you do with Steve, but Nancy’s eyes are sunken in and Jonathan’s face is pale. Lucas and Mike sit together, too exhausted to say anything.

You’re all bleeding or burned or bruised and you’re tired.

“Sometimes…” Your voice cracks, tears threaten to silence you, and you force yourself to breathe in. Force yourself to focus, to get the words out. They’re important, somehow, even if you don’t know why. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve used up all my luck.”

Steve draws small circles into your ribcage. His fingers catch on the raised skin, the scar from when you saved his life last year. “Luck?”

“When Will went missing… It was pure luck that I found him. Brought him back home.” You weren’t supposed to have been with the kids when they found El. You were lucky that night, it was luck that threw you into the middle of it all. “It was luck that saved Will last year, too. Those tunnels…” Your body shivers at the memory. It had been so cold down there, the smell of the damp earth is a scent you will never forget. “And now I–”

Your words catch in your throat. Steve’s body presses against yours, he waits for you, patient. When your voice returns, you try again. “And now I… I’m not sure how I feel.”

“Why’s that, angel?” Steve listens, he tries to understand. “I mean, the Mind Flayer is gone. We won.”

You saved Hawkins. You saved El. You know this, and it should be enough, but it isn’t. “All the deaths that took place tonight stain everything.”

El’s father is dead. Joyce had come so close to loving again. Max no longer has someone to call a brother. Billy, who endured so much hurt when he was a child, never got the chance to experience kindness when he grew up.

Billy never got the chance to become good, not like you did. You were lucky to have even become kind again in the first place. It had taken years to turn the hurt from your childhood into empathy. You had a mother who called you her sweet girl even when you screamed horrible insults at her. You had a brother who held your hand through the anger that your father left behind. You had a best friend who taught you that not everyone leaves. There had been people who loved you, who were gentle, who showed you that anger can be turned into something soft.

But all Billy ever knew in his life was violence and cruelty. It isn’t fair.

“My entire life I’ve been lucky,” your chest constricts as you confess everything to Steve. All your fear, the doubt, the insecurity. “Now it–it feels like I’ve used up all my luck.” Your fingers find Steve’s, a mind of their own as your body seeks the solace only he can bring. He doesn’t know that he’s the reason you believe you’ve had more luck than anyone else in their life. “I… I was lucky to have met you, to become your friend, someone you trust. How could I possibly have any luck left over after everything we’ve been through together?”

Everything burns in Steve. He understands what you’re trying to say, he does, but he doesn’t agree. Steve hooks the pad of his fingertip underneath your chin and coaxes your head up, he wants you to look at him as he speaks. He needs you to hear him. To understand. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”

You wipe your eyes, uncomfortable under Steve’s open and earnest gaze. “I’m wrong?”

He hums, strokes a finger from the dip of your cheek up to the crest of your brow. He admires you, memorizes the skin beneath his. “You’ve taught me a lot of things, but you’re wrong about that luck theory of yours. See, I have my own theory that you can never run out of luck if you love, and you taught me that to love and be loved is the luckiest thing a person can give and receive.”

Steve remembers the first day he ever saw you. He’d been thirteen, you had been twelve. He remembers how small you looked to him, yet lovely nonetheless, even back then. You had always been so lovely to Steve, kind, delicate, admirable.

Your eyes stare into Steve’s and he remembers the first day he spoke to you. The squeal of your bike tires as you almost crashed into his car. The way the setting sun cast you in a golden glow in the ditch you landed in as Steve offered you his hand. How, the moment you laughed at what he said, he felt breathless.

You smile at Steve now, the same smile all those years ago, the smile he saw when he was thirteen and believed in knights and dragons. Now, at eighteen, you smile at Steve and he believes in fates that attach people to one another and mold them into one being.

“And I’m lucky enough to be able to love you, angel.”

Steve’s words cut through you. They’re the good that remind you of the light of the sun that follows the dark of the night. It’s almost like an awakening, a slow remembering, how can someone run out of luck if they love with everything within them?

You see Mike now consoling El. She’s in pain, but Mike bears the hurt with her. You see Jonathan and Nancy sleep soundly against each other, safe in the other’s arms. Lucas holds Max’s hand as Robin cracks a joke that gets the young girl to laugh. Will strokes his fingers through his mother’s hair, offering her love that only a son can.

Even while there is so much grief and pain within this world, the love that follows overwhelms it.

Steve stares down at you, eyes soft with contentedness. There isn’t a pressure behind them, he doesn’t need you to say anything to him. He’s simply happy to have you in his arms, to have you with him now, to remind him of how lucky he is, and you’re so full of love for him.

“I’m lucky enough to be able to love you, too, sweet honey.”

Steve Harrington smiles the boyish smile that you fell for long before you knew what love even was, and he kisses you. He breathes you in, he has you right where he wants you.

You finally, finally, have come home.

–

Time passes slowly afterwards; you take it one day at a time.

After the mall burns down, your job is practically all but saved. It’s a small, bittersweet thing. Mrs. Waters had told you the news with her own bittersweet smile, mourning her dear friend Mrs. Driscoll who died in the fire. She will never know the truth, that the woman had become part of an army created by a monster.

“But at least Doris would be happy that I still have my store,” the woman said as she stacked books with you at the counter. It had only taken you two days before finding yourself falling back into old habits. Your mother had wanted you to stay home for the rest of the summer, but Bookstrordinary has always been a second home to you, and you couldn’t bear the silence in the house. Mrs. Waters sighed sadly, looking down. “I miss her.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Waters.” You squeezed her hand, mourned with her.

Hopper’s funeral took place a week after Starcourt burned down. The entire town showed up, something that you know the old man would’ve hated, and he was crowned Hawkins’ hero. You spent the ceremony in the very back, holding El’s hand, so that the two of you wouldn’t be seen.

Billy’s funeral was a few days after Hopper’s. Max sat alone at the front of the church, Billy’s father had been too drunk to attend and her mother couldn’t get the time off of work. After the ceremony, the girl silently followed you into your car and spent the rest of the day at Bookstrordinary with you. She hadn’t wanted to go home to an empty house, and you understood the feeling.

Max spends most of her summer with you at the store after that. Some days she helps restock the shelves, singing along to your set of tapes, bright and cheery. But some days she’s quiet, sits in a corner and pretends to read whatever you hand her. El stops by the store sometimes, too. You read comics to her, bake her the oatmeal raisin cookies she loves so much, and gossip about Mike and Lucas if Max is having one of her good days.

During the first week you bake Joyce’s favorite muffins, the second week you bake her brownies. You offer her a shoulder to cry on every time you stop by the Byers home, you reminisce over Hopper and his disdain for you; she appreciates everything you do.

Steve spends every single day with you, it doesn’t matter where you are. Without a job, he follows you everywhere. Whether you’re at work, at home, even at Jonathan’s or Nancy’s, he’s always able to find you with Robin right behind him. Nancy thinks the newfound trio is bizarre, but Jonathan can’t help but laugh whenever he sees Robin talking your ear off while Steve follows you around like a moth to a flame.

Together, you all try to heal.

Two weeks pass and you’re woken up by the ringing of your phone.

“Hello?” Annoyance seeps through your greeting. You’ve only just managed to fall asleep, the nightmares at bay for once.

“Come outside, angel.”

His voice wakes you up, the annoyance now replaced with confusion. “Steve?”

“Wear something warm, okay?”

“What–?” He hangs up, the line disconnects, and you’re completely taken aback by the phone call. You didn’t make any plans with Steve tonight, at least not any that you can recall. He had spent the day with you at work, ate dinner with you and your family, before watching a movie with Dustin and going home.

You’re not entirely sure why he’s called you at nearly two in the morning to come outside, but you listen anyways. On your desk chair lays the cardigan Steve bought you for Christmas, his initials stitched into the sleeve. Sliding it over your shoulders, you quickly put it on before climbing through your window.

Steve’s car is parked two houses from yours, headlights off. There’s music faintly playing that can be heard through the window, and a familiar melody has you running to get inside. “The Beatles?”

They were the band that you and your dad used to listen to. His fingers would strum their songs on his guitar as the two of you sat side by side on the front porch of your childhood home. He would hum the words to you. Told you that you should know about real music.

When your dad left, he took the music with him.

Jonathan had tried to get you into his favorite artists. The Smiths, David Bowie, the Clash. He would sit you down in his room and play their songs over his record player and watch your reactions. While the music was good, and you’ve come to love them because the artists reminded you of Jonathan, it was never the same as listening to the Beatles with your dad during early July mornings.

Then one night, when you and Steve had been driving around Hawkins, a Beatles song began to play over the radio. Unknowing of your history with the band, Steve started to hum along the same way your dad would do, and it was finally then that music was brought back into your life.

“What, I don’t get a hello?” Steve is smiling ear to ear, seeing the flushed joy on your face and the cardigan you wear.

You throw your body over the center console and hug him. “Hi, honey.”

As he drives, Steve is unusually quiet. His initial smug greeting upon your arrival is quickly overshadowed by a shy demeanor. Steve’s fingers fidget on the steering wheel, his foot taps against the car’s floor. The Beatles play softly within the car and somewhere along the route you find that the wooded scenery starts to look familiar.

He’s driving you to Lover’s Lake.

“Why are we heading towards the lake?” You ask Steve, but he pretends not to hear you. Instead, he turns the radio up and sings along to Paul McCartney. Your eyes wander to the backseat and notice a small box nestled against the leather.

A few minutes later Steve parks the car and wordlessly the two of you get out. It’s dark, the moon reflects off the lake’s water. Crickets sing in the air and the waves lap at the shore. It’s a beautiful night, the July heat is masked by the night’s breeze; your cardigan keeps you warm.

Lost in admiring the view, you don’t notice that Steve has left your side until he returns with a picnic basket. The box you saw earlier is tucked underneath his arm. You tilt your head at him, quizzically. “What are you planning, Harrington?”

Steve grabs your hand. “You’ll see.”

He leads you down to the lake’s edge where the water meets the sand. There’s a trail that Steve once found when he was nine. It had been during the last fishing trip he had ever taken with his dad. The man commanded him to hook the worm and Steve cried. Embarrassed and ashamed, Steve had run towards where the sand met the woods and found a meadow hidden within it.

There are flowers in full bloom within the meadow, and you gasp when you see their vibrant pinks and blues. The flowers are delicate yet their stems are long. Steve sets the picnic basket down and pulls a blanket out from it. He sets it onto the grass and lays down, motioning you to join him.

The stars are clear tonight, shining bright above the two of you. They almost seem to wink at you as you lay side by side with Steve. His hand is in yours, as it always is these days, and with only the stars as his witness, Steve whispers into your ear, “Thank you for staying.”

His breath warms your neck, and you know, without having to ask, what he’s thanking you for. Your promise to him last year, that you’d wait for him. He hadn’t been ready. The timing of it all wouldn’t have been right, but you knew, even back then, that you’d wait forever for Steve Harrington if it meant you’d receive even half of his love.

Take your time, I’ll be here.

“It was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” The words come easily to you, raw with truth and vulnerability.

A soft sigh escapes Steve. He turns his head to you, eyes finding yours, and you’ve never seen such tenderness within him. He opens his mouth, sighs out the words you’ve longed to hear again since that night at Starcourt. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You don’t think you’ll ever tire of saying those three words to him. There’s so much love within you, so much you’ve ached to give out ever since you were a little girl, and now you finally can.

Steve kisses you with a softness that releases a sigh from your own lips, and you know he’s wholly, truly, yours now. With a swift motion, Steve places himself on top of you as you kiss. His weight presses down on you, one hand cups your cheek and the other steadies him. His hair tickles your face, his cologne clouds your brain, and the sweet taste of July honey coats your tongue.

Minutes, maybe even hours, pass as you kiss Steve. It’s lazy, no sense of urgency as your lips move against his. It’s warm, it’s soft. Eventually he manages to pull himself away from you, he’s brought you here for other reasons tonight.

“Hold on, I got you something.” Steve fixes his hair, clears his throat, and pulls out a container from the basket. He reveals a freshly baked loaf of banana bread on a beautiful glass plate. There’s a small, lopsided candle on top of it.

“You came prepared tonight,” you tease him, still breathless from the kisses and love.

“My mom did, actually. She’s the one who made this.” You sit up and look at Steve, wide eyed. He laughs at you, finding your stunned reaction endearing. “Relax, angel. She really wanted to bake you something, and I had to make up for allowing Russians to ruin your seventeenth birthday, didn’t I?”

Words escape you. Steve’s mom made you banana bread, a woman you have still yet to meet, though you’ve only heard fond stories about. She had insisted on doing this kind thing for you.

Steve lights the candle and holds the plate up for you. “C’mon, make a wish, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, smiling, and the wish comes easily to you.

For time to stay like this, forever.

You blow the candle out, Steve cuts the banana bread, and you take turns feeding it to one another. The dessert is delicious, freshly baked and still warm. It’s sweet and nostalgic and everything you could ever ask for.

When you’ve finished eating, Steve claps his hands. “Alright, now onto the real event of the night!”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, the kissing wasn’t enough?” Steve makes a panicked noise and you laugh at him. “I was teasing, honey.”

“You terrify me,” he huffs, before revealing a box from behind him, the very same one you’ve been curious about all night.

“I aspire to be terrifying,” you stick your tongue out at Steve before turning the box over in your hands. It’s light, lighter than you expected. “Is this my gift you’ve been bragging about?” For months leading up to your birthday, Steve had been boasting about this amazing gift he had thought of, how he had convinced the party to help him.

“Open it and find out.” There’s a glint in Steve’s eyes, yet you also see the shyness return as well. He’s nervous to see your reaction, he wants more than anything to have gotten this right.

You roll your eyes at him but open the box. It isn’t wrapped like your other gifts from Steve have been. Instead the box is made of a dark oak, and its lid opens with a soft click. The silver catches your attention first. It’s a small chain with two silver ovals on opposite sides. In between the two ovals is a collection of charms.

“Is this…?” The charms are all roughly the same size, but each vastly different from the other.

Steve nods at you, rubs the back of his neck. “It’s a charm bracelet.”

Moonlight reflects off of one of the charms, revealing it to be a frog, another one to be a cookie, and slowly you piece it together. There’s six charms, one for each member of the party. “Steve.”

“Have you figured it out–oomph!” He lands with a thud on his back as you attack him with a hug. Slightly out of breath, he laughs and wraps his arms around you. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“How did you get the kids to do this?” You lay on top of him, blinking back tears as you hold the bracelet delicately in your hands to admire it.

Steve sighs in exasperation. “Money and a lot of begging. They were all for picking out charms for you, I just had to pay them to spend more than five minutes with me at the jewelry store.”

You laugh, that sounds exactly like them, and you love those kids with everything within you. Holding up the frog pendant, you know which kid picked it out for you. “Mike?”

“Yup. Said something about Kermit the frog?”

“He’s such a little shit,” you say with fondness. Last year, when Billy had nearly choked you to death, your voice had been lost and Mike wouldn’t stop referring to you as Kermit. Your fingers skim over the pendant next to it, a simple blue one, and you smile. “Dustin?”

“He told me about your code blues.” Steve rubs your back, content to have you resting against him. You hum, touched that your brother trusted Steve enough to confide this to. No one else knows about your code blues, it’d been a special thing just between the two of you.

With your ear pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, Steve explains the rest of the charms to you. His voice is lazy, slow, lilting with fondness, and his hand a firm weight against your back. Max chose a knife charm to remind you of how badass you are. Will chose a bee, because he’ll always be your little bee. Lucas was able to find a small, white flower that resembles a dogwood, knowing that it’s your favorite. As for El, she chose a cookie based solely on her love for the ones you bake for her.

“What about the ovals?” You ask Steve after he’s done explaining what the kids chose for you. The ovals are slightly larger than the charms, almost serving as a divider between them. The metal is smooth underneath your fingers.

He brushes hair out of your face and winks. “Turn them over.”

With slight confusion, you do, and discover that they’re engraved. Etched onto the back of one oval is honey, and, on the other, angel is written. They’re your names for one another, nestled between charms from the kids you love so dearly in your life; this is a gift made from pure, unadulterated love.

“Oh my god,” it’s perfect, absolutely perfect. Your lips are all over Steve’s face before he even has time to blink. You scatter millions of kisses upon his face, drown him in them, With every kiss that you press upon his pretty skin, you shower him with praise. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Steve laughs and tries to move his face away, but really he leans into the onslaught of love. His cheeks burn from smiling so hard and from the heat you always make him feel. He grabs your waist and enjoys the skin he holds. “You like it?”

“I love it, Steve!”

“Does this make up for the whole Russian fiasco?” He asks, only joking a little bit. He still feels awful for dragging you into everything, but with time he’s learning to forgive himself. Before he overthinks it, Steve adds, “Am I now the best boyfriend in the world?”

His words make you blush, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to Steve being yours. You’ve waited so long to be his, to hold him and kiss him like you do now. You cherish the feeling, the sensation of knowing a boy loves you the way that Steve does. “You’ve definitely redeemed yourself for getting me trapped in a Russian lair on my birthday. And you’re definitely the best boyfriend in the world.”

Steve, despite being underneath you, does a victory dance and whoops into the night. He’s elated, his face shines when you look down at him, and you’ve never been so in love before. You once thought you knew what love was, what the burn of it could feel like. But now, with Steve lying beneath you as his arms keep you from falling, you know that love is airless, light, cool to the touch and warm on the skin. Love isn’t supposed to hurt, it’s supposed to feel like coming home after a long day of being out in the cold.

After Steve helps you put on the charm bracelet, you lay together in the meadow. The lake’s waves can be heard in the distance. Crickets chirp their greeting, the stars wink hello above you. Their noises serve as a lullaby to you, soothing you to an almost sleep-like state. You nestle your head into the crook of Steve’s neck and let out a sleepy exhale.

Feeling this, Steve strokes the back of your hair. “You fallin’ asleep on me, Henderson?”

“I’m resting my eyes.”

“Very convincing,” he chuckles, tightening his embrace to try and stave off the cold that creeps in. He lets out his own tired sigh, your weight upon him has always put him at ease. He inhales, smells your perfume, and he can’t believe that he’s here right now with you. After everything he’s been through, he can’t believe that somehow he’s come out of it with you next to him. Last year he thought he had lost you forever. This year he can see forever with you. “I think I like this July a whole lot better than the last one.”

It’s meant to be a joke, a gentle tease. More of a reflection of how far the two of you have come in such a short amount of time, but still Steve’s words remind you of something. You’ve never told him the real reason why you left last summer. Why you ran away from him.

“I was scared, last summer.”

Steve tilts his head at you. “Scared of what?”

“I was scared of falling in love with you,” the confession lifts from your chest. It hangs over you both, the weight of it tangible. Steve’s eyes soften, he lets out a soft oh, and you duck your head shyly. “Last July, you were… Everything. You were everything to me, and it terrified me. I was still figuring my feelings out for Jonathan back then, you had Nancy, but you were so lovely and I just–I couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t have been fair, not to anyone, but I’m sorry.”

“Y/N…” Steve hadn’t known. All this time, he thought he had done something wrong. But really you had been trying to protect yourself, protect him, and he understands now why you had to leave him for a while. He sees the distress on your face and he shushes you, kisses your forehead. “Don’t apologize, okay? I honestly would’ve run away too, if I were you. I’m just… You came back to me, in the end. That’s all I care about.”

He’s too good for you. “I still hurt you.”

“You’re human,” Steve brushes more hair out of your face. “We all make mistakes. You ditched me for a few months and I almost got you killed by crazy Russians. I think we’re pretty even now.”

Despite the guilt in your throat, Steve manages to draw a smile from you. It’s what he’s always done best. Even on the day Will had gone missing, he had been the one to ease the loss by pretending not to have known your name. He had made you laugh when you thought you could never laugh again. Steve would do anything to get you to smile, and you cannot imagine where you’d be without him. “We always even our debts, huh?”

“It’s tradition at this point.”

And you laugh, full-bellied and loud and recklessly. It echoes into the night, Steve’s reverberates into your ears, and you’re happy.

–

A month passes, and in the mid-August heat, Jonathan knocks on your window late one night.

His knuckles rap against the glass and it’s a sound reminiscent of before, when you were little kids who didn’t know how yet to hurt each other. You crawl out of your bed, curious, though happy nonetheless to let him in.

You go to open your curtain, ready to tell the boy all about what Dustin had done today, unaware that when you open the curtain, everything will change.

Jonathan is crying.

“Bee, oh my God.” You quickly open the window and he manages to crawl through, though sobs wrack his body. He’s shaking, and for a terrifying moment you think that something has happened to Will. “Is everything okay?”

He stands before you, chest heaving and eyes red, and with two words your world comes crashing down. “We’re moving.”

Time stands still. You’re seventeen and your childhood is coming to a close.

Somehow you’re holding onto Jonathan as he explains everything through his tears. He’s moving in early September, going all the way to California. He and his family are leaving Hawkins, leaving you.

Your legs give out, or maybe it’s Jonathan’s, but you hold each other on the floor, intertwined, mourning the loss of growing up together. Your tears mix with his, his breathing becomes yours. The two of you cling onto each other, scared that one day soon you’ll never be able to do this again.

“We need to–” Your breathing is shaky, your eyes sting. You feel a desperate franticness claw out of you, you grasp at what little sanity you have left. “We need to promise each other that–that we’ll see each other every day before you leave, in some capacity. It–it doesn’t matter how but–”

“I’ve already talked to Nancy about it, bug.” Jonathan wipes your tears, lets his own fall freely. He knew you’d say this, and he loves you all the more for it. “It’s been agreed.”

You nod, relieved. It isn’t much, it still doesn’t change the fact that Jonathan will leave you in the end, but at least you’ll make every last second with him count. You’ll move into the Byers home if you have to, they’re your family. He’s your person. He’s embedded into your skin, he’s nestled between your bones.

Last year you and Jonathan promised you would never let go of each other.

The year prior to that you promised each other that nothing would change between you two.

Now, holding onto each other as the world you’ve been building together for five years comes crumbling down, you have to believe that the promises will be enough.

–

Steve and Robin rope you into helping them find a new job.

You innocently pointed out that Family Video was hiring, figuring it was an easy enough place to work at, and suddenly the two of them had shoved you into Steve’s car with resumes in their hands. Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming.

“You put your mom down as a reference?” Robin questions Steve as you all get out of the car. She had agreed to proofread it after you politely declined, stating that if you proofread anything Steve wrote, it might ruin your relationship.

“Yeah, why not?” Steve slams his door, straightens his shirt, and grabs your hand as you walk inside. “She’s like, super well respected.”

You share a look with Robin. “Rich kids,” you both groan at the same time. As much as you love Steve, you’ll neve quite get over how well connected he is. It’s bizarre and slightly terrifying how much the Harrington name can get you in this town.

“Whatever, call me a rich kid, but it’s my car you guys get free rides in.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “You’re such a dingus.”

“I didn’t ask to be here,” you remind Steve, though you thank him when he holds the store’s door open for you and Robin. “I think this could count as kidnapping.”

Robin bumps her hips against yours. “Not technically. Besides, I thought we agreed to leave our kidnapping days behind us after Erica?”

You shove the teen and follow her into the store. You look around at all the movies, slightly impressed. You’ve never really visited Family Video before, only really stopping by if you were picking up Dustin from the arcade next door. The store is nice, albeit small, but you can see Steve and Robin enjoying themselves. There’s good music, few customers, and the uniformed vest is less mortifying than Scoop’s small shorts and sailor hats. “It’s not so bad in here.”

“Why thank you, pretty lady.” A greasy looking man at the register smiles at you, leaning over it in a very unappealing manner. His name tag informs you that his name is Keith.

Steve immediately steps in front of you and stares the guy down. “She doesn’t need you thanking her, buddy.”

You can tell that he wants to say more, but you see the “general manager” on Keith’s name tag and quickly try to deescalate the situation. If your idiot boyfriend wants the job, he can’t piss off the guy hiring. “Steve, why don’t we take a look around while Robin does all the talking?”

“What–” He doesn’t have a chance to argue, you’re already pulling him down a random aisle, throwing a quick “good luck!” to Robin as you leave.

She talks with Keith, and it seems to be going well. She shows him their resumes, smiles at him kindly. before she shouts across the store to Steve. “Dingus, what are your three favorite movies?”

Steve nearly drops the movie he had been looking at. “Uh, Animal House?” You can practically hear Robin’s disappointed sigh from where you stand, and Keith looks unimpressed. Panicked, Steve whispers to you, “What are my favorite movies?”

“I don’t know!” You hiss, frantically trying to get this poor man a job. “Just, name two other movies. Animal House can’t be too bad, right?”

“Star Wars,” Steve manages to get out, now walking back to the register. You stand next to him, looking nervously at Robin, who makes a pained noise at his responses.

The manager stares blankly at him. “A New Hope?”

“A new what now?”

You drop your head into your hands and sigh. He’s hopeless. Already knowing it’s a lost cause, you mumble to him, “It’s a Star Wars movie, Steve.”

He snaps his fingers. “Right! Yeah, it’s the one with the teddy bears, isn’t it?” Steve makes what you think is supposed to be an Ewok sound, which only makes you sigh again. Sensing he’s fucked up, Steve tries to backtrack. “No? Uh… Oh! The one that just came out, the movie. The one with DeLorean and Alex P. Keaton and he’s trying to bang his mom.”

“Oh, dear.” It’s a trainwreck, one you can’t look away from, and Robin can only shake her head at you. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking.”

“Uh, yeah.” Steve clears his throat, he knows he’s rambling. Had he known he would have a goddamn pop quiz about movies, he wouldn’t have dragged you here for the interview. “Those are my top three. Classics.”

Keith looks between you, Steve, and Robin. He points to Robin first, “You start Monday.” He points to Steve, “You start never.” And then he points to you, “You can start whenever.”

“Okay, I get why you’re telling me no,” Steve waves a hand in front of you, “but she didn’t even apply!”

You’re also confused by how this day is turning out, and you look at Robin, wide eyed and pleading. She’s good with people, Keith seems to like her. When she sees you silently begging her to fix this, Robin sighs and steps in front of Steve. “Will you just, um… Will you guys give us a minute?”

“Why?” Steve doesn’t move, and you want to throw a shoe at him.

“Let’s go, pretty boy.” You grab the back of his shirt and yank him back to the aisle of movies. He doesn’t fight you, he simply accepts his fate and allows you to drag him away. Before turning the corner, you nod at Keith. “Thanks for the job offer, but you should really give it to the guy I’m currently dragging.”

Robin snickers at Steve’s offended huff as the two of you leave, before she starts trying to convince the manager to let Steve work there. From where you stand, it seems like a heated discussion. You try to lean closer, nosey, and while you’re distracted, Steve runs into a life-sized cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates wearing a red bikini.

You flick his forehead, though you laugh as well. “In your dreams.”

“I can sleep right now and find out–”

“I will flick you again.”

“A kiss is preferred, but whatever.”

–

When the Byers move, you spend the entire day fighting back tears as you help them pack.

You spent the night in Jonathan’s room, both of you dreading the morning to come. Neither of you had slept, instead spending the entire night taking turns sharing your favorite memories together. The day you met. The time a dog chased you. When Jonathan mistook your sweater for his and wore it to school. Late night drives. Movie nights with your brothers. You relive it all that night.

As the morning sunlight began to stream into Jonathan’s room, the warmth the memories brought started to fade away. Slowly, as the sun rose, you and Jonathan packed his room. You helped him organize his vinyls, sort through his mixtapes. When he isn’t looking, you steal a few t-shirts and flannels from his closet. He won’t notice they’re gone until he’s halfway to California.

When it gets too much, seeing all of Jonathan’s life dwindling down to only a few boxes, you wander into the living room and help Joyce pack as well. She sees the tears in your eyes and gives you things to do, but eventually you can’t take it anymore. You go into Will’s room, and it’s the same. You cry, he cries with you, and it’s bittersweet. The rooms empty, the boxes grow.

El’s room is the hardest to pack, she has so few items to call her own, and you’re both silent as you move through the room together.

With each box that you tape full of things you grew up with, you feel a piece of your childhood being packed away as well. The plates you used to eat off of, the books you used to bring from your job, the toys you passed down to Will. It’s all there, pieces of you frozen in time.

As you tape a box labeled “games” in Jonathan’s messy handwriting, you hear Max and Lucas singing in the living room. The sound makes you smile. It’s one of Max’s better days, she’s teasing Dustin for singing with Suzie, and she’s in a good mood. The rest of the party keeps her occupied. The kids all arrived as early as Joyce allowed them to, Nancy and Mike were the first to knock on the door.

You place the box next to the others and walk towards Jonathan’s room. He’s leaning against its door frame with Nancy beside him, and you join them. You stare at the empty room, the one you’ve called your second home ever since you were twelve. It hurts, seeing it stripped of everything.

All of Jonathan’s boxes are in the living room, filled with the things that make him who he is. There’s a drawer in your room of things Jonathan has left over the years, and you’re never giving them back. They’re all you have left of him.

You and Jonathan take in his barren room, and you sigh against the door frame. “It’s so… empty.”

Nancy crosses her arms. “Is that everything?”

“I guess so,” Jonathan stuffs his hands in his pockets. His room feels cold somehow, its emptiness devoids it of the warmth it once had. He can still hear your laughs echoing in the floorboards, he can still smell your perfume that clings onto the walls. There’s scuff on the closet door from the time the two of you thought it’d be a good idea to play blind-folded baseball in the small room.

