#someone is now missing a chunk of their arm

[snufkins-boot]

Dc x dp idea:

Klarion gets his ass handed to him by young justice so hard that he is on the verge of death. With what little energy he has left he creates a teleportation sigil before passing out.

When he wakes up he’s in the far frozen with teekl 1 and 2 next to him and a yeti and a boy slightly older than him across the room talking.

After talking with frostbite and getting to know Danny, Dani and Jazz he becomes a part of the Phantoms and by extension, a prince of the Infinate realms.

He’s still allowed to cause chaos on earth but he needs to have a way to communicate with frightknight or Danny and have both his now immortal cats with him.

The same old song and dance happens until young justice visit the Infinate realms and attack Klarion on sight only to be arrested.

[letorip]

crimson & clover

“now i don't hardly know her, but i think i could love her"

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x mute!reader

summary: people fear that which they do not understand. it makes sense then, why you and wednesday fall in love and help each other

warnings: erm you killed a lot of people on accident, angsty in the middle there, threats of violence, descriptions of violence

word count: 5.1k

A/N: heavily inspired by black bolt, who i really do think is one of my favourite heroes. there will likely be a part 2 or 3 to this but for rn my attention is on kiss with a fist. THERE WILL ALSO BE A PART [IV] OF SOMETHIN' STUPID

KISS WITH A FIST [IV] WILL BE UP NEXT SUNDAY

===+++===

===+++===

There were certain things you couldn’t have, when one had the ability to do incredible damage, if they just opened their mouth.

When you did so, on a random Saturday morning at 10 years old, and your house burst apart, it took your parents and a chunk of the neighbourhood with it in a fiery tempest that stabbed you right through the heart. You learned then, that maybe you weren't meant to have a family.

At age 12, when the kids at the Home for Outcast Children strung you up from the monkey bars by your ankles, and you couldn’t hold in a laugh from how the world looked funny when the sky looked like the floor, you learned you weren’t meant to have friends, sitting silently in the dirty crater where the playground used to be with your head tucked into your knees.

You had thought it would be implied then, that you would never have a lover, either. But then again, there was Wednesday Addams.

It was still a mystery, why she chose you. You had assumed she would want nothing to do with you just like she didn’t want anything to do with most people, and you couldn’t have been more wrong.

The both of you met about a week after she arrived at Nevermore, in the dead of night on one of the walks you always took when everyone else had gone to bed and there was no one to watch you, no one to murmur as you went past. You didn't pose a danger to anyone, then, and it was liberating and also deeply melancholic.

That was when you were most at peace. Your thoughts, even though well-reasoned, could not be expressed. You wrote often, in a leather-bound notebook you’d let no one see, but the power was given to writing through reading it, and there was no one you could have close enough to do so. It made you tired, to be around people you couldn’t communicate with. Few people wanted to wait for you to write something out on a notebook and even fewer wanted to learn sign language.

Kinbott had a dry-erase whiteboard in her office that was just meant for you and the only deaf person in Jericho, though the old man had gone missing a few months ago, without a trace. It was humiliating, at first, and you used to write two-word sentences, curt responses doing the bare minimum, often out of anger— whether it was anger from your situation or anger at being a teenager, you didn’t know— but now you could fill it with paragraphs and kept a notebook for when communication was especially necessary.

That night itself was peaceful, with gentle, twinkling stars that were only lightly polluted by the quad’s towering lamps. You could still see their faint outlines above you, with casting shadows down the lawn from the roof’s spires, and it smelled as if it were going to rain soon.

When you heard the scuttling of something on the floor, you jumped, startled, eyes shooting down to where you were certain you had felt someone’s fingers grip at your leg. Your eyes widened in surprise at the disembodied hand, racing up the uneven cobblestones and then up the leg of someone at the far end of the quad, landing finally on her shoulder.

Wednesday with her arms crossed, looking at you with a comically large bag slung over her shoulder that must've contained all of her belongings, like a runaway in the night.

Oh. That's what she was.

You blankly stared back at her, blinking at her figure. She took a menacing step forward, her grip on the bag tightening. "Are you following me?" she asked, tone icy. When you kept looking at her without so much as opening your mouth, her apathetic eyes narrowed. "If you tell anyone you saw me, they will never find your body. Don't say a word."

It was intended to be a threat, and if it had been anyone else, it probably would've made their blood run ice over just from how cold her gaze was. But you just raised your eyebrows at her, unable to stop the amusement from tugging at the corners of your lips. The irony was very far from lost on you, and the more serious she seemed the more funny the blunder was.

"What?" she snipped. "Is something amusing to you?"

Again, you could not say. You silently shook your head, tilting it then out of curiosity, and gently pointing towards the hand on her shoulder. It sat up at your attention, sending a friendly wave in your direction. Your eyes widened, waving before Wednesday could clear her throat and pull your eyes back up to hers.

Her eyes in question were dark and intense, but beautiful, even under the dim lighting, and you had to swallow what felt like a lump in your throat, in order to regain your composure. "Why are you silent?" she asked, narrowing them at you. You were under her microscope, and she scanned you, looking for anything that would impair your immediate voice.

You raised up a hand as if to say ‘hold on,’ before tugging your notebook out from your overcoat, flipping it open and pulling out your pen. With a click, you were scribbling down on the paper, and Wednesday narrowed her eyes at you again, scanning you in suspicion.

When you were done, you flipped it around, holding it up to her eyes with a gentle smile. 'Trust me, I don't think you'll need to worry about me telling anyone anything, anytime soon.'

Her eyes combed over the words, then glanced back down to you. "Why is—" she opened her mouth out of curiosity, but a heavy door slammed shut down the hall, and she whipped around before she could finish the question.

You both could hear the footsteps coming closer, and Wednesday straightened up, grip tightening on the bag over her shoulder. "You didn't see me, and you won't ever again," she said, coldly.

You nodded, not that you believed she'd make it out. You yourself had tried to run away for the first month and a half, and after long enough, one just gave up. Nevermore was hard to escape; you doubted she had readied a good enough plan in just a few days of being there. Still, you wished her luck. The forest was dangerous, and especially now.

With a final nod in your direction, she hastily walked off, down the corridor the opposite way. You watched her go, calmly sitting near the fountain. A few moments after she disappeared down a different hallway, a very tired looking Weems came down the stairs in her nightgown, holding onto a rusted lantern.

When she saw you, she sighed. "What did I say about those nighttime walks of yours, (Y/n)?"

You smiled, tilting your head to the side and shrugging at her. Weems huffed at your attempt at cluelessness, shaking her head fondly. "Just make sure you get yourself to bed soon, alright?"

You nodded, leaning back on the fountain edge and tracing the grout lines with your thumbs. Weems turned back to the hallway Wednesday went down. "I guess Miss Addams is planning to escape tonight?" But you didn't write anything down, raising your eyebrows at her as if to say 'duh.' Weems adjusted the hem of her nightgown from where it had dragged gently on the steps. "Thank you, (Y/n). I'll see you tomorrow."

She began to follow down the path Wednesday had taken, letting the lantern lead her through the dim corridor, and you silently yawned, picking up your notebook and figuring you had enough adventure for the night.

===+++===

That was your first unofficial meeting, at least. You almost forgot it had happened the following morning, except for when Wednesday showed up in class the next day looking more displeased and unhappy to be there than normal.

It was amusing how frustrated she was, mouth drawn into an annoyed line and eyes looking especially dark. When she caught your eye as she went to take her seat, you averted your gaze back down to your notebook to hide your cheeky smile, resuming your doodle in the margin and running a nervous hand through your hair.

She kept staring throughout the lecture, as if silently daring you to mention her failure, not that you could aloud. You weren’t willing to look back, but you could see her dark eyes shift up and across the round of tables towards you from the corner of your eye, which you made sure to keep on Thornhill.

After long enough, Xavier noticed too. He whispered something to her and then glanced up at you with a look that was far from friendly. He hadn't liked you one bit, but neither did any of the other kids, when they found out. You couldn't exactly blame them, either. The school was full of monsters, but you were a monster among monsters.

"Wednesday, Xavier," Thornhill called out, crossing her arms. She wasn't angry, though. More playful. "Is something more important than our study of carnivorous plants?"

Xavier began to shake his head, starting an apology, but Wednesday cut him off, blankly staring back at Thornhill as it left her mouth. "Yes."

At the challenge, the whole class seemed to let out a comically loud gasp. Thornhill's previously teasing smile dropped to a displeased frown, and she shoved her hands into the pockets of her overalls, motioning to the large glass enclosure on the table behind her. "I don't suppose you can tell me what this is, then?" At the question, you can see Bianca smirk and raise her own hand, eager to steal it away, "I haven't said the name out loud yet, and it will be on your test next—"

"—Dendrophylax lindenii." The interruption came swift from her lips, but Wednesday's eyes are still steeled over and unimpressed by Thornhill's attempt to be put on the spot.

You have to hide your amusement again, at the shocked look on Bianca's face, but she rushes to make up for it by adding something of her own. "It's also known as the Ghost Orchid—”

"—First discovered on the Isle of Wight in 1852," Wednesday adds, and once more she's won. Or, she would have. You can't help the shake your head does, or the cheeky smile on your face that Wednesday locks onto, like a heatseeking missile. Her eyes are like daggers, stabbing you through and through. "Is something funny?"

She says it across the entire classroom and everyone goes silent, less focused on the plants now and more the fact that she's acknowledging your presence. You shrug, trying to diffuse the situation, but it only makes her glare at you harder. "No, go on," Wednesday demands, her tone just as icy as she had been the night before. "Tell us, what was so funny?"

"Wednesday," Thornhill warns her, sending you a sympathetic look, but she ignores her and so do you.

"Or are you still at a loss for words," she draws out, and in doing so, the rest of the class fills with 'ooh's and 'woah's. You stare at her for a moment, then silently, your hand goes to your notebook.

The moment you begin writing in it, the classroom tenses again, waiting for you to finish. You make them as big as possible, large enough that she'll be able to clearly read them across the room. When you're done, you flip it around and hold it up like a sign, face blank.

discovered 1854, not 1852

idiot.

You've circled it several times in messy pen, to make sure she really sees. The room roars even louder in surprise, and however bad Wednesday's stare was before, the new one she gives you is infinitely worse. Her face is still deadpan, but her eyes flick away down to her notebook. It’s the only time you’ve seen her approach something resembling embarrassment or fury. You're sure the 'idiot' bit didn't help, but you were far too annoyed by her poking of you to not have poked her right back.

"Well...," Thornhill tries, "It seems the Ghost Orchid isn't the only carnivorous plant in here, today." But the class is too far gone to focus up again, sending you wary glances. They don't like Wednesday, but they like you even less, so it's confusing who they should root for.

You hold her gaze until the bell rings, finally breaking it to gather your things and leave as soon as possible. Her eyes are still on you as you go, and just before you exit the room, you can hear someone mutter "freak," under their breath. You tuck your books under your arm, and duck out into the hall.

===+++===

Fall was always your favourite time of year; for once, Jericho wasn't entirely unbearable. The leaves turned a warm orange and red, falling from the trees in abundant piles on the ground, and the air fermented into something crisp and especially breathable. You let it fill your nose as much as possible.

You sat on the lawn, listening to the birds flit about and the wind brush under the branches and hem of your jumper with a book in your lap and a frown on your face. It wasn't a good book- something the internet had said was incredible but had firmly left a bad taste in your mouth, and part of you wanted to put it down and turn to something more useful. But another part of you wanted to keep reading, like being unable to look away from a car accident.

The book was so engrossing in its awfulness that you didn't notice her watching you from afar or, more so, aiming in your direction. That was, until you turned the page, and her throwing knife whizzed past your ear and lodged itself into the tree you had been sitting against.

Your eyebrows furrowed at the noise, and you turned your head to the side, looking at the shiny, reflective silver. The letters W. A. stared back at you, engraved just below the knife's spine. You frowned, and when you looked back, she was standing over you, arms crossed and expression as deadpan as always.

You raised a questioning eyebrow, looking over at the knife and then back to her as if saying, 'What was that for?'

"Your attention was required," she replied dryly.

You rolled your eyes, dog-eared the page of your book, and placed it down next to you, pulling out your notebook and your pen. You wrote a single word.

dangerous.

"Believe me, if I wanted to hit you, I am entirely capable of aiming to kill," Wednesday said. Then, after a brief look around Nevermore's green, her eyes flicked back down to you. "I'm here on business."

You search her face for a moment, narrowing your eyes. They locked in on the small bandage on her forehead, and you nodded up at it, asking her what happened with the look on your face. Her frown deepened.

"I'm in the process of crushing a bee... and almost getting crushed by a gargoyle." You blinked, but Wednesday continued. "But I won't have to do either if you agree to my request."

It's hard to deny that her words massively pique your interest. Wednesday in general massively piques your interest, and you write down the thing you really want to know.

people say you eat human flesh...

You turn the page back to her, and Wednesday seems to process the words for a moment. She looks over at you, unimpressed by the allegation. "I don't eat it. My menagerie of pets do. And even then, that's nothing close to what Enid's said about you."

You stare up at her, then scribble a couple of words on the paper.

and what's that?

"That you're dangerous. That you’re somehow infinitely worse than I am, which I'm doubtful of," Wednesday says without missing a beat. "Enid won't say anything more, and neither will Xavier." She looks around again, over the green. There's a picnic of sirens by the lake, and a few of the werewolves are playing with a frisbee. She looks back at you. "I've been warned to stay away, and your propensity for being obnoxious has made that task fairly easy so far." You begin to write again.

so why are you here

"Because," she states like it's obvious, "I want to break out of here. And you're somehow the person to have gotten the closest."

and yet

i'm still here

You turn the page to her and jab the bottom bit several times with your pointer finger.

"Well then," she says, "help me succeed."

===+++===

“And how do you think that made you feel?” Kinbott asks, eyeing her various pages of notes to the left of you. Some of the other patients in Kinbott’s care had small, yellow folders, but you had a larger red one, with your name in highlighted block letters on the front. It looked like it should’ve had a top secret sticker in the corner, not that you weren’t appreciative about your records being sealed.

You erased the board, writing a single word.

seen

Then, underneath it.

idk, like i was really there?

Kinbott nodded. “You’ve said people often ignore you a lot. Why do you think that is?”

they’re scared. they think i’ll hurt them because they heard rumours about what i did.

i can’t blame them, really

She frowned, wrapping her hands around her knee. “But that’s not really fair, is it? When was the last time you’ve caused damage with your ability, (Y/n)?”

You shrug, thinking for a moment.

about four years

“And you haven’t made any sort of mistakes, right?”

well, no

“Then why should they be afraid of you?” Kinbott asks. She’s leaning forward, looking at you with her eyes softened. “You’ve trained yourself to silently yawn, you don’t cough, you don’t sneeze, you don’t snore. I think you need to trust yourself a little more, (Y/n).”

You shrug again, but don’t write anything down, so Kinbott sighs and sits back in her chair. “Principal Weems says that she has another little Harry Houdini on her hands?”

You write down Wednesday on your board. She nods. “I’m seeing her in a little while, actually.” It makes your eyebrows raise in surprise.

why?

Kinbott shakes her head. “You know I can’t share that. Therapy is private. It seems she doesn’t plan on staying, though. Wednesday has already tried to escape.”

i know.

she asked me to help her

Her eyes scan over the words and then look back up to you, warily. “You know better than to help her, right? Nevermore could be good for Wednesday. And I thought you were actually starting to like it here.”

You nod.

i already said no

it’s too dangerous, in the woods right now. with the attacks and stuff.

“Good. And please, tell Principal Weems if you learn of any plans in the future.” You nod again, much less committed, and Kinbott looks down at her watch. “I’m afraid our time is over, (Y/n),” she says with a smile. “I’ll see you next week.”

You write a quick thank you down and stand, shoving your socks back into your shoes and tugging on your jumper, tucking it underneath the collar of your shirt and fixing your Nevermore tie. Purple stripes was never your pattern, and Weems had long since given up on trying to make you wear the coat. She figured it probably made you less likely to run away.

Wednesday is sitting in the lobby when you get down the stairs, with a bored-looking Weems come to babysit. You send her a glance, and then give Weems a nod of your head in acknowledgment.

She beams back at you. “Ah, (Y/n). We’re here for Miss Addams’ session. If you want to wander around Jericho, we can take you back to the school when we're done, if you’d like.”

You send another look at Wednesday, whose face is just as deadpan and unhappy as before, and shake your head. You point at yourself and then mime walking with your two fingers. Principal Weems frowns, but gives you and okay, and you turn around to leave.

You can feel Wednesday’s eyes on you as you head for the school. You know she's annoyed by your refusal to help her, but you can't exactly tell her why you're refusing either, especially since you're lacking any evidence for your theory. So you just told her no.

===+++===

Even from deep inside the forest, you can hear the carnival. There's a Ferris wheel towering over the trees in front of you, and circus music blasts from a few speakers so that you can faintly hear it amongst the windy branches, leaves blowing along the ground and caressing your shoes from time to time as you walk through the dark.

You're looking for something, anything, indicating someone would've been there. Sheriff Galpin had found all sorts of hikers, recently, all almost unidentifiable, with how bloodied they were, but they had yet to find anyone with a hearing aid, so you were unsatisfied. It was believed he was on vacation, but you knew the old man went to his therapy appointments every single week. He hadn't missed a single day, so you failed to believe that theory. You didn't even know his name, really.

On a tree not too far from you, there was a claw mark sunk deep into the bark, and you looked towards it, at the pattern. The idea a bear was responsible for all the deaths wasn't exactly convincing, and looking at the claws, your doubts only amplified. You pulled out your camera, aiming it towards the mark, ready to snap a shot, when you heard footsteps pounding past you.

"Rowan!" called a voice behind you, and you froze, putting the camera down and flicking your flashlight off. The last thing you needed was word getting out that you were lurking in the woods. People thought you were scary enough.

But the words weren't directed at you. You listened intently, and then you heard the faint but panicked voice again. "Rowan," Wednesday says again, and the moment you realise it's her voice, you take off running towards it.

You find Rowan with his hand held up, crushing Wednesday against a tree, and before you can stop to think, you're rushing forward, shoving him in the back and pushing him into the dirt, where he struggles to catch his breath. The moment his hand splays out in front of him, Wednesday is dropped to the forest floor. You run to her, checking her over quickly for injuries, making sure she can run. When you find none, you grab her arm, hoisting her to her feet. You send a wary look over at Rowan, who's already trying to right himself and take Wednesday's hand in yours, pulling her deeper into the forest.

It isn't long before you hear him calling out. "Wednesday!" he yells, and you freeze, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her behind a tree. You push her flush against the bark and cover her mouth with your hand, getting as close as possible so that you hide better against the trunk. She seems too scared to comment on the touch, eyes wide and chest heaving from the running. You raise your other hand and press your finger to your lips.

"Wednesday, I'm doing Nevermore a favour," he tries again. "One massive favour. You're dangerous. My mother's seen it. I can see it. Anyone who knows you can see it."

Your eyes flicker to Wednesday's in confusion, processing his words. She's staring up at you, eyes dark and full of worry, begging for him not to find you. Any idea you had about her not getting scared goes out the window. She's just as human as you are. You send her a comforting nod, peeking around the tree trunk. Rowan's a few trees away, with his back turned, scouring the area.

You begin to back away from Wednesday, gesturing over your shoulder. If you both can sneak off and go back to the carnival without Rowan noticing, you can ensure safety. She gives a curt nod, letting you take her hand in yours again. You're faster than her, she knows that. You slowly pull her with you, quietly stepping away and towards the fair.

You only make it a few steps, until Wednesday steps on a branch.

The small twig cracks under her boot, and within an instant, Rowan whips his head around to you both, staring back at him like a pair of deer in headlights. He takes a few menacing steps forward. "There you are," he draws out in between wheezy breaths. His hand comes up, ready to crush her, but before he can use his ability, a large, hulking creature grabs him by the leg, whipping him around and down onto the ground.

You and Wednesday watch in horror as Rowan screams, and the creature rears up on its hind legs, coming down and smashing Rowan with its fists. You can hear the crunching of his bones and then the tearing of flesh as the creature's claws dig into the boy's skin. Wednesday's hand is still in yours, and she squeezes it harshly, small black fingernails digging into the back of your hand, pulling you down to the ground with her and then scooting back.

The attack is short but brutal, and you see bits of Rowan's chest go flying and pure red maw. The creature whips around to you when Rowan goes silent, staring at Wednesday with intensity in its big eyes. Then it scrambles off, tearing through the woods and into the darkness.

As soon as it's gone, Wednesday rushes forward in the leaves, going to Rowan's side. You clamber to your feet, watching the direction the creature went with wide eyes. When you turn back to Wednesday, you catch her shoving something in her pocket. You don't ask what it is, but you make a mental note to ask later.

"Please," she says, a bit panicked. Her fingers are coated in Rowan's blood. "Go get Weems."

===+++===

Another not-too-awful thing about Nevermore was the breakfast. You sat at an abandoned picnic table in the corner of the quad, finishing your eggs, when Wednesday slammed her hands down on the wood with a loud thunk. You jumped in your seat, startled by the noise, dropping your egg back onto your plate.

"What exactly did you see last night?" she demanded, glaring.

Your eyes widened at her tone. It was harsher than normal, and she wore her frustration on her sleeve. A few students at nearby tables sent you suspicious and wary glances. Over Wednesday's shoulder, you could see her roommate, Enid, staring at you.

Most important was Weems, who looked down at you from the balcony above. You composed yourself and looked back down to Wednesday, shrugging nonchalantly, as if to say you didn't know.

Wednesday gritted her teeth harder. "But you do know. We saw Rowan get eviscerated by that creature. You were there. So why did you tell Weems you didn't see anything?!"

You furrowed your eyebrows, shaking your head at her, doubling down. This was no place to get into it. No place to tell the truth. You slid your notebook towards her.

i saw him this morning.

She huffed, stomping off. You knew exactly why you saw him that morning, actually. Weems had shown you her powers a time or two, and you knew that 'Rowan' was just her in disguise. But you also didn't know if it was something you wanted to share yet. You, too, had been a bit miffed at seeing Weems pretend to be Rowan, but you also knew Weems' powers gave her an advantage, and you were too loyal to take that away from her. You owed her too much.

