#all heart and hunger and no rationality left (':

[rowarn]

MONSTER (m.)

neighbor!simon riley x reader

tags: zombie apocalypse au, neighbors to lovers, afab!reader, no pronouns, hurt/comfort, smut, NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

cw: description of corpses, simon is aggressive towards you, but also very soft!simon, protective!simon, violence, simon does murder someone, lots of kissing, wet&messy sex, multiple orgasms, edging (simon), missionary position, mating press, fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, breast play, squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, pet names, eye contact, praise, teeny bit talkin u thru it

note: i think that's all the neccessary warnings but if u think smthn else should be added, let me know. please enjoy this MONSTER fic!!!

; you find yourself hiding out in your apartment as the undead begin walking. luckily, you have a well-trained military operative as a neighbor who is more than willing to keep you safe.

16.5k

“Residents are advised to remain in their homes. Authorities are unsure what is causing the severe aggression in people but the military has been called in nationwide. Please stay tuned as more information becomes available.” 

That was the first news broadcast. They reported  people getting sick-- airborne is what they had said. Stay inside, and stay away from other people. 

So you did just that – stayed hidden away in your apartment, glued to your television for every possible news cast that you could get. 

It was only a week later that the whole story had come out. 

The airborne strain is what caused the first swell of infections. Anyone who was susceptible to the infection would have already become sick by now. But those who were infected by the airborne strain turned…feral. They became like wild animals, barely human. Their skin rotted around them while they were still alive. Their brains died but their hearts remained pumping. They were walking corpses that had a vicious hunger for human flesh. 

The bites are what caused the following wave of infections. Something in their saliva turned you into whatever they were. 

You were scared. When you looked outside your window, down just a few floors to the ground, you could see hordes of people stumbling around, shuffling and shambling. 

Sometimes you would hide in your bathroom as the sounds of gunfire filled the city. It was the worst when it was the middle of the night. 

You weren’t equipped to deal with a disaster of this level – humans turning into disease spreading killers. You were having to ration your food, waiting for the day that there would be an announcement that it was safe. 

You wanted it all to be over. 

Then the news broadcasts stopped, cell service dropped, and the populace was left in the dark. 

You kept the lights off in your apartment, scared that the wandering hordes outside would see it and find you.

You had no idea how long you had been hiding in your apartment, spending most nights with your knees to your chest as you watched the static on the TV. You held out hope that the news broadcast would come back, but it never did. You spent the days and nights in mundane monotony, hopelessness settling in. 

The only interruption was a heavy knock on your front door, practically making you jump out of your skin at the sound of it. You hadn’t expected anyone to actually approach your apartment in search of you. It terrified you that anyone could be out there at a time like this.

With wide eyes and trembling hands, you grabbed a kitchen knife off of your counter and tiptoed towards the front door. Peeking through the peep-hole, you let out a heavy sigh of relief. 

Throwing the door open, you were faced with the familiar balaclava of your neighbor across the hall.

“Simon…” you whispered in relief. 

He wasn’t lunging nor did he have the milky-white eyes of the undead that you had seen on the news. He was normal. 

“What’re you planning to do with that?” he asked, eyeing the kitchen knife still in your hand.

“Oh!” you gasped, quickly placing it on the table by your front door, “Sorry, you– you– startled me when you knocked. Would you like to come in?”

His lidded, brown eyes gaze around your apartment behind you before landing on you again, “You have anyone else in there?”

You blink and slowly shake your head, “No, I’m alone.”

His brows furrow at that, “You’ve been by yourself this whole time?”

You shrug and nod, “What else was I supposed to do? The news reports said to stay inside…”

He hums, “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m fine,” you respond quickly, “Why?”

Suddenly there’s a hand on your forehead and you realize he’s checking your temperature. You remain still and allow him to do it before he's shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. 

“Fever’s the first symptom,” he explains, “I’m goin’ door to door to check on everyone.”

“Oh!” you gasp, smiling, “That’s very nice of you, Simon.”

You knew that Simon was in the military. He was often out on long deployments and sometimes he had tasked you with keeping an eye on his apartment since you were right across the hall from him.

He was a nice enough guy, if not a little cold and blunt. He was tall and broad, clearly well built despite the fact that he usually wore a hoodie that hid his biceps from view. You’d gotten glimpses of his tattoos when you had knocked on his door one evening and asked him if he knew anything about water heaters because your hot water had been out for nearly a month in the dead of winter and the apartment manager hadn’t done anything to help you.

Simon had kindly come to your apartment, even though it was nearing midnight, rolled his sleeves up and fixed your problem within the hour. You had baked him cookies as a thank you that following weekend. 

“How is everyone doing..?” you venture to ask, leaning against the doorjamb as a breeze flows into your apartment from the open door.

He casts a glance down the hallway, almost like he’s thinking before sighing, “Few people are sick. They’ve been…” he hesitates for a moment, “Quarantined.”

“Probably for the best,” you respond, “Keep them from hurting anyone when they…turn.”

It feels so surreal to be talking about confining people to keep them from literally eating the healthy people. But it seems that’s where you’re all at now. 

“I’m going to barricade our floor,” he says suddenly, “Keep anyone from comin’ in that’s not supposed to come in.”

“What if we need to leave?” you ask, concerned, “We’re only going to have finite food and resources between us. The power’s also going to go out sooner rather than later, Simon.”

“I know,” he sighs, “But we should stay indoors for as long as possible. When the power runs out and we run out of supplies, we can figure out what to do next,” he explains, “The military was on the ground here last I heard, you’ve heard the gunshots. I don’t believe they’ll last much longer but it’s not wise for us to go out while they’re tryin’ to eliminate as many of these…undead as they can.”

“I guess that makes sense…” you whisper before his words finally settle on you, “What do you mean you don’t think they’ll last much longer..?”

He levels a hard stare at you that makes your heart race in anxiety. Simon was always a serious individual by nature but this is how you imagine he looks when he’s on duty, “Hundreds of thousands of people are sick out there. The airborne strain no doubt got to hundreds of the soldiers meant to be protecting the civilians. Eventually, they’ll eat each other from the inside out –literally.”

“You mean even the military is going to collapse..?” you ask, horrified. You try not to let the tears fill your eyes but Simon’s words fill you with a dreadful sense of hopelessness. 

“Communications are cut,” he says finally, “Radio’s been silent all day. Not sure what’s goin’ on but it’s not good.”

The tears quickly began to fall down your cheeks. Before you could wipe them away, a calloused thumb was doing it. You sniffled and looked up at him.

“I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” you confessed softly, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive, Simon.”

“Don’t you worry about that, love,” he whispered, grabbing your chin gently to make you look up at him, “I’ll take care of you, yeah?”

“I don’t want to be a burden…” you explain, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I took care of you,” he joked, though it held little humor, “You won’t be a burden. I’ll teach you what you need to know, alright?”

“You will?” he nods when you look up at him hopefully and you smile, “Thank you, Simon. I don’t really want to die by getting eaten by walking corpses.”

He chuckled under his mask, brown eyes crinkling around the edges a bit, “It is pretty fuckin’ mad, isn’t it?” You laugh, the first genuine smile you’ve cracked since before that first news broadcast, “Why don’t you come across the hall and stay with me, yeah?”

“Is that okay..?” You can’t deny the idea of being with company sounded more appealing than anything. You were definitely beginning to feel the ebbs of loneliness creeping in on you as the days of silence passed. Plus, Simon was…safe, “The news said not to…mingle in case of the disease spreading.”

He scoffed, “Rules like that don’t really apply anymore, love,” he mutters softly, “Plus, neither of us is sick so it’s not like we’ll spread it anyway. I can teach you some knife work and how to use a gun easier if we’re together, yeah?”

“Okay,” you smile, excitement surging in your chest, replacing the painful void of hopelessness you had, “Let me just get some things together and I’ll be right over, okay?”

“Sounds good, love,” you can tell he’s smiling under the mask. He gives you a pat on the shoulder before stepping away, “Just knock when you’re ready.”