Jonathan steps into his room, taking it all one last time. The sunlight from his window illuminates his silhouette, making him appear even smaller within the room. “Seventeen years of my life… packed up in one day.”

His voice is melancholic, his body is sad. You nudge Nancy, nod your head in Jonathan’s direction, urging her to go after him. She nods, understands that you’re telling her to say goodbye, giving them the space to do so. She smiles at you appreciatively.

You do it because they love each other, but selfishly a part of you leaves because you can’t say goodbye just yet.

“Thank you,” she whispers, following after Jonathan.

You find El as she’s leaving Joyce’s room. She’s holding a piece of paper, clutched closely to her chest. There are tears in her eyes, though you know better than to ask why. It’s a sad day for everyone, you’ll let her grieve on her own. However, that doesn’t stop you from pulling the girl into a fierce hug.

“I’ll miss you so much, sweetheart.” You mumble, kissing the top of her head. “I don’t know who’s going to paint my nails now.”

El laughs through her tears and holds you tight. “I can ask Mike to.”

You kiss her head again, close your eyes, and pray to whoever is above that this girl will stay who she is forever. That she will never change. Her kindness is genuine, her joy is admirable. All her life she only knew cruelty, and yet she still came out of it so full of love. “I’d love to hear how that goes.”

“I will write you,” El promises, and you nod eagerly at her. She pulls you in for one last hug before finally releasing you to go see Joyce.

The woman greets you with a tired smile when you walk into her room. She’s kneeling on the floor, folding clothes. They’re baggier than what she normally wears, darker, and you finally realize that they’re Hopper’s.

A lump forms in your throat. She shouldn’t be doing this alone, packing away the remnants of his life. “Here, let me help.”

Joyce accepts, and together you sit in comfortable silence as you go through the clothes Hopper left behind. They still smell like him, old cigarettes and whiskey. It’s a nostalgic scene, a part of you wishes you could keep one of his shirts. He had been dear to you, regardless of the constant bickering you faced with him.

“I don’t blame you, you know.” Joyce speaks softly next to you, catching your attention. “At all.”

You look up at her, sucking in a breath. “I don’t… I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Byers.”

“The guilt, honey.” She places a hand on your arm, gentle as she always is with you. “I know you blame yourself for what happened to Will, but you shouldn’t. You have to let go of it. I want…” Joyce pauses, looks into your eyes the way a mother does to her daughter. “I want you to promise me that you’ll live the life that you deserve, because you’ve spent half of your life making sure my boys lived the lives that they deserved. Can you do that for me?”

“I…” You’re crying, you don’t know what to say. For years you’ve carried the guilt of Will’s disappearance, and for even longer you’ve done everything you could to ensure that he was loved. That Jonathan was loved. Never once had it felt like a burden to you, but Joyce’s words undoes something in you. “I promise.”

Joyce pulls you into her arms and hugs you, tears in her own eyes. She strokes your hair, hugs you as she’s always done since you were a little girl. She echoes the final words that Hopper told you. “You’re the best of them.”

You’re not sure how long you cry in Joyce’s arms, but when she soothes you and wipes your tears away, she tells you to go find Will. They’re leaving soon, he’ll want to see you, and you wish the woman one final goodbye before going to find her son.

Will ends up being in the hallway, you find him just after he’s said goodbye to Mike. You note the longing in his eyes, the uncertainty in his posture as his friend leaves. There’s a wistful look on his face, one that you once had on your own when Jonathan was around. Even if Will may not know yet, you do.

“Hey, little bee.”

He turns around, the softness in his eyes when he sees you makes you homesick. “Y/N!”

Will buries his face in your chest, and you hug him just as tightly back. He’s grown so much since you first met him. He’s no longer the shy little boy who had been afraid of his own shadow, and you can’t believe you won’t get to finish watching him grow up. “I swear, you’re going to be taller than me next time I see you. Won’t be able to call you little bee anymore.”

“I’ll always be your little bee,” Will squeezes you tighter, afraid to let go of you.

“Good,” you ruffle his hair, making him to laugh. “I’ll miss you, but I’m sure you already know that.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” Will’s voice is wet, more tears come. He pulls away from you, he looks as if he wants to say something, but he stops himself. As if he’s afraid of something.

You frown. “Hey, what is it?”

“I’m scared,” The words rush from his mouth. “What if… What if I don’t make any friends?” He lowers his voice, looks around nervously, before trusting to say the words out loud to you. “I–I’m different, Y/N.”

Will’s fear hurts you to see, you wish you could do more, promise him that it will all be okay, but you can’t. Instead, all you can do is kiss his cheek and hope he can feel all the love you have for him within it. All you can do is remind him that you will love him through it all. “You’re the bravest kid I know. I have no doubt that you’ll be fine. I mean, you’ll have Jonathan and El with you, but if you ever need me, I’m just a phone call away. I love you, and that will never change.”

You stroke the boy’s cheek with your finger, and he leans into the gentle touch. “I’m rooting for you, always.”

Will squeezes you tight when he hugs you for the last time. He thanks you, his body relaxes into yours, and you know that in the end he’ll be okay. He’s a brilliant kid, he’s been through more than anyone else his age ever has. He’s resilient, his kindness is his strength, you just hope that he can recognize that himself one day.

As you pull away from the hug, Will’s eyes catch on someone, you turn around. It’s Jonathan, standing by the front door, waiting for you.

It’s time to say goodbye.

Taking a deep breath, you walk towards him, and Jonathan takes your hand and guides you to the porch outside. Everyone else is still inside, packing. You sit side by side in silence, absorbing the final remaining moments alone with each other. Saying goodbye to your childhood best friend leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

A ladybug crawls on a leaf next to you, a bee flies past you and lands on a sunflower nearby, and a bird chirps in the blue sky above. You rest your head on Jonathan’s shoulder, he presses a kiss to your temple. Your fingers interlock and the cool September air surrounds you.

“I made you something,” Jonathan breathes out, clears his throat. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a mixtape, its front covered with a piece of paper listing all the songs on it. “I, uh, used the money I won from the betting pool to make it. Dustin was pretty annoyed with me for winning.”

You snort at the image of your brother berating your friend for winning a betting pool about how long it’d take Steve to ask you out. Taking the mixtape from Jonathan, you read the songs. There’s eight songs on it, the first one being a Beatles song from your childhood; you don’t know how Jonathan knew that. Though most of them are familiar, the writing on the paper is old, faded with age. “How long have you been making this, bee?”

Jonathan looks away from you and swallows. “A while, I guess. Listen to it after I leave, okay? That way, if you hate it, I’ll never have to know.” His demeanor is odd, there’s something he’s not telling you, but it’s your last day with him. You leave it alone for now, not wanting to ruin it.

“You’re not allowed to find a new best friend.” You tell him instead, the silence becoming too much to bear. It’s a joke, though truthfully you don’t want Jonathan to find another best friend. He’s supposed to be yours, only yours, and you’re supposed to be his.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Jonathan lets out a soft laugh, and you’re going to miss feeling the way his body moves as he does so. He sucks in a breath, releases it slowly, and shakes his head. “I mean, we were kids together, bug.”

You start to cry, and he does as well. You’ve never had to say goodbye to each other before. Not like this. The two of you sit on the porch of Jonathan’s childhood home and cry. You cry into his neck, he buries his face into your hair, and it’s all so unfair.

Jonathan touches his forehead to yours. You look into his eyes and know that your childhood will always live within him, and his within you. Jonathan brings his finger up to your bee necklace, his ladybug ring knocks against the pendant. The jewelry glistens in the sunlight.

“Bee, we were more than just kids together.”

And it’s true. You were everything together. Now, you have to figure out how to be everything while apart.

–

The last of the boxes are placed in the moving van. Everyone is crying, you’re all gathered around one another, hugging and saying goodbye.

You hold El tight and whisper good luck to her. You remind Will that everything will be okay, knowing how scared he’s been of high school and remorseful that he has to do it all alone. The kids all cry as they share the final hugs, Jonathan and Nancy cry as they hold one another. Everyone says goodbye, and you watch them with tears in your eyes. You turn to Joyce to kiss her cheek, but she grabs your arm instead.

“Remember what you promised me, okay?” She catches your eye, makes sure you hear what she’s telling you. “Live the life that you deserve.”

“I will,” you exhale, and she seems content with that. Joyce hugs you, kisses your cheek, and you tell her to drive safe as she gets into the van.

Jonathan stands by his car, waiting for you, and you pull the boy into your arms. He crashes against you, clutches you to his chest, and you breathe him in one final time. “I’ll always love you the most, bee.”

“And I’ll always love you the most, bug.”

Joyce drives away first, El in the van with her, before Jonathan and Will follow. The car pulls out of its driveway one final time, and you hold Nancy’s hand as you both cry. Slowly, their cars fade into the distance, and one by one the kids hop on their bikes and pedal away. No one wants to stay, the empty house feels too permanent, solemn. Eventually Nancy gets into her own car, wishing you a quiet goodbye, until it’s just you and your brother standing in front of the house.

Dustin stays beside you, as he always does, and you take a deep breath. Nothing will ever be the same again.

You take one last look at the Byers home, the house you grew up in and discovered pure love and joy and naivety in, and inhale the final scent of your childhood. Dandelions are in bloom, its yellow surrounds the home, soon they will wilt and its seeds will litter the sky

Joyce’s words ring in your head.

It’s time to live the life that you deserve. You’re on your own now, though you know that really you aren’t. Dustin is next to you, Steve and Robin are waiting at your house with movies stolen from work because they knew how hard today would be. Your mother has your favorite cookies ready and waiting for you. Mike and the others have already planned their first letter to Will.

The charm bracelet from the party and Steve is cool against your wrist.

You’re no longer the scared, angry twelve year old you had been when you first moved to Hawkins. You’re loved, you have so many incredible people in your life who now get to watch you grow up into someone new.

Slowly, you exhale your childhood, with a single promise of keeping it within you forever. To live the life that Joyce has told you that you deserve.

And you believe her.

[END OF SEASON THREE]

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melrosing · 2 months

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so stuff I’ve not liked about the finale and S2 more generally…. unfortunately it’s a lot and i'm thinking i might need to say this in several parts but first and foremost: the pacing really was shit and i don't just mean there weren't enough action scenes i mean the whole season they've had almost nothing to say about these characters and have just been making us think they do by having them repeat the same ham-fisted monologues about power and peace and the cost of war and whatever whilst moving at a glacial pace from one minor plot point to another and by the end of it most of these characters STILL haven't changed, and where they have it feels undeserved, and yes they really are at roughly the place they started so what have they even got to show for these eight hours of TV?? like damn

and I do get that the writer's strike has really effected them here and HBO hacking two eps off their season affected them too and that really can't be helped. but the pacing has been pretty poor from kick off and I can't just put it down to this being a more 'internal' season. i do not care about big battles. it's fine to have a season of a show that’s more about the characters’ interiority rather than plot action. that’s the exact reason why I like AFFC so much.

but these characters barely have interiority like idk what to say. some like Rhaenyra, Jace and Alicent have been spouting the same monologues every episode about wanting peace/wanting agency/wanting peace again etc etc, and the more interesting moments like Alicent's apparent suicide attempts, Rhaenyra's butchering of the dragonseeds etc... I mean where IS the interiority here?? unless they are spelling out a character's thoughts in the most literal way they can (as per Jace's diatribes about the dragonseeds), they leave their audience to do absolutely all the work by showing us nothing, and just leaving us to figure that the characters must be having some kind of thoughts but y'all can decide what they are.

and even Daemon, whose entire ARC was about his interiority.... like look I was so so ready to love this arc. i love fucked up little dream sequences. i love harrenhal. i was really enjoying the angle they took with alys. i was here for it. but now we've seen the whole of his S2 arc, im going to say yes, it was intended as a redemption adjacent kind of arc, and it isn't a very good one. Daemon has a handful of weird dreams, gets shouted at by some Riverlands folk, and he's a changed man.

consider the character everyone compares Daemon to (and who I'm always more than happy to talk about) and that's Jaime. and look at the sheer ground covered in ASOS: Jaime breaks out of a dungeon, Jaime meets a younger version of himself, Jaime gets his hand hacked off, Jaime reveals his anime villain backstory in the bath, Jaime deals with Roose Bolton, Jaime has a weird weirwood dream, Jaime fights a fucking bear - and at this point we're still only about halfway through.

now in contrast, what have they actually managed to do with Daemon this season. where has that finale moment with Rhaenyra been earned. this is not slow pacing for the sake of powerful character development, it's slow because they don't have anything else to say.

and also look at the state of characters like Aemond who seemed really promising in S1, yet in this season he barely reflects on the fact that he hadn't meant to kill Luke, and this war is an accident that he started, etc etc - he's just a killing machine lol. there were some nice touches in there, like i say i enjoyed Helaena telling Aemond how he'll die in the finale. but I no longer trust these writers to do anything with their more inspired ideas because they just consistently fail to do so.

look at Baela!!! like my god, has Baela had the opportunity to do anything except A) what she's told and B) counsel men on their feelings. she has like one moment looking at Daemon and you feel like the series is going to explore how complex it is to be Daemon Targaryen's daughter.... but my god they never do!! so where IS this interiority we've spent eight episodes on! what have they got to show for it!!

and i talked more weeks back about how frustrating i've found the writing of women more generally in this series and as of the finale I am finding it so egregious and so condescending. women want peace. women want to protect their children. women are tired of men. women are tired of war. women are trying to end this war peacefully. women are pacifists. women hate violence. and so on and so on and so on like jesus christ who am i even talking about here. even i don't know. it's so boring. it's so dry. and it requires female characters to always be the paragons of virtue, never do anything truly condemnable, never be unlikeable, never fucking anything except stand around saying how much they hate this. im bored of it and it makes me angry that they would do this in a series that specifically seeks to make everyone grey and everyone complex - they keep suggesting that might extend to the women before abruptly shutting it down again. see Alicent and Rhaenyra even STILL, after EVERYTHING, trying to peacefully shut down the war for the sake of love and friendship in the goddamn finale. I don't believe it anymore!! it's not cute! it's just dull!!!

and finally that just kind of brings me to how shortsighted a lot of the plot developments seem, when you see how the characters fail to reckon with their pasts or shit that just happened. Rhaenyra and Mysaria make out, and then that's never mentioned again and the tone never changes between them. Rhaenyra is done thinking about Luke. Helaena is done thinking about Jaehaerys. Aegon actually didn't mention Jaehaerys in the list of things he's 'lost' in that finale. Alicent's relationship w Viserys was just now condensed to 'we were fond of each other but he always liked your mum better'

like idk it's just. if this season's pacing is all about giving characters the chance to change and grow into the people they'll be when this war REALLY kicks off.... do it. write it. do not just write the same monologue a dozen times and hope it'll hit harder with each. doesn't work like that. sorry.

#hotd negativity #house of the dragon #I make an exception for aegon and maybe larys here btw. just barely #they were more interesting but even there they absolutely could’ve pushed the boat out further #sorry im just so unimpressed w whatever that was #i want the d&e show now lol #and i acknowledge their limitations i really do but i still think this was shoddy

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teddypickerry · 2 years

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Can you do a Jess Mariano blurb where the reader is helping Jess with his homework but he keeps trying to distract her by kissing her lips and neck? 😄 (think of the episode “teach me tonight” but with Jess and the reader dating and he’s kissing her like he kissed Rory in S3 EP10 when they’re walking and kissing)

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 !

pairing! jess mariano x gn reader

warnings! imply of sex (i think that’s it?)

word count! 833

a/n! took me forever ‘m sorry!!! this is also not my best work but back & writing for my boy is good enough for me. <3

the diner was quiet on the particular evening. despite the typical eight o'clock late dinner rush, the door were locked and a red 'closed' sign hung from the blue painted door. the only sound erupting throughout the small former hardware store was the sound of your voice reciting the words from the textbook balanced on your thighs. you were leaned back in your chair, your legs pressed against the table with the book pressed into them. your hair was falling in-front if your face which kept the attention of the boy who sat beside you everytime you pushed it behind your ear. "and the trail of tears was what year?"

your head bopped up from its current slouched down position as your eyes caught glimpse of the dark haired boy sat beside you. he was leaned on the table, specifically over his book. his head rested on his palm as he held his head up from falling down in boredom.

"is your hair shorter? it looks shorter." your boyfriend was far from an idiot. but in this moment you honestly doubted him. jess was one of the smartest people you'd ever had the privilege of knowing. hell, he was way smarter than you. but here you were sat helping him with history... and geometry, and biology. it wasn't like you were the smartest person in school, but you got your fair share or a's. plus you knew how serious luke was about his nephew passing the twelfth grade. and you'd do anything to get your boyfriend on a good path.

"1828 and 1829." you explained to him simply before continuing onto the next page, him leaning closer to you. it wasn't hard for the smell of cheap cologne, cigarettes, and luke's laundry detergent to catch your attention. especially when you glanced up at your boyfriend's face far too close to your own. "i like it." he mumbled as he lightly pressed his finger to your face, pushing back the strand of hair that fell once more. no matter how long you'd been together, the small touches and glances still made you go mad. "you liked president andrew jackson's racist speech against the cherokee?"

"no," he rolled his eyes at your statement as you tried to diffuse the way he was making you feel on this tuesday evening. "your hair. it's a good length... and you know — i know all about good length."

his comment resulted in a laugh escaping your lips with a smirk growing on his face. jess felt accomplished for making you laugh, especially when you'd just spent half an hour explaining nonsense to him. "okay cmon, back to work." you ordered as he stayed in his exact position. you were about to scold him for not taking this study date seriously. but you lost time when his lips pressed to yours. your eyes immediately shut as your hands cupped his face. he deepened the kiss and leaned over the table to press into you even more. you found yourself getting lost in the kiss that warmed your soul. but before you could be taken by him, you pushed away and pressed your lips together. "jess, we're studying."

"okay we can study," he nodded as he positioned himself back on the chair and balanced a pencil between his fingers. which immediately caught your attention. "i'll start with the inside of your mouth and you can start with mine."

"jess," you hinted with a tone reaching annoyed. he let his smirk grow a bit before glancing around for a moment. "'mkay tell me more about the Indian Removal Act," he shrugged. you gave him a proud smile and muttered a "gladly" before opening the next page and reciting the next paragraph. you were only two and a half sentences in when you felt him move closer to you. and then some more... then some more.

it was when you finished the first paragraph that you felt his dark curls against your jaw as his lips connected with your neck. his arms wrapped around you as he continued to harass your neck with several kisses that would definitely leave a mark. something jess was certainly good at. "jess! we have to study!”

"no, i think you've got this stuff pretty much down." he mumbled as he pulled away for a second before you felt the feeling of his lips reaching your sweet spot. you held in a breath as you found yourself not fighting the feeling for a moment. "you need to learn this stuff if you're going to graduate, jess. please, work with me." you begged as he drew his face away slowly. just enough so that you could face one another. "and after, if you get a b... you might just get something starting with a b.”

the glow on the boy's face suddenly erupted with slightly wider eyes. he simply sat back as he sat his textbook in his lap, leaving only one arm behind your shoulders. "mkay, teach me tonight."

#gilmore girls #teddypickerry #jess mariano x reader #lorelai gilmore #jess mariano #rory gilmore #jess mariano x y/n #luke danes #jess mariano fic

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lilgoblinbitch · 7 months

Note

saw your post about rick and daryl, do you think you could write a rick TOWL smut with him angry that you left your post and got yourself injured and he takes out his frustration on you? idk why just had that idea after the recent episode😫

Grimes' Dominion 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

rick grimes x fem!reader

a/n: ahhh omg yes i actually had time to think abt this for a few nights. i added a bit of plot to this because i love me some backstory & descriptions. but anyway i made this pretty lengthy so if u wanna skip to the smut part just look for the '💋'. here is your plotty smut! lmk your thoughts ₊˚⊹♡

warnings: smut 18+, PinV, unprotected sex, oral/face fucking (male receiving), slight bondage, fingering, ass slapping, hair pulling, orgasm denial, degradation (use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’), language, mentions of blood and injury, angsty angsty angst!, reader is a mother, overall Rick is very rough so you have been warned

wc: 6k

MDNI

It was training day at your post. You had recently graduated from consignee and signed up to become a CRM soldier. It took you six whole years to get to this point. While your agility and militia knowledge were already unprecedented, the CRM didn't fuck around when it came to producing the world's most unrivalled soldiers. It was serious business.

Nearly eight years ago, you trekked a long journey down from your small community in southern New Jersey. You lost everything: your husband, your friends, and the people you lived with and grew stronger with through the grisly and dilapidated post-apocalyptic world. Terrible people – which were apparently becoming more and more common – destroyed your community, leaving very few survivors. It was you and your newborn child who managed to escape safely; you weren't able to go back to see if others had made it out. For almost two years you were alone, and your only hope left was keeping your baby boy alive...

Fast forward two years after the traumatic fallout you managed to escape, you discovered, or rather you were found by, a giant military in Pennsylvania, called the CRM. A military that bordered and protected a whole city of people – 200,000 of them. Out of desperation and maternal instinct, you bargained with the militia in hopes to give your two-year-old son a stable future. The CRM agreed to place your son in a 'nurturing fostering service' within the safe confines of the protected city – known as the Civic Republic of Philadelphia – so long as you swore to abide by the military's code and regulations by becoming a consignee.

Of course you agreed, because you were nonetheless terrified of what would happen to your baby boy if you didn't play it safe with this strong force. But for a while you lost it, you couldn't bear not seeing your child – they took him from you. You became defensive of your child, throwing yourself into dilemmas with whoever refused to listen to you. Except no one ever took notice of an angry and hurt mother because the CRM showed little mercy about their policies. And no matter how much force you put into finding hope about getting to your son, you'd always end up falling right back where you left off.

Soon enough you learned from acquiring an acquaintance that not only did the CRM take the only family you had left away from you, they were the ones responsible for destroying your home in the first place.

But now, six years later, you were predisposed to fight whoever and whatever got in your way in order to see your son again. You were a force to be reckoned with.

"No, you're doing it wrong. You gotta follow through, like this—" your sweaty hand maneuvered the heavy spear, sending it soaring through the air at high speed and finally piercing the bullseye of the target. You turned to the soldier beside you, who, to say the least, looked perplexed.

"What?" You huffed, blowing a loose strand of hair out of your face. "Ya give up? Need a break?"

"’Ey! Rogers, I'mma need ya to head back inside. We're gonna start sizing you all up for your new gear."

A brooding and strict man, Sergeant Major Rick Grimes, commanded the young man beside you. "Uh, yes sir," he saluted, then jogged toward the dome-shaped building.

Rick Grimes used to be a consignee like you were, and you even heard stories where he tried escaping at least four times. No one ever fled, or even attempted to, without failing. Escaping the hellhole was like trying to fit your right shoe on your left foot, it was entirely fruitless. But you heard all the stories about Rick, and how he got to become a leader. After the death of Lieutenant Colonel Donald Okafor, Rick was trained to replace his position by virtue of General Beale taking note of his loyalty to the military. Now, Rick was scaling further up the ranks. He was Sergeant Major, and in charge of the post you currently resided in.

You looked up to him, though, not because he was your leader, but because he understood you. He recognized how it felt to have your family ripped from your hands and not be able to do anything about it. You were able to bond with him. Most nights he would invite you to his apartment and the two of you'd spill your guts to one another over a glass or two of bourbon. That is how he got to know you, and see through your clouded demeanor that you kept in check. You were fierce and obstinate, because the place you were trapped in forced you to be that way, and truthfully Rick admired that about you. He was never able to relate with someone as well as he did with you.

Feedback echoed from Rick's receiver and he lifted it to his masked face, stating his position and whatnot. You crossed your arms, waiting for him to give you an order. "Well?"

He turned his attention to you, finally. "We need to talk." His one good hand snagged a hold of your arm and guided you toward a smaller brick-designed building, which you recognized to be the building that housed the high ranking officials like Rick himself.

"What do we need to talk about? And why is Rogers getting his gear but I'm not?" You struggled against his grip, a decision that ended with futility as his clutch tightened when you tried pulling away from him. You furrowed your brows and grunted in annoyance.

"Relax, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. Actually it's quite the opposite." Once again he faced you, stopping in his tracks as you both had reached the air-conditioned building. His grasp on your arm loosened and then reached for his matte black helmet detailed with red outlining. Your eyes darted across the room, taking in the essence of prestige and momentarily locking in on the various framed photos on the walls, which depicted a few recognizable CRM authoritative figures. One particular photo caught your attention, and you carefully examined it, discerning it to be Rick himself with a shiny black name plate decorating the bottom of the frame.

Your gaze finally diverted back to Rick, whose helmet popped off in a swift motion, freeing his slightly disheveled brown and gray curls, and his stern blue eyes – the spellbinding reflections to his enigmatic soul. And this man was undoubtedly a sight for sore eyes.

The silence was disrupted by the shuffling of Rick’s boots, his curt footsteps leading him across the room. He pulled out a chair from the corner and without any trouble picked it up with one hand and set it down across from a dark wooden desk. “Sit.” He motioned to the chair, and then found a seat in the larger, more cushioned chair adjacent to it. Without a peep you sauntered over to the wooden chair and sat, folding your hands on the desk in front of you.

“You gonna keep me on edge or are you gonna tell me why I’m here and not at training and getting my gear?”

His serious eyes bored into yours now, hinting that he wasn’t in the mood for your cynicism. “I brought you in here to tell you that you’re going to become Colonel under my order.”

You scoffed comically and dropped your hands to your sides, gripping the chair with force. “That’s ridiculous. Me – Colonel? Why?”

Rick’s focus never left your unserious face – one that was twisted with amusement. With a slight tilt of his head, he spoke, “Because you’re one of the best fighters and you’re fit to start leading, I know it. And I trust you, so does Major General Beale. We both expect your habitual commitment from now on.”

While you were still preoccupied with processing this information, Rick reached into one of his sleeve pockets and pulled out a silver badge, decorated with ‘Col.’ followed by your full name. He slid it across the desk toward you and you scrutinized it before giving him a look of disapproval and sliding the badge back to him. You shook your head in defiance.

“No thanks.”

He frowned and once again his frigid stare taunted you, something you’d undoubtedly gotten used to very much over the past few years that you'd known him. He leaned forward and for a second you could feel the steam emitting from his nose as he exhaled, eyes scanning your face for any signs of possible sarcasm. You were dead serious now, though.

“This isn’t an offer you can refuse. It’s an order,” the sergeant commanded, grabbing the badge reiteratively and this time placing it firmly into your hand. “So take it, and don’t lose it.”

You remained perched in your spot, not stirring any muscle, just studying his face with the badge dancing across your fingertips. Rick was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer. “Now do as I say, and meet me in that meeting room over there, in 10 minutes.”

You snarled and swiftly rose, shoving the badge into your zipper pocket. Without even giving Rick another look you booked it out the door full tilt.

All throughout meeting with Grimes and Command Sergeant Major Thorne and overlooking your shared brigade of soldiers, your mind couldn’t escape the worry you had about your son, and how you were going to escape and find him. Your mind raced as you tried to recollect what the map of your base looked like, so that you could pinpoint which weak spots there were around the perimeter.

You recall a little while back which security took which shifts at each area of the southwest perimeter where your complex was, but it wasn’t all that simple since sometimes they’d switch shifts around. However, security officers periodically switched their attention to different areas at a time out along the walls, so you could use that as leverage to sneak your way around and cut a hole in one of the fences–

Nah. That would be too obvious, and dangerously stupid. You needed to really think this through – come up with a strategic plan. So that’s what you were prepared to do after your first night of training as Colonel.

Sweaty and disheveled, you entered your sleeping quarters and kicked the door shut, immediately peeling off your bulky armor and tossing your heavy combat boots across the floor. With a satisfactory sigh, you trotted over to the shower and flipped the handle all the way to the left – you needed a steamy shower to filter out all the stress your body had been loaded with that day. Not only that, the steam would help you think, and you needed your head clear if you were going to figure out how to leave successfully that night.

If you were going to escape – if. You needed to keep that thought in mind, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be a piece of cake.

Frantically you shoved a handful of essentials into a black backpack – a lighter, duct tape, a pocket knife, flashlight, and a small glock you 'borrowed' from your trip with rick to the armory earlier. After zipping up the bag you threw on your combat boots and your gloves. You checked your watch for the time; 11:48 it read. The moon was scintillating in the sky and beaming with conviction. You took one last glimpse around the room to check if you had forgotten any extra tools or gadgets, and before you confirmed that you were ready to head out, you spotted something on the rusty gunmetal colored nightstand.

Inquisitively you wandered over to the table and examined a small, white folded paper. You unfolded it and inside it read, in urgent script:

“Meet me at my place at 11:30 tonight. Need to talk again.

-R.G.”

Too late now. Not happening. Besides, you were sure it was another booty call because for one, on busy task days like tonight, Rick often had a knack for ‘letting off steam,’ which meant fucking your brains out. Sorry, Rick, but my child is more important to me than easing your sexual frustration. And two, it was already reaching midnight…why else would he want to “talk” to you so late at night? Rick was just too obvious.

Speaking of Rick…

The man who shared his bourbon with you for the first time two years ago. That very night he had spilled to you CRM’s legacy and the nightmares behind it. The two of you bonded over your mutual grievance toward the antagonizing militia. Rick spurred hope in you finally leaving and finding your son; if anyone could help you escape it was him. But he changed – his interest in leaving the CRM no longer seemed to exist. After all, he was already climbing his way up the military rank. He was gaining power and respect, and that seemed to be more crucial to him then getting back to his own children.