The question of why still rang in your mind, though. Why was she so eager to cover it up? She had never at least lied to you, so this lie seemed out of left field.

You saw the fake Rowan several times throughout the day. Each time you did your best to let Weems know you knew, and she seemed wary of you, avoiding you at every intersection. You spent the night thinking, wandering around Nevermore, stopping in the library and pulling out several books.

Wednesday had shoved something in her pocket, something that Rowan had. Something about her dooming Nevermore, about being dangerous. You raked through all the books about prophecies, not finding anything of interest and giving up at around one in the morning. No books were missing a piece of paper, and no books mentioned Wednesday's name. You could find a few references to someone named Goody, but she seemed unimportant among the other Addams ancestors, having been dead for hundreds of years. You made another mental bookmark to look more into it, later.

You trudged back to your dorm, already regretting your choices, considering you had an 8 am class in the morning. The school was peaceful again, and as you climbed the stairs, you could hear the trickle of the fountain.

But the moment your shoe placed itself upon the landing, you froze. Your door hung open slightly, just cracked, and right in the way was the same hand you had seen on your first night. You straightened up, feeling more awake, and more annoyed, now.

You pushed your own door open, knocking loudly on the wood like it wasn't your own room, illustrating your frustration. Wednesday turned towards you, unimpressed. She had your journal in her hands, the other one not meant for your communication but for your theories.

It was open to the photo you had just taken, of the claw mark. Right above it you had put the photo of the deaf old man, and right on the photo of the claw mark, you had 'Rowan' written in red sharpie and underlined several times.

You crossed your arms, glowering at her. The hand scuttled towards her, stopping halfway. "So you were hiding something," Wednesday says. "You know that Rowan isn't Rowan. You know he's dead."

You silently swallow, crossing the room until you are right in front of her. Wednesday's eye contact is intense, and you look down at your own notebook, feeling her watching you as you take it from her hands. You can feel her breath fanning against your face, and she smells like pomegranate and fresh petrichor. You turn the page to the drawing you've made of the creature. It's a little off; some of the details are fuzzy regarding last night. But it's the creature as best as you can remember it, and Wednesday nods.

"That's what I saw, too. That's what I want to find," she says. "That's what you're going to help me find."

This time, you can't find it in yourself to refuse.

===+++===

this was the first episode and a bit of episode 2. i really liked doing the mute reader but boy is it hard to write communication without dialogue. it does so much heavy lifting for characterisation. can't wait to see where this one goes, and it'll probably take me two or three parts to get through the whole season, is my hope.

[budbuddnbuddy]

You know how in the beginning of the exchange program where some of the demons were gossiping about eating us?

…What if we started just straight up juking them when they started to try?

Obviously at this point we can’t fight them off, we can’t really hide because they know the realm and RAD better then we do, and we can’t outrun them, at least for very long.

However it’s when MC is running away from a few demons a new idea comes to mind, slowing down in the middle of the chase.

You aren’t particularly sure who the demon was, probably some delinquent who skipped classes to smoke on the roof top, and you didn’t really care. Just another Demon at RAD that gave you nasty glances before gossiping over to what seemed to be their friend, no big deal. It’s not like they were actually gonna do anything to you, right?

You didn’t mean to stare, you weren’t even looking at them in particular just staring at the wall behind them while you waited for the line for the bathroom that extended out into the hallway to shorten, which means you certainly didn’t mean to pick up the words they were saying.

“-eat them.”

…Huh?

The air suddenly got cold, you watched as the last two words fall out of the demons mouth as his mouth curled into a sinister toothy grin. At this point your eyes met, he was staring at you this entire time…he…he didn’t mean he wanted to eat you right?

Maybe he meant something else? (he didn’t.) Maybe he meant someone else? (There wasn’t anyone else.) Maybe he meant the person behind you? (No one else was behind you.)

Then, he started walking towards you. Slowly.

It was only then that you noticed how close the distance between the two of you was, only then did you notice how large he was, how sharp his teeth were, how you were slowly backing away with each step you took. Then a realization came down onto you. Two of them in fact.

1. This guy totally wanted to eat you, right here, right now.

2. You didn’t need take a piss anymore.

Now you were running, bolting, sprinting, anything that you could do to possibly shake of the demon who was right behind you. Each corner you turned to put some distance between the both of you he just seemed to get closer, sped up, get more hungry.

Your feet are burning, your legs hurt but you can’t stop. He was right there, ready to grab you and rip off a chunk of your skin for what? The fun of it? Because he thought he just simply could?!

Of course when you needed Mammon to be here he wasn’t there! Of course when you needed any of the brothers to be here they weren’t there! You were a bug to them, a summer ant! The only importance you held to them was the fact that you were an exchange student! No one would really care if you got eaten!

…No one would care if you got eaten.

That alone just makes you stop in your tracks, in front of a long staircase that stretched down almost endlessly. You’re out of breath, tired, sweaty, aching, needing to pee, are about to die…and you’re thinking about the aftermath.

You’ll die, in a place that isn’t even your home. None of your friends or family will know what happened to you and no one would care to tell them.

.

.

.

Wait…you’re about to die!

Turning your body sideways, your eyes met with the demon who was now sprinting past you. You watched as his expression goes from blood hungry to shock and confusion. You watch as he moves right past you at high speeds with his arm reached out to grab at you, ready to dig his nails into you and make you bleed. You watch him in what seems to be in slow motion as he misses.

He tilts down, he turns around uselessly, letting out a scream and then…he falls down the stairs.

Slam!

Bam!

Crack!

Boom!

Slowly inching over the railing, you peak down at the end to where your attacker laid on the floor. Groaning and bruised in areas where you couldn’t see, his leg was broken from how aggressively fast he went down the stairs and it’s not like the stairs were treated any better, some were broken in half towards the end. Most likely causing splinters deep into the demons skin.

As you continued to stare down at the severely injured demon, a fairly large size crowd began to circle around him carefully, confused as to what happened and scared from his injuries.

“Oh my stars I can see the bone!”

“Are those…his teeth all the way down the hall?”

“Dude just what the hell were you doing up there?”

The delinquent flutters his eyes open meekly before letting out a high pitched scream at the fact that he to can see the bone from his broken leg jabbing out his skin.

“What the fuck are you idiots standing around for? Get me to a damn hospital!!” He yells at those around them, spitting out blood and saliva as his eye go bloodshot from panic.

All you can do is cover your mouth in shock, you didn’t even know demons could break bones! Nevertheless lose teeth! Gulping as you slowly started to back away from the staircase clutching your bag before scurrying off to the nearest bathroom that wasn’t crowded…

Man you really needed to pee…

——————

Soon enough there’ll be completion videos of you escaping from Demons on Deviltube. “Best vids of the human escaping demons in a badass fashion!!”

The brothers don’t find out until like…a month later when you don’t have to dodge demons anymore because the bros were the ones on top of you now constantly. (Don’t worry they absolutely geek tf out when they know lol.)

[prettiedup]

can u do more tojiii 🧁

young & beautiful ୨ৎ

your parents are on a business trip, which gives you more freedom than a sheltered 20 year old should have. they left the country thinking their daughter would continue to drive around your suburban neighborhood, continue going to both your ballet and pilate classes, go to your college classes and stay there retaining all of the information you possibly can. it’s the basic things they expected of you.

little did they know you were far far from home. your expensive shoes plopped against the cracked concrete. in the distance, you could hear the sound of multiple police sirens ringing throughout. they seemed to grow close before disappearing and the crying sirens becomes quieter and quieter. your eyes take in the environment in front of you, the buildings that you could tell were once vibrant now lost their color. cracks and chunks of the bricks used to build them up were missing and large colorful vandalism littered spots on the buildings. corner stores with peeling paint and flickering neon signs offer a glimpse of the local people here struggling to survive.

it feels like a gray filter is casted on this side of town. and with winter being seconds away from approaching, everything is colder and dull. the sky grumbles, threatening—no, warning people of what’s to come. a group of guys are standing at a trash littered corner as you and toji past by them. you curiously look at their faces, they’re all already looking at you with a gleam in their eyes. you gasp to yourself and clutch toji’s hand tighter in fear.

“got ya’ a young one!” one of the guys call out to toji, “bet that pussy’s nice ‘nd tight!”

toji walks faster, his grip tightening on your hand. you struggle to keep up with his fast steps. his normal walking is your fast walking, you’re almost on the borderline of jogging. the fall air sores through your chest as you continue looking around the neighborhood curiously.

the two of you walk until you get to a worn down building. it’s littered with moss, vines, and graffiti. toji lets go of your hand to pick out a single key in his pocket.

“go inside. i’ll be back.” he tells you. you can’t stop yourself from frowning.

“i-what? no!” you say with widened eyes. as interesting as it is to be in a part of town that your parents demanded you never come over, things are still dangerous. the thought of going into a building you’ve never been inside and just waiting for him has your heart thumping in fear. anything could happen while he’s gone.

“‘m not askin’.” he could see you trying to form up some rebuttal, some way to argue with him and he can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “i’ll only be gone for about ten minutes. you can be a good girl and wait for ten minutes, right?”

you’re stiffly nodding your head while looking up at him. you try to convince yourself that ten minutes is not that long of a wait.

“i’ll knock six times and then say ‘gumi’. if someone knocks but doesn’t say the code word don’t open the door, understand?” he speaks carefully while looking into your eyes. he’s hoping all of his words are actually sticking and not just going through one ear and flowing out the other.

“fine..” you’re sighing and pouting, hoping that that’ll make him for bad for leaving you alone so soon.

he examines your face for a few seconds. he doesn’t say anything, the two of you quietly look into each other’s faces until a dog barks and interrupts you both. toji steps back, giving you more personal space.

you don’t know if you’re supposed to give him a kiss or hug goodbye. your relationship with him is still new and timid at times. your feet are moving before you realize it and your arms have a mind of their own as they wrap around his figure. to your surprise, toji accepts your hug, though it is awkward. he pats your head like some dog.

after a few prolonged seconds, he’s pulling you away from him. “alright, kid. go inside.”

and you listen. with shaky hands, you bring the key to the knob. to your dismay, it takes only a second to unlock the door. the door creaks as it slowly opens. you look back at toji one more time, he’s still waiting for you to go completely inside before walking away.

you let out a breath before stepping into his house. you make sure to lock the door behind you.

the inside of the house is sparsely furnished with basic necessities—a worn-out couch, a small dining table with mismatched chairs. there are warm tones of the walls try to add a comforting touch to the otherwise bleak space, but they can't hide the signs of neglect. the floorboards creak with every step, and the curtains are thin, barely filtering out the dim light from the outside light. you’re used to big elegant houses so to see something so small and compact has your eyebrows rising. as you tour throughout the entire house, every room is just about the same. bare with just hints of being lived in. you curiously open the refrigerator, you’re met with nothing. just a bottle of half drunken hennessy, and a sandwich. you’re in disbelief that someone actually lives like this.

luckily, the electricity worked. you turned the heat up before trailing into his bedroom. the room is a master, it has a queen sized bed in the middle of the floor and a single dresser with a tv sitting on top of it. you strip out of your clothing besides your bra and panties. you rummage through his drawers until you find a solid black shirt. you put it on, it fits you like an oversized dress. it stops right under your ass and the littlest movement would expose it off. you fold your discarded clothes, and place them on top of his dresser. you grab your phone and lay down on his bed.

his house is quiet. too quiet. there’s nothing to hear besides your thoughts. you can’t help but to wonder how he lives like this. so alone with nothing but his thoughts. you sigh out to yourself, it’s almost close to the ten minute mark.

you mindlessly scroll on your phone until you finally hear it. you rush out of his bed and make a straight line to the door.

knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

“gumi.”

you let out a breath and swing the door open. toji stands there with a. smug smirk on his face. as you look up at him, breathless, you notice a newfound small scar on his cheek.

“you don’t look happy t’see me, cutie.” toji practically pushes you to the side. you’re unsteady on your feet before catching your balance.

“no! i am! i’m very happy!” you exclaim. you watch as his fingers go to unzip his jacket, your eyes widen when you realize his knuckles are red and bruised.

his eyes follow what you’re looking at and when he realizes you’re reacting to his bruised knuckles he just chuckles. "i see you made yourself comfortable." he comments.

you bite down on your lip trying to hide your giddy smile. "it smells like you.”

toji only hums at your statement. he walks through his house and you follow behind him like a lost puppy. your uncertain steps travel closely behind his confident ones. he leads you to the bathroom, you don’t know if you should stop at the door or continue to waltz through.

“c’mon.” he ushers you.

he turns the shower on and lets it run for a little. he takes the time to take his clothes off, he smirks to himself when he sees your curious eyes linger on every inch of his body. once he’s bare, he walks over to you, pulling you closer to him. his hands wonder on your body before he’s tugging on your shirt, signaling that he wants it off. he helps you undress yourself, once you’re naked in front of him, he’s ogling at your body while letting out a pleased whistle.

“step in.” he tells you.

you follow his directions and step in the tub. now that you’re actually in it. the tub is quite condemned and with how big toji is you briefly wonder if the two of you are going to fit.

he hands you a white rag before stepping in behind you. you’re stiff, you’ve never showered with another person, ever. you’re used to showering in luxury bathrooms with the upmost space. you see that there’s only one bottle of body wash, which is also something you’re not used to. you use a plethora of skincare products that make you feel nice and clean, not some off-brand from the convenience store.

“since it seems like you don’t know how to wash yourself.” toji tuts before taking the rag out of your hands. he pours a nice amount of gel on the fabric before wetting it.

the feeling of his hands cascading around your body is .. weird. his movements are extremely gentle, he touches you like you’re some sort or sensitive rare artifact. you find yourself relaxing against his body as he cleans you. he starts from the neck and works his way down, even going so far as to clean the inside of your intimate areas with just water. you try to return the favor to him. he insists on washing himself but he does let you wash his back. once the two of you are cleaned, you stay under the slowly turning cold water until it’s fully freezing.

there’s only one towel out when you two step out. you look up at toji cautiously.

“forgot to grab the other.” he shrugs. he wraps the towel around your body and then opens the bathroom door.

you two make your way to his bedroom. you could hear the sound of rain pattering against the roof and occasional thunder blooming throughout the air. toji turns on a single lamp as a source of light.

the two of you dry off in your own towels. once you’re dry, you’re looking up at toji. the very few times you’ve been around him it feels like your brain stops working and you have to look at from guidance. you can’t tell if he gets annoyed by it or not, if he does he doesn’t say anything.

toji guides you to sit on the edge of the bed. before you could ask why, his lips are on yours. he kisses you greedily, he sucks up both your tongue and air. with you being not so experienced, you struggle to keep up with his experienced mechanisms. you can’t stop yourself from leaning back, and toji follows you. he makes sure not to drop his entire weight so that he wouldn’t crush you.

the two of you continue to sloppily make out for a while, the kiss morphing from just lips to tongue and spit swapping. you let out a soft moan as toji begins grinding his growing hard on against your clit.

he slowly pulls his lips away from your lips and moves his lipa down to your jaw and neck. he kisses you and occasionally licks spots here and there, he makes sure not to leave any spots on your neck. he’s grown now, if he was still in his early 20’s he would’ve left marks to let people know there’s already a claim on you. but he’s past that childish point in his life.

“y’wanna get fucked, baby? hm? ‘s that why you came alway over here?” he taunts you. his hips are moving faster and one incorrect slip up would have his cock slipping right inside your wet cunt.

“y-yes. please.” breathy gasps are escaping past your lips. the friction he’s creating is so delicious and addictive.

“g’na give it to you, baby. g’na fuck this pussy. g’na mold it to fit only my cock.” he’s letting out a drawn out groan as he slides his cock into you. you’re both moaning out to each other. the second all of his cock is fit into you, he’s immediately pulling his cock out only to slam it back inside of you.

he straightens his back, putting some distance between the two of you. he grabs your legs and places them on his shoulders. he watches as your boobs bounce with every rough thrust. his eyes trails along your body, the sight of you frantically clutching the bedsheets while still carrying this angelic look has him growing even harder.

“fuck.” you whimper out. his cock is so thick and it fills you up so well. “feel’s s-so good, tojiii.” you moan.

“mhmm. g’na let me fill this pussy up, ‘mma put a baby in you.” his breathing becoming heavier and you can’t help but gush out some more wetness at his claims of breeding.

“fuck a baby ‘nto me, toii, pleaseee.” you moan out.

toji grins at your words. if a baby is what you want, that’s what he’ll give to you.

[xxsteveharringtonxx]

Call It Love

Steve Harrington x Reader

All credit of images to original owners

“It’s Steve.” Robin’s voice was shaky and it made your knees feel uneasy, swallowing the lump in your throat you drove straight to his house.

When you did get there you saw his car park haphazardly in the drive and the sob that was suffocating you only got worse.

He would never park his car like that unless a) he wasn’t driving it or b) he was in a rush. Or worst of all c) he was in such a bad way he actually let someone else drive and was in a rush to get inside.

Deciding you probably didn’t have time to think too much about that you parked your own car just as terribly behind his and not even closing the door as you ran into your boyfriend’s house.

Having hardly heard from him since he dropped you home two nights ago you were already worried.

When you got inside you gasped at the sight of him, covering your mouth as the sob finally escaped Steve, Nancy, Eddie and Robin all looked over to you.

Steve’s face turned thunderous at the sight of you, turning he barely hesitated as he grabbed Eddie by the shirt and threw him against the wall.

“I told you not to call her!” He seethed and even in the moment you tried to think if you had ever seen him that angry.

“Steve it was me, she deserves to know what’s going on.” Robin intervened quickly making him release a nervous Eddie.

They all looked at you, Steve stepping forward cautiously not to upset you even more.

He was dirty, shirtless bar from a denim vest that definitely wasn’t his, bleeding, covered in bruises.

A vast contrast to how you are used to seeing your usually clean cut boyfriend, the last time you had seen him he was wearing a crisp white polo and his stupid family video vest. But his skin was tanned from the spring sun Hawkins had got, his hair perfectly placed.

“What.. what the hell happened to you.” You choked out not taking your eyes off him, pupils moving to try and take in every injury on his body, he took another tentative step towards you and holding out his hands as if approaching a wild animal.

Yours were shaking.

“Baby, baby look at me, I’m fine!” He protested trying to get you to hear him but he knew the noose type bruise around his neck was louder, the chunk of skin missing in his side and bleeding was blaring.

“Steve.” Your chin wobbled and he didn’t know what you needed in that moment.

Hell he didn’t know what he needed and it was choking him.

“I’m fine, you need to look at me okay?” He coaxed just one more time and took the final step to get to you, when his fingers brushed yours to get you to look him in the eye you flinched.

“Baby I’m okay.” He begged as you finally looked him in the eyes, they were the same warm honey that looked at you with so much love it gives you butterflies.

Except this time they made you cry.

You flung your arms around his neck sobbing into the crook between his jaw and collarbone. His arms pulled you as close as possible and he rubbed your back.

You barely had the will in you to let him go, and he wasn’t sure his heart had ever pounded that hard in his life.

Robin bit on her bottom lip knowing now why Steve was so adamant on not calling you. He knew you would hate to see him in this state and he knew you would worry yourself half to death.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked softly and gently pulling away to kiss him on the lips.

One of his hands moved to hold the back of your neck, the other on your back still trying to hold you close to him.

“Yes baby, god I’m so fine.” He breathed out kissing you once more, finally a small sense of relief coming over him that you were here.

Maybe a little grateful now that Robin had called you.

But he won’t admit that.

“What happened to you?” You asked again looking over all his bruises and realised when you unwrapped your hands his blood was smeared all over them. “Oh my god.” You whispered scared and he took them in his own, the shaking not going unmissed.

“I’m getting cleaned up and I’ll be back to normal in no time.” He reassured kissing your knuckles and while you nodded at his words you spoke again.

“Tell me what happened.” You demanded and he sighed heavily.

“I don’t want to.” His voice was honest and firm, he threw a glare at Robin and then sighed heavily.

“Well tough Harrington because if I ever get a call like this again, and I find you in this state if you aren’t already dead I will kill you myself.” You snapped putting a hand on your hip just to prove the sentiment, and all it did was make him grin.

It was real and warm and it took over his whole face.

“There she is. My beautiful girl.” He kissed your lips, your neck, your nose, your forehead and even though you let out a relieved giggle at the normal reaction from your boyfriend you still didn’t have an explanation.

“Can someone please fill me in?” You all but begged as they all avoided your gaze.

“Can you help me get cleaned up baby? And I’ll tell you everything.” He promised before leading you down his hallway into the small mostly unused bathroom the Harringtons fitted two years ago.

He showered and you watched from your spot on the toilet seat as all the blood, dirt and grime ran off his body. His arm leaning on the tiles ahead of him as the water washed down his back, his muscles clenched and he hissed in pain at the impact but you wiped away your worried tears before he could see. And when he was ready and the tap squeaked off you were waiting with a plush white towel wrapping it around him.

After what felt like hours of silence he had taken your spot on the toilet seat, the first aid kit open beside him on the counter and you began fixing him up.

Stopping when he winced but starting again when he looked up at you his eyes all sorry and sad.

“Is this a bite mark?” You whispered as you made it down the scariest looking wound below his ribs.

“Yeah. Demon bats, big ones.” You scoffed out a laugh at his joke and rolled your eyes.

“Harrington, come on. I know you don’t want me to be worried but demon bats, I’m not that stupid.” You huffed out with a soft laugh before looking back up at him.

His silence kind of worrying and the sincere look on his face wiped the smile straight off yours.

“You remember when Will Byers went missing…”

-

It wasn’t until nearly 2am when you crawled into his bed with him.

You rejoined the rest of them after Steve told you as much as he could as quickly as he could. He cursed himself for involving you when you cried and you made him promise to tell you any and every time he could potentially be in danger.

When you got downstairs you hugged all of your friends tightly and ordered them pizza. Once they were all asleep in different parts of the house you and Steve also went to bed.

“Why are you all the way over there?” He whispered as you lay on your back firmly on your side of his bed.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You whispered back rolling onto your side to look at him.

“Baby, it’s hurting me more that you’re so far away.” He whined in his usual needy tone, with a giggle and a squeal he yanked you into his side.

