#screaming sobbing breaking clawing

[kayzean]

alright bungie what the FUCK was this weeks radio message? You can't just do that!

[sunarinscat]

Nsfw below the cut !!

Thinking about Izuku who gets a little bit older and his voice grows a bit deeper. It’s raspy from all that screaming he did growing up. His hands are big and worn with scars and they easily dwarf your dainty little ones. He comes home with so much pent up frustration! The enemy got away and he hardly got to fight!! He still has adrenaline pumping through his veins.. all of that energy has to go somewhere. How can you deny him the outlet he needs?

So he coaxes his darling wife away from making dinner and slides you up on the counter. He fucking devours you. But he’s holding back. He’s trying so hard to be gentle with you.. that is until you blink up at him with your big doe eyes and long wet lashes. You look towards your thighs and your cheeks go red as you beg him to manhandle you.. to treat you like a toy. You bat your lashes at him and tell him you can take it. His girl can take it.

“Please zuku’” you whine.

He absolutely loses it. Hands all over you in an instant. He pries you thighs open and holds them there with his strong grip. His head is between your thighs and he’s eating you out like a man starved.

He’s moaning into your pussy and you know he’s saying the nastiest shit but it’s muffled and you can hardly hear it. Midoriya is so big on praise, he’ll break away just to tell you how good you are for him, how precious.. before he’s back at your cunt, lapping at your folds. He swirls his tongue around your clit, bringing two fingers up to tease your entrance. He slips his thick, calloused digits inside and hits that spongey spot you can never seem to reach on your own. He shudders when your hands find purchase in his hair. It makes him sob into you, the vibrations sending delicious shivers through your body. And when you go over the edge he doesn’t stop.

“One more f’me princess.”

But one turns into five and by the time his drooling cock is lining up with your entrance you’re twitching. But you said you could handle it. His girl CAN handle it, right? he fucks you mercilessly. He’s gripping you for dear life, mumbling things in your ear and cursing out that villain. You paw at his chest because it’s too hot and it’s too much and he’s everywhere. You’re so overstimulated, you can’t help the tears that slide down your cheeks. Izuku notices and laps them up, focusing back in on you and holding your face gently in contrast to the harsh movements of his hips. His eyes bore into yours and you can see his desperation.

“Cum with me baby. Last time. One more for me sweetheart.”

It’s so desperate, all of it is. Your clawing at his back as he fucks you. You can feel yourself approaching your high and you know he’s close too. With a whine you pull his face into your neck and cum hard. The way your plush walls squeeze around him has him reeling. When he finishes inside he collapses beside you.

Suddenly that sweet boy you met in highschool is back with you and he’s cleaning you up and asking if your all right. He runs a bath and feeds you the dinner you made before sliding into the tub with you and taking good care of you. When you flinch as his hands hit something sore he peppers kisses all over your back and shoulders. He asks if that was too much and you lean back into him reassuring him that you enjoyed it.

Izuku won’t go out of his way to manhandle you again.But maybe if you beg again he’ll give in…

[unedited for now]

[tojisun]

sex with simon… oh the worms. they're going crazy

!! (mentioned) breeding kink; squirting; unrealistic (and hinted gratuitous) sex; afab reader

he would keep you in his bed however long he wants. you could have work or any other scheduled outing, but nothing gets accomplished nor is a priority the moment he's got you in his room. it's not like he chains you to his posts—not unless you two planned it—but he teases, rutting his cock along your stomach or punching it deep in your cervix. the croons come soon, always accompanied by open-mouth kisses along your skin.

“y’r so wet, listen—”

you squeal, clawing the sheets at his deep thrust; the slide so wet and sloppy, your cunt drips and squelches. your cheeks tingle with warmth and your chest thrums with the feeling of shame, and you want to curl into yourself but know you are unable to.

not with how simon’s bearing down on you like the weight of his fat cock isn’t enough to smother the little air you don’t gasp out in your dizzying bliss.

he grins, seeing the way your eyes roll to the back of your skull and feeling your toes curl from where they are pressed on the rise of his ass, and doubles the speed. his pelvis meets your own, the head of his cock snug just before your cervix and you hiccup, thrashing, your slack jaw even more useless.

gargled keens is all you can reply to simon’s taunts, your mind and body unable to form any coherent thought.

your pussy aches. oversensitive. you are sure your walls will permanently be stretched, shaped by the size of simon’s cock—he’s ruined you for everyone else.

god. the thought shouldn’t be pleasing but it makes you scream, hips jumping as your orgasm builds, reaching its peak, frantic as it razes your body and—

and—

simon grunts at the wet gush of your squirt, your slick forcing itself past the plugged-in girth of his dick. he hisses to himself at the biting pleasure of your pussy gripping him like a wet, used vice, his mind going numb at the onslaught of ecstatic sensations filling his synapses.

his orgasm hits him hard too, his teeth digging into your skin as it racks him with such ferocity.

you sob, hitting him weakly with your trembling fist because s’too muh– simon s’too mu–!

he whispers his sorry’s. says this’ll be the last round, he swears, his eyes blissfully closed as he fills your womb with his cum.

(let it take, simon sings to himself.

let it take. let it take. let it take.)

but he doesn’t pull out his flaccid cock, not even for a break, and you whimper, your mind humming with need and your clit thrumming with unbridled desire, because you know he’s not done.

not yet. not with how simon looks at you with dark eyes, his kiss-swollen lips tugged up in a grin. it looks more like a snarl, you think.

“‘m gon’ make a mess out o’you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice soft even as it descends into you with a certain finality. “gon’ fill this cunny with my cum until y’r womb’s sloshin’ with all of it.”

you blink your wet eyes up at him and mewl, “please.” because you want nothing less.

[yannawayne]

not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

SYNOPSIS: You get kidnapped and Damian snaps. TAGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence! Genderneutral! Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Kidnapping, Childhood Trauma, My Mother is the Worst Woman Alive and I'm her Favorite Son, Damian is Eighteen.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

YOUR PALMS WERE PRESSED tightly against your eyes, wrists raw and burning from the rope that had bound them just minutes ago. Sobs slipped from your lips, eyes bloodshot, and mouth parched dry.

The rotting smell of the warehouse was an assault on your senses—an acrid mix of trash, harsh chemicals, and the faint tang of gunfire that lingered in the air.

There was a hushing in your ear as you leaned against a cloaked figure—Batman. Bruce. 

His hand rubbed at your back, firm and steady, a grounding presence amid the chaos. His cape, dark and imposing, wrapped around you like a shield, blocking out the violence unfolding just in front of you.

Shadows danced erratically on the walls as Robin moved with lethal precision. Bodies fell unconscious, thudding heavily against the concrete floor. Blood splattered. Screams echoed. Each punch landed with a sickening crunch, bones breaking. Crates and debris were scattered haphazardly, wood and concrete slamming onto the floor. 

Damian couldn't see anything but red.

His vision was tunneled, focused solely on the next target, the next blow, the next scream. 

A swift roundhouse kick sent one assailant crashing into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under the impact. One punch connected with a jaw, the sickening crunch of bone breaking echoing through the air. Blood sprayed on his fist. Another one rushed toward him, brandishing a knife, but he disarmed the man with a swift twist of the wrist, jamming the blade into the attacker's palm. The man screamed, clutching his arm as red streaked his skin.

Damian's eyes flickered with a dark satisfaction as he watched the thug stumble backward, clutching at the wound.

One last man remained. One who had lunged at him from behind, grappling onto his back. Damian scowled and surged backward, driving both himself and his attacker into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man's grip loosened, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the air was knocked out of him.

"Fool," Damian spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

The thug whimpered, trying to scramble away, but Damian was relentless. He twisted sharply, dislodging the assailant and slamming an elbow into his ribs. The man crumpled against the wall, clutching his side, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

"You think you can touch those I care for and get away with it?" Damian growled. He didn't give the thug a moment to recover. He swung a powerful fist into the guy's face, the impact sending a spray of blood and teeth into the air. 

"F-Fuck you, man!" The man yanked a gun from his waistband, but before he could even line up a shot, Damian’s foot kicked out, sending the weapon flying through the air. The gun clattered against the concrete with a deafening clang. With a snarl, Damian lunged forward, grabbing the thug by the collar and slamming him into the ground.

"H-Hey! Mercy! Mercy! I'm a-already down!" the assailant wailed, his hands clawing at Robin's uniform in a desperate plea. "The Bat don’t kill! You—you ain't gonna kill me!"

Damian's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl.

"I'm not Batman," he spat, the tone amplified and darkened by the modulator. "Every breath you take is a mercy I choose to grant. By the time I'm finished, you'll be begging for death."

He raised his fist, the tension in his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. The thug’s eyes widened in terror, his pleas growing frantic as he braced for the blow. However, just as Damian’s fist was about to land, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand with a vice-like grip. Before he could react, Batman—Bruce—had tackled him, pinning him firmly against his chest. 

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was firm, concern barely concealed. “That’s enough.”

Damian's struggle was fierce, his body thrashing under his father’s strength as he roared in fury.

“Let me go!” he screamed, his voice raw with anger. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to them!”

The anger engulfed Damian like a stormy ocean, dragging him beneath its violent waves. Visions of his mother’s face, his grandfather’s form, and accusing shadows surged from the depths, all condemning him. Damian’s cries erupted into a raw, guttural scream, gradually dissolving into ragged gasps as he battled the relentless tide.

Though Bruce had shaped him into a hero, a beacon of justice, and his family had offered him a fragile semblance of belonging, Damian was still his mother’s son.

The violence and anger roiling within him were like roots twisted deep within his soul. There was not a thing that could purge the primal rage and pain that had taken root before his first breath.

When he finally broke through the surface, baptized in blood and weighed down by sins that clung to him like chains, he sought you out with an urgent, almost desperate need.

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

Your hands were carefully peeled away from your eyes, and you met soft emerald eyes through a veil of tears. His hands moved to unlatch his cape, the soft fabric pooling around your form. His lips, speaking in his mother tongue, murmured a soothing litany of comfort, Arabic endearments flowing like silk. He pressed your head against his chest and you found refuge in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Bruce watched the scene with a pensive look. His son's body had dwarfed you, broad shoulders and strong muscles enveloping your form like a shield. His head was tucked into your hair, his hands raking all over your tense and sweaty skin.

Damian had momentarily shed the hardened exterior he so often wore—a soldier with a heart that, despite its armor, occasionally revealed cracks. This was a side of him that often surprised people.

Because Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

He was all sharp edges. Poisonous, scalding words that could sear through the thickest armor of patience. Rough, nearly violent in his touch, like a blade pressed against skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, no softness in his gestures, only the relentless precision of a trained killer.

From the earliest moments he could walk, his life was an unending series of tests, each more grueling than the last. Each cut and bruise was a lesson. Failure was met with harsh punishment, success with silent approval. Affection and praise were as rare as mercy. 

The League’s doctrine was ingrained in him: emotions were vulnerabilities, attachments were liabilities, and loyalty was owed only to the mission and the League. His purpose in the League of Assassins was clear—to be the perfect instrument of their will, a living embodiment of their principles. 

Emotion was his enemy, a weakness to be purged.  He was taught to suppress his feelings, to turn them off like a switch. Pain was an illusion, fear a phantom to be banished. He learned to compartmentalize his thoughts, locking away his humanity in the deepest recesses of his mind. 

By the time he reached ten, he was a finely honed instrument of death.

A living weapon in a world that knew no peace.

It had taken Bruce eight grueling years to begin undoing the damage. And even then, he had barely scratched the surface.

Then there was you.

The trembling, warm-faced student Damian had introduced during his senior year—his partner for a science project, he said. 

At first, the interactions were subtle—a fleeting glance here, a hesitant smile there. But as time went on, it became impossible to ignore the way your presence began to soften the sharp edges of Damian's demeanor.

Bruce had seen you both fall for each other over the months. And he saw hope. 

You were the opposite of every lesson Damian has ever been taught.

To him, you were soft, in every sense. Soft movements, soft features, soft voice. Everything about you exuded comfort.

You made something he had always pushed down and shut away come to the surface.

You made him feel things—things he should not.

When you touched him with your soft hands, everything in him burned. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin ignited a searing heat, a raw and unfamiliar longing that clawed violently at the walls he had worked so hard to maintain. Each touch chipped away at the concrete barriers of his training, breaking them down and leaving him exposed, aching for something he couldn’t quite name.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

Mania. Drake had called it, a wild obsession of his that could consume and devour.

Damian's arms encircled you like a lifeline, holding you close as though he feared you might slip away. His lips brushed against your temple, warm and tender, while his biceps pressed firmly under your chest, anchoring you in his embrace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the lingering residue of fear. 

And yet, amidst these odors, there was an underlying, almost imperceptible hint of Damian’s cologne—Arabian oudh. It was rich and smoky, with notes of aged wood, a faint earthy sweetness, and subtle undertones of leather and spice.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, the fabric of his suit brushing against your cheek.

A Crush. Todd had chalked it up to puppy love, something that would eventually fade with time.

He lifted you effortlessly from the floor, his strength evident in his smooth, controlled movements. The way he adjusted his hold with such care to ensure your comfort spoke louder than any words could.

Warmth enveloped you—Damian had always run hotter, like a human furnace. On sweltering days, his clinginess (no matter how much he denied it) had been a nuisance, his heat making you feel as if your skin might melt off. But now, that same warmth was a comforting embrace, a welcome shield.

Infatuation. Grayson had suggested, thinking it was just a fleeting, intense passion. But there was something deeper in the way he looked at you, something that felt permanent and unshakeable.

“I am here. I am here, beloved," he spoke to you lowly. "It's alright now."

Love. His father called it.

In an instant, everything seemed to collapse around you. Tears welled up and streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed into his chest, each shudder of your body sending waves of anguish through him. Damian’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of you. 

He has seen suffering—he has inflicted suffering. But this was different. Your pain was a torment he was helpless to alleviate. 

Face twisted in guilt, he pulled you tighter against him, as though he could hold the world’s pain at bay if he just held you close enough.

A hand tapped at his shoulder, and he flinched, turning to see his father.

“The Batmobile is just by the docks. We can—”

“They're in shock,” Damian scowled. the fire back in his eyes. “Do you honestly believe they're in any state to be moved at this moment?”

Bruce’s gaze was firm. “Damian, we don’t have time to—”

“They need to be stabilized first,” Damian cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He turned abruptly, striding towards the exit. “If you want them to survive this, we need to take care of them properly, not rush them into a car. I shall be outside.”

Without waiting for a response, Damian moved swiftly, the clatter of his boots echoing as he stepped into the cool night air with you. Once the warehouse door closed behind him, he turned his full attention back to you, his hand gently brushing your tear-streaked face. 

He moved to press his forehead gently against yours, the warmth of his skin meeting yours in a tender connection. He could offer no verbal comfort anymore; words seemed woefully inadequate. Your cries gradually subsided as you drew comfort from his presence.

Love.

He lifted his hand to the side of his face, pressing a button. As his mask retracted, his eyes met yours. Damian knew that more than anything else, you loved his eyes.

Time and again, you found yourself drawn to them, unable to tear your gaze away. They were hypnotic—an exquisite blend of emerald green, green as vibrant as the leather cover of his sketchbook, flecked with gold and streaked with brown paint.

His eyes were windows to his soul, offering the only genuine glimpse into the depths of his emotions. In them, you could see his anger burning like a stormy sea, joy dancing like sunlight on rippling water, embarrassment flitting like a shadow, and pain etched as deep as his scars.

At times, his eyes grew gentle, revealing something much softer—something that made your heart swell and your knees feel weak. A love so pure and unexpected that it could melt the coldest of hearts.

Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

But in these soft, fragile moments he shared with you, where his heart beat in sync with yours, Damian found an unexpected calm. It was in these rare interludes, away from the brutality and darkness that defined his world, that he could truly be himself.

Here, he was not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

ao3: yenwayne

NOTE: I want to delve into the line I wrote: 'Damian is still his mother’s son.'

It's just to show his trauma, I despise Talia with all my guts.

Talia's control over Damian is a textbook example of manipulative conditioning at its most extreme. In psychological development, early experiences and parental influence are crucial in shaping one's self-concept. From his earliest days, Damian was deprived of a normal childhood. His personality, thoughts, and desires have all been sculpted by the League of Assassins from day one.

His anger, protectiveness, and sense of duty are manifestations of this—a child raised to be a killer, now struggling with the fragments of a humanity that was never fully allowed to blossom.

I'm not saying he hasn't changed!!! He has turned into so much more than the weapon they intended him to be. He is genuinely good. But the impact of such deep-seated trauma cannot be easily overlooked or resolved. It’s not something that can simply be swept under the rug or fixed overnight.

