#or go with the happy ending as outlined above | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fioiswriting · 1 year ago

Text

Reunion | Sequel

[Part 1]

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral f receiving, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, anxiety, Reader has a child, grief, fluff, pregnancy, not proofread.

Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

Words count : 9150

Author's note : Hello everyone!! Sorry for the wait, I've been very busy, but here's part two of Reunion (or at least the first part two, let's call it part 2.1 hehe). Thank you again for all you kind comments and the love you've given my fanfic omg!! Spoiler alert: this is the happy alternate ending! But I've got another bittersweet alternative ending planned 😈 If you think the first part was good enough on its own and the sequel may break the vibe, don't force yourself to read!! But if you need a happy ending, here it is <3 The plot still doesn't make any sense, but hey, we're here to have fun so enjoy ❤️

English is still not my first (or second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes <3

When you wake up, the first thing you feel is the reassuring embrace of his arms around you. You don't want to move, not even when the sunlight tickles your face through the opening between the wooden shutters, trying to make the moment last endlessly. But the growing anxiety in your stomach chases away the illusion of your fleeting happiness.

You close your eyes a little tighter. Perhaps if you try again, perhaps if you try harder, the world around you can fade away.

Perhaps you can wake up again, in a different reality.

But it's inevitable. You know that now you're awake, it's only a matter of time before the two of you have to say goodbye forever. Your breathing becomes heavier, and you have to fight the tingling sensation at the corners of your eyes.

Why have the gods decided to be so cruel to you? They grant you one last taste of his skin on your lips before taking it from you, again.

Haven't you given enough?

Could they not show you mercy?

You who had forgotten him, you who had begun to turn a new page, to seek comfort in the arms of the cold, far away from the fire and the ashes, why did you have to touch the poison that would once again stain your soul?

Behind you, Aemond buries his long nose in your hair. His hand absently caresses the skin of your thigh, just where the edge of the linen tunic you put on sometime during the night when you were cold ends. The fabric is pulled up, revealing the outline of your bottom, and you can already feel your uncle hardening between his thighs, but you don't move.

If you move, you'll make everything more real. Tangible.

You'll speed up the process of losing him, of him slipping through your fingers.

How can you let him go, now that your heart is full again, now that you feel complete in a way you haven't felt for over three years?

How can you let him go, now that your body has retrieve the extension of itself in the arms of the man who was the cause of your torment, your moments of joy, your pain and, paradoxically, your happiness?

"I know you're awake."

You hold your breath and Aemond inhales into your hair. His hand moves down the inside of your thigh, along the hollow that joins it to your groin. He doesn't venture any further.

His thumb rests there and brushes your skin, trying to arouse the desire in you with gentleness.

Subtly.

He doesn't want to hurry, he doesn't want to rush you.

Not when he's been harbouring the impossible fantasy of waking up with you in his arms since the day he nearly died.

He presses harder against you, as if he doesn't want to let you go, as if he wants to be one with you again, and you feel him pulsing against your buttocks, under the linen cloth that has been pulled up a little higher. He says nothing, but he is pleading, needy, in his gestures, which is rare for him.

Something has changed, after all, and perhaps something has changed in him too.

"I am awake, indeed, " you whisper in a voice that is still half asleep. The lump in your throat betrays the feeling of anxiety gradually creeping into your body, and Aemond seems to notice. Under your tunic, his hand moves up along your belly until it nestles against your chest, close to your heart. His thumb draws small circles, once again trying to bring you back to him.

Trying to calm your mind.

"Let us forget for a little longer," he whispers, his clenched jaw resting over your head. "Please."

And you know he never begs.

Aemond takes and doesn't ask.

Aemond believes he is owed everything and never gives in return.

Hearing him beg breaks something inside you, because this is the first time he does so.

Usually it was you, it was always you, begging for peace, begging for more, begging him not to leave you.

Part of him is as desperate as you are; part of him also dreads the moment when you will have to part again. Forever. It's comforting to know that his feelings are sincere, just like yours.

" Make me forget, then." You reply, moving your lower loins back against him, giving him tacit permission to explore your body once more. His fingers move down to your breasts, which he covers softly with his hand, his thumb skimming over a nipple to make it hard. You let out a gasp between your parted lips.

His hand slides lower, his palm flat against your lower belly, his fingertips brushing the light patch of hair at the top of your mound. You feel the familiar warmth growing between your thighs, in your core.

He sighs against the back of your skull, his head tilted forward. His lips search the skin at the nape of your neck, behind the long hair that has become tangled during the night, while his fingers intimately explore the secrets of your body that he knows all too well. The remnants of last night's lovemaking still smear the insides of your thighs and folds, but it doesn't matter; his fingers easily find the little bundle of nerves that they tease until you close your eyes, until your hand grips the damp, shabby sheet that covers the ragged mattress in the inn where you've spent the night.

Just the both of you, in the comfort of anonymity.

"Let me taste you". His voice, still husky, tickles the back of your neck and you feel him shift behind you. When you feel the warmth of his bare chest, against which you're nestled, leave your back, your body automatically tries to move back against him. You still need him. You still need him to chase away the lump of anxiety in the pit of your stomach and the voices that keep reminding you that you're only postponing the fateful moment. Your hand slips under your white tunic and wraps around his wrist to force him to stay there, to hold his fingers against the source of heat spreading from your core. Your hips are demanding, grinding against his hand. "On your back," he insists, and stands up on his forearms.

With reluctance you turn over. You obey, lying on your back, your hair spilled around your head on the flat, uncomfortable pillow on which you slept badly. The white tunic that serves as your nightgown is pulled up, crumpled, just above your crotch, which it barely conceals.

Aemond has swung over your body, silvery strands loosening from the braid that holds his hair behind his head and sliding down his shoulders, falling in loose loops on either side of his face, tickling your cheeks.

His lilac-tinted blue eye glows with a predatory gaze, a ray of light catching in the sapphire he hasn't removed from his socket.

He captures your lips with his own, begging for access. Aemond marks your jaw and throat with light kisses, sucking at your collarbone to make the violets of possessiveness with which he likes to adorn your body bloom. His lips travel down your chest, playing with one of the two small nipples raised by the cool air and by desire, and continue their journey past your navel.

Your heartbeat quickens as he settles between your legs, spreading your thighs to admire the part of you he covets so eagerly. At the same time you bend your legs, your gaze falling on him, on his unravelled hair, on his eye that locks with yours. He is so close to you, so close to your warm centre, and you know that between your folds the sweet nectar that your uncle longs to taste is already flowing.

But his lips trace the inside of your thighs instead, where the skin is soft and tender, and gradually they reach the hollow that connects them to your most intimate part. He takes a malicious pleasure in building up the tension, in savouring every millimetre of you like a fine delicacy, with only the tip of his lips brushing against your skin.

His thumbs spread the tender flesh of your womanhood and then he places a chaste kiss on the very centre of you. His tongue is shy at first, tracing the slit that connects your entrance to your little knob, collecting the evidence of your desire.

As his tongue wraps around your nub, your hands grip the sheets, knuckles white.

Aemond drinks from your essence like a thirsty man, his nose buried between your folds, rubbing your pearl.

The tip of his tongue catches what drips from your opening, and then the flat of his tongue tastes your slit, working its way up to the little nub gorged with desire.

He maintains the same rhythm, revelling in the moans that escape from your half-open lips. Soon his middle finger begins to draw circles against your entrance, the first knuckle sliding inside, then the whole finger. Your head is thrown back and immediately your hand buries itself in his silvery hair, gripping his braid in a messy bun behind the top of his head. Forcing his face against the most intimate part of your body, forcing his lips to work on your wet warmth, you seek more contact.

Aemond adds a second finger. He can feel you tighten around him as he searches for that particular spot, as his tongue continues to play with your bundle of nerves.

As he devours what is his, utterly his.

His fingers, the ones that aren't buried inside you, close around the flesh of your hip in a possessive grip. "Come for me," he whispers against your womanhood, his eyes lifted to you. "I know you can do it."

Your breathing becomes more erratic, faster too. You tighten the grip of your fingers in his hair, your thighs pressing either side of his face, and he collects the sweet taste of your release on his tongue with a hum.

You feel like you're floating. The waves of warmth still wash over you, less and less intense, your breast rising and falling as you catch your breath.

Your hand tucks a lock of his hair back behind his ear as Aemond lifts his face towards you, and you rest your hand against his cheek. His parted lips still glisten with your desire smeared across the lower part of his face. He stares at you without moving, his deep, regular breathing the only sound to break the silence that has followed your release. You stay like that for a moment, his gaze burning into yours. At any moment he might pounce on you. At any moment he might close the tiny distance separating your mouths and press his lips against yours like the starving man he is.

It's you who makes the first move. You taste yourself on his lips and your tongue entwines with his in a fiery, demanding kiss.

Straightening up, Aemond creeps between your legs, his hand on the underside of your thighs, holding them apart. He is still completely naked from the night before, he has not bothered to get dressed after your lovemaking, so you can catch a glimpse of his erect manhood, slightly curved. He wraps his hand around to guide it towards your still sensitive wet entrance.

He slides into you easily, in one slow movement. The haste of the night before, the urgency of the reunion, has given way to the tenderness and laziness of the early morning, and Aemond rocks inside you slowly. His hips undulate, punctuated by long, deep thrusts, in an illusion of domesticity.

But the damp sheets, rough against your skin, the discomfort of the hard mattress beneath your back, remind you that your lovemaking is anything but domestic.

For Aemond is still the enemy, for Aemond is supposed to be dead.

For your family is probably looking for you at this very moment, worried that you have not returned home for the night.

But you push those thoughts away. The weight of your uncle's body on top of yours soothes the knot that forms in the pit of your stomach at the thought of time slipping away, at the thought of having to leave him again, at the thought of this being the last time you will taste his lips, his skin.

Aemond is gentle, and that is rare enough to be worth mentioning. He has never been so gentle, so soft, in the limited time that you have been married.

Between you, there had been the devouring, consuming passion, the power play that in your submission had granted you dominance.

Between you it had been raw and devastating more than gentle and tender.

His fingers run the length of your body to your core, combining his slow, deep thrusts with the movement of his fingers against your clit.

There are only few words exchanged between you, as if you were both afraid to break the grace of the moment.

His panting, noisy breath echoes in the silence, skimming the skin of your throat, then mingling with yours as the shadow of his lips brushes against yours. He rests his forehead against yours, your hand cupping his cheek, sliding behind his neck, and you are transported into a cocoon of intimacy where nothing else exists around you.

There is only his body against yours, warm and reassuring.

There is only him inside you and the slow movement of his hips.

There is only your breathing, blending in the space that separates your mouths.

"Do you know how much I've missed you?" He whispers against your lips as you close your thighs around him. "How much I dreamed of this tight little cunt?" You swallow his words. Your hips meet his as he pushes against you. He is reaching deep inside you. Despite the intimacy of the moment, his body oozes power and darkness, and you can't help but be drawn to that side of him that complements yours so well.

You can't stop your body from aching for him.

"You could have been my queen," he says as his movements grow stronger. He won't last long, but neither will you. He's inside you, where you like to feel him, and your walls clench around his member. "And I would have set the whole world on fire for you." He thrusts. "Burned it to the ground" He thrusts again. "All for you." And again.

The old wood of the bed creaks with each of his movements.

You seek out his lips, just to brush them against yours.

Without sealing the kiss.

"And I would have accepted," you answer with a whimper. "I would have been your queen, qybor." In another life, you think you would.

In another life, in another universe, you would have been his queen.

A grunt escapes his lips and lands in the hollow of your ear. Aemond straightens on his bent elbow, right next to your head, and he plunges into you one last time, with more power, more vigour, just as his new position allows.

You close your eyes.

A second wave of warmth is about to engulf your body.

And you wait for it, you welcome it.

"Look at me when I come inside you," he growls hoarsely as his seed pours deep inside you, into the most intimate part of your body. "Look at me as I fill you up."

Your eyes lock with his, fiery as ever. A final moan escapes between your lips and you seal them to your uncle's in a feverish, wet kiss. You hold him in your arms for a moment longer, as if to allow yourself the luxury of illusion for a brief instant.

You delay the fateful moment a little longer, fighting the minutes that inevitably slip through your fingers.

"Stay inside me just a little longer," you whisper, burying your head in the hollow of his neck where you can feel the rapid rhythm of his pulse. His arms close around you, holding you tight against him, and you hear him purr against the hair on the crown of your head. He rocks you gently.

The silence welcomes you both into its embrace and you savour it like a treasure. Your body aches in the sweetest way, your insides throbbing around his softening manhood.

And around you, nothing exists anymore.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"I've changed, you know." His hoarse voice vibrates against you, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You keep them closed.

You're not sure if Aemond has really changed. Aemond is ruthless, cold, brutal, calculating, merciless. Cruel. You're not sure if Aemond can ever change, but he shows unusual tenderness, and maybe, just maybe, you allow yourself to doubt. You indulge in the illusion.

Perhaps Vhagar's death has broken something in him.

Perhaps it's true, perhaps he's not the same man anymore.

He's not sorry for what he has done. He never will be. He's too proud, even if you can catch the glimmer of remorse that colours his icy eyes when he is not looking at you.

Does he think of your little brother? Is he haunted by the memory of him, as you have been for so many years?

Does he think of the innocents he killed without flinching, the blood he spilled in the Riverlands that now stains the burned grass?

Is his sanity slowly being eaten away by the atrocities he has committed with his own hands?

He has changed. You are not sure if he's changed for the better or for the worse, but he has indeed.

Daemon has changed too. So has Rhaenyra. So has Jace.

You too have changed.

For war changes people, war makes them weary and wary, it shatters something in the body that will never be the same again. It hollows out the roundness of the cheeks, it deepens the dark circles under the eyes, it fades the sparkle of childhood that remains in the eyes.

Aemond seems to be waiting for an answer, but the words remain stuck in your throat. I know, you want to whisper, I know, but suddenly you've forgotten how to speak. His thumb draws the soft line of the underside of your breast.

The future terrifies you more than ever. You had made peace with your past, you had come to a conclusion that, even if it pained you, had given you some respite.

Seeing your uncle alive had reawakened your demons.

Spending the night in the embrace of his arms had revived everything you had buried deep, deep down.

The past had returned, creeping towards you, gnawing at the corners of your heart and at what remained of your sense of stability and certainty.

Now you are plunged into doubt.

Just as you were a little over three years ago, when you were informed of his death, when you had to learn to live with the choice that had never really been given to you.

Just as three years ago, when you noticed a familiar lilac-tinged blue in Rhaegar's eyes.

Like when you had to live with the memories that haunted you, that were slowly eating away at what little sanity you had left.

Like when you finally decided to leave for the North.

Aemond seems to sense your anguish, because his fingers get lost in your hair.

"What are we going to do now?"

Finally, you dare to utter the inevitable words that have been hanging on the tip of your tongue since you woke up, words you've swallowed so many times this morning. You immediately blame yourself.

Saying them only makes them more real.

They tear at something in the imaginary cocoon you've built for yourselves. You bury your face against his skin, breathe in his scent, as if you never want to forget him.

For you know how fleeting memories can be.

You remember how his face faded with each passing day.

You don't know if you'll ever be able to experience it a second time.

"We could leave," Aemond replies, as his fingers venture to your jaw, caressing the line of your cheeks with the back of his knuckles.

He's so pragmatic, as always.

Even in this situation.

Even now.

It makes you want to shake him.

"We could run away," he says again. His gaze, fixed in the distance, falls on you at the same moment. "To Essos. Pentos. No one would know who we are." You close your eyes, and let his hoarse voice lull you into silence. "To start our own family, the three of us."

You know he is not serious. Even though he looks at you with such insistence, with that flame that flickers in the centre of his iris.

You relish his fantasy, this impossible dream.

But you can't leave your family; Essos is not Winterfell. There, they knew where to find you. They knew you were safe. They knew you were sheltered between the walls of the northern castle, under the heavy furs, under the protection of Cregan Stark.

Essos is the unknown.

You cannot let your mother lose her only daughter, not after everything she has already lost.

The itch is familiar, tickling at the corners of your eyes. There was a time when you thought you'd lost that sensitivity. When you thought the war had left you cold, incapable of feeling anything. Incapable of crying.

"You know I can't." Your nose rubs against his milky skin, made clammy by sweat. You keep your eyes closed because you feel the weight of his cold gaze on you, his furrowed eyebrows as he stares at you blankly, his lips pursed in a long, thin line. You don't have the courage to meet his accusing gaze, let alone the wounded look on his face as you crush all his illusory dreams into dust.

When did you become the more pragmatic of the two?

When did you become the one responsible for bringing Aemond back to reality?

It used to be you, the one who filled your mind with unrealistic dreams, the one who dreamed of stories and fairy tales, back when you could still dream. "They need me, you know that."

A sneer stretches across your uncle's lips as he swallows a chuckle that sounds more like an ironic growl. You feel his whole body tense against yours, a sign that he's holding back his annoyance.

A sign that he has something to say, that he's upset, but doesn't quite know how to put it into words.

"Like they needed you back then?" he replies scathingly, bitterness on the tip of his tongue. "When they used you as a bargaining chip to achieve their ends, hm?"

Your red cheeks burn with shame, as if he'd slapped you. You don't move, merely swallow hard. You know there's something right about what he is saying, but you don't want to admit it.

You've done your duty.

You've done what is expected of you as a daughter.

It was not a question of them using you. It never was.

It was your duty, only your duty, what you were always meant to perform, wasn't it?

And yet a small voice in the back of your head had already given you a similar speech, a few years ago, but you had tried to silence it.

You refused to let Aemond admit it. You refuse to allow him to do it. He had no idea, no right to criticise your family when he'd acted like that.

When he has done what he has done.

He has no idea what it is like to be a daughter.

You don't answer, and silence falls between you again.

You wish so desperately that he could go home with you; that he could tell them that he's sorry.

You wish it were easier.

There is no one left to wait for Aemond but you, but his son, you know that. His family has been decimated, as has yours in some ways, though you still have your parents and your older brother.

For your uncle, there's nothing left but the shadow of his existence, the shadow of who he once was, long ago.

You let your hand trace the side of his throat, your nose buried against it, your lips hovering over his skin. You lean against him, your body on top of his, pressed together as if you were afraid to let him go.

"You could come with me instead," you whisper, but you refuse to meet his gaze. There's something shameful in the words you've just spoken aloud, something naive, and your burning cheeks are proof of your embarrassment.

Almost imperceptibly, he clenches beneath you, holding his breath. This is a bad idea and you feel stupid. Naive to have dared to suggest something like this.

His voice purrs in a hm that vibrates against you. He's about to say something. He searches for words. "You know that -"

"I know." You cut him off sharply - a little more than you would have liked, your eyes raised to silence him.

You know what he thinks.

He thinks that Rhaenyra will never be his queen. He thinks he will never bend the knee to his eldest sister and her authority, which he doesn't recognise.

He thinks that with the death of Aegon, with the death of the children his brother fathered with Helaena, the throne belongs to him.

And you are aware of his ambitions. You know how perfectly the conqueror's crown fits his head. You know how it sets off the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. You remember the look of greed in his eyes every time he stared at the Iron Throne, you remember the look of pride on his face every time he scorned anyone who dared to question his decisions as Prince Regent.

You know how mercilessly he made the soldiers at Harrenhal kneel, forcing them to contemplate their impending deaths. You know the terror he has sown throughout the Riverlands.

Even in the Seven Hells you could have found more mercy than at the hands of Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond may have changed, but you're not sure he's changed enough to put aside the pride that is consuming him from within.

You take a deep breath. "You don't really have a choice, qybor."

Fearing his reaction, you curl into a fetal position, your back to him, your knees drawn up to you. You close your eyes. You wait for his frustration.

You wait for his sentence.

You know that he is aware that he has no choice.

He has only two options: swallow his pride or sink back into the abyss, disappear into the dark meanders of oblivion.

Rhaegar needed his father, of course, but you found him a father in Cregan Stark.

That was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

There was no way you would give up what family you had left.

For Rhaegar needed his grandparents and his uncle even more.

Behind you, you feel your uncle's hand slip under your tunic and around your body, pulling you against him. He presses his bare chest against your back, tucking your head under his chin. His hand caresses your stomach, then his fingers brush the base of your breast.

"You know she will never be my queen. You know the throne belongs to -" But he lets the words drop without finishing the sentence, the knowledge of what he was about to say hanging in the air between you.

As long as he remains alive, will the embers of war never truly be extinguished?

You don't know, but you accept the risk.

You close your eyes, as if you're about to jump into the icy depths with both feet.

"The rest is up to you, Aemond," you whisper, barely audible. "And if you have truly changed, then you will know how to make the right choice."

He says nothing.

You savour the last few minutes of illusion you have left.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

The fear of making the wrong choice never really leaves you, but your mother chases your fears away, as she so often did when you were a child, tucking one of your dark curls behind your ear. She has her distinctive little smirk on her lips, the one that pulls the corner of her lips up towards her nose.

The same one Lucerys had, you think sadly.

You still miss him, even after all this time, and sometimes you wonder what kind of young man he would have become.

"You're a clever girl, my sweet clever girl," she whispers against your forehead as she cradles you in her arms. She's as beautiful as ever, as gentle with you as ever, despite the years, despite the wear and tear of war that has hardened her features and hollowed her cheeks. "And I know you have made the right decision." She lifts your chin with her forefinger to look into your eyes, and you feel like you're turning back into that shy, insecure girl who disappeared somewhere in the violence of the war all those years ago.

"And if it should turn out that you were wrong... Daemon will be there to intervene. You know he is just waiting for that." You roll your eyes at her attempt at humour, and she plants a kiss on your forehead.

For a split second, you truly are that carefree little girl again.

But behind your mother's humour lie fragments of reality that make your laughter bitter.

The news of your husband's survival remains a hazy blur in your mind. Sometimes you're not sure if this conversation really occurred or if you're dreaming.

You're not sure if what's around you, if the night you spent in Aemond's arms, is real or an invention of your sick mind.