Curling into him you took a deep breath of his scent and pressed your lips onto his chest with a soft kiss.

“I’m sorry you’ve been going through this alone.” You heard yourself whispering.

“I haven’t been alone, I’ve always known you’d be right here, waiting for me whenever the hell was over. I don’t know what I’d of done if I didn’t have you to fight my way back to.” He told you before pressing a kiss onto your hair line.

“I love you Steve Harrington.” You told him into the darkness, his chest rose and fell quickly and your words seemed to hit him.

“Yeah, I love you too baby. More than you know.” His arms tightened around you and while you were careful of his wounds you decided you weren’t ever going to let your Steve Harrington get hurt like this again.

Even if you had to get to Vecna himself, Steve is too good to suffer this.

And while you were thinking of that Steve was thinking about how he could keep you so far away from this mess so you never had to worry about it again.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Fluff for Feyd, reader tells him that she’s proud of him and it’s the first time someone’s said that to him genuinely 🩵

Feyd-Rautha x reader

All He Knew

Summary: Feyd deals with the emotional aftermath of protecting you from his uncle.

Notes/Warnings: mention of past abuse, mention of death, and vulnerability. It's fluffy-ish and angsty-ish, and slightly different, but I still kept in the main idea. Hopefully you still like it :)

Words: 1150

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

You knew the second your husband’s blade went through the Baron’s neck that his whole world would change. Everything inside of him would disconnect. The pieces of his inner self would scatter chaotically, and he would no longer know who to be. You knew because of the power his uncle held over him for the majority of his life. 

After Feyd killed his mother, the Baron was all he had. And how do you go from having the fullness of an overbearing presence on your shoulders—miserable as it was—to nothing? By killing the Baron, Feyd excised a part of himself, as if some creature had sauntered up to his side and taken a big bite out of his body. And now there’s a chunk missing that you fear cannot be filled, even by you. 

He cries when he thinks you’re asleep. And though you continue to feign unconsciousness as you roll over and drape your arm over his waist, it’s not always enough to stop the tears. Part of you knew it wouldn’t be, but you still hoped. You hoped that having you beside him would remind him why he did what he did. 

The Baron had ordered your execution because you were taking too long to provide an heir, and as you were dragged in front of the old man to answer for your ‘crime’, Feyd was nowhere near to protect you. The Baron was smart—he took you from the comfort of your bed in the early morning as your husband was training for another fight in the arena. The plan was simple, and Feyd wouldn’t know about your fate until it was too late. He wouldn’t be able to save you. 

But he did, somehow. Your best guess is that Feyd has a mole, or many, throughout the Harkonnen fortress to relay everyone’s movements, because Feyd was rushing into the room and thrusting his blade into squishy flesh just as the order to end your life was leaving the Baron’s lips. And in those quick seconds, your husband was changed. 

You don’t know how to bring him back to you. At least, you didn’t. You wrestled with it for days until it dawned on you that what he might need is not necessarily your touch or the reminder that he still has a wife, but instead, the words he deserves to hear. 

—

“Feyd, I’m proud of you.”

You’ve been watching him all morning, standing aside, not wanting to interrupt his process of slowly nipping away at a training dummy with his knife. There are holes of all sorts in the torso, both deep and shallow, and slashes across the inanimate face. It has lost both its legs. One arm hangs on by what would be a thin cord of skin were it human. When your words reach him from the other side of the room, he pauses mid-swing. 

“You did a hard thing,” you continue as his arm drops to his side and he straightens his stance from a fighters position. “You did a painful thing.”

His adam’s apple bobs. He sighs and stares down at the blade, the sharp point digging into his index finger as he twirls it. He has yet to look at you in the hour you’ve been here, and with the unpredictability of your husband, you don’t know what he’s going to do next. But you wait, patiently, because that is what you can do for him. 

“I wouldn’t let him take you from me,” he finally says. The blade stabs into the gut of the dummy. “He’s damaged me enough.”

That’s all he gives you. Your heart shatters for him and for the walls he’s been building between you since he killed his uncle; walls that took you ages to tear down after you married him. You’d done so well at getting him to trust and love you, and you hate to watch the bricks stacking as the minutes pass. 

“Since when are you proud when I kill?” he asks. 

And it’s a fair question. You’ve never been a fan of the death that wreaks through the halls of the Harkonnen fortress. You’ve never enjoyed his triumphs in the arena. But this is different, and so you must handle it differently, with a gentle hand and well-chosen words, despite what those words may bring.

He hasn’t often handled well certain topics that you’ve tried to bring up in the past. Risky topics, you learned. Topics that have usually left him drawing away from you until the next morning comes and he can pretend as if you never brought them up.

When you’ve asked about his parents, he gets fidgety; can’t stand still, can’t stop messing with his hands, can’t look you in the eye for more than a quarter of a second. He’s unlike the husband you know. When you’ve asked about his uncle, he’s worse. He’s more than just unlike your husband, he detaches himself from the moment completely. He becomes stiff as a board; a statue with a faraway gaze in his eyes. He offers few words. But those reactions are enough for you to assume the truth of his past without him giving you more than the little he has.

“Feyd, he was abusive,” you say, closing the distance between you. “You ended someone who had power over you for years. Of course I’m proud of you.”

“It’s not as if I did it for me; I did it to save you.”

“You did it,” you tell him. “You did it when you needed to protect us most. You didn’t let him hurt me and force you to accept his justifications for doing so. That's what matters.”

Long beats pass that grow longer with each one. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears so violently that they feel stuffed with cotton. You fear his reaction; a further pulling away from you—something you’re not sure you’ll be able to take. But then he drops the knife to the floor, turns to you, and tucks his head into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. 

His arms slowly snake around your waist and squeeze you tight, and you’re struggling to breathe properly, but you don’t care because the half-built brick wall just tumbled down. He needs you. 

His exhales shakily graze over your collarbone. A droplet forges a path down your chest, disappearing into your cleavage and leaving a chilled trail in its wake. You raise your hand to the back of his head and hold him against you, letting more droplets trickle down your body, letting your skin muffle sobs.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” you whisper.

He inhales, breathing you in, and then says, “There’s not a life where I wouldn’t have done it for you.”

“I know,” you tell him. 

“It shouldn’t hurt.”

“It’s allowed to hurt,” you say. “He’s all you knew.”

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 31

SUGGESTED POTENTIAL NON-CON

You have completed your contract admirably soldier, I think our mutts may miss you - Laswell

It’s strange. You wake up without your alarm in your own bed and it’s strange. You go put the kettle on for a cup of tea and it’s strange.

You are no longer under contract for the Kennel. The month had been defined as 30 days, so here you are with more money than you know what to do with, a body that is aching from all the hedonism of the past weeks and an utter uncertainty about what comes next.

You suppose what comes next is taking a week off to recover and not have to think about it yet.

So you showered (had you had to wash your own body at all in the last month or had there always been someone to do it for you?), dressed and went to get groceries. You caught up on TV shows mostly once everything was packed away.

It was sort of nice having alone time but sort of not knowing that it was probably going to be like this for the foreseeable future.

You had still been contracted at the end of the day, so it wasn’t like you were suddenly going to develop the ability to date. It was just sex. Just a release for people who needed it and were too dangerous to get it from civilians.

So why did you feel so conflicted about the likelihood of never seeing them again?

—

The day went quickly, but the evening lasted forever as you laid on the sofa and just tried to process. At least until you heard something from your bedroom. Could have been nothing, but you didn’t have a veritable shit ton of military and special forces training to dismiss things that could be nothing.

You had checked your house as soon as you had gotten back and it hadn’t been touched, so you knew there was a gun safely stowed away in a drawer of the coffee table. You got it out slowly and stood, going to investigate the bedroom.

Now you had never actually seen Ghost masked up before, it wasn’t like he cared about hiding his identity in the Kennel and the people he was around weren’t in any position to judge his scars, but you’d recognise those eyes anywhere. He was looking at the photo on your bedside table, you and your cat (she had died a few years back and it didn’t seem fair to adopt another when your work meant they would be staying with a neighbour most of the time).

“Gonna shoot me princess?” he asked, still looking at the photo.

“The Kennel shouldn’t be escapable” you said, keeping your gun trained on him.

“It’s not. Not if I was trying to get out alone. But give me a group of very motivated soldiers? Becomes a lot easier then” he said as he placed the photo back where it was and turned to you, arms crossed. “Get your sweet arse packed, I’m taking you home.”

“Nice try” you said, both hands steadying the gun.

“Gonna shoot me?”

“I don’t want to Ghost. You need to leave.”

“Then sink a bullet into me princess, because I’m not leaving without you and I don't much care if you're conscious for the trip.”

You aimed for his shoulder, just a warning graze but it must have hurt like a bitch as it took off a chunk of skin at the surface and his body jolted with the force. Good thing you picked a rural house, there were farms around here so gun shots weren’t totally uncommon with critters coming to feast on chickens.

“Yes you are.”

“Hmm” he chuffed, seemingly a little surprised you had actually shot him but not at all put out by it. “You never did let Mace fuck you with a gun did you? Could be fun you know.”

You were hopeful that it didn’t show on your face that your dumb hind brain found the idea a little hot. Mace had threatened it when you were playing the part of the doe-eyed step-daughter who idolised a daddy that definitely wanted to fuck her. Would he have went through with it?

“And if I said red?” you asked because there in lay the issue.

Under contract you had some protection. You did not imagine the same would apply if he took you back now.

You were furious with yourself when your wrists were twisted and Price disarmed you. You should have been paying attention behind you, should have considered that Ghost would hardly have come alone.

“Depends on my mood sweetheart. If I really think you need it I’ll let you safeword.”

You went for him, tried to get him down so you could rush past and get out of the situation. But your hand to hand was rusty and he was stronger than you, so it didn’t take him long to get you pinned against him and restrained.

“So what you just kidnap me? You’re supposed to fucking run the Kennel but I’m starting to think you should be a resident sir.”

“So am I sweetheart. Of course if you lived there then being a resident doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I’m not spending the rest of my life in a prison because you want a personal whore.”

“You’d be free to come and go so long as you came back to us” Ghost said, calmly watching the whole exchange.

“And what? I just get a brief everyday of who I’ve to service?” you asked, bitterness flooding your tone.

God it was so stupid. The deal was technically good. You got to live a life of luxury, got freedom to come and go and got to be intimate with people that you foolishly held affection for. Would it be so bad? So what if it wasn’t real? So what if you were just a means to an end for them while you would be doomed to pine forever for reciprocation of what you were sure would bloom into love?

“You’d get briefs from people who want to spend time with you so you can choose if you want to or not” Price answered, squeezing you a little.

“And if I never say yes?”

“Unlikely. We all owe you orgasms after being so mean with them yesterday, don't you want what you're owed?” Ghost laughed.

“I told you I’d only listen to a safeword if I thought you really needed it sweetheart. What you’re describing is a situation where what you’d need is a good fucking to remember who you belong to.”

“I belong to myself John Price.”

“Technically that’s true in the eyes of the law and God” Ghost said, considering, sly.

You could feel Price harden against your ass and you made a sound of protest.

“Can’t help it sweetheart, he’s got wedding bells in my head.”

“I- excuse me?”

“Seems a fair trade. You’d agree to belong to me and by extension all my dogs in the Kennel, I’d agree to belong to you and by extension they would too. Fuck you’d look stunning in white” he groaned, hips rutting against you.

“White?” Ghost said with a smirk.

“Doesn’t count if she was under contract. I’m sure Farah will lend her something borrowed if it comes down to it.”

—

She did. You wore a little reddish bead on a necklace on your wedding day. Price barely made it though the ceremony given that he was rock solid the whole time. Fucking wife kink.

It took place in the Kennel of course so everybody could attend. Things had changed. Velikan was a temporary resident now, mostly because he enjoyed trailing a step behind you when you went out shopping. Soap was permanent on account of Ghost saying he was sick of not having 24 hour access to his holes. You’d have thought it was romantic from how Soap preened about it. Valeria was gone but she visited sometimes. That iron control of herself she had meant the Kennel didn't have much justification to keep her locked up.

You met Nikolai in person and discovered him and Price made a hell of a tag team.

And you got to see what it was like when someone new was brought in with Kreuger. It wasn't pretty. You wondered if they had all been as untameably violent and angry about it when they first got here. If not for Mace and König you weren't sure the guy would even be unchained ever, but to your surprise they gelled well with him and turned out very good at keeping him in check.

By the time there was a second wedding he had calmed a lot. Enough that he got to attend with everybody else when Farah got a ring on Alex (another ring you thought given the ink that looped around his cock).

The only mention of the gunshot wound Ghost had was jealous looks from Nikto. Sometimes you thought about that little brand sitting on Ghost's skin and how it might look burned into yours. There were still silvery marks from the knife and you were almost sad thinking about how they would likely fade entirely.

You didn’t stop working, but then you were one of the monsters now so may as well do what you were trained for. Your radio and signals room was state of the art and half the kit in it was definitely not legal, but at this point legal was a pretty meaningless concept. You did horrible things, but at least there were always warm bodies to keep the nightmares away. Plus you had a little fluff ball companion keeping you company since a cat had shown up out of the blue (you were fairly certain exactly who had brought her in but he never mentioned it).

Sometimes you got whisked away. Ale and Rudy took you to Ale’s family vineyard for a week in the Mexican sun. Calisto surprised you with a romantic night in Paris. Keegan shoved you in a ridiculous dress so he could show you off to his team and you paid him back for every dig he took at you that night. Gaz took you to a football game during which him, Nova and Price argued the whole damn time. Lots of holidays, lots of laughter and dare you say contented happiness.

Now you just had to avoid giving in to that pesky fucking pregnancy kink half of them had.

[skeltnwrites]

Tides at Moonrise ☾⁺˖⋆₊

After being attacked by demobats in the Upside Down, Steve experiences some supernatural changes.

vampire!steve, bf!steve, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort / TW season 4 spoilers, vomit, arguing, drinking blood, very minor descriptions of injury and gore, mentions of death and cannibalism, spooky elements 6k

a/n - steve and dustin are such a fun pair to write i miss the iconic duo that they are

── .✦

“Fuck,” Steve croaks, swiping at the thread of spit swaying from his lips. He glowers at his reflection in the toilet bowl, muddied brown from a piece of chocolate but mostly bile. The sting of acid coats the back of his throat and sours the length of his tongue. 

It’s been four days, going on five, and he hasn’t been able to keep anything down. You’ve tried toast, soup, crackers, protein shakes, and every other sick food on the list. And now in a desperate attempt, you’ve ruined his favorite candy for him too. 

You press a water bottle to his bicep, “Here.”

“No.” His hands tremble where they’re braced against the porcelain rim. “I can’t.” 

“Stevie. It’s just water.” 

“I will. Just, not yet.” His tone is callous. He’s not mad, at least not at you. A culmination of feelings fester in his chest like a swarm of bees gearing for attack. But he won’t take this out on you. Won’t let himself. 

He sinks back on his heels, decidedly finished. 

You snake an arm around his middle as if to say it’s okay. You’re both exhausted from a string of sleepless nights. Finding the proper words requires a level of energy you don’t have. He prefers your touch anyway. 

The half-hearted embrace lacks the comfort you hope to find. The skin of his bare back is like ice against yours. It’s a foreign sensation, though becoming less and less so each day. 

Steve sags into your warmth with the entire brunt of his weight. His strength fades with each passing night, as your worry grows in equal measure.

A finger scratches the coarse gauze plastered to his tummy. It’s still snug, exactly how you fixed it. You only trouble him with changing his bandages if it’s necessary. You’re thankful that the road rash across his back has scabbed over. It’s healing fine, but it’s not pretty. Like a pair of fiery wings hung from his shoulder blades.  

You coax Steve back into your shared room. He’s averse but can’t afford a fight. 

It’s late morning. Bright enough to project bars of sunlight across your sheets. Steve winces at them, among a number of other things, as he crawls into bed. Even through the glass pane, the sun stings. It’s not unbearable, but an uncomfortable heat, like a sunburn. 

You reinforce the makeshift curtain where it’s unfastened itself. It’s a throw blanket you really miss now that you sleep beside a human ice pack. Someone is bringing blackout curtains to cover the blinds. You think it was Mike who offered, but you aren’t really sure. Your brain is fuzzy with fear and fatigue. The last week has tangled itself in your mind like an unraveled spool of thread. The only strand of it you’re focused on is what’ll help Steve. 

He seeks your hand when you join him on the mattress. There’s enough indirect light seeping in to highlight the sickly shade he’s become. Signature golden, sun-baked hues have drained from his skin like a bleached photograph. And while he hasn’t eaten or seen the sun in days, it just doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this situation does. 

You all have your theories– how this is linked to the Upside Down or a part of Vecna’s plan. But everything circles back to that night. Steve was shredded by demobats and took a chunk out of one with his teeth in revenge. Something about their bites or swallowing their blood did something to Steve. It changed him, right down to his DNA. 

Dustin’s tried to present several possibilities from a scientific standpoint. Gene mutations, parasites, cellular regeneration, infections, but there are always holes in his explanations, always things that don’t quite add up. But you’re running out of time. You feel it, Steve feels it, everyone does. He’s grasping at a fraying rope, wilting like a dying flower in your palms.  

Steve calls your name like a beacon from your thoughts.

“I can hear how anxious you are,” he says when you face him. 

You have to be the strong one right now. You shake your head. “I’m not. It’s okay.” 

He softens like melting snow and scoots closer until he’s more on your pillow than his. “Don’t lie. Please.” 

“I’m not,” you whisper, not caring that he won’t believe you. 

Steve sandwiches your fingers between both of his palms; draws soothing shapes across the marbled green and purple of your knuckles. “I can hear your heartbeat, you know. It’s racing.” 

Your first instinct is to call his bluff, then shove away any embarrassment and lock it up in a box deep in your brain until all of this is over. But he’s not lying. He’s a stupendously bad liar. And at this point, he could tell you he has x-ray vision and you wouldn’t be that surprised. 

“I can hear the blood pumping through your veins too.”

“Is that… new?” 

“No. It was just so chaotic before. I couldn’t focus on it.”

You study his eyes. They’re a shade of brown you never expected to become your favorite. Hooded and half-lidded with the weight of too many things for one person to carry. You try hard to commit them to memory because you’re afraid if they close they may never reopen. 

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. 

“You’re not.” You blink away the salty sting as fast as it arrives. “You don’t know that.”

“I got it out of my system. I feel fine.”

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s not,” he lies.

“It’s bullshit.” 

He snaps you a harsh look, seemingly triggered by your tone or choice of words. “Okay– well, shit, babe. What do you suppose we do?”

You sit up, ripping out of his grasp. “I dunno, Steve. Go to the hospital? The fucking government lab people? Literally anyone– we clearly don’t know–”

He scoffs, wrenching himself up with the help of the headboard. “Yeah, because the nurses will totally believe the part about the sentient vines that tried to strangle me. I mean clearly something– fucked, has happened to me. Something they aren’t going to know how to fix!” 

“Then the scientists! They might know! They’d have a better clue than us.” 

“And where do you suppose we find these scientists who El said were killed with Brenner?” 

“I don’t know, Steve! But it’s worth looking! You’re worth getting real help for!” 

The yelling is squashed by an even heavier thing that is silence. Steve isn’t sure what to say and neither are you. 

This is not the first time you’ve argued since that night. There’s enough stress between the two of you to stretch to the other side of the earth and back. And more than enough fear to turn both of your heads gray. You’re irritable and angry and so desperate for a night of sleep where you aren’t tormented by your loved one’s deaths. And you feel like your best friend in the whole world is walking a tightrope straight into death’s door. 

“I am okay,” he promises quietly. “I’ve been through worse. I have.” 

“What like getting in fist fights? Getting drugged by Russians? This is different, Steve. Something’s wrong.” Your voice raises and then wavers before breaking completely; like the keystone pulled from an arch, everything crumbles. 

Steve gathers you into his arms like you’re made of putty, scooping and pulling like you’ll slip right out of his hold. You inhale a staggered belt of air and choke on a sob into his collarbone. He seals you against his chest, not caring about the scrapes and cuts and bruises; not caring if they reopen and stain the mattress red. 

He cradles you for an innominate amount of time until you slacken and your sniffles morph into congested snores. His gaze flickers across your face, tracing the bend of your brows and the seam of your lips. He hates this; having to convince you he’s okay when he’s not. He needs to be stronger, to be there for you as much as you’ve been for him. Steve won’t lose you in this pit his body’s created. He can’t. 

ᯓ★

It’s evening when you wake. You can tell because the white glow framing the window has ebbed into orange. There’s a pounding at the base of your skull and a sharper pain, like two barbs behind your eyes. You remember why your eyes are puffy, why you aren’t warm in Steve’s embrace, and why someone’s knocking very loudly on the door all between one shuddery breath. You feel sad but you should be grateful. That’s the longest bout of sleep you’ve had all week. 

You tug away from your sleeping boyfriend and steal his water bottle off the nightstand. The static has to be shaken from your legs before you can drag yourself to answer the door. You know it’s Dustin before you open it because he’s the only one who knocks this impatiently. 

“Okay, I think I’ve figured it out,” he starts as soon as your face slides into view. “I was looking through my monster manual– and I know what you’re gonna say– this isn’t some game, Dustin,” he mocks your voice in an inarguably awful impression. You’d chastise him if you didn’t have such a killer headache. 

He prattles his way into the kitchen beside you while you search for that damn bottle of painkillers. Words are spilling out of Dustin’s mouth like a burst dam. You love him like a brother, and you appreciate him even more for what he’s saying, but you aren't catching a lick of it. The medicine is right where you forgot it beside the tower of dishes in the sink– mostly yours since Steve, well, you know. You take a swig of water and pop three pills. 

Dustin stops his spiel to ask, “Should you be taking that many?” 

“Yes, unless you want me to bash my head into the wall.” 

“Okay, fine. Whatever. As I was saying, if this really is the case, I think Steve’s a vampire!” He beams at you like this is great news; like he said something completely normal. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve huffs from the other side of the counter, a blanket strung across his back and bunched in the front like a cloak. He scrubs his nose, either squinting from being woken up or narrowing his eyes at Dustin in irritation, you aren’t sure. 