So, screw him. He had his chance to leave with you, and it already passed – because now you were tiptoeing out your apartment and being welcomed into the darkness of the night.

You were cautious of your surroundings, turning a few corners and eluding one or two officers. You noticed the southwest wall, which didn't look impossible to climb. You discovered a hefty pile of broken shipment container parts – bingo. And that's what you used to climb the wall. unfortunately your endeavor led to you stumbling and hitting both your knee and your arm against the metal object, then landing with your hands scraping against the unforgiving concrete. Fuck. What an idiot you were. Surely someone within about twenty feet of you heard you basically eat shit.

Gritting your teeth and whimpering from the twinge that shot through your knees and hands, you managed to put every fiber of your being to use and push yourself off the ground, only to end up on your ass with a humph. You winced as you peeked at your hands, using the flashlight from your bag to examine how badly cut they were. Blood leaked from multiple crevices in your palms, and you didn’t even bother paying much mind to your bruised knee or elbows because there was no time to dawdle.

“Shit. You need to get up now!” You scolded yourself, but as you tried standing up completely, your knees buckled. Well, at least behind this building it was dark enough for no one to see you, unless they heard you already…

Your alert ears picked up the sound of shoes marching upon the solid ground, and you cursed to yourself; someone was coming, but there was nothing you could do because they had already heard you most likely. “Just play dead, or pretend you passed out!”

You heard your name being called out from somewhere behind you.

The pace of your heartbeat quickened drastically, causing your head to spin toward the voice. Well, shit. It was Rick Grimes himself. This time his helmet wasn’t on and he seemed to have abandoned his uniform. He was instead dressed in jeans and that black tee that always hugged his muscles so perfectly–

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice boomed in your ears as he knelt down to your level, and you shivered.

You wheezed and resumed your pursuit of getting your ass off the wretched ground, to which you failed. Rick noticed the cuts and bruises decorating your injured body and his face softened. He sighed, gathering your belongings, and then in one swift motion he lifted you up off your feet, holding you bridal-style. You bit your lip to stop the tears forming in your eyes; your plan backfired, you got caught, and now everything was out of your control. You felt so stupid and useless.

Rick shifted around with you in his arms, taking one last glance at your injured figure. “Oh, honey. Let’s get ya cleaned up now.”

He had carried you all the way to his room without any hindrances, and the whole time you honestly thought about kicking out of his tight grasp, nailing him where the sun doesn't shine, and booking it out of there. But the way his strong arms cradled you made you melt into him.

Rick lay you onto his large – well, larger than your own – neatly made bed and pulled your shoes and socks off. Before he could reach your pant zipper to pull them down and examine your knee, you slapped his hand away, scowling at him.

“I can do it,” you promised, although of course your trembling hands reaching for the zipper illustrated a paradoxical story.

Not to mention, the stained blood and soreness reminded you that you needed to ease up on any further use of them. It felt like carpal tunnel. Damn, that concrete did some numbers on you. Your exasperated grunts caught Rick’s attention and he ignored your misleading comment, zipping your pants down and peeling them off himself. The look you gave him could have been detected as either annoyed or demoralized. Either way, your body was weary and your mind still raced with unrelenting thoughts.

Rick brought back a wet cloth and a first aid kit he kept under his sink. Gingerly, he brushed the cloth over your battered hands and then bandaged them up. You let out a few pained huffs while he went to work on your scraped hands and busted knee with his doctor abilities. When finished, his eyes scanned your body, being certain he didn’t miss any other wounds or minor cuts.

You, however, were busy ogling him; his beautifully sculpted figure that was outlined by the black t-shirt he wore, and the scruff that layered his defined jaw, and the way his pink lips pursed as his rough hand prodded your exposed flesh – it sent you into a trance.

He adjusted his gaze back to your face, and you snapped out of your trance promptly, painting that stern cast back on your expressive face. You recalled why you were irritated with him in the first place – he prevented you from escaping.

“Y’alright now? Gonna tell me why you were scurrying around past midnight with this bag on you?”

Your hard stare didn’t falter. He tsked at you and grabbed the backpack off the ground, unzipping it, and dumping its contents onto the bed. When he recognized the gun to be one from the armory, it was his turn to scowl at you.

“You better start talking before I get angry, sweetheart.” His body flexed as he folded his arms across his chest, eyes cornering you and making you feel small.

“I was–” you cleared your throat and sat up with your hands on your bare thighs, “I was going to escape, Rick. I… I need to see him…”

Rick lowered his head to the floor in disappointment, rubbing the bridge of his nose while his other arm rested on his hip. He paced the room. “You knew this was going to happen. We even planned it together, for fuck’s sake!” You pleaded with him, emotion spilling from your lips. You stared at his back, watching the way his muscles tensed. “I have a child I haven’t seen in years and I–”

“Yeah, so do I!” He interrupted, “But that life is over, there is no more escape plan pipe dream. Don’t you get it?!”

His pacing ceased, and he waited for your focus to meet him. When it did, he inched toward you daringly, almost wanting you to test his patience.

“I got you that ranking because I trusted you and expected you to be cooperative with me in this mission. I was planning on trying to convince Beale to let you visit your boy but that won’t be for a while. I need your trust in this,” Rick’s footsteps approached the bed, his towering figure intimidating you. “Do you understand? Look at me—” his rough hand pinched the sides of your chin to tilt your head up at him.

Your lips cracked open to speak but truthfully nothing could be said in that moment. The tension in the air was heavy and laced with despondency. You choked trying to enunciate words as you felt your shoulders drop, and your heart chugging on. Soon you gathered yourself from breaking down in front of him, masking the persistent commotion going on inside the walls of your skull, and the unabated sense of dread pouring over your body. You nodded your head in compliance and Rick released your chin.

This was a confirmation that Rick was never going to let you get away. And if he did end up finding a way for you to see your boy, living under an unlawful and controlling military organization was not something you stood for. With or without Rick, you needed to escape with your son, using any proper chance that swung your way. But if it was going to be without Rick, you needed to be secretive.

You batted your eyes at him, aiming to give him a reason to believe that you were officially yielding to him. The way you looked under him, all battered and desperate, made a spark ignite in his brain. You belonged in this position – underneath him, following his lead, and obeying his orders. He was going to need to show you how insistent he really was.

Your attention remained undivided. Rick stepped backwards a foot and took in the sight of you – your whole body and the way your thighs begged to be kissed and touched.

“I’m assuming you saw the note I left you, right?” His tone dripping with vehemence and his southern drawl rasping, relaying a yearning to your eager core, which you attempted to ease by clenching your thighs. He certainly did not miss that.

“So you were planning on not only ignoring my note, but being reckless and trying to leave this post and then, what? Risk getting caught and dying and never getting to see your son ever? You need to get your head on right, and I’m telling you this from experience, because it’s never going to work out the way you want it to, no matter how perfectly you think your plan will go.”

You gulped and studied your hands, which were thankfully stinging much less. You fiddled with the bandage, until Rick demanded your attention with his authoritative tone.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you to cooperate with me. Keep that in mind,” he warned.

Your front teeth bit into your pouty bottom lip as you struggled to make yourself look uncritical of his “plan.” Rick’s eyes targeted your every move as you, this time successfully, propped yourself up and off the bed, bending down to grab your pants which were sprawled out next to your feet.

💋

“What were you gonna talk to me about, y’know….if I ended up showing up earlier?” You flipped the pant legs so that they were no longer inside out.

“I was gonna do this—” Your heart quickened as he neared you rapidly, his arms finding themselves exploring your body and causing goosebumps to multiply across your vulnerable skin. He dexterously greeted his lips to yours, catching you by surprise. The man was quick with it.

You melted into the kiss while his hands continued to trace your curves, eliciting longing whimpers from your throat. You craved his touch.

Breaking away from the kiss, the Sergeant gave you no time to protest, spinning you around so that your back was facing him. Taking your jaw prisoner in the tight clutch of his hand, his hot breath fanned against your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck come alive. “Originally I was going to fuck you gently, make you relax from your big day—” His hand slid to the middle of your back and he forcefully bent you over on the bed, scoring a small grunt from you. He took your pulled back hair into his hand and with a tantalizing tug of it, he pushed his clothed hips against your bare ass. “But now I’m not gonna be so easy on you, because you decided to go and put yourself in danger. Well, I’m gonna have to punish you instead of reporting you, hm? For your own sake…”

Your heat practically leaked through your panties and down the inner part of your thighs. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you loved when he was rough with you. It stirred you up with the perfect concoction of salaciousness and angst.

Still, your alacrity temporarily repressed your aroused state and you barked back at him, “All I want is to see my son…you have no goddamn right to take that from me, Rick,” you cried, with your trembling hands supporting your upper body as he gripped your hips.

Rick delivered a firm slap to your ass cheek, then promptly straightened you up and turned you around to meet his sifting stare. You gulped, feeling submissive under his touch. You watched the way he contorted his face in vexation and you abruptly felt overpowered by him.

“In case you’ve forgotten you are under my command, and if you disobey me I have every right to correct you where I see fit,” he eyed your pout, huffing, “and I fucking told you already – you have to be patient, it’s gonna take a while.”

The hope you had was dwindling slowly, even though you really wanted to trust him. It almost felt like putting your full trust in him was equivalent to playing with fire. You couldn’t tell the difference between the two anymore. But ultimately Rick was right, you were under his command and the very least you could do at this moment was take his word.

His leer intensified. “Get on your knees.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and felt the command jolt through your body with a cogent nudge. You conformed to his request and scrunched your face in slight discomfort from your bruised knee making contact with the floor, but it was still tolerable. With urgency he unbuckled his belt and wasted no time in freeing his thick, throbbing length. The sight of his cock was not something foreign, as you’d slept with him many times; but the way he was so much more ambitious in getting his cock inside your mouth and feeling you gag around him, made you squirm.

The restless man bucked his hips forward, enjoying the way your soft pouty lips hugged his shaft so magnificently. You moaned softly, the vibration inciting a groan from Rick as he grabbed at your hair. “Gotta do more than tha’. I know you know how to be a good slut f’me.”

You took his whole length in your throat, feeling spit drip down your chin as you choked. You started to bob your head back and forth, becoming accustomed to the size of his dick and how it collided with the back of your throat incessantly. He took it upon himself to grasp your head and guide you up and down as his hips pushed against your needy mouth. Your tongue traced the veins that protruded across his length, as your head quickened its pace. His grunts echoed in your ears and you prepared for his sweet release when you apperceived the twitch of his cock against your tongue.

“Fuck, yes…good slut,” Rick sung out as he thrusted thrice more, shooting his thick warm seed down your throat and riding out the remainder of his orgasm. He pulled out and stared intently at your lips licking up the remnants of his juices while panting. His hand patted your head in approval.

“You think you deserve to cum tonight?” He taunted, his hold on your hair taut.

You didn’t respond, but instead observed the way his muscles flexed when he lifted his shirt off his back, and how he flattened his hair back with the palm of his hand. You were getting wetter by the second, shifting your thighs in anticipation.

You stood up, tracing your hand over his bicep and fluttering your lashes at him enticingly. He smirked, recognizing that look to be your calling for him to fuck your brains out. Your hands reached down to lift your own shirt off, but he swatted them away in protest, throwing the shirt across the room hastily. All you desired was for him to make love to you, to comfort you and promise you that everything was going to work out, and frankly your sore muscles from training could use as much appreciation as they could obtain. But love-making wasn’t on the agenda for tonight.

Rick flopped you onto the bed, and effortlessly your panties were torn off and thrown next to your shirt. He kneaded your tits with his hand then bent over top of you to hungrily kiss your lips. Your fidgety hands stretched up to tussle through his hair but he broke from the kiss to pin both your hands above your head, rousing a dissatisfied whimper from you. The carnal man bent down diligently to grab his belt and release your hands for a moment, before grabbing your wrists and securing the belt around them.

Bondage wasn’t necessarily unfamiliar to you but you had never expected Rick to ever want to partake in it with you. Nonetheless, your core ached further for his touch. His hand went back to pinching your sensitive nipples, while keeping his ferocious eyes locked onto yours, and lowering his head down to your throbbing heat. The lewd mewls escaping your parted lips sent Rick into a frenzy. You bucked your hips up in an attempt to get him to do something, to give your desperate parts the treatment you longed for, except he just remained concentrated on the way you jerked and crumbled beneath him – he wasn’t even touching you anymore, and yet he had you folding already. How pathetic you looked.

“Rick, please do something!” Your pleas left him unphased. The only thought in his mind at that moment was how rough he was eventually going to fuck you.

Finally, his finger swiped up your soaking folds and came into contact with your swollen clit, giving it a soft pinch, stimulating a ribald whimper from you and inducing your back to arch off the bed. “What d’you want, sweetheart?” His husky tone intimidated you.

“Need you, please. ‘M lonely,” You sniffed, overworked from all the teasing. He cooed in a mocking manner, and with two fingers he plunged into you, sending you into the clouds.

“This sweet pussy needs attention, dun’it?” He curled his fingers upward, activating that sweet spot inside your squelching sex. With his thumb he circled around your sensitive bud, accelerating the speed of his thick fingers inside your tight, wet hole. Bliss clouded over you, and your head lulled to the side.

Rick hissed, dissenting your lack of eye contact. He yanked his fingers out all the way, giving a slight tap to your voracious cunt.

“Nuh-uh, eyes on me.” The glazed-over look you gave him was enough for him to give in and slide his digits back into your heat, this time being merciless by the way he finger fucked you with racking momentum.

Your walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, legs syncing with the rhythm of your swirling hips. Rick sensed your orgasm approaching – he ascertained that you didn't get to reach its peak by ceasing his thumb's labor and plucking his drenched digits out of your weeping center.

Your sensual clamors didn't go unnoticed; instead he hushed you, and bringing his mouth near your ear he rasped, "I decided that you don't get to cum yet. Not till I feel like it."

Rick really loved tossing you around, especially tonight. He arose, untying the belt around your wrists – almost as if he was showing mercy, but that thought was surpassed as he effortlessly flipped you around so your bandaged hands were gripping desperately onto the sheets, as if that'd prevent you from losing your grip on reality from what was about to go down.

Your begging hole cried for his further attention, causing you to become more agitated by the second. That is, until you felt his hard cock slap against your ass cheek, and his hips striking the back of your shaking thighs. The grumpy commander pressed his leather-sling gloved fist slightly against your upper neck, just enough pressure to ensure you stayed where he wanted you. You didn't plan on leaving, though – not until he fucked you to your heart's content.

He could take a picture right now, the way your ass pushed against his solid member so hysterically, as if your pussy lived to be stuffed by his cock. In that moment, it did. Rick grabbed his cock and lined it up with your welcoming entrance, collecting the condensation on his tip.

"God, just fuck me–"

One rigid thrust was all it took for you to fully engulf him. Your eyes rolled to the ceiling, stars eclipsing your vision while his thrust followed another one, this time much deeper.

Your whines bounced off the pale room's walls, alerting Rick, who hushed you with a growl, "Shutch'er mouth, the whole building's gonna hear ya."

A third thrust ensued, with the sound of his pelvic bone smacking against your backside and the echoing of your sodden cunt being governed by his greedy shaft. The wet squishy insides of your walls hugged Rick so magnetically, he almost gave in right there.

His pace picked up with each ram of his hips, and his assault to your clit. Your grip on the sheets tightened, bandages likely slipping off but that wasn't a concern. Shy whimpers were trapped inside your mouth as you gave it your all at keeping your lewd blubbers and cusses at bay. Your soft, muffled cries continued as he pounded into you strenuously and tirelessly.

"You're not gonna try to leave again, not ever." The thumping of his hips on your ass and him fucking you into the mattress was all too much for your brain. "I won't fucking let you."

You felt fuzzy. The dauntless rebel attitude you once had vanished, and now your were a blubbering hot mess under a relentless leader. His bulging biceps flexed as his leather arm continued pushing on your neck, the other hand groping your hip and then going back to flicking your clit as his cock rutted into your core. He fit you like a puzzle piece.

Your walls were pulsating and you sensed your climax approaching quickly. "Oh, fuck, Rick!"

"Don't you even think about it. So help me god, if you do..."

Rick's demands only filled you closer to the brim with pleasure, and you weren't assured how much longer you could hold it. His thrusts became sloppier and sloppier, indicating that he was probably close too.

"Mmmph–" You focused on grasping desperately at the sheets again, trying to fixate on the way the soft fabric felt against your hands and your face which was pushed into the bed.

Rick groaned out, whispering filthy affirmations as his pounding became more jagged and his grunts more urgent. "Wanna fill ya up, but you don'need another baby, not yet."

One last press against your clit and the band finally snapped, your juices releasing all over his cock, and his orgasm causing him to grasp your hips roughly as he used your dripping hole to help him ride out his own orgasm. He pulled out, releasing onto your back with a few strokes of his slippery member.

The bottom half of your body gave in finally, collapsing and being suffocated by the plush mattress. Your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open. He truly fucked the energy out of you.

"You gonna try that shit again with me?"

With half-lidded eyes you simpered and muttered, "Not without you."

220 notes · View notes

dream-a-little-bigger-x · 1 year

Text

I Think He Knows | Spencer Reid

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: JJ invites her best friend, a linguistics professor, to help out on a couple of cases. When she and Spencer work together, something sparks between them.

Warnings: Your usual Criminal Minds murders and gore, inappropriate thoughts and conversations about coworkers, making out, plot holes (read author's note),

Author's note: I know Season 4, Episode 12 is without JJ, but let's pretend JJ is there anyway and Jordan has never been there, okay? Okay. Thank yew.

Words: 4.3K

“I think he knows.”

JJ’s brows furrowed as she looked at her best friend, back pressed against the shut door of her office. It took her one look at the wide-eyed, worry-filled girl to know just what the hell she was even talking about.

Everything had started when JJ introduced her to the team.

JJ and y/n had been childhood best friends and kept in contact, even when both of them moved away from Pennsylvania. While JJ moved to Washington DC to join the FBI, y/n was making her career as a linguistics professor in New York City. So, when they needed a linguistic expert, y/n was the first one JJ called for her expertise.

“Thank you so much for coming,” JJ said as she embraced her oldest friend.

A smile resided on her face. “Of course, Jayj. Anything for you.”

“Come, meet the team!”

JJ grabbed y/n’s hand and dragged her towards the bullpen. Everyone seemed to be gathered around one particular desk, hunched over a case file.

“Guys, I want you to meet y/n, she’s gonna help us with linguistics,” JJ said, capturing everyone’s attention. “y/n/n, these are Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia and Spencer Reid.” She introduced them, pointing at each member of the team as their name was called.

Y/N simply offered all of them an awkward wave, suddenly self-conscious about the attention she was getting. “Luckily, I’m good with names,” she chuckled, which made the others laugh too.

The eight of them filed into the briefing room where JJ explained the case to everyone. Luckily – if you could use that word in this field – it was a local case, meaning y/n could stay with JJ for the time being. The two women were actually quite excited about that.

This one seemed to be a pretty open-and-shut case. An abduction of a politician's daughter with a ransom note that led the team straight to the Unsub. Spencer and y/n worked on the note together, both of them quickly noticing some outstanding quirks of the guy’s personality.

“First and foremost, I can tell you that the guy you’re looking for is actually a guy,” y/n started explaining to the team when they had regrouped. “He uses a lot of articles, prepositions and big words. So, we are looking in the right direction.”

Spencer nodded his head in agreement. “He’s also very precise in his choice of words, so he’s most likely an introvert. He tells us exactly where to be and at what time, something an extrovert wouldn’t do.”

“He’s also using ‘I’ and ‘mine’, which further proves the introverted side of this UnSub. Normally, higher rates of ‘I’ words correspond with feelings of insecurity, threat and defensiveness. Closer inspection of his ‘I’ use in context tends to confirm this,” y/n continued, seamlessly flowing with Spencer in their debrief.

“Not only that, but the number of words such as ‘except’, ‘but’, and ‘however’ changed. These are all ways to encourage dialogue or thinking and indicate higher cognitive processes. They also signify a willingness to tell the truth,” said Spencer.

The two of them glanced at each other and offered a smile before turning to the rest of the team, who were looking at them as though they had just witnessed a talking dog.

“It’s like they’re copy-pasted,” Emily muttered.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up and when she looked over at her partner-in-solving-linguistics-psyche, his cheeks had a dust of rouge. Before either of them could add anything else, Hotch nodded his head before scraping his chair back.

“We’re ready to give a profile. Let’s head down to the Metropolitan Police Department,” he ordered and everyone quickly followed. Even y/n. With the research she and Spencer had done, they were their best options to go over the profile with the detectives.

It felt great to be doing such important work, especially when her analysis helped catch the guy in the end. Even better when JJ had asked her to come back on another case, needing her language expertise again.

Every time, she and Spencer worked closely together to try and analyze any sort of text that had been brought up during the case. Whether it was newspaper ads, ransom notes or blog posts. Nothing was too hard for the duo.

The fifth time they asked her, it was a bit more of a difficult case.

When she had walked into the BAU that morning of the fifth case, her breath had hitched in her throat. She couldn’t deny that she found the young doctor very attractive, but there was something about him that morning with his hair slicked back and the patterned button-down and his perpetually crooked tie.

“Morning,” Spencer greeted with a beautiful smile that had her knees buckle.

She grimaced, trying to keep herself composed, but it was proving to be a lot more difficult that day. “Good morning,” she greeted back. Her brain decided she needed him to feel the same way she did. “You look good this morning, Doc.”

When the resident genius blushed furiously, she knew she had succeeded. He awkwardly coughed whilst his lips quirked up into a shy smile. “Th-thank you, y/n. So–so do you.”

“Thanks.” Her eyes stayed glued on his, something unspoken passing between the two when the rest of the team entered the bullpen.

JJ, being y/n’s best friend, immediately caught onto what was happening between the two. But, with the task at hand, she decided not to say anything. Yet.

Though y/n knew that she knew.

JJ always knew.

For this case, the team flew to Sarasota in Florida and y/n was allowed to come along. Once everyone was briefed about the case, they all piled onto the jet where y/n took her trusty spot next to JJ. While she was reading over the case file again, she couldn’t help but sneak glances at Spencer, who was sitting on the other side of the plane.

Sometimes, their gazes would meet and they’d turn away quickly, like two teenagers who were crushing on one another.

“Okay, what’s going on between you two?” JJ asked softly, not wanting the coworker in question to hear her.

Y/N furrowed her brows, barely taking her eyes off the file, even though they involuntarily flitted back towards the youngest on the team. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jayj.”

“You and Spence. You can’t lie to me, y/n/n. You’re acting the exact same way you did when you had that crush on Landon during our senior year.”

A soft gasp left y/n’s mouth. “I forgot about Landon,” she whispered, giggling at the memory of her constant gushing over the boy. It took her a good four months of swooning over him before he finally asked her out.

JJ’s eyebrows rose in question, impatiently so.

“Okay, I’m not gonna lie that I find him attractive,” y/n admitted, but it wasn’t enough for her best friend. “Fine,” she grumbled, then sighed, admitting defeat. “I–” but before she got go off on a tirade, Penelope appeared on the laptop screen, wanting to let them know what she had found.

“This is not over,” JJ warned as the team descended the jet afterwards.

The Sarasota Police Department had a suspect in custody, but not enough evidence to keep him for more than forty-eight hours, so they were on a clock. The team worked tirelessly, trying to piece together the evidence. While the others went to the crime scenes, the suspect’s house or the ME, Garcia had found a blog post on the guy’s computer, which Spencer and y/n were now decoding together.

“Look,” y/n said, pointing to a paragraph on the printed copy of the blog post. “He switches between the words ‘soda’ and ‘pop’.”

His shoulder brushed against hers as he leaned over to look at the paper she was pointing at. The feeling of his body being so close to hers caused her to heat up from the inside out. Her bodily reaction told her she wanted more of him. She wanted him to be this close at all times.

“This is not just one person,” he mumbled, then pointed to another paragraph. “Not one person ever uses dashes and ellipses in the same text, right?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, you’re right,” she said. “Ellipses and dashes are not interchangeable, but the misuse of either and both is common. A dash is a highlighter. An ellipsis takes the place of missing words. Not one person ever uses both in texts.”

“Hey, lovebirds,” Morgan’s voice interrupted them, even startling y/n a little.

She had been too wrapped up in her own world, she hadn’t even noticed Morgan and Rossi walking in with the Sheriff by their side.

“You found anything?” asked Rossi, unable to hide the smirk underneath his mustache.

Spencer nodded his head before taking a step back from y/n. “Garcia’s been digging through William’s computer. She found an encrypted link to a web page.”

“Where’d it take you?” Derek questioned.

Y/N put the lid back on her red Sharpie before sticking it in her ponytail, wedging it between the hairband and the crown of her head. “An unsearchable, untraceable blog with tons of journal entries. It’s like some sort of diary.”

“You find anything incriminating?” Rossi asked.

“We were able to differentiate between two distinct voices. Two authors,” Spencer started explaining and y/n couldn’t but gawk at him, intrigued by what he was saying even though she already knew. “We found various idiosyncratic words, phrases, punctuation and orthography within the blog entries, consistent with each separate person.”

“Words like “soda” and “pop”,” y/n added.

Nodding, Spencer added with a smile, “One guy uses dashes while the other uses ellipses.” The giggle at the end of his sentence made y/n’s stomach flutter.

Spencer being so interested in the English language had to have been the cutest thing she had ever seen. It made her heart skip a beat and her spine tingle all the way to her toes. “That was hot,” she muttered, her eyes widening upon realizing the words didn’t stay in her mind.

Luckily, Spencer had already returned to the board and Rossi was too busy talking to the Sheriff to have heard it. The only person, much to y/n’s dismay, that did hear it, was Derek Morgan. With that devilish smirk of his plastered on his face he was looking down at her.

She coughed and turned back to the rest of the team. “One side of the discourse made reference to the “devil’s strip”,” she explained before Derek could start his relentless teasing.

“What the hell’s that?” asked the Sheriff.

At that moment, Spencer turned around again, not realizing y/n had moved and nearly bumped into her. Instead of stepping back, though, he remained in his spot with his chest pressed against her back. It sent yet another shiver down her spine, which required y/n to breathe in deep before she lost control and jumped his bones then and there.

“It’s a small patch of grass that separates the sidewalk from the street. Now, that term is only used in central Ohio. William lived in Atlanta for twenty years, but he grew up in Columbus,” Spencer explained.

In agreement, y/n hummed. “The other guy uses words like “turnpike” and “filling the gas tank”, both specific regionalisms for Florida,” she continued just as one of the deputies passed by with William in handcuffs.

Derek looked back at the suspect before turning to the linguistics duo. “Kid, you sure about this?” he asked Spencer, which merely earned him a slight tilt of the head and a deadpanned glare that said ‘seriously?’.

Of course Spencer and y/n were sure about this and Derek knew better than to doubt that.

While Morgan and Rossi went to question William about what they found, Spencer and y/n continued working on the blog. After a good hour, y/n decided to go and get them both some coffee, needing the pick-me-up to keep herself going.

“Here,” she muttered, handing the cup to him. “With three spoonfuls of sugar.” She then pouted, “They didn’t have almond milk.”

Spencer chuckled before reaching in his satchel and handing her a carton of almond milk. Surprised, y/n added a cloud of the milk into her coffee, ignoring how her heart was soaring.

She smiled a thankful smile and took a sip of the hot beverage as the two of them turned back to the splayed out blog posts on the board in front of them.

“Wait,” he then mumbled with his brows furrowed. “Where’s the–” he stopped in his tracks when his eyes fell on the item he was looking for.

Gazing up at him, y/n’s heart quickened when he reached for her head and fished the red Sharpie out of her hair. “Right, sorry,” she whispered, nearly swooning at the soft smile on his face.

She watched as Spencer started adding lines and annotating a paragraph of the blog post. As she followed what he was doing, her brain started to form theories and analytics. “Faith should never be broken,” she read aloud, then wiggled her nose in thought. “The longer they got away with it, the stronger their relationship,” she pointed out.

Within the next few hours, Derek came to check on the two of them, wanting to know if they had gotten any further into finding out who William’s partner was. Then, later, the whole team had gathered again to brief one another on their findings.

“Connie Mayers described an Anger Excitation Rapist, just like William,” Emily told them.

“So, we’re looking at two dominant personalities?” asked Derek.

Y/N nodded her head as the words registered in her brain. “That makes sense,” she said. “They have a similar discourse.” Spencer nodded his head as well, agreeingly.

“They’re equally well-written,” he added.

“That’s a big deal?” the Sheriff wanted to know.

Spencer’s eyes skidded from the Sheriff to y/n and back as he said, “It’s rare in criminal partnerships.”

“If their personalities are the same, their lives probably mirror one another’s as well,” Emily clarified.

As the Sheriff spoke, y/n went to sit on the desk in front of Spencer, needing to give her feet a rest. “Harris goes to church, on the board of the PTA, coaches his daughter’s soccer team, rarely drinks.”

“Sounds like a saint,” JJ commented with a roll of her eyes.

“With a dark side,” Hotch offered. “It’s what he connected to in the partner.” He then nodded to Emily. “Prentiss and I will go talk to the family, see if they know who it might be.” Hotch and Emily exited the precinct, leaving the rest of the team to their own projects.