So, this was my attempt at capturing his character! I’m very open to constructive criticism since I’m new to the fandom. Please be kind and gentle with your feedback :)

[werecreature-addicted]

I am FERAL right now

Creature of the deep/siren like monster boyfriend during egg laying season and he's all uncomfortable and clingy. Being more aggressive and defensive when anything nearing his slit. Especially if you point out anything leaking out

It's night out and he can't get comfortable against the rock he usually lays in when you both mean. His fins are flared and he's more unstable on his legs than usual. Lost the confidence and teasing as his tail twitched and writhed when anything would press against his abdomen

When you can finally get him to lay across his lap he's clawing and hissing at you touching his abdomen until 2 slick, leaking, tentacle like cocks slide out and are positively DROOLING in the moonlight. Begging to be touched and lay eggs. He immediately started twitching but honey you gonna have to deal with those sharp claws in your arm.

Worst of it? He can't cum until he's laid all his eggs, and judging from how sensitive and swollen his slit is, it'll be awhile. He's extremely sensitive as you slowing coax out eggs from his urethra, goo like slick pouring down from the widened tube to lay eggs. And he is SOBBING at every touch.

Twitching, dry(?) orgasms, crying, and screaming all from the feeling of you trying to jack out his eggs. Blood on his hands from where he scratched you, he can't even lick it like he usually did.

And don't get me started on the final eggs. You would have to push a finger into the slit to try and press on the gland, but oh no! It's too much on your boyfriend and he fucking loses it. Screaming and kicking the second he feels you push anything in his slit. You would have to prepare him to do it again and even then he's biting you and leaving your hands covered in your blood and his slick. His tail slamming against the sand as you pump out the last egg.

Last part from there is to finish what you begun. Both his cocks are leaking out, and it doesn't taken him long to cum at all. A few pumps and light touches to his overworked slit and cock has him cumming in seconds. Next thing you know, your boyfriend is out cold and you both are covered in cum. And it's so hot because you've never seen him cum when remotely this much before.

I'm so normal about this

had to get this in before the end of MerMay.

Mermaid boyfriend who insists you take a week off of work to spend with him during breeding season. there's no way he's letting you go when he feels this way, so it's better if you just plan ahead to be with him. Even when he sleeps he keeps his cock inside of you, subconsciously thrusting his hips mumbling to himself as he fills you with his warm sticky cum, then when he wakes up he'll fuck you with a renewed passion as he thinks about his wet dream.

you have your work cut out for you, milking too big cocks for all his eggs, teasing the slit head, maybe you're mean and slot your finger into his opening fucking his cock with your finger and plugging up the eggs so the pressure builds in his dick. mermaids lay hundreds of eggs and each one makes him shudder and pant and whine as it pushes out of him.

He's in a cold sweat as he bites and sucks on your skin his mind fried. he has to fuck you, he needs to cum in you and get you pregnant every fiber of his being is begging him to snap forward and claim you again and again. but his cock aches, he's cum so much today that he's dizzy with overstimulation. he needs to but he can't.

Maybe he'll just eat you out for a while while his cock takes a break. hopefully, the taste of his cum on your sweet cunt doesn't make him cum untouched.

[sophvilla]

Baby, is it gonna fit ?

⋆ ˚｡⋆ TXT SERIES ⋆ ˚｡⋆

Pairing: Bf! Soobin X Gf! Femreader

Synopsis: Soobin didn't know that he had a Size Kink at all, it all started Innocent but Deep down he Truly Knows that it's not Innocent at all.

Warning: Smut, MDNI, 18+, Size kink, Unprotected, Reader gets called ( Baby, Princess, My Love, Babygirl) etc.

CHOI SOOBIN | 최수빈

Soobin has a major size Kink....

It all started with how small and short you look beside his 6’1 frame, he is twice as taller then you and to which he somehow felt proud about it, comparing how small your hand are in comparison to his, huge hands then,

How small you looked in his Gigantic Shirt as he smiled like fool watching you drown in his clothes.

He didn’t think that something this innocent will become something so…..kinky,? But it actually did cause..

Whenever his cock was buried deep inside of your cunt all he can think of is how tightly you’re squeezing around his Length, watching how good you’re taking him with tears streaming down your face as you take inhuman thrust.

He watches as his cock disappear inside your that tight little hole that felt like a glove to cock, pounding inside your Sensitive pussy as you already cum for the second time, begging him that you can’t take it anymore to which he replies,

“ Yess you can, my love, ..take all that I’m giving you” as you dumbly nod at his words through your tears proving the fact how fucked out you are right now,

Continuing to abuse his cock inside your overstimulated pussy as it reaches your cervix making your eyes roll back at the stretch and pleasure you feel,

“God, you feel so good around me” Your boyfriend rasp out between his brutal pace of thrusts, You mumble out incoherent words between your moans of pleasure,

“ huh ..uh ….keep going-g” you said in between your hiccups as you feel yourself reaching your third orgasm of the night

“Fuck, look at you right now” He grins upon hearing your request and obliging to it immediately as his thrust turns more Deep and rhythmically harder into your cunt making a clapping sound of Skin Smacking against eachother, making you tremble at the newly set pace,

“you want to come, princess?”

“Y-yes, I- please---”

“Then cum for me babygirl, cum on my cock” Soobin says out of breath as he cums at the same time filling you up with his cum but doesn't stop with his thrust as he continues to fuck his cum into your sensitive pussy making you clench around his cock in an extremely tight grip.

His hips started to give desperate thrust into you, as one of his hands pulls your body even more closer then it was and the other hand pulling your hips closer to his as He started to grind his hip back and forth to yours causing even more friction then ever,

"fucking hell baby, you feel so fucking good." He grunts out, Head falling back as His hand let go of your hip and wrapping his hand around your delicate neck and start to fuck you even harder, in his head all he can think of how Fucking small you are compared to him, How he can easily break you, or How your small cunt is taking his huge cock,

Breaking away from his Trail of thought His eyes focus on yours at how you look on the verge of passing out,

Soobin's constant thrust of his hip inside you, making you too fucked out to even move from the mix of pain & pleasure that your receiving, all you can do is moan and scream at how good you feel right now,

With each thrust, you quite literally Screamed. Seems like you were too sensitive at this point. The sensation of him repeatedly slamming his hips against you turned you into a sobbing mess,

And when his climax exploded for the fourth time within you with one last powerful thrust, his hot cum spurting hard, stuffing you to the brim and painting your womb white— you clawed at him, tugged him closer to your breasts as a mix of scream and moan of his name escaped your lips, trembling at the depth to which he was burying himself inside you.

You were panting, totally spent, sensing the familiar way of his cum trickling down your thighs as Soobin lays inside of you, not pulling out immediately as his cock continues to breed his cum inside of your womb as Soobin gazes down to your flushed goddess like face,

" When did I get so lucky" Soobin mumbles while looking at your sleepy smile that you give him as you drift into slumber

[slut4thebroken]

Claiming Victory

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Scarecrow x vigilante!reader

Summary | An encounter with the infamous Scarecrow doesn’t go the way you expected.

Warnings | non con, smut, dry humping, degradation, rape threats (mentioned once), dacryphilia, fear toxin, groping, idk lol.

Words | 1.6 k

Notes | Lmaooo I almost didn’t think I was going to finish this by October 1st 🙈

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 1: dry humping

He stalked toward you slowly, savoring the sight of you screaming and staggering away from him, barely able to keep yourself on your feet. He ached to know what you were seeing, but just watching you like this was enough to satisfy him for now. When you tripped over your own feet and landed on your butt, he stopped and stared down at you through the mask, watching as you still tried to get away from him. Though now you were looking around yourself too, not just at him. With a sigh, he quickly walked forward, then nudged you onto your back with his foot and straddled your thighs, keeping you pinned in place. 

“It’s disappointing how easily you break.” He said calmly. You didn’t respond, as he expected, but when your screams turned into violent sobs, he sighed again. “I thought you’d have more fight in you.” His hand shot out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. He smiled when you brought your hands up to claw at his arm, trying to pull it away. 

“Should I see what the rest of this pretty face looks like?” He smirked, using his other hand to trace over the edge of your mask near your temple. Leaning down over you, he watched as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to hide from whatever beautiful horrors you were being forced to see. But that only seemed to make things worse. Your crying intensified, echoing throughout the empty building, and you started writhing, trying to find an escape. 

When your hips bucked, he had to move his hand from your mask to the floor to stabilize himself. He let out a sharp breath as he remained leaning over you, the position making it easier for you to rub against his growing bulge. 

Tears streamed down your face and you started mumbling incoherent pleas. His hand moved from your face to your neck and he squeezed tightly— based on your reaction, his toxin must have made this action seem far worse than it actually was. 

He tilted his head as he watched you with morbid fascination. You looked so beautiful like this. 

Your hands started clawing at his face now, trying to push him away or hurt him enough to make him get off of you, but he just huffed and put both of your arms by your sides, under his legs. He leaned back over you and started subtly rocking his hips. 

“Isn’t it so much better when you don’t fight?” He cooed, his voice sounding far from comforting. “Always trying to be so strong… so brave.” He hummed thoughtfully as he placed a firm hand on your waist. 

“You think you’re untouchable, that no one could ever possibly beat you…” Slowly dragging his hand up your side, he watched your reaction carefully and continued, “Yet here you are... wearing this skin tight suit,” his hand finally reached your breast and he squeezed roughly, making you cry harder, “pinned down by little ol’ me… and not untouchable at all.” He smirked, groping you even harder as his hips sped up. 

“How about we see what we’re working with?” He asked rhetorically. You barely reacted when he grabbed the zipper at the base of your neck, slowly pulling it down to your navel. “Oh wow…” He grinned, pushing your suit open to expose your bra. “Let's get this out of the way though.” Grabbing the middle of your bra, he tore it in half easily, then pushed it open so he was finally able to see you. He couldn’t help the low groan that slipped out. 

“Look at you.” He cooed, placing his hands on your stomach and snaking them up until he could grab your tits. You sobbed louder, but your voice was becoming hoarse from all of the screaming and crying. “Do all of the villains you fight get to pin you down and grope you? Or am I just special.” He chuckled, knowing it was the latter. 

You started thrashing under him again, trying to escape him or whatever you were seeing. He removed his hands and smirked when he watched the way your tits moved. 

“You can fight a little harder… Come on.” He encouraged teasingly. When your body kept writhing and your hips kept bucking, he cursed under his breath, savoring the feeling of you rubbing against his bulge. “That’s it. Fight a little harder and maybe you’ll actually do some damage.” He laughed quietly. 

After another moment, he reached for your tits again, but focused on your nipples this time. You cried loudly when he pinched and pulled, rolling them between his fingers in a way that wouldn’t feel good even if his toxin wasn’t in your system. Based on your screams, he knew he was doing a good job, but you were starting to get just a little too loud for his liking. 

He paused and leaned back up, then quickly removed his tie. Your cry was cut off by him shoving the fabric in your mouth, effectively muffling your sounds. He didn’t bother tying it around your head since you weren’t cognizant enough to even realize what was actually happening. 

“That’s a good girl. Keep crying for me, but stay nice and quiet.” He cooed as he leaned back over you again, hovering a few inches above your face. His hips started rocking again, but his movements were faster and more eager. Moving his hands back to your tits, he resumed groping you, making you whine. 

“You like this, don’t you?” He chuckled, carefully studying your expression. “Finally getting put in your place… being humped and groped on the floor, the way a little whore deserves.” All you could do was cry— your body was barely even struggling underneath him now, just squirming weakly. 

“You know, I think I deserve a reward for being the first villain to actually vanquish you.” He said with a cruel smirk, reaching for your mask again. You didn’t even react when he slowly removed it from your face. “Oh, look at you…” He cooed, studying your face intently. He already knew you were beautiful, but seeing your entire face… it was even better than he thought. His gaze shifted between your eyes and your lips hungrily, getting worked up by the feeling of you squirming under him and the sound of your pitiful sobs. Then he shifted his focus down to your neck. At the sight of your smooth skin, completely untouched and untainted… he growled low in his throat and quickly removed his mask. 

“I think I’ll leave you with some reminders of what happened tonight...” He said, sounding almost smug, then leaned down to start kissing your neck. His hips were still rutting incessantly and he savored your muffled whimpers and cries as he sucked the skin into his mouth, leaving as many marks as he could. 

His cock was practically throbbing in his pants by now, begging to be released, but he kept his focus on you. He trailed kisses down your chest, still covering your pretty skin with evidence of his assault, then took your nipple in his mouth. You let out a muffled sob that turned into a scream when he suddenly bit down on the hardened bud. He chuckled softly against you and kissed his way across your chest to give your other nipple the same treatment. 

Your thrashing had died down significantly, as had your sounds. Now you were mostly just sobbing weakly and the sound was enough to send him barrelling toward his orgasm. He moved up so his lips brushed your ear, his hips still humping you frantically. “Next time I’m going to fuck you.” He whispered, moaning quietly at the thought. “Sorry… rape you.” He chuckled, not really knowing or caring if you were able to hear his promise with his toxin still in your system.

Jonathan leaned back so he was hovering over your face and took a moment to admire you. There was a light sheen of sweat on your forehead, your brows were scrunched together and your eyes squeezed tight. The tear tracks covering your cheeks were what finally sent him over the edge. 

Feeling his balls tighten up, he quickly lifted himself back up to open his pants and take out his cock. He shuffled forward over your body a little and stroked his length rapidly, then hot come was landing on your chest, covering your tits and even getting on your suit. He yanked his tie out of your mouth and moved up a little more to get the last few ropes of come on your face. 

With a satisfied grunt, he sat back on your stomach and caught his breath, listening to your hoarse, broken sobs as you thrashed under him, probably having a hard time breathing under his weight. He sighed and reached for your neck, squeezing as hard as he could while pushing on your windpipe. Your mouth opened and you were gasping for air, desperately trying to take in oxygen as your thrashing increased tenfold until finally it all stopped and you went limp beneath him. 

While you were knocked out, he tucked his cock back in his pants, then put his mask back on and pocketed his tie that was slightly damp with your saliva. He left your suit unzipped and your mask on the ground, satisfied that you’d know, or at least have an idea of exactly what he did. Then he got up and walked out, leaving you in the abandoned warehouse. 

He considered taking you, after all, he deserved a trophy for being the first villain to ever conquer you… But the chase was the best part, so he let you continue to roam free for now, building up anticipation for the next time you’d encounter him. 

[coryosbaby]

Who Has a Face Like Smarty Does?

—“Why don’t you just listen?”

Fandom: “Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse”

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem! Spider! Reader

Summary: You don’t know when to follow orders.

Cw: dubcon/cnc, nsfw . spanking, daddy kink, age gap, spitting, size kink, biting, marking

🩷🤍

“You’re such a fucking brat.” Miguel pounds into you at a restless pace, fangs bared sharp and scraping against your jugular. “Why don’t you just listen? Huh? Are you that fucking stupid?”

Your eyes roll back as his incredibly thick length bruises your walls. You know you’ve been bad; going directly against his orders to help Miles is probably the worst thing you could do. And getting sassy about— having an attitude— definitely didn’t help. So when he threw you into his office and ripped the crotch of your latex suit, exposed your puffy cunt to the room, and bent you over his desk, you knew you were in deep trouble.

It hurts, the way he’s fucking you. But you know he doesn’t want you to feel pleasure. You know he wants to break you. Blood coats your tits in thick red stains, bite marks running along your neck and jaw from where he sunk his fangs into you. Aphrodisiacs, they are; and when they sink into you all you can think of his thick, hard cock, bulging muscles and handsome face. You’re like a bitch in heat.

“‘M sorry, daddy!” You cry out. It’s too much, but you know he won’t stop.

“Oh, you’re going to be sorry, little girl.” He growls. “Daddy’s gonna fill this fucking cunt up. That’ll teach you to mind your manners, won’t it?”

“Yes daddy- fill me up! Please fill my pussy up, need it s’ bad..”

It’s all you can say. His hands curl up into the position they make when he’s about to shoot the webs from his wrists; the sound of the sticky substance landing on your shoulders makes your mouth gape as he uses his own webs to lift your body firmly off the wooden desk. Your nipples barely graze it as he speeds his pace up. A damn near impossible speed for a normal man, but Miguel O’Hara is not normal.

He moans when he looks down and sees your creamy spend leaking down his cock and balls. His thick thighs are hitting your ass as he ruts into you. “mi amor, estás chorreando…” translation: My love, you’re dripping.

Other harsh disgusting words spew from his lips. Your gaping snatch is closed tightly around him as he sinks his fangs into you again.

Your eyes roll back, a pained but also pleasured cry leaving your soft lips, legs shaking and cunt drenching him. His claws dig into your sides and then he reels back and slaps your ass. You gasp, and begin fucking back onto him when he does it again.