“I’m serious,” Dustin defends. 

“I’m going back to bed.” 

“Wait, Steve! Let me explain!” 

Steve entertains an explanation for one reason only. You told him to. Seven hours of sleep does nothing when you haven’t eaten for as long as he hasn’t. His stomach is twisting itself in knots and frankly, he doesn’t want to spend the last days of his life hearing about characters from Dustin’s nerdy game. 

But you both sit and listen and decide his theory actually kind of makes sense this time. Steve won’t admit it and you’re trying to be skeptical– raise all the right questions and find any holes– but your heart lurches at the possibility that you finally have an answer. A cure. 

Steve’s aversion to sunlight, his paling complexion, not being able to keep human food down, hearing your goddamn heartbeat– it all clicks. He’s a fucking vampire. 

“And vampires need blood!” You shout with Dustin. 

“You can’t be serious,” Steve glares at you. “I’m not a vampire.” 

“Weirder fucking things have happened here.” Your eyebrows knit together, mind swirling with endless thoughts. “I mean, how did we not consider this? You were bit by a bat!”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because it’s crazy!” 

“Steve!” 

He shakes his head in disbelief. You love him so much you’re desperate for anything, even illogical answers. He refuses to play along. 

“Will you just try it? See if it works first?” Dustin asks. 

“Do you realize what you’re asking me? To drink someone’s blood? Are you out of your mind? Where would we even–” 

Dustin cuts him off, shrugging, “I know a place.” 

“You know a place?”

“Yeah. I know a place. Don’t question me.” 

Steve stares, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s pig’s blood, from a farm.” 

“Christ, Henderson. I’m not drinking pig’s blood. You psycho.”

“Steve, don’t be like this,” you plead. “How can you know if you don’t try? Maybe you’ll like it?”

“‘Don’t be like this?’ Are you you kidding? I’m not doing it– that’s gross!” 

“Okay, okay. What about a steak? Like a really bloody one? Will you compromise?”

Steve makes a funny face. “Fine.” 

ᯓ★

“This is not the way to the grocery store,” Steve realizes out loud, heaving himself up in the backseat of his beamer. 

It’s overcast and nearly sunset but he’s dressed in long sleeves and brought his blanket-cloak for extra protection. Steve always loved the sun– pool days, barbecues, beach vacations, all of it. Now he can’t enjoy the heat of it from his bedroom without hurting. It’s like a punch to the gut, realizing you may never see his sun-kissed hair or trace his moles by his parent’s pool again. 

“Ding. Ding. Ding,” Dustin goads from the passenger seat beside you. 

“You guys are assholes. Especially you, Henderson.” 

“Wasn’t my idea.” 

Steve meets your gaze in the rearview mirror. He supplies his signature Steve pout. But only the tiniest slice of your brain is worried about that. You’re fixated on how bloodshot his eyes are. How deep they sag, even after sleeping as much as he has. You can deal with Steve being mad at you; what you can’t deal with is Steve being dead. 

You think he’s starting to come to terms with the plan because he doesn’t argue further. But he really just doesn’t have it in him to bicker. He thinks it’s a stupid idea. He’ll probably throw up, either at the smell or mind game of drinking it or whatever the hell’s wrong with his body. And pigs have all sorts of diseases, don’t they? It very well could make him more sick than he already is. 

When you arrive, Steve’s cheek is smushed against the car door. He’s been dozing in reluctant fits for most of the drive. 

The farm is fucking creepy, to say the least. It’s not dark yet, but the clouds are drawing shut over the last bit of light. And the long, gravelly path up to the house is freaking you out. This is the kind of place where people in movies get murdered. 

“You’re sure this is the right place?” You ask Dustin, shifting the car into park. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

You crane over your seat. Steve’s curled in on himself like an earthworm. The long drive was just a catalyst to knock him out. 

He’s been wired at night. You’ve spent hours up with him and the moon, trying any and everything that comes to mind– reading, movies, baths– none of it’s worked so far. But he’s exhausted during the day no matter how much he sleeps. At least the nocturnal-ness makes sense now. 

“We can’t leave him in here,” you say.

“Why not?” 

“What if he wakes up? Sees he’s in the middle of fucking nowhere by himself? He’ll think we left him.” 

“What if he makes a scene in front of the farmer? He’s not exactly on board with this plan.” 

You sigh, defeated. You can’t send Dustin alone. If he gets slaughtered, you don’t think you’ll be able to live with yourself. Plus Dustin already called this guy to arrange this and explained the pig’s blood was for a project for film school. Dustin doesn’t exactly look old enough to pass as a college kid so that parts up to you. 

“Okay, come on.” You open and click the door shut as gingerly as the car allows. 

Dustin isn’t spooked but he is cautious. He scans the pines beyond the house, the truck parked under the sycamore tree, and the underside of the porch. No murderers, yet. 

You knock and put on your best film school student face. 

A long-bearded man in his seventies at least, cautiously eyes you through the crack of the doorway. “Can I help ya?” 

“Hi, we’re here to buy pig’s blood. For a school project,” you say. 

“Oh,” he grumbles, setting aside a shotgun before unlatching the slide bolt. “Forgot you was comin’.” 

The man ushers you inside. The foyer looks normal enough– framed family photos and wooden side tables and a floral rug. There’s no blood stains or screams or machetes lying around. That’s a good thing. But you can’t shake the uneasy feeling. It follows you through the house like a ghost. 

“I sell it by the gallon. Five dollars for one. How many ya need?” 

“Uhh. Two?” You glance at Dustin for reassurance. 

He frowns and shrugs. 

“Alrighty. Let me grab ‘em from the basement.” 

The basement? Those are keywords in a scary movie. He probably keeps his victims in the basement. Or worse, his weapons. 

“This place is creepy as shit,” Dustin leans over and whisper-yells as soon as the guy’s out of earshot. “We need to get this blood and get the hell out of here!” 

You swallow hard and think of Steve alone in the car. He’s not being brutally murdered right now. He’s not running for his life through the cornfield. He’s not–

“Here ya are, kids.” He lugs two dark red jugs onto the kitchen table. 

A thought crosses your mind that it’s human blood. How would you know? Are you about to force your boyfriend into cannibalism? 

You fumble with your wallet, willing your hands not to shake as you pass him a ten. 

“Now where’d ya say you go to school?” 

“Bloomington.”

“Purdue.” 

You blink stupidly at the man, scrounging your throat for excuses and pulling them up painfully by each word. “He’s going to Purdue– Well, he wants to. When he gets in he’ll go there! I go to Bloomington.” You purse your lips and nod excessively, like that’ll really top off the story's believability. 

“Right,” Dustin chuckles nervously. 

He cocks an eyebrow, “Well, okay then. Hope yer film goes well.” 

“Thanks!” 

You yank a gallon off the table and Dustin snatches the other.

Night has officially settled in, and the wooden porch steps creak loudly beneath your weight. For a moment before Dustin reminds you, you forget you left the keys in the car and convince yourself the old man has taken them and you’ve just become the star of the latest blockbuster. 

Steve startles awake when Dustin slams his door. He lurches into the back of your seat as you floor it in reverse. 

“What! What happened?” He shouts. “Guys, what the hell?” 

Dustin releases a dramatic sigh, slumps into his seat, and lays the back of his hand over his forehead. “We almost died, Steve.” 

“What!” 

Your hands are slick against the steering wheel. You’re still half expecting the farmer to materialize in the middle of the road with an axe. 

Steve bends over the center console and shakes your shoulder. “What happened?” 

He pulls you back into reality. He’s good at that. Except for before when Dustin convinced you that this was a good idea in the first place. 

You describe what happened in a poor attempt at good storytelling and Steve quickly determines that you and Dustin are just a pair of ‘paranoid idiots’. 

He perks up on the way back, offering to drive and booting Dustin to the backseat when you agree. Dustin gets dropped off at his house on the way to yours, leaving you, Steve, and two gallons of pig’s blood in your kitchen. 

“Should I heat it up, or like, mix it with something?” You ask. 

“It was your crazy idea, honey.” 

“It was Dustin’s. And I’m asking how you’d like it. You’re the one drinking it.” 

“I’d like you to throw it out.”

“Steve.”

“Mhmm?” 

“I can put it in a shot glass?” 

A wide smile divides his lips; the kind that makes your tummy flip. You ache for it as soon as it fades. 

“I hate you,” is said with such affection it can’t mean anything but the opposite. 

“I love you too. Seriously, though. How do you want it?” 

He takes it raw. Too afraid that combining it with real food will upset his stomach regardless and too afraid heating it up will trick his brain into thinking it’s human blood. You take a small glass from the cabinet and fill it halfway. Enough for a few big sips but not enough to set any absurd expectations either. 

Steve gags when you pass him the cup. You can’t blame him. It smells the farthest thing from appetizing. There’s a musky, metallic quality to it, like a box of screws that have been sitting in a garage for ages. 

“I can’t do this,” he decides. 

“Come on, Stevie. It might help.”

“No. You’re insane. Do you smell that? It’s rancid.” 

“It’s not rancid. You tore that bat's throat apart with your teeth. You’re telling me you didn’t taste its blood? At all?” 

Steve clicks his tongue. “I don’t remember! It was a heat of the moment thing– not supposed to be my dinner!” 

“I can count you down?” 

“No, no. Just,” he lines his nose over the cup for another whiff and scrunches his face in disgust. “Give me a minute.” 

A minute turns to three which turns to ten. But you can be patient. 

“I can try it first,” you offer.

“Absolutely not.” 

You don’t insist. You weren't exactly keen on offering in the first place; the smell really is strong. 

Without warning, he launches the cup up to his lips and takes several hefty gulps like he’s chugging a beer. And Steve’s determined, he empties it in one attempt, peeling the glass away and leaving a crimson mustache behind. A fist shoots up to stifle a burp and scrub his mouth after. 

After dating for so long, you can read Steve like a book; sometimes, you think you know him better than yourself. But this is the first time in a long time, you truly cannot decipher his expression. His lips twitch into a weird satisfied almost-frown and his lashes flutter like hummingbird wings. 

“What? How was it?” 

“It was… it…” He shakes his head, “I dunno.” 

“You don’t know?”

“Yeah, I don’t–” He snags the jug off the counter to pour another glass. 

You gawk, open-mouthed and floundering as much as a fish on the shore. “You like it?” You manage to ask. 

He takes another few sips, smacking on the aftertaste and analyzing. “I mean it’s… I really hated it at first. And it doesn’t taste good still. But, I don’t know, it’s like filling, I guess.”

“That’s good, right? You don’t feel nauseous?” 

“No.” He grins, relief washing over his features. “What the fuck.” 

“Dude, you’re a fucking vampire.” 

“Does that mean I’m like, immortal and shit.” Steve blinks at his hands like they might grow an extra set of fingers. 

You aren’t ready to process that possibility and instead, turn to open the fridge. “Do we have garlic?” You ask. Glasses clink as you card through the side door, retrieving the jar of minced garlic. You pop the lid and shove it under Steve’s nostrils. 

He wrenches away at the sudden potency of it. But it’s not repulsive. It’s the same scent he remembers.“Maybe I’d have to eat it?” 

“Or it might be a myth?” 

“I hope it is. I really like garlic bread.” He licks his lips, fishing for leftovers. “Is it bad if I have another glass?” 

Steve drinks half a gallon of pig’s blood like it’s orange juice. And weirdly, it doesn’t gross you out one bit. You’re just grateful to see him smile. To see him digest something and not immediately chuck it up. 

After four glasses, he belches accidentally and tumultuously with a groan. A strong hand grips your waist for support, the other propped against the countertop behind him. 

“You okay? Are you gonna be sick?”

He shakes his head, pinching his eyes closed. 

“Are you sure? What’s wrong?” 

“Dizzy,” he mumbles, searching for you in the sliver of vision still there. It’s like somebody’s strapped anchors to his eyelids.  

Heat flashes the inside of your body like lightning. Your first thought is poison. Some kind of poison. The farmer poisoned him? No. Drinking that much blood would poison anybody, right? Should you call poison control? Force Steve to throw up? Several trains of thought overlap and intersect into one inescapable explosion of anxiety. 

“Here, come here. Come sit.” You encourage Steve’s full weight into your side, underestimating how heavy he is. You stagger sideways, catching yourself on the stovetop with your free hand. On the way to the living room, he rams a shin into the coffee table and nearly takes you both out when you fail to warn him to step over a shoe. He’s easier to manage when he’s shitfaced, you think. Maybe this is like being drunk for him on some level. Blood drunk. 

But you make it to the couch; collapse into the cushions with the full force of two adults and pretend it doesn’t hurt when Steve headbutts your chin. Your limbs get organized for optimal comfort– Steve’s legs slung across your lap and his face tucked against your collarbone. 

He’s deadweight against you. Awake but just barely. And only fending off sleep for your sake; he can feel how scared you are. 

“‘s like a sugar rush,” he says, slow as a drop of honey. “‘m so tired.” 

“You feel tired? That’s all? Not sick?” You press a cheek into his crown, combing the untamed mop of bedhead starting at the roots. 

There’s an attempt to shake his head but all you feel is a twitch. He hums no and sighs, “Feels good.” 

His breath is freezing. You can’t help but shiver. Your fingers rake through his hair. One trails down to linger over his pulse point. It’s steady, not abnormally slow. At least if he is dying, he’ll die content. 

Steve isn’t the only person you love. You love the kids like they’re your siblings and some of their parents like they’re your own. But your love for Steve is uniquely distinct. You love him in a way you aren’t sure you could love anyone else. And you can’t lose that. You can’t lose Steve. 

He tilts his face up and he unsticks his eyelashes like they’ve been brushed with glue. “Relax.” 

You nod, too afraid to rely on your voice. A fingernail scratches the crusted stripe of blood cutting his chin in half. He looks peaceful, for once. “Sleep,” you whisper. 

That’s about the easiest thing anyone’s asked him to do all week. He feels as light and full as a balloon, trusting you to tether him to earth if he floats—your arms are a string of safety. He feels okay for the first time since that night. More than okay, even. 

Steve staples you against the couch but he’s more of a weighted blanket than a barrier. You have no intention of leaving his side anyway. You’d swear you aren’t tired but you fall asleep anyway. 

ᯓ★

It’s warm, uncharacteristically warm. You’re pinned on your side in a tight-knit cocoon of blankets. And you feel great, for once– no headache, no nightmares, nothing of the sort. It’s tempting to go right back to sleep but you begrudgingly open your eyes because this can’t be right. It’s not. You’re alone. Even in the dark, that’s obvious. Steve’s a restless sleeper and more often than not is holding some part of your body for comfort. What’s weirder, you’re in bed. You definitely didn’t fall asleep in bed. 

It’s too hot. You miss the unfamiliar cold of Steve’s skin. Where is he? 

You shove the layers off your body and sit up, blinking harshly, and swallowing harsher to chase the dryness away. Your feet are flimsy under your weight so you grip the bedpost for balance. You feel brittle as a pie crust, like you’ve been baking under that duvet for years. 

For a brief moment, you consider that you actually have woken up from a nightmare. Which parts are real and which parts aren’t, well, that’s hard to distinguish. But that still doesn’t explain Steve’s absence. 

You fumble around on the carpet beneath the bed for Steve’s bat. Stack one hand on top of the other, choke it at the base, and always point away– exactly how Steve showed you. You try not to fixate on the blood-rusted nails, but the image of a mangled demobat sticks to the forefront of your memory like a tattoo. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the squeal it made when you struck it. 

It’s eerily silent in the hall and just as black as your bedroom. Steve’s not on the couch where you hoped to find him but his keys hang from their rightful home by the door. He wouldn’t leave on foot, right? 

You slink into the kitchen and when it also comes up empty, you panic. You check inside a cabinet and then another, but he couldn’t fit inside if he tried. You realize the sink has been emptied and the countertops cleared. But why make the effort to clean it just to leave? Some kind of twisted goodbye favor? 

Something frigid skims the bare back of your arm and your heart stops. You lurch forward a few feet before barrelling around, bat outstretched between you and… Steve. 

He’s in a fresh pair of pajamas and his hair is slicked back behind his ears. His complexion is dewy, glowing with the moonlight spilling in from the window. He looks alert. 

“What the hell! Where the fuck were you?” 

Wide eyes comb over you. A warmness has returned to them, a sweetness too. And suddenly you don’t really care about where he was when he tells you, “I was just in the bathroom.” 

“With the light off?” You bark, still upset and climbing your way down the defensive fence you put up. Outbursts aren’t limited to just him, you have your reasons, and he knows that. But you know you need to reel yourself in before this turns into something it shouldn’t. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Did I wake you? I just– hey.” 

The bat clinks against the tile where you drop it. You lunge into Steve, interlacing your arms across his shoulders in a fierce hug. 

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” He spreads each palm across opposite ends of your back. 

“I thought– I thought you left or– or you died, or something.” You gasp wetly into his sternum, clinging to him like he might blow away if you breathe too hard. 

“I didn’t leave. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

He shushes and soothes you for a long period before you lean back for a better look at him. “You’re okay?” You blubber. 

“Yeah, I feel way better,” he promises. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I scared you.” The pad of his thumb strokes a loop from the end of your brow to the bridge of your nose and back.  

“I almost took your head off with that bat.” 

He chuckles but it lacks any real amusement; he can’t find a joke through all his concerns. A set of kisses are sewn from your hairline to your chin. “I’m sorry. Are you hungry?” 

“It’s like four AM,” you wipe your nose with the flat of your hand. 

“So? You’ve been busy taking care of my ass. When was the last time you ate?” 

You make a noncommittal noise. You really can’t remember. 

“Exactly. Let me make you something. What do you want?” 

You let Steve cook for you. He’s happy to return the favor, take care of you for a change. And you’re just happy he’s happy. 

All vigor appears to be restored. He stands tall, moves swiftly, and works sprightly, maybe even more so than before. It feels too good to be true. Perhaps you’re dreaming now. 

He doesn’t notice he’s cooking with the lights off until you mention it. And he swears they don’t bother him like the sun does when you question him, just another newfound ability that he can see in the dark. But he flicks the light on for you and you find his face is a shade that is much more Steve. Not as golden as before, but not as lifeless, either. 

When you get situated at the dining room table under dim lights with a plate full of steaming food, you thank him. 

“Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you, dummy.” 

You shake your head. Gratitude is not needed. “I missed you.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

Silly apologies aren’t needed either. “Don’t be, please. Nothing you could do.” 

“No, I should’ve listened to you, from the start. I hate to admit it, but you and Dustin were right.” 

A touch of a smirk finds your lips. He’s so stubborn, you love it as much as you hate it. “We need to call him. Tell him it worked.” 

“Inflate his ego some more?”

“Exactly,” you crack into a grin and he watches fondly, despite your mouth full of food. “But seriously, he cares about you, Steve.”

“No, I know. I know. I’ll call him.” 

There’s a dip in the conversation. You observe each other like you might never have the chance again. A mutual understanding eclipses any prior tension. You’re both alive and you’re both endlessly grateful. 

“We should visit Max. The others too. I’d like to see them.” 

You nod, an attempt to self-soothe more than a confirmation of his request. Tears prick your waterline like sand spurs and spill in quicksilver lines down your cheeks before you can stop them. 

Steve scoots his chair against yours, shovels you into his lap, and begs you to tell him what’s wrong in one fluid motion.

“I’m just so glad you're okay, Stevie. That’s all.” 

“I’m okay,” he assures and he repeats it again and again until you believe it. 

His fingers are icicles where they sweep the length of your arm. It’s a stark reminder of what’s changed. 

The love of your life, Steve Harrington, is a vampire. The idea is peculiar, sticks out in your thoughts like caution tape. But it presents some sense of consolation too. 

Steve’s a vampire. He moves like a mouse and can see in the dark and hears your heartbeat from across the room. Admittedly, you hate that last part a little bit. It’s fucking bizarre and something that’ll take time to get used to; even more for Steve than for you. Most importantly, he’s still sweet on you. Still selfless enough to nurse your wounds before his. Still loving enough to kiss your tears as they fall. 

This new phase is just that– a new phase. It brings things to learn and even more things to love about Steve. It’ll take a lot worse to tear you apart.

[moonpascal]

IN THE SHADOW OF MEMORY

CHAPTER FOUR I series masterlist I wc: 3.4k

WARNINGS:

hurt/angst, lonelines, lots of dialogue

AUTHORS NOTE:

thank you to @amiableness my love as always gave me the encouragement i need for these things!

sorry for the long wait! i played hogwarts legacy for the first time and got sucked in. but it did help me with visioning locations and everything. hopefully chapter four was worth the wait (idk feels like a filler lol)

The past few days had been agonizingly unproductive since you realized the extent of your memory loss—entire chunks of the last year and a half simply gone. 

Hermione, stubborn as ever, refused to tell you what you were missing, no matter how much you begged. You knew she was hiding something, and it frustrated you to no end. These were your memories, after all—you had every right to know what had been erased.

The memory that played in the great hall never left you. You couldn’t be sure if it was a fragment of what was lost or just your mind playing tricks on you. Either way, it felt personal, too personal to share with her without knowing for certain if it was real.

But every time you tried to push through and remember more, it was as if a wall slammed down in your mind, sending a jarring, almost painful shock that stopped you cold. Why had this happened to you? Was it an accident, or had someone targeted you? The questions were maddening.

Caught in a loop of pacing and rubbing your temples in frustration, you accidentally kicked your trunk, sending the pile of jumpers and a tie sprawling across the floor. Huffing in annoyance, you bent down to fold them again, ignoring the nagging sense of familiarity they stirred. You were too irritated, too overwhelmed to connect it.

Just as you finished folding the last item, Grace walked in, looking thoroughly exhausted.

“Tough class?” you asked, trying to shift your focus.

She let out a small, tired laugh as she dropped her bag at the foot of her bed. “I wish. Just boys not taking no for an answer,” she sighed.

You shot her a sympathetic look, knowing the feeling all too well. “Wouldn’t happen to be a certain Slytherin whose clothes I keep tripping over, would it?” you teased, holding up the pile.