Derek sighed as he moved closer towards the board. “Two alpha males won’t be easy to break,” he pointed out.

“The partner is definitely following the investigation,” JJ added with a determined nod.

“Let’s do the talking for them,” Rossi suggested.

“You want me to put this out in the public?” asked the blonde.

Rossi held up the bundle of papers that contained the blog posts. “We’ve got something better.”

“Why would he read it?” the Sheriff wanted to know. “He knows William won’t be writing.”

“These men are addicted to each other,” Derek argued. “Right now, he needs a fix, and the words they’ve shared are all he has to cling to.”

Y/N climbed off the desk again as an idea popped into her head. “His partner wrote “Faith should never be broken”. A betrayal could devastate him.”

“All we have to say is that William’s cooperating, and then hope he takes the bait,” Derek said.

Nodding their heads in agreement, Spencer and y/n gathered in front of the laptop. “You should do the typing,” he said. “You’re probably our best shot at tricking him.”

With a smile, y/n took a seat. “Why, thank you, gentleman,” she cooed, earning those flustered rosy cheeks from him. Together, the two of them came up with a pretty convincing blog post that would get the UnSub to reach out.

“What do we got so far?” Derek asked.

“We were surprised that you injected yourself into the investigation. You risked a lot in order to help William.” Y/N and Spencer read it aloud at the same time, their voices mixing together smoothly like a perfect harmony in a song.

Deciding not to comment on how blatantly obvious the two had been, Derek turned back to the task at hand. “And killing Missy tells us how close you really are.” Y/N quickly typed it up into the computer. “It must be devastating to learn that William is here with us.”

“He’s not gonna like that, it sounds like William is cooperating,” Spencer mumbled as he placed one hand on the desk, the other on the back of y/n’s chair to lean in closer to read the words on screen.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as she felt his breath fan against her cheek. “Well,” she coughed to try and keep her composure. “That’s exactly what we want him to believe, so he’ll doubt their alliance.”

Once the blog post was sent, all the team could do was wait for the partner’s response. While they did that, Morgan, Spencer and y/n continued working to try and find something else, just in case their first plan fell through.

It took them a while. A lot of back and forth between Morgan and William, a lot of trying to decipher the blog posts. But in the end, the entire team managed to find William’s partner and save Andrea from her neighbor’s claws. Once they had both of them arrested, the BAU could finally breathe again.

Spencer and y/n were cleaning up the mess they had made with analyzing the blog entries. The both of them kept to themselves in silence, trying to calm their overheated brains. Out of the five cases she assisted on, this one had to have been the hardest.

As y/n absentmindedly reached for a pile of paper, Spencer did the same, causing their hands to bump. “Oh,” y/n giggled, a chuckle rolling off Spencer's lips as well. “Sorry,” they both apologized before he retracted his hand, allowing her to grab the pile.

“I, uh, I enjoyed working with you – a-again,” he stammered nervously.

A smile curved her lips. “As did I with you, Spence.”

The smile he gave her made her knees buckle. Anything this man did would make her weak. She had all these feelings bubbling up inside her the second she merely looked at him and it was driving her absolutely nuts.

But there was nothing she could do about it. After this case, she’d be going back to New York City without even knowing when she’d be seeing the Behavioral Analysis Unit again. For all she knew, she was never going to see Dr. Spencer Reid again.

“Penelope?” y/n knocked on the tech’s door when she was back at Quantico. There was a file she needed to grab to complete her after-action report Hotch made her write. She was part of the team for that case after all.

“Come in, girly pop!” Penelope exclaimed as she opened the door, her ever-chirpy attitude beaming off the walls as soon as she appeared in front of her. “I’ve got the file right here…” she trailed off whilst walking over to her desk to retrieve said file. When y/n reached for the manila folder, the blonde held it just out of reach.

“Pen–”

“First, you gotta tell me what’s going on between you and Reid,” she almost sounded threatening. As soon as y/n opened her mouth to lie, Penelope cut her off. “And don’t lie to me!”

She could feel her heart overflowing, needing to spill her deepest, darkest thoughts she had been locking inside. With a sigh, y/n plopped down on Garcia’s chair. Sensing the upcoming spilling-of-beans, Penelope perked herself on the corner of her desk.

“He’s got my heart… skipping down sixteenth Avenue,” she started, earning a gasp from the blonde. “H-he’s got that…” she moaned out a sound that had to resemble how she was feeling, “I mean… I just wanna see what’s under all that intelligence, you know?”

“Y/N! You dirty dog!” Penelope giggled, hitting the girl in front of her with the manila folder.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh too, but then sighed. “But there’s nothing going to happen there. I’ll be off to New York later tonight and then who knows when I’ll see all of you again. It’s better that nothing happened.” She shrugged and got up from the chair, grabbing the file from Penelope’s hands.

As Penelope protested, y/n turned around towards the door, only halting with widening eyes when she saw who was standing in the doorway. Her mind raised, trying to think of what he could’ve heard and debating whether or not he had heard it. Before she could embarrass herself even more, she quickly bid her goodbyes and sneaked past him, rushing towards JJ’s office.

She hid inside, shutting the door behind her before leaning her back against it. Her eyes were still widened as they landed on JJ in a panic. “I think he knows,” she told her best friend.

“What do you mean?” JJ asked, chuckling, dropping the file she was working on.

Y/N took a seat in one of the chairs in front of JJ’s desk. “I was talking to Penelope about how–” she sighed. “About how I wanted to see what was under that intelligence…”

“Y/N!” JJ scolded, though her lips curled up in a bemused smirk.

“Worst of all is, when I got up to leave, he was standing in the doorway…”

JJ’s jaw dropped. “Do you think he heard?”

“I don’t know! I was too embarrassed to stay and ask, I just left!” Her voice came out squeaky from embarrassment alone. She didn’t quite know what to do with herself. She was hoping her best friend would know what to do.

“I think you should go talk to him,” JJ suggested the one thing she didn’t want to do.

Shaking her head, y/n protested. “Nuh-uh, Jayj, I’m leaving for New York tonight. Who knows if I’ll ever see him again!”

“I do,” JJ told her. “You’re my best friend, I might hope you come and visit me often,” she joked and y/n did laugh, but it was a half-hearted one. The dilemma seemed to be eating her alive. “Go talk to him.” The order was so sweet, yet stern enough that y/n obeyed and exited the office.

In the breakroom, she found the one she was looking for. He was making himself a cup of tea to keep him awake enough to finish his report. As he blew on the hot beverage, he glanced over the mug towards y/n, shooting a bolt of lightning through her heart with the intensity of his gaze.

“Hi,” she greeted awkwardly.

Spencer offered her a smile. “Hi.”

“You, uh…” Her brain almost short-circuited, not knowing what to say. “You wanna get out of here? Go for a walk to clear our heads before continuing on our reports?” She needed the fresh air. Maybe that would clear the fog that clouded her judgment.

“Sure,” he agreed and set his mug down before following after her.

As soon as they stepped outside, Spencer turned to y/n. “I heard you, by the way–” Her eyes shut tight. “I-I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just needed to ask Penelope about something and then I heard you and–”

“It’s fine, Spence. I-I shouldn’t have–” She cut herself short, noticing the look on Spencer’s face. His eyes sparkled in the dim streetlight, his smile almost lyrical. “What?”

He shook his head with a giggle. “I’ve had a crush on you ever since we were going back-and-forth about that first ransom note.”

Y/N’s heart was nearly beating out of her chest at his confession. This had to be a dream.

“And when I noticed how flustered you were when Emily insisted we were copy-pasted, I was a goner. It sounds so weird, but I’ve never met someone who met my level of intelligence.”

“Barely,” y/n scoffed, but Spencer either ignored her quip or he didn’t hear it.

“I love how your eyes light up whenever you deduct how someone’s been using ‘I’ instead of ‘we’ or when the intent of the sentence dawns on you. I love how you stick your pens in your ponytail when you don’t have your hands free and how you wiggle your nose when you’re thinking. I love how you know my coffee order and how you’d get upset when no one has almond milk for yours.”

She was absolutely soaring. Her heart was skipping, her eyes nearly tearing up at the sweetest of words rolling off his lips.

Before he could add anything that would send her into hysterical sobbing, she leaned in and kissed his lips sweetly. It was a quick kiss, more like a peck. Just to gauge his reaction. When his hands came up to cup her face, a soft smile landed on her lips before he kissed it away.

This time around, it was deep and passionate; like he had been waiting to do this for the past five weeks, the same way she had been waiting to do this. She reeled at the feeling of his warm tongue slipping past her tingling lips.

All of it reminded her of being seventeen again, no one understanding what she was feeling.

But he understood.

He knew.

Everything taglist: @calamitykaty @littlemissaddict @n0wornever @wanniiieeee @unnowhatthisistbh

Criminal Minds Taglist:

@boimlers-gonna-boim @samsbirks @tinaasthings @dysphoricsanity @love4lando @elenamoncada-ibarra @r-3dlips @magstheslayer @astess

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds

491 notes · View notes

celiastjamesoscar · 1 year

Text

Happiness is a Butterfly

Pairings: ghostface!Sam Carpenter x shy!reader

Summary: the plan was to tell you at some point, but Sam didn’t know how. Only when you find out by accident about your girlfriend’s activities, does Sam realize the consequences of continuing her father’s legacy.

Warnings: mentions of murder, protective Sam, one mention sexual abuse cases, hinted predator teacher, angst. Let me know if I missed any!

My Masterlist

AN: Came from this request! This wasn’t proof read at all, and I reread it once I wake up in the morning

Word Count: 9.9K

You sat in peaceful silence as you watched the TV. It was around 11 on a Friday night, and you were patiently waiting for your girlfriend, Sam, of eight months, to return home. You were over at her place, and you had been hanging out with Tara before she called it a night and went off to bed, leaving you alone in the quiet apartment as the soft voice of Daenerys Targaryen filled the air.

Usually, you would watch Game of Thrones with Sam, but with nothing better to do as you waited for your lover to return home from work, you rewatched the earlier seasons.

The sound of keys jingling at the door pulled you away from the TV, and you stood up from the couch as Sam walked into the apartment. “Hey,” she quietly said as she put up her purse and walked to you.

“Hey,” you replied with a smile as you kissed her for the first time since she left for work, “How was your day?”

Sam huffed at your question as she pulled you to the couch, “Better, now that you’re here,” she said as she sat on the sofa and pulled your legs into her leg.

“Well, I’m glad that I can help brighten your day,” you responded with a smile as you placed a quick kiss on your girlfriend’s lips, and she frowned at how short it was.

“Are you seriously watching Game of Thrones without me?” Sam questioned with a look of hurt as she watched the TV.

You scoffed at her words as you reached for the remote, “No, I was watching the older seasons while I waited for you. Do you really think I’m that evil?” You teased with a playful smile.

“Sometimes,” Sam quietly mumbled under her breath, hoping you didn’t hear her smartass comment, but luck had never been on her side.

“Well, then,” you said as you stood up from the couch, “If you want to complain about me, then I’ll just leave.”

“Come on, Y/N. I was just joking,” Sam whined as she watched you get up, hoping you were joking and weren’t upset, “Please sit back down.”

Deciding to take your joke a little further, you walked away from a disappointed Sam and into the kitchen. You heard your girlfriend groan, and you had to bit back a laugh as you grabbed a bottle of water before returning to your seat next to the woman.

You said nothing as you grabbed the remote, picked the episode you and Sam had left off on, and sipped your water before setting it on the coffee table and resting your head on Sam’s lap.

“I knew you weren’t actually mad,” Sam softly said as she ran her finger through your hair, and you hummed in response. You enjoyed these soft moments with Sam, even though she could be intense sometimes. You were naturally reserved and took to hiding in the shadows whenever you could, but when you were with Sam, you felt comfortable enough to let down your walls, and Sam loved that she brought you comfort.

Of course, because you were so reserved and passive, you let people take advantage of your niceness. You were never one to say no to people, so some nights, Sam would find you staying up until two in the morning finishing homework for people who only used you for their benefit.

Sam had tried to talk to you about letting people do this to you, but you shrugged it off and told her that you didn’t mind helping your colleagues occasionally. So, Sam became naturally protective of you, and if she were with you when someone asked you to do their homework, she would ‘politely’ tell them to fuck off. And you would hate to admit it, but you found it quite hot and flattering.

After you two finished an episode, you yawned and checked the time before groaning. “Come on, Sam. It’s time for bed,” you stated as you lifted your head from your girlfriend’s lap and stood up. Sam groaned as she stood up and followed you into her room, and she grabbed some clothes for her shower.

“Wanna join?” Sam asked with a mischievous smirk when she felt your eyes on her as she walked toward her bathroom. “You know, honey. There’s a gun in the footlocker in the garage. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to use it on me,” you replied, smiling as you followed Sam into her bathroom.

You undressed as Sam turned on the shower and took off her clothes as well. When the water was hot enough, you both stepped in and shared a kiss under the shower. “I love you,” Sam mumbled against your lips before pulling back and grabbing a pink loofah sitting on a shelf in the shower. “I love you too,” you replied as Sam turned you around, put some soap on the loofah, and gently washed your back.

The way Sam was with you, you couldn’t describe it. She was so gentle and loving, and she made sure you were always safe, sometimes being a bit too overprotective. Some people saw that as controlling, but you knew the real Sam; she would let you do whatever you wanted, as long as you were safe and updated her once every couple of hours. She just worried about you and wanted to protect you at all costs, even if that meant painting the town red every once in a while.

You two finished up your shower after sharing a few stolen kisses and got ready for bed before you laid in bed together. “Come here,” Sam said as she pulled you closer to her body, and you tucked your head into her neck before kissing her soft skin.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” Sam whispered as she held you close. “Goodnight, Sam,” you replied with sleep in your voice. After a few minutes, you quickly fell asleep in your girlfriend’s arms, the safest place you could be.

Only, you didn’t know about the monster she hid within herself. You had no idea that your loving girlfriend was the same person violently murdering people at night, but all secrets are unveiled in the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Aren’t you guys worried about the Ghostface attacks happening all over the city?” Your best friend Olivia asked. You two were at the library with Tara and Mindy, trying your best to cram in a study session before your calculus exam at the end of the week.

“Uh, no. I honestly would prefer it if someone violently murdered me to death right now because I do not want to take this exam,” Mindy replied nonchalantly as she flipped through her math packet, “You know, I’m glad Isaac Newton died a virgin, this shit is stupid.”

“I agree with you on that. But I am a little worried about the attacks, even though it hasn’t been confirmed as Ghostface ones,” Tara replied hesitantly.

Olivia shrugged at the two responses before turning to you, “What do you think about them?”

Unlike Mindy and Tara, you weren’t at the 2022 attacks, so you never had a connection with Ghostface until you started dating Sam. “I don’t know what to think,” you replied after thinking about it briefly. You weren’t much of a talker, even with your closest friends, and the current conversation was one you didn’t know you would ever be having.

“Whatever, I just think you guys should be extra careful. Especially you, Y/n,” Olivia said as she reached out and touched your wrist. “What? Why me?” You asked with concern.

Olivia gave you a flirtatious smile as she squeezed your wrist, “Because, silly, you are dating the daughter of the original killer. If that doesn’t put a target on your back, I don’t know what will.”

For unknown reasons, Olivia’s comment made your blood boil. She had no right to assume you were in danger just because you were dating Sam.

“Am I interrupting something?” A low voice asked from behind you, and you quickly pulled your hand away from Olivia’s grasp as you turned to face the voice. It was Sam, but there was something in her eyes that you hadn’t seen before, and it scared you. You knew that Sam would never hurt you, but you were still afraid of the murderous look she had.

‘No, we were just talking about the recent attacks,” you said with a smile, trying to ignore Sam’s murderous gaze. “Mhm,” Sam replied as her eyes burned into Olivia’s, who seemed ignorant about Sam’s frustration when she threw an arm around you.

“Y/N, here, seems to not care about the attacks, and I tried telling her that she needs to be worried!” Olivia exclaimed as she pulled you closer to her, and you tensed up at the contact. Physical touch was never your forte, but you only loved it from Sam, so everyone else who touched you made you uncomfortable.

Sam’s eyes darted between you and the girl, and she noticed how your eyes cried out for help, so Sam reached out to you, and you graciously accepted her hand. “I’m sure that Y/N is more than capable of protecting herself, Olivia. I wish I could say the same about you,” Sam replied as she pulled you from Olivia’s hold and to your feet.

Olivia huffed at Sam’s words before returning to her homework, clearly embarrassed that Sam had implied she couldn’t protect herself, which was true.

“I’m going to head home; you two coming?” You asked Mindy and Tara as you packed your things and placed them in your backpack. “No, I’m going to stay a bit longer; I’ll text you when I leave,” Mindy replied, and Tara said the same thing.

“Alright, just be safe. I love you two,” you replied, smiling before leaving the library with Sam.

“‘I love you two,” Sam stated once you two had gotten in the car, and you were confused at her reciting your words from before. “What?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

Your girlfriend started the car and looked at you before driving to your apartment. “You just said, ‘I love you two,’ and it confused me; that’s all,” Sam admitted as she continued driving. You were even more puzzled at her explanation, and you were worried that she was jealous.

“Sam, I don’t love them like I love you, so if that’s what you’re implying, then I don’t appreciate it,” you confessed as you fidgeted with your fingers, and Sam felt guilty for the misunderstanding.

A gentle and loving hand reached over and grabbed ahold of your hand. “No, I was implying anything like that, Y/N. It’s just you said ‘two’ and not ‘three,’” Sam observed with a smile, glad you didn’t tell Olivia you loved her.

“Oh, yeah,” you weakly replied as you laced your fingers with Sam’s. “Is everything alright?” Sam questioned when she heard your change of tone.

You sighed as you squeezed her hand and looked over at her; she had her eyes focused on the road but would occasionally look over at you when she had a chance. “Promise you won’t get mad?” You asked, and Sam immediately tensed up, expecting the worst.

“Depends on what it is,” Sam coldly stated, and you couldn’t decide if you should tell her the truth.

You took a deep breath and kissed the back of your girlfriend’s hand before you admitted, “Olivia kind of told me she has feelings for me.”

Sam scoffed at your statement, and you could feel the anger radiating off of her, but she gently squeezed your hand, telling you she wasn’t mad at you. “How long ago did she tell you?”

And that’s where the problem was; Olivia had told you almost two weeks ago, and you had hoped to avoid the situation altogether, but now you are driving home with your angry girlfriend.

“Two weeks ago,” you mumbled with your head hung low as Sam approached your apartment. Olivia’s confession surprised you, as you had been dating Sam for some time, and she also knew about your relationship. You explained to her that you cherished her friendship and that you cared for her, but only as a friend. And you also told her that your heart only belonged to Sam, which seemed to anger her, but you ignored it as jealousy.

“Unbelievable,” Sam huffed as she removed her hand from yours, and your heart sank at the loss of contact as tension filled the air. Her eyes were once again filled with that murderous rage, and you cowered in your seat, hoping she wasn’t angry with you, but you didn’t believe that for a second.

You two sat silently for several moments before you grabbed your backpack and opened the door. “Goodnight, Sam. I love you,” you weakly said with a weak smile as you exited the car and shut the door. You hated yourself for not telling Sam as soon as you found out, but you were just trying to protect Olivia from Sam’s wrath. But now, as you walked into your apartment building, still feeling the tension from earlier, you wished you could take it all back.

You had gotten in the elevator, and just before the doors shut, a hand slid in and opened the doors back up, and Sam stepped into the small metal box. “I don’t want you to go up alone,” Sam admitted while looking at the ground. You smiled at your girlfriend and gently brushed your hand against hers, and she laced your fingers together.

When the elevator reached the eighth floor, the doors opened, and you two walked to your apartment room together. “Are you coming?” You asked once you unlocked your door and pushed it open. The way Sam’s eyes refused to meet yours was laughable, but you feared that now wasn’t the best time to laugh at her insecurities.

Without saying a word, Sam allowed you to pull her into your place, and you shut and locked the door before taking Sam into your room. You set your backpack on the floor and pulled Sam into a loving hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Sammy. You have every right to know about Olivia having feelings for me; I just hoped I could have avoided the situation entirely,” you admitted against Sam’s chest as the older woman kissed your head.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’m just glad I know now. And I’m not mad at you; I’m just upset with you, but I forgive you. You can’t control how people feel toward you, and I can’t control how awesome my girlfriend is,” Sam stated with a smile, even though her beautiful brown eyes still had a hint of anger and rage in them as you pulled back and looked at her.

You quickly kissed her before pulling out her grasp and getting ready for bed. “Are you staying here?” You asked while changing into your pajamas. It was only a little past five in the afternoon, so you hoped you could make dinner and watch a movie with your girlfriend.

“No, I got some stuff I have to do tonight,” Sam replied as her hungry eyes raked over your body as you changed, trying her best to keep her composure. “Like what?” You asked with a curious look.

A slight smirk appeared on Sam’s lips as she spoke, “Well, that takes the surprise out of it, doesn’t it?” You rolled your eyes at her reply but kissed her once again before you followed her into the living room. “Just be safe, Sam. And let me know when you get home,” you stated with a hint of worry. You knew Sam could protect herself, but that didn’t stop you from worrying.

“I know, Mom,” Sam sarcastically said with a smile. “Sam,” you deadpanned, and the woman shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, “I’m being serious. If I don’t get a text back when you get home, I will have your head.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll have my head soon enough,” Sam joked with a sly smirk as she kissed your lips and opened the front door, “But I promise I will text you. Okay?”

“You better.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied as Sam smiled and left your apartment. And you quickly locked your door before going into the kitchen and making some dinner for yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of your phone vibrating awoke you from your sleep. You fumbled for your phone before you grabbed it and answered the call. “Hello?” You husked as sleep was evident in your voice.

“Y/N! Are you okay? Where are you?” Tara panically asked as she paced around her room. It was almost two in the morning, and she was studying for her math test when the news came on, and her blood went cold.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m at my place. What’s going on?” You asked as you slowly moved in bed and turned on your bedside lamp. “Turn on the news,” Tara breathlessly replied.

Doing what the younger girl told you, you grabbed your TV remote and turned on the TV. “- A man was stabbed to death near 56th Street early tonight. Police are yet to release any information on the suspect, but we do know the suspect wore a Ghostface mask. As for the victim, 28-year-old William Donald was stabbed 22 times and killed. We are aware that Donald has had a history of sexual abuse cases, so we are left wondering if this is the act of a vigilante-”

Ringing was all you heard as the news anchor continued talking. You could see his mouth moving, but you only heard ringing as you exited your bed. You could faintly hear the voice of Tara as you texted Sam. You never received a text message from her, and you were starting to freak out; she always would text you when she got home, no matter how busy she was.

“Y/N? Are you there? Hello?” Tara asked as the ringing finally left your eyes, and you started to come back to reality.

“Where’s Sam?” You asked, and your heartbeat stopped when you heard Tara’s reply, “I thought she was with you.”

Panic coursed through your veins as you sprung up from bed. “No, she left here around 5, and she was supposed to text me when she got back home,” you replied as you put Tara on speakerphone and searched for different clothes.

“She never came home last night, Y/N,” Tara uttered, and your body went rigid. Thoughts of what could have happened to Sam ran through your mind as you changed into better clothing. “Fuck. Have you tried tracking her phone?” You asked while putting on shoes.

“Yeah, Life360 said her phone is off or dead. Y/N, I’m scared,” Tara weakly said; you swore you could hear the faintest sniffle. “Tara, it’s going to be alright, okay? I’m getting ready to head over, and I’ll be there in 10 minutes, okay?” You stated as you grabbed your keys and left your room.

“Okay, just let me know when you are here. Be safe, Y/N. I love you.”

“I love you too; I’ll be right there,” you replied as you hung up the phone and opened the front door to your apartment, and you nearly had a heart attack.

Sam stood before you with her hand raised as if she was getting ready to knock. She wore a blank expression while her eyes were dark, almost evil-looking, as they searched your face something. You quickly pulled Sam into a bone-crushing hug before you pulled back from her and slightly pushed her.

“What the fuck, Sam?! You don’t text me when you get home, and Tara just called me freaking out!” You exclaimed while your eyes examined her body, checking for any injuries she might have.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for her haunting dark eyes that never left yours. She wore all-black clothing, and her hair was damp as sweat glistened near her hairline. “Why are you sweating, Sam?” You questioned as your walls started to shoot up. You couldn’t help it that your first thought was that Sam was cheating on you; she didn’t text you back, either turned off her phone or let it die, and appeared in the black of night, sweating and with dark eyes that told the story of dishonesty.

“I ran here as soon as I could. I heard about the attack, and I needed to make sure you were alright,” Sam said as her hands reached out to your sides, but you pulled back, and Sam felt her heartbreak.

Your eyes darted over her face as you tried to decide what to do; on the one hand, you were glad that Sam was safe, but on the other, you were pissed she ghosted nine hours. “Why didn’t you text me when you got home?” You asked as you hid all emotion from your voice, and Sam knew she fucked up.

It’s not like she could tell you the truth; you would be mad at her either way. She hated lying to you, but she only did that when the truth would either push you away or sound like a lie. “I was picking up a gift for Tara, and I didn’t want her to know where I was, so I turned off my phone, and I lost track of time picking up other things for her,” Sam explained as she took off her bag and moved things around in it. You swore you could see the faintest outline of a white mask before Sam blocked your view with her body, pulled out a small rectangular box, and handed it to you.

You gave her a questionable look before slowly reaching out and accepting the box. It was light, but when you moved it around, you heard something move from side to side. You slowly took the lid off, and you smiled at the necklace.

It was a golden heart-shaped locket with floral designs on it. When you opened it, two small pictures were in it. One was a picture of Tara and Sam, and the other was of the Core Four plus you sitting on a couch.

“I picked this up from the jeweler's store earlier and got the pictures from Walgreens. I put them in the necklace while I sat in my car and made her a scrapbook. I guess I lost track of time, and I only realized how late it was when I heard about the attack on the news,” Sam said as she pulled out a scrapbook and handed it to you as well.

On the front center of the book was a weathered picture of Tara, Mindy, and Chad when they were close to eight, wearing matching ninja turtle pajamas. A small sticky note read, ‘When you guys performed a synchronized dance to convince me to let the twins stay the night.’ Underneath the picture, written in black Sharpie, were the words “The Core Four Adventures” and in smaller handwriting, “plus Y/N L/N.”

You laughed to yourself as you read over your name. “Tara would have gotten mad if I didn’t include you,” Sam whispered as she shuffled from foot to foot. You gave your girlfriend a loving grin as you felt your walls crumble before you opened your apartment door and ushered her in.

You two sat on your bed together as you flipped through the scrapbook, and you could tell this must have taken her hours to make. There were several pictures on each page, each with a small sticky note next to it, explaining how much the picture meant to Sam. Every picture included Tara, except one, and your chest fluttered as you looked at it.

It was a picture of you and Sam just before you started dating. You two were hanging Christmas ornaments on a tree. You were placing one on the tree while Sam held one in her hand, staring at you with the most lovesick eyes you had ever seen. The smile on her lips made your heart melt, and tears brimmed your eyes as you read over the sticky note. ‘This was the first time I realized I had feelings for Y/N. I was in denial about it until you showed me this picture you took of us. You changed my life that day in the best possible way, and I thank you every day when I wake up with Y/N in my arms.’

“Tara likes to say she brought us together, so I felt like I had to include that one,” Sam said as her eyes searched your face and noticed the tears in them, and panic set in. “I'm sorry. I should have asked you first if I could put it in,” she apologized as she took the book from you, “I can take it out if you want me to. Fuck, I am so sorry-” you cut off her rambling with a kiss, silently telling her it was okay.

“Sam, it’s okay. I love it,” you mumbled against her lips as you pulled away and set the book down next to the necklace. The dark look Sam had in her eyes was gone entirely, replaced with only the love she felt for you. You smiled at the change, stood up from the couch, and pulled her into your bedroom.

When you got in bed and cuddled into Sam’s arms, you quickly drifted off to sleep, feeling the love radiating off Sam’s body. How she was so gentle with you told you that Sam was telling the truth, and you let all the worry and doubt slip away as sleep took you.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam was glad you didn’t try anything with her tonight, or you would have seen the bruises and cuts that littered her body from William Donald fighting back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks had passed since then, and three more murders happened. With each killing that occurred, your fear increased with it as each one slowly got closer to your apartment. You didn’t fear for yourself per se, but you feared for Sam and the others.

“Sam, I don’t understand why you aren’t worried! Like, at all!” You exclaimed one night while you were over at her place. She has been nonchalant about the murders, but she still makes sure you have all kinds of protection on you when you leave her sight, anything ranging from mace to a small blade. Sam might not have been openly worried, but she made sure you were safe all the time.

You two have been arguing all night about the attacks, and it seemed the more time passed, the angrier you got, while Sam seemed to calm down more.

“Y/N, I am always worried! I just don’t want to freak you or Tara out with my worrying, so I’ve laid off on it,” Sam defended as she paced back and forth in her room while you sat on her bed. Naturally, she was worried, just not about the Ghostface attacks. As your fear increased for her and her sister, she became more worried about how you would handle the fact that she was the Ghostface that had been murdering people. It’s not like she was just playing eenie meenie miney mo to determine her next victim, Sam was picking the scums of the earth, those who had caused harm to others, and she played the judge, jury, and executor perfectly.