Sometimes you're not really conscious of the events or how long they lasted, the lump in your stomach grows back, and once again you're destined to carve half-moons marks in the palms of your hands to soothe the tension in your body.

You told your mother first because you knew she'd be more understanding. As a mother, as a woman, she knows the meaning behind certain silences, the weight of words, the unspoken words that float between sentences.

You know she can understand your pain and your doubts, but also your love and your compassion.

She was shocked when you told her that her younger brother was still alive. She smoothed her dress, paced back and forth, then took the time to sit down, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes riveted to your face, looking for clues that would betray what you were thinking, what you might be hiding. She was afraid that he had hurt you. She was afraid that he would rip you away from her, just as he had once ripped your little brother away from her.

Her fingers had gently taken your hand and her thumb had drawn little circles on the back of your hand to comfort you. She listened to you first as you confessed everything.

Where you were that night when you didn't come home.

Who you were with.

And then she took you in her arms. She reassured you. Soothed you.

You had been so afraid of disappointing her, of disappointing all of them, that the tension paralysing your body had finally loosened and you burst into tears.

Things had proved more complicated with Daemon. When he learned that his nephew was alive, that he wasn't forgotten forever in the deep waters of the lake near Harrenhal, he refused to believe you. He was furious. He said he had seen him fall, that he was the one who had taken his life, tearing the sky apart.

You didn't know where to look, and it was in your mother's eyes that you sought support, comfort, anything in the face of your stepfather's rage. You could feel on you the look of disappointment of your brother, Jace, as he held his shoulders up and his chin high. He wanted to prove that one day he would be a good king. With his jaw clenched, he said nothing, looking at you as if you were suddenly so foreign to him. He probably didn't know what to say, for fear of being clumsy, for fear of unintentionally hurting you, even more than by his lack of support.

You know it wasn't his fault.

He simply couldn't understand.

The words stuck in your throat and you found yourself unable to speak, pearls glittering in the corners of your eyes while you waited impatiently for the final blow.

The final death knell that would seal your disgrace in everyone's eyes.

After all you'd endured.

Daemon stood before you, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes hard. He was staring at you as if you'd committed the ultimate treason, and you knew he was controlling himself to keep his anger from exploding. "You're going to bring him to me," he had hissed, his hand closing over your shoulder.

" You will lure him here and he will be put to the sword." His tone left no room for argument. With the tension growing in your stomach, you sought your mother's compassionate look to calm you. You could see the fury in your stepfather's eyes, and also a mixture of fear and feelings of betrayal. You knew that, deep down, he was afraid for you because he considers you his daughter. Because Baela and Rhaena are like sisters to you.

It was his reaction you feared most, not your mother's. His fingers dug into your skin, the floor slipping out from under you, the room swaying dangerously, and your mother had come to your rescue, trying to calm things down with her usual diplomacy.

You can't quite remember the words your stepfather said; in anger he muttered something that sounded like are you really thinking of becoming his whore again? and the words hurt like hell, but you tried to swallow the pain.

Endure, hold your head high. That was what you had learned.

Your mother had suggested you go back to your room or spend some time with Rhaegar, her fingers gently stroking your dark locks, and as soon as you left the throne room you could hear their voices echoing through the door.

They were arguing.

Over you.

Because of you, again.

You took a deep breath and returned to the gardens, where your two stepsisters were making your son laugh by playing with him. They had fun running around in the damp grass to the applause of Baela's little daughter, who clapped her little hands in delight.

Your fingers were still trembling when you joined them.

In the end a solution was found, for your mother feared losing you a second time.

She remembered what had happened to Laenor, your father, when he had grown tired of the court.

She remembered what had happened to Helaena, your sweet aunt, when she could no longer bear to suffer.

It was her worst nightmare to see you torn from her again, now that she had the chance to hold you in her arms every day, to protect you again, to see you grow again.

It was her worst nightmare to see her only daughter, her only daughter and the second of her only surviving children, taken from her.

You and Jace were all she had left of her own blood.

After long negotiations with Daemon, you had managed to bargain for your husband's life in exchange for strict conditions; increased surveillance, no bonding with a new dragon, no carrying of weapons, and the assurance that he would be executed if there was the slightest doubt about him. You proposed that you and he leave the capital, with your son as well. To return to Dragonstone. To start over on a new, blank page in a book that was already too damaged.

For you, it was also a way to ease the tensions between your family and Aemond, and perhaps find a more intimate life with your husband and son.

Rhaenyra had declared that this was the best solution: a guarantee for her to have you by her side again, a guarantee for her that you would be there.

You had been afraid of Aemond's reaction, afraid that his ego would not bear it; that he would refuse, that he would rather sentence himself to his own death than to an existence as a prisoner within his own family, condemned to live as a shadow of the man he had once been in exchange for seeing his son grow up.

But in the end, wasn't he doomed to live as a shadow of the man he had once been, anyway?

He would never be the rider of Vhagar again.

He would never be the ruthless Prince Regent again.

He would never again be the second in line to the throne, the second son greedily waiting for fate to turn in his favour.

He hadn't been all of that for a good three years, lurking in the cold, gloomy corridors of Harrenhal like a lonely monster.

And if he went back, if he rejected your proposal, he would have condemned himself to eternal solitude at the side of a witch you would rather forget.

He had no choice, for he would never be that Aemond again.

When you joined your husband at the meeting place, you were relieved to see him swallow his pride and accept. It was difficult, but you convinced him.

For Rhaegar, for his son.

Aemond had suggested that you run away, far away from everything, and you almost hesitated. Running away would have allowed you to forget, of course.

But your deepest wounds had begun to heal. You had begun to be able to face the ghosts that haunted King's Landing, the ghosts that haunted Dragonstone.

To stop there was tempting, and yet so frightening at the same time.

The unknown terrified you. You needed familiarity now, something to fall back on, for you were so tired.

Now you can't help bringing your thumb to your lips, nibbling the skin at the corner of your fingernail with the tip of your teeth as you walk away from Rhaenyra. A handmaiden brings you Rhaegar, and you struggle to breathe.

You inhale.

You exhale.

The thick tuft of brown hair makes you smile. The sight of your son is enough to give you the courage to walk with a more confident stride. It's as if you were filled with new strength, for you know that he needs you more than anyone else. And for him, you've promised yourself to stay strong.

As soon as you reach him, you kneel and plant a kiss on his plump cheeks.

He's growing up so fast that sometimes you wish you could stop time.

"There's someone who'd like to meet you, sweet boy," you explain, and you can recognise your mother's inflection in your own voice. Sweet boy. Rhaegar looks at you with big, round, questioning eyes, and you wonder if he senses your anxiety, because he takes your hand between his tiny fingers.

"Who, muña ?" he babbles, striding down the cobbled path in the middle of the gardens, hopping on his clumsy little legs, and you smile at his carefree attitude. He stops to watch the bees foraging, bends down to pick up a flower and gives it to you. He's always so curious, so full of life. He's a ray of sunshine that brightens your dull days. You finally understand your mother, the agonising fear she has of losing you. You finally understand the horror she experienced when she lost her four other children.

You also finally understand why Helena threw herself from Maegor's Holdfast.

The thought of what Daemon did still revolts you, and you can't imagine anyone hurting your boy like that.

You turn around. Rhaenyra is still there, in the distance, her crown on her head, her hands crossed in front of her on the heavy fabric of her dress, watching over you. She won't move, a comforting, discreet presence.

A stone bench awaits you by the fountain, on which two cushions have been arranged. A dessert buffet has been set up under the gazebo and you immediately spot your favourite cakes, the strawberry one, the blackberry jam one, and you look down at your son. He hasn't noticed them yet, or he would have already run over, dipped his finger in the whipped cream and stolen a blueberry from one of the tarts, his innocent expression on his face.

He is definitely a lot like you. Mischievous and clever. An angelic air. He is an easy-going child who never throws a tantrum.

Who understands quickly, too.

"I love you. I love you more than anything, you know that, don't you, young boy?" your tone is soft, and you kneel down in front of him, your hands on his small shoulders to emphasise the seriousness of your discussion. You search for your words, hesitating. How do you tell a three-year-old that his father, his dead father, is back from the dead and about to meet him?

Of course, Rhaegar knows that his birthfather was valiant, that his birthfather rode the greatest dragon in the world, that his birthfather died in battle.

But there is so much he doesn't know, so much he will inevitably learn as he grows up, and it is precisely that future that frightens you. You hug him as if you're afraid of losing him.

"Princess."

The deep voice of your sworn protector echoes behind you, and you straighten your skirt.

You know he is there.

You know you will see him the moment you turn around.

Your heartbeat quickens.

Aemond Targaryen stands behind your sworn protector, surrounded by two guards. His hands are bound in front of him.

It is so strange to see your uncle in this vulnerable position. He who for so long has been on the other side, he who for so long has been the one who bent others to his will. He looks at you harshly, and you almost feel the need to apologise.

But you know it is a matter of caution.

You know that Daemon, you know that Jace and even your mother would never have agreed to bring him in if such precautions hadn't been taken.

You admire his resilience, his determination. You admire his ability to hold his head high, to be confident, despite the fact that he is being treated like a common prisoner, about to be sentenced to death.

You struggle to swallow the lump that has formed in your throat.

"Who's that, muña?" Aemond's eyes leave you and immediately drop to the small figure that has appeared beside you, reaching for your hand, huddling against your leg, shy and worried.

Immediately, your husband's icy gaze, his lilac-coloured eyes, soften.

"Thank you, Sir Rowan. You may leave us."

Despite the worry on his face, your sworn protector nods, unties his prisoner's hands and walks back to your mother, accompanied by the other two guards. You watch them leave, and a strange silence fills the space between you and your uncle.

He doesn't look at you; his eyes are riveted to your son, whom he observes with wonder. He looks as if he is admiring the most beautiful and fascinating discovery he has ever seen. You look down to see Rhaegar's reaction, and he seems as intimidated as he is hypnotised by that gaze, by that blue and purple eye so similar to his owns, by this man looking at him as if he were one of the most marvellous things in the world.

"Gods, he's perfect," Aemond murmurs as he looks up at you, emerging from his trance. He comes closer to embrace you. And for once, there is something other than his usual brutal possessiveness and ferocity when his arms close around you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond is shy at first. Awkward.

He's shy and amazed as he follows your son's every move with his good eye. From time to time, his gaze rests on you, as if to make sure he's not dreaming. As if to make sure he is doing right, seeking your approval.

Rhaegar is shy too, at first.

When he sits on your lap, he snuggles up to you, buries his face in your neck, one of your locks curled in his chubby little hand and he rubs it against his nose. From time to time, he turns to give his father a curious look, recognising his own eyes in the unfamiliar face before him.

Aemond's expression grows gentler, a softness never seen in his features before.

Once he has tamed the stranger, the little boy pecks at the blueberries in the tart in front of him. He shakes his legs, hitting your knees in painful little jabs, and your arm wraps around his body to hold him down.

Rhaegar loves cake, and the sugar may be coaxing him, for he's regaining his appetite for talking.

"He really does have my eyes," Aemond whispers incredulously, and his voice, still foreign to his son's ears, causes the little boy to lift his head.

" It is definitely the only thing he has inherited from you," you reply, teasing him with a small smile at the corner of your lips.

Soon Rhaegar finishes the blueberry tart, the cream smeared over the bottom of his face and the tip of his nose.

"He inherited that from you, that is certain." Aemond grins, pointing with his long chin at the boy's voracious appetite for cakes and pastries.

You have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming. That your husband is really standing in front of you, with your son, like a normal family.

That he was truly trying to tell a joke.

This form of domesticity is so alien to your relationship, and yet so pleasant, that you find yourself thinking that perhaps you have made the right decision, indeed, if every day can be like this.

"Your muña deserves some cake too, what do you say, little one?"

Rhaegar giggles. Aemond cuts a slice of your favourite cake, the one with the strawberries, and puts it on your plate.

You blush. After all these years, he hasn't forgotten which one is your favourite.

You can't even really whisper a thank you because this apparent domesticity, this feeling of completeness, this interlude of happiness makes you uneasy. Anxious.

You have the feeling that at any moment you'll be plunged back into the horror of what you went through all those years ago.

You have the feeling that at any moment the Gods will be cruel and snatch away this happiness that you've barely been able to taste, leaving only the memory of its sweet taste on your lips.

You breathe in and out, as you often do when you feel your palpitations rising in your chest.

"Do you... do you want to take him on your lap?" you ask your uncle with shyness, your hand stroking Rhaegar's thick brown curls. Aemond looks at you as if you have spoken in a foreign language. Lips parted, he is about to say something, but not a sound escapes his lips. His lonely eye travels from you to your son, from your son to you, in silence.

"I don't know if -"

You can hear the doubt in his voice, and it's almost touching to see him lose his confidence in front of his own son, to see him so nervous and unsure of himself.

You let out a little laugh, not in mockery, obviously, just full of tenderness.

You know what he's thinking.

He's afraid of frightening him.

He's afraid of harming him.

"You won't hurt him, Aemond."

He answers nothing. He still doesn't like to look vulnerable, unsure, and you know it has to do with his childhood. With all he has kept bottled up inside him all these years. He will need time.

Your eyes fall back to the little boy sitting in your lap, and you draw his attention to yourself by stroking the curls on his forehead.

"Do you want to go to Aemond for a while? To kepus?"

you correct yourself immediately, and Rhaegar nods in agreement.

You are amazed at how easily he slips off your legs to run to his father, to pull himself onto his lap, when only a few hours ago he was so intimidated by the presence of this stranger with the eyepatch.

Your uncle automatically puts his arm around his waist to make him feel comfortable, his new role taking root in him. His fingers reach for the cloth on the table, and he wipes Rhaegar's face, who can't help but burst out laughing at his father's clumsy gestures.

For a split second you are lost in contemplating the horizon, the stillness of the sea. You taste the sea breeze on your face.

And then you turn your head towards the cobbled path where the guards and your sworn protector are still stationed.

Your mother is no longer there, and you notice that you have not at any time felt the need to seek comfort in her presence.

You smile, for in the end you know you've made the right decision.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Dragonstone, 6 months later.

When you walk the corridors of the place that saw you grow up, you are no longer haunted by the ghosts and their incessant cries. A kind of peace has settled over you, a return to the pleasant familiarity you've waited so long for.

You still think of Luke, of course. Of Luke and Joff and little Aegon and Viserys, your brothers you will never see grow old.

But you no longer feel their disapproving glances at every step you take. You are no longer kept awake by their cries, by their tears, by the remorse that twists your stomach.

You no longer blame yourself.

Perhaps you've finally learnt to make peace with yourself.

The heavy door of the bedroom you share with Aemond is half open, and you slip your head into the doorway, piqued by curiosity.

Snuggled on your husband's lap, Rhaegar is staring at the pages of a large book, the corners of which you can guess are horned, the cover worn, from being carried everywhere. You can imagine the jam stains that mark the paper with children's fingerprints. You know exactly which page is missing, the one you and Aemond accidentally tore out and hid so the Septa wouldn't notice, so many years ago.

It is a book about dragons, the very one the two of you used to read hidden under the table when you were so young and innocent, long before the torment of war.

Without a sound, you lean against the doorframe and contemplate for a moment the perfect vision before you.

You don't have the cruelty to disturb them.

"This one is Vhaegar!" shouts Rhaegar, and you hold your breath, searching Aemond's face for any hint that might betray his reaction. The mention of his former dragon is still a sensitive subject for him, you know it.

"Yes, that's Vhagar." he pauses. "She was brave."

From the corner of his eye, Aemond spots your silhouette in the faint glow of the corridor, and his attention lingers on you for a moment. He's almost embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable, intimate moment, but you smile tenderly to encourage him.

"And big!" the little boy adds, energetically raising his arms to the sky to emphasise his words.

"Yes, and big." There's a suspended moment of silence where the words hang in the air, and then your husband gently ruffles his son's hair. It's a tender sight to see them bond like this, and your heart fills with happiness.

Taking a step forward, you step into the light of the room and Rhaegar expresses his joy at seeing you. You smile back at him and approach the chair where Aemond sits, your son on his lap.

Your uncle's hand instantly rests on the curve of your belly, which he still stares at with the same protective instinct, the same fascination, as the day you told him the news. His eyes sparkle.

"Your daughter is restless today."

He looks up at you, not without lingering for a moment on your breasts and their new shape.

"My daughter?" he asks, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"I'm convinced it's a girl. You reply, smiling wryly, and take a seat in the armchair next to the one where Aemond and your son are sitting, facing the fireplace. "And she took after her father, given her temper," you tease him, your hand on the top of your rounded belly to soothe the baby growing there.

Rhaegar's eyes close slowly. Nestled against the chest of the man who, just a few months ago, was still a stranger, he fights sleep, he fights to stay awake, but tiredness quickly overcomes him. And then he falls asleep, his mouth half open, the movements of his breath making his chest rise and fall rhythmically.

Aemond finally gets up. You follow his movements with your eyes as he approaches you, the child in his arms, and he plants a kiss on the top of his head.

"I'm going to put him to bed. I'll be right back." He straightens and lowers his voice.

"I wouldn't fail in my duty and neglect my wife." The heat rises to your cheeks, turning them red at the implication of what awaits you tonight. You're already wet between your thighs at the thought.

But you nod in agreement and watch him walk away.

You are left alone in the silence of the room. The only sound around you is the steady crackling of the fire.

It's strange, you think, to be back on Dragonstone, in the familiarity of the stones you've spent most of your life between, after getting used to the idea of not surviving the war.

To the idea of dying from a broken heart.

To the idea of dying, the umpteenth victim of the vicious spiral of conflict that has torn your family apart.

And yet here you are.

With your own family.

For once you have hope for the future. You hear the cries of your little brother, lost in the storm so long ago, but they are quickly replaced by the laughter of a happy memory.

And finally, you have the absolute confirmation that you have made the right decision.

*** *** *** *** ***

Thank you so much for reading!! <3

Tag list : @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis (I'm tagging you since you asked for it ❤️)

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

968 notes · View notes

lostgirlmuseum · 1 year ago

Text

Bucky vs. Book

^Bucky on his way to you fr^

Summary: Bucky rushes to your aid when he finds out you’re upset. He’s never seen you this distraught before.

Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

Words: 600 (I don’t think I have ever written something this short before wth)

Warning: It’s kinda angst?? But mostly fluff.

A/N: Sorry I haven’t been on much lately, school is keeping me busy. I wrote this pretty quickly and it’s just a short little treat while I’m in the middle of writing a mini series. Idk when I’ll finish writing it, but it prob won’t be done this month. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

“Bucky?” Sam asked.

“M’ busy.” Bucky mumbled, curling a barbell like it was a dumbbell.

“Someone just informed me they heard crying coming from your girl’s room.”

“What?” Bucky dropped the barbell on the ground with a loud thud.

“Move, out of the way!” Bucky yelled, nearly knocking Sam over as he started sprinting to the gym exit.

Bucky ran so fast that he was bumping into walls and hitting corners, trying to locate the nearest stairs.

He took the stairs by three, his heart hammering against his chest, his ears on high alert in case he could hear you calling for him.

Finally, he made it to your room, and swung the door open without a second thought, just needing to know if you were okay. Bucky’s wide eyes spotted you instantly, curled into yourself on the rug, tissues littering the floor, sobbing. He had never seen you so upset.

He wasted no time sliding onto his knees and to you.

“Doll? Doll, what’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt?” He tried to lift your chin to see your beautiful face, but you barely acknowledged him, your puffy eyes cast down.

“My h-heart,” you choked, clutching your chest.

“Are you having a heart attack?” He couldn’t stop himself from sliding his hands all over you, checking for injuries.

“I feel– s-so sad,” was all you could make out between sobs.

“Baby, who hurt you?” He was panicking, he needed to know what happened, why you were so distraught so he could fix it.

“Stupid book!” You cried, and flung yourself at him, holding him close, and tucking your head into his chest. Bucky immediately reciprocated, wrapping his big arms around you, squeezing you tight, one hand brushing your hair.

That’s when he noticed the outline of a book under a couple tissues.

“It’s not fair,” you cried, body shaking with each breath.

“I know, I know,” he soothed. He, of course, did not know, but he was enormously relieved to see the perpetrator was only a book.

“They were supposed to end up together! They were p-p-per–” You squeezed him tighter, struggling to get the words out. “Perfect together! Why did the author ruin it? It’s not fair, it’s not fair, they deserve to be happy!”

“Shhh,” he whispered, starting to rock you back and forth.

“It’s not fair,” you whispered through another cry, and collapsed fully into him.

“It’s not,” Bucky echoed.

Eventually your cries quieted and slowed, and Bucky kissed your forehead and let go of you. You barely had time to question what he was doing when he picked up the book from behind you and started to pretend to punch it.

“Bad book,” he chastised, “you made my baby cry. Nobody makes my baby cry,”

You couldn’t help but giggle, and wipe the remaining tears from your eyes.

Bucky continued to scold it, and even positioned himself to body slam it.

“Bucky,” you full on laughed, “stop,”

“Not until it apologizes,” he grumbled, faking a chokehold on it. “Oh, shit–” Bucky rolled onto his back and held the book above him, acting out a struggle. “It’s got me baby, help!”

Giving in to his shenanigans, you leaned over and grabbed the book from his hands, and gave it your own weak punch.

“Fuck you, book,” You sniffed and laughed.

“It can’t hurt you anymore,” Bucky said, patting your back.

“Thank you, Bucky,”

“I’ve got you, doll.”

“Why are there dents in all the walls?” Tony’s raised voice could be heard all the way from the floor below.

You looked at Bucky.

“What?” He smiled cheekily. “You needed me.”

Thank you for reading!

My Masterlist if you'd like to check my other stuff out :)

Oh oh and this is inspired by my reaction to Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. I hate that book so much. I love that book so much.

#bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky angst #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic

2K notes · View notes

lis-likes-fics · 11 days ago

Text

Strung Up

Pairing(s): Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 32.8k words Warnings: NSFW, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (violence), graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of death, murder, blood, gore, anxiety, panic attack, implications of stalking, frequent swearing, drug use, alcohol use, manipulation, degradation (not always in the sexy way), dubious consent, light praise kink, fingering, groping, oral sex, multiple orgasms, spanking, titty fucking, masturbation, vaguely masochistic tendencies… A/N: IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: Not all of the warnings are listed above, but the full list of warnings is provided here. The only reason they're not all here is to avoid spoilers throughout the story, but none of the warnings unlisted here should be trigger warnings. If you're still unsure, please feel free to check the list. But if you want to go into this blind, go right ahead! A/N II: Okay so...I did finish the last two scenes at 3 o'clock in the morning last night, but hey! We finished! This is the last upload for my Kinktober 2024 event. I'm glad I was able to finish just in time, and I hope you all enjoy this just as much as I did (even though I almost gave up five different times but that's not important.) Thank you so much and Happy Halloween! A/N III: The story is too long so Tumblr won't let me post this. Because of this, I will ahve to split it into two parts (which is annoying bc it will really damage notes and stuff and it's harder to manage >:( )

"Sonova bitch!”

You resist the urge to kick your tire. It's midnight, you're practically in the middle of the woods, and you're alone. Your car broke down along the way home, and now you're worried you'll have to walk for God-only-knows how long just to get help.

You look around, trying to figure out what to do without a car or any telephone nearby. You curse under your breath, bracing your hands on the side of the car as you lean against it.

You hear tires in the distance, and perk your head up at the chance of some luck coming your way.

But the only thing coming your way is a large, almost creaky van. Upon seeing you, it begins to slow down to a creeping pace, and you wonder if you should just make a break for it.

Just your luck, too. You're stuff on the side of the road in the middle of the night with no way to communicate with a single living soul, and now there's a creepy van inching toward you like you're about to meet your end.

Your back is stiff, and your nerves are frayed. “Just a van driving toward you,”you mutter to yourself. “Nothing scary about that at all.”

As the blinding lights shine across you, you raise a hand and squint your eyes against the strain. It pulls into the side of the road, parking behind you as the lights continue to blare.

“Hey,” a guy says as he swings the door open and steps out. You give a wary smile at first, waving timidly back at him. “Something wrong?”

It's hard to see him. All you see is the outline of his figure against the lights. He's taller than you, with big bushy hair and wide shoulders. You try not to shrink away from this dark, shadowy thing of a man.

You bump the toe of your shoe against the tire, crossing your arms as your hand pulls nervously at the collar of your work shirt. “Stupid engine died on me.”

He gestures to the car, his voice is actually kind of nice, and a bit familiar… “A beauty like this?” He pats the back of it, wild hair shifting as he looks down at it. “That's surprising.”

You shrug. “Yeah, everyone thinks it's such a great car. It's actually a piece of shit.” You chuckle lightly, and he joins you. “Do you think you could help?”

He steps to the side, and some light finally shines on one side of his face. You start to piece together his features, squinting your eyes and realizing why his voice is so familiar. You're put at some ease now that you recognize him. Your shoulders fall, and the features of your face calm.

“Wait, you're that Eddie guy. At my school?”

He looks up at you, a smile tugging at his lips as he nods. “That's me. The Eddie guy.” He holds out his ringed-up hand. “Eddie Munson.”

You take it, the cold of his rings a slight surprise against the warmth of your palm. “I'm–”

“I'm well aware, sweetheart.”

You purse your lips, chuckling lightly at the way he says it. It's not mean in any way, but there's an undertone that you find slightly unsettling.

He squints the corners of his dark eyes, making a cringing face as he nods slowly. “Sorry, that sounds bad. Uhh–”

“No, all good,” you say quickly. You shuffle on your feet, chuckling lightly to try and ease the tension between you. “You're not gonna, like, kill me and stuff my corpse in the back of your van, right?”

He smiles, laughing as he shakes his head. “No, all good.” He raises his fingers in the air, one hand over his heart as he bows a little. “Scout's honor.”

You nod. “Cool.” You glance back at your car and pat the hood. “You think you could help me out, Eddie Munson? Maybe a hot wire?”

He cringes slightly, running a hand through his messy hair. His muscle tee rides up a little from the movement, revealing a slip of his tummy shone gently in his headlights. “Unfortunately, my old girl can't handle a hot wire. I love her, but she's a bit of a piece of shit, too.”

You hum, your shoulders falling slightly. “Oh, that sucks.”

“But…” He steps over to your open door, leaning inside to pop the hood before he walks past you to look at the engine. “I'll tell you what, I can tow it and get it fixed for you.” He seems pleased with this answer. He smiles like a dork. “I help out at an auto shop, they know me. And,” he rubs his hand over the side of the car, admiring the make, “I think they'd be thrilled to work on a nice thing like this.”

Sparks of hope shoot like fireworks in your eyes when you look at him. “”Really?” Then you backpedal as you second guess yourself. “I wouldn’t wanna bother.”

“Psh, no bother, at all.” He says it so casually, like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. The amount of work, money, time—it doesn’t seem to mean anything to him. “I’ll hook her up and take you home.”

You clasp your hands together, a wide smile falling on your face. “Thank you so much.” You start walking toward his van with him, watching as he opens your door for you like a true gentleman. “I’m so glad you’re not some sort of creep.”

As you sit down, his smile widens with his joke. “You never know.” He winks at you, and it makes you laugh. If he were some middle-aged man, you’d truly be worried. But he’s really just some really nice (and kind of hot) weirdo who goes to your school. He’s not threatening, at all.

Once Eddie’s got your car properly fastened to the back of his van, he’s driving down the lightened road with the radio gently underscoring the otherwise silent air. He taps the wheel gently, glancing over at you every now and then when you’re looking out of the window at your side.

“So,” he mutters, “why are you out here so late?”

You chuckle lightly, scratching your neck absent-mindedly. “Leaving work.” You purse your lips. “My hours are kinda ridiculous.”

His brows raise. “Damn. Sounds like you need a new job.”

You shrug a shoulder lazily. “Eh. Pays well, good boss, one shitty coworker.” You look at him and smile. “It’s nothing.”

“At least it’s not a shitty boss.”

You nod eagerly, laughing lightly in agreement. “Got that right. I got lucky.”

His eyes keep switching between you and the road. He leans his elbow on his arm rest, still steering with one hand on the wheel. “So where do you work?” he wonders curiously.

“Retail.” There’s a crack on the passenger’s side mirror, and you briefly wonder how it got there. “This semi-expensive place, like twenty minutes from my house.”

He tilts his head to the side with a hum, as if the distance is another reason to quit. “Good pay.”

Another involuntary chuckle rises from your chest. “Good pay,” you echo. “What about you?” You turn to him, your head tilted. Then your eyes close and you purse your lips, raising a hand to brush down your face. “You totally said you help out at an auto shop, didn’t you?”

He laughs heartily. “I did, but I actually work at Radio Shack.” You nod like working at Radio Shack is this super interesting thing. “Pays kinda meh, shitty boss, couple good coworkers but the others kinda hate me.”

You lean back against the seat, sighing like it's happening to you. “That sucks. I'm sorry.”

Eddie shrugs. “S’fine, I'm used to it.” He grins a little. “That's what happens when you listen to this.”

He turns the station, turning it up a little as the rambunctious sounds of metal music almost blast through the speakers.

You've never been a fan of metal, but the popular rhetoric of it being music from the devil was annoying. Music is music.

“And when you play RPGs.” He turns the music back down.

You smirk, raising a brow at him. “So you're a nerd?”

An almost startled laugh rises from his throat, it almost sounds like a snort. “Maybe a little,” he says. His smile is so big, you wonder if his cheeks hurt. Then you wonder if he's this nice to everyone.

“That’s okay. I like a good nerd.”

He glances over his shoulder teasingly. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod, chuckling to yourself with a gentle giddy. “Mhm.”

The rest of the ride is as calm and as pleasant. Eddie's good company, and you find yourself genuinely hoping that you continue to be friends after this.

Soon enough, he's pulling into your posh neighborhood. The street lamps have been on for a long time, illuminating your relatively expensive house and the large tree in front of it in a gentle golden light. The porch lights are on, so your parents must be (obviously) asleep.

Eddie jogs across the front of his van to open the door for you. “Tada!” he exclaims quietly as he gestures dramatically toward your home. As you step out, still looking at your house with a furrowed brow, your skin prickles and the back of your neck goes cold as you begin to realize something.

“I…never gave you my address.”

You turn to look at Eddie, who's smiling really widely. His dark fringe kisses his lashes, his lips are pulled taut by the stretch of his smile, which is lingering strangely on his face. A tiny huff of breath passes from his mouth.

There's a strange silence as he stares at you, looking like someone's pressed pause on him. It's just short enough that it's easy to miss.

“I've been to one of your parties before.”

Oh.

“You have?” You think quickly, trying to remember seeing his face and falling short. “I've never seen you at one.”

“Yeah…” he says. “Not really my crowd.” Eddie closes your door after you've grabbed your things. “A friend invited me, but I left quick.” He shrugs a shoulder, “Besides, atmosphere wasn't super welcoming.”

Right. He's a social outcast.

“Oh,” you mumble. It doesn't sit well with you. You wished you would have noticed him. At least then you could have tried to make it better for him. He's a really sweet guy…

“Who’s your friend? I think I heard Steve Harrington mention you before,” you wonder. Steve is a friend of yours, and he’s been to nearly all of your parties.

“Yeah, he invited me.” He shrugs. “But I went with Jonathan Byers.” You know the name, another social outcast. He and his brother are very kindly looked upon, especially after the incident where his little brother was lost in the woods. That’s the only time you ever spoke to him, to offer your sympathies. If you’re thinking correctly, he’s a pothead now.

You give him a smile. “Well, I'd like to formally invite you to my next one—whenever that is, then I can properly welcome you and your friend.”

He laughs lightly, doing a grand flourish with his hand as he bows to you. “Well, thank you very much.”

You gesture toward the back of his van. “And my car?”

He nods dutifully. “I'll get that fixed up for you in no time.” Then he thinks for a moment. “Well, a little bit of time, but not too long.”

“Oh.” You nod, smiling still. You glance off down the street like you're looking for something. “I’ll just have to figure out a ride to school then… My boyfriend kind of lives out of the way and both my parents work.”

You miss the way his shoulders sink, his smile easing just a bit. He brings a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Well…” he speaks slowly, slower than he means to. “I can come pick you up.”

You clasp your hand again in a slightly pleading manner, but there's so much kindness in your eyes. “You're already helping out so much.”

A small sense of pride swells in his chest. “It's not a problem, really. I'm happy to.”

You set a hand on his shoulder, and you feel it tense a little through the thickness of his leather jacket. “I'd really appreciate it.” It's sincere, and you hope he knows. “Thank you.”

He puts his hand over yours. “No problem.” Then he clears his throat and lets go of your hand so you can have it back.

You start walking backwards. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

He raises an open palm, doesn't wave it or anything. “Night…”

You turn around and head inside. He watches you put the key in your door and walk inside.

Eddie stands there still, sighing gently as he wonders what he's going to do with himself. You're just so sweet and so pretty. You're perfect.

You're everything he was hoping for.

You've been trying to speak to him for the past ten minutes.

The lunch table isn't as full today. A couple buddies from the team are gone, their girlfriends included—which also means Brynn isn't here to resort to either.

You sigh, rolling your eyes as Jake's lips suck on your neck still. He hasn't moved from this spot unless it's to go to the other side of your neck in ten minutes. His hands are all over your waist, and when he nips at you, you huff.

“Hey, can you chill?”

He hums, not letting up as he continues to suck on you like a goddamn vampire. “What's wrong, baby?” he mumbles against your neck.

You push him off of you so that he'll look at your face. His lips are a little swollen from the attention, and his eyes are hooded like you've just been going down on him or something.

“I'm trying to talk to you, and you’re trying to fuck me in the middle of the cafeteria.

“I'm sorry,” he says, kissing your lips gently. He sighs lightly and smiles. “What were you saying?”

So he wasn't paying attention? You thought as much.

You turn to him. “I was saying that I might get fired.”

He furrows his brows. “Why?”

You brush a hand down your face to calm yourself before you yell at him for being so inattentive. You lick your lips, centering yourself with a sigh as you pull a sarcastic grin over your face.

“Because Cassidy found us making out in the storage closet during my lunch break—which you suggested after I said it was a bad idea.” There's a small grin on his face, and you have a feeling he isn't listening again.

He shrugs, “Cassidy’s a bitch who's been trying to get you fired for months. She's not doing it now.”

Your stress is getting to you now. You reach out to grab his face in the hopes that it'll make him pay a little more attention. “Except this time, she's got me for indecency in the workplace. Which could be filed under sexual harassment. That can get me fired.”

He furrows his brows a little in confusion. He grabs your wrists and pulls them off his face, down to his lap. “I think you're being ridiculous,” he shrugs a shoulder like what he's said isn't a ridiculous statement. “Aren't you training to be like…a crew lead or something?”

His hands fall to your waist, and you ignore him as he leans in again to keep sucking on your neck. He tilts your head up, holding your chin still as he has at it.

You let out a frustrated sigh. “Which is why I'm stressed out. She's going to tell my boss, and she's going to fire me.”

He pulls away from your neck. You watch his face twist in more confusion. He stares at you for a second, then glances away, and then looks back at you. “Why would you get fired?”

You stare at him with an astonished glare in your eyes. “You don't…” you huff unbelievingly and swat his hands away from you, “...fucking listen.”

You stand up and start gathering your things, wiping absent-mindedly at your neck as you throw your bag over your shoulder. He watches you, ever-confused as you storm away from him. “Where are you going?”

When you plop down next to Eddie, he seems unsurprised. He looks over at you and smiles. The rest of his table isn't fazed by your entrance—you come over a lot and you're nice, so they don't care.

“Hey! How's it goin’?” Eddie's happy to see you, and it's already making you feel better. He notices the way your face is screwed up, and he's come to know the look well by now. His face falls a little, concern lining his forehead as it does. “What's wrong?”

His warm hand comes to rest at your face, rubbing lightly between your shoulder blades. It's a soothing thing that actually helps to calm you down a bit. “Jake's pissing me off.”

“How?” He sounds almost as exasperated as you.

You sigh gently, getting ready to recount the story for a listening ear. “A couple days ago, I was on my lunch break at work and he convinced me to…” it's a little awkward telling Eddie about your semi-sexual habits, but you know he won't judge you, “...to make out with him in the storage closet, and my goddamn coworker saw us and is going to tattle.” You drop your face into your hands. “I could get fired for this.”

Eddie thinks for a moment. “This is…Cassidy, right? Cassidy Franklin?”

“Yeah.” You sit up again, probably looking as hopeless as you feel.

He brings his foot up to prop against his chair, tilting his head to one side to let his hair fall off his shoulder. “Isn't she that same girl who started the rumor about Betty Carter and Richard Vance making porn tapes for money?” He raises a brow, “And that one about Steve being in a relationship with Jonathan?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

“Huh?” Jonathan asks, looking up from his food at the mention of his name. Eddie waves him off, rolling his eyes before he looks back over to you. He smiles, opening his hands. “She's a rumormonger. No one's gonna believe her. Especially not your manager. Your manager loves you and everyone hates Cassidy Franklin.”

You think about that, and it's making you feel better. You nod again. “You might be right.”

He wraps a hand around his knee, smiling to himself like he's so pleased to hear that he's right. “Besides, it'll probably end up coming back to her anyway.” He tilts his head, leaning in fondly as he flutters his lashes at you. ”People like that don't always get away with being assholes.”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, nodding. “Okay. You're right, yeah. She's a bitch.”

“Who’s a bitch?” Robin’s head pops up. She looks between the two of you, curiosity all over her face.

You shrug. “My coworker.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and nodding. “Yeah, my coworker’s a bitch, too.”

You chuckle lightly, glancing at Eddie. “Don’t you work with Steve?” You’ve checked out movies at Family Video from them before. They seemed to mostly be getting along.

“Yeah, why?” She smirks slyly, returning to her conversation with Argyle. You don’t know what they’re talking about, but you’re not sure it’s going to make a lot of sense with the way his eyes look right now.

Eddie’s smiling when you look back at him. “Anyway, don't sweat it. Everything's gonna be fine…’kay?” He holds out his pinky, squeezing with a funny kind of harshness when you wrap yours around it.

You nod. “Okay.” You sigh, and this time it actually feels like you're letting go of the stress. Eddie always knows how to make you feel better. “Thanks. My boyfriend's an idiot, and it feels like you're the only person who listens to me sometimes.”

He furrows his brow curiously, turning toward his bag of pretzels sitting almost forgotten on the table. He pulls a couple from the bag, picking them individually from his palm. “What about your friend? What's her name—Brooklyn?”

“Brittany.” Your smile sours. “And, yeah, Brynn spends a lot more time with her boyfriend now than she does with me, so I might have to remind her that I exist first.”

He scoffs, shaking his hand as he looks down at his pretzels. “Shitty friend,” he mumbles under his breath. He seems genuinely and deeply upset. His brow furrows maybe a little more than it should.

You look over his expression, briefly wondering why he cares so much. “Just a bit,” you mutter absent-mindedly. You look at the time. Lunch is almost over. “Anyway, thanks, Eddie.”

He seems to snap out of it then, a large grin returning to his face. “No problem.”

You set a hand on his arm, smiling hopefully. “Hey, are you free tonight?” Something glints in his eyes. “Jake's hanging out with his boys and, like I said, Brynn's with her boy. I wanted to watch that new movie.”

It's a horror movie, Annihilator. You know Eddie likes horror movies, and you don't want to watch it alone. Or, rather, you'd prefer to watch it with him.

Eddie does this weird thing sometimes where he pauses. It's like his brain suddenly freezes and he just stops moving. He stares at you. His smile intact and his face just as Eddie-ish as usual, but just a little…off.

It only ever lasts a moment though.

“Raincheck?” he asks regrettably. “I'm hanging with my uncle tonight. We've been planning it for a while now.”

“Oh, sure,” you chirp. You know how much his uncle means to him. They don't usually get time together since he always works so late. “No problem. Tomorrow night?”

He smiles that proud grin again. He does it a lot. You think it's sweet.

“Absolutely.”

“See you then.” You steal a pretzel as you move to stand.

He waves you off with wiggling fingers and a cheeky grin. “See you.” He winks on your way out.

Dragging yourself out of the bed the next morning was hard. You don’t know why. You just woke up and felt like maybe tonight was the type of day not to go to school.

And, technically, you could if you wanted to. Both your parents are gone on a business trip—they left before you even woke up that morning. They won’t be back for at least a week. You could ditch and the worst that would happen is a phone call that you could delete if it was really necessary enough to do so in the first place.

But anyway, you don’t. You drag yourself out of bed, get ready for school, and head downstairs for breakfast. You're stirring sugar into your tea when you turn on the TV, switching through the channels to find the cartoons.

Something catches your eyes when a news channel flashes on the screen. You flip back to it quickly, and you stop mid-stir at what you find.

“–about a gruesome murder is tearing through Hawkins like a wildfire.” You drop the spoon in your mug, turning the volume up loud. “The life of a student at Hawkins High School, known as the basketball captain Jason Carver, was taken last night by a suspect police have yet to identify. Hawkins PD is still–”

You rush to the phone, dialing Brynn’s number faster than you ever have before. It rings only a couple times before the dial tone ends. You give her no time to speak.

“Are you watching the news right now?”

“Yeah. Jason fucking Carver? Who the fuck would do this?” She sounds distraught, as distraught as you feel.

You swallow thickly, pacing as much as you can with the short cord keeping you tethered to the phone. You start to worry. What if this isn’t a one time thing? What if people are actually in danger—your boyfriend, your friends. “Don’t ask me.” You start to feel sick.

“This is insane.” She sighs heavily through the line.

“You’re telling me.”

“How’s your car?” she asks, your words running a mile a minute. “Do I need to take you to school?”

It takes you a moment to respond. Your eyes had gotten stuck to the screen. There are police lights and caution tape and people everywhere. It feels so unreal. “Uh—It’s fine.” You clear your throat, wiping a hand over your face. “Especially after Eddie worked on it.”

You can almost hear the scowl in her voice. “You still hang out with him?”

Here we go. “You don’t hang out with me.”

“He’s probably the one who killed Jason.”

Her comment is a slap in the face. You can’t describe the anger and disgust that rises in your throat at what she’d just said. It’s corrosive, and you wish you could show her how upset it actually makes you, but you can’t. So instead, you say, “Why the fuck would you say that?”

Your tone makes her back off. Not by a lot, but enough for her to second guess. “He’s like…a satanist or something.”

“Or something.” You shake your head. “He’s just a nerd, and he’s kind.” You mean it in a nice way. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

She scoffs. “Whatever.” She takes a moment, calms down, and then says with more sincerity than annoyance. “Don’t get fucking killed.”

“You, too.”

“I’ll see you in class.”

“Bye.” You hang up. You stare at the screen again, staring for a while as you try to process this. You knew Jason. He was your friend—or, he was relatively your friend. You were dating one of the members on his team, so you’ve known him for a while. Now that he’s gone… It’s just such a bizarre concept to digest.

You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You dial Jake’s house phone, waiting and waiting for it to pick up, only for it to flatline. With a huff, you try again. When it still doesn’t go through, you start to go for a third time when you catch the time. You’re gonna be late. You’ll see him there anyway.

You try to ignore the gnawing feeling that you might not.

You lean against your locker next to Eddie, holding onto your bag as your hands worry away at the strap. “I just can’t believe this happened.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” Eddie says. He shrugs a shoulder, “I mean, this place has been kinda cursed for a while but something like this?”

You shake your head, imagining the scenes you’ve been told by the amount of people you’ve walked past or talked to since you left the house. “It was so brutal. They said he was gutted and then hung from a fucking tree.” Your gut twists with the image. “I keep looking over my shoulder like this killer’s gonna be there.”