Grace gave you a sharp, confused look for a moment, and you worried you’d said the wrong thing. But then she forced a smile. “Right! That’s… um, exactly why he’s upset, but he really shouldn’t have left his closet in our dorm,” she said, a nervous edge to her voice.

“Serves him right,” you laughed, before glancing at the clothes again. “But on a serious note, could you possibly return these to him? Or maybe I should just throw them out? They’re taking up space, and I keep knocking them over.”

“Oh,” Grace said, eyes widening like she’d just been reminded of something important. She grabbed the pile from you a bit too quickly. “Of course! I’ll do that right now.”

Before you could protest or tell her she didn’t need to rush, she was already out the door, leaving you standing there, even more confused than before.

In her hurried state, she might have noticed the pesky tie that slipped off again. 

You knew you needed to study and catch up on your missing assignments, but any excuse to procrastinate sounded more appealing. Weighing your options for a brief moment, you grabbed the tie and left the room, hoping to catch up with her.

Exiting your out of the common room and bounding down the stairs, you guessed Grace was heading toward the Slytherin area.

Hopefully, you could catch her but luck wasn’t on your side—she was on a mission, and you didn’t spot her once as you made your way through the castle.

The dungeons weren’t a place you frequented, so you were surprised when you managed to navigate there on your first try. 

Upon arriving, you saw Theo trudging down the steps, the pile of clothes in his arms. You faltered, a strange pang coursing through you for reasons you couldn’t explain.

You considered a quick escape, but Theo called your name before you had a chance to move.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, a touch of surprise in his voice. You didn’t have any classes together today, so it was unexpected to see you. He shifted the clothes under his arm, stepping closer.

“I tried to catch Grace—she dropped this,” you awkwardly gestured to the tie in your hand, “but I guess I found the culprit.”

Theo’s eyes widened at the implication, his heart sinking a bit. “No, these aren’t mine,” he quickly corrected.

You shot him a skeptical look. “So, you and Grace aren’t... involved?” you asked, waving your hand in a vague motion.

Theo scrunched his face in disgust, shaking his head. “No, never. She’s just a friend. She gave these to me to return to one of the guys.”

“Right,” you said, though still not entirely convinced. “Well, make sure he gets his tie back, too.” You draped it over the pile in his arms.

“Right, of course. Thank you for bringing it,” Theo smiled, and any doubt you had about him lying slowly drifted away. You found yourself staring at him, that smile triggering a flash of a memory—the same one from before.

Could it have been real? Theo seemed different now, kinder than you remembered. And how had you never noticed how... easy on the eyes he was?

“Woah, Tesoro, are you okay?” Theo’s voice brought you out of your thoughts, and you realized he had a hand on your shoulder and another gently cupping your cheek. The clothes he’d been holding were forgotten on the ground. 

His face was so close to yours that you instinctively took a step back, but the absence of his touch left you yearning.

“I’m sorry, what?” you said, dazed and confused, not fully processing why he was asking.

“Your nose—it’s bleeding. Let’s get you to sit down,” he said urgently, grabbing the tie and guiding you to a nearby bench. You almost tripped from how sudden it was.

“I’m fine, really, Theodore,” you insisted, brushing it off. “This is probably the fourth one today.” The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted it.

“Fourth?” His tone grew tense, his eyes full of concern. “Are they accompanied by anything else? Headaches? Nausea? Fainting spells?” He inspected you, wiping the blood from your upper lip with the now-ruined tie.

You shrugged, trying to seem unbothered. “Not all the time. I don’t think it’s that serious.”

Theo, however, looked far from reassured. “That’s not normal,” he muttered your name, his worry etched deeply into his face.

“Theo, really, I’m fine. Just a little tired,” you tried to comfort him, but his expression barely softened. Hearing you use his name, though, seemed to snap him back. He pulled back slightly, still visibly rattled. 

“Right, sorry,” he stammered, dropping his hands from you as if your touch burned him. 

“I appreciate the concern, though,” you said, genuinely touched by how much he seemed to care. A stark contrast from the Theo you were used to. “Could we talk later? I have this thing that I can’t seem to figure out.” 

He blinked, seemingly taken aback by your suggestion. In truth, you were a bit surprised by it yourself.

“I have Quidditch practice tonight, but how about tomorrow?” he offered, a bit nervously.

“Perfect,” you grinned. “See you tomorrow then, Theodore.”

He smiled in return, and for a moment, you found yourself wanting to stay and just stare at him. Another part of you still hesitated, wary of his past actions and the memories you couldn’t access. But maybe he had the answers. 

You watched him walk away, a slight spring in his step as he bent to pick up the discarded clothes. He disappeared into the Slytherin common room, the snake door sliding shut. The sight surprisingly comforted you. 

You sat for a moment before finally rising from the bench and starting the walk back to your common room. Your mind was a tangled mix of questions, emotions, and fleeting familiarities that refused to come into focus. It felt like your brain was in overdrive, struggling to fill in blanks without knowing where to start.

The walk back to your dorm felt like a blur, your mind racing with thoughts of how to piece together the gaps in your memory. You needed answers, but the trio seemed determined to keep you out of the loop, offering vague reassurances that only deepened your frustration.

You hated the way they looked at you—like you were fragile, something to be handled with care. It made you feel small, like you weren’t capable of understanding your own situation. The growing silence around what was happening to you was suffocating, and your dorm had become the only place where you didn’t feel on edge.

As you spotted Harry ahead in the corridor, you sped up, determined to find a distraction from the overwhelming pressure of your missing memories. You bumped him lightly with your shoulder, forcing a smile. “Hey, stranger. Haven’t seen you in a while. Want to sneak off to Hogsmeade?”

Harry hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Trouble, I would, really, but I’ve got Quidditch practice tonight.”

Your smile faltered, a flicker of confusion crossing your face. If Slytherin had practice, there was no way Gryffindor did too. The rivalry between the two houses was so intense they could barely play fair in an actual game, let alone share the pitch for practice. You opened your mouth to question him, but Harry quickly cut you off.

“Tomorrow, yeah? We can go then. It’s Saturday, so no sneaking required.” Giving you an awkward smile. 

“Right. Tomorrow.” You nodded, but the unease gnawed at you. First Theo, now Harry. The feeling of being lied to—it stung more than you wanted to admit. Harry never hid things from you before, and Theo—well, you didn’t know him well enough to judge, but it still hurt.

You turned away before Harry could say more, heading in the opposite of his direction- mind you was not towards the pitch. 

When you finally reached your dorm and shut the door behind you, the quiet hit you hard. Alone again, the weight of the past few days crashed down. You dropped onto your bed, letting out a shaky breath. The frustration, confusion, and hurt welled up, but you couldn’t bring yourself to cry. You just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling more isolated than ever.

No one was being honest with you. They were keeping you at arm’s length, treating you like you couldn’t handle the truth. You were left to fend for yourself, with only half the pieces to a puzzle that seemed impossible to solve. You felt pushed aside, only to be dealt with when it was convenient.

It hurt more than you wanted to admit, and the pity party you were throwing yourself was, for the moment, the only thing that felt comforting.

“Fridays, we’ll go to the Astronomy Tower at midnight. It’ll be our thing.”

The words jolted you awake. You blinked, disoriented, scanning the dark room. The moonlight filtered in softly, casting long shadows. You rubbed your eyes and looked around, hoping to find the source of the voice, but the room was silent. Your roommates’ curtains were drawn, and their steady breathing filled the space.

You lay back, trying to make sense of what you’d heard. Maybe it was a dream. Or maybe, another memory trying to break through the haze?

After tossing and turning for what felt like an eternity, it became clear you weren’t going to be able to fall back asleep. Frustrated, you sighed and threw off the covers, slipping on your shoes. Before you knew it, you were out the door, your curiosity leading you through the corridors.

You tiptoed through the common room, careful not to wake anyone. Without Harry’s cloak, you had to rely on the disillusionment spell to stay hidden, but you knew it wasn’t foolproof. 

You navigated the quiet halls, turning corners and climbing staircases with no real sense of direction, yet somehow you felt like you were being pulled somewhere—guided by the echo of those words.

Soon enough, you found yourself at the base of the Astronomy Tower. You hesitated for a moment, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu before your feet carried you up the winding staircase. The ascent felt both familiar and foreign, like a path you had walked countless times. It felt like your body was moving on its own, like it knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

When you finally reached the top, you paused. The silence of the tower wrapped around you, and with a quiet exhale, you removed the disillusionment spell, standing under the vast, starry sky.

The silence was broken by a cough, jolting you from your thoughts. You nearly screamed, spinning around to see Theo sitting against the railing, watching you with curious eyes.

“Merlin! Theodore, you scared me!” you hissed, clutching your chest as your heart pounded.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, clearly finding your reaction amusing. You glared at him, but he just smiled.

“What are you doing up here?” you asked, exasperated as you stepped closer to where he was sitting.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he smirked. The teasing tone was so typical of him, and despite everything, it brought you some comfort.

You rolled your eyes. “Needed some air. And you?”

“Something like that,” he shrugged, taking a drag from the cigarette between his fingers.

“You know those things will kill you, right?” you said, deciding to sit down next to him. You tucked your legs beneath you, resting your back against the railing.

“I’ve heard,” he replied, exhaling the smoke away from you before flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his foot.

You bit your tongue, resisting the urge to lecture him about the littering. “Maybe you should take their advice.”

He chuckled softly humming in response, leaning his head back against the railing, eyes closed. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Strangely, you felt more at ease up here with him than you had in days.

With his eyes closed, you stole a glance at his face—the messy hair, the moles dotting his skin, and those lips… You quickly looked away, mentally scolding yourself.

“So,” he said, grabbing your attention. His gaze so focused it made you avert your eyes again, “what really brought you up here?”

“I’m… not sure,” you admitted, fidgeting with the fraying edge of your skirt. “I thought I heard a voice, but it could’ve been a dream. It said something about Astronomy Tower at midnight, and I got curious.”

You noticed Theo’s jaw clench briefly before relaxing again, making you frown slightly. “And you?” you asked, trying to redirect the conversation.

“Just needed some quiet,” he said, hesitating for a moment. “But… what was it you wanted to talk about earlier?”

You had nearly forgotten about that. Now that he asked, the words seemed to stick in your throat. You wanted to say you could wait, let him have his moment of peace, but you needed answers.

“Oh, right,” you sighed, unsure of where to start. “I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“Take your time,” Theo reassured, his voice soft, and you were grateful to see no judgment in his eyes.

You took a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. It was hard to know where to even begin.

“Long story short, I lost a chunk of my memories,” you started, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “And the other day, I think I had a flashback of one… with you?”

Theo immediately straightened himself, his attention fully locked on you.

“I was—um, what was your memory about?” he asked, his voice a little shaky as if he was trying to stay calm, but you could sense a bit of hope behind his eyes.

“Don’t laugh,” you warned, giving him a serious look, though a faint smile tugged at your lips. “We were in the Forbidden Forest, I think. I was upset about a letter, and you came along, and we… burned it. Does that sound familiar at all?” You searched his face, praying that this wasn’t just your imagination playing tricks on you.

Theo’s expression tightened, his brow furrowing as if he was choosing his next words very carefully. He looked torn, like saying the wrong thing might somehow hurt you more.

“It’s just… we only had our first conversation a few days ago, right?” you added, trying to lighten the mood despite the tension.

He grimaced slightly, rubbing his eyes. “No,” he sighed, his voice heavy. “That was a memory. That night in the Forbidden Forest—that was the first time we really talked. I was out there trying to clear my head, had a lot going on, and then I heard you. You were crying. I didn’t expect to find you out there.”

“Have we… had more conversations since that night?” you asked cautiously, feeling a strange mix of relief and confusion.

Theo hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, we did.” 

“Could you tell me more? Did we hang out after that? Were we friends or just acquaintances? I just feel so lost and confused. You confirming this is the first bit of clarity I’ve had in days,” your voice cracked, the weight of everything you’d been carrying finally slipping through.

Theo’s face shifted, a mixture of pain and hesitation crossing his features. He looked away briefly, his hands gripping the railing beside him. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, careful. “I wish I could tell you everything… I really do.”

He paused, glancing at you before continuing. “But… it’s not that simple.”

Your heart sank at his words, a mix of frustration and sadness settling in your chest. “Why? What’s stopping you?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t want to, believe me. We just don’t know what could happen if we sprung all this information onto you, how the spell or you would react if we try to fill in all the gaps. I mean you’re already having nosebleeds and intense migraines from no one even saying anything. If we push too hard, it could make things worse.”

Theo’s voice softened as he continued. “I just don’t want to hurt you more than you’re already hurting.” His eyes searched yours, hoping you’d understand.

You looked away, the sting of disappointment dulling the relief you’d felt just moments ago. “But I need to know, Theo. I can’t keep living like this, with these blanks and half-truths. Everyone’s treating me like I’m fragile, like I’ll shatter if they say the wrong thing.” Your voice trembled, a mix of anger and helplessness rising to the surface.

Theo shifted closer, his hand hovering just above yours before he hesitated and withdrew. “I get it,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But trust me when I say this—it’s not that we’re all in on some secret without you. We’re just… trying to keep you safe.”

The vulnerability in his eyes made your heart ache. You could see the struggle there, the pull between wanting to protect you and the desire to be honest. He wasn’t just holding back for the sake of secrecy—it was out of concern for you.

“Safe from what?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion. “I feel more trapped than safe. Like I’m stuck behind this wall, and everyone’s watching me struggle without actually helping.”

Theo exhaled, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but we’re doing the best we can. It’s not that we don’t want to tell you—it’s that we don’t know what’ll happen if we do.”

You bit your lip, feeling that familiar swell of frustration rise again. “So I’m just supposed to wait? Until what? Until my memories come back on their own? What if they never do?”

Theo breath stutters and he hesitates. He’s tried his best not to think of that possibility, that you’ll come back to him and this in time would be a funny memory. “I don’t have all the answers. But you’re not alone in this, okay? Even if it feels like it.” 

You wanted to believe him. Despite everything, you could sense that Theo genuinely cared, even if he couldn’t give you the answers you desperately sought. You looked at him, your chest tightening with the mix of anger and sadness swirling inside you. “I just wish I knew what I was missing.”

Theo nodded slowly, his eyes heavy with the weight of things left unsaid. “When the time comes, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. The cool night air seemed to press down, the weight of your shared secrets hanging in the space between you.

Finally, you nodded, feeling a small sense of comfort in Theo’s promise, even if it couldn’t give you what you needed right now.

If you enjoyed, please please reblog or comment! Your words keep me motivated to write and make me so happy <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[heartfullofleeches]

Bodyguard Werewolf Reader, but everyone kinda sorta babies them-

"So, your resume says you're some kinda... werewolf?"

"Yeah. Both my parents were wolves, so it's a hereditary thing, actually. I was the runt of the litter til I hit puberty. The sudden change put a lot of strain on my body, and I still have muscle pains every now and then, but I'm good with manual labor.... The strength is great and all, but sometimes I do miss being carried around like I was when I was a pup, haha."

".... Touch one fucking box and I'll put you on a week's suspension.

You're really only used for intimidation purposes. Your boss and fellow soldiers are quick to threaten you'll crush someone's head with your bare hands (God some of them wish that were them), but the second a fight starts you're pushed to the back of the room and crowded by a miniature squad. While they flaunt your strength, they just as easily write you off as a poor defenseless puppy though you could likely take most of them with one arm behind your back. If you ever join the battle and tear someone's limbs off they praise you for a job well done, and pull out the fanciest shampoos and combs to get all the matted blood and chunks of flesh out of your fur. Basically you're paid to stand around and look menacing, but spoiled behind closed doors.

-

Yan Coworker: Better talk now or our mate here is going to bite your face off.

Captive: I'll tell you whatever you want. Just keep that... that beast away from me!

Yan Coworker, held back by others: Fuck you say, you little shit?! That beast is my precious sweetie angel. I oughta knock your teeth out your ass just for saying that. Let me at 'em. Let me 'em!

-

Yan Coworker: Who wants to go on walkies? Who wants treats and the window rolled down for being such a good wolf?

You: Please stop referring to patrol as "walkies".... But yes, both would be nice, thank you.

-

Yan boss: You're just a cute little puppy, aren't cha?

You: Boss, please....

Yan Boss: Sweet, adorable baby who can do no wrong.

You: I broke someone's spine like a twig not even two hours ago.

[dotster001]

For Tuna; Duel End

You can vote for the next ending here

Chapters One Two Three Choose a different ending

“I've had it! They're all worthless!” Grim shouted as he stormed into Ramshackle. 

You looked up warily from the book you were reading on the sofa.

“Who's worthless, Grim?” 

“They are!” He screeched, throwing some folders on the ground. You sighed at the mess you would no doubt have to clean up.  

“Well, why are they worthless?” You moved to start cleaning up the folders, and he hissed at you. You retracted your hand. 

He stared for a moment, before looking off into the distance. 

“I, uh, have to do a partner project, for extra credit. And I'd narrowed it down to who I thought I should pick, but all of them are stupid head poopy butts.”

“That's rough, Grimmy,” you sighed, noticing one of the folders had a familiar name. You raised a brow. “How is Silver a stupid head poopy butt?”

Grim scowled. 

“He just is. Don't ask too many questions!” he sighed sadly. “I don't know what to do,Y/N, everyone I thought was perfect for this project is awful. I feel like I'm starting over!”

“Well, can I be your partner?”

“That would defeat the entire purpose,” he pouted.

Ah, probably an assignment that was meant to build his independence from you.

“Deuce always needs extra-”

“Blech!”

Not Deuce then. Got it.

“Well, what if you make a list of all the possible people who aren't, what was it?”

“Stupid head poopy butts.”

“Right. Then you can pick one randomly. If that one turns out to be a…well you know, you can pick a different one. And then if no one is good, please just go to Deuce. For the love of God, your grades reflect on me as well!”

“Go to Deuce?” He spat. “You have no idea what you ask of me, human! But still….your idea of picking randomly is not bad! Perhaps I have been putting too much thought into something that requires no thought at all!”

You highly doubted that. 

But he seemed happy again, putting together a list of seemingly unrelated names. You noted he wrote down your lab partner Alano’s name, before snickering and crossing it out.

Once he had all the names written down, he pulled a name out of a hat.

“Sebek?” You asked. “He's smart. He has a lot of life experience too. I bet he'd be a great fit.”

“Yeah, and his dad's a dentist,” Grim said with a worrying smile.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound excited for him, despite your confusion. “If you want, I can walk you over there. I need to give him back the notes I borrowed, anyway.”

“I don't know if that's a good idea,” Grim frowned.

“Okay, I can ask Mal Mal to bring the notes then-”

“I've changed my mind. Come with me.”

….

When Sebek wasn't in class, he was in the Diasomnia courtyard, dueling the training dummy. It was worse for wear; chunks of it were missing, and the parts still together had deep scars.

Never had he felt such painful turmoil in his life. Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw you on someone's arm, be it Malleus, Lilia, Silver, Leona, or any of the numerous people Grim had chosen, then fired, within the past week.

Fired. They wouldn't be with you. But still.

He was snapped out of his heated fighting with the clang of metal against his sword. He blinked back to awareness, and processed Silver standing before him, sword in hand, body in an offensive position.

“You need to snap out of it,” Silver said. Sebek snarled, and swung at Silver, and was deflected easily.

“Do you think you're good for anyone right now?” Silver asked, and Sebek swung again, blind rage building up in him.

What the hell did Silver know about him? Who did he think he is?

“Father and Lord Malleus are both worried about you. Is that any way for a knight to act?” 

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH, HUMAN!”

Swords clanged against each other, one knight at peace, the other bursting with rage.

“If there's something you want, go get it!”

“You don't know anything about me!”

“I know the face you made when Grim told you he chose me, and the relief in your eyes when he changed his mind.”

“SHUT UP!”

Clang. Clang. Silver landed a hit with the flat of his blade, making Sebek fall back. His anger, if even possible, rose to new levels. He ran at Silver, sword swinging, only for Silver to side step and make Sebek trip.

“Y/N is a wonderful creature. You would be good together!”

“Ah!”

Clang.

“They bring out a gentler side to you that makes you a well rounded knight.”

Clang.

“But you have to admit what you want, Sebek!”

Clang. Clang. Clang.

“What do you want!”

“I want Y/N!” Sebek shouted, finally disarming Silver, and knocking his feet out from under him.

He breathed heavily, wiping sweat from his brow as he stared down at his defeated senior. Silver, as always, was smiling peacefully. A little too peacefully. He pointed over Sebek 's shoulder, and he turned to look. He felt immediate horror as he saw you standing with your cat creature.

You shyly waved at him, and Sebek felt his face grow bright red.

“I, uh, came to give you back your notes,” you said with a bashful smile.

“Oh.”

“And Grim wanted to ask you if-”

“It can wait, henchhuman! You two obviously have some things to talk about. Come Silver!” Grim turned on his heel to go, then turned back to Silver with a horrific glare.

“I said, let's go. You've clearly lost.”

Silver laughed happily.

“I'm not sure I did lose, Grim.” He stood up, gently clapped Sebek 's shoulder, and leaned in to whisper “good luck.” He hummed happily as he followed Grim into the Diasomnia castle.

Sebek stared pointedly at the ground, neither of you ready to break the silence.

After a bit, “You want me, huh?” Followed by a soft giggle.

“Who wouldn't want you? You're an excellent human,” he muttered.

“You're very sweet, Sebek.”

He looked up in shock, as you smiled at him. You weren't…rejecting his advances? And Grim wasn't stopping him? Had the world come to an end, and this was just a blissful dream in his last moments? No, Malleus would be in the dream too.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as his ringtone played the Valley of Thorns national anthem. He apologized quickly and picked up, expecting Master Lilia or his royal highness. 

Instead he was greeted by the voice of your cat.

“I'm giving you a chance, crocodile boy. You know what that means right?”

Sebek grunted in affirmative, turning away so you wouldn't see his face.

“There had better be three cases of luxury tuna on Ramshackle’s doorstep tomorrow morning, or you can kiss Y/N goodbye.”

He almost completely derailed himself by imagining kissing you, in any capacity. 

“Understood,” he grunted. There would be no tuna. He didn't need Grim's manipulations to hold your love. But he didn't want to deal with the argument, not when he was seconds away from getting the one he longed for.