“Oh, look at you,” Miguel teases. “You want more of my slaps, little one? Do you want to be punished?”

You nod, and his hands come down onto you again.

“Miggy..”

“I want you to cum, mi amor.” He states breathlessly. “Rub your clit and wet my fuckin’ dick.”

You don’t understand why he’s letting it happen so soon. Wasn’t this supposed to be a punishment? But you listen to him anyway, and begin to rub the swollen nub with harsh strokes. Your orgasm has you practically screaming— and afterwards, Miguel doesn’t let up. He abuses your womb over and over until you can’t even breathe. It’s borderline painful, and your body feels completely spent and used.

By your tenth or eleventh orgasm, he’s got you pinned to the wall by his webs with his arms holding your neck in a chokehold. He eats your cunt out with his bloody mouth, and your eyes are rolling back, little nghhhs sighing out of you as he slurps your sopping wet hole. Your vision is going fuzzy, but you don’t care.

“Are you learning your lesson, mami?” He groans, as he pulls away from your cunt and rubs harshly on your clit with his thumb. You sob, nodding, drool leaking out of the corners of your plush mouth.

“‘S.. ‘s too much, miggy. Please, I can’t take it anymore..” you whine, but his fingers harshly slap your pussy and you jolt with a cry.

“You take what I give you.” He says, and then he’s ripping the webs from your body and letting you slide down the wall onto the floor with the help of his strong hands. You cry, legs trying to run away from him; you know you want it, but your body is drained.

Miguel growls, his claws grabbing you in a loose grip and dragging you back to his cock.

“Don’t run away from me, little bitch. You need to be fucking disciplined! This cunt is going to cum again whether you like it or not.”

You pant against his crotch as he shoves your face into his pubic hair. The smell of his pheromones makes your eyes roll back.

Your cunt pulses again.

—fuck, you’re in trouble.

© 2023 bratty-lxndry444 🤏🏻 all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, repost, or claim as yours !!!

[bryan-writes]

In the quiet of your arms Mammon x reader

Summary: Mammon has a nightmare where he loses you, and wakes up to find his bed empty— you come back and find him in a state of panic.

Nightmare, happy ending!, established relationship, hurt/lots of comfort, mentions of blood/death, soft mammon

Credit to @steddiecameraroll-graphics for the beautiful dividers :)

The nightmare clung to Mammon like a vice, tightening with every breath he took. Dark tendrils wrapped around his thoughts, choking the air from his lungs. But as hard as he tried, Mammon couldn’t break free.

He was running, always running— his breath ragged, his heart slamming against his ribs— but no matter how fast his legs moved, you were slipping further away. Y/N— his human, his everything— lay before him, broken. Blood stained the earth beneath you like spilled ink, dark and endless, as if it might swallow him whole.

“Stay with me!” His voice cracked, desperate and raw. He dropped to his knees beside you, trembling fingers brushing your skin, but your warmth was quickly fading— slipping between his fingers like sand. He could see it in your eyes, the light that you shone with was dimming.

You were leaving him.

A scream clawed its way out of his throat, but when he tried to hold you closer, his arms passed through empty air.

Mammon awoke, heart hammering, drenched in cold sweat.

The darkness of his room greeted him like a heavy shroud, suffocating and oppressive. He felt the remnants of the nightmare lingering, curling in the corners of his room. He sat up, panting, eyes wildly searching— but you weren’t there.

His bed was empty, his room silent.

A void opened inside of him, deep and gnawing, a primal fear clawing at his chest. His hands shook as he fumbled for his D.D.D., calling out your name into the silence, but the device slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor.

“No, no, no…” Panic rushed through him, an icy torrent sweeping him away. He stood, stumbled, nearly tripping over his own feet as he checked every inch of his room, heart slamming against his ribs, breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps.

The world was spinning, closing in, pressing against his chest until it hurt. He could still see you— broken and lifeless— when he closed his eyes. He couldn’t lose you.

Not you.

When you returned from your trip to the bathroom, the scene you found stole the breath from your lungs.

Mammon was on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, hands gripping fistfuls of his hair as though trying to keep himself from unraveling completely. His golden eyes— usually gleaming with mischief or arrogance— were wide and wild, filled with a terror you’d never seen before. The great Mammon, the Avatar of Greed, reduced to something fragile, something broken.

You knelt beside him, touch feather-light against his shaking form. “Mam’s… I’m here.”

He flinched at the sound of your voice, his breath catching in his throat. Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze locking onto yours, searching your face in disbelief.

“You… you’re here,” he whispered, voice hoarse, as if he couldn’t quite trust his own eyes. His hand reached out, trembling, brushing against your cheek as though testing whether you were real, whether you would disappear the moment he blinked.

Tears finally broke through, rolling down his cheeks in heavy silence as he realized you were really there.

“You were gone—” His voice cracked, raw and vulnerable in a way he rarely let anyone see. “I-I couldn’t find ya… I thought—“ His words broke off into a choked sob, and he pulled you against him, holding you tightly, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

You wrapped your arms around him, grounding him in your warmth. You could feel the weight of his fear in the way his hands shook against your back, the way his breathing came in shallow, uneven bursts. You slowly stroked his hair, your fingers weaving through soft strands, whispering reassurances into the quiet. You tangled yourself into him on the ground, letting him press closer, as if the heat of your skin could melt away the lingering traces of his nightmare.

“I’m here, Mammon,” you whispered again, firmer this time, “I’m not going anywhere.”

His breathing slowed, but the trembling didn’t stop entirely. You could feel his heartbeat, frantic and uneven, as if he was still trapped in that dark dream. You stayed still, holding him even closer, letting him find solace in the steady rhythm of your heart. Your fingers kept brushing through his hair, over his back, each touch a promise: I’m with you.

Minutes seemed to stretch into an eternity, the room so silent that your breathing seemed to echo. Gradually, the chaos in Mammon began to ebb. His grip on you loosened, just enough to be able to look at you— really look at you. He studied you like you were a lifeline, his gaze tracing every soft curve of your face, every shimmer of warmth in your eyes, every rise and fall of your chest.

“You’re… really here,” he murmured, disbelief and awe threading through his voice. “I thought I lost ya..”

“You’ll never lose me,” you replied, fingers brushing through his hair slowly, soothingly. “I promise, I’m right here. And I always will be.”

The softness of your voice, the certainty of your words, seemed to chip away at the last of his fear. He closed his eyes, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “Ya don’t get it,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “I… I can’t lose ya. I don’t know what I’d do without ya.

Your heart swelled at his confession. Gently, you cupped his face, guiding him to look at you again. “You won’t,” you said, each word a promise sealed with the warmth in your gaze. “I’m here, and I’m staying.”

He leaned into your touch, hands slipping from your waist to tangle with yours, fingers intertwining as if he were holding onto something sacred. He breathed out slowly, the last traces of his fear fading with each exhale.

For a moment, neither of you moved, time slowing as you remained wrapped up in each other. The storm in his heart has passed, and all that was left was you— steady, constant, and real.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, soft and lingering, and he closed his eyes at the feel of your lips against his skin. “Mams,” you whispered softly, your voice warm as a summer breeze, “I adore you.”

He opened his eyes, the golden warmth in them softening as he gazed at you. Slowly, he lifted his hand to cradle your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “I adore everythin’ about ya,” he murmured, voice quiet but filled with a sincerity that made your heart flutter. “And I’m never letting’ ya go.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch, and before you knew it, his lips brushed against yours— a kiss that was gentle, tentative, and full of unspoken promises. He kissed you as though you were the most precious thing in his world, a reverence in the way he held you close.

The kiss lingered, soft and slow, before he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

Time seemed to melt away, the two of you wrapped in each other's presence, his fears now just a distant echo. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths, the warmth that now filled the room.

For that moment, you were safe.

And you knew that, as long as you had each other, you always would be.

[donatellawritings]

would rafe ever actually hurt the reader or does he always say empty promises when he’s upset? would you write that? love your work xx

ugh so basically, this is the first and only time that rafe and sweetheart actually break up :(

there was only one instance where rafe had hurt you — and it was one of, if not, the only regret that will continue to haunt him, whenever you shed even a single tear. it was pretty early on in your relationship, he was still struggling to navigate how to handle someone as pure as you, while you were still finding your footing when it came to having such a volatile lover in rafe cameron. you’d been warned by your cousin, kiara — she was firm in maintaining her stance on being against you and rafe being in a relationship … you were her family, you had a heart of genuine gold, while rafe only displayed the facade of being a blood and money hungry man with incessant skeletons in his closet.

“don’t fuckin’ walk away from me, when i’m talkin’ to you,” rafe shouted, hot on your trail as you tearfully made your way into your shared bedroom. mascara-stained tears painted your once blushed cheeks with dark and watery streaks, your lip poked out in a wobbly pout as you turned to face your angered boyfriend, “of course, the baby is fuckin’ crying — i should be the one that’s fuckin’ crying after the way you walked around like a dumb slut,” he scoffed, completely unfazed by your genuine tears of sorrowful frustration. now focusing your gaze at your kitten-heel clad feet, your shoulders slumped as a choked out sob sipped from between your swollen lips.

rafe was completely coked-out, blaming his over-indulgence on the fact that it had been months since he’d been able to enjoy a night out. his usually cold, yet enticing bright blue glaze was taken over by blown pupils and bloodshot eyes that stared at you with nothing, but disdain, “y’fuckin’ look at me when i’m talking to you,” he spoke lowly, a squeaky yelp coming out of you as he gripped your jaw, forcing your head up to make direct eye contact with him. your hand gently held onto his wrist, fat tears cascading down your waterline as rafe painfully pinched your cheeks together, “i want you to get the fuck out of my house — y’wanna fuckin’ talk to other guys while m’making us money? then fucking leave,” he spat through gritted teeth, pushing your face away as you let out a throaty cry.

that was far from the case — rafe had simply caught you making conversation with some random kook who’d failed to take the hint that not only you were uninterested, but you were rafe’s girl. but, rafe was too far gone to see anything aside from what his intoxicated mind wrongfully conjured up.

with a heaving chest, you let out a cry as you reached to grab rafe’s arm, “no, papi, i don’t want to go — please ju-just listen to me,” the second your hand touched rafe’s flexed arm, your head whipped to the side as rafe’s ring-clad hand slapped you right across your pretty face. your cheek pulsed with an aching sting as you blinked, your swollen lips parted in disbelief.

the sharp sound of rafe’s hand connecting with your face instantly caused your boyfriend to sober up, just enough for his eyes to widen in realization as he immediately approached you, “fuck, baby i didn’t mean to fuckin’—” he began, reaching an arm out to pull you into his chest, his heart sinking to his stomach as you backed away from him, bone-chilling cries leaving your mouth as you made a run for the bedroom door. “no-no, mama, please just fuckin’ listen!” he shouted, his arms successfully wrapping around you from behind as he pulled you flush against his tense chest.

“i fucking hate you, let me go!” you screamed, kicking your heeled feet as rafe tightened his hold on you, your eyes burning with reddening tears as you let out a choked sob. your cheek still pulsed as you began to sink to the floor, rafe lowering himself with his arms secured around you as you weakly clawed at his strained forearms, “please, i just want to go home,” you squeaked out, rafe’s eyes glazing over — this was supposed to be your home. you’d given up on kicking at the floor and scratching rafe’s arms, your heaving cries making you a bit sleepy as rafe wordlessly held you against him, waiting until you were calm, before he’d speak again.

tears silently rolled down rafe’s structured face as he hopelessly clung to you. you had every right to hate him and he accepted that, but the possibility of you leaving him for good was really starting to bite at him. with a shaky sigh, rafe leaned his forehead against your shoulder, “baby, pl-please let’s just, let’s just go to sleep,” he whispered, his voice wobbly as he swallowed down a pathetic cry. you remained quiet as you stared at the hardwood floor that had been scuffed by your heels, your doe eyes puffy and red from all of the crying you’d done, your eyelids heavy. “m’so fuckin’ sorry,” rafe cried, feverishly pressing his lips into the back of your shoulder, over and over again, his wet eyelashes now prominent against your exposed skin.

you were completely numb, once rafe slowly rose to his feet, keeping you in his arms as he carefully removed your clothes, replacing them with one of his t-shirts, tears rolling down his face as you remained limp, your eyes blank of any recognizable emotion as you refused to look directly into his eyes. you didn’t even move when rafe softly cradled the back of your head, pressing a kiss into your forehead as you simply blinked, your wispy lashes clumped together from your warm tears. carefully leading you to your shared bed, rafe remained fully clothed in his button-up and slacks, silently thankful that you were able to fall asleep with your bruised cheek finding comfort against his cheek. he couldn’t find it in himself to sleep, once he was completely sober and of a sound mind, rafe knew that he’d completely fucked up.

this wasn’t supposed to happen, not with you. he was supposed to be different, he was supposed to be a man of dignity, yet here he was slipping into his old ways.

so, rafe was awake when you finally woke up, his heart beating just a bit quicker as you raised your head from his chest, your cheekbone a light reddish-purple shade. it wasn’t until your exhausted and strained eyes met his, that rafe wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and beg you for your forgiveness. but, he knew he’d be selfish to expect you to forgive him, only mere hours since he’d put his hands on you. biting back tears, rafe stood from the bed, “i want to take you somewhere, baby — y’don’t have to change your clothes, just come with me to the car, yeah?” rafe held out his hand, a slight warmth fluttering in his chest as you lightly held onto his hand with a small nod.

౨ৎ

rafe was thankful that you’d fallen asleep, about five minutes into the drive. he’d been wracking over his mistake over and over again, to the point where he couldn’t even bring himself to turn the car around and drive back home with you. slowly bringing the car to a stop, rafe gently parked the car, running a hand over his shaven face with a low and shaky sigh. his tired eyes looked over your peaceful state, your puffy lips slight parted as you fell into a deep sleep. rafe’s heart ached as he gently laid a hand on your thigh, lightly nudging you out of your sleep, a sad and knowing smile tugging on his lips as you opened your eyes.

“rafe, why are we here?” you asked, your voice raspy and hoarse as your eyes glazed.

rafe had driven you home.

unbuckling his seatbelt, rafe shifted to give you his full attention, his hand bringing yours to his lips as you looked at him with tearful eyes, “i want you to listen to me, a’ight? i need to be a better man for you,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, before swallowing thickly as you held in a cry, “m’gonna get my shit together, princess—” he continued, watching as you furiously shook your head. you were stubborn, but this was the one time where he needed you to listen to him.

“no, i wanna be with you — i don’t hate you, i—” you panicked, tears streaming down your face as you softly pulled your hand away from rafe’s, using both of your small hands to cover your face.

“m’gonna come and get you when i get better, okay mama? but right now, you need to go home, a’ight?” he sighed, keeping his eyes focused on the steering wheel. if he even looked at you for a second, he knew that he’d be back on the road, with you in the passenger seat, riding off into the sunset.

sniffling back a sob, you glanced at your boyfriend through cloudy eyes, “you’re breaking my heart, papi,” you cried, your puffy lips now dry as you licked over them. you wanted so bad to crawl into his lap and fall asleep, forget this all happened. unfortunately, rafe had already made up his mind.

“baby, please go home, this isn’t easy for me,” rafe spoke sternly, maintaining his gaze on the steering wheel, tears burning at his waterline as you nodded weakly, before stepping out of the car, gently closing the passenger door as you walked towards your house.

neither you nor rafe had the strength to look at each other as you made your way into your house, leaving rafe a tearful mess as he aimlessly made his way back on the road. every few minutes, he’d glance at the passenger seat, hoping that you’d magically appear next to him and be your usually smiley self, but he knew that couldn’t happen, not for a while.

rafe meant it when he said that he’d come get you, once he got better and he looked to make good on that promise. you were his sweet girl and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, if he managed to lose you for good. he just hoped that you’d still love him, when he returned.

[readychilledwine]

Could i request something where az and reader are mates. They have a huge fight and “break up” and reader leaves the court. She finds out that she is pregnant and writes him a letter. He never shows up so she thinks he doesn’t want the baby. Rhys visit the court she is in and sees her with a child maybe a couple months old. He is mad because she didn’t told him and when he ask her why she keeps his nephew away she tells him that she wrote az but he never answered. Rhys is mad and ask az what is up with him to just leave his pregnant mate. Unbeknownst to him that az was searching for her the whole time. Az tells him that he never got a letter and they find out that maybe elain burned it. It takes some time for them but they find their way back and just fluff azriel dad who teaches his son how to fly.

( you could write more angst between reader and az because of elain or you could use a maid or something who wants az)

Here Without You

Summary - Being a single mother was more painful than you'd ever thought it would be, especially when your son's father was just a court away.