Eddie's hand comes to cup your elbow. He rubs it soothingly with a reassuring glint in his eyes. “Hey, don’t worry about that kinda stuff. Everything’s gonna be fine, okay?” His thumb strokes the meat of your arm. He offers you a smile.

You nod. “I hope so.” You glance behind Eddie, catching sight of Chrissy. It’s a wonder she even showed up today. She’s walking through the halls with her eyes down at the floor, moving so sluggishly that you wonder briefly if she’s really just some zombie roaming the halls. You speak quietly. “I can’t imagine how Chrissy must be feeling. She’s such a sweet person, she doesn’t deserve this kinda thing.”

Eddie’s eyes linger on her as she continues walking down the hall. He swallows thickly. “Yeah…”

His brows suddenly furrow. A crease wedges itself between them as he sees something, and he lets out a sigh as he glances away, straightening his posture as he goes. His thumb rubs your elbow one more time before letting you go. “Hey, I’ll see you later, okay?” You nod. “Stay safe.” He says it with an intensity that honestly warms your heart.

“You, too.” He gives you a quick smile and then leaves. You turn around to watch him go just as you see Jake walking toward you. That makes sense. The two eye each other as they pass, and Jake looks at you like he’s annoyed by something.

The sight of him had initially brought you some relief. You were worried that something happened to him when he didn’t answer the phone this morning. The more you look at him though, the more that feeling sours and becomes something more exasperated than anything else.

You turn around with a sigh, leaning against the locker again on your other elbow. He comes up to you, a partial scowl set upon his face. “Was that Eddie Munson?”

You hate the way he says his name. It pisses you off every time you hear it. “Yeah.”

“Why are you hanging out with him?” He looks genuinely pissed out. You roll your eyes, ready to leave this conversation because it’s such a petty thing to be arguing about right now. Someone just fucking died—one of Jake’s closest friends just fucking died—and he’s upset that you’re hanging out with some guy who plays DND? You were worried he was dead, and this is how he greets you.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that question?” You seethe the question, trying not to bring any attention to yourself as you lean in to talk to him, your own scowl set to combat his own. He huffs and shakes his head, but decides it’s probably just best to drop it.

“You didn’t call me this morning.” Your quiet anger is biting at your fingertips. You try to remind him of the situation because it doesn’t seem to be registering for him. “A student at Hawkins High was killed, and you didn’t call me this morning.”

Jake sighs, running a hand down his face as he thinks about it. You finally start to see the grief threatening to peek through as he looks away from you. “I was on the team with Jason. My parents were bitching about being safe.” His voice is quieter now, not as firm.

You start to feel bad now. You’ve been bitching about him lately about his bad behavior. You’re doing it right now, when what he really needs is your support. You sigh, looking down at your feet as you offer a truce in the way of cradling his arm in your palm. He looks at you, his eyes softening with your own. You just look at him for a moment and take a breath.

“I just don’t understand.” Your voice would be a whisper if there weren’t so many people crowding the halls. You have no doubt that every single one of them is talking about Jason Carver, former captain of the basketball team. “It’s all so surreal. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life.”

He lifts his hand to your cheek, offering his comfort. “Hey,” he says gently, “everything’s gonna be fine. I’ll make sure you’re good. You can stay at my place until this all clears up.” Sometimes you wonder why you’re even with him. But then he does stuff like this, and you start to feel a little better about the struggle. “We can also have Brynn and Andrew over to make it fun. How does that sound?”

Better than you thought it would. You haven’t been around them in a while. You feel like maybe you shouldn’t delay that any longer.

“Yeah.” You nod, hyping yourself up a bit as you offer a little smile. “Yeah, that’ll be nice. Thanks.”

His smile widens a bit. He leans in. “Anything for my girl.” He kisses you. It’s a gentle kiss, and it makes you feel better because it feels like he means it. His thumb strokes your cheek, and you can’t help but to smile against his lips.

You take a nap as soon as you get home. The whole day has been so exhausting, weighed down by all the grief and confusion. There’s a team meeting after school, so you have to wait for that to finish before Jake comes to get you.

When you wake up, it’s almost eight o’clock. It’s weird. The meeting should’ve been over by now.

It’s too quiet. The silence is making your skin crawl, and you reach for the remote in a desperate need to fix it. When it’s on, you immediately regret making that so.

“A second murder shakes the grounds of Hawkins as another student by the name of Cassidy Franklin is killed only an hour ago at–”

Your shock is interrupted by a tiny clattering sound. You nearly jump out of your skin as your gaze is immediately drawn upstairs. You feel yourself begin to shake, and you don’t think you can move after you’ve turned off the TV just as quickly as you turned it on.

Everything is so still now. Even the air refuses to move as you wait for anything—another sound, more silence. Anything.

You will yourself to move as you go to the kitchen, pulling the biggest knife from its sheath and ignoring the way it trembles with your fear. The tension is the air so palpable, you genuinely believe you could cut it with the knife you have clenched in your tight fists.

You feel dumb walking upstairs, toward the noise you just heard. You feel like you might die if you go any further, but you also feel like if the killer is actually in your house, then you’ll probably die if you stay downstairs, too.

You turn every knob like it’s searing hot. Every time a door opens, you feel like your heart has jumped out of your throat and then forced its way back down once you’ve confirmed there’s no one there (or rather, once you don’t see anyone because you refuse to investigate any further).

When you reach your bedroom, you think you might die. Maybe not from the killer, but from the heart attack you feel creeping up your chest.

On your bed is a single letter and a strange doll thing. You don’t feel like your heart is beating when you walk into the room. You almost slip multiple times over your own feet just trying to get to your bed. When you’re standing there, you’re frightened by something moving beside you, and you genuinely do jump this time.

Your window is open. The curtains swayed gently with a light gust of wind coming through.

Yes. You think you might die.

You swallow thickly, trying to keep your tears choked down as you pick up the doll. It looks handmade. The arms are thin and pillowy, so are the legs. Neither of them have hands or feet, and it has a stitch mouth and buttons for eyes. In a weird, abstract way, you think it sort of looks like you. The skin tone is the same and the buttons match your eye color, at least.

It falls from your hands more than you set it down. They’re shaking so badly, you don’t think you’d have been capable of putting it down yourself.

When you look at the letter, the paper also looks like it’s been folded and glued by hand. Your name is written across the front in handwriting you’ve never seen before. You force yourself to open it to see what’s inside.

When you pull out the note, you cover your mouth as you throw it back down, stumbling away. Tears spring to your eyes, despite your best effort to keep them away. There’s a smudge of blood on the paper. It doesn’t look old.

You squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath like it’ll wake you up from some terrible dream. But when you open your eyes again and find yourself in the same room, you try not to choke on your tears.

As your entire body trembles, you find your way back to the bed. You pick up the note and do your best to keep your hands still (miserably) so you can read it.

I’ll pull all the loose strings for you, my little puppet. And once they’re all gone, we will be together.

A startled cry rips its way from your throat. You collapse to the floor as your chest heaves uncontrollably. This is too much stress. You can’t take all of this.

You don’t know how long you spend on the floor like this—sobbing and losing a lot of water—but once you’ve wracked up the strength, you crumple the letter into a ball and grab the doll by its torso, squeezing with all the fear and anger in your chest. You open your closet door, throwing them both at the wall with all your strength and forcing the door shut.

You calm your breath enough to stop your tears and wipe at your face, rushing down the stairs with the bag you’d already packed. You’re out of the door in barely any time, getting in the car as quickly as possible and you tear a path straight to Jake’s house.

Once you’re there, you don’t see his father’s car, so you assume he’s working overtime at the department to catch this killer. The way your fists pound on the front door is insistent. You almost sock Jake right in the face as soon as it’s open.

“Fuck,” he says quickly, his words rushing from his mouth. “I’m so sorry, babe. I lost track of time and–”

You don’t listen to him. You throw your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. He smells vaguely of your perfume. You try not to cry again. It’s not too hard, seeing as you already cried a ton of tears earlier onto your bedroom floor.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You sound pathetic, but you don’t care enough to try to fix it.

“Yeah. Come on.” He opens the door wider, pulling his arm tightly around you as he tucks the both of you into the house. He closes the door behind you, still holding onto you as you pull him tight. He eases your face back into his chest. “What’s got you so freaked out?”

You don’t know what to tell him. You tell him the truth, he might believe you, he might not. If he does, he might decide to go on a killing spree to deal with whoever he thinks could have done it (you have a suspicious feeling that Eddie will be at the top of the list, simply because he doesn’t like him). There are just too many variables, and you’re too tired and too scared to deal with any of them.

“I…” you sigh shakily, “I’m just surprised by…Cassidy’s death.” Cassidy’s fucking dead. You almost forgot about that with all the insanity swarming through your head.

As his hand strokes down the back of your head, you feel his chest rumble against your cheek as he speaks. “You worked with her, didn’t you?” He sounds genuinely curious. He really wasn’t listening…

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head. “That’s crazy.” He sets his chin on top of your head and keeps rubbing your back.

“Jake.” You pull away from him just enough to look at his face. His hands cradle your elbows as your own clutch desperately at his sides. You need to know. “Do you love me?”

He stares at you and nods, bringing a hand to your cheek. His thumb strokes it, just like before. His hand is hot. “Yeah.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, searching his eyes for something to hold onto it. “Would you…” You try to steady your breath, swallowing thickly. “Would you let anything bad happen to me?”

You don’t expect him to say yes, but you need to hear it all the same. “‘Course not,” he says. “You’re my girl.”

You lift yourself onto your toes to kiss him. He cranes his neck down to meet you, and his hands fall down to your waist. You bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders, trying to bring him down further. You need to forget about all of this. Just for a moment. You want to forget.

“Make me feel better,” you mutter against his lips.

He smiles a little, bringing his hands down further to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his wait. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Welcome, students.”

The gym is packed full of students. All the students and faculty are sitting in the bleachers or standing around the gym floor, watching the principal and the police officers giving an announcement front and center. You sit so close to Jake that your hips are practically glued together. Brynn’s on your other side with Andrew next to her. You keep wanting to glance over your shoulder where Eddie is sitting with his group, but you decide it’s probably best not to for the sake of not dealing with your friends and boyfriend’s bad attitudes.

“I know we are all aware of the recent losses in our community. Many of us are grieving the beloved memory of these fallen students. In an effort to avoid losing any more of them, our chief of police is going to set a few rules in place to keep our community safe from this unidentified individual.”

Principal Higgins steps back to offer Chief Hopper the floor. He steps forward, already looking tired as he directs his attention to the giant crowd staring at him.

He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. He gets straight to business. “From now on and until the killer is found, a town-wide curfew will be implemented.” People start murmuring in protest. “No one is to be out of their homes past nine o’clock. All doors will be locked and-”

Everyone is talking now. There are murmurs and shouts and boo’s and all kinds of protest as they respond frustratedly to these new rules. You personally don’t oppose them too much…

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Jake groans.

“This fucking sucks!” “What the hell, man?” “Seriously?” “We didn’t do anything!”

Chief Hopper isn’t having it. He cares little for the commotion, and it’s really just pissing him off.

“Hey!”

Everyone is immediately silenced. His voice is even harder now as he yells over the silence. He makes sure to enunciate every word. “All doors and windows will be locked. You are advised to come to school and then go straight home to reduce the risk of being hurt. Police will be patrolling the streets to ensure these rules are being followed. We advise you to stay in groups and be vigilant of your surroundings. Anyone caught breaking curfew will be brought in for questioning, which could lead to a possible arrest.” There’s more silence. No one wants to interrupt him again. “Am I understood?”

Everyone murmurs their reluctant agreement.

“Thank you.”

He stands back again. Principal Higgins steps forward. “Thank you, Chief Hopper.” He clasps his hands together. “Now let us all close our eyes and bow our heads for…”

You’ve tuned him out by now. You don’t have the strength to listen to him right now. You keep replaying that note in your head over and over again.

Once they’re all gone, we will be together…

“They’re calling him Ghostface,” Jake mumbles, keeping his voice low to avoid being called out. “‘Cause of the mask they found at Cassidy’s crime scene.”

You try not to flinch. “Why are we calling him anything but a murderer?”

He shrugs. “I mean, there are a lot of murderers.”

You glance at him, but you ultimately keep your gaze fixated on your hands as you rub at your palms. “I don’t think we should be villainizing him. I mean, people actually like villains.” I’ll pull all the loose strings for you, my little puppet…

He sighs lightly. “I think it’s a pretty sick name.”

“Jake.”

“Just saying.”

There’s a weird feeling burning into your back, like someone’s watching you. It spreads like a wave, and you fight the urge to shudder as you glance behind you to see what it is.

You see Eddie, and your worries are set aside. He offers a tiny grin and a thumbs up. He wants to know if you’re okay. You return the smile as best you can and give him your own thumb. You turn back around, feeling a little better about everything.

As soon as the assembly is dismissed, everyone is making their way back to class or wherever they intend to go. Jake kisses your temple and runs off with his buddies. Brynn and Andrew go with him.

Walking by yourself, you rub a hand over your arm to self-soothe. You’re at school. Nothing is going to happen while you’re at school. You go to your locker just to be there. You don’t want to go to class yet, and you don’t want to stand in the middle of the gym or the hall like some loser.

You’re there for barely a minute before someone’s standing next to you. You flinch when you realize it, quickly calming when you recognize Eddie and his sweet face. He gives you an apologetic look. “You okay? Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You nod, grabbing his arm and sighing with a small smile. “All good.” You grab your stuff and start down the hall with him at your side. You assume he’s walking you to class because his is at the other side of the school.

“How are you…?”

Both of you pause at the sound of Eddie’s name, pausing by the hall as you hear the familiar voices of some of Jake’s team members.

“Your girlfriend hangs out with that Munson guy?”

“I keep telling her.” Jake seems as displeased as Tommy H.

“Your girl’s a fucking freak for that, man.” That’s Andrew, Brynn’s boyfriend. You’ve learned to tune him out at this point.

“Hey, cut it out, Andy.” Chance is probably the most sane of the group, but he’s still an asshole. “That’s his fucking girlfriend.”

“Keep talking shit about her, and I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

Tommy’s voice is obnoxious. “Shouldn’t say that, or they’ll arrest you.” A round of laughter sparks among them. Jake’s is the loudest.

“Maybe they should.”

“They should just arrest Munson,” Chance deadpans. Your grasp tightens around a textbook. You’re getting sick of hearing it. “We all know it’s him.”

“Since your girl’s suckin’ face with him, maybe she’s in on it, too… But that’d make her a slut.”

Everyone laughs, even as you hear the scuffle of shoes and ruffle of clothes as some weird play fight breaks out between them. You assume it’s between Jake and Tommy.

Eddie’s hand gently grabs your arm, crowding your space to put a barrier between you and them. His gaze is schooled on your face. He seems really upset, but he hides it well so he can comfort you. You scoff, shaking your head as you stare blankly at the floor, your face set in passionate displeasure.

“I fucking hate jocks.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” he mutters, stroking your arm. Goosebumps erupt over your skin, your entire arm gets covered in them. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nod, looking up at him and letting the concern in his eyes ease you. “Yeah.” You readjust your grip on your book, turning the other to walk to his class instead. He lets you, because he knows you’re trying to self-soothe and he doesn’t want to interrupt that. “I’m more upset about everyone always assuming it’s you. Like they know you or something.” You mumble the last part more to yourself, but he hears it loud and clear. It’s heartwarming, your support of him.

“That’s sweet,” he says, “but I don’t really care that much.” Like he’s said before, he’s used to it. You still don’t like it, and he loves that about you. “I don’t know too many girls who take kindly to being called a slut.” He stops you so that he can properly look at you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod, giving him your best smile in an attempt to convince him. He’s so sweet. You don’t want him to worry. “I’m good,” you shrug nonchalantly. “His friends are just assholes. It’s whatever.”

He doesn’t fully believe you, but he doesn’t want to press and stress you out. So he just nods and says, “Hey, you can sit with me during lunch so you don’t have to sit with them.”

You smile, and this time he believes it. “That sounds great.”

You’ve rustled through your bag maybe seven times now, and you still can’t find it. The amount of distress it’s causing you is a little unnerving. One thing. You just want one thing to be simple.

“Shit.” Eddie looks over at you, watches you put your head against the lunch table with a force that concerns him. He reaches a hand out and rubs circles along your back unprompted. “I left my notebook for my next class in my car.”

He raises a brow. “Are they really important?”

You turn your head to look at him. “If I miss any of these notes, I’m not passing this test.” And your teacher is a true asshole who refuses to delay the test even a single day to give you all a break.

Eddie’s already moving to stand, offering his hand to you. “I’ll go with you. You know, to keep you safe.”

You glance over at the table where Jake sits. He keeps looking over at you. When you slip your hand into Eddie’s, you know he’s pissed. You don’t mind it too much. “Thanks, Eddie.” He gives you one of those big smiles.

You walk with Eddie out of the cafeteria. There’s a cop posted at the door who checks the both of you out before letting you leave. The sun is really bright, despite the depression inside. It’s actually a bit glaring as you shield your vision from it. Eddie’s not having much luck with it either.

Eddie walks closely by you, and you appreciate the sentiment. You don’t feel as unsafe as you should—maybe it’s because it’s daytime and there are people around you. Nothing is going to happen in broad daylight.

You should really learn not to think things like that, though.

Eddie practically jumps in front of you as the loud screeching of tires alarms everyone around you. You startle, immediately looking towards the car that’s speeding through the parking lot. It’s loud and explosive. It hurts your ears, and you look away because you don’t know if you can take all this shock. You’re going to have a heart attack in your teens.

You cover your ears when it just barely crashes against the back of a car, bouncing off of it just to catapult into a giant pole.

The front is entirely caved in. There’s steam billowing from the hood as the back tires roll. One of the doors has flung open, and you stare in shock at what’s just happened. It takes you a moment to process Eddie’s protective arm over your front. You set a hand on his shoulder, and he immediately turns to examine you. “Are you okay?” he asks quickly, frantic as he looks over every part of you like you were the thing the car hit.

You start to nod when a blood curdling scream fills the air. Your head shoots to the scene of the crash, and you’re running toward it before you can even register Eddie’s protests. He chases after you.

You don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

It’s gruesome and graphic. Your hands fly to your mouth as you fight the urge to scream at the sight of two bloodied bodies lying cold in the back seat. They’ve been completely mutilated with the amount of times they’ve been stabbed all over. If you hadn’t known them so well, you probably wouldn’t have been able to make them out with all the blood and tears spread over their faces.

Telling flesh from organs (or even clothes) proved difficult. It was a mess of fabric and tissue. Some places were so abused that you could see bone sticking out of wounds, surrounded by flesh and meat. Your gut churned and churned. You wanted to look away, you’re almost begging to look away but you can’t.

That’s two jocks now, four dead bodies. First Jason, then Cassidy…and now Tommy H and Carol Perkins.

Their wide eyes are unblinking…

You can hear your breath in your ears. Everything else is so loud and muffled—the screams, the shouts, the chatter—but the heavy gasps of your lungs is a pound in your head that you can’t tune out. Everything seems to slow as you stare at the two, their bodies unmoving and broken by glinting blades. All you do is stare.

You don’t realize Eddie’s arm wrapped around your waist until he turns your head from the scene. You try to look back, but he’s shielding your gaze with his hand so that you can only look at him. “Hey, hey, hey.” His voice, though thick with breath and something you can’t place with the way your brain rushes, is grounding. “You’re okay. Let’s go. Come on.”

You just follow him because he’s the only steady thing you can focus on. He crowds you with his body, and you let him before it gives you something to focus on. The sight of them is still in your head, stuck to your brain like a dart in a dartboard. You don’t understand. You want to understand.

You don’t notice more people bursting through the doors. You don’t notice the cops following after with their guns drawn as they scream at everyone to get out of the way. You don’t notice more screams filling the air and police sirens from the cars already in the parking lot. You focus on Eddie’s warm palm against your palm as the other holds your hand tight.

You don’t know how much time has passed before you come to. Eddie’s rubbing your back and letting you rest your head on his shoulder. Everything seems calm enough to feel real. You lift your head heavily and look at him. His gaze is distant, and you take it as shock.

You tuck your arm under his to wrap it around his back. He looks down at you, blinking a couple times before continuing to just sit next to you. Everything is fine.

It takes longer than it should for you to remember Jake. When you think you can stand, you place a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and tell him insistently, “I…I’m going to find Jake. He’s probably freaking out, and…just please be safe. Please don’t get hurt. Be safe, please.”

Eddie nods, squeezing your hand gently before letting you go. “You, too. I’ll see you later, right?”

It takes a moment to process. “Yes. Yeah, I’ll try to call you.” He nods, squeezes your hand again, and then lets you go. As you turn away toward the thick crowd, you see Jonathan Byers joining Eddie. Argyle and Robin find them a moment later. At least he’s got company.

Everyone is in the cafeteria now. There’s police at every door keeping anyone from leaving. It’s very crowded, and for a moment, you think you can’t breathe, but you need to find your boyfriend.

It takes you a long time to find him. When you do, it looks like he's just now being told what's happened by his teammates. Brynn is at his side with Andrew holding her hands, speaking slowly. You finally get to them and drop to your knees to look up at him. He sits down heavily, dropping his face in his hands. He looks really tired.

“Jake?” you whisper, brushing his hair back from his face and gently holding his face to lift it up. He sees you, and his eyes dart between your own. His expression is so far away, and you begin to worry yourself sick. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you wait for anyone to tell you anything about what’s going on.

They send you home in groups, canceling school for the rest of the week while they’re at it. You worry about Jake driving, but he’s assured you that you’re okay enough and traffic is slow already. He drives in front of you, and you busy yourself with reading and rereading his plate numbers a million times just to try to avoid thinking about the corpses in Tommy H’s car.

You go to your house first. You hate the thought of walking in there right now, but you need clothes and things if you’re staying at Jake’s house for the next couple of days. You reach through the window of his truck on the way in, sliding a hand down his face. “You okay?”