You stand in your doorway until he disappears into his apartment. Once you’re alone, you cast a cursory glance around your living room, eyeballing everything you need to take before you dash into your bedroom. From the back of your closet, you grab a duffle bag that you have stowed away in the back of your closet from when you first moved in.

Navigating in the dark of your apartment was a bit of a challenge but you managed to stuff all the essentials into the bag. After slinging it over your shoulder, you step out of your apartment, making sure it was locked before knocking on Simon’s door. 

He opened it quickly, still wearing the same hoodie, jeans, and balaclava as before – his hood still up as well. He stepped aside for you to enter.

Unlike you, his apartment was illuminated by lamps – but his windows were covered with blackout curtains so no light would seep outside. It was pretty plainly decorated, just the essentials and a few photographs on the walls; upon closer inspection it looked like him and, you assumed, his comrades. 

You went to place your bag down but he stopped you, “I cleared out a drawer for you to put your clothes in for the time bein’.”

“Oh…” you gaped at him, surprised to hear that he had done something like that for you, “Thank you, Simon.”

He led you to his bedroom, standing in the hallway while you walked in. His bedroom was darkly decorated, black out curtains on the windows, navy blue sheets and a black comforter on his bed. His furniture was all dark toned as well. 

It suited him, you thought.

There were two drawers open and empty, letting you know that those were yours for the taking. You knelt down and opened your duffle bag, carefully folding and placing your items inside. When you got to your undergarments, you cast a glance towards the door to find that he was no longer standing there. Breathing a sigh of relief, you quickly filled the top drawer with all of your delicates before closing the drawers and standing up. 

Flicking on the light to his en suite bathroom, you placed your toothbrush and toothpaste alongside his, the sight making you blush before you went to add your belongings into the shower as well. 

Realistically, you knew that the water was going to go out sooner or later but you planned to enjoy it for as long as you possibly could until then. 

When you ventured into the living room, Simon was in the kitchen, the cabinets open as he scanned over all of his belongings.

“Is something wrong..?” you asked softly.

“Thinkin’ of how to ration,” he replied quickly, “Have you got any stuff over at yours still?”

You nod your head, “It’s not much but I have some canned food and like...rice and stuff if you want that.”

“Yeah, it’ll be good to consolidate all our supplies in the long run,” he explained, “You got your keys?”

“Yes!” you pull your keyring from your pocket and drop it into his open palm.

“I’ll be right back love, make yourself at home,” he gave you a gentle nudge towards the couch before leaving you there. 

You took a seat on the couch, realizing just how tired you were. You hadn’t realized how tense you’re been for so long on your own. Now that you were safe and with company, you could almost feel the tension sliding right off of you. You rested your head against the back of the couch and closed your eyes, intending to just rest your eyes and enjoy the peace you felt. 

You were startled awake by the sound of the door slamming shut. You nearly jumped out of your skin, wide eyes finding Simon’s who looked a little sheepish.

“Sorry, love,” he whispered, “Didn’t realize you’d be sleepin’.”

“Didn’t mean to…” you confess, standing up and stretching, watching Simon lug a bag of food into the kitchen.

“Haven’t been sleepin’ well?” he asked, his back to you as he began to stock up the cabinets. 

“Not really…” with a sigh, you lean back against the counter with your arms crossed over your chest, “I’ve been stressed about this whole situation.”

“It is…” he pauses in his words, placing a bag of dried beans into the cabinet, “Nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“Society is really collapsing around us, isn’t it?” you bravely ask, although you were scared to hear the answer.

“Yeah, darlin’,” his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it and that brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

“This is so fucked up,” you cry, burying your face in your hands, “Thank you, Simon. You didn’t have to offer to help me and I really owe you a lot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he closes the cabinet, the bag he brought finally empty before turning to you, “I’ll make sure you know everything you need to know to survive.”

“I doubt I’ll be as good as you,” you joke, a crooked, wobbly smile on your face. 

He steps forward and cups your chin, brushing his thumb against your cheek, “No one’s as good as me, sweetheart.”

You chuckle softly at his words. 

This is what you needed – someone by your side to keep you sane as society collapsed and everyone that you knew died. 

That night, you slept better than you had in days. Simon had given you his bed, offering to take the couch. You had argued, telling him that you couldn’t take his bed like that. 

“I’m up most nights anyway, love,” he had assured you, “At least someone around here can get a good night’s sleep in that bed.”

When you woke up, fully rested you might add, Simon was already awake, drinking some tea. You sat down beside him, enjoying a nice quiet morning.

“How do you feel about learnin’ some basics today, love?” he asked when he was cleaning his mug. 

“Sure!” you agreed, “I have to warn you though, I really know next to nothing…”

“That’s alright,” he chuckled, waving to you to follow him to the living room, “I’m a good teacher, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you watched as he stood up and went to a closet in the hallway, pulling out an assortment of bags and carriers.

He placed them down beside the couch and took a seat next to you. “I think it’s best if we start with you gettin’ comfortable with the feeling of holding a weapon in your hands,” he explained, pulling out a knife bigger than any you’ve seen, “This is a hunting knife.”

He handed it towards you, his fingers confidently gripping the blade between two fingers. You wrapped your hand around the handle, testing its weight in your hands. It was dangerous and nerve-wracking, holding a weapon in your hands. 

“I know it’s scary,” he assured, “But when you’re comfortable holding knives then you can learn to use them properly to protect yourself.”

“What about guns..?” you find yourself asking, still gripping the knife in your hands, turning it over and adjusting your grip just to desensitize yourself to it. 

“We’ll tackle guns when you get used to knives,” he replied.

“So you have guns?” you ask, letting him pull the hunting knife from your hands.

“Of course I do,” he reaches into a bag by his feet, pulling out a pistol. 

Your eyes go wide as you watch him handle it effortlessly, checking the chamber and moving it around in his hands like it wasn’t a dangerous weapon.

“When you’re ready, I’ll teach you to properly use one so you can use it in case of an emergency,” he explained, placing the pistol on the table carefully.

“I’m going to have to kill other people…” you mutter to yourself.

Simon pulled out another knife, passing it into your hands, “Combat knife,” he supplied simply, “And you’ll have to kill them but…I don’t think they’re people anymore, love.”

“I guess that’s true…” you mutter, holding the knife with a firm grip, “I’ve only seen them on the news before it stopped broadcasting. What about you?”

“Haven’t seen ‘em in person either,” he replies with a shrug, “Some of my…teammates,” the words seem awkward coming from his mouth but he continued, “Were givin’ me some information before they went radio silent.”

“What happened to them?” you couldn’t help but ask.

A brief flash of sadness flashed over his eyes but he quickly sobered up, leaning back against the couch with a sigh, “Not a clue. I guess there’s no way for me to know. I just know it was getting bad. Dangerous.”

“I’m sorry about your teammates,” was all you could find in supply of an answer.

Simon didn’t respond, simply letting his gaze fall back on the knife, “Let me show you some handling techniques for you to practice.”

Realizing that he didn’t want to talk about the world outside anymore, you let him lead you through a crash course on knife handling and knife safety. He took the time to teach you the different kinds of knives in his possession and you nodded along as best you could but if you’re being honest – it was primarily lost on you.

You’re not sure if Simon knew that but he seemed to enjoy teaching you, so you let him ramble on to his heart’s content. 

By the end of the day, you were confident enough in at least not accidentally cutting yourself on the sharp blades. 

In order to repay him, you made dinner for the both of you – though, really, it was just some heated up canned soup-- and did the dishes for him so he didn’t have to.

By the end of the night, you both found yourselves on the couch, watching a movie he had put on. With there being no way to watch anything else, you were grateful he had a collection of movies to his name – you simply streamed your favorite shows and movies and called it a day. 

It ticked late into the night and before you knew it, you were falling asleep on the couch, leaned against his shoulder. You could feel him shift and knew you should open your eyes, but the tugs of sleep at the edges of your subconscious kept you from doing so. Suddenly, you felt the soft beat of his heart against your ear and the heavy weight of his arm laid across you. You briefly registered that you were now wrapped in his arms before the final tug of sleep pulled you under.

When you woke up, you were in bed. 

And Simon wasn’t in the apartment. 

“Simon..?” you called, looking around everywhere for him – to no avail. 