Warnings - Angst, Elain showing those claws, single mom status, a child, PPD and the thoughts that come with it, **edited to add** cheating

A/N - I had one of my friends who is a single mom help me with this one while also imagining my life without baby daddy, and um, yeah. We cried a lot, so hopefully, you all do too.

*message from Liz regarding the ending at the end*

💙Peep my Azriel Masterlist Here💙

You had decided whatever you had done to offend the Mother must have been truly unforgettable and unforgivable as you sank against the wall of your family chambers in the Day Court Palace.

Being a new mother was the hardest thing you had ever and will ever do. You had finally gotten Nox down after 3 hours of fussing and tears, and now you waited. He'd sleep 2 hours if you were lucky, wake up crying, and you'd start the process over.

You had wished for your mate more times than you could count, but that bridge was long gone and burned. He had ensured of that by not coming when you wrote him, by not even bothering to write you a response.

The last fight between you and Azriel had been ugly. Glasses had been thrown, a bottle of wine knocked over in rage, cruel words you would both have to live with ringing in your ears like a scream. 350 years. Gone. Thrown away like garbage. All for Elain.

Selfish, plotting, destructive Elain.

You stood, body swaying with sleep deprivation setting in before sitting at the table where your now cold food set. You were too tired to eat, choosing to instead drink the water you had been desperately craving 4 hour ago.

You had wished you could turn it to wine, drink it with no consequences, and still feed Nox when he woke, but that was not the reality of the world. So, instead, you allowed the room temperature flavorless beverage to slide down your throat before moving like a ghost to the couch. There was no point in getting comfortable in your own bed. You would have to be up soon anyway. It wasn’t as if you had help.

You were alone.

And that wasn't even the most painful part of it.

The most painful part was setting in doubt. The growing disbelief that you weren't capable of this, that Nox deserved more, that you should have dropped him at the cabin you had no doubt Elain had moved into, leaving him with her and Azriel to allow you to-

You cut your brain off, refusing to put those words into a full thought. Refusing to believe that your disappearance or death was better for your son than this.

This had to be enough, you had to be enough, because Gods if it wasn't and you weren't, then what truly was the point in living any longer.

Helion entered your chambers the next morning, eyes falling to where you were sat on the floor, shoulders shaking as sobs tore through you. He placed a large warm hand on your shoulder before taking Nox from your arms. "I know I can not offer much of a break due to his feeding cycle, but when is the last time you ate a hot meal, y/n?"

You shook your head. He was 2 weeks old. You supposed it had been before labor. Since then, it had been moments begging for just a second of deep sleep. Moments begging for the Mother to help you, to guide you. Moments where those prayers went unanswered as if they were just thrown into a void. "I don't remember."

Helion could have killed Azriel for you, for Lucien, for Nox. He almost had when you had winnowed yourself here, collapsing in his arms from the exhaustion magic and a growing babe had caused your body.

You hadn't known when you came to the Day Court, begging your oldest friend for a week of safety and healing that you were pregnant, but the High Lord had scented it the second you appeared.

It left him wondering how the hell Azriel hadn't.

"Let me hire a wet nurse for you," he offered again, knowing you would turn it down since your depressive state had you hyper fixated in this belief that all you were good for now was your breasts, and if you gave that duty away, what purpose did you have? "At least for the next few hours. To give you time to rest?"

You still shook your head, messy, tangled hair trying to sway. "I can't. I can't burden someone else."

Helion turned his head away from you, willing himself not to cry at the emptiness of your voice, at the lifelessness you had become.

"The Night Court and Spring are coming today," he started slowly. "I am the magic selected neutral ground for Tamlin and Rhysand to begin setting a peace treaty and trade routes." He waited for your reaction, almost breaking further as you gave him none. "Do you want to see any of them?"

"Lucien and Tamlin."

Helion felt his heart shatter for Cassian, the male who had been asking about you for months now. "The general-"

"Is Azriel's brother. And probably has taken his side. Attempts to see me are probably to give him some sick sort of satisfaction."

He dropped the subject immediately. Nox was asleep, content in the High Lord's arms. "I have time before they arrive, go nap." Helion ordered it, eyes blazing a soft gold and forcing you into submission.

Your bed had never felt so soft.

Helion was walking with Nox around the Palace, smiling and cooing the little male. He was always content when he was being held, and you were so deeply asleep you hadn't even noticed Helion holding the boy to your chest as he nursed. He walked towards where Lucien and Tamlin were.

His son, his pride and joy, looked just radiant in his Day Court attire. The soft, off-white pleaded fabric draping him showed the new healthy build he had gained since Azriel and Elain's transgressions, a golden snake wrapped his bicep, new golden earrings adorned those many piercings.

Lucien paused, a look of concern etching his face when he saw Nox before shaking his head rapidly.

But it was too late, Helion was already in the room where Rhysand also stood with the Inner Circle. The Lord of Night's face fell as he looked at the Illyrian boy, looking so happy up at Helion as he dozed off.

Cassian had frozen, mid sentence with Nesta. He had tried to take a step, wanting to see the babe he immediately knew was his nephew. His eyes met Helion's pleading with permission to approach. Elain's face had paled. A mix of guilt and fear running across it before she schooled it into a faked look of hurt and sadness.

But it was Azriel's face the broke the High Lord. It was a look he knew all too well.

The look of a father who missed the birth of his child.

The look of a father who didn't know he had a child.

The look of a father mourning lost time.

Lucien moved to Helion, taking Nox before leaving the room quickly. The boy did as he always did when his head found Lucien's warm bare shoulder. He released a heavy breath, snuggling into that familiar scent and warmth. "Your mother did not call for me last night," they all heard his soft voice trailing off, speaking to their nephew softly.

"You will tell me everything I do not know," Rhysand demanded as if he was in his own court. "When the fuck was he born. Why were we not informed of her pregnancy?"

Tamlin looked to Helion, digging the shit further. "Is she in the same room as last time?" The Lord of Day nodded. "I will go see her while you all deal with this."

Helion didn't answer, walking to the centered round table and taking the head seat. "To begin, Rhysand, this is my court. You will not make demands of me in my home." They all sat, aside from Azriel. His gaze was locked on the hallway Lucien and Tamlin had gone down.

If he ran, he could catch them. He could see you. He could-

The slam of hands on a table ripped him from his thoughts, and his head snapped to Helion. The High Lord was blazing, glowing like the sun itself, heat radiating from him. "Sit. Down."

An hour later and Rhysand had the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. "You saw her send each letter?"

Helion rolled his eyes, nodding again. "Every month after every check up and once after the birth."

Rhys pointed to Azriel. "But you never got them?"

"My son wouldn't be in another court if I had," Azriel's voice mirrored yours. Broken, empty, mourning. Mourning what was, what he had missed and would never get back. "You're sure she sent them to me?"

Helion could have snapped his neck. "Who else would have fathered her babe? You are the one who stepped out of the bonds of marriage and mateship. Not her."

Azriel paused, a sudden look of anger gracing his face as he looked up at Elain, shadows curling his ears. Nuala appeared, setting envelopes down in front of Rhysand. "In her room. Under her bed in a locked chest. Along with every communication you had tried to send to y/n, my lord."

Feyre gasped, turning her back to Elain and leaning further into Rhysand, holding Nyx tightly between them. She remembered those first few weeks. The sleepless nights, the pain, the emotional down pour. She would not have survived without Rhysand. Without Nesta and Mor. Without Cassian and you and Azriel. Her sister, the one who had held her as darkness swallowed her mind after her son's birth, had allowed you to endure this alone.

Azriel's hands shook, reaching for that stack. He separated out the letters. 10 for him. 2 for Rhysand and Feyre. 2 for Mor. 2 for Amren. 4 for Cassian and Nesta.

Helion stood. "I will let you all process this. Call for me when you are ready to do negotiations. The sooner you all leave, the better for her."

Rhysand's eyes shot up. "You won't let us explain to her-"

"Does it change the fact that he took Elain to their marriage bed? Does it change that he signed the annulment papers." Silence filled the room. "I believe that's why she left. Correct?" Rhys grit his teeth nodding. "Then all this changes is me, someone she trusts and feels safe with right now, informing her of what happened and allowing her to decide if she wants to reach out again from that point." He made a pointed look at Elain. "Which would not matter since I cannot see you removing the parasite from your court."

Helion walked into your room to Lucien and Nox laying skin to skin, a blanket over them as Tamlin held you, long fingers running through your dark hair. "And?" His son said.

"Your mate hid the letters regarding her pregnancy." Lucien whistled. "She's a snake hiding behind beautiful scales."

Azriel had tracked down your room with his shadows easily. The inner circle had been excused for the negotiations and allowed to explore the city. Cassian had flown Elain home, Mor and Amren winnowing Nesta behind them. Cassian wanted Elain out of his house, and Azriel could not have been more grateful to his brother for having his back.

He entered the room slowly and quietly. You were placing the babe in a crib on the balcony. It was shaded from the sun, shielded to remain the perfect temperature, and yet gave him access to fresh air, to the breeze.

You turned, eyes wide the second you saw Azriel. He moved to you so quickly that you could hardly process it. One second, your feet were on the ground, and the next, arms held you tight against him. Azriel was breathing deeply, memorizing your scent all over again.

He set you down, keeping you close to his chest, and sent a prayer to the Mother. "Elain hid all the letters," he began slowly. "She kept them all in her room. I didn't know. Had I known about you, about him, I would have crawled the very depths of hell to bring you back home to me."

You didn't answer. Tears fell as your body relaxed into him. It wasn't fair. The hold he had on you. The need you still felt in your bones when he touched your skin. You ached for Azriel so deeply it echoed into your bones. You longed for his smell. His voice.

Azriel took your silence as permission to continue. "I made a mistake. I will never be able to make up for it. Elain knew the second you left, I wanted to correct this. I was so blinded by her, by the feeling of being needed like that again, that I forgot how precious your independence was. How beautiful it is."

He couldn't stop himself from kissing the top of your head. "You are all I think about. Morning, noon, and night, it is always and will always be you. I am so sorry for what I have done. I am sorry for hurting you, for ruining us, for hurting the family we should be raising together. There are no words for my remorse."

"Why?" Your voice broke as you asked. "Why wasn't I enough?"

Azriel pulled back to look at you, hand raising to hold your chin and force eye contact. "Y/n, you are not at fault for my actions. You did nothing wrong. There is no partial blame, no what ifs. I fucked up. I made a mistake and it cost both of us everything. You are the victim of my actions, not the catalyst."

He saw you process those words and saw as they sunk in. "You were and are more than I will ever deserve. I want to spend my lifetime making up for it. Becoming a male you are proud of. I want to be the father I never got to have. I want to be the husband and mate you deserve. I know it will take time, and I do not expect your forgiveness today, but if you give me a chance, I will go to my grave worshipping the ground you two walk."

"Do you want to meet our son?" He broke at the question, feeling the bond opening back on your end. "This doesn't mean we're back together. It means we need to coparent for him while we work on things." He nodded rapidly, following you to the bassinet.

It felt like the world was coming full circle. You knew it would take time, that you two had many things to discuss first. This was a needed good start, though. Your pain eased slightly as you pulled back the curtains to the crib and whispered, "Azriel, this is Nox, your son."

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

**I have received some pretty nasty anon asks, some unconstructive comments, and a good amount of general negativity regarding this fic. If you are unhappy with the ending and want to know why I made the choices I made as the author, click #discussingherewithoutyou. Unconstructive comments will be receiving the same copy and paste answer from here forward.

My time and content are free. If you do not like them, scroll.

General Taglist:

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

[niilue]

pounding sub!illumi to oblivion as we readers watch his emotionless facade fall. he’s moaning out and sobbing for more and that’s exactly what we give him until he’s moaning/whining out of overstimulation. you can add whatever more you want to this!

have a good day!💗

ෆ    ִ      ׁ   sub illumi

cw: dom!reader, male top, breeding kink, voice kink, illumi needy and vocal

illumi's emotionless facade had always been his defining trait, a mask of stoicism that rarely, if ever, faltered. but now, that mask was crumbling. you had him pinned beneath you, his body trembling as you pounded into him relentlessly. his long black hair clung to his sweat-slicked skin, and his usually impassive face was contorted in pleasure.

each thrust elicited a moan from illumi, the sound growing louder and more desperate with every movement. his voice, usually so controlled, was now a symphony of whimpers and sobs, a melody that spurred you on. you knew exactly how to break him, and you reveled in the power you held over him.

"more," he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "please... more."

you obliged, increasing your pace, driving into him with a force that made the bed creak. his legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, deeper. every thrust pushed him closer to the edge, his body quivering with the intensity of it all.

"look at you," you murmured, leaning down to kiss the tears from his cheeks. "begging for it like a good boy."

illumi's eyes fluttered open, wide and glassy with need. the once cold, emotionless gaze was now filled with a raw, unfiltered desire. he moaned louder, his hands clawing at your back, leaving red marks in their wake. he was a moaning, whining mess, his voice a mixture of broken cries and breathless pleas.

"please," he sobbed. "please, i can't..."

but you didn't let up. you kept going, pushing him beyond his limits, watching as his composure shattered completely. his moans turned into screams, his body writhing beneath you as he came, his orgasm ripping through him with a force that left him trembling.

but you weren't done. not yet. you continued to thrust into him, even as he whined in overstimulation, his body convulsing with every movement. the overstimulation was exquisite, his mind a blur of pleasure and pain. he could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words, and the only thing that escaped his lips were broken cries and sobs.

"you wanted this," you reminded him, your voice a low growl in his ear. "you begged for it."

he nodded weakly, unable to speak, his body completely at your mercy. you leaned down, pressing your lips to his ear. "i'm going to fill you up," you whispered. "breed you until you can't take anymore."

illumi's eyes rolled back in his head at your words, another sob escaping his lips. the thought of being filled, claimed, bred— it drove him wild. he was lost in the sensation, his body a puppet to your desires.

you felt him tighten around you, and with one final, powerful thrust, you came, filling him with your seed. the sensation pushed illumi over the edge once more, his body convulsing as he came again, his voice hoarse from screaming.

you stayed like that for a moment, both of you breathing heavily, your bodies entwined. then you pulled out, watching as your cum dripped from his spent body, a proof to your domination.

illumi lay there, his chest heaving, his face flushed and tear-streaked. he looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. he was a mess, a beautiful, broken mess, and you knew you had pushed him to his limits.

but he had wanted it. he had begged for it. and you had given him exactly what he craved.

[stevie-petey]

episode eight: the battle of starcourt

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

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

Rating: general, violence and swearing

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

Words: 21.2k (ouch)

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

-

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

No one knows what to do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know him?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Anytime, old man.” 

– 

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

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

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

And somehow Billy has become the face of it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We cut the brain off from the body.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And who are you?” 

“Erica Sinclair. And who are you?”

“Murray… Bauman.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I won’t.” 

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

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

The walkies. Cerebro.

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

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

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

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

Dustin sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Astounding…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lame.”

“Goodbye, Wheeler.”

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

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

But no one has asked the same question for Billy. 

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

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

– 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bald Eagle had been your idea. 

“Scoops Troop?” You ask your brother.

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

“Not bad, buddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze. 

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

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

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

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

Someone has to help.

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

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

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

El.

The Mind Flayer has them. 

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

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

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

“That’s what I’m trying to do!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see him!” He floors it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like bee, better.” Jonathan agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to hear it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gosh, I miss you, Dusty-bun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you left them?”

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

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

“Y/N–”

“Turn. Around.”

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

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

– 

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

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

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

“If we throw them from above, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you’re gone. 

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

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

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

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

Everything happens slowly after that. 

The first claw that penetrates Billy’s side. 

The second one that cuts through his other side. 

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

Everything stops.

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

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

The gate has been closed. 

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

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

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

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

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

Those had been your last words to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you had left him. 

Billy Hargrove died alone.

You and Max will share the burden of this guilt. 

– 

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all a blur after that. 

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

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

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

Time. 

It always goes back to time. 

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

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

Her eyes meet yours. 

Hopper isn’t with her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You finally, finally, have come home. 

– 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Together, you all try to heal.

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

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

“Come outside, angel.”

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

“Wear something warm, okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s driving you to Lover’s Lake.

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

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

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

Steve grabs your hand. “You’ll see.”

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

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

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

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

Take your time, I’ll be here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For time to stay like this, forever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup. Said something about Kermit the frog?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love it, Steve!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m resting my eyes.” 

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

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

“I was scared, last summer.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s tradition at this point.”

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

– 

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

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

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

Jonathan is crying. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A new what now?”

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

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

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

“Yeah?” 