He nods. He looks like he’s coming back to himself, but he’s still (obviously) deeply upset. “I’m good.”

You kiss his forehead before you’re headed inside with hesitant steps. Once the door is unlocked and open, you move quickly in an effort to grab all the things you need. As you’re passing the kitchen, you notice something sitting on the table. There wasn’t anything there when you were last here.

You swallow thickly, closing your eyes and slowly turning on your heel. When you open your eyes again to see, you swallow the insistent lump in your throat and set your bag on the counter. You walk slowly into the kitchen, and your hands begin to tremble all over again.

The note is the same handmade paper as before. This time, the smudge is on the outside over your name. Your heart is pounding so fast, you can’t even fathom focusing on it right now. You reach a hand out to grab it.

You hear Jake’s shoes as he steps through the front door. You swipe up the note and hide it behind your back as his gaze finds you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his tone sort of lazy.

You shake your head. “Nothing. I’m just gonna get my stuff.” You start walking toward the stairs.

“I’ll come with you.”

“No,” you sound more desperate than you mean to. But he wouldn’t understand. “No, it’s fine. Please don’t.”

He stares at you for a moment before deciding it’s not that big a deal. He steps back, nodding to himself. “Okay.” He turns on his heel and walks back to his truck to wait for you.

You rush upstairs, shoving open your bedroom door and locking it behind you. You almost yelp when you turn and see a black rose sitting on your bed. You slap a hand over your mouth and close your eyes to center yourself, breathing like that will make the rose disappear—and the letter, too, for that matter.

You lean against the door, your breath shaky as you look at the envelope. You tear it open slower than you had the first, pulling out the letter inside like it will explode if you’re not careful enough.

When all our enemies are dead and buried, we will be the ones laughing together. Soon, my perfect little puppet.

Your breath shudders as memories of just earlier that day pulse in your ears, Tommy and the team laughing at you for “being a slut”. Without wasting a second, Tommy haunts you with the sight of his open eyes, wide and bloodshot—as if he’d just seen a ghost.

This letter goes with the last one. You throw it into the closet and turn to your dresser for some clothes to stuff in a bag. But the top drawer is already open. A pair of underwear is missing. The only reason you know that is because it's the only red pair you have, and it’s not glaring you down.

You shake your head, grabbing the first sets of clothes you see and stuffing them in the bag. You lock all your windows, you lock your bedroom door behind you, you run down the stairs and ignore the fact that you could trip and fall at any moment (effectively breaking your neck and ridding you of the exhaustion of the mess that is your life right now).

You keep (re-locking) every lockable door and window in your house before you finally reach the front door. Once you’re sure it’s locked tight, you rush to Jake’s car with your bag thrown over your shoulder. You toss it in the back, and Jake pulls away as soon as your seatbelt is on. You’re glad he doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, because you know you’re not subtle.

The night is a little better once you get to Jake’s place (at least, it is for him once he's had a few beers). Brynn is over—Andrew had to stay home, his parents were too worried to let him leave the house.

But you've got the house all to yourselves. Jake's father is working all night at the precinct. There's no way he's coming home with a killer on the loose—a killer who's already claimed two jocks so far. He's not very keen on a third, especially with such a personal risk.

There's a movie on, and it's a nice distraction for them. Your mind is a little too preoccupied with the events of today (the events of the past few days).

As you glance over at Jake, you set a hand on his knee. There was a flash of something sad in his eyes for a moment. His mood, although it has improved, is still a little sour. It isn't so low that he looks like he isn't there—no, the beer has helped with that—but there's a faintness there that concerns you.

“You okay?” It's a dumb question, but it's the only one you've got. Brynn looks over.

Jake glances at you, nodding. “Yeah,” he says. “Just can't believe he got Tommy.” He shakes his head. “It's not fucking cool, he was a good dude.”

You can admit that you never really liked him. But that wasn't a reason for him to die.

He stands, swirling his empty beer can in his hand and going to grab another. You're still sipping—you never really liked the taste of beer, and Brynn seems to be almost through with hers.

He rustles through the fridge and cracks open another can. “I don't even know why anyone would do this.” He takes a generous swig, running a hand through his hair and shutting the fridge door.

“A fucking psycho, that's who,” Brynn mutters. She drapes a hand over her face. “Who knows what else he'll do?”

Jake scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I try not to think about it.”

You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands as you twirl your thumbs around the other. Brynn glances at you when you say nothing. You're doing that thing where the crease between your brows folds and unfolds. Something’s off.

“What's wrong?” she mutters. Jake looks at you.

You don't know how to tell them. You don't even know if they'll understand. Besides, with everything going on, your problems aren't nearly as important.

You go to dismiss it, but as you glance up and see them both watching you, you realize that you cannot sit here and pretend that nothing is bothering you this time. You look away, trying to find the words and feeling like you’re grasping at straws in a simple attempt at voicing your concerns.

“I…” You take a steadying breath, remembering the notes written to you on letters stained with blood. Fear circles your throat and makes it difficult to speak. You look up at Jake and Brynn. What if saying something about this meant they would both die? What if this thing, this sick, twisted thing going on between you and the killer means that everyone you love will end up dead?

Once again, you go to deny them the truth, the ugly truth of your peril…but you’ve already made that impossible. You swallow thickly, clearing your throat and hoping it will give you some courage.

“I’ve been getting these…these letters.” You clasp your hands together in an effort to stop their trembling. Your voice is soft, so soft that you don’t think they can hear you. “I think it’s from…him.”

Jake’s hand flexes, and you think for a moment that he’ll spill beer all over the place from crushing the can in his fist. “Who?” You think it’s possession over protection.

“The killer,” you say. Then your voice gets weaker. “Ghostface.”

Brynn makes a face. One that tells you that she doesn’t quite believe you. “Why would you be getting letters from this psycho?”

They’re not understanding. They don’t hear the fear in your voice.

“I don’t know. They’re these twisted love letters. I swear to God, there was blood on one of them.” You bring your knees up to your chest, trying to find warmth where fear has made your blood cold. You don’t look at them as you shake your head. It’s an absurd thing to say, but all of what’s happening is absurd. “I think this guy is killing for me.”

Brynn shakes her head, finding logic where you’re too emotional to look. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Jake agrees, coming back to the living room to lean on the couch beside you. “It’s probably just some fuckin’ creep playing with you.” He drinks from his can.

As reasonable as they sound—at least, it’s more reasonable than the theory you have—you can’t believe it. Too much has happened, and this is all too fucked up to try to rationalize. You shake your head, turning your body to face him.

“You don’t understand. He got into my house.” Jake’s eyes aren’t clear, and he looks generally unfazed. You reach a hand out to grasp his own, squeezing it to try to get him to listen to you. “He was there today.”

He tilts his head down. The way he looks at you is nothing if not condescending, but you try not to see it that way. “Maybe you left your door unlocked.” You think, as the son of a police officer, he should be more upset about something breaking into your house. Hell, as your boyfriend, he should be more upset about a guy breaking into your house. “Ie,” he continues, “someone’s playing a trick on you.”

You tilt your head, your anxious frustration turning to something more angry. “I always lock the door. Especially when my parents aren’t home—especially when there’s a psycho killer on the loose.” He shakes his head. You take his face in your hands, making him look at you again. “Jake, Cassidy tried to get me fired. I heard Tommy talking about me today.”

“And Jason?” he nearly snaps. He steps away from you completely. “How’s he connected, huh?”

You swallow. He’s the only one who sticks out. Jason was never unkind to you—though you know he can be unkind. He was, to those that counted to him, as gentlemanly as a jock can get.

You look down. “I…” You clear your throat lightly. “I don’t know, but I know something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, four people are dead.” He almost slams his beer on the counter. His voice cracks slightly, and he runs a hand through his messy hair. He speaks quietly, though not lacking the hurt in his voice. “That’s what’s wrong.”

You know he, Jason, and Tommy were friends, you know how much they mean to him. But—damn it—you should mean just as much! He’s supposed to have your back through this, just like you’ve had his. You’ve tried to be good to him this whole time, and then when you try to tell him how afraid you are, he throws it in your face.

It’s getting to be too much. You have grown used to the flimsy support of those close to you. You parents are almost always gone, your boyfriend has his team, your best friend has her boyfriend. Things used to be so good, and they’ve just been getting so stressful. You never ask for anything from any of them, and the one time you do, you’ve served with a steaming bowl of hot shit. It’s too much.

“I feel like I’m going crazy here, and neither of you are listening to me.” You run your hands down your face, covering your eyes and trying to steady your breath, trying to ease the heat in your chest from all the anger gathering there. “I feel like-like I’m being watched all the time.”

Brynn speaks up. “You’re just paranoid.”

“He was in my house!

You couldn’t stop it once it was out. Your shout was louder than you’d anticipated, and you feel like it’s the first time your words have ever been forced straight from your chest. There’s so much there that you feel like you have to catch your breath as the silence sits thick in the space between the three of you.

You look at Brynn. She stares down at her lap, timidly picking her nails. You look at Jake. He’s got his face in his hand as he leans against the counter.

They don’t believe you.

You can’t make them.

You stand up quickly, pushing yourself off the couch so hard that you almost fall forward. “I don’t need this.” You shove past Jake on your way to the hall, “You guys are supposed to have my fucking back.” Brynn turns to Jake, her eyes unblinking. You climb the stairs and barge into his room, grabbing your bags and repacking the things you’ve set out.

Jake has followed you up the stairs. “Come on, babe. Don’t act like this.”

It makes you seethe. “I’m going home.”

“How? You live too far, and you don’t have a ride.” You glare at him. That’s his concern. “Besides, you shouldn’t be out by yourself.” He adds it on like an afterthought.

You shake your head, closing your eyes and taking a steadying breath. “Then I’ll call someone to get me.” You slam your bag shut, forcing the zipper closed with far too much strength. “I just can’t fucking look at you right now.”

Jake grabs you, stopping you from what you’re doing to make you look at him. “Hey, babe, look, I’m sorry. Okay?” He makes you face him, his hands on your elbows as he cages you in. You turn your face away. “I’m being a huge dick… I believe you, okay?”

You huff, glancing at him out of the corner of your eyes. You take in the sight of him, trying to determine if he’s lying to you. He seems upset, genuinely. It’s foolish hope, but it’s hope, and that’s all you really want right now. “Do you?” It’s more accusing than it is anything else.

His voice is low, and he cradles your face in his hand. You let yourself, reluctantly, lean into his palm. “If that’s what you want.” You don’t like his response, but you push it away. He’s never had a way with words. “I’m sorry.” He pulls you close, bringing his other hand to wrap around your waist. “Let me make it up to you.”

You sigh, allowing yourself for just a moment to think maybe…maybe he means it. His thumb brushes over your cheek, the corner of his lips curves up. He leans in.

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

You shove him hard. You clench your fists at your side and feel yourself reaching a level of anger that is generally foreign to you. You're used to pushing it away.

Jake's shock quickly turns to annoyance, which forms a deep frustration as he huffs. “I'm so fucking sorry,” he mocks. He crowds your space, his face merely inches from his own as he speaks in a low voice that feels like he's shouting. “Two of my friends are dead, and you're making it all about you.”

You want to feel bad, but you can't. You're tired of feeling bad, you're tired of letting yourself be overlooked. What kills you is that he can't even realize that you're not okay—that you're hardly ever okay.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” You stare in shock and partially in pain, though you try to keep that hidden. It claws at your throat, and you feel like you can't speak; you push through it, despite the burning coals stuck in your throat. “I'm genuinely terrified that someone is trying to hurt me, and you're acting like this?”

He looks like he's about to rip his hair out—which is the point you're reaching as well. “Nobody is trying to hurt you! You're fucking delusional. Jesus Christ, why do you have to be such a whiny little bitch?”

A mix of emotions run through you, but all you do is stand there. You stand and you stare at him, eyes wide and welling, lips parted as your brows dip low.

It's one thing to have a stray thought that your boyfriend finds you annoying—even, perhaps, that he hates you. It's another thing entirely to have those theories confirmed, and in such a way! You look at the features of his face, all the rage and frustration peeling back into fatigue and a hint of regret. You stare even longer, longer than you were meant to, just wanting to see more regret than what he's giving.

You want him to fall to his knees and cry, to beg your forgiveness. But you know he would never beg. You know he would never fall. He never did. It was always you.

After all this time, you were always the one falling.

Ideally, you know you both need to take a step back, get some space. You need to clear your head and think about this so you can come back and figure this out. Especially with everything going on, feelings running high. You should be rational.

But you can't.

The only thing you want to do right now is slam the door in his face, leave him standing there looking stupid. Because if you come back, if you make up and go back to normal…

You don't know how much more you can take.

Jake takes a step forward. “Babe–”

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“Babe, I'm sorry. I'm just–”

You hit his hand away when he reaches for you. “Don't fucking touch me.” You stare at him for a second longer, shaking your head before turning sharply to grab your bags. You make for the door.

“Babe–”

“Rot in Hell.”

You slam the door in his face, rushing down the stairs as quickly as you can. Brynn spots you, walking up to you quickly as she looks down at your bags. “Where are you going?”

“Fuck off.”

“You don't have your car–!” You slam the front door shut. You make sure Jake can hear it from upstairs.

No one follows you. You trek down the sidewalk, your feet heavy and your grip on your bags tight. Your heart is beating so hard, it comes with the sound of thunder in your ears. You know you're about to cry, you can feel it in the heaviness of your chest, the tightness in your throat, the hoarseness of every breath you take. You think briefly that you may die.

But the longer you walk, the longer you realize that you are outside. It's past curfew, late at night. You are alone.

And there's a killer on the loose.

It's the most inconvenient time for tears to fall. You can't see well, and you're breathing so heavily that you can't hear what's going on around you.

The streets are bare. There's no one around. The sky is drenched in darkness. Everyone is inside hiding from the killer, where they should be.

Where do you go?

You have no car. You live too far to walk. You refuse to go back and ask for a ride. You refuse to go back.

You swallow thickly, picking up the pace as you rush to the nearest payphone. There's one close by, you’ve passed by it a million times.

Once you're inside, you close the door quickly. But as soon as your hand is reaching for loose quarters in your bag, you realize they're shaking. You watch them, like leaves rattling in the window. As you bring them slowly to your face, you can't help it when your knees buckle.

You let yourself be carried to the ground, unable to hold it together long enough to find safety. It's all coming down so quickly, and you don't have the sense to allot time to cry after you've found it.

You'd hoped you were wrong, that your friends actually loved you. What a fool you were to believe such a thing. You'd grown so used to such a skewed perception of love that you don't think you'd be able to distinguish that from your twisted need to please every goddamn person you meet.

You like to believe that, at one point, it was real. It had to have been, right? It's been almost a year since you and Jake met. And Brynn has been your best friend since the beginning of high school. But that kind of distrust, those kinds of insults don't come from a place of love.

No, you don't think Jake ever truly loved you. It was simple attraction—attraction that wore off, that he probably got sick of but felt too obligated to preserve because you need someone. And there was a time for you and Brynn, but it has since passed.

You held on too tight.

It's nighttime and the sun has long since set. By the time you clear your face, you feel stupid for crying before finding safety. There are more important things than this.

You take a steadying breath. You need to be rational again.

You stuff a quarter in the slot and clear your throat as you bring the phone to your ear. It rings a few times, and you're scared he won't pick up.

“Hello?”

You recognize the voice, but it's not the one you're looking for. “Hey…” You clear your throat again. “I'm looking for Eddie? I'm one of his friends, we've actually met before.”

Eddie's Uncle Wayne pauses to think. You can imagine him scratching his head and rubbing his neck. He says your name in his low, gravelly voice.

You nod as if he can see you. “Yes, that's me.”

“Ah. Well,” he clears his own throat, “Eddie's at one of his friend's houses right now. That Harrington boy, should be. Staying in groups and all that.”

“Okay.” You hadn't anticipated that. You chew on your lip thoughtfully, trying to decide your best course of action. You know Steve, so maybe you'll be welcome. “Do you think you could give me his number?”

He makes this grunting sound, which is just the sound of him thinking. “Let's see,” he mumbles. “Should be in here somewhere.”

You've only interacted with Wayne a few times. He's very mellow, but he's kind and welcoming. And Eddie adores him.

“Harrington residence. What's up?”

“Hey. Steve? Is Eddie there?”

He says your name, double checking. It's been a little while since you've spoken, with him graduating and all.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, he's here.”

You let out a quiet breath of relief. “Could I speak to him?”

“Yeah, hang on.”

There's a shift. Then you hear Steve shout his name.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He already sounds concerned. “What's the matter?”

You rub your face. “Got into it with…” you take a deep breath and hope you don't sound as dreadful as you felt, “with Jake and Brynn. I don't wanna be home by myself. I know it’s past curfew but…” You glance around you in the dark. “Do you think you could come get me?”

There's a pause, and you wonder if you've said something wrong. Eddie is all enthusiasm. He's loud and excited, and he's quick to respond because he's happy to respond.

The silence makes you nervous.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah!” he recovers. “Yeah, of course. Where are you right now?”

You're glad he doesn't ask how you are. “I'm on Jake's street still.”

You hear a jingle. “Stay there. I'll be there in a few minutes.” You're surprised he doesn't ask why you're outside so late, but you're grateful nonetheless.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you smile.

You can hear his own smile through the phone. He's sticky with affection, and it makes you feel safe. “No worries, sweetheart.”

Continued....

Stranger Things taglist: @activebliss @queermaxwooo @life-on-needs @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @emmalee-01 @sw34ter-w34ther @gublur @allofmaris @redwineandnicotine @the-cryptid @katsukis1wife @chaoticcancer @papichulo120627 @emistrash @jjmaybankswifes-blog @thegr8estpuff @lover-of-books-and-tea @xxhanililoxx @quickslvxrr Eddie the Banished taglist: @iiiiluvhobie @eddiiiieeee @hb8301 @queermaxwooo @lovemegood @munsaniac @digital-charlie @eiriancrow @littleblondesoprano @alexxavicry @samz31 @sparkletash @fandomgirl17 @marjoriea13 @akiratoro420 @mewchiili @mischieftom @hiscrimsonangel

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #ghostface #ghostface au #ghostface x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanficiton #reader insert #female reader #kinktober 2024 #ghostface eddie munson

174 notes · View notes

thecharacterchronicler · 6 months ago

Text

District Girl (Part 3) || (Peacekeeper) Coriolanus Snow x Reader || Smut

Outline: Coriolanus meets you again and, as a bad thunderstorm approaches, you invite him to take shelter in your cabin…

Word count: 3’686

Warnings: obsessive and possessive behavior, power imbalance, virgin female (implied) and rough explicit sex.

Author’s note: I tried to fulfill a request I received while sticking to the original idea I had for this part 3, so I hope whoever (anon) asked for it will be okay with this one being a bit rough. I promise I’ll try to write a much sweeter, more romantic, one shot of the reader losing her virginity to Coriolanus for you soon. Thanks for inspiring me with your request! 🖤 (Though I’m not sure I’ll know how to write sweet and romantic Coryo…)

((Part 1 )) - ((Part 2 ))

It had been cloudy since morning, causing the humidity in the air to rise above what Coriolanus usually deemed acceptable. It was still warm, even without a trace of sunshine, hidden behind menacing black clouds. Far in the distance, he could hear the distinctive roar of a thunderstorm approaching from the mountains, electricity almost palpable in the air.

Coriolanus didn’t enjoy sunny days either, mostly because he couldn’t get used to the uncomfortable climate of District 12, but standing between broken shacks, on a dirt road that would probably flood and turn into mud as soon as rain would start falling was a whole new kind of hell to him.

Hopefully, the party he was supposed to keep in check would end soon. It had barely started, with the two newlyweds couples returning from the justice building, gathering with their guests in a narrow space of grass between two cabins. Music was playing, but he didn’t like how wrong it sounded in his ears. People were joyfully chatting, trying to ignore the presence of peacekeepers nearby, watching them in search of an excuse to break out this gathering before it could turn sour because it somehow always turned sour in district 12… But maybe it would be the approaching storm that would put an end to the festivities first, allowing Coriolanus to go back to the barracks and have the rest of the afternoon to rest.

Standing tall, stoic, with a hand on his weapon, he watched the party unfold as some kids ran off to gather branches and burnt grass. He didn’t know the traditions for a wedding in this district but it sure seemed kind of pathetic to him. If it was his wedding, he would have made sure that it was a special day, he would have worn his best outfit and he would have made sure that his guests did too… Unlike most of the ones present today, still in their mining clothes and covered in dust. He also would have made sure that he had a proper venue where to celebrate his wedding, not a small patch of burnt grass near a row of sad cabins. And surely, he would have made sure that no storm was threatening to ruin it all.

“Hurry up or we won’t have enough time to get the fire going for the toasting.” You instructed a group of kids, as they placed a few fragile branches in your hands before running off again. You looked worried, your eyes on the black clouds in the horizon.

Coriolanus’ entire body reacted to your voice, briefly breaking his steady posture. He gazed at you, an irrepressible smirk appearing on his lips at the sight. You looked lovely. Even better than usual. Of course, you - out of all the other people - had had enough respect for the newlyweds to show up to their party wearing a nice and clean dress. The color brought out your eyes, making it all he could see for a moment. Until he lowered his gaze to your silhouette, noticing how it hugged and highlighted your lines and curves in the best way possible. It was as if the dress had been tailored for your body. Flawless.

Even if he wasn’t invited to the party and was instructed to keep his distances unless anything important occurred, he was happy to see you. He could watch you from where he kept guard, admire your beauty and make sure he memorized the contours of your body in that dress to entertain him later, when he’ll be alone in the showers. It wasn’t so bad after all.

The kids brought back another batch of branches to you and you placed them in a pile on the ground, taking a step back as a couple leaned down to light them on fire. All the guests applauded when red flames appeared, you included, as if lighting a fire was some kind of victory… Maybe it was after all, in such a humid climate.