“That doesn’t help, Sam, and you know it!” You retorted as you pushed yourself off the bed and left Sam’s room. “Hey, where are you going?” Sam called out as she was a few paces behind you.

“I’m leaving,” you replied as you put on your shoes and grabbed your bag. “Y/N, you can’t leave. It’s dark out, and you said it yourself: The killings are getting closer to your place, so why don’t you just stay here?” Sam reasoned as she cautiously reached her hands out to you, and when you didn’t pull back, Sam wrapped you up in a hug, “Please, just stay here tonight. I know you’re pissed at me, but we need to talk it out instead of leaving.”

A few beats of silence passed before you mumbled against Sam’s chest, “I hate it when you’re right.” Sam laughed at your response and placed a quick kiss on your head before she pulled back, “Come on, let’s go to bed. I miss my girlfriend, and I really like some cuddles.”

You placed a quick kiss on Sam’s lips before you followed the woman into her room. You two climbed into bed together, and Sam quickly wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her chest. She held you as if you were going to disappear in a matter of seconds, and the comforting hold brought you enough peace to fall asleep in minutes.

While you were fast asleep, a single tear ran down Sam’s cheek as she realized this might be one of the last times she held you in her arms. Afraid that when you found out the truth about her, you would turn her in, or worse, tell her that you wished you had never met her.

Sam could handle you turning her in to the police, but she could not stomach hearing you, the person who changed her life and made her believe that she was more than a cog in a machine; tell her that you regretted meeting her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The loud bass of music rang throughout the house as you pushed through the crowd and tried to find Tara. You had zero intention of coming to this frat party, but Tara told you that she was coming after she promised Sam she wouldn’t go. You were trying to save Tara from an angry sister, and you were trying to protect yourself from a grumpy girlfriend. You sent Sam a quick text, telling her that you were hunting down Tara at a frat party and that you should be home relatively soon.

“Hey! Have you seen Tara?” You shouted over the music at Mindy and Anika, who were passing around a bottle of whiskey. “No, but you might want to check the backyard. I think they are playing beer pong,” Mindy replied before taking a swig of the bottle, and you laughed to yourself when she made a sour face.

Finding Tara in the backyard was a more complicated challenge than you initially believed. The grass was packed with drunken people standing shoulder to shoulder as they stood around a table watching two challengers play an intense game of beer pong. You were making your way to the table when a hand grabbed yours and turned you around.

“Y/N! It’s so nice to see you! It’s been forever!” Olivia slurred out as she pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, and the smell of alcohol invaded your nostrils.

You had been trying to avoid Olivia ever since you told Sam about the girl having feelings for you as a way to respect your girlfriend while trying to help Olivia lose feelings for you.

“Yes, it has been,” you replied with a fake laugh as you tried to wiggle your way out of Olivia’s hold. “So, how have you and Sam been? Still kicking it with grandma?” Olivia joked, but you could hear the venom in her words. She has never been fond of your relationship with the Carpenter girl, and whenever she gets drunk, she loves to let you know about her distaste for Sam.

You gave Olivia a fake smile, “Of course.” You wanted to mention how she was in a relationship with a freshly eighteen-year-old while she was pushing twenty-three, but you kept your mouth shut.

“I don’t know what you see in her. Honestly. She’s a bitch to everyone else, and she’s controlling,” Olivia said as she licked her lips while her eyes dropped down to your lips. ‘Please don’t,’ you thought as you watched her stare at your lips before looking back at you.

“Sam isn’t a bitch, she just doesn’t trust easily. And she’s not controlling; she lets me do what I want, as long as I’m safe,” you explained as you looked around for Tara, but a hand gripped your neck, causing you to turn your focus back to Olivia.

“Don’t look at anyone else. Please, Y/N. Just look at me,” Olivia whispered just before she slammed her lips against yours.

You didn’t have time to react before a booming voice called out from behind you, “Y/N, what the fuck is going on?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam could only hear the sound of ringing in her ears as she stood over some fool’s body. The man she had just murdered was a local school teacher, and he had gone to trial for acting inappropriately towards his students. Of course, he was able to walk free and return to teaching within a week, claiming he was an innocent man who had been a victim of a coup to get him out of education.

Of course, when Sam held a knife to his throat, his lips sang with all the crimes he had committed within those school walls, and when her knife cut his throat, she smiled as she watched the blood spill out across the floor. This had been the first murder within a couple of weeks; she only stopped for a period of time, so your worry would die just a bit. And it did, and Sam was glad that you were finally able to stop worrying about some murderer who might or might not come after Sam and her found family.

Still in her Ghostface and gown, Sam left the teacher in an abandoned building and went out to her car. She quickly changed, threw her outfit and mask in her trunk, and smiled when she saw your PlayStation. You were bringing it over so you could teach her how to play video games, even though you both knew it was going to end terribly. She closed the trunk, got in her car, and drove home. It might be odd to say, but she missed you at the moment. Sure, she might have just murdered a man, but she was still a softie who needed her nightly cuddles.

As she was driving, her phone dinged with a text message, and Sam hoped it was you letting her know that you were heading over to her apartment. But she frowned as she read over the words.

Mi amor 💕💍: Hey, please don’t get mad at me, but I’m at a frat party hunting down Tara. You know, the one that you told her not to go to. We should be home soon once I find the little shit. Anyway, I love you, Sam. See you soon <3

Of course, she smiled at your sweet words but couldn’t help the anger that stirred in her as she thought about Tara disrespecting her wishes. Tara had been just as worried as you were about the murders, but when they stopped for two weeks, Tara had made the decision that they were done for good and believed that she was free to party as much as she wanted.

“Sam, you told me not to worry about the killings, and I’m not! I’m just going to go to one tiny frat party to celebrate,” Tara reasoned one night after telling Sam she wanted to go to a party.

“Absolutely not,” Sam replied, immediately shooting down Tara’s hopes of getting shit-faced. “Just because the killings have stopped doesn’t mean you have to go out and party to celebrate.”

Because of this, the two sisters got into an argument, one with Tara saying that Sam was ruining her life and another with Sam saying that she was trying to protect her sister from having the life that she once had. Now, both girls were in the wrong, but you said nothing as you listened to them battle it out with words.

And that leads us to the current situation: a pissed-off Sam doing 50 in residential, trying to get the party as soon as she could while you had your lips on another woman’s.

Sam shoved past the crowd as she walked into the backyard, and anger flooded her veins as she saw you and Olivia kissing.

“Y/N, what the fuck is going on?!” Sam demanded as she quickly approached you and Olivia. You two separated when you heard Sam’s booming voice, and you looked like you had just seen a ghost when you saw Sam.

“Sam, I can explain-” you started, but Olivia cut you off. “Sam, Y/N and I are in love. She doesn’t want you anymore; she wants me. So it’s best if you leave.”

The smile you saw on Sam’s face made your blood turn cold, and you felt the hair on your arms and neck stand up. It wasn’t the usual, loving smile you would see. No, this was something far more dangerous. There was no love in that smile, only anger, hurt, and a lust for something you couldn’t describe. Only when you saw the same lust flash in Sam’s eyes, you knew what it was: murder.

You’ve never seen Sam so angry before, but yet, you’ve never seen her this calm. It was as if she was born to have that serial killer in her eyes, and you slowly started to fear Sam at that moment.

“Y/N. What is going on?” Sam asked with a monotone voice as her eyes never left Olivia’s, and you could feel the anger radiating off of your girlfriend. You reached a hand out toward her and gently took Sam’s hand in yours. “Sam, I promise you, this isn’t what it looks like. I was here looking for Tara when Olivia grabbed me. She told me that it had been too long since we had last seen each other, and then she kissed me,” you explained, leaving out the details of her slandering Sam in hopes of saving your former best friend. But she ruined that for herself.

“Seriously, Y/N. You’re leaving out the best part!” Olivia exclaimed as she got close to Sam, and Sam made a sour face when she smelt the alcohol on the girl’s breath. “I told our dear, sweet Y/N that you were too old to take care of her and that she needs someone younger. Someone who can make her happy instead of reading her bedtime stories. And I also told her that you were a bitch, which, let’s be honest here, is the truest thing I have ever said!”

“Olivia, that’s enough,” a new voice stated, and you smiled when you saw Tara walk up. She staggered as she walked, but her voice sounded sober and threatening. “I’ll let you slander Y/N, but I draw the line at Sam. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The fuck do you mean I don’t know what I’m talking about?! Sam is, and always will be, a bitch! I mean, come on, Y/N! Why can’t you open up your eyes and realize how much better I am than her? Or are you just as pathetic as her? Huh? You're too afraid to give a real woman a chance, so instead, you stick with a pathetic former drug addict. I guess you were always weak, but I didn’t think you would be this fucking pathetic. But I guess you will always be-” Any word that was about to leave Olivia’s lips died when Sam’s fist connected with her face. The sound of bone crunching echoed over the loud music, and then it went silent.

The music was still playing, but Sam could only hear ringing in her ears as she hit Olivia again, sending her to the ground. Before you could react, Sam was mounting Olivia’s waist and continued her assault on the girl. When Sam brought her fist up again, you quickly caught it and forced Sam to look at you. “Sam, that’s enough. Let’s go,” you stated, leaving no room for negotiation as you pulled Sam off the girl.

Sam grumbled at your statement but got off of Olivia nonetheless. You, Sam, and Tara made your way out to the older sister’s car, only stopping to explain the situation to Mindy and Anika.

“Good luck with her,” Mindy joked as she watched an angry Sam sulk in the corner with Tara beside her while you talked to the two girls. “Tell me about it,” you mumbled with a weak smile before telling the girls goodbye and walking to Sam’s car.

The car ride was silent; not even music played to help ease the tension. You were in the passenger seat while Tara was in the back, silently praying to the old gods and the new that Sam would take pity on her, but she doubted that would happen.

When you three arrived at the Carpenter apartment, Sam made no effort to get out of the vehicle, whereas Tara flew out as soon as the car came to a halt. You looked over at Sam’s right hand, and you saw the knuckles were already turning a deep shade of purple while blood had dried on them.

Slowly, you reached out to Sam and gently took it in yours before bringing it up to your lips and placing a loving kiss on the back of her hand. When your lips made contact with her skin, Sam let out a sigh she didn’t know she was keeping. The way you were so gentle with her made her extremely emotional, and after the night she just had, she wanted to be vulnerable with you.

“I love you, Sam. You know that, right?” You said against your lover’s hand as you peppered kisses on her hand, then her wrist, and all the way up her arm, and you stopped at her shoulder, “I love you more than anything else, but you didn’t have to do that. You don’t have to defend me like that; it will only get you in more trouble with the media than you already are.”

“Y/N, I know you worry about me, but I had to defend you,” Sam replied while you placed another kiss on her hand.

“I know, Sam. But what will happen when people hear about this and-”

“I don’t care about what people say or think about me, Y/N! I don’t care! But I do care about you and everything that involves you. So if that means I have to throw a few punches from time to time, then I don’t care. Keeping you safe, that’s all I care about,” Sam breathlessly declared as her eyes finally met yours, and you saw love and understanding replace that lustful, murderous look.

“I know, and thank you for defending me, but I just worry about you too, Sam. You’re the love of my life, and I would die if anything happened to you,” you said with a soft smile as you looked at Sam with hearty eyes. Sam leaned over and placed a kiss on your lips and cherished the sweet moment with you, not knowing that it all would crumble down around her in mere moments.

“Are you ready to go inside?” Sam mumbled against your lips before pulling back. “Yep! Where’s my PlayStation at?” You asked as you turned in your seat and checked the backseat for it, but nothing came up.

“It’s in the trunk,” Sam thoughtlessly replied, too wrapped up in the moment with you to realize her grave mistake. “Okay, I’ll grab it real quick, and then we can head up,” you said with a soft smile as you got out of the car and went to the trunk. Only when Sam heard you open the trunk did she realize what else was back there, and she quickly got out of the vehicle and got to the trunk, but it was too late.

The crickets stopped chirping as if they knew about the situation as Sam slowly rounded the vehicle and was met with your expressionless face. “Y/N…” Sam trailed off as she looked in the trunk, and her heart sank when she saw that you were holding her blood-stained gown and caressing your fingers across the fabric. “I can explain this.”

You said nothing as you moved the gown to the side and grabbed the bloody knife that was formerly hidden. You traced your fingers along the blade's edge, and you shoved Sam off of you when she tried to take it from you in fear of you cutting your finger. Once you were done looking at the all-too-familiar knife, you set it down on the gown as you reached for the infamous Ghostface mask. You hadn’t to admit it, but the mask smelled like Sam, like your home. You ran a finger around the cheekbones and then around the hollowed-out eyes as Sam continued talking, but you could only hear ringing in your ears.

Only when you threw the mask down and closed the trunk did the ringing leave, and you could finally hear Sam talking again. “Y/N, please. Talk to me, baby,” Samatha pleaded as she watched you quickly walk off. Your head was completely empty as the woman beside you continued talking, continued begging you to speak to her, to hear her out. In another situation, it would have been amusing to see Sam beg this much, but not now. Not when you had just discovered she had been the one murdering those around the city.

The walk back to your apartment was one filled with tense, awkward silence once Sam realized she was going to get nowhere with you. Not right now, at least. She was going to give you some time to process what you had just discovered; she only hoped you wouldn’t take too long.

The older woman walked you up to your apartment, and only when you reached your place did you turn and face Sam. The look in her eyes broke your heart; it was full of regret that soon turned to grief. She was grieving her relationship with you, the future with you that she hoped would be a long and blissful one, and her life. You were Sam’s life, her heart, the reason she got out of bed in the morning, and she knew that she would not be able to live a life without you.

“Goodnight, Samatha,” you blankly said as you turned to open your door and shut it in Sam’s face. Once your door was closed, Sam couldn’t help the tears that escaped as her heart ripped open. She knocked and pleaded with a broken voice to get you to open that door and let her talk to you, but she got no reply. Sam knew it was useless; you had never called her ‘Samatha’ before, not even before you started dating.

Late one night, a couple of weeks after you had first met Sam, you asked her why she went by ‘Sam’ and not ‘Samatha.’ It was an honest question; you were curious as to why she wanted to go by her nickname, and you were glad that she did; it suited her a lot more than ‘Samatha’ did.

You thought she was going to tell you that she just thought it sounded cooler when she was younger, so she kept it. Or that she went by Sam because it was easy to say. You didn’t expect her to open up about her traumatic childhood and how her abusive mother would only call her ‘Samatha.’ She told you that her mother never had anything nice to say, and every sentence would either start or end with Samatha, and it would constantly be belittling her. “It just got to the point where I started to hate everything about myself, even my own fucking name,” Sam had admitted before finishing, “But Tara would always call me ‘Sam’ because it “sounded cooler.” So, I decided to keep the nickname.”

When Sam had told you that, the only thought that plagued your mind was making sure that Sam knew how much you cared about her. So, for the first time, you held Sam in her arms while you two slept on the couch, and Tara snuck a picture of you two cuddled together. And to this day, that picture remains Sam’s Lock Screen as she stares down at her phone with tears in her eyes as she tries to unlock her phone so she can call you.

“Come on,” Sam muttered as she called you, and she let out a pathetic whimper when it went straight to voicemail. “Come on, baby, please. I need you,” Sam muttered again as she tried to call you for a second time, but to no avail. Panic started to settle into Sam’s bones as she tried to call you again and again, and after realizing that you weren’t going to pick up, she left.

Sam doesn’t remember how she got back to her place or how long it took her; the only thing she remembered was leaving your apartment and then collapsing into her bed. For the first time since she stayed with her sister in the hospital almost a year ago, she cried herself to sleep. With every tear that ran down her cheek it signaled her love for you, her regret for lying to you, and her grieving for any future that you two might have had together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t talk to Sam for two weeks, and truth be told, those were the worst weeks of your life. You had gotten so used to falling asleep in Sam’s muscular arms that you were always cold despite having numerous blankets on top of you. When you would get up and go to the bathroom at night, you would always come back to an awakened Sam who was outstretching her arms, patiently waiting for you to come back to bed so she could cuddle with you some more.

Your heart cried out for the home you had once known, but now, you were sleeping in a cold bed with no one to warm it with you. You would twist and turn into the hours of the morning, and you would cry when you realized that Sam wasn’t coming back.

When you weren’t sulking at home about your collapsing relationship, you went to parties with Tara. The girl knew about your quick change in mood but just chalked it up to be your shy personality. At the parties, you would third wheel with Anika and Mindy, but when someone brought up the previous Woodsboro killings and ran their mouth with Sam’s name in it, you became unnaturally aggressive.

One moment, you were standing awkwardly next to the couple, and then the next, you were on top of someone, beating the holy hell out of them. It took both Mindy and Chad to pry you off of them, and that’s how you would spend every party you went to; getting into fistfights with random strangers. You had gotten into so many fights in such a short amount of time that your fists had turned a permanent dark purple color, and they ached every time you moved your fingers.

You and Sam might not be on the best of terms at the current moment, but you would be damned if you let some random stranger slander her name. You would die for that woman; you just needed time to process what you discovered about her. And if that meant taking your anger out on incels, then so be it. But it’s not every day that you find out the love of your life, your soulmate, is a serial killer. No matter if they were killing the innocent or the guilty, it still changed your perspective of things. You were getting ready to pay Sam a visit when the woman had texted you.

Sammy 😩🖤: We need to talk. You can come over here if you want to. Tara is home, so that way you might feel safer to be around me. Or I can come over to your place, whatever works for you.

Your heart broke as you read over Sam’s text again and again. The fact that she was worried that you might feel unsafe around her killed you, and you only wanted to hold her in your arms. But, you have also grown to know what it means when someone says, ‘We need to talk’; it always means a breakup.

The thought of your relationship ending with Sam was not one you had expected nor wanted, even though you ignored all of her attempts to talk to you. You weren’t doing it because you were angry; you were just trying to find the right words to say.

Instead of ignoring her texts like you had done with the previous ones, you replied.

Y/N L/N: Yeah, I’ll head over to your place. I’ll be there in ten minutes

With a deep breath, you put your shoes on, grabbed your phone, and walked to Sam’s apartment. The walk there was peaceful despite the late afternoon traffic. It allowed you to think about what you wanted to say to Sam when you saw her for the first time in two weeks, and you hoped that you could save your relationship with the woman.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Sam’s door, and you took a deep breath before you knocked. In a matter of moments, the door opened, and your heart sank as you looked at your lover. Her eyes were darker than usual and had bags under them. You knew Sam hardly slept without you, and in a weird way, you were glad that the both of you needed each other. She had stress lines that showed near her eyebrows and a fake smile as she moved to the side and let into her apartment.

You followed Sam to her room, and she shut the door as you sat on her bed, preparing for the inevitable breakup that was surely to occur.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk with me,” Sam stated as she awkwardly stood between you and her dresser. She shifted from one foot to another and fidgeted with her hands before shoving them in her bomber jacket pockets. “There’s some stuff you need to know about before I start talking about why I wanted you here.”

You nodded at her words, silently encouraging the woman to continue, and with a deep, shaky breath, she did. “I didn’t want you to find out that way. I had planned to tell you at some point; I just didn’t know how or when. I knew that once I told you, I could lose you forever, and that scared the shit out of me,” Sam admitted as she blinked back tears but continued, “I love you more than anything, Y/N. I would die for you, but I respect your decision regarding our relationship. So if you’ll let me, I want to break up.”

A broken and weak noise left your lips as you tried to wrap your mind around Sam's words. You knew that it was coming, but hearing it with your ears made it real. “Why?” You asked as you tried to fight back tears, but when you saw how hard this was for Sam, you couldn’t help but let one escape. “Because I want to protect you, Y/N. And if you know about my activities and you choose to stay with me, you will get in just as much trouble as I would,” Sam reasoned.

“I don’t care,” you replied with a shake of your head. “I want you, Sam. No matter what you do. As long as you don’t get caught, I don’t care. I love you more than life itself, and being apart from you for just two weeks was enough hell to last me a lifetime. If you want to continue our relationship, I would appreciate that. But if you really want to stay together, I would like to return to my home then.”

When Sam realized that you were here for the long haul, she allowed herself to be selfish for the first time in her entire life. She slowly approached you and gently took your hands in hers. Sam ran her fingers over your bruised knuckles and placed a kiss on all ten of them before she spoke, “Tara told me you have been getting in fights.”

Feeling embarrassed, you tried to pull your hands away from Sam, but the woman refused to let you go, almost as if she was terrified you had finally come to your senses and were trying to make a run for it.

You stood up from Sam’s bed and wrapped your girlfriend in a tight hug, and you smiled when you heard her let out a whimper-like noise when she felt your arms around her. “I was only defending your name,” you mumbled into Sam’s chest as the woman laughed at your response. “You know I don’t care what people say about me,” Sam retorted with a small laugh.

“I know, but I still like to defend you from time to time, even though you can be an asshole sometimes,” you joked, and Sam only pulled you into a tighter hug. “Thank you, Y/N,” Sam replied and let a few beats pass before speaking again, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you stated as you pulled back from Sam’s embrace and smiled at the slight frown on the woman’s lips, “Are you ready for me to teach you some video games?” You commented as you turned on your PlayStation and grabbed a remote before sitting back down on Sam’s bed and patting a spot next to you.

Sam rolled her eyes at your action but sat down next to you. She listened as you explained to her how The Last of Us works and the lore of the game, but the only thing she really wanted to do was hold you in her arms. But when she made a pass at you, you rejected her advances until she played at least one mission.

You watched and had to bite back several laughs as Sam struggled to get down even the most basic of moves, but you were happy to have your Sammy back.

‘If she’s a serial killer, then what’s the worst that could happen to a girl who’s already hurt?’ You thought as you watched Sam get angry at the clickers and almost throw her remote. No matter what happened, you were glad that you got to spend as much time as you could with Sam, your home.

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AN: there’s a small mention of Sam and her hands, and I pulled that inspiration from @samcscreams post about how Sam feels towards her hands. You guys should check out their work, it’s simply alluring!

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #melissa barrera #scream #Gf!Sam Carpenter #ghostface #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x female reader

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arazialotis · 1 month

Text

Get Him to the Con - Part 10

Pairing: Jensen × Reader

Word Count: About 6520

Story Summary: The reader stumbles into Jensen at her favorite bar, a very drunk Jensen. She soon realizes Jensen was booked for a con this weekend and has to be eight hours from town in only two.

Chapter Summary: Y/n visits Vancouver to see Jensen and, more importantly, to try to win Jared over.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Warnings: Always language. Grumpy Jared. After dinner, well, it gets NSFW 🌶️🌶️, 18+ Only

Although this is an RPF, these are fabricated characters and should not reflect back IRL. I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time as a coping skill. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

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The black Escalade wove through the Vancouver traffic, the sun beating down, melting the piles of slushy remnants from the first snow. What should have been an eagerly anticipated moment for your arrival was tense. Behind the wheel, Jensen was trying to be the bridge between you and his best friend.

“Lighten up, man. Y/n’s really excited to be out here again and wants nothing more than to hang out and cook us a nice meal.” Jensen pleaded your case.

He, in fact, suggested pizza on the risk of jetlag, but you had insisted, falling back onto the age-old idiom ‘the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.’ You already had one of their hearts, and you were convinced you could make Jared warm up to you, too, if only he saw you as who you were and not as a clingy fangirl. Yet you felt that rift growing every time you saw him. And the last thing you wanted was for Jensen to be caught in the middle.

“Would you try to like her? For me? Please.” Jensen nearly begged when Jared didn’t respond.

At least he was in the car, though Jensen didn’t give him a choice, with this outing as a pretense of drinks after work.

Jensen tried one more time, fed up with Jared’s stubbornness. “At least act nice.”

That got his attention. “Act nice? I’ll play nice if she does.” The accusation hanging heaving.

Jensen furrowed his brow. “Y/n doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.” Okay, you had a bit of a temper, were known to hold a grudge, and had a smart mouth, but Jared didn’t need to know that.

Jared scoffed. “Last time she came out, she literally laughed and criticized me for overacting.”

Jensen’s confusion grew, trying to remember the last time you came out. Then, the realization hit him as the three of you watched the latest episode together in another futile attempt for Jensen to foster peace.

Despite the animosity, Jensen couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, she laughed at a scene and apologized immediately, saying it was hard to take the show seriously now that she knows us. And I said that wasn’t it; it’s probably because you took your acting lessons from Bruce Campbell." His tongue peeked out between his teeth as he attempted and failed to control another giggle, still quite proud of the slight.

“It was a serious scene. I was acting my heart out.” Jared stressed. “You had just gotten back from hell.”

Jensen lost the smile. “In her defense, it does lose its impactfulness after the 17th time.”

“Whatever, man.” Jared pouted, looking out the window.

Jensen rolled his eyes and prayed to any god that would listen. “Would it make you feel better if we watch Devour together after dinner? Then we’ll just laugh at me.”

Jared said nothing, not taking the bait. The clicking of the blinker filled the silence as Jensen waited to turn toward the arrival gates. Jared ran his fingers through his hair as Jensen pursed his lips together, trying to think of something, anything. The light turned green.

“I don’t even know why I am here. Y/n has, like, what, two full days out here? You should be spending it together without having to worry about me third-wheeling. I’m sure there are other things that you would prefer to occupy time you don’t get over Zoom.” Jared rambled out loud.

Jensen’s eyes tightly blinked shut momentarily as he began seeking out an open spot at the curb. Jared was right, of course, only on account of his last thought, but he wouldn’t be at peace until he had the blessing of his best friend. Jensen inhaled through his nose, held his breath, and released through his mouth.

“It is important to me that you and Y/n find some common ground. If you gave her even the slightest chance, I’m positive you would start to like her.” He said calmly as he put the car into park.

“Why does it matter so much to you if I like her?” Jared pushed. To him, you were still only a rebound after Elena.

And then it hit him. Maybe Jared’s denial of his true fear of being replaced had come true.

“Because she’s my best friend and I love her!” He declared and then laughed through the shock.

It was the first time he had admitted it out loud. The silence was palpable as both men processed the weight of the words. Jensen wasn’t one to open up lightly. He felt deeply, but he was always careful with those emotions, cautious even. It had taken nearly two years before he said the same to Elena. Another before they started looking at rings. Maybe because it was one of the first serious relationships he had since the start of his career. The depth and commitment he had felt with her made the falling out that much more disastrous. He had fortified his walls to be higher and more impenetrable. Then you came out of nowhere and shattered everything he thought he knew about himself. He felt like a caged bird learning for the first time how to spread its wings, to feel the breeze on its face, and the warmth of the sun. With you, he felt free.

Jared’s eyes darted back and forth as if reading his thoughts, finding the right response. Jensen squeezed the steering wheel and nodded his head. “I love her.” He said again, the realization hitting him, fully knowing it was true. But then the terror of the statement hit him. The car door shuttered open, and the catapult of a backpack rolling over the seatbench crashing at the other end pulled Jared from his thoughts as you entered the car.

“Hiya!” You squeaked.

You pulled the door close with a thud and clicked on your seatbelt. You cleared your throat, looking up, momentarily afraid you jumped in the wrong car. But it was Jensen and Jared, alright. Jensen stared directly ahead, his face as white as if seeing a ghost. Jared scrutinized his friend. You sank back in your seat. You had thrown yourself directly into something.

Jared turned in his seat, blinking rapidly and addressing you in the most amiable tone he had ever taken with you. “Hi Y/n. Um, would you mind giving us a minute?”

Oh, you had definitely walked into something. It took you a minute to process this, but then you began fumbling with the seatbelt, “Yeah. Yeah. Of course.” And vacated the Escalade as fast as possible.

Jared’s brow furrowed, and he leaned closer to a whisper as you aimlessly knocked your fists together outside on the sidewalk. “You love her?”

He chuckled again and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I really do.”

Jared knew he should be happy for Jensen, knew they should be celebrating this, offering congratulations, but all he felt was dread.

“Have you told her?” Jared asked.

“Nah, you’re the first to know.” Jensen clapped Jared on the shoulder. “I want the moment to be right, you know. I want to be able to remember it for a long time.”

Jared thought about faking it, but he had to be real with Jensen. “You don’t know her.”

That set him off. “Why are you so set against her? Why can’t you be happy for me? I do know her. I’ve known her for seven months, been dating her for 4 of those, and talk to her almost daily.” His voice went up an octave higher. “I don’t know why I have to keep justifying my choices to you, man? When will it ever be good enough for you?”

Jared didn’t take the bait. “But you don’t know her. How can you truly? You haven’t met her friends or her family, and it sounds like her mom is a real piece of work. Are you ready to deal with that?”

Outside the car, airport security approached you. Both boys could tell from your over-exaggerated gestures that you were attempting to buy them more time.

Jared continued. “And no offense, but she isn’t spotlight material.”

“Fuck you.” Jensen's blood boiled over. He was about to leave the car to find another way to get back into the city. At that moment, he never wanted to see Jared again.

“Come on. Give me a break. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” Though he kind of did. “All I’m saying is that if you truly are that committed to her, that this isn’t some fling, you should think about preparing her for the kind of attention it will warrant. The good, the bad, and the ugly. That kind of stress and attention can ruin a person.”

Jensen didn’t respond but wrung his hands on the steering wheel. There was a knock on the window.

“Please, know I’m just trying to look out for you,” Jared whispered as he began rolling down the window.