“Stop talking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He fights with it, tries desperately not to let it fall, all while his resume hangs from his mouth. “Shit! Oh, Fast Times! Ever heard of it? Top three for me, Keith.” Robin laughs and Steve turns the cardboard cutout to you, wiggling his eyebrows. “Own any red bikinis?”

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

“I can sleep right now and find out–”

“I will flick you again.”

“A kiss is preferred, but whatever.”

– 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nancy crosses her arms. “Is that everything?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, little bee.”

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “Hey, what is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s time to say goodbye. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joyce’s words ring in your head.

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

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

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

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

And you believe her. 

[END OF SEASON THREE]

-

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[m-ilkiee]

Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

Chapter 2: Shots Fired

series summary: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. and now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

chapter summary: Izana Kurokawa demands your attention and he doesn’t take no for an answer. Not even when his demands are outrageous.

cw: DARK CONTENT, MISOGYNY, NSFW, r*pe mention, religious guilt, depictions of PTSD and CPTSD, emotional incest, abandoment issues, violence, revenge porn, depression, filming without consent, drugging, implied domestic abuse, victim blaming, blackmailing, manipulation, gaslighting, mind break, psychological torture, use of firearms

r-18+ (not suitable for 17 and under)

wc: 11.6k

[masterlist] [chapter 1] [chapter 3] [taglist]

a/n: likes are nice, comments and reblogs with comments are superior, anons are also superior too and would make me update faster cause it means people like what i write. this chapter takes an entirely different turn from the old story, some scenes are similar but the context is different. i host polls after this so stay tuned. Edit 02/11/2024: this chapter's end has been edited and changed. I've indicated the edited point, so that you could skip other parts to read it. Thank you.

 YOU haven’t been able to stay asleep for the past few days.

It’s easy to fall asleep after a hard and stressful day at school and your part-time job. Your limbs ache from all the walking and lugging a bookbag far heavier than what you could handle -since all your e-textbooks were on your (now destroyed) laptop and phones were not allowed during lectures. And working from 5pm until 9pm at a restaurant, serving food to rude, overbearing customers only to be paid in pieces was another added stress in itself.

Not to mention, studying until the words are bleary and just looking at a book hurts your eyes.

But then, in all your dreams, everything you’ve pushed to the back of your memory is at the forefront. Your dream starts typically, your normal school day, waking up, dressing in your cute little blue crop sweater and jean skirt with socks. You go to classes, and then you see Mikey’s car waiting for Emma.

Things take a different turn. He’s the one getting out of the car to meet you. It’s like a siren call, him holding out his hand for you to take despite someone screaming for you to stop. You try to reject him, try to run away like the voice said but you end up getting trapped. This time, he’s not using his hands. He’s fully sheathed inside you, robbing you of the thing you hold so dear while you kick, bite and claw at him until you wake up screaming, sweat soaked all over your sheets.

You consistently dream of being violently raped by Manjiro Sano.

The next few hours until sunrise were equally horrible. You’re quietly sobbing into your pillows, praying to God to forgive you for letting Mikey touch you in the first place, assuming your reason for having such dreams was God’s divine judgement for your grievous sin. You’ve lost count on how many Bible verses you stay up reading until your eyes are bleary and the sun comes up.

No matter how much you pray and how many times you recite psalms 127 before you sleep, you can never escape Mikey in the world of dreams. He’s a virus that has invaded your thoughts, corrupting every dream you had and twisted them into nightmares.

You don’t know how long you can hold on being this sleep deprived. It’s been impairing your school life, trying to find a way to stay awake during classes only for you to fall asleep and miss the rest of it. Even when you got notes from the person next to you, reading them was always difficult because your eyes hurt so much.

Work was even more taxing and stressful, rush week adding more stress than you could ever imagine. You found yourself spacing out more than usual when you were supposed to be taking orders. You were unable to keep up with the fast paced environment, your body feeling like a ton of bricks with every moment you make. Your eyes were heavy lidded, tired from forcing them open throughout the day.

You were so, so tired-

“Hello! Are you sleeping on me young lady?” A voice snapped at you.

Your eyes shot open and immediately you stood back straight. You must have been dozing off while taking the older lady’s order -the very thing you’ve been trying to avoid all day long. “No, not at all Ms-” you started to explain. “-I was just … what was your order aga-”

You flinched when the woman angrily slammed her fist on the table, shutting you up instantly! “So you were sleeping on the job! What kind of establishment allows this?” She screamed, attracting the attention of customers around. “I need to speak to your manager. NOW!”

You instantly began to panic at the mention of your manager. If he heard any of this, he was definitely going to fire you. You cannot afford to lose this job right now, with all your school expenses and saving up money for next session’s tuition.

“No mam!” you begged, keeping your voice even as you tried to reason with her. “Th-there’s no need for that! Please! Let me take your order and I’ll-” you racked your brain for an excuse, knowing fully well your establishment does not offer free meals. “- I’ll pay for your meal! On me-”

“So you’re trying to imply I’m poor?” She interrupted you again, her tempo even higher than before. “You disrespectful little wretch! How dare you? GET ME YOUR MANAGER RIGHT NOW!”

You started begging the older woman, trying to calm her down and de-escalate the situation, but each plea only fuelled her rage. By now, every customer, every employee and just anyone in that place watched you grovel and beg this woman to calm down, some people even videoing your altercation. Your body was trembling as she screeched in your ears, calling you all sorts of names while you relentlessly apologised to her.

“What is going on here?”

You winced at the sound of your manager’s voice emerging from the backrooms. You stood stiffly as he walked to your side, using his shoulder to nudge you out of the way. “Is there something wrong Ms.?” He asked the lady. “What happened?”

“This little wretch!” She practically screeched at you, her finger wagging straight at your hung face. “She was sleeping while I was ordering! And when I pointed it out to her calmly, she called me a hag!”

Your eyes snapped open. You can tolerate people yelling at you, but lying is out of the question. “I did not call you anything! That’s a lie-”

“You be quiet!” Your manager yelled at you, silencing you. He turned to face the woman again, apologising profusely for your so called rude behaviour. “I promise you mam, she will be dealt with accordingly. Your order is in the house, please take that as a token of our humble apology and forgive us.”

You stood there in shock as the woman smirked satisfactorily at her now free meal. “Well, you better get rid of her!” She snarked, eyes scanning you up and down, plopping back down on her seat. “Or you’ll lose me as a patron.”

“Of course mam.” He said sweetly before switching his countenance towards you into a more irritated one. “You, come with me.”

You lowered your head once again in disappointment as you started following your manager towards the back rooms, your head lowered in shame as the eyes followed your every move to your damnation waiting for you in the manager’s office.

Your skin crawled as you felt his penetrating gaze on you, as if judging you. “You know how many complaints I have received this week just from you, (name)? How many orders you’ve messed up?”

You shook your head no in response, not trusting yourself to say anything reasonable at this point. He eyes you up and down again before scoffing at you rudely. “I only let you stay here because you said you were desperate for a job. But apparently, you’re not even bothered enough to keep it.” He spat out. “Unfortunately for you, this is the end of the road for you here. Change out of your uniform and leave.”

“But s-”

“I said you’re FIRED. GET OUT.”

You sighed weakly, obeying your now ex-manager’s order and leaving the office. You ignored the eyes of everyone watching you exchange the too tight black jeans and green top uniform back to your white bohemian skirt and light blue top with your white jacket. Calmly, you packed your school bag and everything you owned with you and slung it over your shoulder, replacing the uniform back to the locker, dropping the key on top.

No one said goodbye to you as you left through the back door.

  IZANA knows it's creepy to be waiting for Emma just outside her college, but it's not like he has a choice when she keeps ignoring any method he uses to contact her.

Mindlessly, he fiddled with his lighter with his back on the wall of the English department building and an unlit cigarette between his lips. Purple eyes scanned the people leaving the building one by one, hoping to find a mop of golden hair amongst the students. His hopes rose with each blond he saw, only for him to deflate when he realised they weren't her.

A few minutes passed and still no sign of Emma. Deciding that he didn’t want to stand around and gape, Izana lifted his lighter towards his cigarette, flicking the light twice and bringing the warm flame to his lips. Breathing in the familiar scent of nicotine, smoke filled his lungs as he tucked the lighter back in his pockets. His free hand took the cigarette from his lips and he exhaled, releasing plumes of smoke from his lips.

His smoking habit had gotten worse within the past week. Izana couldn’t help it, reaching for a light anytime he saw his gifts in the dustbin. Emma hasn’t been this angry at him before. Usually a new plushie was enough to wash his sins clean, no matter how grevious they were. Now, not even the most expensive shoes she’s been eyeing for months could satiate her anger.

All because of you.

Izana knows his little sister like the back of his hand. Like how she loved sleeping with plushies because it comforted her whenever their mother brought her gambling friends into the house and they were loud. Or how he picked up a guitar to learn multiple barbie songs because their mother had destroyed Emma’s CD that he bought with his money to punish her. He knew she liked warm tea during her periods and gentle back rubs to ease her pain. He’s not the best person to be around, with how fucked over he was by life until Shinichiro gave him purpose but he loved his sister a lot and everything he did was to protect her. Life hardened him, made him so jaded that the only thin thread connecting him to his humanity was Emma and he’d do anything to protect his humanity.

Only to watch it slip through his fingers.

First it was Mikey’s stupid friend, Ken Ryugi, who waltzed his way into Emma’s life. Izana didn’t like him one bit- didn’t like how Emma would bite her lip, waiting for him to reply and cry herself to sleep when he didn’t. Her heart was soft, fragile and that brute tore it apart by telling her he wasn’t interested in a relationship yet.

The only reason Ken wasn’t in an unmarked, shallow grave in the middle of nowhere was simply because Mikey was involved.

Now it is you, taking the space in her life that belonged to him and Mikey. You’re pushing both of them out of the equation, threatening their position in their sister’s life and everything they know.

Izana wonders how someone so insignificant was so important to Emma that she was willing to cut communications with her own brothers. It baffles him beyond understanding and at the same time enrages him that she could trust you so easily. That she was willing to turn against him in your name.

He took more puffs, skimming throughout the campus for any sight of her. It didn’t matter how he felt about it, as Kisaki had convinced him to ask Emma and you to go shopping, just to get back into Emma's good graces again. Apparently doing a nice gesture publicly for you would convince their sister to give them another chance again.

Especially because Izana had been the biggest opposition to their friendship.

“But Mikey was a little shit about them too.” he grumbles underneath his breath, cigarette in hand. “Why do I have to be the one to apologise? And why did Mikey get an out while I’m doing all the heavy lift-”

His thoughts were cut short the second he caught sight of a familiar blonde hair bouncing in the wind and stood up straight, tossing the cigarette to the floor and crushing it underneath his black shoes, before rushing to catch up to his little sister.

Izana pushed through the throng of people, violently shoving anyone that got in his way until he finally fell in step with her, slowing down to match her pace. Without wasting time, his hand curled around the girl’s wrist, stopping her in her tracks instantly and earning a shocked gasp escaped her lips.

“Get off me - Izana?”

Her free hand was fast to hit him, but her head was faster in turning around, only to recognize it was just Izana. Her hand stopped inches away from the smirking male’s face, the tension leaving her body and relief taking its place. It doesn’t last long, though as irritation suddenly crawls on her face, instantly displeased at his actions. “What the hell? I’ve told you to stop doing that.” she hissed at him.

A mischievous grin made its way to his face at Emma’s irritation. She always had a pout whenever she was angry at him and it made look even more adorable.

“Were you scared?” He teased, pulling Emma closer to him until she was practically smushed at his side, despite the glare she gave him in response. “You know no one would dare touch you.”

“Get off me. Your breath stinks like nicotine, I thought you said you quit smoking that shit.”

Ignoring Emma’s last question, he decided to change the topic. “Your lapdog isn't here with you?” he asked. Usually, you would be hovering behind her like a damn pest, so you not being around her was rather strange. 

Emma is quick to shove him off lightly, putting some distance between the two of them, clearly still mad at him. "(Name)'s not feeling well, so she didn't come to class today. I'm on my way to get her medicine."

Oh, that's a surprise.

But with you out of the way, Izana could finally have Emma all to himself for today and hang out with his beloved sister. Maybe even make up for the party thing without apologising to you. Without you here, it’s likely Emma isn’t as mad at the whole situation and is playing it up to make you feel like you have someone on your side.

He knows you’re not going to protest if Emma says she’s in talking terms with her brothers again. It’s a win-win situation and he doesn’t have to grovel or ask for forgiveness for some joke that went wrong.

"So that means we can hang out?"

"Excuse me?"

"You don't have to keep pretending you're still mad at me now that she isn't here." He spews the 'she' with so much venom it could kill, before switching up with a sick grin, his hand stretched out. "We can go to Vivienne Westwood and get that Saturn necklace you like, what do you say?"

His words hung in the air as Emma trailed her pointed glare from his hand, back to his cheerful visage. She crossed her arms in response slowly, her yellow eyes burning holes into his face as her lips curled into a sick sneer.

“Are you insane?”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what?’ me Izana! I just told you (name)'s ill and you're asking me to go with you to shop at Vivienne westwood? Are you nuts?”

Emma’s voice was loud enough to garner wandering eyes of other by-standers, watching the event go down. Izana kept his composure, despite his bubbling irritation beneath the surface of his skin, with a smile -albeit stiffer than before. ‘She’s just being emotional’ Izana whispered to himself, still trying to be rational. ‘Just take it easy with her’

“Oh come on, should I care about her-"

"You should be begging her to forgive you for what you did to her that night!"

"You can't still be mad at me for that shit that happened two weeks ago. And besides, it's not my fault she couldn't take a joke” his words were smooth, buttery, flowing out of his lips like it was the truth, digging his own grave. “I didn’t know your friend was that sensitive-”

“Are you listening to the bullshit coming from your mouth?” Emma roared, her voice echoing throughout the entirety of the department, her face red with fury. Izana had never seen his own beloved sister ever look at him with such disgust in her eyes, her teeth gnashing against each other and hands at her side, clenching against each other. “Is that what you think a joke sounds like?”

“Calm the fuck dow-”

“No wonder you’re fucking single, you’re such a piece of shit to anyone that isn’t Shinichiro!” Emma screamed, interrupting Izana once again, her temper fiery enough to burn a hole on the ground she stood with how heated she was. “How does anyone even stand you for so long? You’re unbearable!”

“Excuse m-”

He doesn’t like where the conversation is going, with how furious Emma was right now. He tried to raise a comforting hand to Emma’s shoulder to ease her tension but she was quick to smack it away from her hard, stinging his fingers a little.

“You’re so unpleasant, how do you even have any friends? How do they tolerate you? To think (name) wanted me to forgive you! Thank god you aren’t my fucking brother, I can’t imagine being anything like you!”

The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

It was as if the world froze over for Izana. He stood there, wide eyed, his heart beating loudly in his chest as all the voices around him faded into the background. His hand extended weakly at his side, mouth drying up as a lump formed in his throat. 

“I-I-i" she starts to stutter. It’s obvious that she can recognize what she had just said as he blankly stared at her. "I didn't mean i-”

He doesn’t let her finish, turning on his heel and walking away as fast as possible. People were quick to clear out of his way, not wanting to be his target of aggression. Emma followed behind, instantly, shouting his name at the top of her lungs followed with strings of apologies.

“Izana, wait please-” she screamed from the crowd of people, tears streaming from her yellow eyes. He continued to ignore her as he hopped on his bike, sliding in the key and revving up the engine before she could reach him.

Izana zoomed away, turning Emma’s cries into background noise, her words repeating in his head.

“I didn’t mean it! I’M SORRY-”

YOU don't know which was worse, the feeling of helplessness that came with the reality of your life crashing before your very eyes or the splitting headache you've developed after crying in your room for a week straight. Laying on your bed all day, huddled up in a blanket and sobbing uncontrollably was unhealthy, but it was all you found the strength to do these days. 

In all your years of being alive, you've never felt this pathetic. Not when you would be pushed outside in the pouring rain if you made a mistake in making dinner, or had been beaten with a belt in front of Yuzhua and Hakkai because you failed your catechism test. You could protect yourself from your brothers when they got violent. You could run and hide when your dad was really angry and wanted to take it out on you.

Unfortunately, no one told you what to do when your life is falling apart.

Ever since that day, you couldn't find the strength to go to class or do anything for that matter. It was like your entire energy was sucked out of you, leaving your body an empty husk with nothing left to give. 

You only have yourself to blame.

You drag the blankets closer to your body, sniffling a bit. The worst part of all of this is that after this month, if you don’t find a job that pays you quickly, you are going to be broke. It’s times like this that makes you regret leaving your family. You know it’s wishful thinking, but you wonder if you would be forgiven assuming you return home in tears and repentant of your sin of disobedience like the prodigal son in the bible. Life is too hard to live in the outside world without the help and guidance of a parent. You miss your old life, with your own bed and guaranteed food, as long as you did as you were told. You miss how sometimes your parents took you and your siblings to eat out after church.