You ventured to the door, carefully pulling it open and stepping out. You looked down the hall towards the stairwell before you heard a grunt of effort from the other end. 

“Simon!” you called, making him look up.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked, pausing in his task of pushing a large bookcase towards the elevator. 

“You weren’t inside…” you mutter, wandering down the hall towards him, “What’re you doing?”

“Barricading this elevator,” he replied, giving the heavy object another push with a grunt of effort. 

“Oh, right, you mentioned you wanted to do that,” you mumbled, taking a moment to look over him.

He wasn’t wearing his hoodie for once, instead wearing a tight black t-shirt that was sticking to his skin with sweat. He wore his jeans with a holster and gun on his hip as well. 

“Do you need any help?” you asked but he shook his head.

“No, you can’t help with this, love,” he grunted, giving the bookcase one final, heavy push before it was flush against the elevator doors. 

It was then that you noticed the straps nailed to the wall. He took them and secured them to the other side of the elevators, making sure the bookcase was fastened firmly. 

“Enough people push this and it’ll come down but at least it’s secure enough,” he explained, giving his work a final once over.

“Do you know where the others are?” you find yourself asking as he makes his way to the other end of the hallway

He pauses at that, seemingly thinking of his next words carefully, “I checked door to door. Most of our neighbors got the hell out to go see their families when everything went to shit. A few…were sick and turned in their apartments so I had to…put them down.”

You cringed at his wording, you knew he was trying to phrase it delicately for you but you weren’t sure if you would have preferred him to just say he killed them. ‘Put them down’ made it sound like they were rabid dogs and not people you once knew and smiled at in the halls. 

“Found some notes in some of them,” Simon said suddenly, waving you to follow him back to the apartment – to safety, “Guess we can only hope they made it to their families in one piece.”

“I hope so,” you muttered optimistically, slipping past him when he opened the front door for you.

You quickly realize how difficult it is to tell how much time is passing with Simon’s blackout curtains, which he refused to allow you to open for fear of attracting any unwanted attention. With there being no more news broadcasts or anything on TV, you didn’t even know the date anymore and you were too scared to ask for fear of knowing how long you’ve been living like this. Your food rations were slowly dwindling but neither of you talked about it. 

You know you’re still waking up in the mornings and sleeping at night – Simon seems to run on an extremely specific schedule. When you asked him about it, he told you it was from the military, which made sense. Either way, you were grateful to him for helping you keep on track.

The water and power were both still on, but Simon kept telling you not to keep your hopes up about it lasting long. 

You spent your days learning knife etiquette and practicing stabbing various targets that Simon made for you. You’ve grown much more confident. Of course, you would be no match for your teacher himself but against a bumbling walking corpse? You were sure you would be able to at least buy yourself time to escape if you needed. 

Eventually, Simon decided it was time to move onto what you were most scared of – guns. 

“I’m going to tell you a few things before I let you hold this,” he said, eyes hardened to show how serious he was as he held a pistol in his hands, “Are you paying attention?”

“Of course,” you breathe, wringing your hands in front of you as you eye the weapon.

“You can’t be scared of your weapons,” he advises, “You need to be confident and sure with every movement you make. It’s not a toy.”

“Hard not to be scared of it…” you confess, “What if I hurt someone with it or…I don’t know.”

“That’s why I’m teaching you all this,” he says, “You’ll get confident and less scared the more you handle them. We’re startin’ you off simple and you can build up to bigger and badder guns. For now…pistols will do.”

“Okay,” you swallow around the nervous lump in your throat, “Tell me what I need to know.”

“That’s the spirit,” he praises, holding the pistol up for you to see how he grips it, “First, never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re going to shoot. Just rest your finger on the side like this, see,” he turns his hand and lets you see the way he keeps his finger hovering beside the trigger rather than on it. 

You nod your head, “Got it.”

“Take it,” he says, “Carefully.”

You stare at the offered weapon for just a moment before you reach out and delicately take it from his hands, “Next, never point it at anyone you don’t intend to shoot. Whether it’s loaded or not, keep it pointed away from people and yourself.”

You mimic his grip, grimacing when you realize it's actually much heavier than you thought it would be. It was definitely going to take practice before you built up the ability to hold it for long periods. You follow his instructions and keep it pointed to the ground – albeit awkwardly.

“Here,” he suddenly steps behind you.

You feel your heart catch in your chest when you feel him press against your back. He’s incredibly warm and firm as you lean against him. He carefully takes your hands in his, supporting your hands and holding the gun eye level.

“Just practice lining up your sight and lookin at a target,” he says.

His face is so close to yours, his voice right in your ear, deep and gravelly with that heavy accent. You struggle to process his words, hoping to god he doesn’t hear how fast your heart has started racing.

You close one eye and focus on aiming at a photo on his wall, a small picture frame. His large, gloved hands dwarf your own and you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of him. He smells like cigarettes and the body wash you may have taken a quick whiff of when you used his shower for the first time. You find yourself wondering when he has time to smoke since you’ve never actually seen him do it. 

Your mind is blank beyond anything other than him. How big and warm he is, how safe you feel with him wrapped around you, how good he smells and how much you love his voice as he utters tips and commands into your ear – sickly sweet in that way he always seems to talk to you. 

If you focused too much on it, you’d slowly come to the realization that you may have a crush on him. But you quickly dash that thought from your head and focus back on his gun lesson as he teaches you how to eject a magazine with ease. 

This is about survival. Neither of you have time to dwell on a silly crush. 

A few days later, you’re standing in the eerie hallway with him. He had offered for you to just stay in the apartment and relax while he did the work but you honestly didn’t want to be alone so you opted to sit with him as he worked.

Your back was against the wall, sipping a cup of instant coffee you had made. Simon was silent as he worked on barricading the door to the stairwell. You both agreed that it was best if it was still accessible just in case something happened, but you didn’t want any unnecessary visitors making their way into the safe little haven you’ve both made for yourselves.

“We should think about looting the empty apartments,” you said suddenly, trying to keep your eyes off of his bulging biceps as he yanked on a strap that was attached to the doorknob to keep the door from being opened. 

“That’s a good idea,” he grunted, stepping back to admire his handiwork when he finally finished testing its durability, “Let’s do it.”

He offered his hand and you smiled, taking it and letting him pull you to your feet. You brushed off imaginary dust in an effort to hide how flustered just holding his hand for that brief second made you. 

You started at the other end of the hallway from your shared apartment. Simon displayed a disturbing aptitude for opening up very locked doors. You chose not to comment on it, instead silently being thankful that he was able to do it at all. 

“How about we make a loot pile in the hallway so we can bring it all inside when we’re ready?” you suggest.

“Alright,” he responds, eyes scanning over the cabinets in the kitchen, “Food is our main priority but it wouldn’t hurt to have some medical supplies.”

You agreed and started helping him pick things out, filling your arms full of canned goods and pill bottles which you then deposited in the hallway by your apartment. 

The two of you made it through a handful of apartments, securing a nice resource pile for the two of you. You were feeling good, hopeful, as you stared at your future right there in the silent hallway.

It wasn’t until you opened one in particular— it belonged to a shy, college kid, you remember— that it seems everything changes for you. He couldn’t have been but 18, away from home for the first time and living in his first apartment on his own. 

Simon is busy looting the kitchen, you can hear him placing cans on the counter, consolidating whatever it is he chooses to bring with him. You check the bedroom, looking through the drawers and pocketing a bottle of aspirin and nausea medication before you move to the bathroom. 

The second you push open the door, you’re met with the force of another person shoving into you. You cry out as you hit the ground, the person falling on top of you. You panic and scramble out from under them, their coughing and wheezing forcing you to look at them. 

It’s the kid who lives there. He’s deathly pale, dark circles under his eyes which are bloodshot. His lips are crusty and dry, seemingly struggling with finding something to say.

“Pl-” he starts to whisper before you see movement in the corner of your eye.

“Simon, wait!” you cry when you see the knife.