“Good.” Grim hung up, and Sebek turned back to you. 

“Malleus was just…it doesn't matter,” he ran up to you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his head in your shoulder. He held back the slight tremble his body wanted to give at finally having you in his arms. You wiggled a little bit, and he tightened the hold, not ready to let you out of his grasp yet. He was so unbelievably happy.

“Sebek, you're all sweaty!” You whined.

He pouted, taking a step back and placing a hand on your head.

“I am a knight, human. I train day and night to protect the ones I love. You're going to have to get used to the sweat of hard work!” He proclaimed proudly, before grinning. “After all, part of why I'll be training is so that I can be worthy of you.”

You gave a mock sigh, then opened your arms to him. He didn't hesitate to embrace you once again, tightly holding onto you, and the memory of this day, both of which he intended to hold onto forever.

The End

Tag list- @leonia0 @lleoll @eccedentesiast-sapphic @supertmntgirl @cxsmicdustdreams @aethermostbeloved @krystalkiller25 @asmallbean3 @theneurodivergentdummy @candlewitch-cryptic @smilingfox22-blog @phantomgaming1920 @the-dumber-scaramouche @noidonothavetimeforthis @bontensbabygirl @xxoomiii @somany-fandoms-solittle-time @bre99 @stupidsimp @sus0daddy @a-small-tyrant @imlost-sendhelp @mizukiblogs @savanaclaw1996 @kazumify @fatally-incorrect @glo0b @alleykat2014 (I combined your idea with a second idea I had 😁)

[coryosbaby]

Fun size - Jake Sully x human! bimbo! Reader

I haven’t watched way of water yet but idgaf Jake been fine since the first movie there’s also no plot so don’t question anything pls & thank u

Summary: Jake loves how small you are.

Warning: mentions of blood, p n v, rough sex, major size kink, tummy bulge, daddy kink, Jake has a big ass monster cock, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, fisting (?), spit kink, degradation/praise, squirting, creampie, dom! Jake, sub! Reader

“you’re hurt!”

It’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth when Jake appears in front of you in the laboratory. A concerned look is etched across your face, as you look down at the na’vi’s bloody palm. The lab is empty, besides you and him; it’s late, and you decided to stay a few extra hours.

He chuckles at your reaction, taking a seat on the tile floor. He’s too big to fit anywhere else in the room.

“I’m okay, honey. It’s just a little scratch,” he assures, as you move over to grab a first aid kit. You roll your eyes, grabbing the red box anyway and sitting down beside him to patch up his wound.

“Then why did you come here?” You ask teasingly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he sighs, mockingly. “Maybe to see my favorite girl.”

You flush, heat rising to your cheeks at his words. And when you begin to wipe away the dried blood with a alcoholic wipe, you begin to speak.

“So how is it? On pandora, I mean.”

Jake hisses at the feeling of the wipe running over his wound. But then he sighs dreamily, tilting his head back. “It’s…wow. It’s great.”

You nod, happy that he’s doing good and liking his new life.

After a moment of silence, you look up at him through fluttering lashes.

“I missed you.”

He looks at you longingly, a soft smile forming on his face.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.”

You bring out a tube of antiseptic and apply it to his hand. It’s not that bad of a cut, just enough to draw a bit of blood. You grab a bandage and wrap it around his palm. His hand is so big that it takes a good chunk of the covering out of the kit.

Jake smiles when you’re done, and when you look up at him his eyes flicker.

“Kiss it better for me?”

His voice is soft, and questionable. You bite your lip, and grab his hand in yours. His blue skin is warm and inviting.

Your lips come down to kiss the bandaged cut. Soft, and you breathe against his skin as you do it longer than you should. When you pull away Jake’s opposite hand comes up to stroke your hair away from your face.

“You’re so tiny. Do you know that?“

The statement catches you off guard, and you frown.

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all.” he states softly. His hand strokes your cheek in slow circles. “I think it’s perfect.”

You and Jake have had intimate moments like this. Moments before he even became na’vi, when he worked with you and became your close friend. And there was always someone to interrupt that moment.

There isn’t now, though.

And so Jake moves you closer. His hands grab your arms. He’s gentle, as to not disturb his wound. And he pulls you onto his large thighs. You gasp, your legs moving onto either side of his, and it’s hard to do, really. He’s so wide in comparison to you that it causes a mild burning stretch in your groin. He moves closer, his lips warm against your ear.

“Do you feel how big I am?”

You shiver, beginning to squirm in his lap. As he pulls you to his chest.

“W-What?”

“I said..”

He grabs your hand, a small growl emitting from his throat. And, without warning, places your fingertips against his covered crotch.

“Do you feel how big I am?”

A small squeak spills from your lips when he commits the action. His bulge is big. Huge, even. You don’t know how he manages to cover it up with that thin piece of fabric.

“Yes.” You breathe out. His eyes are locked onto yours with a burning and intense desire.

“Kiss me.” He demands.

You obey him instantly, moving up to him and crashing your mouth onto his. You’re desperate, hands moving up to his brunette locks and give them a harsh tug. Jake groans, his tongue sliding into your mouth with ease. He tastes sweet, and his sharp canines scrape against your bottom lip. When he pulls away, it’s because you’re grinding down onto him and making him throw his head back in pleasure.

“Sweetheart..” he moans out.

“You’re so big,” you say, whiny and breathless. “I want you inside me, sir. Want you to be my first.”

“Goddamn, sweet girl. Are you sure you can take it?”

“I’ll take is so well for you, daddy.” You’re moving down to pull the loin cloth off of his dick. As expected, he’s enormous. Bigger than any human could ever possibly be. Fifteen inches and blue, with a slight curve and a long thick vein going right down the middle. The mushroomed tip of him is drenched in sticky liquid. Your mouth waters, as you go to stick your mouth to his girthy length. Licking a stripe up the vein, your eyes roll back when your tongue runs over a string of precum. He tastes divine.

“Good girl,” Jake praises, when you begin to kiss his tip. “Good fuckin’ girl..”

You whimper, and open your mouth wide. He’s too thick to even stick inside your mouth. You make a sound of disapproval at this realization, but that’s quickly forgotten when he’s grabbing your hair, fastening it into a ponytail, and telling you to spit on him. You do, leaving a wet puddle of drool on him. And then he holds you still and begins to hump your face. Your spit rubs against your own skin, and when his balls come in contact with your face your rubbing your open mouth on them desperately.

“Wetting that cock so good, baby, keep doing that. Gotta get you ready so I can stretch out that tight little cunt.”

The thought of his cock cramming itself inside you and stretching you beyond your limits makes you mewl, and although you should be scared to fuck such a big cock, you aren’t. The only thing you can think about is your needy hole being filled with Jake’s hot cum. You pull off of his balls with a pop, looking up at him with pretty Bambi eyes.

“Can you use your fingers on me, daddy?”

“Yeah, honey, yeah,” Jake murmurs. He’s overwhelmed, his face and neck incredibly hot. He brings his own hand to his cock, to relieve the ache of wanting to pummel you until your pussy breaks. “Shit, take that skirt off and lay down.”

You do, unzipping the pink fabric and pushing it, along with your underwear, down. Your pussy is swollen and aching, and when you lay down on the floor Jake pulls you toward him. He grabs your ankles and pulls your legs apart. And when your dripping cunt is revealed to him, he has to stop himself from shoving into you. Your pussy is red, clit swollen and juices trailing down your ass. The curly hair at the top of your snatch is almost adorable. And when Jake watches your little hole clench around nothing, he growls.

“Fuckin’ perfect. A human man wouldn’t know what to do with this little virgin pussy. Would he?”

You shake your head, watching as his index finger runs a stripe up your slit. You squirm, feeling his fingertip begin to sink into your hole. He gets to the first knuckle, and pauses. You furrow your brows in confusion, beginning to whine. He chuckles when he feels you clench around his finger.

“Needy? Haven’t even put a whole finger in and you’re all fucked out.”

“Please, daddy. I need it s’ bad.”

Your begging seems to work, because then he’s sinking it all the way in. And then, without warning, he shoves his middle finger inside of you, too. You cry out, the stretch something you aren’t even used to with your own fingers, let alone his. Wet gushing sounds emit from you when Jake begins to speed up his pace.

“Slutty girl. Look at you, dripping around my fingers, aren’t you? Yeah, fuck that pussy on my fingers, you pathetic slut.”

You mewl, your hips chasing that delicious friction of his fingers rubbing your inner walls. He attempts to squeeze his ring finger in, and when it pops tightly into your stretched hole you gasp out.

“Too much..” you mumble, your eyes shut and tongue lolling out.

“And you say you can take me? Baby, this is only three fingers. I might need to put my whole hand in here to make it fit.”

“Oh, god.” You say. “Jake..”

“I know.” His pinkie ghosts over the rim of your hole. “Think you can fit this in there?”

“I.. I don’t know..”

“It’s okay, sweetness. We’ll make it fit. Won’t we?”

You nod, dazed and confused, your pussy hurting from how good being stretched beyond your limit feels. The tip of Jake’s pinky slips in, and the tight fit feels incredibly snug. But you relax anyway, and it slips in with ease.

You huff, trying to calm yourself down as you drip all over the floor. His thumb is the only finger that isn’t in, and with skill he begins to rub your clit in slow circles.

“Daddy..” you slur. You can feel your orgasm drawing closer, Jake not even moving his fingers inside you but you still quake around the digits. He makes one small thrust into you. He massages a part of your walls that has you fucking into his hand. He smiles as he watches you become desperate for him. And without warning he begins to finger fuck you. Your wetness splashes all around your thighs and onto his wrist, and you a throaty moan pours from your throat. Your walls accommodate to his fingers quickly, and in no time your gaping snatch is being brutally manhandled by his strong hands.

Your eyes roll back, and as he massages your clit your hips surge up and you cum all over his fingers.

Jake grins, a proud smile on his face as you squeeze around him.

“Such a good little girl. That’s it, that’s it, honey.”

When you come down from your orgasm, your head spins from the high of it all. He slowly pulls his fingers out. When you’re empty you can feel your pussy gaping.

You haven’t even got to his cock yet. That’s what goes through your head, as you look at his incredibly large length resting against his stomach. It’s going to destroy you.

This is when you begin to get nervous. Can a vagina even handle that big of a length? It can give birth to babies though, right? So it should be okay..

You’re supposed to be a scientist, but you don’t know.

Jake’s hand on your cheek brings your attention back. It seems you’ve zoned out.

“Stay with me, baby.”

You nod, your hand covering his as you kiss his thumb sweetly.

“‘M here, Jake. I-“ his thumb is brushing over your lip, now, and it makes your head spin. “-I want you so bad.”

“Yeah?”

Your lips wrap around his thumb with ease, and you suckle gently. He groans, his body climbing in between your spread legs. His tip taps your clit, and your legs shake from the stimulation of your overly sensitive button.

“Spread this little pussy for me.” Jake says gruffly.

A whine emits from your throat as your fingers move down and open your lips up for him. His cock rubs up against your slit, and he moves forward to push himself into you.

It’s only the tip, but it still pains you. He leans forward, a grunt leaving his lips as his hands go to the sides of your head. He pushes in a bit more, and you gasp in shock; his girth is the worst (and best) part of it all.

“Daddy.. s’big!” You cry out. “Feels..”

You don’t know how it feels. All you know is that he’s throbbing and spilling warm ropes of precum into your sweet cunt, a burn starting in your pussy because of the stretch. He leans down to your ear, pressing a kiss behind it.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take that dick, bitch.”

His voice is a low whisper, and his roughness surprises you. You definitely don’t hate it, though. And when he pushes into you another few inches, your eyes roll back and tears fill your eyes from the pleasure and pain. You don’t know what’s overtaken Jake, but he’s growling low in your ear as he takes your cunt with all he has.

“Filthy little size queen..” he moans, feeling your tight heat as it wraps around him. “All your good for is being my little cocksleeve. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, oh my god!” Your legs quiver. He chuckles, darkly.

“I’m halfway in.” He states. “Surprised you haven’t split yet.”

He says it so easily, as if he isn’t literally risking your life right now. His gentleness from earlier is gone, now.

“Wouldn’t mind if I did..” you mumble quietly.

He scoffs, amused. “What was that?”

His cock pushes further in. You groan, looking down at watching in awe as your pussy lips stretch obscenely around him.

You yelp when his hand comes down to spank your tits.

“Don’t fuckin’ ignore me. What did you say?” He demands.

“I said I wouldn’t mind if I did!” You repeat, a small moan mixing with your words. “Put it all the way in, daddy, break me, please!”

His eyes turn a shade darker as he bares his fangs at you. “Yeah? You want it all the way? Huh?”

His cock is forcing its way inside you, and he has no mercy as he pushes his dick inside your tight heat. You sob, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks, as he forces your cunt to adjust to him.

“Little pussy’s choking me, fuck.”

You can tell that even now he’s trying to hold himself back a bit longer so he doesn’t actually hurt you.

He pauses at a certain point. It’s like he can practically feel your cervix stopping his cock from entering any further. You’ve taken about twelve inches of his him, and he’s kissing the squishy wall at the very end of your gummy walls. It’s not necessarily a pleasant feeling, but your neediness makes it barely noticeable.

And when Jake looks down, a strangled moan comes out of him. Because there, in that space just below your tummy, the outline of his cock rests inside of you.

“Oh my god…”

He pulls out a few inches, and then presses himself back into that same spot. You whimper, the feeling of him throbbing inside of you igniting a fire in your belly.

Or maybe it’s his cock.

He grabs your throat in a tight grip as he directs your head to look down at the outline of skin that his cock rests under. “See how deep I am, angel?”

“It’s so much..”

“I know. It feels good getting used, doesn’t it? Little girl likes her hole being filled?”

You don’t even aknowledge what he says, just trying to take more even though it hurts. “Fuck me!”

“Patience.” Jake quips, as he pulls out until only the tip is left in you. And then he slams forward, hard and rough, and the sound you let out is almost animalistic. It hurts, but it hurts so damn good.

He begins to pummel your walls, no mercy as his thrusts quicken second by second. He grabs your ankles with his hands and practically bends you in half to watch your ass clench and your needy pussy get torn open by him. When he sees that blood is coating is cock, he begins to growl again.

“Fuckin’ pussy is bleeding. Slutty fucking hole can’t take daddy’s dick, can it?”

“I c-can, sir.”

It’s not true, and you both know it. But the look in your eyes makes Jake not be able to stop. You look too delicious, too fucked out and filthy, for him to stop ramming himself into you. He brings his fingers down to your clit, begins to toy with it, and you sob as your orgasm draws closer.

“Daddy! Pleasepleaseplease..” is all you can say as your high crashes over you and your wetness gushes all around him. He moans, watching your squirt land on his thighs and soak his fingers.

“Good little bitch.” He huffs out. You can tell he’s close, too. His hips are stuttering and his eyes are shut tightly as welcoming cunt takes him.

“Cum inside me, daddy,” you slur. “Fill me up with your hot cum. Need it s’bad..”

“Shit!” His hips still, and your eyes widen as you feel his hot cum squirting against your bruised cervix. His cock pulses as he releases his sticky seed inside your womb. When he stills, your breathing slows and you gently grasp his shoulders. He pulls out, hesitantly, and you let out a small cry when you feel your hole gape around nothing. He notices your shaking thighs.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

You nod, satisfied and happy at what just occurred. Jake brings a kiss to your forehead, and you fall asleep right there on the floor, fucked out and dreamy.

When you wake up, Jake is still there, holding you in his arms as he sleeps, too. He never left.

[gfguren]

pro hero!bakugou x reader | fluff, snowball fights, bickering, husband!bakugou, just a short lil drabble, it snowed this morning and i was ✨inspired✨ | cw: cursing

-shoveling snow with bakugou turns into shoveling snow at bakugou-

It's too cold for this, too early; the sky is still pink and you're out here shoveling snow in your pajama pants. You have a serious case of stink eye when you turn to glare down your husband from the other end of the driveway.

He's bundled up in at least three layers, nose and chin tucked beneath that red scarf you bought for him two winters ago. His brow is fixed in a near permanent state of grump; you'd think him cute if you weren't so miffed with him right now.

"Can't we do this later, Kats?" You fake your best pout, bat your eyelashes when he shoots you a look from over his shoulder.

"We're halfway done, quit y'r whinin'."

You resist the urge to stamp your feet like a child. "But it's cold!"

"Maybe if someone had salted the driveway last night like I'd asked ya, neither of us'd be out here right now, hah?"

You dig your shovel into the snow, cross your arms across your chest, indignant. "Maybe if someone had picked some up from the store like I asked, I could have."

He snorts, turning his back to you and continuing his warpath through the snow. You glare as hard as you can, hope he can feel it through every stupid layer of his stupid coat. He doesn't, of course.

So you swipe a chunk of snow from the sidewalk, roll it into a neat little ball, and launch it, hard as you can in his direction. He turns halfway, hero senses kicking in just a moment too late; he tries to catch it, but it splats against his forearm.

You smirk, feeling victorious in your own right, rectified after being dragged out of bed at six in the morning.

But you'd forgotten one teensy detail: your husband is a sore loser.

Katsuki's eyes narrow and you squeal when the shovel falls from his hands, turning on your heel in a desperate attempt to flee. You don't get far, tripping over the mound of snow you'd just shoveled, planting yourself face first into the cold.

He's on you in seconds, shoving a handful of snow past the scarf he wrapped you up in this morning and down the back of your shirt. It freezes your neck, chills all the way down your spine.

"Katsuki!"

You think you hear him laugh. "What? Start somethin' y'can't finish?"

That has you kicking.

You huff a breath of hot air, wriggling your legs free and crawling out from under his body weight. He let's you if only to pin you back down the moment you manage to turn around and prop yourself up on your elbows. "Let me go, you big oaf!"

His knees fix your hips to the ground, gloved hands reaching down to scoop up a handful of snow. It crunches menacingly as he rolls it from one hand to the other, red eyes narrowed and nose scrunched up as if he's annoyed.

"Wait, wait, wait." You gasp, mittens holding his hands still. "'m sorry!"

"Yeah? I bet y'r real sorry." He shakes free, raises the newly formed snowball with one hand. "Now that y'r at my mercy."

"You win, okay, m' sorry Katsuki! Let's just finish shoveling, alright?" You slide back slowly and Katsuki quirks a brow, entirely suspicious. "Really! I'll make us both hot cocoa after and we can watch that stupid movie you like and, and—I'll only complain a li-ttle bit."

You slide back fully, eyes trained on the snowball in his fist as you get to your knees. Carefully, innocently you fold your hands in your lap, give Katsuki the sweetest smile you can muster. You lean forward, bump your cold nose to his. He sighs, eyes falling shut. He thinks you're going to kiss him, misses the way you grin, impish and satisfied.

In one quick motion, you take both hands and shove two handfuls of snow into his lap, sprinting through the yard before he can recover.

"Get back here y'damn tease!"

You turn back to stick your tongue out at him, met with an expression of both frustration and amusement. You're all but six steps away when the first snowball hits, seven on the second. You turn around to scowl at him. "You're mean!"

"I'll show ya 'mean'." And then he's trudging through the snow after you.

Your chest trembles, the last bouts of laughter fading like ripples in the water. Katsuki is sat beside you, snow caked to his jeans and in his hair. You smile, reaching over to dust the frost from the crown of his head. "Warm bath?"

"Y'comin'?" he mumbles into the palm of his hand, as if he's nonchalant, unenthused. You know better.

You can't help but tease him. "If you finish shoveling the driveway."

He scoffs, half-heartedly swats a bit of snow your way. "This was y'r plan from the start, wasn't it?"

You grin, removing your mittens before smooshing his cheeks between your palms. "Maybe." You press your lips to his before he can weasel away. "Or maybe I wanted to sleep in with you on your day off instead of shoveling our stupid driveway."

He frowns at that, takes your wrists in his big palms. "Never know when I might get called in, villains don't rest just 'cus 's my day off."

"Well they better 'cus you're mine today. I don't wanna hear a thing about heroes or villains, or 'Dynamight' for the next 24 hours." You press a pointed fingertip to his chest before pulling him in by his scarf and kissing him fully. "Got it, Bakugou Katsuki?"

He grunts, wrapping his arms around your middle and nosing at the crook of your neck. "Got it. Y'rs." His hands snake under your coat, beneath the hem of your nightshirt, gloves still caked in snow. You hiss at the cold, glaring at him. He grins. "I'll go heat up the water."

[nicohischierz]

a mat(t) for every situation: hughes sister

tagging: @ivy-34, @francesfarhadi, @hzstry8, @cixrosie, @itsnotgray, @estapa94, @trevs-swiftie, @heartz4hisch you want to join the taglist let me know!!

when she got drafted by the islanders in the 2020 nhl draft, no one was expecting it.

sure she was on the zoom with all the top prospects but she thought it was for show and really she’d only been present to watch her friend brendan get drafted.

but alas, her name was called before his. brendan jumped onto her immediately bringing her into a hug before her mother brought her into her arms .

adelaide’s brothers stood shocked as she placed an islanders hat on her head. quinn and luke congratulated her after jer interviews and jack just lifted his head in acknowledgment.

that was four years ago.

now she was in the big leagues, leaving the university of michigan in her sophomore year and finding a permanent spot on the islanders roster.

“barzy, should i do one braid or two for the game?” she asked, barging into her teammates room.

during her rookie season, mat had been tasked with looking after her. it didn’t take long before the two of them started acting like siblings, going as far as to call each other such in interviews.

“i don’t know addy. tito should she do one braid or two?” mat asked his former teammate over the phone.

“two!” tito replied.

“anthony!” adelaide squealed jumping into bed with mat. the man on the phone laughed as mat chastised the younger girl, he truly did miss the two.

“hi mon chou, how are you?” he asked.

“i’m great! super excited for the game. except for the fact that my brothers will be there and jack hasn't been in the stands to see me play like ever," she ranted.

tito and mat both gave the girl a sad look. but adelaide brushed them off, giving anthony a smile and asking "how's the checklist going?"

when the news of anthony's trade dropped, adelaide provided the boy with her personal nashville checklist. she had covered a pretty good chunk of it and wanted her friend to do the same.