“Nobody asked you to.” Jensen snipped back before the security guard started to chew them out.

As the boys were on the receiving end of a very stern lecture, you slipped as quietly as possible into the back seat to avoid further angering or endangering yourself with security. Yes, spending a night in jail was on your bucket list, but this is not what you had in mind.

“Sorry, officer,” Jensen ended a profuse apology before hightailing it out of there.

You weren’t sure exactly what you missed, but the air hung thick with tension. Nobody spoke. There was only the hum of tires on the road. It hit you that Jensen never even acknowledged you. You fiddled with a loose stitch on the seat in front of you.

After five minutes and starting to get out of airport traffic, you couldn’t handle it anymore. “So…” You drew the word out, unsure how to break into a conversation.

Jensen blinked, realizing you had no reason to be as upset as him and that it was unfair to suffer from their drama, especially when you were not privy to it.

He cleared his throat. “I got the groceries you requested delivered.” However, he didn’t know how the three of you would sit through a dinner together.

“Oh, good! I’m starving. Airport food never really hits the spot, but the Cajun snack mix does kinda slap.” You rambled, trying for anything to get them talking.

They both hmmed in response. You were about to ask them about their favorite airport snack, but thank the gods, it was Jared who surprisingly saved you.

“What’s for dinner then?” He was trying. He had fucked up. He knew it. This was how he could try to make amends with Jensen.

You beamed, having perfectly planned it out, trying to finally win Jared over to your side. “We’ll start with a strawberry, basil, and balsamic whipped burrata and roasted bone marrow. Then, a small lemon watercress-radicchio salad for a palate cleanser before moving on to a butter-basted ribeye accompanied by potatoes au gratin and crispy brussel sprouts with mustard seeds and pomegranate.”

Jared’s stomach rumbled. Goddammit, that sounded good.

“And, I was considering a dessert, but Jensen said I already had enough going on, and because baking isn’t my strong suit, I let him handle the rest.” You explained. “You did handle the rest, didn’t you?”

Jensen's anger melted a little. With a smirk, he said, “Yeah, a tub of vanilla ice cream.”

Your heart dropped. “Stop.” There was a glint of teasing in his eyes as he looked at you through the rearview mirror, but the rest of his face remained deadpan. You couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. “Okay, I guess I could repropose what I had in mind for the burrata, and if you have sugar on hand and something salty and crunchy, we could do a quick brittle. Oooh, maybe the cajun snack mix. Or perhaps…”

“Y/n! I’m messing with you. I have an assortment ordered from Thomas Haas.” He winked at you in the mirror.

Thomas Haas meant little to you, but anything would be better than a tub of ice cream. Okay, a tub of ice cream had its time and place, but not when you were working so hard to impress Jared. Still, you eyed Jensen skeptically, unsure if it would measure up.

“Some of the best in Vancouver,” Jared assured. “I’m sure it will compliment your dinner perfectly. I can’t wait. It all sounds very delicious.”

“Hmm.” You looked between the two of them.

There were still too many questions unanswered. What were they talking about before you arrived? Could you trust either of them to select a quality dessert or would you have to resort to brittle anyways? Were you now on a no-fly list due to the tiff with the security guard? When could you get Jensen alone (this stern look painted on his face was doing things you couldn’t control)? But most importantly, why was Jared acting so nice?

“I’ve had bone marrow before, but only in restaurants,” Jared continued. “I didn’t realize it could be done at home.”

“Oh yeah, it’s actually super simple if you can find a good butcher.” You explained.

Jensen interjected. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s been binging The Bear, and now her only goal is to become an Iron Chef.”

You smirked, impressed he even knew what an Iron Chef was. Aside from eating food, anything kitchen-related was the furthest on his interest list. You were rubbing off on him.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “It’s the easiest cheat code appetizer if you want to impress someone. You toast some bread, toss the marrow in the oven for twenty minutes, and add a few accouterments to a serving board. And bam, done.”

Jared laughed, actually laughed. “I’m sure you are underselling yourself. From what Jensen has told me, you are an excellent cook. I can’t wait to see it all come together.”

Jensen glared at Jared out of the side of his eye, the anger resurfacing. He was laying it on thick. Too thick.

You squinted, eyes darting back and forth between them. This wasn’t going to plan. You were supposed to cook the food and then become BFFs with Jared. This was happening too quickly. But perhaps you should take it for what it was. Maybe you had stuck around long enough for him to finally accept you. Or Jensen had talked you up enough. Whatever the reason, you had to stop ruminating on it. All you had to do was get through dinner. Perhaps after, you could corner Jensen into an explanation.

It wasn’t long until you pulled into the parking garage adjoined to the condos. Jensen popped the trunk, surprised to find it empty.

“Where’s your luggage?” He asked, oblivious as his conversation with Jared required most of his mental capacity.

You held up your backpack as a response, and his brow furrowed with confusion.

“What’s wrong? Are you ill?” He pestered, placing the back of his hand against your forehead.

“Shut up.” You snipped and then explained. “I’m practicing becoming a lighter packer.” You lowered your voice to a whisper. “Besides, I recall not needing much clothing last visit.”

Jensen raised his eyebrows, reminiscing, and then nuzzled his nose into your neck in anticipation of this weekend. Jared, having overheard, rolled his eyes and fought a gag. You laughed as Jensen pulled away, his eyelashes tickling your cheeks. And Jared plastered on his fake smile yet again.

“Let’s get upstairs,” He said. “I’m starving.”

-----

Dinner was coming along nicely. You were basting the last of the steaks in butter, and the boys were watching the end of a game in the living room. The thoroughly cleaned plates on the coffee table were the only lingering evidence that there had been appetizers. You snuck a bit here and there, but it was mostly to keep the two of them from sniffing around the kitchen.

With a final splash of liquid, the steak was done—perfect caramelization and crust. Now, the potatoes. You checked the timer—ten minutes, enough time for the steak to rest. And the Brussels? Shit. You scooped the last of them out of the oil in the nick of time. You generously salted them and would add the pomegranate molasses after plating. Satisfied with how it was all wrapping up, you whipped Jensen’s once pristinely white dish towel over your shoulder. There was a shuffling behind you as you began cleaning what you could.

“Need any help?” Jensen asked.

You were about to shoo him out when you heard the scrape of a knife. You snapped your head around to catch him red-handed. He stared at you like a deer in the headlights, the end of one steak pinched between his fingers and the knife hovering millimeters above. You scowled, and Jensen slowly set the knife down, held his hands in surrender, and backed up.

Your scowl melted into a smile. “A couple of minutes longer. If you’d like to help, you can set the table.”

He straightened. “Yes, chef.”

You playfully stuck out your tongue and whipped the dish towel in his direction, earning an exaggerated yelp.

Finally, after a few minutes passed, you brought the final plate to the table and scooched in. Jensen didn’t hesitate and dove in.

With a full mouth, he mumbled, “If this tastes as good as it…” Then it hit him, and his eyes rolled back in pure delight. “Oh god.”

Jared went in a little slower, cutting his steak and bringing it past his lips. He took several testing bites and paused, glaring at you. He was actually glaring at you. Dropping the act, he’d kept up all night, pissed at how good it tasted. He knew what tonight had been about. About you trying to butter him up, quite literally with butter braised steak. And god dammit. It was a good steak. And he was mad about it.

“Fuck.” Jared cursed aloud, snapping your and Jensen’s attention to him. “Fuck, that’s good.”

You smiled sheepishly, looking down at your plate. “I can’t say I’ve had that reaction before. Not quite as orgasmic as I was hoping for, maybe if I adjusted the…” Your face went pale, realizing the last part was out loud.

Jensen snorted, and Jared even cracked a smirk.

“So, um,” You attempted a recovery. “How was work this week?”

A few minutes of silence passed as Jensen gave Jared a chance to answer. When he didn't and caught him glaring again, Jensen kicked his shin under the table, prompting him further.

Jared grunted. “Well, hours weren't as shitty as usual.”

“Cause Collins hasn't been around.” Jensen teasingly interjected.

Jared chuckled. “Yeah, not as many retakes. Finally, it feels like we're making some progress this season.”

You nodded. The three of you looked back and forth, trying to gauge whether it was appropriate to continue the conversation or return to eating.

“What about you?” Jared coughed before going in for another bite.

“Same old.” You simply stated.

Silverware scraped against plates. A clock ticked in the living room. The sounds of the city rose from the streets. You dabbed the corner of your mouth with the black cloth napkin, then considered it. You’d be willing to bet good money this was the first time Jensen ever pulled them out.

Jensen tried again to spark the conversation again. “Should we talk Vegas?”

Your eyes lit up excitedly, ready to discuss a plan and details.

“So, about that,” Jared started. Jensen didn’t hide his scowl, but Jared's eyes widened, challenging him. “It’s not often we get that kind of time off work, and I’m going to meet Gen in Austin.”

Ah, so dinner wasn’t the wondrous miracle you hoped it would be. You cursed yourself for not trying a Wellington. Jensen reached under the table to graze your thigh, trying to communicate that this had nothing to do with you.

“Why doesn’t she join us?” Jensen shrewdly offered.

Jared’s lips formed a thin line before countering. “Actually, we are going to use the time to do some house hunting.” He hesitated for a minute. “We’ve started talking about, um, the next steps in starting our family.”

Kids? Oh god, Jensen was going to be an uncle. He was already an uncle to Harper’s clan, but this was Jared. All the tension momentarily evaporated as you both offered your excitement and congratulations.

“Yeah, our current setup isn’t going to cut it. We need more space, a yard.” Jared explained. “Y/n, are you interested in kids?”

Jensen choked on the last piece of steak, recovering with a swig of wine. The temporary peace was broken yet again.

“Oh, um.” You stammered, trying to think of a response. Every couple (that was serious, that is) had to come across this question. You just didn’t picture you were there yet with Jensen. And you didn’t picture the conversation would come about this way. “Well, I’ve recently only managed to keep a house plant alive, so maybe the next step is like a cat or something before moving onto a…” You gulped. “A child.”

“Hmm. So you haven’t given it much thought?” He clarified.

“I mean,” Heat was rising to your cheeks. “It might not be my first choice, looking after a little drooling, monstrous carbon copy. Don’t get me wrong, I love being Aunt Y/n to my niece but one of my own. It’s a lot of responsibility and sacrifice and time and money… I don’t know. There’s a lot of benefits, too, I’m sure. You and Gen will be fantastic parents!”

“Interesting.” Jared ignored your last comment. “Wasn’t it in Colorado that you said you’d have Jensen’s babies? Or maybe that’s changed after you got to know him more.” He chuckled a bit, trying to conceal it as a joke.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Jensen attempted to shut this down.

“No, I never actually said that.” You talked over him and defended yourself. “Casey, a fan, although more than well-meaning, took several liberties that day. A decision that big should require careful consideration rather than something silly like initial attraction or blind devotion, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” he responded sincerely. “Such as your partner’s thoughts on the issue. Gen and I knew immediately that growing our family was an intention for our relationship. Jensen, you’ve always wanted kids, haven’t you?”

If looks could kill, Jared would currently be en route to the nearest morgue. But then he caught a glance at your wide, curious eyes awaiting an answer. There’s no way he would lie about this. Yet, this was the first time the subject of the long-term future had been broached. He swallowed the lump in his throat with another dose of wine, then threw his napkin on his plate.

“I have always seen my future with one or two kiddos running around.” He spoke softly and slowly. “But if my partner wasn’t on board, there’s no way I’d force that upon them. The two of us would always come first.”

Jared raised his eyebrows and nodded, staying silent as he finished his last bite.

You filled the silence instead, unable to handle the pause in conversation. “Similarly, I would never want to deny my future partner if that was something that was really important to them.”

Jensen closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. This wasn’t a relationship-ending kind of conversation. You did share common ground. And it was each other.

“That seems like a lot of sacrifice.” Jared circled back to the earlier point.

“But what is love?” You asked back.

Jensen whined a high-pitched melody under his breath, “Baby, don’t hurt me,” so over this conversation.

But Jared and you were beyond dialed in.

“You want to define that here, tonight?” Jared pushed. “Scholars, philosophers, religions; they’ve been trying to do that since the dawn of humanity.”

“Many of which have brought it back to sacrifice.”

“And many of which have used that ideal to perpetuate cycles of horrendous abuse.”

You pushed your plate aside, needing the space to talk with your hands. “I’m not denying that. But if you are talking on an individual level about two people in love outside of an institution, there are many components, but sacrifice is usually one of them.”

“So you’re arguing you shouldn’t be happy for the sake of the other person?”

“I’m arguing,” You strained. “Both people in the relationship sacrifice for each other, and not only are they happy to do so, but it is a privilege. You lift each other up and balance the other, and there is a net gain rather than elevating one over the other, becoming nothing more than a mere doormat. Trust me, I’ve been around enough narcissists to understand that never ends well.”

“So that’s your conclusion: love is sacrifice?” Jared asked.

Was he trying to trap you? “Like I said, it’s a component. But at the end of the day, I’d say love is a choice. There’s those initial feelings of lust and excitement and newness that will eventually fade away. And you’ll get on each other’s nerves, and there’ll be tears and fighting, and hell, we all get old, and gravity always wins. There’ll be moments where you have to choose. In fact, there’ll probably be moments where you choose not to. At the end of the day, I’d like to end up with someone who is my best friend above all else because you’ll have that to fall back on when it's hard to love.”

Jared didn’t say it contradictory but as a compliment to your point. “Friendship is its own kind of love.” He looked to Jensen apologetically.

“Very true.” You agreed. “What do you think, Jensen?”

Jensen sighed and shook his head. He stood up to start clearing the table. “It’s a mystery. Sometimes love is just love.”

You began stacking the dishes, bringing them to the kitchen as well. “It defies explanation, logic even.” You added.

Jared grabbed the bottle of wine, refilled glasses, and brought the fresh pour to you. “And definition. It’s the ultimate expression of humanity, isn’t it? To wrestle with complex concepts.”

You chuckled, taking a sip. “I guess that’s based on how you define humanity.”

Jared leaned against the counter. “Well…”

Jensen snapped up from putting plates in the dishwasher. “How about a movie?”

Jared lost his train of thought. “I have kind of been in the mood for The Matrix.”

You beamed. Perhaps this disaster of a night wasn’t ruined after all. It would be the perfect opportunity to bring up simulation theory with Jared. From what Jensen told you, Jared loved debating and theorizing over abstract topics. It would be the perfect foot in. Maybe you could impress him after all.

Jensen caught the mischievous look in your eye. He shook his head. “Don’t…”

But you beat him to it. “That sounds perfect!”

---

Later that night, hours after discussing perceived reality, you hovered over the kitchen sink, scrubbing down the remaining mess. Jared was long gone but thanked you for a pleasant evening. Jensen came up behind you, stripped down to his undershirt and briefs. He pulled your waist to his, wrapping his grasp around your hips, and nuzzled closer.

“Come to bed.” He whispered into your neck.

You half-moaned, leaning into his touch. “I just have a few more.”

“That’s what the dishwasher is for.” He said.

You paused and stiffened. “And ruin the finish on this cast iron? You monster.” Jensen gave a light chuckle before closing his eyes against your skin as you continued. “How do you think tonight went?”

He sighed, chewing it over.

“I know.” You agreed. “I should have done the Wellington.” That earned you a pinch to the side. You yelped. “Not when I’m washing the knives!”

“Honestly,” Jensen started. “I don’t know what to think.”

You took a deep gulp and turned off the faucet before turning to face him. You searched his eyes and ran your pruned thumb against his cheek.

“I don’t want to come between you two.” You strained.

He took your hand and his and glided your knuckles across his lips.

“You’re not.” He whispered.

Your glare pierced him.

Jensen continued. “He’s coming around, albeit slowly.” He added as your gaze held, “I promise.”

Your breath released, and the tension left your body, too tired to challenge him further.

“Come on, off to bed.” He instructed.

But you turned around and yawned, “Only a few more.”

Suddenly, you were swooped up and being carried away from the kitchen. “The rest can wait.”

You hit the mattress, immediately sinking into the plush duvet and feathered pillows. Jensen followed, his warmth and weight wrapping around you. The day's weight full of travel, cooking, cleaning, debating, and worrying all hit you instantly. You closed your eyes, darkness quickly closing in. Yet you couldn’t ignore the lips peppering slow, soft kisses at the edge of your navel.

“Mmmm. Jensen, I’m tired.” You moaned over the response your body had to his touch. His fingers danced along the hem of your shirt, trailing higher. Between kisses, he breathed. “You won’t have to do a thing.”

You popped an eye open and raised an eyebrow, looking down at him through the darkness. The city lights illuminated his features. There was a feral glow in his eyes, waiting for that sweet, sweet permission he longed to hear.

“Are you proposing to use me?” You questioned, rubbing your thighs tighter, seeking pressure to alleviate the quickly growing need.

And he knew it, too. A smirk that would impress even the devil crossed his lips. “That depends,” He brought his hand from your ribs, prying your thighs apart, and you whined in response. “Would you like to be used?”

You nodded even though you could barely keep your eyes open, “Very much.”

He made quick work of your clothing, your lazy attempts to help only impeding the process. The cold air of the condo brushed over your skin, providing temporary alertness as your hair rose and you shivered in response. His hands roamed over you, chasing away the chill, replacing the sharpness with tenderness.

Even as you wrestled sleep from taking you, eyes fluttering close, you could feel his eyes on you. From day one, he made it his mission to study you; taking note of every sharp inhale, every squirm, every crease of the brow. He had been a quick and eager student. His hand gently encouraged your legs apart, his hand roving over your core, parting your very soul as he found his mark. Satisfied, his eyes closed, and his head rested against your chest as he let instinct take over.

Dancing on the edge of sleep yet pulled to the waking world by pleasure, your brain couldn’t comprehend thoughts. The worries of the day, the countless insecurities, the what-ifs, they all melted from your mind. The only thing you knew was touch. It was the only constant. The concept of time faded, and at some point unbeknownst to you, fingers had been replaced with lips.

Incoherent words praised his practiced tongue as thoughts attempted and failed to form meaning. Your hand wound through his hair, gripping to hold him in place as you rocked your hips forward. His arms hooked under your legs, lifting you higher, spreading you farther as he lost his need for air. His only purpose in consuming you.

“Jensen.” You mewled his name as a curse. “Please. God, please.”

Teeth scraped against soft flesh, sending you soaring off that endless cliff. You cried out, a slew of fractured speech. Jensen idly continued as you floated back down to reality. Only as breath returned, hungry for air, did he stop, attempting to catch some himself.

“Turn over,” He instructed through the shallow pants. “On your knees.”

You whined, rubbing your face with your palm. “You said I wouldn’t have to do anything.”

He nipped at your inner thigh. “Brat.”

You lazily smiled until he grabbed your sides and flipped you over himself. That woke you up, but only momentarily as he shuffled behind you, allowing you a minute to bury your head deeper into the pillow.

“Oh, I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

An arm snaked under your diaphragm, and you lost your breath as he pulled you up to a kneel, pinning you against his bare, hard flesh. His hands roamed your curves, already mapped in his mind, desperate to bring to fruition what he had imaged during the month apart. A hand came to your throat, gently squeezing, as he tilted it to the side.

“Color?” He cooed into your ear.

You only moaned, too tired for words, grinding your hips back into him, hoping it would prompt this process further along.

“Use your words.” He softly demanded.

“Green.” You placed a hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder. “So fucking green.”

He buried his mouth into the crook of your neck, claiming you, possessing you, undoing you. But two could play this game. With your free hand, you reached behind you, immediately claiming your prize. You stroked up and down his length, stopping at the apex and rolling your grasp.

“Fuck.” He indulged temporarily before taking your hand, guiding it to the top of the headboard.

Your other hand followed suit as he gripped your hips. You arched your back and swayed side to side, inviting him in or, at the very least, enticing him to hurry.

“Patience has never been your strong suit.” He playfully scolded.

As he knocked your knee with his own, spreading you apart further and lower, he bent down, planting long, deliberate kisses on the small of your back. Your eyes fluttered close yet again, your mind at war with your body, demanding sleep. He neared your entrance, testing at first, then surged forward, completely filling you. You cried out, sparks turning to flame as he flooded you. Over and over, he built pace, seeking his own high.

It was unlike anything you had ever known. Nothing existed outside of this claiming rhythm, outside of this mounting heat, outside of this ecstasy. Your mind was blank. Your mind was numb. He was the only thing you had ever known—the only thing you were created for.

His hand gripped your shoulder, arching you deeper, pulling you more flush against his hardness, hitting the deepest parts of you. Your curses and praise garbled together, moans became mute, and blinding pressure rose, threatening to break.

“Come on, Y/n,” Jensen said through ragged pants. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

“Jensen.” You cried, tears spilling over. “I can’t, I’m so tired.”

His grip left your shoulder and joined yours on the headboard, intertwining his fingers with yours as he drove into you over and over and over.

“Yes, you can.” He encouraged. “Tell me where.”

He adjusted, giving you time to assess the effectiveness.

And then, suddenly, “Ah, right there. Fuck, don’t fucking stop.” You squeezed your eyes shut.

He did as he was told, gritting his teeth together, fingers digging into your flesh as he held on. He waited and waited until he felt you close in around him, constricting, demanding he fall off that cliff with you into the deep pool of bright light. Your hands slid from the headboard as you collapsed back onto the mattress. Jensen fell with you, his weight trapping you.

It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. But eventually, you found your way to the surface again, taking a deep, shuttering breath. Jensen rolled off you onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, breathing in and out, in and out. Sweat outlined his sculpted frame as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. When his heart finally settled, his eyes found yours, and he pulled you close.

You were no longer aware if you were sleeping or awake, but still, you said. “I think it is safe to say we can move ‘exhausted sex’ from the maybe category to any fucking time or day.”

He laughed and kissed your forehead. “Thank you.”

You groaned. “Oh please, let’s not start that again.”

“Fair.” He agreed and thought of something else to say. “You’ve ruined me.”

“I’ve ruined you?” You corrected. “Sir. You’ve gone and rendered the entirety of the male species inconsequential.”

“Okay,” He challenged, rubbing his eyes. “You can’t be that tired if you can spin that heap of bullcrap.”

You burrowed into the crook of his arm and closed your eyes before mumbling, “It's not bullcrap. You’ve ruined me too.”

His eyes darted back and forth in the darkness, contemplating everything you had said about love and god, even children. He looked back at you. Your breath had slowed and evened out. And he knew his epiphany remained true. His love for you was beyond his initial attraction, curiosity, or, frankly, his blue balls. He’d give it all up if you asked, find some office job, become a cat dad. And then it hit him why, and he chuckled, saving that thought for another day because now sleep was threatening him too, and he might not be thinking rationally.

He kissed your hair and whispered, testing it out loud. “I love you.” A cold, electric shiver ran throughout his being.

He froze as you stirred. “Hmm?”

He chuckled. “What would you think about going public?”

You shot up, fully conscious. Fully alert. Your brow furrowed, trying to comprehend.

“Aren’t we already public? You did ask me out at a convention?”

He also sat up, rubbing his hands through his hair to stir further energy.

“Well, kind of. People know I’m dating, but only a select few know who.” He explained trying to assess your emotions at the same time. “We’ve done a pretty good job keeping a wrap on your identity.”

“Probably ‘cause your ballcap and sunglasses are such a convincing disguise, Clark Kent.” You teased.

“Smartass,” he grumbled. “Probably more likely because I have a good manager and an even better team right now who locked down and scrubbed your social media.” He waited for you and added, “If you don’t want to…”

“No, that’s not it.” You stopped him. “I… Can I think it over?”

“Of course. Take all the time you need; there’s no rush.” He assured.

“I’ll have to talk to some people beforehand. Friends, coworkers, family.” You gritted your teeth. “My mom, she… Well, she might make things difficult.”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up so late. We can sleep on it and talk to the team tomorrow. They’ll answer any questions you have and maybe provide some guidance on the hard things.” He bent down to look into your eyes. “Okay?”

You nodded in response.

“Let’s get some rest, yeah?” He encouraged again and pulled you down against him.

But how the fuck were you supposed to sleep now? Your whole world could change overnight. And you weren’t sure you were ready for it.

---

TAGS:

Everything Jackles: @akshi8278

GHTTC: @maggiegirl17 @foxyjwls007 @djs8891 @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @ghostofjoharvelle @ellen-reincarnated1967 @deansgirl79 @chriszgirl92

(Always feel free to ask to be added or removed (I won't be offended))

#supernatural #spn #spn fandom #spn fanfic #jensen ackles #jensen x reader #jensen x you #jensen x y/n

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james-is-here · 8 months

Text

𝙰 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝙲𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝/ 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘

𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯

𝘚𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘓𝘦𝘦 𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘸

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘣𝘪𝘯

𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯

𝘍𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘏𝘢𝘯

𝘚𝘪𝘹𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘍𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘹

𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘚𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘮𝘪𝘯

𝘌𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘑𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯

𝘕𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳: 𝘛𝘣𝘥

You honestly loved your job at Buzzfeed, who would've thought you would get to a point where you get to hang out with famous artists and actors for a day? Intern you would never believe it!

You've only made videos with one other person, like Tom Holland and Dove Cameron, but the moment you you were told you were doing more than one person, you were beyond nervous. The next celebrity, or celebrities, you were to hang out with was kept a secret from you, all you were told was to be packed and ready to fly somewhere with some of your crew, apparently everything had already been planned, that's never happened before, you tended to plan as the day went on.

On the plane, your camera operator and best friend gave you the list of activities. The names were covered and some activities as well, all you knew was that you were painting, baking, and going to a gym. "Wait, a gym? I have to work out?" You asked her and she laughed at your expression. You do work out but it's practically rare.

You also had no idea what flight you got on, you just followed the people you knew and your best friend, Sara, took your ticket before you could read it while Eric, your co-editor, covered your eyes and ears.

The moment the pilot welcomed everyone to Seoul, your jaw drops and you turn to Sara. "You're kidding, wait, who are we here to see? Who am I hanging out with?" You kept spewing questions but they wouldn't answer. Not just yet.

Next you find yourself blindfolded again before being walked into a building. You stood off to the side as you heard your team set up and then you were put in front of the camera, the blindfold taken off you and Sara fixed your hair before stepping away and you look towards the camera confused, you go to turn to look around but were told not to as Sara queued you to start.

"Hello everyone, it's Mn, and welcome to another episode of 'A day with a celeb'. I'm gonna be honest, I have no clue who today's guest is, I was told absolutely nothing but today, um..." Sara zoomed in on your face as you furrowed your brows. "We're Seoul, South Korea." You chuckle nervously. "Um, the only suspicion I have is that I'm going to be hanging out with my first K-pop idol or idols, I was told there was more than one."

"What group do you think you're hanging out with?" Sara asked you with a grin. "Girl, that smile is so creepy." You laugh and you hear a snicker behind you which made you jump (It was Felix, shh). "Wait, is there someone behind me?" "Mn, just answer the question." "Um, Ateez would be pretty cool to hang out with- Oh, wait, you gave me a list." You pull it out of your pocket and unfold it.

"The names are crossed out but there's some activities that I can read. There's eight things crossed out and I can only read cafe, painting, gym, and shop. That doesn't give me much." Sara laughs, her gaze appears to be over your shoulder. "Mn, real quick, can we film your ootd?" "U-Um sure." You readjust your footing and put the paper away. "Today I'm wearing Converse, Jeans, a cream shirt with a little blue pocket, and a Maniac Varsity Jacket from my favorite small business. They customized it to have Wolf.Chan from Stray Kids peaking out the pocket." You point to the embroidery with a smile.

"Who's peaking out of the pocket?" "Um, Chan's animal counterpart, he the leader of-" "Heard someone call my name." An arm is suddenly draped over your shoulders and you look to your left as the sudden arm around you made you jump but your immediately walking away with a scream, hiding your now rapidly warming face as you turn completely, only to be met with the other members as well.

"Are you kidding me?!" You turn to Sara who's laughing with the others. "You are so evil!" You jokingly scold her as Chan approaches you, you cover your face as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back in front of the camera, seeing as you ran off behind the camera out of shot.

"This can't be real, is this really happening?"

You have to be dreaming.

You get to spend the day...With Stray Kids?!

#A day with a Celebrity #straykids x male #stray kids x male reader #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #jisung #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #jeongin #skz #stray kids

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cupcakeslushie · 2 years

Text

Alrighty, you’ve all been asking for it and here it is. I hope this timeline of what’s basically the first two seasons, makes following the comic easier. Which speaking of—obviously there will be spoilers for the future of the comic, so if you want to continue on reading that with blinders I would just ignore this completely or you could only read up to the prologue end where what’s been released catches up. And obviously the “filler episodes” might not make it into the comic—I’ll probably just get by on those being simple one shots or something, but I wanted to include all my thoughts.

This is really mostly for the ppl who want all that lore now. Or the ones who don’t want to go through a thousand pages of unorganized text posts 😜

Big Freaking Timeline for Empyrean Weeping Separated AU

Pre-Prologue

Many Generations ago…

The Leader of the Foot Clan [name lost to time] made a deal with an oni for power and was sealed inside his own armor. He turned his clan to the ways of murdering innocents and pillaging villages to spread their control. He quickly gained the name the Shredder. Hamato Karai, daughter to the Shredder, created her own clan to fight them. After many years of the two clans warring, Karai was able to banish the oni, killing her father. The power behind the armor was destroyed, leaving it as basically nothing more than ornamentation for each new leader of the Foot to inherit.