But it’s too late, the hunting knife you had held with your own two hands more times than you could count, is embedded in the kids skull, spraying blood all over you. All you can do is make a pathetic squeak, fear and panic rendering you unable to say anything as you watch his now lifeless body flop onto the ground beside you, his still warm blood soaking into your clothes as it runs out of the gaping hole in his head.

“The fuck were you thinkin’?!” Simon suddenly shouts, storming over to you and yanking you to your feet roughly.

You stumble up, bumping into him as you stare at the dead body on the floor, “He..He was alive…I…”

“He was sick!” Simon snarls, roughly wrapping his hand around your throat, forcing you to look at him. There was a fire in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, making you cower, “You’re lucky he didn’t bite you! Fuckin’ hell, are you stupid?!”

“H-He was talking, he was just sick, Simon!” you argued, tears filling  your eyes as you stared up at him, “W-We could have given him medicine, could have–”

“He was a dead man walking,” he shouts, the volume making you flinch, “He was going to turn. Are you a fuckin’ idiot? Thinkin’ we could save him?”

The tears you were holding fell down your cheeks at his cruel words and you glared up at him, “I-I’m not stupid, I just…h-he talked to me!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Simon’s eyes narrow, “He was a threat. A liability. Don’t fuckin’ worry about him, worry about yourself.”

He releases you with a rough shove, taking out some of his anger on you. He continues to glare at you for a long minute before turning his back on you and stalking out of the room, muttering about how stupid it was that you could have killed yourself over some random kid. 

Your eyes fall on said kid, no more blood coming from the wound, simply coagulating on the floor around him, “Y-You’re a monster.”

The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, quiet and shaky. But Simon hears them clear, freezing on the other side of the doorway, in the hall. 

“I’m a monster..?” he asks, voice suddenly eerily calm. He turns around, his large body taking up an obscene amount of the doorway. You can tell he’s intentionally trying to intimidate you, a punishment that makes your cheeks heat up in anger, “I’ve been breakin’ my back to keep your stupid ass alive and I’m a monster? Because I put down some fucker that was gonna turn rabid in a day?” he glares at you, squinting through the mask and drawing his dark eyebrows together, “You think it’s easy for me? I’m doin’ everything I can to keep you safe!” he shouts so loud that your ears ring and you flinch from the sound alone, “But if you can’t appreciate that then maybe you should be on your fuckin’ own and see how long it takes before you’re ripped apart by those feral bastards!”

He storms off at that, loudly slamming the front door, indicating his final exit from the apartment. You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks only for more to replace them and you sniffle, casting a sorrowful glance at the dead kid before creeping out of the apartment yourself.

Simon is nowhere in the hall but the supplies you both gathered are still there. 

You carefully open the door to Simon’s apartment and peek inside, finding it completely silent and still. You’re not sure where he went but you decide to busy yourself with loading all your looted items into the kitchen and sorting them all for when he returns.

You’re not sure how long you take to finish but Simon still isn’t back and you become worried.

He had said you should be on your own but surely he didn’t actually just leave the building, did he?

You wander over to his supplies and find a handful of his weapons gone. Your heart shoots into your throat and more tears prick at your eyes before you’re dashing out of the apartment once again.

The door to the stairwell is no longer held shut, indicating that Simon had, in fact, gone that way. You curse yourself. If you had checked sooner then he would have at least been somewhere close but if he really left, he would be long out of the building by now. 

You creep towards the door and slowly push it open. You hadn’t even left the floor since before this whole thing started. It was eerily quiet, but if you listened close you could hear some muffled shuffling from somewhere. 

You crept out, quickly realizing how dark it was. You pulled out your keychain which held a tiny flashlight that you used to navigate when it was dark in the apartment. 

You crept down the stairs, holding your breath with every step until you finally reached the floor below you. You can hear muffled sounds from beyond the door and slowly push it open, flashing the light down the hallway. 

It's too small and weak to penetrate the stifling darkness. The power was not on on this floor for some reason and that immediately set you on edge. You could still hear some shuffling and strange, raspy noises from within the darkness. 

“Simon..?” you call into the impenetrable, oppressive darkness. The noises stop for a moment and you swallow around the nervous lump in your throat, “Simon?” you call again, louder.

The noises return, shuffling, heavy footsteps advance on you. You strain your eyes to see past the weak illumination that your flashlight provides. You’re breathing heavily, you realize, anxiety making your lungs feel constricted as the footsteps get closer and closer.

All of the sudden, a disgusting, rotted face appears in your sights, arms outstretched towards you. You scream out in unbridled terror as it grabs you, its bony, sickening fingers latching onto your shoulders. You attempt to push it away and run but you trip over your own two feet in your panic. Your flashlight flies out of sight, its dim illumination casting down the hallway, leaving you to push at the undead corpse as it collapses on top of you. Its weight is more than you thought it would be, leaving your arms trembling as you struggle to keep it from falling on top of you. It fights your resistance and chomps its disgusting teeth at your face, attempting to get a bite out of your flesh. 

It reeks, you realize, like the smell of a dead animal you pass by on the street. It makes your stomach turn and you fear you’re going to throw up from the smell alone. The rotting skin of its chest slips and pulls away from the bone and muscle and you gag, tears coming to your eyes as you realize the very real and terrifying danger you’re in.

You have no way to get out of this. 

As you look down the hall, where the light barely pierced the inky depths, you can see more figures emerging from further down the hall, shuffling and rasping in interest at your fight with the one on top of you.

Tears fall down your temples and a sob bursts from your chest as you slowly come to terms that this is how you’re going to die. You can’t hold the sheer weight of the undead above you for much longer.

“S-Simon…” you call out, weak and strained. You know even if he’s nearby he won’t hear you. You have to try harder, get your voice out, shout for him. You swallow around your tears and panic, taking a full breath before shouting, “Simon! Please! Simon, help me!”

You don’t even register the door opening behind you. But you do notice when the weight of the corpse is gone, a knife stabbing into its skull before a large hand grabs you by the back of the shirt and drags you back into the stairwell. The undead follow after you, slamming themselves against the door as soon as it slams closed. 

You’re trembling and unable to blink or breathe as the shock of what just happened washes over you. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Simon all but screams, grabbing you by the front of your shirt, dragging you onto unsteady feet that can’t hold you up before slamming you against the wall. You can still hear those zombies slamming against the door. Your ears are ringing and you barely register Simon shouting at you. 

He shakes you and it finally draws your attention to him. His eyes are wide, irises darting back and forth over your face. He doesn’t look nearly as angry as you would expect. Instead he looks…concerned. Scared.

“Simon…” you whisper, the tears not stopping as they fall down your cheeks. He’s the only thing holding you up right now, hands balled in the material of your shirt, keeping you pinned to the wall, “I-I was…I was looking for you…”

He’s panting, shoulders rising and falling as he struggles to compose himself, “Lookin’ for me?”

“Y-You said you were leaving and I…” you whimper, “I-I didn’t want you to go so…I went to find you…I didn’t think that…”

You see his jaw tense through his mask before he slowly lets go of your shirt. Your knees tremble under your own weight and your hands find purchase against his chest.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he mutters, stepping away from you with a heavy sigh, “Just don’t…do that again, got it?”

You nod your head, sniffling as you feel your tears slowly come to a stop, “Th-Thank you, Simon…for saving me…”

“Yeah,” he grunts, turning his back to you, storming back up the stairs to your floor. 

You unsteadily follow behind him, still a shaky and anxious mess. When you get into the apartment, Simon is in the kitchen, barely sparing you a glance.

“Go take a shower,” he orders you.

You linger in the doorway for a moment, hoping that he’ll look at you even for a second. But he doesn’t and you hang your head, skulking off to take your shower with a heavy heart. 

The night rolls around and Simon hasn’t said a word, putting you more on edge with each passing minute. He sits, manspreading on the couch with a glass of Kentucky bourbon in a glass, sipping on it and watching some old movie that he put on play. Usually, he asks you if you’d like to watch with him, but this time he didn’t and that just makes your heart ache even more. 

“Simon…” you venture to ask, casting a glance at him. His hard gaze doesn’t move from the TV, “I-I want to apologize–”

“For what?” he asks, the first words he’s spoken to you in hours. They’re cold and make you wince.