"you seem distracted," tito pointed out.

adelaide shrugged, she looked over to mat hoping he didn't spill her secret. but then she was reminded that tito and mat knew her better than her brothers.

well, those two are her brothers.

"mon chou whatever it is, we're here for you," tito's toned softened and mat pulled the younger girl into her arms.

"um, there's this guy i met ..." adelaide was cut off by tito yelling

"barzy you let her near a guy! i thought we agreed no boys till she's 45!" he joked causing the two in the hotel room to scoff. tito smiled, happy to change the girls mood slightly.

"as i was saying, i met this guy and he was really tall tito and he was so sweet. he was canadian for sure, but he didn't know who I was which is awesome and he said he;s going to be in new york for a bit," she explained.

in the three years of knowing adelaide hughes, tito and mat had never seen her talk about a boy this way. she always presented a cold front and if someone tried flirting with her at a bar she'd shut them down.

"that's not all is it?" tito pressed.

"like i said earlier, my brothers are going to be there. tito, whenever I have something important jack is always there to steal the spotlight," you murmured the last part.

mat remembers the comments under your draft post about jack not wanting to be there at all, or how he hadn't even congratulated his sister for her achievement.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮

when it was time for the outdoor game, adelaide had focused her attention on the game and not on the two boys in the stands. the only thing that really threw her off was the announcement that a rookie was debuting at the game.

"oh you're kidding me," she whispered when she saw the guy making his debut.

mat looked over at adelaide and saw her staring at the new rangers players. the new player doing the same upon seeing adelaide.

the older boy kept the interaction in his head as a reminder to ask adelaide later.

the game was a bit up and down as adelaide and matt got distracted by each other. however, the former did a good job of not letting it affect her game.

the islanders lost in overtime and adelaide's frustrations were evident on her face. she skipped out on media and headed to her parents, calling the boy that plagues her mind.

"meet me at the same bar tomorrow night," she told him ending the call immediately.

ellen wrapped her arms around her daughter and praised her efforts during the game, calling the overtime goal sheer luck. luke teased his older sister about the devils win and jack was preoccupied with his phone.

adelaide didn't need jack's attention but she craved it. even when she was a child, all she wanted was to make her brother proud of her.

the awkwardness within the hughes family didn't last long as mat came around, wrapping his arm over adelaide. he greeted the parents and the two boys before stealing the girl away from her family.

he could see the hurt in her eyes when jack didn't acknowledge her. mat knew that inside her head, adelaide was listing all the bad things she could've possibly done to have her brother hate her.

"addy, the canadian guy from the bar. it's rempe isn't it," mat stated as soon as the two reached adelaide's apartment.

the hughes girl stilled. "barzy, i swear i didn't know. we never spoke about hockey and I was shocked when I saw him today," she rambled.

mat pulled her in for a hug as her eyes started to fill with tears, she was overwhelmed and mat knew she needed some comfort.

"you're the best brother a girl could ask for," adelaide whispered.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮

the next day, matt and adelaide made their way to the bar in the morning. the latter had been pacing around the entrance with a cup of coffee in her hand.

"didn't see you as a day drinker hughes," matt quipped.

adelaide couldn't help the smile that made its way on her face. however, one look at the boy's cut reminded her of why she was here.

"you didn't tell me you were a hockey player,"

"you didn't tell me either princess,"

in all honesty, the two weren't sure where the conversation was going but matt called adelaide for a walk.

the two spoke freely about everything and anything. adelaide forgot why she was angry at the boy and matt enjoyed his time with the pretty girl.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮

that exchange happened three months ago.

"is your family coming down for playoffs?" matt asked. the two of you were currently enjoying a lazy day in bed, matt was playing with your hair as you scrolled through tiktok.

you shook your head.

"well my mum and da may come down but they've got to see quinny too and he's stressed cause he's captain. then jack's got his shoulder surgery and luke's going to worlds. but I don't mind," you answered quickly.

matt's heart sunk.

in the three months he'd known you he learnt three things

one: mat barzal was more of a brother than your actual brothers

two: jack was an asshole

three: you would always blame yourself for anyone's flaws

"when you guys play at home and if I've got nothing going on I'll come watch you," he whispered, pulling you in for a kiss.

you smiled giddily at your boyfriend and snuggled into his chest. he truly was the perfect boyfriend.

[anonymous-dentist]

Bleeding Heart Part Seven

Part One | Previous Part

-

The car quietly drives down the street, headlights off and radio on silent. The police radio, though, is crackling- occasionally spouting off updates from the dispatch team and from the police station.

Bagi is humming; Cellbit is trying to figure out what song it is.

It's just under an hour until midnight, and Cellbit is trying not to think about the fact that somebody is going to die tonight and that they're going to die because of him.

Abruptly:

"What's wrong?" Bagi asks.

"Um," says Cellbit, "nothing. Fuck you."

He huffs so hard he blows a chunk of hair out of his face, grumbles, crosses his arms, and leans back into his seat. He slumps until his seatbelt is halfway up his stomach. His knee bounces nervously. His fingers twitch and tap against his elbows.

His phone is in his lap. He's turned the sound off, but he'll know if- when the call comes in. He'll just know.

Bagi hums. "Mhm. You're just hanging out with me at work because you want to."

"Exactly."

She nods. "Even though you hate my job and everything I do, and you always tell me that you'd rather die than sit in a police car again, and you called me after a week of ignoring me, and we both got visited by superheroes today."

Cellbit's nose wrinkles. "Not heroes. Mine was just annoying. She broke into my apartment, you know."

"Yeah, mine showed up when I finally got my lunch break. I literally sat down to eat in my car, and BAM!" Bagi slams her palm against the outside of the steering wheel. "Lavagirl is opening the door and sitting in the passenger seat! What the hell?"

"What the hell," Cellbit repeats, emphatic.

Then, he frowns and gives his sister a look. "You ate lunch at three?"

Bagi rolls her eyes. "Fuck off, you probably didn't even eat lunch."

"Hey! I ate!"

"Coffee doesn't count!"

"Okay, mom."

Suddenly, Bagi slams on the brakes.

Cellbit is sent flying forward so hard with an embarrassing yelp. His seatbelt, definitely in the wrong place, cuts into his stomach so hard that it knocks the air out of him. His phone launches off of his lap and onto the floor, landing face-down.

"What the fuck!?" he wheezes, doubling over trying to pull his seatbelt away from him; it doesn't budge, auto-locked from the abrupt stop.

Sweetly, Bagi asks, "Oh, no, did that hurt? Maybe you should try sitting like an actual adult sometime."

"Are you really calling me immature right now?" Cellbit asks, looking up at her in sheer disbelief. "You could've killed me!"

"And you could act your age. You're 26. Act like it."

With that, Bagi smiles, adjusts the rearview mirror, and starts driving again.

26, Cellbit thinks. He's 26.

But, looking at himself in his reflection in the windshield, he feels simultaneously so much older and younger.

Eventually, the seatbelt loosens up again, and Cellbit sits back up straight. He grabs his phone off the floor, checks to see if anything broke, lets out a relieved breath when he sees that it's fine. (And he visibly relaxes when he sees that he didn't miss the call.)

The car turns, left towards the baseball stadium.

Bagi starts humming again; Cellbit still can't figure out what song it is.

It's fifty minutes to midnight, and somebody is going to die.

Cellbit puts his phone down. Props his elbow up on the door's inside handle. Balls his hand into a fist, rests his head against it.

It would be so easy to tell Bagi. He already has a lie ready: Hombre Misterioso has been bothering him since they failed to kill him, and they told him that they're planning on striking tonight because they thought he wouldn't tell. Cellbit hasn't said anything out of fear, because he's a powerless civilian photographer who can't possibly fight back against such a terrifying villain, but now that someone is going to die, he has finally mustered up the strength to tell the authorities.

It would be. So easy.

Bagi is a police detective. Technically, she isn't supposed to be on patrol duty- that's normally relegated to uniform officers. But Cellbit had called her just over two hours ago asking if he could do a ride-along, and so she volunteered to go patrolling.

She has a gun. She has handcuffs. She has a police car. She has mysterious powers that Cellbit refuses to even begin to think about.

The car stops at a light.

Bagi taps her fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of her song. Her mouth is pulled tight- she's stressed, even Cellbit can tell that much.

It would be so fucking easy.

Instead, Cellbit sighs, rolling his head on his fist so he's looking out the window.

"I got Bluebird," he quietly says. "She started talking about my parents."

Bagi takes a moment, but she asks, "Yours, or-"

"Both."

His answer is short, angry. Not angry at her, though, and she seems to know it. After all, this is how he sounds every time someone talks about them. She's learned by now that she isn't the one he's ever upset at; it isn't her fault that their parents were the way they were.

"Oh," Bagi says.

Another moment, then: "Lavagirl did, too. Talk about mine. I told her to get out of my car before I arrested her."

Cellbit snorts. "What for?"

"Arson. She was melting the car seat."

Cellbit can't help it. He smiles and shoots his sister a glance out of the corner of his eye.

"What, are you calling her hot?" he teases.

Bagi responds by leaning over and smacking his shoulder hard.

He yips and presses himself further against the door. "What?"

"Stop trying to distract me!" she snaps. "I'm trying to empathize with you!"

"I would never try and distract you."

"Lie," Bagi immediately says.

Cellbit rolls his eyes.

Bagi's so-called power makes her a superhuman lie detector. But Cellbit isn't convinced that her power isn't actually just being super annoying.

She's more annoying when he argues with her, though, so Cellbit gives up for the moment and explains, "Mine kept trying to tell me that we're going to get killed because of..." (He sucks in a tense breath, lets it out slowly.) "...our parents."

Bagi nods. "Yeah, that's what mine said, too. I told her to fuck off."

"Did you?"

"Literally, yes! I just told you that I was going to arrest her!"

"You'd probably like to see her in handcuffs."

"Cellbit!"

Another slap.

Cellbit laughs, sitting up and giving Bagi a teasing look.

"I've seen the way you watch her on tv," he taunts. "It's gross."

"You're gross," Bagi huffs. But at least she's smiling now. "Fuck you. You aren't much better, you know. I saw the way you looked at that guy in the hospital."

"Hm?" Cellbit innocently asks. "I was on morphine, who was that?"

"Oh, you know."

"I know that I'm pressing charges against Bluebird for forced entry," Cellbit says, expertly diverting the conversation to something much more important. "I closed the door on her, you know. But she forced her way in and wouldn't leave when I asked her to. That's trespassing."

"Make a report in the morning. Even if Cucurucho shuts it down, the news'll hear about it. She's new, who knows how well she'll do if the press starts turning against her?"

Bagi's smile is crooked and the exact same as Cellbit's used to be when he killed. Once upon a time, Cellbit refused to believe that they were related. Now, he can't stop thinking about how similar they are.

Cellbit nods, playing along. "It would sure be a shame if Baghs or Max heard about it."

"Imagine that. If she got on the Daily Quack's bad side, she might be forced to retire by the end of the year."

"Really? It's August. No way she'll be done in four months."

"She might be if Gordinho Gostosinho talks about her."

Bagi laughs. She cackles, even, like the absolute witch she is.

(When Cellbit first decided that they were related after all, he briefly thought about asking her to join him. Not because he knew that their... politics aligned, but because he thought- and he still thinks!- that she's dangerous.)

Cellbit's phone is in his lap.

The police radio calls out a robbery on the opposite side of town.

The car turns towards downtown. Cellbit vaguely recognizes the area from when he took Roier's photos for him.

Cellbit, not quite in the mood for evil laughter, settles for a rude-sounding chuckle.

This is why he wanted to be with Bagi tonight. Not because he wants to rat Hombre Misterioso out, but because he wants a distraction from the murder about to happen. Man-Bear is due to die in less than an hour, and it's all Cellbit's fault. But, if he's with Bagi, he doesn't have to think about that. He can think about other things, like ruining Bluebird's life, or Bagi's absolutely depressing taste in women.

"I need to have this back at the station at one," Bagi says after a full, solid minute and a half of laughter. "Let's get something to eat after. We can have a sleepover."

Cellbit raises an eyebrow. "In your apartment? Absolutely not."

"Fuck you! It's way nicer than yours!"

"Excuse you, mine is perfect. Yours smells like shit, like, literally all the time."

"Those are candles, what the fuck? What is wrong with you? They're lilac."

"They're gross."

"Says the guy whose apartment always smells like burned food. Learn to cook, idiot."

"Oh, come on, I-"

Cellbit cuts himself off with a choked sound as his phone vibrates in his lap.

He looks down at the screen. Unknown number, but he knows the number. He knows it, and it's time.

"What's wrong?" Bagi asks.

When Cellbit doesn't respond, Bagi repeats, "Cellbit, what's wrong?"

Something tickles at the back of Cellbit's brain, itching down his spine and into his throat.

"I need to take this," he chokes out.

With a shaking hand, he accepts the call. He raises his phone to his ear, and he waits.

And then, they speak:

"Seven-fifty Asado Street. Ten minutes. I'll see you there, mi enigmito."

And then they hang up.

Cellbit stares down at his phone.

It'll take Bagi fifteen minutes to cross the city even if she has the siren on and the lights flashing. Even breaking every traffic law known to man, Q City is so big and so maze-like that Asado Street is fifteen minutes away.

Cellbit doesn't need to see a map to know this, he knows Asado Street by heart; his adoptive mother worked in a clinic there. She delivered babies. Cellbit used to go to work with her when he was too sick to go to school. He would lay on a couch in the faculty break room and read. The street sign was right outside the window.

"Cellbit?" Bagi asks, breaking Cellbit out of his thoughts. "Tell me, what happened?"

"It's Roier," Cellbit immediately lies, moreso hearing himself talk than actually talking. "Hombre Misterioso is by him. Asado Street. He thinks they're going to kill him."

It's a lie, but. They're early. Hombre Misterioso is early.

(His throat burns.)

Bagi immediately flips a switch on the console. The car's siren starts blaring, and the world outside lights up red and blue.

She steps on the gas.

Cellbit puts his face in his hands. His fault...

-

Now, Cellbit doesn't have anything against murder. He just doesn't want there to be any more blood on his hands than there already is; he's retired, he can't be a killer anymore, he can't. What kind of father would he be?

If Man-Bear dies, it isn't Cellbit fault. He won't be the one killing him. But... it will be Cellbit's fault, because he has the ability to end it all. He's had the ability to end it all for two months.

He doesn't care if Hombre Misterioso kills people. He does care that Hombre Misterioso is making him an accomplice. They know that he can't just tell people that the city's most wanted supervillain has him on speed dial. They'd want to know why he didn't report Hombre Misterioso to the police the second the first phone call ended. Why didn't Hombre Misterioso finish killing him in the first place?

Cellbit is caught between a rock and a hard place.

He turns Hombre Misterioso in, and he risks his own secret identity getting revealed. He'll be taken away from his family. His personal connections will be investigated, and nearly all of his friends and family will have their identities revealed. Richarlyson will be taken back by the government. He'll end up back with the Federation. Cellbit will end up back with the Federation, and they won't give him up as easily this time.

But. But Cellbit is done with all of this: villainy, killing. He loves the fact that Hombre Misterioso is a serial killer, but he can't get his hands dirty anymore. He's a father. He can't set a bad example for his son, Richarlson is already too involved with the Order thanks to his other parents and his various uncles and his aunt.

All Cellbit wants is to be normal.

But, of course, he never gets what he wants.

-

Bagi pulls up to 750 Asado Street just in time for her and Cellbit to watch an enormous black bear go flying out of a sixth-floor window. It crashes down onto the sidewalk, landing on all fours.

And then the bear stands onto its hind legs and shrinks slightly.

In the flashing police car lights, Cellbit can see a teal suit forming around the bear's body. A motorcycle helmet appears over its head and face, and huge, flashing claws pop out of its upper paws.

"Man-Bear," Bagi breathes.

"He's alive," Cellbit gasps.

Well, actually, of course he is. He's Man-Bear, he's borderline unkillable: a genetically-engineered half-man, half-bear hybrid capable of lifting a tank and outpacing a racing car. His claws can shred through solid steel, and his jaw strength is enough to snap a human spine with just one bite.

Man-Bear is one of the Federation's strongest. He's definitely the strongest hero that Hombre Misterioso has targeted so far.

What are they thinking!? Even with the weird super speed and the sword, they're just a person.

Man-Bear roars, throwing his head back and puffing his chest out.

"I need to call backup," Bagi says.

She reaches for the police radio, but Cellbit grabs her wrist with a panicked look.

"Roier," he desperately says, eyes widening pathetically. (Bagi thinks he has a crush, he can use that.) "We have to find him."

Bagi's eyes soften. "I will. But we can't just leave Man-Bear alone."

As if on cue, Man-Bear yells as a familiar figure steps out from the apartment building's shadows.

"Shit!" Bagi hisses.

She shakes Cellbit off and unhooks her gun from off of her belt.

"I'm going for Roier," she tells Cellbit.

She looks at him, dead serious. "Did he say where he was?"

Cellbit, focused on Hombre Misterioso, shakes his head. He tries to look as scared as possible, and he mostly succeeds.

Hombre Misterioso flexes their wrist, twirling their sword in their hand like some sort of demented medieval knight. Their cloak billows behind them; the only hint of the front of their body visible is the police car's lights reflecting red-blue-red-blue from the eye lenses of their gas mask.

Man-Bear lunges towards them.

They dodge expertly, ducking to the side and swinging their sword upwards.

Man-Bear takes the sword cutting into his flesh like it's a paper cut. He sweeps a hind leg out and knocks a leg out from under Hombre Misterioso.

Hombre Misterioso cackles so loud that Cellbit's bones rattle within his body. They tumble to the ground and somersault out of reach of a pounce.

And the fight is on.

"Fuck," Bagi swears.

She unhooks her seatbelt and pulls her hair back into a tight ponytail and clicks her gun's safety off.

Cellbit moves to undo his seatbelt, too, but Bagi grabs his wrist and stops him.

"Stay here," she orders. "Your shitty self defense classes won't help here."

"I can help look," Cellbit tries, even though he knows that Roier isn't here, but he can't let Bagi know that Roier isn't here because he knows that she's better at finding people than Cellbit could ever dream of being, and, and-

And, with a flash, he's handcuffed to his seatbelt.

"If he starts losing, call for backup," Bagi says. "You know how the radio works. And Bluebird is bound to show up soon, she'll help."

"But-"

She smiles tensely. "Don't worry, I'll find your boyfriend. Just... stay safe."

With that, she leaps out of the car. The doors thunk! locked, and Cellbit is stuck. In the car. Watching his sister run stupidly into the closest alley. And watching Hombre Misterioso kill a man.

Cellbit groans in frustration. He then yells in frustration and violently shakes the hand cuffed to his seatbelt. He kicks the dashboard.

What kind of a stupid fucking cop leaves a civilian behind, handcuffed, just feet away from a hero fight? When the villain involved has attacked him before? And (supposedly) hospitalized him?

Is she stupid? Is Bagi stupid? She's related to Cellbit, so she must be.

Wildly, Cellbit yanks the car's glove compartment open just in case there's somehow something in there that can help him get uncuffed. He knows there won't be, but he has to keep Bagi distracted.

Why did he even answer her? When she asked? What was wrong? Why did he answer?

His attention snaps to the fight when Hombre Misterioso lets out a pained, garbled scream.

They're pinned against a telephone pole with several claws stabbed clear through their shoulder and into the wood. Their sword is still somehow loosely held in their hand, but Man-Bear's jaws are inches away from their throat and rapidly closing in.

Wait-

Sucking in a sharp breath, Cellbit lets out as loud a scream as he can:

"Roier! Run!"

(Just in case Bagi can hear him. Just in case.)

He wants a distraction, he wants a distraction, he wants-

"What?" Man-Bear rumbles, head snapping in Cellbit's direction. His helmet glints red with blood in the lights; his muzzle is covered in the stuff.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Hombre Misterioso swings their leg upwards. And then they knee Man-Bear right in his junk.

Man-Bear roars, recoiling just enough for Hombre Misterioso to slip off of his claws and dip into the shadows.

Cellbit rattles his hand desperately. He used to be able to get out of cuffs by dislocating his thumb and wrist, but that was years ago. Maybe he could...

Grimacing, he presses his hand into the sharp edges of the cuff until he starts to draw blood. Not too much, but enough for a potential lockpick. This, at least, he can still do.

The fight continues outside. But Cellbit lets them keep at it. He's busy.

Eyebrows furrowing in concentration, Cellbit guides his blood into the cuffs' lock. His tongue pokes slightly out of his mouth; idly, not realizing he's doing it, he licks his lips.

His concentration is suddenly broken as the police car jerks and rocks with the force of an entire human being being thrown against it.

Cellbit accidentally lets out a yell as he's jerked around.

Glass shatters and crumbles inwards into the car's back seat as Hombre Misterioso groans and shifts, trying to push themselves back to their feet.

But then Man-Bear charges. And then Man-Bear plows into Hombre Misterioso, and the car crumples like a can under their combined weight.

Cellbit pulls himself away from the back as much as he can, but he still feels his cuffed arm get pulled completely out of place.

He bites back a scream, but he lets the instinctive tears fall. He can fix this later.

"What the fuck!?" he yells.

"Sorry," Hombre Misterioso chokes, voice faint and voice modulator popping uncertainly. It's going to give out soon. "This guy sucks, right?"

They cough as Man-Bear takes a step back to prepare for what has to be a finishing blow.

They're going to give out soon.

And they're going to take Cellbit and this shitty police car with them.

(Fucking Bagi!!)

This is fucking personal, now.

Grunting, Cellbit readjusts himself in his seat so that his feet are up against the passenger-side window. The seatbelt digs heavily into his skin, he can feel himself bleeding and bruising.

He can hear Man-Bear's heart beating.

Cellbit grits his teeth. And then he kicks with both feet.

The already-cracking glass gives out from under him easily. Fresh air floods into the car, and it's there. It's in the air: blood.

"Ouagh," Hombre Misterioso moans.

Cellbit rapidly sits upright and leans his head out the window. He glares at Man-Bear, who, finally, seems to have realized that there's a civilian in the car he's actively destroying.