A second couple did the same thing, starting a smaller fire next to the one slowly gaining strength and it pleased the guests just as much. Coriolanus held his breath when he saw you step up again, expecting you to follow suit on the odd tradition with a man that wouldn’t be him. You were dressed so nicely, your hair so beautifully arranged, that it finally occurred to him that it could be your wedding too.

No, he wouldn’t allow it. You were his. You had tasted him and he had tasted you, you knew each other intimately, you couldn’t belong to another man. Not anymore. Not when you could have him.

Instead of lighting a third fire, you handed both brides a loaf of bread and they proceeded to impale it on a branch, the grooms held it above the dancing flame and everyone watched as the bread slowly cooked. In the Capitol, cakes and desserts were served at weddings not… Toasts ?

He shook off his grimace of disgust. He wasn’t sure if it was because he kept being surprised by everyone’s lack of dignity in this district or if he was still slightly unsettled by the idea of you, marrying someone else.

A louder bang resounded through the street, bringing everyone’s attention to the mountains from which menacing clouds were quickly approaching. It was brief, everyone preffering to focus their attention back on the darkening bread held above the fire rather than on the weather, except for you. Coriolanus locked eyes with you, his heart strangely racing in his chest. He wanted you to notice him, but the possibility you might ignore him again, like you had a few days ago at the Hob, made him uneasy. He had showed you how good he could be to you. How lucky you should feel that you had somehow managed to catch his interest. But maybe you would provoke him again, just so that he could show you who you belong to once more.

A few very explicit images bloomed in his mind, he could be pretty creative when thinking about all the ways he could mark you as his. And as usual, it made him hard and desperate for attention.

But it seemed you weren’t going to need a reminder of his claim on you after all. You had stepped away from the party and were now walking in his direction, your pretty dress caressing the dirt road in the wake of your steps. He couldn’t help but smile at the way you grinned at him, as if you were happy to see him too.

“Are you keeping an eye on me, Coriolanus Snow ?” You asked him, playfully, stopping in front of him just slightly closer than what he would have expected.

His whole body buzzed at the sound of his name coming out of your lips. He had never told you so it must mean you had asked around about him. Maybe you had been obsessing over him as much as he obsessed over you, trying to find out who he was and how you could keep being the object of his desires.

“Always since I know how good you are at sneaking around.” He replied, with a grin. He didn’t know your name, but he would eventually. He simply couldn’t ask anyone about you, not when it might bring negative attention on him from his superiors. And what about his colleagues ? They might think that you’re an easy girl, or at least one who isn’t bothered by the peacekeepers’ uniforms and try to flirt with you - very much like Junius had - if they knew. It was better if he kept it that way for now, you’d be his little secret. “You look lovely in that dress.”

“Thank you.” You replied, seemingly a bit surprised by such a compliment. “My friends got married today.”

He nodded. That much he had gathered, even though wedding celebrations definitely looked nothing like the ones he had seen in The Capitol. He glanced to the sad party, where one couple was now eating their toasted piece of bread while others looked at them with emotion in their eyes. You followed his gaze back to where you came from.

“I’m sorry, I can’t invite you it wouldn’t be…” You started, but stopped yourself as he shook his head.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate, of course.” He finished for you, with a smile meant to reassure you that he had absolutely no desire to be invited to such events anyway.

A moment of silence went by, a bit awkwardly. He couldn’t force you on your knees and get you to suck him off right there, in front of everyone, even though there wasn’t anything he wanted more at this very moment and you couldn’t bring a peacekeeper back to the party with you, so you were both frozen with indecision, unsure of what else to do when you couldn’t put your hands - and mouths - on each other.

Despite daylight, an orange lightning illuminated the sky, fracturing the black clouds over your heads. A few seconds later, a loud bang resonated against the wooden walls of the nearby cabins, making the road under your feet tremble. Rain instantly poured down from the clouds, cold drops of water mixed with icy hail, piercing through the leaves of the trees and bouncing off of the roofs and ground.

Coriolanus left out a curse as the wedding party he was meant to keep in check dissolved, people hurrying in different directions to take shelter from the hail. If anything happened now, it would be his fault because he wouldn’t be able to tell if everyone went back to their cabins or if anything illegal took place afterwards…

You pulled him out of his thoughts by taking his hand in yours and guiding him to the nearest shack on the road, just as another lightning hit the ground, a lot closer than where the previous one did. You opened the door and pushed the peacekeeper in, closing it just as the roaring thunder reverberated through the street.

Coriolanus took in the modest house he was standing in, the few pieces of furniture and the broken window above the kitchen sink. It was about the size of his dormitory, but contained everything a house should, there even was a bed in the far corner of the room.

“You can stay here until the storm passes… If you want.” You suggested, the confidence you had been able to display during your previous encounters with him suddenly gone. Maybe because you felt awfully more vulnerable having him standing in your home rather than in a more public place. “Your clothes are wet, maybe I could hang them to dry ?”

A smirk appeared on his lips at your words and you smiled back at him, slightly blushing. He fixed his pale blue eyes on you as he slowly began unbuttoning his vest, you followed the movement of his fingers with eager eyes. He remembered how it felt when it wasn’t his buttons he was so deftly working on but you, pumping his finger deep inside the warmth his cock was so desperate to be buried in too.

He removed his vest, carefully placed his gun on the kitchen table and took off his shirt, revealing his chiseled chest and broad shoulders. He saw the way your eyes widened at the sight and liked how you couldn’t help but stare at his muscles, gaze lowering at the same speed your cheeks were gaining colors.

He opened his pants, lowered his underwear and left his erection proudly stand up from the fabric. He was hard for you, so hard it was almost unbearable, and you had barely done anything yet, apart from wearing a dress that hugged your silhouette and smile at him. It was kind of pathetic, how he probably could have come undone simply from closing his eyes and imagining his cum shooting out of his spent cock inside of you… Either buried deep in your wet pussy, either lodged down your throat while you gagged on his length, or even painting your face and chest with his cum again, the lovely sight it had been the first time still burned in his memory.

There were so many ways he wanted you. If he could have it his way, he’d probably lock you up in his dorm so that he could come back to you and fuck you mercilessly every time he felt the need to. Having you at his disposal would be such a relief for his cock - and hand. Maybe he’d finally manage to get you out of his mind if he could indulge in every fantasy he had about you, act out every scenario, test out everything he thought of, until he no longer had anything to think about to bring his cock to life at the most inconvenient times.

Although you seemed a bit more reserved this time, you still had the courage to reach behind your back to unzip your pretty dress, the fabric instantly falling and pooling around your feet.

Coriolanus’ blood changed course and flew to his already stretched cock, making it even harder and twitching with impatience. What a perfect sight you were, standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. It wasn’t a fancy set of lingerie like the girls from The Capitol usually wore but maybe it was because you weren’t a girl from The Capitol that he was so obsessed with you. You were a district girl, and he had never seen a body more beautiful than yours, even in plain underwear that didn’t even match. It was as if he had designed you himself, the shape of you perfectly tailored to his preferences, with curves and dips that drove him crazy and plump, soft, skin that haunted his sleepless nights. It left him unable to decide between his desires to ravage you or worship you.

He stepped forward and carefully pulled the straps of your bra down your shoulders. He unclasped the hooks in your back, a bit less assured than he wanted you to believe he was and, once he was able to pull your bra off, he took a step back to admire your bare chest. Perfect.

He pressed a hand to your tender flesh, excitement buzzing in his veins when he felt the soft malleability of your breast. His hands weren’t calloused like the ones of the miners you probably knew, they were soft and delicate, a clear sign of his luckier upbringing.

He leaned down to place a kiss against your neck, just so he could press his body against yours, feel your heat, the warmth of your skin radiating against his. It was the most intimate he had ever been, with you and with anyone else. He couldn’t say he disliked how it felt, but it was also terrifying. He couldn’t let himself be too vulnerable with you, not when it risked leading to feelings he really didn’t want to have for a district girl like you. He already barely could manage how badly he wanted you, how much he thought about you, day and night… What if he fell in love now ? Surely, it would ruin his life.

No, there wouldn’t be any feelings, not on his side and not on yours either. It was just sex. Really good sex. But just that.

He didn’t have to be soft with you so that you’d like him, he could just take what he needed and give you what you wanted too and call it quits. Yeah, it was a good plan. Flawless even.

He pulled your panties down with a rough motion, taking you by surprise. You barely had time to kick the crumpled fabric off of your feet when he reached for the back of your knees, lifting you up into his arms with your legs closing around his hips for support.

He took a few steps until your back was pressed against the wall. Your face was so close to his, your wet lips making it so hard for him to resist kissing them with all the depth of his passion for you.

No feelings. He reminded himself.

He pushed his hips forward, his hard cock easily gliding through your arousal. You were so ready for him. Just like you had been the other day. And this time he wasn’t going to deny himself the pleasure of being inside you. He pressed himself all the way up to your entrance, finding an unexpected resistance on the way. He heard your breath catch in your throat as he attempted to pass it, noticing the grimace on your face but since you didn’t ask him to stop, he kept trying to dive into the surprising tightness of your pussy.

He felt your hands clasping his shoulders for stability, your body writhing with discomfort at the invasion. He knew he was fairly big - bigger than the fingers he had put inside you at least - but he didn’t expect you to be so incredibly tight around him. The pressure of your walls clenching on him almost making him dizzy with the intensity of the pleasure it built in his abdomen.

Then, without a warning, you suddenly relaxed and your pussy seemed to swallow him whole, finally allowing him to fully bury himself inside of your wetness. He cursed at the sensation and you quietly cried out when he hit the deepest point possible.

You still felt tight, but you were finally giving him permission to move. He gently rocked himself, getting his cock to slide back and forth as a way to loosen you up. He was molding you to fit him. Him, and no one else.

No feelings.

He closed his eyes. He could come just from this but he wasn’t going to be selfish. Not when he wanted you to keep wanting him as much as he did. So he focused, keeping his movements slow and wide despite how fast and rough his brain urged him to go.

Suddenly, you came, digging your nails in his shoulders and whimpering against his neck, your pussy contracting around his cock, forcing him to stop his movements inside you again and stand completely still while you moaned in bliss. He was good at this, it was his second time making you reach your climax and it gave him an unreasonable amount of pride each time he achieved this. This time especially, had merely felt like work at all, you simply couldn’t take that many slow thrusts inside you. And now your cunt was contracting around him, trying to milk cum out of him like the only thing missing from your orgasm was a load of his release inside you. But he wasn’t going to give it to you, not yet. No matter how limp your body suddenly felt in his arms and how you cried out as soon as he resumed his thrusts, he was going to fuck you until he was satisfied this time.

He adjusted his grip on your body and carried you to the bed, lying you down and immediately placing himself on top of you, putting his dick back exactly where it belonged, buried deep inside you. His hands behind both of your knees, he held your legs against his hips as he pushed himself back and forth in you, on his knees while you were lying down with your head resting on your pillow. He could feel the pleasure bubbling inside him, demanding more to finally explode and allow him some relief. He was so desperate to finish, he needed to fill you up with his seed, make sure you would be his from now on. Hell, he wanted to spill everything he could inside you until he was bone dry and then, feed you every drop that might escape from your folds so that none of his release would go to waste.

He leaned forward, the weight of his body shifting and pressing yours deeper into the mattress. The bed was creaking loudly with each of his violent thrusts, menacing to break, while your cries of agonizing pleasure escaped through the broken window, mixing with the splatter of the heavy rain outside and the low rumble of thunder.

It wasnt so much the way he drove himself in and out of you, fast and without mercy, that pushed him off of the edge but the sight of you, gasping for air like you couldn’t take him anymore, crying out his name with half of your face buried in your pillow, your pretty lips forming a perfect oval as he finally groaned and released himself inside you, making you climax once more, in unison with him this time.

He filled you up, waiting until his cock was done twitching, the very last drops of cum dripping from his tip before he took it out. He needed to catch his breath now but the way you were still shaking with pleasure in front of him, beautiful as ever and claimed by him made his heart race.

Rain and hail crashed noisily on the roof of the cabin, covering the sound of your panting breaths, lightning illuminating the darkness that had filled the room every once in a while. He knew that his friends were probably waiting for him back at the barracks, that his superiors might start wondering where he was since he wasn’t on permission yet, but he couldn’t get himself to leave. Not yet. He had been dreaming, imagining, fantasizing about this moment for too long to cut it short. The way you had felt, how your body looked without any clothes on, your face when he poured his release inside you, everything had exceeded his expectations. You were truly perfect for him. And he no longer could resist kissing your lips, making sure you’d understand how obsessed he was with you.

No feelings.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

328 notes · View notes

bratzkoo · 2 months ago

Text

barely yours | mingyu (end)

Author: bratzkoo | navi Pairing: rockstar! mingyu x reader Word Count: 4.7k Genre: fluff, angst, smut-ish Rating: NC-17 Possible Warnings/ Note: Thanks for being with me all through out this fic, thank you for loving mingyu and y/n even if they're little shit sometimes. To everyone that interacted and reblogged, thank you guys so so so much, you made me very happy. Till next fic! If you're a bts army and a doctor who fan (whovian), i hope you can check out my next series it's going to be doctor who! hoseok x archaelogist! reader.

Summary: you flirt, you fuck, but when you hint that you want to be more he dismissed it as if you’re joking... and when you decide to ignore him he comes back with flowers at your doorstep.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @ca-clover, @junniesoleilkth , @gaslysainz , @darkerrdaze , @mansaaay , @childish-fear , @lixisoul99 , @cherrylovescheol , @yuyu1024 , @tacolombe , @black-swan-blog27 , @tulipndtale , @xuimhao , @cookiearmy , @gyuguys , @brownbunnyb

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The Parisian morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains of Y/N's hotel suite, casting a soft glow over the scattered suitcases and designer bags. Y/N stood by the window, gazing out at the city she had come to love, a city that had witnessed both her professional triumphs and, most recently, a pivotal moment in her personal life.

Her fingers absently traced the outline of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, her mind replaying the events of the past week. Fashion Week had been a whirlwind of shows, parties, and business meetings. But amidst the chaos, one moment stood out above all others – her unexpected reunion with Mingyu.

Y/N closed her eyes, allowing herself to relive that night. The shock of seeing him across the crowded room, looking devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit. The electricity that had coursed through her body when their eyes met. The way her heart had raced as he made his way towards her, that familiar crooked smile playing on his lips.

She hadn't expected the rush of emotions that came with seeing him again. Five years of carefully constructed walls had crumbled in an instant, leaving her vulnerable and exhilarated all at once. And then, one drink had led to another, conversations had flowed as easily as they had in the past, and before she knew it...

Y/N's cheeks flushed at the memory of that night. The heat of Mingyu's kisses, the tenderness in his touch, the way he had whispered her name like a prayer. It had been passionate, intense, and achingly familiar. But it had also been tinged with a newfound maturity, a depth of emotion that spoke of the years that had passed and the growth they had both undergone.

The buzz of her phone on the nightstand jolted Y/N from her reverie. Probably another message from her assistant confirming the details of her upcoming skincare line launch. Y/N sighed, torn between the excitement of her career and the bittersweet ache of leaving... of leaving Mingyu.

The past week had been like living in a dream. After that initial night, she and Mingyu had spent every possible moment together. Late-night walks along the Seine, his hand warm in hers as they strolled past the twinkling lights reflected in the water. Early morning coffees at quaint cafes, sharing croissants and stolen kisses over steaming cups of café au lait. Afternoons spent exploring the Louvre, Mingyu's childlike wonder at the art bringing a smile to her face. And evenings... evenings spent tangled in hotel sheets, rediscovering each other, talking for hours about everything and nothing.

But reality was calling. Y/N had an empire to run, a new skincare line to launch, and a life waiting for her back in Seoul. And Mingyu... Mingyu had HHT, world tours, and a career that spanned the globe. They had talked about it, of course. Long, serious conversations about their feelings, their careers, the challenges they would face. They had agreed to take things slow, to see where this rekindled connection might lead. But now, with miles about to stretch between them once again, Y/N felt a familiar fear creeping in. Would distance pull them apart, as it had before?

A knock at the door startled Y/N from her thoughts. "Mademoiselle, your car is ready," came the concierge's voice.

"Thank you," Y/N called back, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll be down in a moment."

With one last look around the room, Y/N gathered her things. As she reached for the door handle, her eyes fell on a small bottle of perfume on the dresser – a sample of "Barely Yours." She hesitated for a moment before picking it up and tucking it into her purse. A reminder of what she was leaving behind, and perhaps, of what she hoped to return to.

The ride to Charles de Gaulle Airport was quiet, the streets of Paris still sleepy in the early morning hours. Y/N's mind wandered, replaying conversations she'd had with Mingyu over the past week.

"I've missed this," Mingyu had said one night as they sat on a bench in the Tuileries Garden, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. "I've missed you."

Y/N had leaned her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent that was uniquely him. "I've missed you too," she had admitted. "More than I realized."

"What are we doing, Y/N?" Mingyu had asked, his voice soft but intense. "Is this... is this just a Paris thing? A trip down memory lane?"

She had sat up then, turning to face him. In the fading light, his eyes had been full of hope and fear, mirroring her own emotions. "I don't want it to be," she had said honestly. "But Mingyu, our lives are so different now. We're not the same people we were five years ago."

"Maybe that's a good thing," he had replied, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "We've grown, Y/N. We've achieved our dreams. Maybe now... maybe now we're finally ready for this. For us."

The memory faded as the car approached the airport. Y/N's heart felt heavy, the weight of leaving pressing down on her. They had said their goodbyes last night, both agreeing it would be easier this way. A clean break, a chance to process everything that had happened and figure out their next steps.

But as the car pulled up to the departures terminal, Y/N was struck by how wrong it felt. How could she just leave, go back to her life as if this past week hadn't changed everything?

Lost in thought, Y/N almost missed the commotion at the airport's entrance. A crowd had gathered, phones out, excited chatter filling the air. And there, in the center of it all, stood Mingyu.

Y/N's heart leapt into her throat. He wasn't supposed to be here. But there he was, looking breathtakingly handsome in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, his eyes scanning the arriving cars frantically.

As Y/N's car pulled up, Mingyu's eyes locked onto hers through the window. The look on his face – a mixture of determination, hope, and unbridled love – took her breath away.

Before the driver could fully stop, Y/N was out of the car. She vaguely registered the flashing of cameras, the surprised gasps from onlookers, but all she could focus on was Mingyu.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she reached him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu took her hands in his, his touch sending sparks through her entire body. "I couldn't let you leave like this," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "Not again. Not without telling you how I feel."

Y/N's heart raced. "Mingyu, we talked about this. Our lives, our careers..."

But Mingyu shook his head, cutting her off. "I don't care about any of that. Y/N, these past five years without you have been... empty. I've achieved everything I thought I wanted, but none of it means anything if I can't share it with you."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as Mingyu continued, his words coming out in a rush, as if he was afraid he'd lose his nerve if he didn't say them now.

"Be with me, please Y/N," he pleaded, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I love you. I loved you 5 years ago, I loved you 5 months ago, I loved you five minutes ago, and I'll love you every second of every day for the rest of my life. We can make this work. Whatever obstacles come our way, we'll face them together."

Y/N stood there, overwhelmed by the intensity of Mingyu's words, of her own feelings. She thought about the life she had built for herself, the success she had achieved. She was no longer the uncertain young woman she had been five years ago. She had grown, evolved into someone she was proud to be.

And it was that realization that finally allowed her to let go of her fears.

"Yes," she whispered, a smile breaking through her tears.

Mingyu blinked, as if not quite believing what he'd heard. "Yes?"

Y/N laughed, the sound full of joy and promise. "Yes, Mingyu. Yes to being with you. Yes to facing whatever comes our way together. Yes to loving you every second of every day."

With a whoop of joy, Mingyu lifted Y/N off her feet, spinning her around as onlookers cheered and cameras flashed. When he set her down, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears.

"I love you, Y/N," he said softly. "Fully and completely."

"And I love you," Y/N replied, her heart feeling fuller than it ever had. "I'm yours, Mingyu. Fully yours."

As their lips met in a kiss that promised a lifetime of love and happiness, neither Y/N nor Mingyu paid any attention to the commotion around them. In that moment, it was just the two of them, finally where they were always meant to be – together.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of activity. News of their reunion spread like wildfire, dominating entertainment headlines and social media. Y/N's phone buzzed constantly with messages from friends, family, and business associates, all curious about this sudden development in her personal life.

Mingyu faced his own challenges, fielding questions from reporters and reassuring fans that his relationship wouldn't affect HHT's future. But through it all, they stood united, facing each hurdle together.

Their first major test came when Y/N had to return to Seoul for the launch of her new skincare line. The night before her flight, she and Mingyu sat on the balcony of his Paris hotel room, the city lights twinkling below them.

"I'm scared," Y/N admitted, her voice small. "What if... what if distance changes things again?"

Mingyu pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "It won't," he said firmly. "We're different people now, Y/N. We know what we want, and we're willing to fight for it. Plus," he added with a grin, "I have about a million airline miles saved up. I plan to put them to good use."

Y/N laughed, feeling some of her anxiety melt away. "I love you," she said, marveling at how easily the words came now.

"I love you too," Mingyu replied. "Always."

The next year was a testament to their commitment. Despite busy schedules and often being in different time zones, Mingyu and Y/N made their relationship work. Video calls became a daily ritual, no matter how late or early it might be. Mingyu surprised Y/N at product launches and important meetings, while Y/N became a fixture at HHT's concerts, cheering from backstage.

Their friends and family watched with a mixture of joy and amusement as the once-tentative couple blossomed into a powerhouse of love and support. Seungcheol often joked that he felt like a proud parent watching his children grow up.

It was during one of HHT's world tour stops in New York that Mingyu decided to take the next step. He had planned everything meticulously, with the help of the other members and Y/N's assistant.

After the concert, he led a blindfolded Y/N to the top of the Empire State Building, which he had managed to reserve for just the two of them. As Y/N removed the blindfold, she gasped at the sight before her. The observation deck was covered in rose petals and candles, the New York skyline providing a breathtaking backdrop.