“F-For what I said…” you mutter, tucking your legs underneath you as you turn to look at him, “I…I was mean. I know you’re doing all you can for me and it wasn’t fair of me to get angry at you…I was just…startled, I guess.”

“You were naive,” he snaps, finally looking at you with a harsh glare, “You had no fuckin’ idea what those monsters were and you almost got yourself killed because of it.”

“Y-You’re right…” you whisper, feeling the tears pricking your eyes for the millionth time that day, “I’m sorry, Simon.”

He doesn’t respond, simply throwing back his glass of bourbon, downing it all before he stands up, “Sleep on the couch.”

The last thing you hear from him is his bedroom door slamming shut. You lay down that night, quietly crying into the pillow until you finally fell back asleep.

“Wake up!” a barking voice is what draws you out of your slumber. 

Still shaken up from yesterday’s previous events, you sit straight up, wild, fearful eyes looking around before your gaze falls upon Simon. He stands in front of the couch, dressed in full tactical gear. Even his balaclava is different, with a hard plate in the shape of a skull covering the front. He looks intimidating.

“Wh-What’re you doing?” you ask, turning yourself so your feet are on the floor. 

“We’re trainin’, get up,” he commands and you have no choice but to follow.

You find yourself following him out of the apartment and into the dimly lit hallway. It’s eerily quiet as always and you feel more intimidated than ever standing before him in nothing but some flimsy pajamas while he wears full gear. Even his gaze is different through that skull mask, hard and cold, looking down at you like you’re insignificant. 

It’s so different from before. He was so kind and patient with you before and you can tell that now he’s going to really train you. 

“What’re we doing today..?” you timidly ask, wringing your hands in front of yourself.

“Escaping,” he responds.

“Escaping?” you parrot back dumbly. 

His glare narrows down at you, “You’re going to try to get away from me and make it towards that exit.”

He points to the other end of the hallway, to the stairwell. You glance up at him, where he stands between you and your exit. 

“Okay…” you lick your lips nervously, “Do you want me to just run past you?”

“For now,” he drawls. He sounds almost bored, hands wrapped around the straps of his tactical vest.

You take a deep breath and attempt to bolt past him but his reflexes are frighteningly fast. His arm shoots out before you even realize it, catching you around your middle and halting you immediately. 

The air is punched out of your lungs from the force of his arms and you stumble back with a groan. 

“You’re goin’ to have to do better than that,” he says, looking down his nose at you like you had offended him with your poor attempt. 

You brace yourself again and attempt to run past him. This time, you attempt to fake him out and run in the other direction but it ends the same with his arm grappling around your middle and you still not any closer to the exit.

“Again!” he barks and you can’t help but wonder if this was how he was when he was training recruits in the military. 

You try again and again to run past him, duck under his arm, avoid his reach – everything to no avail. After several attempts, you’re left panting and frustrated. Simon is still as cool as a cucumber, staring at you in pure boredom as he awaits your next move. 

You run again, making rough contact with his arm once again. But this time you start fighting against his hold. You push with all your might, shoving at his arm and his side in an attempt to slip past him. 

“There you go,” he says, though it sounds more condescending than proud, “Fight me.”

You slam your fist down over his arm, successfully knocking it out of the way and giving you a chance to bolt past him. You have a clear view of the stairwell door and you can almost taste the success. 

But you’re stopped suddenly when a rough hand grabs the back of your shirt. You cry out in shock when he yanks you back towards him, carelessly tossing you to the floor. You hit the rough carpet harshly, the coarse material skinning your hands and knees and you cry out at the pain.

“Simon!” you chastise him, glaring up at him when he comes to stand in front of you, “That fucking hurt!”

“Oh, it hurt?” he sneers, squatting beside you, behemoth form still dwarfing your own as he gets down on your level, “It’s not supposed to feel good. This is training. You’re supposed to try and survive, not whine and cry because you fell on the floor.”

You sit on your burning knees and glare at him. He glares back at you, neither of you backing down. 

“Get up,” he commands, standing up, “Go again.”

By the time he allowed the training to be called off, your body was sore and bruised from the amount of times you’d been thrown to the floor. Your knees burn and ache from where the skin had been rubbed off and you fight back tears as you watch the dried blood crust on your skin. 

Simon is no more rough for wear than he was before – all your hitting, kicking, pushing, and biting hadn’t deterred him in the slightest. He wasn’t even winded. 

Worse more, you hadn’t made it anywhere near the door. 

You weren’t sure how Simon felt about it. If he was mad or disappointed, he didn’t say. As soon as you got into the apartment, he went about making dinner after ordering you to wash up. 

When you got out of the shower, he tossed a first aid kit to you and silently sat down in the kitchen to eat. 

Usually, you would sit with him but you found yourself deciding to eat on the couch by yourself. A sense of loneliness settled upon you that you hadn’t felt since before you had moved into this apartment with him and you find yourself hiding your tears in your food. 

Once again, you’re sleeping on the couch. You wouldn’t have minded it if it didn’t feel so much like a punishment. You felt like a dog banished to sleep in the dog house and you can’t help but curl in on yourself at the cold, empty feeling that it causes. 

The next morning follows much the same with Simon startling you awake with a barked order. Your body aches and your wounds sting with every movement you make as you drag yourself behind him to the hallway.

“Do we have to do this again today, Simon?” you ask hopelessly, “I’m really tired…”

“Do you think those undead freaks are going to care if you’re tired?” he snaps at you, arms crossed, making him appear even bigger than he already was, “You’re goin’ to learn how to escape from holds.”

“Simon…” you start to complain but a sharp look from him has the words dying on your tongue and you hand your head in defeat. 

He’s no more gentle than he was yesterday with you, rough grips and manhandling you around to fit his needs. He barks in your ear, ordering what you need to do and when to break various holds that he has on your body. 

He feels so much stronger and more powerful than those zombies had. At least they were mindless and slow. Simon was fast and smart. 

“Put your hand under mine to break the hold!” he shouts, clearly frustrated the more you fuck up breaking his holds. 

“Not like that! Are you daft?” he grits through clenched teeth, “You’re goin’ to fuckin wind up dead if you keep this up!”

You feel your heart rate speed up and you find yourself almost panicking under his completely oppressive energy. His shouting only sets you more on edge and the tears begin to prick at your eyes once again. 

“None of those fuckin’ tears,” he snarls, tightening his hold on you when you squirm and attempt to rid his body weight off of yours, “Do what I told you! You can break the hold if you just fuckin’ focus!”

“Simon, I-I don’t want to do this anymore!” you cry, the tears tumbling down your cheeks as you cry out the words. Your cheeks feel hot and you can barely catch your breath as you weakly punch at his chest.

“There’s no tappin’ out,” he snaps, tightening his grip on you even more. Your body aches where he holds and you know you’re going to be feeling those bruises for days to come. 

“Simon!” you practically screech, freeing one hand and harshly slamming your fist down over the hard faceplate. 

It seems to startle him enough into loosening his hold and you manage to kick back away from him in your panic, foot hitting him square in the chest in an effort to propel yourself away – putting as much distance as fast as you can between the two of you.

“Simon…” you whimper, voice wobbling, “I am not one of your soldiers. You need to stop trying to train me like I am!”

You watch him adjust his jaw through his mask before he pops his neck. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you and every hair on your body stands up in pure fear. 

He’s on top of you before you even have the chance to say another word. You cry out when the force of his body forces you back and your head cracks harshly against the floor. Your vision blacks out from the force and you groan in pain but he doesn’t stop, a rough forearm pinning against your throat, cutting off your air.

“That was good,” he says, voice cold and devoid of any emotion, “You managed to escape, now do it again!”

Your hands push weakly against him, but you’re worn out and your head is starting to hurt like hell. You open your mouth to say something but his hold on your throat ceases any words from escaping. 

You reach up to his face and his cold gaze narrows at you, “You already tried that. It won’t work again.”

But instead of hitting him, your fingers wrap around the face plate and you attempt to push it off – hoping that it’ll obscure his vision enough but he shakes you off with ease. 

He catches your gaze and what he sees gives him pause. Wide, teary eyes, red rimmed and filled to the brim with fear. Tears wet your cheeks and he finally notices the way your entire body is tense and trembling beneath him. 