Karai sealed the demon in the twilight realm, but was killed by the demon’s final blow.

Many years later….

Hamato Yoshi and Oroku Saki are born into the still warring clans. Hamato Sho, grandfather to Yoshi, struck down Saki’s parents in revenge for them killing his daughter, Atsuko. He then took their infant son Saki and raised him alongside Yoshi, telling the two they were brothers, hoping that one day this would lead to a path of uniting the two clans.

Yoshi and Saki grew up together, trained in the art of ninjutsu, but Yoshi left to become an actor. Saki found out the truth of his parentage, and he embraced the Foot clan’s bloody path. He swore revenge on Yoshi and the entire Hamato clan.

Yoshi meets Big Mama on the set of Crouching Shrimp Hidden Tiger Prawn and the two date for a few years but break up.

Yoshi ran into his old childhood friend Tang Shen and the two began a romance, got married, and had a baby girl—they named her Karai after Yoshi’s great ancestor.

Big Mama kidnapped Yoshi from his wife and daughter, and kept him trapped in the Battle Nexus as her champion. Saki, not realizing Yoshi was gone, attacked Teng Shen, but found Karai in the fire and took her.

For five years (I know the creators said ten but idk that’s just way too long imo) Yoshi fought in Big Mama’s Nexus, until taken by Draxum.

Yoshi broke out during Draxum’s experiment and grabbed the four turtles he saw. As he’s escaping he dropped the soft-shell, but thanks to the fire and debris, was blocked from doubling back to rescue it, forced to leave it behind.

Draxum was left with a destroyed lab and only two of his five test subjects; Three—the male soft shell turtle, and Five—the female box shell turtle. Five was much too weak to live on her own, so Draxum was forced to keep her in a coma, confined to a healing vat. He worked on rebuilding his destroyed lab, and raised Three with the intention of training him to be a great warrior in the fight to save the yokai. As Three grew, Draxum was already impressed by the intelligence he saw from Three, but was not too pleased with the lack of interest Three showed for combat training. Still Draxum would work with what he had, and if nothing else, having access to Three’s blood meant at least he wasn’t starting from scratch. The boy was smart, and helpful in the lab. For eight years Draxum trained Three and helped nurture his mind. Draxum even found a way to get wider access to Empyrean, and was really able to continue his work, but the effects of working with the Empyrean….

Prologue beginning

Under the Cut

Five years after Splinter saved the turtles he could (Raph:7, Leo:6, Mikey:5). He brings them topside, having no choice but to do a food run with them all—unfortunately the Foot finds them, and Leo and Mikey get captured.

On the way, Leo is able to injure the nin holding him and Mikey enough that he drops Mikey. Leo ordered Mikey to run, while he struggled to keep the Foot Soldier from recapturing him.

Mikey left Leo behind and ran to hide in the alleyway behind Big Mama’s hotel, where he’s later found and taken in by the spider yokai, who finds Michael adorable and interesting enough to hold her attention for now.

Leo is taken before the Shredder, and Saki decides to raise Leo instead of killing him. He trained Leo to be Karai’s(10) bodyguard and demanded Kitsune use her mystic spells to bend Leo’s memories and mind so he became the perfect soldier.

One Year After Separation

Raph(8) meet April(9) and the two became best friends. Splinter begins training them both in ninjutsu so they can protect themselves from any surprise Foot Clan attacks.

Two Years After Separation

Three(8) developed an idea for a drill that Draxum took and employed to begin a secret way of mining empyrean without drawing the attention of the Hidden City Police. As the years passed, his experiments on Three became more and more depraved. The stress and torture caused a lot of strain on Three’s mind.

Three continued his work on Five’s body, convinced he can create something that will allow her to live outside her tank.

Overseas Saki ran the Japanese branch of the Foot, and ordered the destruction of a hidden yokai village. Usagi Miyamoto(9) is taken hostage and begins lessons with Leo(8) and Karai(12).

Four Years Post Separation

Saki returned (with his odd gaggle of child soldiers) to lead the US branch of the Foot Clan.

Five Years Post Separation—(ONE YEAR BEFORE SEASON ONE)

Usagi(14) finally escaped the Foot Clan

Big Mama grew bored of raising Michael(12) and threw him into her Battle Nexus. (First Actual page of the comic)

Big Mama and Draxum cut a secret deal, once he learned she has his Fourth subject. He offered Five to Big Mama as a go-between on the grounds that she will report Four’s status in the Nexus back to Draxum, but in the interim Big Mama may use her however she desires.

Three(13) began making shock collars for Big Mama with the demand that they will never be used on his brother, and that he got to see the weekly footage of Four’s Nexus fights.

Draxum met with the Foot clan and began providing Saki with empyrean in exchange for weapons. He saw Two(13) there, under the Shredder’s command. Draxum brings Three with him from then on, to gauge just how deep Two’s loyalty to the Foot Clan ran.

In that year of dealing with Saki, Three talked excessively to Leo any chance he got in the maybe four or five times they met, but was not provided with much of a response.

Usagi, with nowhere else to go, signed up for a few fights in Big Mama’s Nexus. He meets Mikey. Out of all the jerk contenders, the two actually like each other well enough. They’re as friendly as two people that may someday fight to the death would be.

After frequently running into each other, April(15) and Raph(14) got Casey(15) to give up her role as a Foot recruit and join their side. She gets the idea to become a double agent, and is now always sneaking out to meet them and be, in her own words, “a badass vigilant”.

After a few months fighting in the Nexus Usagi left and spent a few weeks on the streets before sneaking into Run of the Mill Pizza and getting caught by Hueso. The skeleton offered a safe place for Usagi to stay.

One night while patrolling, just the two of them, April(16) and Raph(15) see Mayhem get taken and April chased after just before the portal closed. Raph went to Splinter for help and the two headed off to the Hidden City. Before they can make it to Draxum’s lab, they spot Mikey(13), fighting in the Nexus, on one of the massive view screens.

After recovering April who’s basically saved herself and Mayhem without Draxum being any the wiser. Raph and Splinter brought her back home and then quickly returned to the HC and requested an audience with Big Mama.

Splinter dropped to his knees and begged to make a deal. He would fight Big Mama’s current champion if he could have his son back. Raph cut in that he would be the one to fight, and Big Mama accepted.

Raph fought a host of contenders before Big Mama revealed that he would face off against Mikey, who didn’t seem to recognize his big brother or father. Raph managed to grab Mikey in a bear-hold and got him to listen long enough for Mikey to remember the night they were separated. He and Raph and Splinter cried and hugged and Mikey confronted Big Mama to announce that he would be leaving with his family and that he would not fight for her any more.

Big Mama remained stoic and cold, taking the news rather well, until alone in her office. In a fit of rage she screamed and even threw a few glasses at the wall before she called for Five, who she had named Venus(13).

Big Mama gave Venus the footage for the previous week of Mikey’s fights. Along with the news that it would be the end of her and Three’s deal since Mikey was now gone.

Venus returned to Draxum’s lab and ran immediately into Three(14). Three, upset by the news that he would not be getting the most recent footage Big Mama had, and that their deal was ending, became upset and his yelling drew the attention of Draxum.

Draxum locked him up for a week before he allowed Venus to release her brother. Finally Venus sat Three down and began to tell him that Mikey is now with One and Lou Jitsu.

Quick Cut—Shredder has noticed that Kitsune’s magic on Leo’s(14) mind seems weaker, and demands more exposure to the empyrean. With a demon under his control, and Karai as the perfect successor, the Foot Clan will be unstoppable, and he will finally have the ultimate revenge on Hamato Yoshi.

Mikey returns to the lair with Raph and Splinter where he meets April. He’s shy, but content. Later, when in bed Mikey’s thoughts do wander to worries that his family may one day grow bored of him, just like Big Mama did. Mikey falls into an uneasy sleep.

SEASON ONE

Leo day after day as Second in Command of the Foot Clan finds his mind harder to focus lately. Something about the two turtles he keeps running into on missions plus the odd, manic one that always accompanies Draxum during his deals with Master Shredder. They seem to scratch an itch in Leo’s brain that just won’t go away.

Leo runs into Raph and Mikey and April long enough for them to finally try to talk, but . But Tigerclaw interrupts and takes Leo away when he refuses to fight his brothers.

Later when Leo is kneeling before Saki, Leo finds his Master isn’t pleased that he failed to kill their enemies when he had the perfect opportunity. Saki punishes Leo far more severely than he has in years. Casey, who knows Leo is in danger, fetches Usagi from his job at Run of the Mill, and Mikey meets them in the alley with the idea to go to Big Mama for the fastest route to Saki’s private compound and save Leo just in time.

Leo spends the next few months recovering and reluctantly staying in the lair, smart enough to know that returning to his Master would be a death sentence. Eventually his memories that were tampered with start to slowly return and he feels deeply the need to protect Mikey. Unfortunately his hatred for Splinter doesn’t seem to be dissipating and he spends a lot of time butting heads with Raph. He sees April’s skill and is impressed. He ignores Casey and refuses to see her as anything but a traitor.

Eventually his family grows comfortable enough to let him have more freedom, and Leo begins to join them on patrol.

While out one night, Leo cuts down a whole squad of Foot ninja when Mikey gets badly hurt. Raph is pretty shaken up and Splinter bans Leo from patrolling with the team, until he can learn to use less lethal methods.

One day, Splinter brings Leo into the dojo and shows his son the old shrine that was made for him and Mikey.

Splinter then shows Leo the weapons hung next to the shrine.

(Excerpt from notes app lol)

Splinter looked at the wall as he spoke. “Raphael and Michelangelo have already chosen their own. I always planned to gift these to you boys. Seeing how effortlessly you used to copy me when I practiced myself. I’d be honored for you to carry a piece of the Hamato clan with you.”

Leo mirrored Splinter’s gaze and stared straight ahead, not knowing how to feel about that bit of information. Regardless he found it easy to keep his tone detached.

“Shredder had me master a number of weapons. But I’ve always been best with my katana.”

Splinter chuckles with a fondly, sad smile. “Hm, yes. You were always most eager to swing around anything you could when you boys played. And would pretend to stab Raphael in the gut whenever he offered to play the role of the big scary dragon.”

Stoicism was now perhaps a bit harder. Still Leo would not allow himself to show any weakness over something so trivial as a tale he didn’t even remember.

“It would be foolish to trust your enemy with such a deadly weapon.”

Finally Splinter took his eyes off the wall and faced Leo. The terrapin refused to return the courtesy, but Splinter wasn’t deterred by the cold shoulder.

“You are not an enemy. You are my son.” Leo was slightly shocked at how easily Splinter claimed him. The rat spoke as surely as if he was simply reading facts from one of those dusty old scrolls he had tried to get Leo to read. A (poor) early attempt to reintroduce Leo to the great and honorable Hamato Clan. Perhaps his father had hoped it would be one possible way to cut through all the lies that Saki had spent years filling his son’s head with. Leo had not gotten very far into the literature before tossing it aside in frustration.

The rat continued on, still not once wavering. “The katana has always been a weapon of honor. I trust you to use them well, in the service of protecting this city and your brothers.”

Leo grew pensive—it was like viewing a weapon he’s cast his eyes on a million times in a new light. It had been a few years since Leo had heard something rather similar.

Only one other person in Leo’s entire life had spoken to him of honor in regards to the blade.

The slider tried not to think of the boy he hadn’t even seen in years. Now that he’s not so far under Saki spell, Leo could recognize the lump of coal that sat heavy in his stomach as guilt. Just the small reminder of the rabbit set it immediately ablaze.

Leo’s not sure why only now the idea of honor moved something in him, but since first waking up in the lair, and the months he’s spent with his actual, true family. The slider had found his thoughts more open to wandering and engaging with ideas that he would’ve never entertained while under Master Shredder.

Splinter continued quickly, seeing some kind of headway in the more and more open look that grew on Leo’s face. “These have been in our family for generations. And even though you boys were apart, It seems fate of some kind has paired you to each of these.”

He paused just a moment to chuckle sadly as if a stray thought suddenly occurred, “I do wonder, with you choosing the Katana. That just leaves the Bō. I’m curious how your brother Donatello would have wielded it. A simple weapon but in the right hands it can be most versatile.”

“Donatello?” Leo searched the bits of stray memories that had returned to him these last few months, but in none of them, he recalled seeing a third brother. Splinter’s words had him beyond confused, and a little worried that he had even more lost memories to regain.

Splinter looked embarrassed over the clear confusion his rambling had caused to suddenly shatter the previous air.

“Ah….yes. Forgive me. I did not wish to overwhelm you when you first arrived, but I suppose now you are ready to hear about how you were created. How Draxum—“

“Draxum?!”

Season One Midpoint

Draxum decides to finally hold another meeting with Shredder after a few months. Three now finds out that Two has ran away after failing in a mission. When he returns to his lab, Three activates the tracker he secretly placed on Two and is beyond shocked to see him in the company of One and Four.

Three suffers a serious break when he sees them with April, and thinks he’s been replaced by a human. As the final straw shatters his control, Three attacks them all in an attempt to get answers and find out why they all seemed so happy together while he was left alone. After an intense fight, Raph manages to grab Three and Leo knocks him out, so they can take him back to the lair.

Donnie spends the next few months getting used to living with his family.

Raph and Leo continue to get into frequent arguments. Leo’s anger only seems to be getting worse. Mikey tries to keep the peace and does his best to keep the lair running smoothly. Leo takes his anger out on Mikey and immediately feels bad.

Tide Pod bros themed episode. Leo apologizes to Mikey for yelling at him. They bond while doing something silly.

April and Casey start dating. Hypno and Warren episode (plot tbd but they keep interrupting the girls’ first date)

Donnie starts constructing his lab and finally seems like he’s developing a stronger relationship with Leo. The two come up with the whole ‘twin’ idea and agree to share a birthday.

Mikey and Raph have a fun bonding episode (Maybe either Meat Sweats or Stockboy)

Venus runs into the family while out on a mission for Big Mama. Donnie tries to talk with her but she remains silent and shows no mercy in attacking him. Later Donnie explains who she is to the fam and the brothers promise him they’ll find a way to bring her home.

April, Raph, Donnie run into the Purple Dragons while incognito at a tech store that Donnie really wanted to go to. Donnie is beyond impressed by them, but Raph is wary. April warns the boys the Purple Dragons are trouble. But Donnie doesn’t listen, and fights with April then to spite her, asks to join their group. They let him in after he shows off his tech and eventually Donnie discovers that April was right. She helps Donnie take back his tech that was stolen, but the Dragons get away. Donnie apologizes for the way he’s treated April since joining the family and the two gain a better understanding.

Leo and Raph argue one night and it’s so bad that Leo takes off. While out he gets recaptured by the Foot and Saki holds him for weeks at his secret compound. Leo sees visions of his long dead ancestor Karai who tries to help him through the constant torture, but thanks to Saki merging Kitsune’s magic with the empyrean, Leo’s mind is falling further than ever under the Shredder’s control.

Season One Finale

When the family finds Leo, he is trapped in a new type of mystic armor and doesn’t even seem to recognize them, viciously attacking them. He takes out everyone but Raph, and when he goes after his oldest brother, he almost manages to take him out as well, but Karai comes to Raph in a vision and helps walk Raph through the ancient ritual she created to banish the empyrean from Leo’s mind. Now free the two then take on Shredder, before grabbing their family and retreating. Family also learns about Karai being Splinter’s daughter.

Season Two

Twins’ Birthday episode for season premiere! Home once again, Leo finds he’s much calmer, only growing angry for shorter and less frequent bouts. And now that the family knows what’s causing it, they can work on controlling it. Donatello informs Leo that he and Draxum were the ones responsible for providing the Shredder with the empyrean, but Leo doesn’t care and tells Donnie not to worry about it. They enjoy their first real birthday with the whole family.

Another run in with Venus while Donnie is out with Mikey. This time Donnie tries his best to explain that he never wanted to leave her behind, and wants her to come back to the lair with him. Venus looks unsure, but refuses and retreats. Mikey&Venus twin reveal.

Leo and Raph gain a new understanding and grow closer. They settle into co-leading the team.

Leo, April, and Donnie have a fun episode together. Raph and Casey vigilante B plot. Splinter and Mikey want to watch their shows but the Wi-Fi is not working, with Donnie gone, they accidentally destroy the lair attempting to fix it.

April and Casey try again for a second date that once again keeps getting interrupted by goofy stuff. This time by the boys.

Rat Flu episode

The gang run into a salamander mutant named Mona and have to stop her from stealing a big jewel from a museum. Raph is pretty smitten when she manages to surprise him by taking him down easily and escaping.

Purple Dragons episode (plot tbd) but something akin to the Fourfold Trap from tmnt!2012

Donnie manages to convince the family to try and repeat the very same ritual Raph did on Leo, on Draxum. They reluctantly agree, as long as Donnie goes through it as well. He agrees and they come up with a plan to capture Draxum.

Season Two Midpoint

Venus agrees to join them temporarily, and helps them take down Draxum long enough to get him back to the lair. In the middle of the ritual, Mikey’s mystic powers activate and somehow manage to link Donnie and Draxum’s minds, pulling the boys in and letting them see all the horrible things Three went through. They run into the darker hallucination versions of themselves that Donnie always sees and have to make a run for it when they’re attacked. Then they meet an adorable, little Three who guides them deeper into the mental link where they finally see Draxum, who looks worse for wear and cries upon seeing the small, child version of Three.

The ritual works and Draxum is purged of most of the empyrean, when the boys are pulled out however, they realize it didn’t work on Donnie for some reason. Donnie doesn’t seem bothered and is just excited about what the ritual working on Draxum means, but Draxum is too ashamed to face anyone and makes a run for it while the boys are distracted.

The boys and April have a fun day enjoying the snow, but get into it when they can’t agree on whether Lou Jitsu or Jupiter Jim is better. Raph and Mikey are on team Lou and Leo and April on team JJ, Donnie who can’t decide, keeps switching back and forth.

The gang spends a day in the Hidden City and ends it by attending a show where the lead singer is a shockingly loud, spunky female turtle. The boys are confused to see another mutant turtle, but Donnie promises Draxum only had files on the Five of them, and is convinced she must be a yokai. The band gets attacked by some of Big Mama’s goons and the gang rush in to help. After everything is settled the female turtle introduces herself to the gang as Jennika and vows to repay the boys for saving her.

Karai episode (plot tbd)

Leo, Raph and Splinter all have trouble accepting the new Draxum so Mikey as Dr Feelings has the bright idea to spend a fun day touring New York. April comes up with a scavenger hunt but it quickly goes off the rails thanks to Big Mama (not exactly Battle Nexus: New York, more like a mix between the Hidden City episodes and then the start of the BN:NY ep)

(Now closer to the actual BN:NY ep) The whole family gets taken prisoner by Big Mama, who reveals her grand plan to have Raph and Mikey battle it out to see who will be her new champion. They win by outsmarting her and the last shot is her looking very disheveled and angry. As a last resort she calls a contact from deep in the underbelly of the Hidden City. A man covered with bandages, who looks practically like a corpse, emerges from the shadows and asks how he can help.

Leo asks Usagi to join him on a vision quest and the two leave for Japan via portal, where Usagi knows of a place that is said to provide those worthy with great inner peace. Usagi-centered episode. We get to see his village which Leo and Usagi are shocked to find out has been rebuilt in the years he’s been gone.

Season Two Finale

Donnie’s side effects from the empyrean are growing worse and he begins to research in secret the origins of the mystic substance. In his desperation for answers Donnie ignores an alert for a 317-39.4 that comes up right as he’s made a huge discovery. Not wanting to stop just as he’s found something big Donnie takes off without telling his brothers. His findings bring him to the Crying Titan where he discovers the source of the empyrean, the skeleton, inside. But before he can attempt to investigate further he’s stopped by the appearance of a young boy calling himself Casey Jones Junior, and his hooded companion. The companion warns Donnie that unless he wants to lose an eye, he shouldn’t get any closer to the creature. Donnie is skeptical, but heeds the warning, especially when the boy tells him they’ve come back from the future to help and uses a special code Donnie developed during a late night bout of insomnia driven boredom.

Donnie takes the new strangers back to the lair where Raph and Mikey are both upset over Donnie’s disappearance. Raph says they could’ve used his help fighting Warren Stone and Hypno, who managed to make off with robbing some old artifact. Donnie admits to ignoring that alert in favor of his research and Raph grows even more upset.

The hoodie figure declares to the boy that they’ve arrived too late and the two future strangers tell the family that they’ve come to stop the Kraang and that they need to call Leo back home. They will need everyone if they’re going to stop the end of the world.

MOVIE TIME

Haha jk no major spoilers quite yet.

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xf-cases-solved · 2 months

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i am aware that this is likely not a new take at all, and i'm not like, claiming it as mine, but i never had the chance to have this opinion (or hear other ppl have this opinion) on a public forum before, so i just want to take this opportunity to say to another person, possibly for the first time with the exception of mb my mother, who is no longer here to agree with me, that "existence" came out when i was 8 years old, i watched it live, and literally the day i watched it i remember thinking to myself "why did they have a boy named william? they should have had a girl named samantha. OF COURSE they should have had a girl named samantha," like it felt so obvious to me

and tho i couldn't rly articulate it this clearly at the time, my little muddy 8 year old thought process was that the entire story of the xfiles starts with samantha, right? mulder has his beliefs bc samantha was taken; he says so in the very first episode. the whole reason he even thinks aliens are real to begin with is bc of samantha. the person he spent his whole life searching for was samantha. he MET SCULLY bc of samantha. samantha is the thread that ties the whole story together, so then how beautiful--how narratively perfect--would it have been to tie THEIR story--their love story (bc xfiles is, at the end of the day, a love story, fight me) up with a bow, where the beginning starts with samantha getting lost, and then ends with samantha there in their arms, finally found, just in a different iteration. (instead of naming the baby after mulder's dad who he doesn't even like? or scully's dad. or scully's brother. or mulder's middle name, which is after his father ik, but still, why are there so many fucking williams??)

like, imagine it. rly sit there and take a moment to imagine how the end scene in "existence" would have gone if mulder had said, "what are you going to name her," and scully had said, "samantha"

not only does it get the "ding ding ding, you're the dad!" point across, but how fucking Touched would mulder have been to have the woman he loves--the PERSON he loves--more than anything on earth honor the sister who took up so much of his soul for so long? who always will take up part of his soul, just in a healthier way. it would be scully saying, "we know she's gone from this world now, but she's not gone from our hearts" emphasis on OUR hearts, bc mulder's pain is scully's pain; mulder's quests are scully's quests. she never met her sister-in-law (they're married, fight me), and will never have the chance, but by naming their child after her, she would be saying, "i love her anyway. i love her because you love her, and because anyone you love deserves my love as well, bc we are intertwined at our core. our fundamental values, our suffering, our joy, it is felt in us both concurrently, bc i am your person, and you are mine, and together we made a whole other person who is a literal representation of our combined selves, and we are going to call her SAMANTHA, bc that little girl you watched get stolen from you however many decades ago has been the pillar that has kept us going as a team for the last eight years"

or maybe it would have been even simpler than that. maybe she would just be saying, "your sister is IMPORTANT, mulder, even in death, and her memory isn't held only by you. it is unrelenting, and preserved forever in our child"

i wanted that scene. i wanted to feel the heaviness of mulder's grief mixed with his elation and gratitude and love. i appreciate william for who he was in the scheme of things, but that moment in the bedroom, with their baby between them, shouldn't have been lessened for me bc they chose a name that made me pause and go "his dad was named william? oh yeah! forgot about that guy, it's been a few YEARS since we saw much of him, and what we did see of him wasn't like... awesome. but sure, name your baby that ig, if you must"

that scene should have hit so much harder, and if that baby had been a samantha? it could have hit like nothing ever has, and for all the mishaps that show took after that (and there were MANY), i think the thing i will always have the most resentment for is the fact that i felt robbed of something that would have meant so much to me as a viewer who had followed their journey from the start (or, well, almost start. i was born the year it came out, so i didn't start watching until 1998, when my brain came online, but i'd seen the past stuff at least)

anyway! that's all to say, 8 year old me was salty as hell about that, and ykno what? she was RIGHT and should have been able to say it. but, again, 2001, 8 years old, not old enough to participate in fandom, so that thought has just festered and rotted away in my brain like a piece of old, putrid meat. but! finally i can give my 8 year old self some catharsis by letting her bitch and bitch and bitch to her heart's content about how "existence" should have been the series finale, and how that baby should have been a girl named samantha, and how i climbed onto that hill 23 years ago, and how i will die there with my heels dug down deep

ty, internet, for coming to my extremely overdue tedtalk. somewhere in the past there is a small child (who definitely shouldn't have been allowed to watch xfiles as young as she did, but what can you do?) finally has a weight off of her chest. it's just a tv show, and in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter, but also, it's a tv show that i grew up with in my formative and unfortunately very traumatic years, and it genuinely feels like a loved one who has always been there to comfort me, and so yeah, it doesn't "matter," but the truth is, it Matters so incredibly much

that's all

-diz

#this was supposed to like #a paragraph #whupsie #guess i had some Things to Say #i will probably have more things to say later #baby me is finally allowed into the fandom and that is dangerous as hell #anyway i should write that au scene 🤔#otp: maybe if it rains sleeping bags #msr #txf meta #txf #the x-files #diz spouts conspiracies

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justfandomwritings · 4 months

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An essay on why I won’t be watching next season.

1. Obviously actors have to promote their shows and hype them up. But the interactions between Nicola and Luke during the press tour were, in retrospect, clearly also acting performances, and it is rare to see acting within the press tour to the degree that those two put on while grossly exaggerating things like how sexy this season would be or how much Polin we would get. I don’t blame them. It’s clearly what they were told to do. And it’s fine to hype a show, but I think a lot of people felt genuinely lied to with the WAY this season was hyped.

2. The casting has been color conscious and inclusive in a way I greatly admire. But they have not been inclusive in other ways. And that’s not to say they should have to be. One show shouldn’t bear the responsibility of being inclusive to everyone and making up for an industries worth of exclusion. But we have exactly one size inclusive character in this whole show, and I’m not even demanding more, but to butcher the season of the only size inclusive person in this show this badly and in these ways sends me a clear message of what the writers thought they could get away with with a curvy actress and how they saw her.

3. The wait times for this season and next season are just too long. The hype dies down too much between seasons such that we care less and less each time we get a new one, especially when you only give eight episodes, regardless of their length. You know who also gave us a season in 2022 and then an eight episode season this year? house of the dragon. And they have to CGI a fuck ton of dragons. Yall were sitting on this season being done filming for over a year and for what? What did you do in post? A bee? And then to have the audacity to do it in two parts? Fuck off.

4. Add to that. The costumes and new sets looked so much cheaper this season than previous seasons. Where did the budget go.

5. The plot is too crowded. Maybe you thought a curvy girl couldn’t carry a season. Maybe it was bad writing. Obviously you needed Cressida and Eloise to have decent amounts of screen time but you also did half of Francesca’s story and set one up for Violet and Benedict that collectively took the majority of the screen time and left us with very little Pen and Colin. Which was a disservice you never gave Anthony or Daphne’s seasons and was why they were good. We got enough crumbs of the others to tell us what was happening but not enough to make them feel like main characters or to make it feel like an ensemble show. There were leads in season 1 and 2. This season it was an ensemble with too many moving parts. But everyone’s said that. It’s not surprising.

6. My biggest problem is the tone. The blame. Admittedly I’m a woman who relates strongly to Penelope so I’m not impartial here. But for a character who spends her entire life being abused by every single person in this show, who is pushed to her absolute breaking point before finally giving her mother and the tonne a taste of their own medicine. For that character to receive no grace, no understanding, no respect, for the vast majority of the season hurt. To not only have zero understanding of her situation but to frame the entire plot of the show around the fact that SHE alone should be sorry. To have minimal to no groveling from Colin over what he said last season, to have no acknowledgment of how he treated her as a safety net, to humanize Cressida who made her life hell with minimal acknowledgment of that fact, to have Eloise get ONE comment from Cressida of all people about her friendship with Penelope but no real reflection from Eloise or acknowledgment on her part or apologies for what a truly SHIT friend she was for DECADES. That hurt. Because the message is that sure, they can push you to your fucking limit, you can break after years of being bullied for your weight and your looks and your status. Your own mother and sisters hands can be filthy with insults and abuse. Your friends can treat you like utter garbage for years. They can befriend your bullies. Your soon to be husband can, very recently, insult you to his friends behind your back. But you owe them the apology for breaking after years of abuse. It’s not that the tonne couldn’t be angry or that they all should’ve fallen at Pen’s feet. It’s that those arguments never happen at all because once again, just like when she was being used and abused by everyone, everything was put on Penelope. And the cycle continues.

7. Colin should’ve groveled more. I know I said that in the previous point but it really ruined things for me so I want to emphasize it. I wanted that man on his knees the whole season, and I should’ve known I wasn’t gonna get that when y’all dropped the list of songs and there wasn’t any of the A List Yearners on the list. But I’m still mad.

8. Actually that’s a good point. Did anyone else think the songs didn’t go as hard this year? Except Pitbull were we excited about any of them?

9. You did the Pride and Prejudice ballroom trick with the dancing alone thing and you didn’t nail it. If you’re gonna do that trick it has to fucking HIT. (And it has to be enemies to lovers.) And you did it half assed. You should be ashamed.