You miss your mother. You want to go back to her. Life is hard, and dealing with being jobless with nowhere to turn to is harder. You could ask Emma, but she’s already taking care of you and there was no way you would bother your friend about your money problems.

"Hey babes, I got the medicine for you."

Emma's soft voice rouses you out of your self-pity session. The wood creaks underneath her heels as she walks to your bed and takes a seat besides you, the mattress dipping underneath her weight. The scent of her Vivienne Westwood wafting through your nostrils fills you with a sense of warmth, familiarity and at the same time, dread.

You feel guilty. Perhaps it's because you don't know how to tell Emma what exactly is wrong with you. It's easier to give her the half-truth that you caught a stomach bug than say everything. If you even as much as hinted that Manjiro had something to do with the real reason you were a sobbing mess on your bed, you're sure she would overreact and fight with her brothers again.

But still, not telling her meant you were keeping secrets from her. Something you both promised not to ever do as you two became best-friends.

‘It’s for her own good.’ you try to justify it. ‘It’s better I keep my mouth shut.’

Pushing that thought at the back of your mind, you roll over to her direction, pulling down your blanket just a little bit to see her properly. Your heart drops at the sadness etched onto Emma’s face, a forlorn look in her eyes. You hated seeing her down, yet all you’ve been doing for the past few months since you came into her life was causing her pain. You know how it feels to lose family, no matter how bad they were to you and Emma is no different.

“Hey”

Your voice is hoarse from your constant crying, but Emma doesn’t mention it as she reaches a hand to caress your face. “You look better than yesterday. You up to eat?”

You nodded briefly, realising how hungry you were. You’ve barely had an appetite to eat anything, so your rations had been smaller and compact until you regained it back bit by bit, thanks to Emma’s constant care. Pushing yourself up, you sit up and yawn, quickly covering your mouth the moment a bad stench emanates from it. Emma’s face quickly grows sour as well, probably smelling it too.

“You haven’t showered.”

“Uhhh-”

You knew there was no excuse for that one as Emma put the food and medicine away before yanking you off the bed while talking about how gross you were for not showering throughout today. “You’re a girl (name), don’t do this to yourself, c’mon-”

“But-” you start to whine, trying to defend yourself. “I was tired-”

“Nope!” she retorted, pushing you towards the bathroom. “No excuses! I swear you’re acting like Mikey when he’s in one of his moods-”

The room falls silent at her words, the cheerful aura dropping the second Emma realises what she’s said, a wave of guilt washing over her face as she lets go of your hands.

“Fuck- I’m sorry (name)...”

Your heart aches at how heartbroken she sounds right now and shatters even further at the fact that everything, every problem they were experiencing right now was all your fault. You saw it deep in Mikey’s eyes how much pain and suffering your presence in their family had caused, and how his anger reflected that action towards you. You’ve been so entrenched in your own problems that you forgot the mess you made in their family.

“Emma, you miss them don’t you?”

‘It’s not too late.’ You mutter to yourself, your heart in your throat as you steel your resolve. You couldn’t let her make that mistake you made by leaving your family aside. You don’t want Emma to be like you.

“(Name), please don’t-”

“You can’t keep ignoring them forever.” You cut her short, speaking directly to her now. “You can’t keep ignoring Draken either too. You’re miserable.”

“I’m fin-”

“Emma no.” You snap at her, finally having enough of her stubbornness as anger swells up in you. “I see how sad you look everytime you look at your pictures with your big brothers and Draken. Do you think that it’s healthy to keep ignoring them like this?”

“You were the one they hurt, you shouldn’t feel bad for them-”

“It doesn’t matter! I don’t matter!” You yell desperately, now pulling away from her grasp in an attempt to put your foot down. “They are the ones who matter a lot. Those are you family members! People who love you and have protected you for years! Just talk it out with them! They miss you for god’s sake!”

“What the hell do you mean you don’t matter?” Emma roars back at you, suddenly enraged by your outburst. You nearly stumble back at how angry she sounded, fear creeping into your skin as your verbal claws retract. “You matter to me! You mean the world to me as any of them do! You’re my best friend and I love you and if they don’t understand that then there is nothing to make up for!”

By the time she was done yelling, her breathing was heavy and her eyes so intense you couldn’t even stare at her. Your eyes quickly flickered to your feet instead; scared of seeing the disappointment on her face and terrified of her anger. You didn’t like it when Emma yelled, it reminded you of your mother getting angry at you, something you hated doing to her.

Eventually, she took a deep breath and took a step closer to you, her hand intertwined with yours. “Come on, I’ll help you shower.”

You silently follow behind her, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

  PERHAPS Izana should be angry at Emma.

It would be justified after the words she said from her mouth, but he can’t because he knows the truth. Emma was just angry as well and she didn’t mean any of the words she had said to hurt him. She said them because of you, however and he realises that every fight they’ve had is over your presence in her life.

Which meant that the true culprit was you.

People may believe in love at first sight, but from the first day Izana set his eyes on you, he could only feel hatred towards you. You were just there, sitting awkwardly while Emma tried to involve you in their conversation and it irked him.

At first, Izana thought it was the fact that the both of you were clashing personalities that made him feel that way, but then you keep getting in his way and ruining things for him. He hates everything about you - the way you picked your finger when you were nervous. Your bright smile you gave to only Emma and how easy it was for her to like you. Just your mere presence in general was enough to set him off because of how simple it was for you to be close to Emma while you barely knew her. It felt like he was losing his only sister to a stranger, and now the Emma who stands in front of him is a mere mockery of his real sister.

And that’s the frustrating part. He can’t do anything to hurt you. He’s smart enough to know that if he does, Emma would never forgive him.

“... Kurokawa, are you here with us?”

Izana snaps back to reality as Kisaki taps the table three times to get his attention. ‘I might have spaced out.’ He thinks to himself before facing the entirety of the table; Tetta Kisaki, the rather shrewd and ruthless dealer sitting, his equally irritating lap dog Shuji Hanma and the little shit that he called his younger brother, Mikey.

Speaking of Mikey, ever since that day he made that phone call and revealed his brand new plan of accepting you into their friend group, he’s been very quiet. Even throughout today’s meeting, he hasn’t said a word, aside from mentioning that Draken was going to be absent and asking where Kakucho was before the meeting began.

And knowing his brother, a quiet Mikey is a suspicious Mikey.

Now that Izana thinks about it, he’s noticed that Mikey, who was on his side initially had suddenly switched to trying to apologise to you. Which was weird, considering how egocentric Mikey could be on the topic of apologising. Izana has his suspicions, but then again Mikey is unpredictable due to his rather dark impulses, so he couldn’t really say anything yet, until Kakucho came back from his task.

Izana cleared his throat and faced Kisaki again, deciding to be as honest as possible. After all, it’s their fault that he’s in this mess, might as well remind them. “Just thinking about how Emma practically called me a bastard and I’m supposed to be okay with it.” He said nonchalantly and the air in the room shifted into an uncomfortable silence for the upteenth time this week ever since that unfortunate day. It isn’t surprising to anyone as to why though, Izana’s complicated relationship with the Sano’s is a sore topic that no one ever dared to bring up.

From Kisaki’s tight lipped expression, Izana is sure that the younger male is picking his words carefully in his head. Even Hanma who would have laughed or said something to intentionally piss off Izana remains silent. Eventually, Kisaki lets out a resigned sigh. “The audit would be done another time.” He states in a cool tone, putting his laptop aside before facing the two brothers. “It’s obvious we’re not gonna do anything useful until you resolve this issue with Emma and her friend.”

“Really?” The white haired male mocks, causing Kisaki to shift in his place, an irritated frown creasing his face. “would you like to hear my pla-”

“We’re not going to kill a civilian and draw attention to ourselves, Izana. I’ve already told you what to do.” Kisaki snapped back, his yellow eyes darting from Izana to Mikey, before narrowing in irritation. “Both of you. Just apologise to (name), it’s not that hard. You don’t even have to mean it, the girl won’t even know the difference-”

“Ah yes, cause that went well the last time.”

“And whose fault is that? I clearly told you to say “I’m sorry” and all you did was make things worse!”

“I’m just brutally honest.” Izana spits back. “And you can’t blame me because I tried, compared to Mikey who sits on his damn ass and has done nothing-”

“I wasn’t the one who called her a cheap hooker!” Mikey interjects defensively, sitting upright after staying quiet from the start of this meeting, finally saying something.

“Oh, so you can speak.” Izana retorts back, his voice cold. Mikey is so good at shifting blame onto others for actions he has a hand in, especially when he knows it would reflect badly on him. Unfortunately, Izana has been in this game longer than his little brother. “I thought you had gone mute with the way you don’t want to talk about the issue beyond pushing me to apologise to her.”

“You don’t make it any easier with how you talk to people.” Mikey hisses back, his tempo rising with each word, but Izana can hear the slight shake in his voice, almost as if he’s hiding something. “How am I supposed to do anything if you keep saying shit like you’re glad (name)’s gone?”

(Name)?

The entire room falls silent at Mikey’s sudden outburst, or rather what Mikey had just said. No one says a word as they all stare at Mikey in shock, eye wide and mouth hanging open like he’d grown two heads. There’s a glimmer of confusion in the dark eyed male before the realisation of his mistake washes over him, his facial expression changing into a mixture of guilt and pure terror.

As if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

It’s unmistaken. Izana knows his brother is hiding something and it has to do with you. “You’ve never,” he starts slowly, never taking his eyes off Mikey, gauging his facial expression. “called her by her name. You only call girls who you had something to do with by their name.”

“I-”

“You fucked her, didn’t you.” it’s a statement, not a question. Mikey grows pale and it's more of a sure answer than anything else at all.

“I didn’t do anything bad… she’s still a virgin-”

“What.” Kisaki, interjecting as well, cuts him off, his voice cold. “Did. You. Do?”

Mikey is silent. It’s brief and doesn’t last long as he finally seals his fate with a quiet voice. “It’s not my fucking fault, she wore a short skirt and she was asking for it-”

At the side, Kisaki crumples back onto the dining table seat, his head in his hands muttering a quiet “Oh fuck, I should have stayed with Osanai.” as he shakes in disbelief. Hanma just sits there, clearly perturbed, not knowing how to react but at the same time, not really interested.

“Glad to know I’m not the only screw up.” Izana scoffs as well. Despite how cheery his voice sounded, the furious look on his face says a different story altogether. “Since apparently you’re just as stupid as I am.”

Mikey runs a hand through his golden locs, frustration evident on his features. No one has ever seen him look so frantic, like a little kid who broke something and is trying to hide it. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Sure she said no at first but I knew she wanted it when she relaxed in my touch-”

“That’s not what Emma’s gonna think, you idiot!” Izana barks at him angrily, his temper finally off the rails. “You practically threw away your entire plan before it even started! All for what? Mediocre pussy you could get from some other girl? And you know how Shin is about this shit. If Emma finds out and tells him, we’re screwed!”

There’s a mixture of emotions swirling in Izana right now. The urge to punch Mikey was strong, for daring to not only lie to his face, but also making him look like a fool to cover his ass.

Then again, he knows it’s really not Mikey’s fault but yours. You must have done something to make Mikey hurt you because he knows his little brother doesn’t hurt girls. You have this effect of turning people into worse versions of themselves, making them disgusting, evil and hateful.

You turned Emma against them and now you made Mikey’s dark impulses come out.

It’s you that’s the problem.

“So what anyone find out? They won’t believe her” Mikey snarls back, irritated. “She can’t blame me, I told her to fucking leave but she didn’t listen! She was practically begging me to fuck her-”

“ENOUGH!”

Kisaki’s voice is loud enough to silence the two brothers, ending their argument instantly as they breathe heavily from their prior screaming match. Izana slumps back on his seat as Kisaki sits up straight, eyes narrowed. Mikey does the same as Izana, his jaw tightly clenched as he crosses his arms on his chest, feet crossed. The younger male clears his throat, and starts to rationalise the situation.

“It’s obvious that we’re going to switch gears since this happened. We all have a curated reputation that we need to protect so that people don’t nose into our business.” He turns to Mikey who is still glaring hard at Izana. “Your brother has a point, you fucked up our plan by not telling anyone what you did-”

“You judging me too, Kisaki?”

“Can you stop being defensive for once Mikey and just listen!” Kisaki scolds, just about done with everyone making things more difficult for him. “I don’t care what you did to her, whatever affection or lust you have for her is a you problem. I just want this situation to be in our favour.”

The statement makes Izana scoff in dismal fashion, but he decides to ask out of curiosity regardless. “And how do you intend to turn this situation around? Cause right now she has leverage over us and any careless move can put us in a tougher spot than we can handle.”

Kisaki turns his attention fully towards Izana again, a knowing look on his face as he asks. “Is Kakucho done searching Mikey’s car?”

‘How did he know?’ Izana blinks, but then catches Hanma smirking and doesn’t bother to ask his impending questions. Kisaki always had a nasty and suspicious habit of continuously tailing him specifically, and usually it doesn’t go over Izana’s radar when it happens, apart from this instance. Which meant someone was being a rat in his group.

He’ll deal with that later.

Mikey raised a brow in confusion as well, opening his mouth to protest the invasion of his privacy when Izana’s phone suddenly rings. He picks it up, attempting to step out to answer it when Kisaki raises his hand to stop him.

“Answer it here.” Kisaki said, ignoring the way Izana looks at him like he has two heads. “and put it on speaker.”

He had no reason to comply, but he wanted to see where Kisaki was going with whatever plan he had. With a wry smile, Izana put the phone down on the table and slid the answer button, putting it on a loudspeaker.

“Did you find anything Kakucho?”

Ever loyal, Kakucho clears his throat and starts to speak, his voice sounding strained over the phone, as if he’s struggling with something. “Yes boss.” He answers, a twinge of nervousness coating his tone. “There’s a dash cam on the mirror and a spy cam underneath the compartment facing the passenger’s seat…”

Mikey grumbles under his breath something about fucking Kakucho up if anything ends up spoilt or missing in his car but Kisaki holds his hand up to his lips and shushes him. Izana continues once he’s sure his brother is done complaining. “And did you confirm the anonymous tip that we got?”

He can hear Kakucho shift uncomfortably, the silence on the other side of the phone drawn out until he finally says. “Boss, it’s too … I don’t think we should use this against her.” He tries to reason. “I think we’re going too far-”

“Perfect.” Kisaki chimes in, now looking at Izana with a satisfied smile. Kakucho is about to ask why Kisaki was there but Izana cuts him off instead. “Bring it back. I’ll explain once you come to the house.”

“Okay boss.”

The phone line dies and Kisaki, fairly confident in his plan, looks at Izana once again. “I’m sure you know where I’m going, right?”

Izana may think Kisaki is a pathetic brat who just happened to be smart, but right now, it’s like the both of them are connected and in tune with their thoughts. The tanned male stretches his lips into a smile, one full of malice and at the same time, glee, his eyes light with mirth when he realises what Kisaki was thinking.

Finally a plan he could follow along with.

“Alright, I’m all ears.”

THE walk back to your dorm was quiet.

By the time you managed to catch a bus after spending the entire day looking for a job and getting back to campus, it was already late in the night. Save for only the street lamps that were beginning to dim, everywhere else was darker than usual.

You had read that there was going to be a lunar eclipse tonight between the hours of 10pm - 00am. The time boldly written on the bus’ digital clock before you got down was 10:45pm, so you already assumed it was the cause of the unnatural darkness tonight.

A long time ago before the world weighed you down, things like this would have made you excited. You loved watching the stars when you were young, trying to check on the papers your father bought to see if there was any space news available. You remember borrowing your immediate elder brother’s binoculars as a makeshift telescope, trying to piece out the stars in the sky or see if you would catch a glimpse of the comet that was said to pass through that week.

Unfortunately, you were young and foolish. Wanting to impress your father, you told him all about your book of constellations that you drew up, detailing the first star that appeared every evening, down to your crazy childish theories about aliens and space.

“Can you show me the book?” your father asked calmly. You should have known it was dangerous for your father to be this calm, but you were too blinded by excitement to think and you gave him the book, a bright smile on your face.

Your smile fell as his large hands ripped your book into shreds, before telling you: “Women don’t dream.”

Maybe that was the day you realised the love you craved from your father will never be given to you. You were so young and impressionable, all you wanted was for him to be proud of you, like he was with his sons. Now, you can’t even look at the stars, the memory leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and you try to shake it off as you continue on the path.