“P-Please,” you finally find your voice when his weight eases a bit off of your throat, “I-I don’t want to do this anymore, Simon, please.”

That has his own eyes widening and you take his slackened hold as an opportunity to run away. He watches you scramble up from your spot on the floor and stumble back to the apartment, disappearing within with a slam that makes him flinch. He looks down at his own hands and finds that he can’t conjure up any thoughts that aren’t about you.

You hear him enter the apartment, his heavy footfalls pacing around the living room. You’re hiding in the bathroom, leaning against the door with your knees against your chest to muffle your cries. 

He enters the bedroom and pauses, no doubt looking for you before he approaches the bathroom and you feel a brief ping of fear that he’s going to open the door but instead he softly knocks. 

“Will you come out so we can talk?” he asks, voice holding none of the cold, harshness that it had for the last few days. 

“G-Go away, Simon,” you sniffle.

You can hear him sigh before he follows your request and steps away from the door. You can hear him linger in the bedroom for several more minutes, kicking his boots off before he’s quietly closing the bedroom door and leaving. 

The silence and loneliness sinks in once more and you find yourself sobbing into your knees all over again. Your head kills and you feel almost nauseous through your cries from the headache but you can’t stop yourself. 

You have no idea how long you cry for but before you know it, the bedroom door opens once again and you can hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he approaches the bathroom door once again.

“I made something for you to eat,” he says through the door, “Figured you might be hungry.” At the idea of food, your stomach growls, “It’ll be waiting for you at the table when you want it.”

You listen to him walk away and you know this is his way of luring you out of the bathroom. Part of you desperately wants to spite him for being so mean to you and refuse his food but the growling in your stomach is too much to bear and you can’t help but clamber to your feet and quietly pull the door open. 

When you reach the living room, Simon is facing the TV, giving no indication that he realizes you’ve come out of your hiding place. You sneak into the kitchen to see a bowl of soup sitting nicely at an empty spot. You take a seat and quickly devour the entire bowl, barely taking a break to breathe before it’s completely empty. 

You place it in the sink and carefully sneak back out of the kitchen, intending to slide right past him but in your haste you fail to notice that he’s no longer sitting on the couch. Instead, you come face to face with him sitting at the foot of his bed, clearly waiting for you. 

You freeze when you see him and all too soon that headache comes racing back to the forefront of your mind. 

Simon’s no longer wearing the skull plate and instead wears his usual black balaclava with the skull print on it. He wears a t-shirt and sweatpants, obviously having let himself get comfortable while you hid in the bathroom earlier. 

He looks up at you the second you step into the room and the two of you halt in a stalemate, simply staring at one another while you wait for the other to make the first move. 

You’re the first to break eye contact when a heavy throb goes through your head, making you close your eyes and bring your hand to your head until it passes. You hear the bed creak when Simon stands up before his hands are cupping your cheeks.

“You hit your head, didn’t you?” he asks, soft and gentle. 

You can’t stop yourself from glaring and snapping, “No thanks to you.”

His gaze softens as his hand finds its way to the back of your head, ever so softly prodding at the sizable bump that’s there, “I’m sorry, love.”

“If you’re sorry then why did you do it?” you find those damned tears returning all over again as you continue to glare up at him, “I told you I didn’t like it and I wanted to stop.”

“I know…” he whispers, hands once again cupping your cheeks, thumbing your tears away.

“What was your problem, Simon?” you tearfully ask, sniffling pathetically, “You hurt me. You were scary – scarier than those stupid zombies downstairs. Why did you do that?”

“I got…I was…” he struggled to find the right words before he stepped away from you with a troubled expression, “I was angry— scared. I just—I don’t know.”

“You were scared?” you scoff, “I’m the one who got attacked.”

“You think that wasn’t scary for me?” he asks in disbelief, “You almost got eaten alive on my watch.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” you sniffle, angrily storming over to the bed, letting yourself flop down on the comfortable mattress for the first time in days.

“I know,” he whispers, “Just let me explain, okay?”

You lay there silently, listening to his weight shift where he stands. You take notice of how his scent lingers much more on the blankets now that he’s slept on it. It smells good, you note, musky and delicate. He doesn’t wear anything that smells particularly overpowering. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, “Ever since this shit happened, I’ve been driving myself crazy. I lost contact with my team, my friends. I’m not able to get anymore information on what's goin’ on outside. I’m worried about you, I’m trying my hardest to make sure you can go out there and survive on your own if you need to. I feel like I’m going crazy and I’m scared because I’ve never felt this out of control before.”

You sit up and turn to face him, “How long have you been feeling like this, Simon..?”

“A while,” he mutters, turning his back on you when your gaze starts to feel like too much, “And then you called me a monster and I just…” he trails off, seemingly unsure of how to explain his feelings properly.

“I’m sorry for that, Simon,” you mutter sincerely, reaching out to grab his arm, urging him to turn around, “I never should have said that. And I didn’t mean it, really.”

“Well, you were right, weren’t you?” he scoffs, “I am a monster. Fuck, look at what I did to you – how I treated you. I was punishing you and I never should have.”

“We both made mistakes,” you compromise with a wobbly smile, “We’re dealing with a lot, right? The fucking world is ending and we’ve been trapped in this godforsaken building for who knows how long. It’ll get easier.”

He stares at you for a long moment, lashes fluttering as his gaze softens. You can’t find it in yourself to break eye contact. After a long moment, he seems to decide on something before reaching up and yanking the mask covering his face off. 

You feel your breath halt in your chest as your eyes widen, taking in every inch of his newly revealed face. His soft, brown eyes are a juxtaposition to the rest of his ruggedly handsome face. You stand up, never letting your eyes stray from him, a feeling of pure awe coming over you.

“You’re so handsome, Si,” you whisper, reaching forward to brush your fingers over a scar that cuts through his eyebrow to his eyelid, “It’s nice to finally see you.”

“I wanted you to see the real me,” he whispers, “Not the asshole soldier I was.”

“I’m glad you’ve trusted me with this,” you let your fingers wander along his skin, feeling the stubble on his jaw that he hadn’t yet shaved. 

“I need to tell you,” he sounds breathy, reaching up and catching your hand in his, pressing your palm flat against his cheek, “I was so scared when I heard you callin’ for me. I thought I was goin’ to be too late and I’d watch you die. I was terrified that I would lose you.”

“Simon…” you whisper in awe, watching how his soft, brown eyes display every tumultuous emotion that he experiences, “I’m sorry. I won’t do anything to worry you again.”

“I want you by my side for as long as you’re able,” he whispers, throat moving as he swallows.

“I won’t go anywhere,” you agree, stepping closer to him, “I promise.”

He leans in at the same time as you, meeting you for a sweet, tender kiss. It lasts only a second before you’re both pulling back to look in each other's eyes. Then, you’re both surging forward for a hungry, heated kiss. 

His hands grip your waist, squeezing there as he deepens the kiss. You whimper under his touch, standing on your tip-toes to match the intensity of his kiss. 

He moves you backwards, your knees hitting the edge of the bed, causing you to topple down. Simon follows, catching himself on his hands on either side of your head. He only breaks the kiss for a moment to move you further up the bed, easily manhandling you so your head is in the pillows before he’s kissing you all over again.

His hands are rough as they travel over your body, slipping your shirt up just enough to let him touch your bare sides. You quickly realize you’re still wearing your sleep clothes and that you don’t have a bra on. 

Clearly, Simon was aware because his hand quickly cups your bare breast with a rough, callused hand. His thumb finds your nipple, flicking over the bud as you whine into his mouth. 

He pulls back suddenly, cheeks flushed before he’s fumbling with the hem of your shirt.

“Arms up, sweetheart,” he coos, sickly sweet. 

You follow his orders and eagerly lift your arms up for him to tug the fabric of your shirt over your head. Once your breasts are bared to him, he’s leaning down to wrap his lips around one perked nipple while his fingers busy themselves with the other.

You cry out at the feeling of his teeth nipping at the sensitive bud, hands tangling in his soft, curly hair. He groans against your breast at the feeling of your pulling at his hair before he pulls back just a bit, breathlessly whispering, “Such perfect tits.”