10. There was a two second window there when Cressida asked the maid for help where I thought they were gonna swap lives and the maid would go with her aunt and Cressida would become a maid and I was like “holy fuck is Cressida gonna become Bennys love interest?” and that would’ve been better than what y’all did I think. And it would’ve justified her excessive screen time.

11. I love gender swapping Michaela and making Francesca bi. We love it. But why was Francesca immediately interested. Once again the writers don’t understand pining. Michaela is PINING for Francesca and can do nothing but love her from afar. Francesca loved John completely and whole heartedly. Michaela was a beautiful love story for her but was also a second chance. She loved John completely. She would never have an emotional affair on him. How did you immediately ruin such a beautiful second chance romance?

12. Where was Pen’s friendship with Anthony or Lady Danbury? Why wasn’t Colin proud of Pen the way he was in the book? To make her even more alone? To emphasize that she was alone and at fault and helpless? Fuck off.

I just don’t have it in me to watch this show deteriorate further.

#bridgerton #penelope featherington #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton spoilers #bridgerton critical

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taintandviolent · 1 year

Text

tendencies ; au!James March x reader

summary: You're a new patient at Cortez County Sanitarium, and a particular Doctor has taken a liking to you and your murderous tendencies. w a r n i n g s: 6k words. au, female reader, shameless smut, female receiving, medical kink, examination kink, possible abuse of power, fingering, masterbation, penetration, mentions of murder/death. a/n: [requested by anonymous, some ideas were changed due to personal preference! i'm so sorry it's another long one I ramble alsjfhdskjfhsk. if you see any mistakes, no you didn't because this wasn't beta-read at all!] full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /

It finally happened. You’d had one too many manic episodes where you swore up and down you were going to kill them both for treating you the way they did, and your parents institutionalised you. You’d threatened them with the axe your father always kept in the garden, and that was the final straw. Father was on the phone before you had a chance to even get the axe. Off to the looney bin she goes! Mother packed you a suitcase despite father insisting you wouldn’t need it where you were going. She snapped the latches shut and tossed you and it into the backseat of your father’s Ford.

Swell.

Your mother cried as two men in white uniforms approached you, each of them taking an arm. They gripped them a little too hard and you thrashed, which they took as a threat. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw your father take your mother into his arms, trying to calm her as pet her hair soothingly. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, blotting away the running mascara. All for show, you thought.

“When I get out - I’m going to find both of you!” You promised, howling. “CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!”

Your screams echoed down the hallways as you tried to wrench yourself out of the grip of the two men. You certainly weren’t making a good case for yourself that you weren’t psychotic, but your anger blinded you. It filled your veins, rushing through as naturally as blood, and would only subside after you’d heard your mother’s terrified whimper.

The first few days had been every bit as protocol as you’d expected. Dreary and professional, filled with every bit of staunchness possible. The nurses seemed to have a perpetual frown, while the orderlies puffed their chests up, determined to appear as intimidating as possible to the crazies.

Day one was depressing. Intake consisted of them stripping you of your clothes and all belongings, manhandling you as they unzipped and unbuttoned. They promised that your items would stay in the office where you could have them once you were discharged. The tone in the nurse’s voice wasn’t encouraging — but you were certain you’d get out one day.

The orderlies then hosed you down with ice cold water, the frigidness burning your skin in the worst way. Front and back. They handed you blandly coloured clothes without a towel. Of course not. They watched as you uncomfortably dressed, yanking the gown over your head. The fabric stuck to you in the most horrible way as they steered you down the bitterly cold hallways.

Screams, laughter and everything in between echoed off those cold stone walls. As you passed, a few residents came to their doors, peering curiously out the small cutaway in the door, wanting to see if they were the one getting a new neighbour.

You were thrown into a room. Five straps; two for your arms, two for your legs, and one across your forehead. You were told that you’d stay just like that, secured to a bed until you calmed down, which was around lunch time, when your rumbling tummy trumped your need to holler until your throat was sore.

After a blandly coloured pasta dish, you weighed your options and decided that staying out of the straps was ideal, so you behaved yourself for the rest of the evening. You were escorted to another room, much farther down the hall. The number on the door said seventy-eight.

On Day Two, you’d been informed of the rigorous schedule that took place here at Cortez County Sanitarium, and naturally, you’d forgotten it as soon as it left the orderly’s mouth. You didn’t care about the community time, or the rec room, or the biscuit making. You didn’t care about anything, except planning your revenge on your parents and their selfish decision.

Your parents had never wanted you, always wanted you out of the house. They kept your schedule full with extracurricular activities, forcing friendships and relationships, toting around how you “were going to marry early, she’s just such a catch”! You all knew that wasn’t the case at all — you were sick. Sick, delusional and unstable. Hardly wife material for anyone.

They just wanted their house to themselves.

Even if you’d wanted to, you wouldn't be able to join community time seeing as you had been assigned to solitary confinement for an indeterminate period of time, due to your ‘severe tendencies’. Whatever your egocentric, hateful father had told them scared them enough to treat you like public enemy number one. Out of safety for themselves and their fellow patients, the orderlies had flanked you, escorted you to your room, sat you right down on the bed, and locked the door. Who knows what they’d done with the key. All you knew was that three times a day, someone opened the latch in your door, slid a tray of food in, and left again. Nurses came in infrequently to complete routine check-ups and change your chamber pot.

You had nothing to read but the Bible, and nothing to look at besides a confusingly angled visual of the outside world, obscured by a metal grate and brambles. The food was decidedly a highlight and the biscuits were particularly good. Made on site, one of the nurses had said.

On Day Three, it was raining. You took all your bedding off and rearranged it so that your feet faced the window. You’d much rather wake with the sun, and be staring at the door before any of the nurses came into rouse you — they were vicious with their sharp fingertips, prodding you like a child seeing if roadkill was really dead.

As you stood back to admire your interior decorating, you decided that if someone came in and rearranged it, you’d throw a tantrum like the girl three doors down who howled like a banshee every time someone touched her.

The next day, it was raining still. After some bored and delirious pacing of your room, you thumbed through the paper thin pages of the Bible, skimming excerpts that you recalled from childhood as your father had always tried to install religion and morals into your daily life. Aside from knowing the Ten Commandments, he failed miserably. As you flipped through, you noted your copy had been well loved or deeply hated, you weren’t quite sure because every mention of sex had been ripped out or scribbled on.

This isn’t so terrible, you thought. Despite the lack of reading material and the overall monotony, you enjoyed your solitude. Left alone to your own devices all day, free to plot your revenge, and free to rearrange your little room however you wanted.

On the fifth day, there was more rain, but with the exciting addition of thunder. Loud enough that you almost didn't hear the knock. Your eyes flitted from the cool, cement flooring to the door. Someone rapped their knuckle against it several times. There weren’t any words, only painstaking seconds of silence. Finally, the door opened, revealing a man with dark hair and even darker eyes. He stood tall, had a thin, movie-star moustache, and must’ve been a sharp dresser, because beneath his pristine white coat, thin white pinstripes decorated his navy blue trousers.

Despite his charismatic pull, you’d learned to not immediately trust everyone that walked through your door - most of them had a syringe in their pocket and were just waiting for the opportunity to plunge it in.

“Good Morning.” He crooned. “My name is Doctor March, I’m head of this facility.”

Was it morning? You hadn’t gotten your food yet. You pulled your knees up to your chest, staring at him hard. His eyes dropped, momentarily gobbling up the visual of your white underwear, covering a tantalising mound of flesh. He blinked sharply, returning his eyes to yours.

“No need to be afraid, my dear. I’m only here to ask you a few… questions. Simple examination. Get to know each other.”

He took a stethoscope from his front pocket, draping it around his neck. You were hesitant. Maybe it was run-of-the-mill for the head doctor to make his rounds, he did this to everyone, it wouldn’t take long and you would be back in your lonesome before they brought your breakfast. Maybe.

“Now, tell me…” He began, as he confidently approached you. “Why were you brought here?”

“I told my parents I was going to kill them,” you started. “And I — “

“How? Tell me how you wanted to kill them…”

His question stopped you dead in your tracks — up until this point, that was all they needed. Every nurse, assistant, or doctor had heard that singular phrase and scribbled something on their pad. But this Doctor…. This doctor wanted the gory details. He didn’t even have a notepad.

“I told them that I was going to chop them up into small pieces. Like that Lizzie Borden girl.”

“She was acquitted, you know.” He added, warming the chest piece of the stethoscope with his breath. Huh-huh.

You sniffed, adjusting yourself on the bed to move closer to him. The rusty springs squeaked underneath your weight. “Well, if she did do it… I understand why.”

He hummed, pleased. Your red-rimmed eyes darted up to him, confused by the sudden… heavy aura in the room.

“What?”

He said nothing, just grinned one of the most sinister, tight-lipped smiles you’d ever seen. “Deep breaths for me, please.”

He dipped his hand into your gown at the neckline, navigating around the fabric until he felt skin. He pressed the piece to your chest, listening wordlessly. Your heart started racing, and you swung your eyes away from him, hoping to calm it before he noticed. “Go on.”

You took a breath and exhaled once, hard. He moved it to another position on your chest, his knuckles grazing the plumpness of your breast. You took another deep breath, and another exhale. He pulled the stethoscope away, and returned it to his neck. With a single finger, he tapped your bottom lip, indicating that he wanted you to open your mouth.

“So. You wanted to kill your parents with an axe, did you? What else?”

You furrowed your brows at him, perplexed by his unique interest, and stuck your tongue out. He took a depressor from his pocket, and pressed into the meatiest part of your tongue, farther back than you were used to. Your gag reflex threatened, your throat pulsing, but you relaxed. He nodded slowly, seeming pleased. He still looked like he was poised, waiting for your explanation. Your eyes darted from the blurred tip of your tongue to his eyes. Alright, you’d do your best, then.

“Ah tah tha ah wah gahaa tah buh—“

Doctor March laughed; a low, breathy hum. He removed the depressor, wiping your saliva on his inner sleeve. “Apologies. Try again, my dear.”

“I…” You cleared your throat. “I told them I was going to bury the small pieces in the garden and let the Burkes’ hounds eat the rest.”

“Devilish,” he hissed.

“Um…. The Burkes are our neighbours.” You added. He nodded passively.

“Did your parents look fearful? Could you see their expressions glaze over in terror, lives flashing before their eyes?”

“Um… when I went to get the axe, my mother screamed. Loud. I’d never heard her scream like that. I ran towards the door — it was in the garden shed — but she howled and clutched her neck like I’d already done it.”

As you spoke, his eyes were locked on you, enraptured by your telling of this near homicidal experience you’d had. He understood, the drive, the hunger to want to end someone’s pathetic little life. To play God, as it were.

“That’s when my father called the police, and I suppose they called you.”

“Indeed they did. The officers spoke to me directly.”

“They did?”

“Yes. I specialise in murder, you see. Murderous tendencies, rage… both of which you seem to have.”

Shyly, you nodded. You supposed you did struggle with anger issues from time to time….

Noting your sudden sheepish disposition, he cleared his throat. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Rage is a normal human response. To feel unbridled hatred towards someone or something… every human being on earth experiences it. Of course, whether or not they act it, well that defines monster from man. And in some cases,” He added. “The rage is justified.”

To hear that sent a shiver down your spine. The validation, the understanding… perhaps this wouldn’t be such a bad place after all. If being a monster meant feeling, then you were in fact just that. Happily. A monster towards anyone who had wronged you.

“As is that, my dear.”

“What is?”

“Arousal.”

The slat flipped open. An orderly pushed a pale green tray into the slot, as they did every mealtime. Dr. March noticed this and straightened up, removing his hand from your shoulder. He walked to the door, thanked the orderly, and retrieved your tray before setting it at the foot of your bed.

“I’ll let you eat… thank you for allowing me some of your time.”

You could only nod feebly as he walked out the door. Once the lock clanked into place, you reached between your legs, ready to scoff at his accusation until your fingers met your slick cunt. Part of you was embarrassed, another part sour that he knew, and the final part had her tongue out, panting like an overheated dog, wanting him to return.

It was just after lunch time when he came back the next day. The same knocking on your door before it opened, and this time, you felt your heart jump into your throat, thudding away foolishly. This time, he hardly asked any questions, just dove right into examining you like any other patient. Though you hid it, you were in seventh heaven with the way he handled you.

The Doctor took your pulse, pressing his fingers into the inside of your wrist and counting on his watch. While he focused, you studied his face, swearing to remember his dashing features long after he’d left your room again. His black eyes darted over, and you flicked yours away, bashfully. He seemed to commit a number to memory, his lips moving ever so slightly as he said it aloud.

“Head up, please.” His fingertips guided your head, angling it slightly. Without another word, he then pressed two fingers into the pulse in your neck, allowing it throb against the pads. Your breath hitched in your throat.

As though he knew, he stared into your eyes. Confirming that he was right, you stared right back. His breathing was shallow, washing over your lips. Heat bloomed in your cunt, pulling up with a deep clench. He inched closer, somehow still monitoring your pulse. Had the roles been switched, you would’ve forgotten how to count by this point.

“Have you ever wanted to kill anyone?” You asked in a whisper. Your throat was dry.

He leaned so close to you that you could feel his cool breath on your cheeks. “Many times.”

You swallowed. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

This time, he didn’t answer immediately, in his swoon-worthy confident way. Instead, his eyes tunnelled into your soul, dreaming about taking fistfuls of your patient gown and tearing it half, tossing it to the floor and dancing across your naked form. His heavy coat hid what you wanted to see, but he watched your eyes trail down. Had it not been, you would’ve seen exactly what he needed to hide — for professionalism’s sake.

You were unlike any other patient; not in the sense that you wanted to kill people, or even had. Those were a dime a dozen. Your hunger was erotic, and needed sating. Like him, you’d savour the tinier details. You’d take great pleasure in it and after, play gleefully with their blood. He could smell it on you, the need for carnality, for violence.

“You have…” you whispered, closing in the distance. Your underwear were slick with your arousal, you felt your cunt glide against the cotton fibres as you moved towards him. He straightened up, inhaling deeply through his nose. The sudden separation was painful, and you were fairly certain you had let out a pitiful whine.

On the seventh day, it was sunny, but the only hospital staff that visited you was a nurse, who delivered a medication in a tiny paper cup. You clamped your teeth shut, refusing. She tried to force your jaws open with her bright red manicured nails, but you still resisted. With an annoyed huff, she gave up, making a note of the behaviour on her clipboard.

You angrily fingered yourself that afternoon. You thought of Doctor March and his cool hands, and the way that they’d ghost over your skin before roughly grabbing your limbs, yanking you in the direction he wanted you to go. You imagined the way his moustache would tickle the soft flesh of your inner thighs, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh.

Another thought - a darker thought plagued your mind while you pleasured yourself. The thought of him killing. Which, at that point, you were fairly certain he had. The way that he had hurriedly left, refusing to speak any further had told you of his guilty (or perhaps not guilty at all) conscience.

You wondered if he’d killed someone here. Perhaps a patient, perhaps an unsuspecting nurse who had been a little too flirty with him, and he’d used it as an excuse to get close enough to strike. Perhaps he’d killed a rival doctor whom had too big of an ego, a resident from another hospital who tried to climb the ranks of his hospital.

You pictured him, covered in blood and remains. Crimson dripping from his sculpted, veiny arms, with the sleeves of his pristine lab coat rolled up to the elbows. His hair dishevelled, dark strands hanging down in front of his black eyes.

It fuelled your fingers as they pumped in and out, only stopping to draw circles on your clit to bring the sensitivity higher. You came onto your fingers, saying his name over and over again. It started raining again.

It was the ninth day when he finally came back. You had heard his knock, and immediately rushed to stand at the your edge of your bed, hands clasped behind your back. You rocked back and forth on your bare heels, like a good little patient, waiting for instruction.

He opened the door, pausing to look over you. Jaw clenched, eyes burning with intensity. His expression said everything; the absence had been just as hard on him as it was on you — and perhaps, you two had came at the same time. You in your dismal room and him in his ornate, dark office.

He pressed the door shut behind him, keeping his hungry eyes on his meal.

“You crave what I crave,” he hissed, hoisting you up in his arms and slamming your back against the cold wall behind you. Every word sounded so suggestive coming from his mouth, and you longed to hear him speak about everything and anything all at once. You responded by wrapping your legs around his waist, squeezing tight. Your underwear pressed against his coat, fabric grinding against fabric. You whimper at the feeling of the bulge in his pants and even through the layers, he can feel the wet warmth of your cunt.

His thumb hooked around the hem of your underwear, teasing the crease of your hip, before lifting the elastic enough to crawl his fingers underneath the damp fabric. With an exhale, he closed the distance, drowning your whimpers in devouring kisses.

“Just another examination,” he assured, before running his middle finger up and down your slit, smearing your wetness everywhere he could.

There was something thrilling about being fondled by a doctor, perhaps the threat of it being wrong and immoral. You’d heard whispers of hysteria — something that while in his grip, you agreed to having. You were hysterical for his touch, and wanted everything he was willing to give you, despite the ethics. As far as anyone in the halls were concerned, he had every right to examine this patient, and find the cause of her lunacy. The thought had you leaking onto his hand, coating his thick digits in your arousal.

He inserted two fingers into your dripping cunt, sinking them to the knuckle. You wanted to whine, to scream, to bite his collar, and fill the cold hallways with your moans. Instead, you laid your head down on his shoulder, rocking against it in the rhythm that his fingers plunged into you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you pressed your cheek into his white lab coat and panted as quietly as you could. His fingers curled inside of you, exploring your insides curiously. You felt them everywhere, pumping in and out easily.

“Doctor March?” Came a voice from outside.

He froze.

Wide eyes flitted to and fro, your chest heaving with desperate, terrified pants. What would happen if you two were caught? Would it matter, in his grasp? His black eyes rolled upwards and with a displeased groan, the doctor dropped you to your feet. He wiped his fingers on his coat, then turned away from the door to stuff his stiff cock into his waistband, where it would remain until the erection faded. Whatever menial task he was doing would eventually consume his mind enough to take all his thoughts off you. Maybe. Maybe not.

He was gone before you could protest, and you collapsed against the wall in a sweaty mess. But before your depression could sink too deeply into your psyche, the door opened again, and the orderly stepped towards you. Doctor March was still in the hallway, fingers laced in front of his crotch. He was waiting. With two fingers, the orderly beckoned you forward.

“Oh, what now — OUCH!”

As soon as you were out of your room, the orderly took hold of you, digging his thumb deep into the muscle of your upper arm. What was it with them? Couldn’t they just kindly guide you? You wanted to kill him for handling you like that. You wanted to snap his neck, feel the dull crack beneath your hands, and watch as the life disappeared from his eyes like the sun behind clouds. You want to feel his heartbeat slow to a stop, thudding one final time before it faded into nothingness.

When you snapped back to reality, Doctor March was staring at you with a very knowing smile. He bowed his head slightly and swallowed.

“She getting a lobotomy, Doc?” The orderly asked, genuinely curious.

“Something of that nature,” he concurred. “I’m going to start treatment in attempt to cure her hysteria, and preform whatever tests necessary to properly diagnose what ails this young woman.”

You knew what he meant. You felt what he meant. Deep between the slippery walls of your cunt, you felt what Doctor March meant by that. He wasn’t going to lobotomise, he was going to fornicate. You tried to crane your neck to look at him, but he was too far out of your peripheral, and the orderly shoved you forward.

“Good luck to you. She’s a real basket case.”

Once you’d all reached the examination room, which was upstairs and at the very end of the hall, you traded hands, Doctor March putting on a good show for this orderly. He gripped your arm hard — not quite as a hard as they orderly had — enough to depress the skin.

“Thank you, Sam. Please let the others know that I require concentration. Avoid any disturbances at all costs.” “Sure thing, Doc.”

The room was filled with shelves, packed with books on the human mind and all of its maladies. Specimens decorated the shelves that weren’t filled with books; mummified brains, organs in jars. A few plants were shoved into the tiny crevice of a windowsill. You began walking towards them, enchanted by seeing greenery for the first time in almost two weeks.

His stern voice came from behind you, cutting the fascination short. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a pair of black rubber gloves. He slipped his fingers into each one, pulling them down and letting the rubber snap back against his wrists. “Ah-ah. The table, please.”

You hadn’t really anticipated a full on examination. Had you read everything wrong? You jumped with each snap of the rubber gloves, suddenly uncertain. Perhaps he was going to lobotomise you. With a dejected sigh, you turned. Maybe later. Putting one foot in front of the other, you made your way over to the examination table and stood obediently in front of it, waiting for his next move. After slipping his arms out of his white coat, Doctor March flicked on a light above, and the shiny metal seem to glimmer underneath it. The coat was hung on a nearby coat stand, and you took a small moment with the delicious new visual. He wore a white shirt, as pristine as his coat, but with black suspenders and black trousers with dark grey pinstripes.

“So, you’re going to attempt to cure me?” You asked, sucking coyly on your bottom lip.

He didn’t answer. Doctor March’s lips collided with yours almost straight away, tossing all tact out the window. He knew what he was doing uncouth and borderline criminal. Of course, a distinguished doctor shouldn’t be dry humping one of his patients in his examination room. It had become uncomfortable though, his arousal swelling well past the point of being ignored. His cock burned with a demanding, carnal need. He continued thrusting his hips upward into your tummy as he peppered your neck with kisses, unable to control the urges to do so.

It was your fault. Simply for being you, which he was unable to resist. He knew that you wanted to kill people as much as he did and that you’d relish the tinier moments of murder. The thought drove him wild, picturing you spattered with someone’s blood, chest heaving, eyes wild with the titillating glimmer of manslaughter. Abruptly, Doctor March pulled away and spun you around, your back facing him. He slid his hands over yours until they reached the shoulders, where he squeezed softly, leaning into you to take in your scent. You could hear his uneven, lust-broken pants as his wide gloved hand eased you down into a bent over position, pressing your bare chest against the cool metal.

“Whether or not this cures your hysteria will remain to be seen… it certainly won’t cure mine. Once I have you, I’ll only want you more.”

With your face smashed against the examination table, you moaned. He had kissed your lips raw, they stung.

“Are you certain you… consent to this treatment?”

You nodded too quickly, wiggling the plump curve of your ass against his crotch. Doctor March groaned — a deep, guttural moan — and took hold of your hips, yanking them backwards into his own groin. “Splendid. Then, up onto the table you go, my dear.”

Obeying him, you turned around, placing both hands on the table and hoisted yourself up into a sitting position.

“Lay back, please.”

He began to examine you as any doctor would - pressing and prodding. You weren’t in any pain, so naturally, the only sounds were your shallow breathing. He felt your lymph nodes in your neck, pressing two fingers delicately against your throat, skating down over your collarbone. Your eyelids fluttered helplessly, which he noticed. They then travelled… carefully… towards your breasts, taking the fullness in the palms. You writhed on the cold, metal table as he squeezed them, rolling your nipples between his gloved thumb and forefinger.

“Perfect,” he crooned. “Perfect.

His hands continued trailing down, pressing firmly into your organs. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, fiddling knowingly with the hem of your underwear, tugging them down slightly. With a deep breath, you dug your heels into the table, lifting your ass off the table. Doctor March smiled, and pulled them down your legs.

“As I said before, my delinquent little darling, you seem to crave what I crave.”

Doctor March took his middle finger, trailing your slit. He then took his forefinger and middle finger and pressed them down on either side of the slit, spreading your cunt wide. The cool air hit it, and you shivered.

“Cold?” He asked.

“The opposite, actually. I feel like I’m on fire.”

Another gloved hand pressed against your naked abdomen, feeling the heat that radiated through the thin rubber. “Indeed you do… and my, my. All for me?”

“All for you.” You echoed.

He inserted one finger, the rubber sliding into your cunt easily. His eyes were on you, locked, to see your reaction. Your eyes closed, you exhaled.

Two fingers, and your stomach muscles clenched. Your pelvic muscles clenched too, pulling his thick fingers further into you. With his thumb, Doctor March encircled your clit, still swollen from the pleasuring before. Your back arched violently, the same way patients’ backs did when hundreds of volts of electricity coursed through their pliable bodies.

Your clear, slick arousal collected in the webbing of his gloves, and Doctor March withdrew them suddenly, holding them up to the light above you. Crystal strands strung between his fingers before breaking into droplets on either side. He smiled inwardly, pleased.

Doctor March leaned down, dragging his flattened tongue the length of your cunt, stiffening the tip of it once he reached your clit — you let out a piercing whine, and he chuckled. “Your sensitivity seems… high.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Please sit up, and move to the edge of the table.” He barked, as he undid his own restrictions. You heard the clang of his belt. “Now.”

You did as you were told. The moment approached quickly, and your cunt clenched at the thought.

He wrapped his hands around your backside, pulling your closer to the edge of the table. With ease, he hoisted your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding them there. Your blushing cunt spread open for him, dripping eagerly. Hard enough that he didn’t have to hold it, Doctor March lined his cock up with his hips, pressing his squishy, hot tip into your slit. He took a fistful of your gown, tucking it back behind you so that he had a clear view of the treatment.

The first breach stung, stretching until your cunt finally gave way to his thick cock. The doctor let out a low sound, his legs quivering with the sensation. He wanted to ruin you, to split you wide open and make you cry so loud that all the orderlies came running. But he exercised restraint… slowly sinking his cock into you.

You trembled in his grip, unconsciously trying to writhe away from him, which only pulled an instinctive ferocity from him. He dug his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your closer to his torso. “Stay still.”

The first few humps were steady and slow, the kind that were accompanied by sweet hushes, and ‘it’ll be okay, my darling’s. However, they disappeared as quickly as they’d come — Doctor March began pounding himself into you, sinking himself all the way in.

As he drilled himself into you, the empty examination room was now filled with a cacophony of sounds; skin slapping wetly against skin, panting breaths, and ecstasy-ridden moans. Every shift of position brought his thick cock deeper into your cunt, hitting the deepest spot he could, until it ached each time the head bumped into your cervix.

You weren’t sure how long he’d been fucking you when you'd heard the hinges on the door creak as it opened. Doctor March didn’t seem to hear it, but you certainly did. You blinked, lifting your head heavily. A nurse stood in the doorway, her slender silhouette illuminated by the brightness of the hallway.

For a fleeting moment, you felt fear. You two were caught. Surely, there’d be consequences. But the thought quickly dissolved when you focused on the feeling of the doctor’s cock stretching you wide open, slipping in and out easily with the mutual arousal that leaked out onto the metal table below. You were the one in the arms of the head doctor — any punishments went through him first. Besides, if he was the one to punish you, you’d willingly accept it. The fear was replaced with deviousness, with delight and you stood your ground, waiting for the nurse’s undoubtedly shocked reaction.

Her eyes flitted all around, taking in the scene in front of her. Bemusedly, you watched as they trailed up his legs to his pants, hanging just below his ass as it bucked back and forth with each thrust into you, burying his cock deep inside. She scanned over your fingers as they curled possessively around the back of his neck, stroking his sweat-soaked skin. Your lips twisted into a wicked, daring smile as your eyes met and it was then that she gasped, covering the entire lower portion of her face with her slender, manicured fingers.

Doctor March, now noticing that you had stopped moaning in his ear, straightened up slightly, keeping the rhythm of his thrusts. He lazily turned his head to look behind him, but he was far too deep into euphoria to respond appropriately. His eyes were heavy, half-lidded as he too made eye contact with the nurse. He didn't stop fucking you. Instead, he groaned hard, and dropped his head into the curve of your shoulder. You heard the sound of the door pulling shut, and her high heels echoing hurriedly down the hall.

“She saw us,” you whispered. “She saw you taking me, Doctor March….”

His thrusts became harder and more erratic as his orgasm built and finally spilled out into you in hot spurts. The coil in your stomach twisted tighter until it snapped with a gush and a screaming, begging moan. You two had both been driven over the edge by yet another concerning fascination, voyeurism. The nurse witnessing this foul, illicit act had been so arousing to the both of you that you had, in unison, come undone on each other.

His breathing eventually slowed, and he backed himself out of you. You felt his cum running out of your cunt and down your legs as your dropped them onto the rim of the table.

“Well, how do you feel?”

“Worse.”

He quirked a brow, tilting his head to the side. “I have another hunger now, Dr. March. I want sex… and murder.”

He smiled deviously, slicking his hair back with one hand. “Indeed. Indeed you do.”

As he retrieved your underwear for you, you hopped off the table. “Do you think she’s going to tell?”

“If she does, we’ll take care of it, won’t we?”

The next day, the tenth day, you woke up with a smile on your face. The rain had stopped, the storm system moving away from your location. It remained cloudy. You hadn’t done anything that morning, except eat breakfast. You’d gone to sleep late that night, waiting until all the whispers and wails had died off. And you pleasured yourself again, knowing that the remnants of the Doctor’s thick cum was still inside you.

Just before lunch time, there was a faint knock, and the door opened. The same nurse who had seen Doctor March fucking you was the one who had come to check on you. You two wordlessly stared at each other, daring the other to speak first. Neither did.

She approached you hesitantly, clipboard in hand and the second she was close enough, your fingers clamped around her wrist, yanking her towards you.

“If you say a word about what you saw, he’ll kill you, and I’ll help him.”

She yanked her wrist back, the fear permeating through her core. Though she didn’t acknowledge your threat before hurrying out the door, you felt that she believed you.

Which, all things considered, was a bit of a shame.

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