You wondered what grievous sin you’ve committed to be so down on your luck like this. Today had been one disappointment to another

You passed by Emma’s dorm building, a sigh escaping your lips. She told you that Draken wanted to take her out for dinner tonight, which shocked you because friends with benefits - according to what Emma herself told you- don’t go on dates or do lovey dovey stuff with each other, to avoid complicated feelings from budding.

Then again, their relationship is based on the fact that they both have feelings for each other, but Draken was not interested in a relationship.

It was already complicated before it began but at least she's taking your advice and talking to them again.

Your eyes darted up to her window, hoping her lights were on. Whenever she was alone, Emma hated sleeping in the dark. She said it reminded her of the times her mother would lock her and Izana in a dark room whenever she brought her customers in. Anytime she was in a darkened room, she told you she could still hear the sound of her mother moaning and a man grunting. Izana would try his best to distract her, playing games or even stealing an earphone and plugging it to his own so that she would listen to music instead of what was going on.

A frown graced your lips when you saw two bodies from the curtain, one tall figure you recognize as Draken and Emma’s smaller dainty figure perched on him, kissing. You quickly averted your eyes and walked faster, ignoring the unfamiliar pang in your chest. Maybe you’re jealous because you needed your friend’s comfort right now and she wasn’t available. You felt greedy for this, after spending a week with her, you should let her be free.

‘She has her own life to live. And I have mine’ you muttered to yourself as you trudged along the path, slowly dragging your feet. ‘I have to stop being so dependent on her.’

Eventually, your thoughts drift back to your reoccurring dream. Losing your job made you realise that if you didn’t do anything about it, your tiredness would eventually catch up to you and ruin everything else you’ve worked for. With an important test scheduled for tomorrow, you knew you could not afford to take another loss this week. You had to power through your sleep tonight, even if it traumatised you.

‘Maybe I should pretend that I like it. Pretend it’s okay and enjoy it so that I won’t have to wake up.’ You shook your head, cursing as you drew closer to your own dorm building. ‘Oh God, how far I’ve fallen. Look at me trying to enjoy a disgraceful act-’

You paused in your tracks at the sound of a leaf crushing. You quickly turned around, trying to ascertain who could be lurking there behind the bushes. Your palms started sweating, your nerves firing at the thought of being watched.

Silence.

You decided to continue walking, assuming that maybe you were hearing things and there wasn’t anything at all. Nighttime always had a way of making you nervous, especially with all the horrible stories you heard about innocent women being attacked around these times. Besides, looking around for whatever may be lurking was a dumb idea.

You should just get out of here.

Eventually, you make it to your dorm house in record time, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. ‘Maybe I’m being paranoid. But at least I’m safe now.’ You think to yourself as you push the door open, closing it behind you.

Weary from the day’s stress, your body starts to give up on you but you push through, trying your best to just make it to your room. You’re sure you would just collapse on your bed the second you got there and forget about anything else.

But as you reach for the handle, a feeling of dread washes over you, the same one you felt when you were outside. ‘I really need to let this go. There’s no harm waiting for me. It’s just my room.’ You mutter to yourself. Your overthinking has cost you a lot, from your job to your academics and right now, you really need it to stop. Pushing whatever feeling was keeping you away, you walked into the darkened room.

You finally make it to your room, about to rummage your bag for the keys when you notice the door was unlocked. ‘Oh? Ami must have come back rather early, since I barely see her until 2am.’

(From here is edited)

The first thing that greeted you was the stench of some kind of smoke -weed, the kind that Ami liked to use whenever she was in the room. You always hated the smell and you recall telling her to leave the windows open whenever she wanted to smoke. Coughing, you quickly covered your nose and mouth with one hand and reached to turn on the light with another. “Ami, how many times have I told you to open the window whenever you smoke? You know I don’t like the smell-”

Your blood turns to ice the moment light floods the room, your mouth dry as you stare at the man perched on your reading chair, a leg crossed over the other, the weed blunt hanging between his tanned hands. His lips are stretched into a sick grin, showing all his teeth, purple eyes shining with an odd mirth as he glances at you up and down.

Izana Kurokawa.

‘Run’

You don’t need to be told twice, quickly discarding your bag and running towards the direction of the door, only to hit someone hard, standing tall in your way. You look up fearfully to see mismatched eyes, a scar running down his face and flinch backwards in reflex. It’s as if he gazes at you with pity, but quickly switches to a blank stare as he stands between you and the door.

You know him from hanging around Emma a lot in the Tenjiku frat house, Kakucho. He’s always around Izana and only loyal to him for some reason that you don’t know. He doesn’t listen to anyone else, not even Mikey. You realise that he might have been the one that was following you when you were walking home.

Begging him to let you pass would be futile.

“Don’t worry, I’m just here to have a little chat with you. I’m not going to hurt you.” His tone is calm, but it doesn’t bring you any comfort. If Mikey could hurt you without any remorse, then there’s nothing stopping Izana from doing worse to you. “And as much as your backside is as interesting as your face, I prefer talking to someone who is looking at me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The words fly out from your mouth before you even think of a more appropriate response but it doesn’t seem to give him any form of reaction other than a dry laugh.

He scoffed. “I don’t care. Turn around.”

Reluctantly you slowly turn to face him again, your body trembling as your fear filled eyes lock with his. Your heart drops to your stomach when you hear heavy footsteps walk out of the door, shutting it behind you, locks turning and trapping you with Izana.

‘Oh God oh God oh God.’

Your fear doesn’t go unnoticed by the white haired man, and he only chuckles at how stiff you were. Between the two brothers, you know Izana thrives in fear, using it to his advantage and it’s not unfounded. Notwithstanding his backing from Black dragons, Izana had taken Tenjiku from a down and out frat house, to a den of crime that holds power, trickling right into the administration of the university. Even his men know better than to ever get themselves in his bad books, because no one can ever escape him, no matter how much you try to run.

It was only a matter of time until he would make you pay for causing him problems, but you didn’t think he’d come by himself. You felt stupid for thinking he wouldn’t care about you or he’d forget how angry he was at you and leave you alone, especially with Emma still not on speaking terms with them.

He motions with his bunt for you to come closer to him and you comply, taking careful steps until you’re standing right in front of him. He eyes you again with a tepid frown. “When you meet a king, you don’t stand before him, you kneel.”

Kneel. You want to assume he’s not serious but you know better than to question him and go down on your knees, focusing your gaze firmly on your lap. It’s humiliating the way he has you at his mercy, without even moving an inch but it’s better to be compliant than to aggravate him even further by being disobedient.

You’ve learned the hard way what could happen if you resist.

From the corner of your eyes, you watch as Izana puts out his weed blunt on your reading table leaving a sorching mark on the table, before reaching behind his waistband. Your mouth grows dry the second you see the gun, your heart pounding against your chest as he presses the barrel to your head.

‘Oh god.’ You gasp as he presses it further against your head, until you’re sure it would leave an indent. ‘He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me…’

“That’s odd,” He murmurs. “Usually, other people would be begging for their lives when met with a gun to their head, but you’re quiet. If not for the way your hands are trembling, I’d think you weren’t scared.”

This time, with a gun pointed at your head, you’re careful with your words. “Y-you said you won’t hurt me.” Your voice shakes with fear but you continue. You know men like Izana, he reminds you of your older brother who ruled the house apart from your father, with fear and control. Sometimes, when you were able to stroke his ego, he’d go easy on you. Maybe that would work on Izana too. “That you want to talk.”

“And what if I changed my mind? Pulled the trigger? That’ll make my life easier, yeah? I won’t have to fight for my sister’s love and affection with you.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat when you hear the safety go off and watch as his finger curls around the trigger. ‘Oh God, he’s going to kill me. He’ll shoot me dead. I-i have to say something- I don’t want to die-’

“I-i trust you not to do it.” You reply, your lips trembling as you struggle not to think of your head scattered into pieces on the floor if he chooses to kill you. “You’re a man of your words.”

There’s another complete silence that engulfs the entire room, until you hear a click that makes you flinch for a split second, waiting for the bullet that would end it all. Instead, it’s him putting the safety back on, and chuckling at your reaction.

“You trust me? How foolish.” He laughs, tracing the gun from your head down to underneath your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You’ve only read about people with empty eyes in stories, but seeing it in person was so terrifying. “Is that why you ended up with Mikey in his car?”

All the blood rushes from your head to the tip of your toes. “H-how do you kn-”

“I have eyes and ears in this school, (name).” You’re sure it’s the first time you’ve heard him call you by your name and despite being in a life or death situation, you couldn’t control the shiver that ran through your spine. “You wanted him to touch you, right?”

“T-that is not what happened!” You suddenly cried out, trying to explain your own side of the story. Of all the people who know your dirty and shameful secret, Izana is the worst pick, just your luck. “It was a mistake! I tried to tell him I didn’t want it but I couldn’t-”

“Ah ah -” Izana cuts you off, tilting your chin higher with the gun. “Don’t lie to me. You must have planned the entire thing to make Mikey look bad”

“No! I wasn’t trying to do anything, I just wanted to talk-”

“Really? Cause Mikey told me an entirely different story-”

“No, no I- didn’t… -”

“You were dangling yourself like a piece of meat for him to fuck and he’s a man, you know. He has urges and it's hard to resist temptation.”

“That’s not true-” your lips start to tremble at his words, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You didn’t want to be assaulted, you just wanted to talk to him about the Emma issue and you wanted to apologise. “That’s not true-”

“Oh but it is.” He said firmly, now leaning in closer to your face until there’s barely any inches between the two of you. “And now Mikey feels like a piece of shit because he couldn’t stop himself.”

“No-” your voice is small, trying to defend yourself but even you are beginning to doubt your own credibility with how he keeps twisting the narrative around until you begin to actually believe him.

‘No! Don’t let him make you think you’re in the wrong! You know what happened!’

“He even told you to leave but you refused to. You were baiting him to just do something to you so that you can tell everyone how bad Mikey is and make yourself get more sympathy points. Am I wrong?”

“No! I would never do that to Mikey!” You don’t realise your tempo had suddenly gotten high or that tears had started to drip down your face, but Izana did. He doesn’t point it out, staying quiet as you start to shout at him. “I would never bait him into hurting me! I just wanted to make up with him because I felt that I overreacted at the party I swear! And then he touched me in the car -”

“And you never reported him to the school authorities? Why? Did you want to blackmail him for money-”

“Because I love him!”

The words flew out of your mouth before you could even stop yourself from saying them.

Your heart drops as a mischievious glint appears in Izana’s eyes. His smile drops slightly, still maintaining the gun on your chin. “You love him?” He says slowly, testing out the words on his lips. “Love? Mikey?” He looks so deep in thought, like the concept sounds so foreign to him that he almost can’t believe it. His gaze falls back to you again, a quiet scoff emanating from his lips. “You really have no shame, do you?”

Unable to maintain eye contact with him, you break away from his gaze, biting down on your lips to prevent yourself from falling apart. When you don’t respond, Izana takes your silence as an opportunity to keep talking. “If you love him so much, then what’s wrong with what you both did in the car that day? It was what you wanted, wasn't it?”

“Not like that…”

“But you claim to love him.” Izana is calm and cool, while you’re stuttering on your words, making you look like you’re the one who is wrong. Like what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense to begin with and he’s the one saying something of reason. “And yet, you didn’t even notice he wasn’t himself that day. Or did you take advantage of his fragile state of mind?”

“I would NEVER-”

“You would, because you get to be the so-called victim and he gets to be the villain in your own story. Do you really know the implication of your actions?”

“That’s not right.” You don’t even realize how quiet you’ve gotten, your voice full of uncertainity. “I didn’t … it’s not…”

“Shut up.” He cuts you off again with a firm tone, tapping the gun on your chin gently to enunciate his point. “The reason why I haven’t put a bullet through your head as much as I want to is because I love Emma. I love Emma so much I’d kill for her and I’d resist the urge to kill for her. That’s how Sano’s love. That’s true love. That's something you'll never ever experience.”

You stay silent, trying to understand what exactly Izana was calling love. He leaned closer, making you feel even smaller. “If Emma finds out, she’ll think Mikey intentionally hurt you and she will hate him. But I guess that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Never. I don’t want her to hate him” your inner voice telling you it’s not your fault, is nothing more than a whisper, the feeling of guilt and shame overtaking you until you’re almost suffocating. “I just want them to be happy…”

“Then you know exactly what you’re meant to do, right?”

Of course you know what to do. Ever since you were child, it’s been drilled into your head. Whenever your brothers hit you a bit too hard or your father went overboard with his belt and you ended up in the hospital, your mother would take you aside to issue a warning that still rings in your head. That had terrible consequences if you refused to follow through with it.

You nod weakly. It really doesn’t matter what is right and wrong when it comes to the Sano’s, but what they want. Izana taps the gun on your chin again, shaking his head. “I need a verbal answer.”

“I won’t tell anybody what happened. Especially not Emma.”

Satisfied, he withdrew his gun from your chin and your face falls onto his lap, unable to support your head any longer. You feel a hand reaching down to pet your head, like you were a dog who had just been tamed by her new owner. The strength to push him off or stand up had left you, feeling drained as the weight of guilt settle down on your shoulders, heavily. You know you shouldn’t believe anything Izana says, but then again he does have a point. Maybe you should have been more receptive of Mikey’s touch or at least be polite about declining him instead of shoving him off and hurting his pride.

You feel so utterly powerless. Despite being wronged, you know there’s nothing you can really do to save yourself. You don’t think you can bear the traumatic experience of being an outlier again.

Mikey. You don’t want to hurt him. You don’t want anyone thinking he’s a bad person over a singular action.

'Maybe it’s not as bad as I think, I did enjoy it mid-way, so it should count as something. Right?'

You feel sick just trying to think about it.

“You know, if you’re this obedient, we can get along just fine.” He hums, breaking the silence as he pets your head gently. You hate yourself right now. How easy it is to do whatever it is that you’re told because disobedience is not an option. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to know what I’ll do to you if you break your promise.”

“No” your voice is quiet. You feel tired, sick maybe, you don’t know. Maybe it’s the weed he smoked earlier affecting your judgement and reasoning. Or it’s the lack of sleep that has made it difficult for you to think straight or stand up. Either way, you don’t care. “I don’t.”

“Good girl.”

Bonus:

You know he’s mocking you, but you accept it, like you do with every circumstance thrown at you.

  IZANA looks down at your sleeping figure with a curious gaze.

For a moment, he almost pities you. Despite the faint glow of the room lighting, he can see the dark circles underneath your eyes and how stressed you look. For someone who is actively working to pay her fees while sustaining herself with no one caring for her, it must be hard being abandoned by society.

He can see why Emma picked you to be her friend, she always had a trait of picking up stray animals who had no one because she wanted something to protect. It’s no different with you, the way she’s so fiercely loyal to you and why she wanted you to be accepted by their family. No wonder she was hurt when you were vehemently rejected by them.

If he had a conscience, he’d feel bad for you. You love Mikey, of all people, someone who only saw you as a nuisance and to push the blame of his actions onto. All those times Mikey was cruel to you must have hurt the most because you truly cared about what he thinks about you.

He’s careful when he lifts your head from his lap, not wanting to wake you up. He puts your head on the chair and turns to leave, already overstaying his welcome. He’s done the thing he was supposed to, ensuring you stayed quiet about Mikey’s actions and there’s no need for him to be here any longer.

As he walked to the door, his mind goes back to you. In a way, you and him were similar. All alone, unwanted, with nobody in the world to care about you, cold, uncaring parents who didn’t think twice in terms of abandoning you both. The only difference between you and him is that he grew a backbone and you haven’t. You’re like a kicked dog who continues to stay on the ground to get kicked, in hopes the person kicking you stops eventually.

As long as you stay on the ground, people like him will keep kicking you.

He knocks loudly on the door and the locks turn. Kakucho opens it for him, peering inside with a worried gaze, his eyes settling on your body slumped over a chair.

“Did you hit -”

“I didn’t touch her.” Izana snaps at the taller male, stepping out of the room properly. “She’s fine, physically at least. Emotionally she’s a mess. But that’s Mikey’s problem to fix.”

“Huh?”

It wouldn’t hurt to tell Kakucho your little secret.  “Apparently (name)’s in love with my dear brother Mikey so she’s keeping quiet what he did to her.” a cruel smile stretches across his face. “How pathetic.”

Kakucho frowns at Izana’s statement, but as usual he doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, his eye darts back to your form again, taking a good look at you, his eyes softening. Ever the gentleman.

“She shouldn’t really stay like that Izana, she’ll get a stiff neck-”

“Kakucho.”