“Simon…” you whimper, letting yourself relax into the bed as he switches to mouth at your other nipple, leaving the other to harden in the cool air before his hand travels down your stomach to your shorts, easily slipping underneath the fabric.

“Simon!” you call out again when you feel the heat of his hand cup your folds through your panties. 

“Shh, just let me do the work, love,” he mumbled, muffled by the fact he refuses to part from suckling on your nipple. 

His tongue drags over your breast, nipping and sucking marks into your skin. As he works the muscle, his hand in your panties remains stationary, just letting you feel the heat of it against your core. The teasing presence only makes you pulse and drool into your panties. You’re positive the fabric must be sticking to you by now from how wet you’ve become from playing with your breasts. 

“Your tits are so sensitive,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “Does it feel good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, arching your back to offer up your chest to him all over again.

He grins, a crooked little smile that makes your heart flutter. It was so nice to finally see him smile. 

But instead of mouthing at your breasts again, he leans back on his heels and pulls his hand from your panties. You whine at the loss but it’s cut short when he hooks his fingers into them and tugs them down your legs. You lift your hips to assist him but find yourself wincing when an ache goes through your body.

He notices and gently runs the palm of his hands up your thighs, urging you to relax.

“You sore, love?” he asks, voice filled with what you can only call guilt.

“A little…” you admit, biting your lip, “My thighs are killing me, actually.”

He shakes his head at himself and leans down, pressing a kiss next to the scrape on one of your knees as his hands slowly begin to knead the sore muscles in your thighs. You sigh and let your eyes flutter at the feeling. 

With your eyes closed, you don’t realize he leans down until you feel a hot, wet tongue slide from your pubic bone to your sternum. Your cunt clenches pathetically at the feeling. When you open your eyes, Simon’s pretty, brown eyes are half-lidded and his tongue hangs out of his mouth. You can’t resist cupping the back of his head and pulling him for a kiss, whimpering and moaning against his mouth.

“Fingers or tongue?” he asks, muffled and messy against your lips. 

“What?” your hazy mind can’t quite comprehend what he’s asking of you.

“Do you want my fingers or my tongue?” he reiterates, “I want to make you cum.”

You whimper at that, “B-Both!”

He scoffs, full brows furrowing, “Greedy.”

You find yourself blushing at that but he doesn’t deny your request. He sinks down your body, peppering kisses down your body on the way until he kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

He grabs your hips and effortlessly yanks you down so your legs hang off the edge of the bed. 

He spreads your thighs apart and you find yourself holding your breath, watching through your lashes as he trails kisses up your thigh, getting closer to where you want him the most. You’re trembling under his attention and it makes you clench pathetically around absolutely nothing. You’re sure he can see the way your cunt drools and leaks with every small kiss he peppers against your skin. 

Just when he gets close, he pulls back and kisses back down towards your knee. The teasing has you wound taut, feeling as if you’re almost on the edge without him ever properly touching you.

It feels like hours that he does it, kissing up and down your thighs. Occasionally, he nips at the skin there, swirling his tongue over the burning marks he leaves behind to soothe the sting. Finally, he moves his hand and you think he’s going to finally give you something but all he does is spread your folds apart with two fingers, exposing your hole and clit to the cool bedroom air. The action makes you whine but he pays you no mind. 

He carries on kissing your thighs and nipping at your skin. No matter how much you rut your hips, hoping to entice him into touching you and giving you what you really need, he ignores it. He ignores your whines and the cries of his name, ignores the way your cunt clenches and drools around nothing, clit twitching from how much teasing you’re enduring. 

The little bud aches, throbbing as it begs for anything – any little touch that he has to offer. He could blow air upon the nub right now and you’re sure you would explode in pure pleasure. 

When you sob his name, broken and needier than you’ve ever heard yourself, he finally looks up. His eyelids are heavy, concealing half of his iris and it makes him look positively fucked out. 

“Look at me,” he commands, licking his lips slowly, “Right in the eyes, let me see you properly.”

You force yourself to meet his penetrating gaze, almost struggling to compose yourself. You find yourself trapped in the eye contact, almost paralyzed under his intoxicating gaze. He holds you there for what feels like minutes but in reality is probably just a few seconds. 

His fingers finally hone in on your clit, pressing against the twitching, hardened bud. You cum immediately, still locked in that intoxicating eye contact. You cry out, hands slapping against the bed as he draws the orgasm out of you with slow circles on the little bud, sticky clicking sounds filling the room and mixing with your wild cries of pleasure. It seems like the high never stops, more and more cum gushing from your cunt and dripping down to stain the comforter beneath you. 

Simon watches you with keen attention, taking in every expression you make as he makes you cum against his fingers, the bud throbbing wildly until the orgasm finally dissipates. 

When you finally sag against the bed, your thighs fall completely open as the post-orgasm exhaustion quickly hits. You’re left trembling and twitching through the aftershocks, pretty pussy still drooling with every clench of your walls.

Simon takes the opportunity of you coming down to strip himself. He tugs his shirt off over his head and lets his sweatpants drop the floor, carelessly kicking them away. His gaze never leaves you, never leaves that twitching little cunt between your legs.

There’s a slick film of your cum coating your folds and his mouth fucking waters. 

Your eyes fly open, not even realizing that you had closed them, when he suddenly cups the back of your thighs and pins you wide open for him.

“Simon…” you pathetically coo, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair when he comes within reach.

“So sweet for me,” he coos, kissing your thigh once again and you’re scared that he’s going to tease you all over again, “A good orgasm got you nice and sweet, huh?”

“Mhm,” you mutter, dazedly looking at him as you feel his breath on your sensitive cunt. 

That alone makes you clench around nothing. You nearly whimper out loud when you see his tongue fall from his mouth, glistening with spit before he licks a slow, wide stripe between your folds. 

When he comes back up, he holds his tongue out and lets you see the creamy mess of your cum left behind. He makes a show of swallowing every drop in his mouth, making your cheeks flush in pure embarrassment at such a lewd display. 

You had no idea Simon would be so fucking filthy in bed but the way his eyes roll back at your taste tells you all that you need to know. 

He loudly slurps your clit between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sloppy bud as he whines and groans into your cunt. You tug harshly at his hair at the overwhelming feeling of having your clit doted on so expertly. 

His hands keep you pinned open, allowing him to slip his tongue inside you, occasionally taking a moment to visibly swallow every drop of your slick so you can see the way he absolutely savors your taste.

He swirls that offending tongue around your clit again, slurping it back into his mouth before two fingers are prodding at your entrance. You clench against him, the excitement of finally being filled with something making you whimper. Just the sound of you so eager makes him almost want to cum completely untouched. 

Your cum generously coats his face and he absolutely loves it. He pulls away suddenly, dark eyes locking onto your face as he pants from how lost he was in eating you out. He slowly presses two fingers inside you, letting them slide in, hugged by the plushness of your walls.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, love,” he coos, moaning sympathetically when you cry out from the feeling of being stretched on his fingers, “And so warm too, fuck.”

He decides, in that moment, that he doesn’t care if the world is ending outside, he feels nothing but bliss with you. He never wants this to end, he wants to get completely lost in the pure intoxication of you. 

He leans down, flattening his tongue against your clit once again. The feeling is heightened now that he’s got his thick fingers stuffed inside you. You clench around him at the feeling of his tongue on the sensitive bud once more. 

He suddenly crooks his fingers and your legs helplessly kick in the air at the overwhelming feeling of him pressing and prodding against that gooey little spot inside you. Your hips rabbit up and you practically wail at the overwhelming sensations he’s attacking you with. You squeal his name so sweetly before he finally backs off a bit, letting you sink back into the soft cushions of the bed.

He’s completely drunk off of you, off the creamy cum you gush out for him to lick up, off the lovely sounds you let out from how good he makes you feel. His cock is so painfully hard and he wants so badly to wrap his hand around himself but he knows he’ll blow his load the second he does, so he refrains. 