"Mingyu, what is all this?" she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

Mingyu took her hands in his, his heart pounding. "Y/N," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "five years ago, I let you go because I was too afraid to admit how I felt. I've regretted that decision every day since. But now, I'm not afraid anymore. I know exactly what I want, and it's you. It's always been you."

Dropping to one knee, Mingyu pulled out a small velvet box. Inside was a stunning ring, a large diamond surrounded by smaller stones that sparkled in the candlelight.

"Hwang Y/N," Mingyu said, looking up at her with eyes full of love, "will you marry me?"

Tears streaming down her face, Y/N nodded emphatically. "Yes," she managed to choke out. "Yes, a thousand times yes!"

As Mingyu slipped the ring onto her finger and stood to kiss her, the New York night sky erupted in a spectacular fireworks display, orchestrated by the ever-romantic Seungcheol.

The news of their engagement spread quickly, sending fans and media into a frenzy. But Mingyu and Y/N were in their own bubble of happiness, already dreaming of their future together.

The months leading up to the wedding were a blur of planning, fittings, and juggling their busy careers. They decided on a spring wedding in Seoul, wanting to celebrate their love in the city where it all began.

Finally, the big day arrived. The venue, a beautiful garden on the outskirts of Seoul, was transformed into a fairytale setting. Cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their delicate petals dancing in the gentle breeze.

In a private room, Y/N stood before a full-length mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at her. Her wedding gown, a custom creation that perfectly blended traditional Korean elements with modern design, made her feel like a princess. Her hair was swept up in an elegant updo, adorned with small crystal flowers that matched her earrings – a gift from Mingyu's mother.

A knock at the door preceded the entrance of her bridal party – a mix of childhood friends and industry colleagues who had become like family over the years.

"Oh, Y/N," her maid of honor gasped, tears already forming in her eyes. "You look absolutely breathtaking."

Y/N smiled, a mix of nerves and excitement fluttering in her stomach. "Thank you. I can't believe this is really happening."

As her friends fussed over last-minute details, Y/N's mind wandered to Mingyu. Was he as nervous as she was? Was he thinking of her too?

Meanwhile, in another room, Mingyu was indeed thinking of Y/N. He stood still as Seungcheol adjusted his bowtie, the other members of HHT bustling around in various states of readiness.

"You okay, man?" Seungcheol asked, noticing Mingyu's distant expression.

Mingyu nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I'm just... I can't wait to see her, you know? To start our life together."

Seungcheol clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes suspiciously moist. "I'm so happy for you, bro. You and Y/N... you were always meant for this."

As the guests took their seats and the soft strains of music filled the air, Mingyu took his place at the altar. His heart raced as he waited, his eyes fixed on the entrance where Y/N would soon appear.

And then, there she was. As Y/N began her walk down the aisle, a collective gasp rose from the assembled guests. She was a vision in white, her face radiant with joy and love. But Mingyu saw none of it. All he could see was Y/N's eyes, locked on his, filled with a love so pure and strong it took his breath away.

As she reached him, Mingyu took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"So are you," Y/N replied, her smile brighter than the sun.

The ceremony was a beautiful blend of traditional and modern elements, reflecting the couple's journey and their hopes for the future. As they exchanged vows and rings, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Even the normally stoic Wonwoo was seen discretely wiping away a tear.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant declared. "You may kiss the bride."

Mingyu didn't need to be told twice. He pulled Y/N close, pouring all his love and joy into a kiss that seemed to stop time itself. As they broke apart, the garden erupted in cheers and applause.

The reception that followed was a joyous celebration of love, friendship, and new beginnings. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air as guests mingled in the beautifully decorated hall. Soft fairy lights twinkled overhead, and the scent of flowers – carefully chosen to complement Y/N's signature perfume – wafted through the space.

At the head table, Mingyu couldn't take his eyes off his bride. Y/N was radiant, her eyes sparkling as she chatted with their friends and family. Every so often, she would catch him staring and give him a wink or a blown kiss, making his heart soar all over again.

The reception was in full swing, a perfect blend of elegance and fun that reflected the couple's personalities. In one corner, Mingyu's bandmates were engaged in an impromptu dance battle, much to the delight of the guests. Vernon, with his smooth moves, was giving Seungcheol a run for his money, while Wonwoo surprised everyone with a suddenly unleashed dance prowess that had been hiding behind his usually calm demeanor.

Y/N laughed as she watched them, leaning into Mingyu. "I see some things never change," she said fondly.

Mingyu grinned, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Once a group of goofballs, always a group of goofballs."

As the dance battle wound down, Vernon made his way to the newlyweds, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, Y/N," he said, leaning on the table, "now that you're officially part of the HHT family, does this mean we get free skincare for life?"

Y/N pretended to consider this. "Hmm, I don't know. That depends. Do I get free concert tickets for life?"

"Deal!" Vernon exclaimed, holding out his hand for a high five, which Y/N gladly returned.

Wonwoo joined them, his usually stoic face softened by a warm smile. "I have to say," he said, his voice quiet but sincere, "seeing you two together like this... it just feels right. Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place."

Mingyu reached out to squeeze Wonwoo's shoulder, touched by his friend's words. "Thanks, man. That means a lot."

As the evening progressed, it was time for the speeches. The tapping of a spoon against a glass drew everyone's attention. Seungcheol stood up, microphone in hand, his eyes already suspiciously moist.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "as the best man, it's my duty to give a speech. But I have to warn you, I'm a bit of a mess already."

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Seungcheol's girlfriend, Mina, pointedly raised her phone to record the moment.

"I've known Mingyu for... well, it feels like forever," Seungcheol continued. "We've been through everything together – trainee days, debut jitters, world tours. But I've never seen him as happy as he is with Y/N."

Seungcheol turned to face the newlyweds, tears now flowing freely down his cheeks. "Y/N, you were our manager, our friend, and now you're family. Thank you for loving this big goofball and for making him smile like that."

Y/N reached out to squeeze Seungcheol's hand, her own eyes glistening with tears.

"And Mingyu," Seungcheol's voice cracked, "my brother, my bandmate, my best friend. I'm so proud of you. You fought for your love, you never gave up, and now... now you're finally fully hers, and she's fully yours."

By this point, Seungcheol was full-on sobbing, much to the amusement and endearment of the guests. Mina zoomed in on his face, barely containing her own laughter.

"To Mingyu and Y/N," Seungcheol managed to choke out, raising his glass. "May your love story continue to inspire us all. And may you always remember that you're not just 'barely' each other's – you're fully, completely, and eternally each other's."

As the guests echoed the toast, Mingyu stood up and enveloped Seungcheol in a bear hug, both men now openly weeping. Y/N joined them, wrapping her arms around both. Vernon stepped up to the microphone, his easy grin in place.

"Now, I know Seungcheol already gave the best man speech," he started, "but as Mingyu's self-proclaimed 'best friend for life,' I feel like I have some things to add."

The crowd chuckled, settling in for what promised to be an entertaining speech.

"I've known Mingyu for a long time," Vernon continued, "and I've seen him go through a lot of phases. There was the 'I'm too cool to smile' phase, the 'I'm going to dye my hair a new color every week' phase, and who could forget the 'I think I can pull off leopard print' phase?"

Laughter erupted as Mingyu buried his face in his hands, groaning good-naturedly.

"But through all of that," Vernon's voice softened, "there was one constant: the way he looked at Y/N. Even when they were just friends, even when they were apart, there was always something special there. And seeing them together now, it's like... it's like watching your favorite movie with the perfect ending."

Vernon raised his glass. "To Mingyu and Y/N. May your love story continue to be the blockbuster hit of our lives."

As the applause died down, Wonwoo stepped forward. Known for his quiet nature, many guests were curious to hear what he had to say.

"I'm not usually one for many words," Wonwoo began, his deep voice carrying across the room, "but for Mingyu and Y/N, I'll make an exception."

He turned to face the couple. "Mingyu, you've been my brother in everything but blood for years. I've seen you at your highest highs and your lowest lows. But I've never seen you as happy as you are with Y/N. And Y/N," he continued, his gaze shifting to the bride, "you've been a part of our family since the day we met you. You've supported us, guided us, and now, you've made our Mingyu complete."

Wonwoo's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Love like yours is rare. It's the kind of love that inspires songs, that gives hope to others. Cherish it, nurture it, and know that you'll always have us – your HHT family – supporting you every step of the way."

There wasn't a dry eye in the house as Wonwoo finished his speech. Mingyu stood up, pulling both Vernon and Wonwoo into a tight hug. Y/N joined them, and soon all of HHT was engaged in a group hug that spoke volumes about their bond.

The night continued with more heartfelt speeches, including one from Y/N's maid of honor that had everyone in stitches with embarrassing stories from their college days. Mingyu's parents spoke of how proud they were of their son and how happy they were to welcome Y/N into the family. Y/N's father, usually stoic in public, surprised everyone with an emotional speech about watching his little girl grow into the strong, successful woman before them.

As the formal part of the evening wound down, the dance floor became the center of attention. Mingyu and Y/N shared their first dance to a beautiful ballad written and performed by the members of HHT. As they swayed to the music, lost in each other's eyes, the love between them was palpable.

"I can't believe we're here," Y/N murmured, her head resting on Mingyu's chest. "Sometimes I feel like I'm going to wake up and realize this was all a dream."

Mingyu tightened his arms around her. "If it's a dream, I never want to wake up," he replied, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

As the night wore on, filled with dancing, laughter, and joy, Y/N and Mingyu stole a quiet moment on the balcony. The spring air was cool and fragrant with cherry blossoms. Under the starlit sky, Mingyu pulled Y/N close, humming softly in her ear.

"Is that...?" Y/N asked, recognizing the melody.

Mingyu nodded, smiling. "A new version of 'Barely Yours.' I'm thinking of calling it 'Fully Ours.'"

Y/N's heart swelled with love. "It's perfect," she whispered, leaning in for a kiss.

As they stood there, the Seoul skyline twinkling behind them and their future stretching out before them, both Mingyu and Y/N reflected on the journey that had brought them to this moment.

"You know," Mingyu said softly, "five years ago, when we decided to focus on our careers, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought success would be enough to make me happy."

Y/N nodded, understanding completely. "I felt the same way. I threw myself into building my brand, thinking that if I could just achieve my goals, everything else would fall into place."

"But it didn't, did it?" Mingyu mused, his fingers tracing patterns on Y/N's back.

"No, it didn't," Y/N agreed. "Something was always missing. I just didn't want to admit what – or who – it was."

Mingyu chuckled softly. "We were both so stubborn. It took us five years and a chance meeting in Paris to figure out what we really needed."

"Each other," Y/N finished, smiling up at him.

"Each other," Mingyu echoed, his eyes full of love. "Y/N, I promise you, I'm never letting you go again. Whatever challenges we face, whatever obstacles come our way, we'll face them together. You're not just my wife; you're my partner, my best friend, my soulmate."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes at Mingyu's words. "And you're mine," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "Mingyu, you make me stronger, you make me better. With you by my side, I feel like I can accomplish anything."

Their lips met in a tender kiss, sealing their promises to each other. As they broke apart, the opening chords of "Shadow" drifted out from the reception hall.

"Shall we go back in?" Mingyu asked, offering his arm to Y/N. "I believe they're playing our song."

Y/N laughed, linking her arm through his. "Let's go, husband."

As they rejoined their guests on the dance floor, moving together to the song that had once represented their separation but now symbolized their reunion, both Mingyu and Y/N felt a sense of completion they had never known before. The journey hadn't been easy, but every step, every challenge had led them here.

In the years that followed, Mingyu and Y/N's love only grew stronger. They faced the challenges of their high-profile careers together, supporting each other's dreams while nurturing their relationship. Y/N's beauty empire continued to expand, with Mingyu often lending his face (and his social media influence) to her campaigns. HHT reached new heights of global stardom, with Y/N cheering them on every step of the way.

They learned to balance their public lives with private moments, cherishing quiet evenings at home just as much as glamorous red carpet events. They traveled the world together, both for work and pleasure, creating memories in every corner of the globe.

And when, a few years later, they welcomed their first child – a beautiful baby girl with Mingyu's smile and Y/N's eyes – their happiness felt complete. As they stood over the crib, watching their daughter sleep, Mingyu wrapped his arm around Y/N's waist.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Y/N looked up at him, curious. "For what?"

"For everything," Mingyu replied, his voice full of emotion. "For loving me, for never giving up on us, for giving me this beautiful family. You've made all my dreams come true, Y/N."

Y/N leaned into him, feeling overwhelmed with love for her husband and their child. "Thank you for the same," she murmured. "I love you, Mingyu. Fully and completely."

"And I love you," Mingyu replied, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Always and forever."

As they stood there, a family united by love and strengthened by the journey that had brought them together, both Mingyu and Y/N knew that this – this moment, this life, this love – was what they had always been meant for. No longer "barely" anything, they were fully, completely, and eternally each other's.

And in that knowledge, they found their happily ever after.

#svt #mansaenetwork #mingyu fic #kim mingyu #mingyu #mingyu imagine #kim mingyu fic #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #mingyu smut #svt x reader #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x reader #rockstar! mingyu

171 notes · View notes

dejwrld · 1 year ago

Text

summary — international rockstar choso kamo is in love with the international popstar, y/n.

warning readers discretion is advised ⸻ female reader, female anatomy described, written with black reader in mind, mentions of descriptors of black reader (complexion, hair texture, culture), open to be read by all readers, profanity, angst, lovers to exes, told in third pov Chosoi's pov), mentions of drug and alcohol usage, opposite attracts trope, riding/cowgirl position, brief mention of oral (m.receiving), famous au, modern au, he falls harder trope, praise kink, rockstar choso x popstar!reader one shot

sticky note from deja — this was originally another character plot, but urgh i just think about rockstar choso a lot! well i think about choso a lot period. so here's a sweet treat to the choso gaggers.

He liked her more than he had expected. He never was the one to be in a committed relationship—didn't quite go with the rockstar image as an artist, nor did it sell to the public. He thought it was better to sell into the stereotype that rock stars do hardcore drugs, can't remember their flings' names, and show up late to their sound checks for concerts. But here he was, staring at her as she peacefully slept on his chest as if she belonged there.

Well, she did. She was different from the people he pursued romantically who entered his life and exited quickly when they realized they couldn't keep up with his lifestyle. She could handle the throat-cutting hate from fans because she had rabid fans. She could take the intrusive questions from music journalists because she had one of the world's best PR and media training teams.

He didn't want to admit that he was falling in love with her.

But, here, Choso was itching to smoke a morning cigarette but too afraid to wake her because she had a late recording session.

And don't get him started on the reckless shit he did while she was locked up in the studio last night.

"Good morning," Her voice comes off like a whisper as if they were in a library with strict talking rules. She's placing tired kisses on Choso’s chest with a smile.

"Mornin'," Choso mumbles back, his arms resting behind his head. His brown-colored eyes met her gaze when he felt her hand rubbing his thighs. "Don't you have to be at the studio in a couple of hours?" His right eyebrow, embedded with a piercing, raised at her.

She chuckled, letting her hand rub against his cock that had hardened in the wake of morning wood. Betraying him entirely as he's inhaling sharply at her actions.

"I just need two hours with you," She responds. "And maybe one to get ready." She adds before smiling. Her eyes glistened with lust, and Choso couldn't deny that look.

"Help yourself." He responds, getting even more comfortable in his king-sized bed. His hands still rest behind his head because he wouldn't have cared for her to use him as she pleased.

With a pleased smile, she leaned closer to peck his lips before leaving a trail of kisses on his bare chest and traveling downward to disappear under the gray-colored duvet that covered them both.

Choso was waiting for her to notice the impulse thing he did yesterday. Quite afraid of her reaction because maybe he had gone a bit overboard. He wasn't sure she loved him as much as he loved her.

Choso!" She climbs back from under the blanket and quickly tugs it off the two of them. "What the fuck is this?" Her acrylic tapered square-shaped nails trace alongside his waist, and that simple movement causes his pale skin to garnish with goosebumps.

"Surprise cupcake." He gives her a cheeky grin.

"Surprise my ass!"

Just above his waist, stopping right where his white-haired happy trail ended, was her name in old English font.

Y/N.

He couldn't read her facial expressions. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow together in confusion, but her mouth held back a snicker. Y/N's fingers traced alongside the tattoo's outline that imprinted Choso's skin.

"I can't believe you did this insane shit." She stares at Choso and then at the tattoo before giggling. "You're so insane, but I love you for that."

Choso didn't think she knew what she had just said because before he could respond, she was kissing the tattoo so delicately that it caused Choso’s toes to curl in anticipation. Her tongue traces the outline of each lettering on his skin, and Choso could feel the precum on his tip immediately stain his Calvin Klein boxers.

"Fuck!" He breathed out, letting his head sink into the back of his hands resting behind his head.

His boxers were removed, and soon, his body relaxed under the feeling of her tongue licking at the precum on his tip as if it were a sweet delight. He peeks through his long eyelashes at the way her tongue glides up and down his thick shaft before engulfing his cock in her mouth without a care. The sound of Y/N gagging on his cock followed by the sight of saliva pooling out her mouth caused Choso’s skin to heat up instantly. He removed one hand from the back of his head to palm at the top of her head. His fingers fiddle with the silk scarf that protects her hair for the night while he guides her head up and down his hardened cock like a sports ball on a court.

His dark eyes opened and were met with Y/N’s, whose hands flickered up and down his cock before briefly letting the pad of her thumb rub at his plump pink-shaded tip, smearing the precum and saliva that coated it. It drove Choso mad at the way she looked at him. It was as if he was the best thing since sliced bread when, in reality, Choso was just some musician who, on some days, couldn’t even keep his eyes open as he was in the studio high on whatever drug he consumed that morning.

She released his cock with a pop before she removed the remaining amount of clothes. First, it was the yellow-colored Calvin Klein cheeky underwear—she was a brand ambassador for them (of course, he knew that). Then, it was the oversized t-shirt that belonged to him that she managed to look better in. Her brown skin glistened in the sunlight that shone through the high-rise windows in Choso’s penthouse. The warmth of her thighs on his side from straddling his lip caused Choso to smile. His eyebrows raised in curiosity at what was her next move. When he said, help yourself—he didn’t expect her to want to ride him.

His body tensed up at the feeling of her cunt sinking further down on his cock. His body instantly reacted immediately because that was just the charm Y/N had on him. The littlest things could have had his cock twitching in whatever pair of sweatpants he wore. His fingers clutched at her waist while he guided her hips at a pace that was wonderful for both of them to enjoy. Such a little thing like this made Choso realize even more why that insane impulse idea he did the previous night was even more justified. He was in love. He showed it when they had sex. From his last relationships and embarrassing one-night stands that led to signed NDAs, he didn’t care to use them for a quick nut and go on about his business. But with her, with Y/N, he made love to her as if, just in the blink of an eye, she wouldn’t be here anymore. He ate her out as if it was the last thing he had eaten in fuckin’ centuries. He wanted all of her when he had a vision to please her when they had sex.

“Look at you,” Choso’s voice is a sweet, teasing tune, similar to his most recent single. His fingers trace the outline of her stretch marks that connect from her thighs to her love handles. “Helpin’ yourself. Need help?” He chuckles.

Quickly, he’s thrusting his hips upward to meet Y/N’s sudden bounce. He felt her nails piercing his bare chest, bracing herself for his abrupt thrusting. Her plump, kiss-swollen lips gasped apart to let out a moan that caused Choso to feel feral. He wanted to flip her over—have his fuckin’ way with her. Fuck her into the mattress to show to her that she was his and only his. It was the only way—but no, Choso had to let her do her. Let her fuck him how she pleases.

So the grasp he had on her waist loosened. His thrusts that met with her bouncing abruptly stopped, and he relaxed under her weight. The only thing the rockstar could do was glance up at her completely lovestruck—completely pussy drunk.

“Thought you were helping me, hm?” She questions in between raspy whimpers that make Choso’s cock harder.

“You’re a big girl, and you got it covered.” He spat back.

She couldn’t even respond to his words because she got lost in the pleasure of his cock kissing at that spot, which caused her to feel like she was on the fluffiest cloud. Her hips rocked backward and forwards. The headboard clashed against the wall, and Choso thanked every God that the property next to his was empty. He did not have the energy or time to deal with noise complaints. Especially given Y/N’s moans that only grew louder as she bounced on his cock as if it was the most critical task. He was trying so hard not to grab upon her, slam her harder on his cock—milk her out until she creamed on him. But no, he told her to help herself.

“That’s my girl.” His brown eyes met hers when those words of praise fluttered off his lips.

If Choso could look close enough, he could see a sparkle in her eyes, and her pussy clench around his cock.

“You’re doing well, Y/N. Is that what you want to hear?” He teasingly questioned. “You look so fucking beautiful riding me.” He adds, but this time—he no longer could control his impulse to feel upon his girlfriend.

He ached for her touch.

His hand finally found the place on her waist to help bob her upon his cock. His face flushed and was so hot— Choso knew that when his face got as red as the bottom of Y/N’s favorite red bottoms, he was about to cum. He felt his balls grow heavier with each pounce of Y/N, and the only thing he could utter was her name as if it was a lyric in one of his songs charting on the Billboard 100.

“Fuck, I’m about to—” His words were cut off by Y/N.

“Me too, baby.” She huffs, rocking her hips fast to reach her pleasure wave. “Just tell me one thing, baby. Please.” She coos, and Choso can only nod.

Whatever she wanted, she could have. Whatever she needed, she could get. Choso would give her the whole world plus some with how she rode him.

“Tell me you love me.”

“Fuck, Y/N. You know I love you. I wouldn’t get your name tattooed on me.” Choso breathed out.

“But I want you to say it when you cum,” She moans out. “So you have it imprinted on that silly brain of yours who makes you feel like that.”