That was enough to end the conversation.

special thanks to: (please turn on your mentions in 'settings' before filling the form.): @officiallyjaehyuns @haikyuusboringassmanager @ilybbg @merrymerrykiss @cockonoi @Rindou24689 @short-cxke @kokoch4n3l @GenAwi @ryuguji-sana @nuyoo @reiners-milkbiddies @kiwixpi @gh0stgirl333 @brisssaaa009 @fushiqruo @kawaiikoalagarden @damidamimongalam @raven-nevra @ilovetwodmen @kodzubaby @straightfromheaven @manchie55 @pikibee @tomeyano @matchamilktea-05 @tenjikusstuff4 @m0onz1 @hapikiou @rainnyzz @Lovelyartistz @lik0 @maraya-007 @thisismarisaaa @reeyy0-2 @littlemisspropaganda @cherie026

[smileyoongle]

Pairing- VampireKing!Jungkook × Human!Reader

Genre- Arranged Marriage AU (Sort of?), Enemies to Lovers, Soulmate AU

Summary- Jeon Jungkook was known to be a tyrant, destroying anything and everything to get what he wanted. And this time, he wanted you.

Warnings- Mentions of blood, gore and murder scenes, eventual smut, JK is definitely a hard dom and mad possessive, vampire bites and blood sucking.

A/N- Even though I have tagged the people who asked to be tagged, there will be no taglist for this series from here on. I only tagged you guys to sort of let you know this series has started. It's a big struggle to keep all those usernames up to date so you might wanna turn on the notifs :)

Please find the introduction to the world of Amour Mort here!

You ran through the forest, tears in your eyes making it difficult to see the path ahead, but you could tell you were venturing deeper into the more dangerous side. At the back of your mind, you were very aware that you shouldn’t be here past midnight, and that if someone found you breaking curfew, you would probably be executed by the throne, thinking you were some sort of rebel revolting in the recent uprisings. But all of that paled in comparison to the despair gnawing at your soul.

The branches clawed at your skin, leaving angry red marks, but you didn’t slow down, only realizing you had come here barefoot when tiny stones began hurting the bottom of your feet. You were being chased—not by a person, but by your own thoughts and the relentless ache in your chest. Your father’s words would not stop playing in your mind, your palms pressing against your ears as you closed your eyes in an attempt to silence his voice.

"You're nothing but a burden to me. I wish you had never been born!"

Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through your right foot, sending you stumbling and falling to the ground with all the air being knocked out of your lungs. You winced, letting out a whimper as you managed to look back, gasping at the bear trap that had clamped around your foot. Its teeth dug into your flesh, and blood pooled on the dead leaves beneath you.

“No…” you cried out, sobbing at your misfortune, the pain from your wound shooting through your leg in waves. A thought came to you: maybe this is how you die, completely alone and unloved, with no one to care that you weren’t at home right now.

‘That’s not true! Lila cares…’

Your mind screamed at you, your sister’s pretty face popping into your head. Well, this was true; your sister did care about you. But really, there was only so much she could do when your father did not even acknowledge you as his daughter. You still remembered the party where a guest mistook you for a maiden working in the mansion. It had truly hurt you, but there was nothing you could say, not when that is probably what your father wanted the world to think. A part of you thinks he hates you because your mother died just five days after you were born, but how could you, a mere baby, be at fault for that?

Gathering all your energy, you began to drag yourself to a tree nearby, wincing and whimpering with every wave of pain that washed over you. You could even feel the burn on the skin of your forearms where it rubbed against the rocky and muddy ground, convinced that the sleeve of your dress was beginning to tear. Were you even going to make it back home? Did you even want to make it back home?

Upon reaching the giant tree, you pushed yourself up, managing to rest your back against the trunk, finally getting a good look at the steel trap wrapped around your foot. Meant for animals, it was likely a tool for the poorer vampires who couldn’t afford human slaves and fed on animal blood instead. It was the one law that favored humans: vampires were forbidden to feed on them freely. But nonetheless, it was always the innocent ones who had to pay the price. The night-walkers were given the gift of strength and brutality that they used against the weak, be it you or an animal.

Your chest rose and fell quickly, your breathing growing harsh, and your vision growing blurry. It was the blood loss, and you couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. Either you were getting used to it, or your body had started focusing on the fact that you were dying instead. Whatever was happening, it was not good, and you had no idea how to help yourself.

“You shouldn’t be here. Not at this time.” A voice broke through the darkness, making you jump in surprise, your eyes immediately landing on a man’s silhouette standing just a few steps away from you. Your heart hammered in your chest, and, swallowing thickly, you pressed yourself further against the tree, hoping that would make you disappear.

Was this someone who was going to turn you in? Maybe the cause of your death was going to be execution and not a bear trap?

Your silence only prompted the man to move closer to you and into the moonlight filtering through the trees, your lips parting as you took in his face. He was truly breathtaking, with black hair that fell across his forehead and eyes that seemed to pierce through the night. There was black ink peeking at you from under the collar of his black shirt on his neck, more patterns emerging from under his rolled-up sleeve right up to his knuckles, making you wonder just how much of his body was tainted like this.

“N-neither should you,” you said bravely, though your voice was small and weak.

He chuckled in response, making you purse your lips as you watched him kneel down beside you, your body subconsciously shifting backward even though there was nowhere to go, every single thought in your mind long gone in the presence of this man.

His eyes slowly moved across your body, taking in your tear-stained cheeks, your tattered dress, and your bloody foot, tutting at the condition of your wound.

“This is why you shouldn’t be here, little human,” he said, your eyes widening as you caught a hint of amusement on his face, your blood running cold at the realization. Your breath was caught in your throat, and you were suddenly very aware of the blood you were soaked in, your eyes nervously flitting between him and your poor foot. If you had to die, you didn’t want to do so at the hands of a vampire. In fact, you couldn’t even imagine the pain that was probably about to suffocate you when he ripped your heart right out of your chest.

“Please don’t kill me,” you begged, staring into his eyes with tears in yours, shaking your head when he smirked and leaned in closer to you. Closing your eyes, you let the tears fall freely and turned your face away from him, his breath fanning your neck and making you whimper.

“You must taste exquisite.” He inhaled deeply, your chest heaving as his words made your heart thump harder in your chest. This has to be it. He was going to drain your body right now, and no one was going to find out ever.

Preparing yourself for the attack, you closed your eyes shut and gripped the skirt of your dress, thinking about your family for the last time before your life was taken from you.

“But I’m not going to do that.” Came his voice, your eyes slowly opening as you glanced over at him, noticing the sudden distance he had put between the two of you. A frown etched on your forehead, your tears drying up on your cheeks as you processed his words. He was not going to hurt you?

“I’m too old to lose control over a bit of blood.” He gestured nonchalantly towards your foot, shocking you at how he thought this was just a bit of blood. You were literally going to pass out soon.

“Wh-why are you here?” you stammered, biting your tongue when his expression hardened, his eyes sending daggers your way and letting you know that you shouldn’t have asked him that. Silence engulfed you both, your eyes failing to look away from him. It was almost as if he was holding you prisoner under his gaze, a flash of guilt disappearing from his dark eyes as soon as it came.

“I had to get away before they caught up to me,” he confessed, a cool breeze ruffling his hair as he stood up and stared down at you, his eyes reading the confusion in yours.

“Who-”

“My sins,” he responded before you could even ask, his thick boots crunching the leaves on the gravelly path as he walked in front of your stretched-out leg and sat down on one knee. A flash of lightning struck through the sky at that very second, as if to show that the heavens had heard his confession too. And when the thunder illuminated his face, you could swear you had seen the very face of evil.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked, tilting his head as you swallowed thickly, shaking your head hesitantly. But you knew he didn’t believe you when he let out a small laugh. It sounded bitter to your ears, like he was mocking you for being so weak yet trying to fool him at the same time.

“Well, you should be.” In one quick motion, his hand ripped apart the trap into two pieces, your flesh being freed from the sharp claws that were jammed into it. Dots filled your vision as your lips parted in a silent scream, your chest hurting as if you were having a heart attack, and maybe you were because you felt your body go limp as your eyes rolled back into your head.

Strong arms held you before you could hit the ground, your head suddenly resting against a firm chest as your breath came out all raggedy. You could feel sweat beading on your forehead, your body not having any energy to even let you open your eyes for a second.

“W-why…” you breathed out, your voice a bare whisper in the night. And the next thing you knew, you felt a hand pressing against your lips before a metallic taste filled your mouth. With all the energy left in you, you opened your eyes wide and grabbed the tattooed arm feeding you blood, your attempts at pushing it away failing miserably.

“Sshh, you need this. You need me,” the vampire whispered above you, his chin resting atop your head as he ran his free hand through your hair. Knowing that you couldn’t fight him off, not like this, you gave up and swallowed the disgusting liquid that made your body feel warm all of a sudden. You could hear your heart pumping and your breathing steadying as the blood worked its way into your system, your senses sharpening, and your strength slowly returning.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled his arm away, and you let out a string of coughs, gasping for air while the awful taste lingered on your tongue. It was truly ironic how the blood of someone dead could heal a living being. How a killer could give life to someone. And you were sure that this man who had saved your life was a killer too. Why else would he talk about his sins catching up to him?

“What did you do that you had to run away?” you asked as soon as you found your voice, your tired eyes glancing up at the man holding you. His eyes flitted between your eyes and your lips, sending shivers down your spine when he brought up his thumb and rubbed away some blood from the corner of your mouth.

“What’s your name?” He avoided your question smoothly, pretending you hadn’t spoken a word to him. Frowning, you thought about it for a moment, wondering whether it was a good idea to tell him who you were. But at the same time, you weren’t a very valuable human. There was really nothing he could want from you that would make him hunt you down.

“Y/N,” you said, averting your gaze to your foot, which was now void of any wounds. Your skin looked completely smooth and untouched except for the dried blood staining it, leaving you staring in awe.

“Well, Y/N,” he started, regaining your attention, “you’re gonna find out tomorrow.”

You frowned at his words, wondering if this implied that he was going to see you tomorrow to tell you what sin he had committed. Too lost in your head to notice that he had stood up, you saw him offer his hand to you. Your fingers hesitantly took hold of his cold ones. With ease, he pulled you up as you slightly lifted your dress and examined your foot, pleased with the fact that there was absolutely no pain anymore.

“This is-” You turned to glance at the man, only to be met with darkness. The vampire was gone, the forest was silent, and you were alone once again.

______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @scuzmunkie @girl8890 @adasboredom @acrazybiotch374 @tutnotmytea @leilei-9 @yoonjinhusbands @kumakoyan @ttanniett

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

The right ones.

Pic credits

Pairing: Soft!Joel Miller x reader, no outbreak (Sarah is alive and well)

Summary: Joel buys you pads. ‘Cause Joel provides, you know, no matter the situation.

Tags: established relationship, pet names (baby, honey), reader has period and hair, no other description is given, mention of period symptoms, mention of cramps, mention of pads, mention of Sarah, flirting, kissing, Joel is a sweet pookie bear, I think that’s all? It’s just some tiny little fluff I wrote because I’m about to get my period and I need some comfort 🥲

I tried to write it in a neutral way so that every person who menstruates can identify with it, I hope I succeeded. (if you think there are things that need to be changed, just tell me and I'll do it ❤️)

English is not my first language, no beta and no proofreading so any mistake is all my fault, I’m sorry 💀

Thanks to anyone who will read this!

Your cell phone rings.

“Hey! What’s up, honey?”

“Um… listen, which ones did you say you need?”

“The ones with wings, Joel. Blue box, second shelf from the bottom.”

Usually you are the one who takes care of groceries and hygiene products shopping and by now you know by heart where they are.

“Mh…” you can see him. In the middle of the aisle, frowning, one hand on his hip and the other one holding the phone, one knee slightly forward, as he tries to maneuver through the boxes, they must all look the same to him.

“The ones that say ‘night, with wings, extra long’,” you add to try to help him.

Silence follows, several deep breaths, an undertone of exasperation, you bite your lower lip to keep from bursting out laughing. You don’t want to make fun of him, he’s trying hard to make it right.

He offered to do it for you this morning while you were in the bathroom and you discovered that not only had your period decided to come early but you were also almost out of pads.

You let out a sigh and cursed, “Oh damn!” You were in a foul mood, the cramps were making you squirm, your head was hurting, your back was tormenting you.

He was getting dressed, clearly heard you and asked worried “what’s wrong?”

You walked out of the bathroom with your head down and one hand on your stomach feeling miserable “UGH, my stupid period came and I’m running out of pads”

You sat on the bed and grabbed your phone from the nightstand as a terrible nausea hit you, and you called out of work saying you were sick.

His large hand caressed your face as he leaned down to kiss you.

“I’ll go to the supermarket during lunch break,” he said softly “Stay in bed and rest, okay?”

“Thank you so much” you said, lying down on the bed again and burying your face into your pillow, feeling cramps clawing inside you “you’re the absolute best”

He leaned to kiss your cheek and then left the house to reach the construction site.

—————

He had done it for Sarah one of the first times she had her period and he had bought the wrong type, the thick and bulky ones, she had looked at the box with a downhearted expression that had made his heart sink.

“Those aren't the ones I wanted, Dad! I told you extra thin!” She screamed at him between sobs.

Joel felt like a good-for-nothing.

Making Sarah cry was terrible for him.

He later discovered that his daughter's tantrum was also a side effect of her period and Sarah had apologized to him but Joel still felt that he was the one who had to apologize for his lone wolf status that didn't allow him to have someone by his side to ask for help.

He would have liked to fall in love, yet he had to make it on his own, he certainly didn’t have time to date between work and all the other things he had to take care of. Being a single dad was a full time job.

After that, Joel had memorized the type that Sarah liked best but she had always conveniently made sure to stock up every time they went to the supermarket.

It had been many years since he had bought them for her and he found himself back at square one. Packages are so different, he could swear there are a dozen new ones he's never seen before.

He pinches his nose, takes a deep breath and then he sees it, just like you described it.

"I found them!" you hear him say enthusiastically "I'll be there soon"

"Good job! I'll be waiting for you, love" you coo.

He grabs the box and he goes to the checkout.

You hang up the phone wondering if he really has the ones you want but in any case you’re already grateful that he used his lunch break to bring them to you.

When he met you he was convinced he would be alone forever.

You had reopened his heart little by little, with patience, without pushing him to do or say what he wasn't ready for yet and he had rediscovered himself as a man capable of loving and in need of receiving it. He was grateful for this, he’s madly in love with you and wants to do everything he can to help you in every circumstance.

————————

Joel has quietly entered your room and find you asleep.

He sits on the bed trying not to wake you.

Your hair spread out on the pillow, your face relaxed, your mouth slightly agape and your hand hanging loosely next to your face… you are so beautiful he can’t believe it. He’s the luckiest man in the world and the least he can do is bring you the right damn box. He leave the bag on your nightstand, kisses you on the temple and goes to the kitchen to make some sandwiches.

You wake up after a couple of minutes and see the bag so you grab it to look inside.

Bingo.

Joel wasn’t wrong, they are exactly the ones you wanted. And you find your favorite chocolate bar in it too.

You hear him humming softly in the kitchen so you get up to go and congratulate your hero.

“Hey, gorgeous!” he says to you as soon as he sees you at the kitchen door. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” you say, stretching your arms. Luckily the painkiller you took worked.

“I’m happy to hear that. Go back to bed, I’ll bring you a sandwich in a bit” You move closer and wrap your arms around his waist, leaning against his back as he spreads mayo on the bread.

“You don’t have to do all this, but thank you” you whisper “I love you so much” His body is warm and welcoming, you bury your face in his plaid shirt inhaling his woody scent, so familiar and seductive.

Joel is like that, he had never been good with words, his love language is gestures. And he makes tons of them, constantly, small and big. He remembers which flowers you like best, he brings you Chinese food when you tell him you had a bad day, he watches your romantic comedies with you even if they bore him, he lets you choose the music in the car even if he's old school and you're belting out Billie Eilish and Chappell Roan these days, if something in the house broke, you find it repaired the next day without even asking.

“I love you too” he says, dropping the knife on the counter and placing his hands on yours, holding you close.

“You got the right ones, I'm proud of you” you tell him softly.

He turns to kiss you “Good, I’m glad I could help”

The tip of your tongue grazes his lips and you gently make your way into his mouth, moaning against him while he fills his hands with your ass squeezing it.

“Mmm baby, don't provoke me, I don't have much time left before coming back to work unfortunately"

“We can always have a quickie, they say orgasms help with cramps, you know” you say in a slightly pleading voice, looking at his big brown beautiful eyes through your eyelashes.

“Oh well then if it's for a good cause…” he replies huskily.

“And then you deserve a prize”

“I also got you some chocolate, did you see?”

“Oh yes” you say grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him into the bedroom “I saw it and I love it, but I crave something else sweet right now”

Joel chuckles as he follows you into your shared bedroom “such a dirty little thing you are”