There's a gaping hole in the side of Man-Bear's stupid suit, it's right below one of his sponsors' logos. And, on the fabric, Cellbit can see blood. It's seeping, slow thanks to Man-Bear's ridiculous healing factor.

"You," Cellbit glowers.

Hombre Misterioso freezes in place, mid-slide to the ground. Their sword, falling from their hand, is just as stuck in place: mid-air.

"Sorry," says Man-Bear, definitely not apologetic, the bastard. "Let's do this quick, eh? Then we can talk."

Cellbit's eyes narrow.

He reaches his free arm out the window, extending his hand towards Man-Bear like he is asking for help getting out of the car.

Seeing that Hombre Misterioso isn't moving and probably assuming they're dead, Man-Bear takes a step forward to do his duty and save a civilian life.

One step.

That's as far as he gets.

One step.

In one swift, familiar motion, Cellbit closes his hand as if he was holding a rope, and he pulls.

Like scarves coming out of a magician's sleeve, red strands stream out of Man-Bear's side and wrap around his thick neck.

It's over in a flash. Just in that one step.

Not because Cellbit has pulled all the blood out of Man-Bear's body, nor because he's successfully strangled him with his own blood, but because there's a flash of iron from behind Man-Bear's body and a desperate robotic scream.

Man-Bear falls.

Behind him stands Hombre Misterioso, swaying on their feet. One of the lenses of their mask is cracked, their cloak is torn, their entire body is soaked with blood.

"You called for Roier," Hombre Misterioso weakly says. Their voice modulator is almost all static at this point, their words barely discernible.

"You dislocated my fucking arm!" Cellbit shouts.

They shrug. "I knew you'd help me, anyway."

"Self-defense. It was. Self-defense. You guys were going to kill me!"

"I suppose you coming here was self-defense, too?"

Cellbit goes silent.

Hombre Misterioso goes still.

"Cellbit!" Bagi screams.

She sprints towards the car from down the road, at least a full block away.

As soon as she gets within shooting range, she aims her gun right at Hombre Misterioso's still body.

Pathetically, Cellbit whimpers, "My arm... I think it's broken..."

"I told you to call for backup!" she snaps.

"You left me here to die," he moans, eyes fluttering shut. "I almost died."

"Hombre Misterioso, drop your sword and put your hands up."

"Bagi..."

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law-"

"-Bagi..."

"-You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you. If-"

"-Maninha."

Just like that, Cellbit's door is being pulled open, and the cuff is being unlocked.

He's pulled into a hug; he smirks into the leather of Bagi's jacket.

"They're gone, anyway," Bagi whispers. Her hand raises to cradle the back of his head. "And I'm older, asshole."

"We don't know that."

Cellbit fakes a cough to change the subject. "Did you- did you find him?"

He feels Bagi's head shake. "I'm sorry. But I'm sure he's fine! Hombre Misterioso seemed more interested in Man-Bear."

Cellbit fakes a sniffle. "He's dead. Man-Bear. I watched him die."

"Poor you."

Somehow, she doesn't sound sympathetic.

Cellbit pinches her side. "Fuck you, I'm traumatized!"

"And, you're hurt."

Slowly, Bagi backs out of the hug.

Cellbit's eyes open, and he's immediately met with a flashlight being shone into his eyes.

He yelps and shuts his eyes again.

"It's my arm that's fucked up!" he protests. "Not my head!"

"With that big head of yours? You probably got a double concussion."

"Is that even a thing?"

"Do I look like a doctor?"

Cellbit groans, "Just put my arm back in place and take me home."

"Nuh-uh, hospital."

In a flash, he's sitting up and shaking his head, eyes wide and panicked. "No! No, no hospitals. Bagi-"

She huffs, more than used to this. "-Cellbit! There's blood in the car!"

"It's not mine!" he argues. His heart hurts, it's beating so fast in his chest. "Just take me home and call Pac! He's a doctor!"

"Yeah, no, he has a doctorate. You need a doctor."

"I need a sister who actually cares about me," Cellbit snaps. He tries to stand, fails, sits back down with a wince. "I don't- Bagi, please!"

Bagi bites her lip. She knows why he doesn't like hospitals, but she doesn't understand. She never could. She never will, no matter how hard she tries.

Eventually, she relents. Her head hangs, but she nods.

"Fine," she grumbles.

Cellbit's chest stops squeezing as tightly.

He can't feel his arm.

He smiles weakly, anyway.

Forcing himself to his feet, he stumbles forward into Bagi's arms. With his one good arm, he hugs her, because he can. Because, hey, his arm might actually be broken, and there's a dead man less than ten feet away from them, but he's alive. Somehow, he's alive.

"This is all your fault," he murmurs, right into her ear. "Should've taken me with you."

She hugs him back, of course.

"Fuck you," she warmly replies. "Stay home next time."

He barks out a laugh. She giggles along, not quite understanding why he's laughing.

Stay home, hah. No. No way he's going to be able to do that now. Not now that he helped Hombre Misterioso kill. Not now that Hombre Misterioso is convinced that Cellbit secretly wants to help him.

There's blood on Cellbit's hands. The real question is how much more he can take before he breaks once and for all.

-

A/N: Let me know what you think in the tags or in my inbox! I want to hear your theories, thoughts, opinions, everything!

[thriftedtchotchkes]

You take my self control

summary: your first act of brutality leaves you reeling, but you’d do it all over again if it meant saving joel’s life. in the aftermath, you realize you’ve started to crave that violence and it terrifies you. joel steps in to satisfy your craving.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, extremely graphic depictions of violence, dark themes, blood and injuries, dead clicker, angst, comfort, ptsd, reader struggles, undefined age gap, established relationship, language, smut, piv, rough sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, minor dom!joel, guided handjob, pet names

word count: 3.4k

a/n: whew, this one is a doozy. the original plan was to write something fluffy, but then i wrote this instead 🥲 based on moments from kill bill vol. 1 and sin city, and the title is from the song self control by laura branigan! please lmk if i missed anything in the warnings and i’ll add it asap. it’s a lot darker than my last fic, but i’ve always wanted to write this story, so i hope you enjoy! as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated 💕

You can’t see. You can’t hear anything at all. Numbness permeates your limbs, and your thoughts are a mishmash of gnashing teeth and nails, sharp and jagged like claws, and so, so much red.

There’s something warm and sticky on your face and hands. It’s up your nose, trickling into your open mouth, and it tastes like salt and iron. Blood…it must be blood. You hope it’s your own but, in the dark recesses of your mind, you know it’s someone else’s. It tastes all wrong, like the fact that you’re tasting it all means you’re alive and you really shouldn’t be.

He’s yelling, or at least you think it’s him. Sound returns to your ears all at once and it’s fucking loud.

Joel, stop, it hurts. 

Everything hurts so much now, and you feel it everywhere—scratches down your arms and legs, your heart slamming an angry beat against your temples.

Fuck, you’re probably bit. Joel sounds frantic and terrified, but you don’t know why. There are massive gaps in your memory and you can’t remember how you got here, knees heavy on the ground, your thighs bracketing the sides of a dead clicker. 

A woman—you think it used to be a woman. It’s hard to tell after the carnage. The fragments of bone and wet chunks of flesh and fungus where her head should be tell a different story now. You desperately wish your sight hadn’t returned at all, but it’s too late and you can’t unsee it. You can’t unsee her.

The muscles in your arms and hands burn something vicious, and when they give out, something hard clangs to the ground. A metal pipe. 

Joel calls out to you again, and he sounds closer this time.

“...go…have to go now…can’t…here…” 

Strong hands tug on your arm and pull you to your feet, and suddenly you’re running. Joel is all but dragging you out of what looks like the living room of a modern, suburban home, and you do your best not to trip on tipped-over furniture. 

You look back over your shoulder and the body is still lying there, lifeless. You’re not sure why you thought it would be chasing you, hungry mouth snapping at your throat; it’s dead. Because you killed it.

You’re exhausted and your legs are sore, but when you start to slow down, Joel’s hand tightens around yours and tugs harder.

“We have to go, baby, we can’t stay here.” Ah, that’s what he was saying before. “I know it hurts, but you gotta keep goin’. Just a little longer, you gotta keep it up for a little bit longer.” He should be out of breath by now, but he’s running on fear and adrenaline, and you let it fuel you, too.

When you make it outside, the sky is a clear, cloudless blue above you and the sun is brighter than you’ve ever seen it. It makes your skin itch, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the dirt and dried blood matting your hair and caked under your fingernails.

Instinctively, your hand rises to shield your eyes. It’s effective enough that you’re able to take in your surroundings as they fly by and, while they’re familiar, you still can’t remember what you were doing here in the first place.

“Joel, I’m…I-I’m—I can’t. I can’t run anymore, p-please—,” you whimper, chest heaving with exertion. House, driveway, lawn—they repeat over and over and over again. They’re starting to blur together, and your tunneling vision worsens until darkness consumes you. “...Joel…”

And then everything goes black.

You’re…surrounded. By something that feels soft and warm and solid against your aching skin, and it moves steadily against you, rising and falling. Your head tilts to the side and it’s Joel breathing into you, his head at home in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped loosely around you. 

You nuzzle your nose into his graying hair, pressing a kiss there, and a sharp intake of breath follows as he blinks awake blearily.

“Hey, baby,” you murmur. He hums something deep and unintelligible in response, tilting his head back to mouth wetly at the base of your throat. 

You let out a sigh of relief. If Joel’s in bed with you like this, it means you’re not infected. Hurt and in pain, yes, but you’re both alive and that’s all that matters. You saved his life out there and you’d do it all over again, even at the cost of your own.

Your memories are returning quickly now, like waves violently crashing to shore after a storm, and the images are gruesome. What you did to protect Joel was barbaric, but you acted on impulse, out of rage and desperation.

The clicker came out of nowhere. You were searching an abandoned house for supplies when it lunged out of a closet, tackling Joel to the ground. The metal pipe in his hand clattered to the ground at your feet and you picked it up as quickly as it fell.

Then, something inside you snapped and you reacted. It was dead after the second or third blow to the head, but you kept going anyway, angry at it for almost stealing Joel away and destabilized by the fear of losing him. 

Blood sprayed from every artery you severed and after each new crack in its skull, and it showered down like rain, thick and warm against your skin. It made you feel powerful, like you were in control for the first time in your life. You enjoyed it.

Only when you realized the pipe was connecting with wet, dented pieces of floorboard instead of flesh did you finally stop.

You remember everything now.

“I’m not sorry,” you tell him, staring vacantly at the popcorn ceiling of your bedroom. He sighs, and you think he’s about to start lecturing you. You don’t want to hear it. You barely want to talk about it at all. “You could’ve died, Joel. If you think for one second I’d ever let that happen, you’re out of your mind.”

He squeezes you a little tighter, mindful of your injuries, but doesn’t respond. Silence blankets you for a moment, and then it breaks once he realizes you’re trembling and your eyes and cheeks are wet with tears.

You’re not sure when you started crying, but you can’t seem to stop, and the frustration in his eyes lessens with each soft hiccup that escapes your lips.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, thumbing away the tears as they fall. He leaves his hand there, gently cupping your cheek, and you lean into his touch. You can feel the fight leaving his body; it’s just not worth it anymore, not after everything you’ve been through. Sighing, he drops his head to rest on your collarbone. “There’s nothin’ to be sorry for. I shoulda been payin’ more attention, been more cautious. Then, you wouldn’t have had to…you wouldn’t be—” He’s fumbling his words. Joel’s never been good at conversations like these, but he’s trying. “...I’m tryna say it’s not your fault. You did what you had to.”

It’s not his fault, either. In the aftermath of everything, no one’s to blame, but it doesn’t help how much it still hurts. How broken you feel.

“Joel, I—,” the tears flow freely and you struggle to suppress a sob. “I’m a monster. You saw what I did…I just—I couldn’t stop. I know she wasn’t a person anymore, I know that, but…b-but I think I liked it. What does that say about me; what does that make me?” You’re spiraling now. He shifts up the bed to hold you properly and rocks you against his chest for a while, like he’s soothing a child. 

“It makes you human,” he murmurs into your hair, running his hands up and down your sides. Your eyes flutter closed as you focus on the feeling of his warm, calloused fingers on your skin.

“I’m scared, Joel,” you whisper. “Whatever that was, it feels like it’s a part of me now—like…I’ll be fighting it forever.” His eyes darken, even as he kisses the side of your head gently once, then twice. “I close my eyes and she’s there. I can hear her, feel her. I…I feel like I’m losing my mind.” 

That fucking neighborhood. Why the fuck were you even in that neighborhood? There wasn’t even anything useful in any of those houses. You try to tell yourself that all of it could’ve been avoided, if you had just decided to head straight back to Jackson, but it’s a fantasy. In this world, it was inevitable. 

Joel still hasn’t answered you. Instead, he presses his lips to your throat again, this time with teeth, and sucks hard where your neck meets your shoulder. You should be wondering why he’s not responding when you’re so clearly distraught, but the only thing you can think about is the delicious pain blooming under your skin. When he finally speaks, it’s a low hum against the fresh bruise.

“I never wanted this for ya,” he nips at you sharply, his beard dragging roughly against your sensitive skin, and you gasp, burying your fingers in his hair and tugging. He groans, hips stuttering into your thigh, and the need to feel him bare and heavy on top of you is overwhelming. “I tried to protect ya—wanted to save you from this. All of it. But I failed ya.” There’s anger in his voice now, and it feels violent. He’s aggressive in the way he touches you, and though you know he’d never purposely hurt you, you think you want him to. “This world takes and takes and takes, and we’re forced to adapt,” he all but growls. “You’re no more a monster than anyone else.”

Rationally, you know it’s true. The bloodlust you feel—you’ve seen it before, in the eyes of raiders you’ve come across on the outside and in the hungry gaze of infected, all of them desperate to tear into you, to take what they want. Looking into Joel’s eyes now, you see it there, too.

The room feels hotter, somehow, like his body heat suddenly spiked, and it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You press your hand into the soft skin of his stomach and it burns like molten lava, begging you to play with fire. 

He snatches your hand from where it’s splayed beneath his shirt and drags it under the waistband of his sweatpants to cup his hardening cock, and you suck in a harsh breath through your teeth. Fuuuuuck. You’re not in charge here, you realize, not now.

“Tonight, I want you to give in to me, alright? You let me take control. ‘m gonna fix it,” he grits out. “Gonna fix everythin’, just need you to trust me,” and you do. You’ll let yourself go, because even though that dark, horrible part of you doesn’t want to submit to him, your body clearly does. It’s a power struggle you hope you lose.

His hand doesn’t leave yours once it’s wrapped around him and, instead, leads your fingers to grip him tightly as he sets a strong, steady pace. You give him a rough squeeze, and he throbs, leaking a bead of precum onto your fingers that you thumb over his head, digging your nail into the slit.

Joel chokes out a moan, hand releasing yours to bury itself in your hair, and begins to fuck your fist in earnest, each thrust punctuated with a sharp exhale. It’s like gripping steel, hard and smooth and searing.

Or a metal pipe. Fucking hell, he feels so much like that fucking metal pipe and you clench down around nothing, your cunt soaked and devastatingly empty. More precum leaks from the tip, and he’s so wet now, your palm sliding easily up his cock and back down to squeeze the base. 

It makes you see red—viscous, red blood coating your fingers, and you release him, pulling your hand away to suck it off each one. It’s not real. Of course, it’s not real. The creamy liquid on your fingers tastes like Joel, bitter and heady, but still, you can’t get the thought of his blood in your mouth out of your head now.

God, that’s so fucked up. You must look half crazed right now, pupils blown wide as you look up at him through your lashes,  each glistening finger pulling from your mouth with a pop.  But he looks angry at what he sees in your eyes, and suddenly both of his hands are on your hips and he’s slamming you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress with his entire weight. You’re not following his rules.

“Baby…baby,” he moans, finally brushing his lips against yours, soft and wet, and licking a line across the roof of your mouth as he grinds into your aching pussy. “Stop fightin’ me. Just…focus on me, right here. Lemme make you feel good.” You whine pathetically into his mouth as he runs his hands up your sides, fingers catching on your shirt and dragging up until his thumbs brush the underside of your tits. 

Lifting your shirt up just enough to expose your pebbling nipples, he leans back on his heels and looks down at you hungrily, like he wants to devour you whole. And fuck, you need him to. But you also want to take and take and take, itching for the fight. 

His head lolls to the side as he takes you in. “Fuck, baby…,” he mumbles, as he drops a hand to palm himself. “You’re so goddamn beautiful like this. So good for me, my—” He pauses to squeeze his cock, and groans out, “...my brave, strong girl.” 

There’s a massive wet patch on the front of his sweatpants from where you soaked him through your underwear, and his eyes roll back when he feels it, warm and sticky against his fingertips. Your mouth waters and you’re starting to feel a little desperate now that he’s stopped touching you. You don’t even notice the whine that escapes your lips as he continues to jerk himself off through the fabric.

“What, brave girl?” he coos, biting back a growl at the warring emotions on your pretty features. He reaches forward to thumb a nipple, his touch rough and calloused. “I promised I’d make ya feel good, didn’t I?” He tweaks it and you keen, hips canting upward in search of friction. “Feels that good, huh?” he rasps, smug at how your body responds to him.

A strong hand forces your hips back onto the bed, trapping you against the mattress, and you feel a sudden, intense urge to slap him. Heat blooms in your lower belly and you feel yourself gush at the thought. “Joel…fuck, just fucking touch me. Please.” 

The sides of his mouth quirk down and he nods, like he’s thinking it over. Asshole. You know you’re still breaking his rules but, by now, you’re too horny to care. You don’t think sex with Joel has ever been like this, nor do you think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life. Christ, if he doesn’t fuck you soon—

You lurch forward to tug at his pants in a moment of weakness, but he’s quicker than you and snatches your wrists, pinning them above your head. The scratches on your arms are still raw and angry, and the skin pulls painfully as he tightens his hold. It’s another reminder of earlier today, and you muster up all of the strength in your body to rip your arms out of his grip, but he shoves you down by your shoulders. 

“If you keep that up, I’m not gonna give you this,” he warns you, flipping the waistband of his pants down just enough to free his cock, thick and leaking all over itself. Your thighs squeeze together at the sight of it, and you abruptly feel remorseful, ready to beg for it if you have to.

Fuck, he’s powerful. And fuck, his tactic is working. The power struggle you hoped you’d lose—you’re pretty sure you just lost. You can tell the moment Joel recognizes acceptance on your face and, immediately, you’re being yanked onto your hands and knees, ass in the air and face smushed on one side against the mattress. He’s rewarding you.

It’s like his hands are laser-focused and, yet, still everywhere all at once. 

“Brave girl,” he murmurs, mouthing a wet trail down your spine. “That’s my girl—g-good, good girl.” He’s already starting to stutter, his voice breathless and shaky. Joel gets mouthy when he’s pussy-drunk, like he just can’t help but verbalize every filthy, incoherent thought when he’s inside you.

You clench in anticipation as he grinds his painfully hard cock into your ass, precum soaking into your underwear and mixing with your own slick. He slides the offending fabric halfway down your thighs and then stops, and you can feel his breath, hot and humid, against your cunt as he spreads your legs for better access. 

He wastes no time licking a wide stripe up your sopping core before swirling his tongue against your clit and sucking hard. It punches a moan out of your chest and your mind goes blank as you grind back into his mouth. The sound of skin slapping roughly against skin reaches your ears and you realize he’s jerking himself off as he devours you, groaning raggedly as he fucks into you with his tongue. 

What the fuck, you’re so fucking close already. Frantic, you reach out to Joel behind you, managing to tug a fistful of his hair. “J-Joel…ngh, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you whine pathetically, drooling onto the sheets. “I can’t…I— please, ‘m so empty. Don’t make me c-cum empty, Joel.” 

It happens so fast. Your entire body is thrown forward with the weight of him, as he sheathes himself in your heat to the hilt in one violently powerful thrust, and oh, oh fuck, you’ll never get used to how big Joel is. The stretch is almost painful and you bear down on him, not expecting the sudden intrusion.

“Baby…girl. Squeezin’ me so tight, so f-fucking tight,” he moans helplessly, already starting to babble as he fucks into you. “Fuck, your pussy gets s-so tight when you’re…,” he reaches around to rub circles into your clit and you start to pulse around him, “about—ngh, to cum.” 

With his other hand, he grips the back of your neck, squeezing just enough to remind you who’s in control; of your pleasure, of your safety. The new angle drives his cock directly into that soft, spongy spot inside you that has your jaw dropping, staccatoed moans punched out of your lungs with each thrust. 

“‘m gonna cum. Fuuck, fuck, ‘m cumming…Joel, ‘m—,” your pussy convulses hard, and you soak his cock as you cum with a hoarse shout. Joel growls over your shoulder, slamming into you over and over, your pussy squelching loud and wet.

Your arms and legs give out, and Joel grips your hips with both hands, hovering above your ass as he fucks into you, thrusts harder and more frantic. He’s so close, the telltale signs obvious to you, now. 

He barely has time to choke out a panicked, “where?” and hear you moan, “on my face,” before he’s thrusting once, twice, and pulling out, rolling you over and bracketing your head with his thighs. You rub your hands up and down them as he jerks himself off above you. For a moment, he gazes down at you in wonder, like maybe you’re a beautiful figment of his imagination, and then he’s cumming hard.

Joel sounds wrecked, his groan long and drawn out, as his cock spurts thick ropes across your lips and tongue, dribbling down your chin and onto your chest. Shifting down your body, he kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth and tasting himself on your tongue. He pulls away, cradling your face in his hands.

“I told you I’d fix it.”

And he did. He put your broken pieces back together and overwrote your bad memories. 

Now, all you see, all you can hear is Joel. Your thoughts are a mishmash of searing hot skin, his lips, soft and wet against yours, and mind-numbing pleasure.

Your skin is still warm and sticky with his release, and it tastes so undeniably like him. Woody and salty, and right.

It’s quiet, now—peaceful—and everything doesn’t hurt so much anymore. 

Strong arms pull you close and you sigh, tired and relieved, into his embrace. Joel holds you tighter as you drift off to sleep, murmuring something you don’t quite catch against your cheek, and you feel safe. 

From the monsters beyond the walls and the one in the mirror.

thanks for reading! 💕