Choso glanced into her eyes and realized she was serious about this. He was yanking her down so that her chest was on his and thrusting his hips upward, embracing her in a heated kiss that made him feel intoxicated. He was so intoxicated that he was questioning whether he should pull out now. Her teeth nibble at his lower lip just in time for them to come together. The feeling of her cunt pulsing around his cock drove the rockstar insane. When he pulled back from the kiss, his sweat-covered forward pressed against hers as he thrusts a couple more times, ensuring every droplet of his cum stayed inside her.

“I love you, Y/N.”

#choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #female reader #black reader #jjk x black reader #choso smut #choso kamo x black reader #angelshubnetwork #⊹˳⁺ ♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

1K notes · View notes

nicknelosn · 1 year ago

Text

FALLING LETTERS ANIMATION tutorial

hello! @kimmomi asked for a tutorial on how i made the letters "fall" in this gifset and so i figured i would make it and post here! this effect isn't hard to achieve but it might get a little tedious if you have a lot of letters.

note: you will need photoshop with a timeline!

STEP ONE: create your base gif! be mindful of number of frames in your gif. the number of frames doesn't really matter here, altho the longer the gif the better the effect. i'd say try to limit it to 60-70 frames, depending on how big your final gif will be.

STEP TWO: make your text the way you want it to look. this effect is basically the last step of your gif making process. (i will be using the typography from my set as an example as i already have that psd saved)

this is what my typography looks like now.

STEP THREE: i would recommend that the word at the bottom be the word that "falls". for me that is forever.

now, you will have to duplicate the "forever" layer and make your non-copy forever invisible.

what you will want to do now is delete all the letters but the first one in the duplicated layer. for me that is f. then you just duplicate the f layer and write your second letter instead of it, in my case o. you will have to do this for all letters. also as you do that make sure to move them a bit away from each other.

now, what helps to align those letters where they start off, is making your non-copy layer to be visible again.

after you've aligned your letters, make the non-copy layer invisible again.

STEP FOUR: so now we come to a bit of a tedious part.

what you will do now is move the playhead (blue timeline arrow) a bit further from the beginning of the gif (this allows for the text to stay still a bit before it starts "falling") and click on the first letter.

next step is to click on the little arrow next to your letter and clicking on the stopwatch next to Transform.

then, you will take the playhead and drag it to the end of the gif where you will start with transforming your letter with Free Transform tool (shortcut ctrl+T on windows). and what you will do is, while in Free Transform mode, drag your letter to the bottom of your gif while also rotating it a bit. when you're happy with your placement of the letter, hit enter. see below gif for how i did it.

you will have to do this for every letter, but make sure to rotate some in the other direction. also make sure that the beginning of the stopwatch mark is the same for every letter.

and that is basically it! after you transform every letter, you can go and save your gif.

this is my final result:

for some extra dramatic look, you can duplicate your initial layer with the whole word on it, drag it above all layers, clear layer style and add a stroke and make sure its FIll is at 0% where you will get the outline text that stays behind.

i hope this was helpful and understandable. if you have any questions, feel free to send me an ask or dm me <33

594 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 11 months ago

Text

Adonis [Male Butterfly Yan] + Amab Bully Wasp Reader [18+]

(Warnings/Tags: Piss Drinking, mentions of alcohol consumption, Reader is a huge asshole. No gender mentioned, but Reader has a penis)

"Keep your chin up, freak-"

This was shaping up to be the best night of his life.

Adonis had never been big on parties. Didn't do well in large crowds nor did he have many friends he'd happily enjoy wasting his time with. That all changed when he fell under your radar. It was love at first sight, but as with every good thing in his life - others tried to take his happiness away. People warned him about you - spreading their lies in an attempt to squash his budding feelings. A monster. A danger to yourself and those around you. Nothing more than a big bully. He knew better. You were different, just like him.

"Heh-heh... S-sorry....."

Adonis welds himself to the hard floor beneath him - the coarse texture of your jeans rubbing against his check as you wrestle with your belt. Your free hand runs his hair, gripping his sensitive antennae where they sprout from his skull. The butterfly swallows his moans as quickly as they slip out as you tug at his scalp through your struggle. He didn't want to come off as too eager for this. He's worked too hard to reach this point just to scare you off. Tolerating your awful excuses for friends, agreeing to attend this awful party, mingling with those other awful people at the bar everytime he ran to grab you another drink. Adonis didn't mind those parts too much. He'd do anything to prove his worth to you. Maybe, you'd even like him more if he showed more enthusiasm, and willingness to let you use his throat for any means.

A boy could dream....

A soft grunt sounds from above as the buckle of your belt falls free.

"Fucking finally... Who said you could close your mouth?"

Adonis ignores you in motion of pulling your zipper with his teeth. Impatience was rare for the boy lusting after someone who normally wouldn't give him the time of day, but he's been waiting for this moment all night. He prays by batting those pretty lashes of his and giving proper worship will be enough to earn your forgiveness. You don't appear to care much either way, though the slight hitch of your breath as he traces the outline of your dick with his tongue through the fabric separating him from your bare skin doesn't go unnoticed. Adonis blushes. Saliva wets his dry lips as you fish your cock from the restrictive band of your trousers, tapping it against his lower lip as sign to open wide. Adonis obliges. The end of his prolonged tongue teases your balls as he parts his jaws as wide as possible. You ruffle his hair to which Adonis responds with a whimper.

"That's a good bitch.... Now, drink up~"

Adonis stiffles another hiccup of laughter as you take aim as his open mouth. You probably saw this as another way to humiliate him. Watching you slam beer after beer all evening, he could only dream of an outcome such as this. A quiet sigh of relief foretells your release. Warmth trickles onto his tongue as your grip on his hair tightens briefly. Once you're engaged he'll have to scold you for your drinking habits once, but for now he relishes the salty, slightly earthy taste of your piss. He savor it as it's the first he's ever had of you.

You inch the head of your cock further pass his lips, hissing as the little fucker wraps his mouth around the base of your girth. The tightness of his throat grips at you with every greedy swallow he takes of your filth, pumping your semi-hard erection to full mass. The trajectory of your stream remains on mark as Adonis works to keep your cock in his mouth and down his throat til you've completely drained. Hot tears flow from his eyes, mixing with the fluids that dribble down his chin and onto his sweater. Mascara he threw on just to gain your attention runs down his cheeks in dark streaks. The nice girls at the mall said it was the perfect touch to impress any date. His wings beat pathetically against his back as a deep breath of fresh air rids his tongue of your natural taste - strings of thick salica connecting him to you as you pull yourself from his reach.

"Whew! Been holding that in all night. Somebody must've died in the bathroom or some shit. I'll take care of this on my own - It'll be a pain if someone catches us out here with you like that. Thanks for the help, Adonis."

Adonis shutters at the usuage of his name. You never call him that, but the euphoria is fleeting. You pat him on the shoulder as you adjust your pants on your waist. It hardly gives him the dopamine boost actions did. He..wasn’t done yet... was he? No, he still hadn't proved his worth to you - not fully. From this angle, he could see just how painfully hard you were. Where you really just going to leave like that? Without giving him another taste of you after he's been so good? He wasn't ready to be alone again just yet.

"W-wait......"

Adonis grips at your thighs, olive eyes damp with fresh tears as he sniffles.

"You still haven't...I can... P-please let me finish. I'll do a good job - I swear! I'll do anything you want!"

The new tears spill from his eyes. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you sigh heavily instead. "Alright, alright. If you remain absolutely quiet on our drive back to your place then maybe I'll fuck you. Would be better to piss on you in a shower anyway. Don't expect me to be around by morning."

"O-oh... thats ok! As long as I get one night with you...."

Adonis springs to his feet, hooking both arms around your right bicep with a huge grin on his face. He looked an absolute mess with his face covered in tears, spit and other fluids - yet he smiles the same as a blushing bride. He wasn't too worried about you leaving in the morning. One benefit to trouble sleeping is the medications one might use to solve their nightly troubles - or keep others right where they belong.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #male yandere #Adonis my oc #yandere hybrid #yandere smut #amab reader #sub yandere

908 notes · View notes

newobsessionweekly · 6 months ago

Text

Let me fix this

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Metro!Tim Bradford x Metro!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: Two years after Tim broke up with you, you meet again on his first day at Metro.

Warnings: mentions of heartache, breakup, harsh words, swearing? not proofread yet ?

Angst

Requested: Yes, kind of

Words: still counting

Tags: @moneyy-21

GIF not mine, credits to the owner

The room feels suffocating as you dig through the forgotten corners of your closet, searching for something misplaced. Your fingers brush against the cool surface of a small box tucked away amidst a pile of old clothes. Pulling it out, you lift the lid, revealing a treasure trove of memories.

Photos, ticket stubs, and trinkets from days long gone stare back at you, each one a reminder of a chapter in your life that prematurely ended.

Your heart skips a beat as you stumble upon the photo you used to love so much, buried beneath layers of nostalgia. It's a snapshot frozen in time, capturing a moment of pure happiness between you and Tim. Dressed in your LAPD uniforms, you're locked in a tender embrace, lips pressed together in a kiss that speaks volumes of the love you once shared. The wide smiles on your faces are a stark contrast to the pain that now grips your heart.

The photo feels like a cruel joke, taunting you with memories of a love that was supposed to last a lifetime. Tears well up in your eyes as you trace the outline of Tim's face, the warmth of his smile a bittersweet reminder of what once was.

Your heart was racing as you hold his hands tightly, a smile playing on your lips. You've been together for what feels like forever, talking about your future, about marriage, about kids. But suddenly, something feels off.

"Hey, baby. What happened? Are you okay?" you ask as you reach out to touch his cheek gently.

Tim's eyes betray a storm brewing within him as he looks at you, his grip tightening on your hands. "I lied about everything. I just lied to two men I deeply respect, OK? I just betrayed everything I thought was right about myself. So no, I'm not okay."

Confusion washes over you, mingling with a sense of unease. You squeeze his hands gently, hoping to provide some comfort and reassurance. "I would have done the same thing if I was in your place. You were wrong, but you made it right, so it's fine."

But Tim's expression remains grave. "No, it's not. And you wouldn't have been in my place. You never would have put self-interest over your team."

You swallow hard, trying to understand. "Tim..." Your voice trails off.

He shakes his head, his voice strained. "No, no. You got to let me finish, OK? This is very hard for me to say."

Tears start to well up in your eyes as you nod, urging him to continue, your other hand reaching out to cup his cheek gently, trying to offer him comfort in any way you can.

"Y/N, I've been lying to myself for a long time. That's clear to me now, and I can't-- I can't just go back to the way things were. Not right now. Maybe never," Tim confesses, his voice breaking, his forehead resting against yours as he leans in closer.

Your heart feels like it's shattering into a million pieces. "Wait. Are you breaking up with me?" you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips, your breath mingling with his as you hold onto him desperately.

Tim's gaze softens, filled with a sorrow you've never seen before. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his thumb gently wiping away your tears as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

"No, no. You don't-- you don't get to do that. You don't get to push me away, not let me be by your side and then use that as an excuse to leave me, OK? That's not OK," you protest, desperation creeping into your voice.

Tim's eyes are filled with regret as he reaches out to pull you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. "I know, I know," he whispers, his touch gentle against your skin.

"What you're doing is not okay. Don't do this to me," you plead, your voice trembling as your hands were clinging to him as if he's the only anchor in a stormy sea.

"I'm sorry," Tim repeats, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears, his lips brushing against your temple in a silent apology. "You– you are incredible, okay?"

You shake your head, unable to comprehend what's happening, your body shaking with sobs as you bury your face in his chest, clinging to him as if he's slipping away.

"No, Tim... Don't do this. Why are you doing this?" you cry out, feeling like your world is collapsing around you, your fingers clutching desperately at the fabric of his shirt.

"You deserve so much better. That's why I'm walking away," Tim says, his voice barely audible as he stands up, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with your shattered heart and a million questions left unanswered, the echo of his touch still lingering on your skin.

The past two years had been a whirlwind of heartache and longing since the breakup. Each day felt like a battle against memories that refused to fade and emotions that refused to be tamed. So, when you landed a position at Metro, it felt like a lifeline, a chance to escape the constant reminder of what could have been.

As you prepared for your shift, the Metro division buzzed with activity, a hive of energy and excitement. Your fellow officers bustled around, exchanging greetings and sharing snippets of their lives. You smiled at the familiar faces, grateful for the distraction they provided.

Your superior's voice rang out, breaking through the chatter. "Attention, everyone! We have a new recruit joining us today," she announced, her words drawing curious glances from your colleagues.

You turned your attention back to your preparations, trying to push aside the knot of nerves that had formed in your stomach. But as you glanced up, your heart skipped a beat — you never expected to come face to face with Tim again. But there he was, standing in the same room, his presence hitting you like a ton of bricks.

He catches your eye, and for a moment, the world falls away, leaving just the two of you locked in a silent exchange. His gaze is intense, filled with emotions you can't quite decipher, and for the first time in years, you find yourself unable to look away.

Seeing Tim's face again sent a surge of electricity through you. He looked even better than you remembered – all rugged and hot, with that stubble on his jaw making him look dangerously sexy. And those lips, once the source of endless kisses, now held a serious expression that only fueled the flames of your longing. It was his eyes that captured your attention and held it captive. Deep pools of blue, they seemed to pierce through your soul, stirring emotions you thought long buried.

Tim in that Metro uniform was like a jolt of electricity, sparking a fire of desire within you that you hadn't felt in ages. The fabric clung to his body in all the right places, showing off his muscles and making you feel all warm and tingly inside. His shoulders looked broad and strong, his chest firm and inviting, and every move he made just seemed to make you want him more. He walked with this confidence that was so damn sexy, like he owned the place.

You realized with a pang that you had never truly moved on, that you had been fooling yourself into thinking you could bury your feelings for him. The sight of him brought back a flood of emotions you had tried so hard to suppress, reminding you that some wounds never truly heal.

Tim couldn't tear his gaze away from you, his heart skipping a beat as he took in the sight before him. You looked different, changed somehow, yet still undeniably beautiful.

Your eyes, once filled with laughter, now seemed tired, as if they had seen too much. But they still held that sparkle that had always drawn him in, like they were sharing a secret only he could understand. Your lips, once always curled into a smile, now held a hint of sadness, but they were still as soft and inviting as ever, making him want to reach out and kiss them just like he used to.

And as his gaze trailed down your body, he couldn't help but feel a surge of longing. The way your uniform hugged your curves, accentuating every contour, sent a pulsing wave of desire through him. He remembered how it felt to hold you close, to run his hands over the curve of your waist, and the memory made his heart ache with longing.

Days passed, and it became painfully clear to Tim that you were avoiding him like the plague ever since he joined Metro. Every encounter felt like stepping on eggshells, your attitude frosty and distant, making his training sessions feel more like a battle of wills than anything else.

"You're late, Bradford," you snapped one morning, your voice cutting through the air like a whip as he entered the training room.

Tim clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. "Sorry ma'am, got held up with paperwork," he muttered, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Your eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation crossing your features. "Excuses won't cut it here, Bradford. If you can't handle the workload, maybe Metro isn't the place for you," you retorted, your words like daggers aimed straight at his heart.

Tim felt his temper flare, but he bit back the retort that threatened to spill from his lips. He knew it wouldn't do any good to escalate the situation further.

From the moment he stepped into the training room, you were on him like a hawk, scrutinizing his every move with a critical eye. Your instructions were sharp and unforgiving, your expectations sky-high.

You pushed him to his limits and beyond, demanding nothing short of perfection in everything he did.

For Tim it was like diving into the deep end of a pool without knowing how to swim. Each day was a whirlwind of sweat, sore muscles, and frustration, all thanks to you, who seemed determined to push him to his breaking point. But he refused to crack. He gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain, determined to prove himself worthy of being at Metro, no matter how hard you tried. And it was frustrating, for both of you.

The tension between you and Tim was palpable, a thick cloud of grudges that hung in the air whenever you were in the same room. Your fellow officers couldn't help but notice the frosty exchanges and sharp words that passed between you, like sparks flying in a tinderbox.

Despite the urging of your colleagues to bury the hatchet, neither of you were willing to back down. Every interaction was fraught with tension, each word laced with bitterness and resentment.

"You really think you belong here, Bradford?" you spat, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you glared at him.

Tim's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with anger. "I belong here just as much as you do, Y/L/N," he shot back, his tone defiant.

The cruel words flew back and forth, each one cutting deeper than the last. But beneath the anger and pain, there was a passion between you that refused to be extinguished. It was a fire that burned bright, fueled by years of history and unspoken feelings.

Despite everything, there was a magnetic pull between you that neither of you could deny. It was a connection that had only grown stronger with time, a testament to the depth of your emotions and the intensity of your bond.

When tensions reached a boiling point, one of your closest colleagues, seeing the toll your treatment was taking on Tim, pulled you aside for a private conversation.

"Y/N, can I have a word?" his voice was gentle, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of concern.

You nodded tersely, already bracing yourself for whatever lecture he had in store.

"I know things between you and Bradford are... complicated," he began carefully, choosing his words with precision. "But you're making his training unnecessarily difficult. He's a good cop, and he deserves a fair chance."

Your jaw clenched at the mention of Tim's name, but you remained silent, unwilling to acknowledge the truth in his words.

"He's struggling, Y/N," he continued, "Maybe it's time to put aside your personal feelings and give him a break."

You scoffed, unable to hide your bitterness. "He doesn't deserve a break," you snapped, "He's not Metro material, and he never will be."

The officer sighed, his expression one of disappointment. "I thought you were better than this, Y/N," he said quietly before walking away, leaving you alone with your stubborn pride and the weight of your own unresolved emotions.

Tim stood tall in front of his team, his posture commanding as he barked orders at the officers under his command. He radiated authority, his voice firm and unwavering as he prepared you for the mission ahead.

"Alright, listen up, everyone!" Tim's voice rang out, commanding the attention of the officers under his command. "We've got a hostage situation at the bank downtown. We move in fast, we move in hard, and we get those hostages out safely. Understood?"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his words, your frustration bubbling beneath the surface. It was bad enough that you had to endure his presence every day at Metro, but now you had to take orders from him too?

As Tim's gaze landed on you, he seemed to hesitate for a moment before finally speaking. "Y/N, you're with me," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But you weren't about to let him call the shots. Not after everything that had happened between you. "I fly solo," you shot back.

Tim's expression hardened, hurt flashing in his eyes for just a moment before he composed himself. "Suit yourself," he muttered, his jaw clenched with frustration.

As Tim barked out commands over the radio, everyone on the team fell into line, following his lead without question. But you, stubborn as ever, chose to go your own way, defying orders and doing what you knew best.

"Y/N, I need you to fall back and cover our six," Tim's voice crackled over the radio, his tone firm but tinged with frustration.

You gritted your teeth, ignoring his orders as you continued with your part of the mission. The sound of Tim's voice grated on your nerves, fueling the fire of resentment burning within you.

"Y/N, do you copy?" Tim's voice came through again, more insistent this time.

You rolled your eyes, shutting off your radio with a flick of your thumb. You didn't need Tim's constant nagging in your ear; you knew what you were doing.

The mission dragged on, tension thick in the air as the stakes grew higher with each passing moment. Despite your defiance, Metro emerged victorious, completing the mission with flying colors. As the team regrouped, Tim congratulated everyone on a job well done, his voice dripping with pride.

"You all did a phenomenal job out there today," Tim began, "and I couldn't be prouder of each and every one of you."

The team exchanged smiles and nods, basking in the glow of Tim's praise. But when his gaze landed on you, the warmth in his eyes was noticeably absent, replaced instead by a simmering tension that seemed to hang in the air like a tornado.

"Except you, Y/N," Tim continued, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "You acted recklessly out there, disobeying orders and putting the entire team at risk. You're lucky we came out of this in one piece."

You bristled at his words, anger bubbling up inside you like a volcano ready to erupt. "I did what needed to be done," you shot back, "I know what I'm doing, Bradford."

Tim's jaw clenched, his frustration evident in the way his hands balled into fists at his sides. "You think you can just do whatever the hell you want out there?" he snapped, his voice dripping with contempt. "Well, let me tell you something, Y/N. This isn't about you. It's about the team, and you need to start acting like it. You put everyone at risk."

"I don't need you or anyone else telling me how to do my job."

The air crackled with tension, the space between you charged with an energy that was impossible to ignore. And as you stood there, locked in a battle of wills with Tim, you couldn't help but feel a surge of something else stirring deep within you.

"Dammit, Y/N, why are you so stubborn?"

"Why am I stubborn?" you shot back, your own anger fueling the fire between you.

Your hand reached up to push him away, palms resting on his chest, but your touch lingered, the heat of his skin searing through the fabric of his uniform against your fingertips and you couldn't move them away.

"Maybe because you never listen to me, Tim. Why do you always have to think you know what's best for me?"

Tim's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and hurt. "Because I care about you, damn it!" he retorted, "I never stopped caring for you."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was barely an inch of space between you.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you met his gaze, the intensity of his stare threatening to consume you whole. "And what if I don't want you to protect me?" you challenged.

Pausing for a moment, the air thick with unspoken desire, you closed the distance between you, your lips hovering just inches apart.

"Stop trying to protect me," you murmured, your breath mingling with his. "I don't need you. I stopped doing that the second you walked away."

Tim's grip tightened on your waist, his eyes searching yours with a fierce intensity. "I never stopped loving you," he confessed, "I was a fool, alright? I know and I regret every single moment for leaving you."

"Lies," you whispered, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. But despite your words, you couldn't deny the longing that pulsed through your veins, the ache in your heart that yearned for him.

"Let me fix this," Tim pleaded, his voice desperate as he brushed a stray tear from your cheek.

"Two years, Tim..." you trailed off, "And what's even worse is that I love you even more."

Your words faded into a whisper, lost in the haze of desire that clouded your mind. And before you knew it, Tim was closing the distance between you, his hands reaching out to cup your face as he pressed his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

The world fell away as the kiss deepened, passion igniting between you like a wildfire. Years of pent-up longing and desire poured into the kiss, each touch, each caress, speaking volumes of the love that had never truly faded.

300 notes · View notes