To distract himself from the ache in his cock, he doubles his focus on you and making you feel good. His fingers crook upwards again, prodding your g-spot again with renewed vigor. You cry out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he sucks your clit into his mouth, the suction making your thighs tremble. 

“I-I wanna cum!” you cry out, fingers still tugging harshly at his hair. 

He groans against you but doesn’t dare to part from you, too focused on bringing you to your high to actually goad you into it. His fingers move inside you, fucking you nice and deep, making sure he’s working that sweet little spot inside you as he continues to suck on your clit. 

It doesn’t take long before your entire body stiffens and you toss your head back. The choked out cry is music to his ears and his own eyes roll back when he feels the way your walls tighten around him, soaking his fingers generously. Your clit throbs in his mouth before he releases his suction on it, instead choosing to lick the pulsing little bud with the flat of his tongue to gently ease you through the high. 

You’re pushing his head away long before he’s ready to part but he willingly backs off nonetheless. His chin is wet with your cum, even dripping down his neck and the sight makes you flush. There’s a loud, squishy noise when he slowly pulls his fingers from the hot clutch of your cunt. 

“Scoot back for me, darlin’,” he commands you, slurring a little before he pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean of the mess you left behind. 

You do as he says, shakily pushing yourself back so you can lay your head in the pillows. With Simon standing at the foot of the bed, you finally get the chance to take a look at him. 

He’s obviously incredibly well built, broad and firm in all the right places. Most notably, he has numerous scars, some that looked like bullet wounds and others that were long and thin. 

“Are all those from the military?” you find yourself asking as he carefully crawls onto the bed, jostling you as the mattress moves under his weight.

“Yeah,” he breathes, leaning down to press his lips against yours.

You let him handle your body as he pleases, spreading your legs so he can comfortably situate himself between them. His cock, hard and heavy, rests against your folds and you find your eyes going wide at the sight of it.

“Somethin’ the matter?” he chuckles, like he can hear what you’re thinking. 

“That’s not going to fit,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze off the twitching, fat length of him.

“‘Course it will, love,” he breathes, pecking your lips again, letting his lips trail down over your jaw, “I worked you open real good, all you gotta do is relax and let me in.”

With a minute adjustment of his hips, the tip prods your entrance. He grips the base of his length, carefully pushing forward, mouth dropping open as he feels your hot, wet walls spread around the head of him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts, “Jus’ let me do the work.”

Your hands fly down to grip his forearms, nails biting harder into the skin there the deeper he sinks into you. The middle of his cock is the fattest, giving you an almost painful stretch that makes your face pinch up in a way that Simon doesn’t like.

He brings one hand to his mouth, licking his thumb before carefully pressing the digit against that sensitive bud. You whimper at the feeling, cunt clutching tight around him, easing more of his length inside. He circles your clit a few more times, watching your face for any clear signs of discomfort. Before long, his hips meet yours, filling you absolutely full to the brim in a way no one ever had before. 

He plants both hands on either side of your head, abandoning your clit in favor of simply rutting his hips against yours. His large body hovers over you, shielding you from anything outside of him and you find yourself completely lost in everything that is him – how full he makes you feel, how nice he smells, how safe you feel trapped beneath him like you are. 

Your hands wind around his neck, pulling him down so his chest presses against yours. Your breasts squish against his chest and he finds his eyes flickering down just to look at them. The sight makes you smile despite yourself – it’s cute, you think.

Tangling your fingers in his soft curls once again, you bring him down for a kiss. He’s still slowly, carefully rutting his hips against yours, his lower abdomen sliding against your clit as his cock stirs inside you, stretching you and hitting every sweet little spot inside you. 

You whimper into his mouth, gasping at the way he makes you feel so full and good while he barely does anything. Your knees bracket against his ribs, squeezing him so tightly you wonder if it hurts but he just continues to kiss you and circle his hips. 

“Wanna feel you cum around me,” he whispers, barely parting from your lips to request it, “Just like this, cover my cock. Be good for me.”

You knew you wouldn’t be able to disobey even if you wanted to. With the way he stirs you up and drags against every tender spot inside you all while grinding against your clit the way he is, you don’t stand a chance. Your third orgasm creeps up on you and your back arches just as it washes over you.

Simon groans at the feeling of you cumming around him for the first time – the tight, wet clutch of your cunt feeling better than he ever could have dreamed. As he watches you writhe in his bed, moaning and whimpering his name, he’s overcome with a plethora of feelings that just melt his heart. 

He can’t resist pulling you in for another kiss, cupping your jaw as he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock remains buried in your cunt. You’re still working on coming down from the orgasm he just gave you but he’s greedy – he wants to feel it again. He wants to fuck the orgasm out of you, make you ride it out and gush all over him.

He needs to show you how good he can be for you, hoping that this alone can get across just how much you mean to him. He’s never been the best with words, so he can only hope that this is enough for now.

Your hands press against his chest, aimlessly pushing at him from the overwhelming way he fucks you. You’re so sensitive, pushed into cumming more times than anyone had ever made you before. But he doesn’t show any signs of slowing or stopping. He’s a machine, built for stamina and he’s on a fucking mission now – to make you feel as good as he possibly can. 

You’re attempting to push him away, to give your poor, overstimulated body a chance to come down. But he’s having none of it. 

“Hands off, love,” he commands breathlessly. But you just stare up at him with dazed, teary eyes, panting and sweaty. He clicks his tongue, “You ignorin’ me, sweetheart?”

He grapples your wrists in his one hand, pulling yours away from his chest and pinning them above your head. He uses this new hold as leverage to really fuck you, pulling back and sinking back in as deep as he possibly can. His tip kisses your cervix, making your thighs tense up at the twinge of pain that comes with having him so deep. 

But the pain mixes so addictively with the pleasure that you find yourself getting completely lost in the slow, deep rhythm that he sets. Every time he sinks balls deep, his hips slap against yours and he rubs up deliciously against your clit. The pleasure on your bud doesn’t last long before he’s pulling back again, never allowing you to fully build up to another delicious high. 

Simon is lost in the way you whimper and whine. He can swear that he’s never heard anything as incredible as you being denied the pleasure he had been so generous with so far. He likes the desperate look in your eyes; it makes him feel amazing to know that you need him to make you feel good. He’s in charge of your pleasure in that moment and he finds himself relishing in that feeling of control over you. 

You look so sweet beneath him, pinned and helpless with teary eyes looking up at him. Your pupils are blown wide from the pleasure his cock brings you as he continues to fuck you nice and deep. 

Usually, Simon is a fast and rough kind of guy, but he finds himself thinking that he could definitely get used to a pace like this more often. As long as it’s you that’s underneath him. 

It doesn’t take you very long to break, those pretty tears falling down your cheeks as you breathlessly plead with him, “Please, Simon,” your voice cracks so cutely, “I want more!”

He chuckles under his breath and leans down, pressing a tender kiss against your temple before whispering, “What’s stoppin’ you from takin’ more?”

That seems to set you off. You’re bracing your feet on the bed, rutting your hips, rocking yourself against his cock. A moan rips from his chest at the sight of you using his cock like that. His heavy balls press against you and the feeling makes his cock throb, making him realize how badly he needs to cum. But he doesn’t want to give up this little show you’re putting on for him so soon. 

You’re so, so wet that he can feel how your messy little cunt squishes around him. You shamelessly soak every inch of him the more you work your own pussy on his fat cock. You tug your hands free from his grip and he’s left clenching the pillows in his fist when he watches your fingers descend.

He thinks you’re going to go for your clit, to push yourself over the edge like you so deserved for being so good for him. But instead, you reach for your own tits. The breath punches out of his lungs as the sight of you meanly pinching and tweaking your nipples as you continue to rock yourself against him.

Simon feels his balls tighten at the sight and he almost thinks he’s going to cum but he suddenly pulls his cock out. You wail in complete misery at the loss, tearfully watching him wrap his hand around the base of his cock, pinching off the impending orgasm.

You flop back down onto the bed, sniffling pathetically as you glare at him for ruining the orgasm you were so beautifully working yourself up to. He smiles crookedly at you, cupping the backs of your knees, crudely pinning them to your chest so your pretty, wet cunt is open and vulnerable to the way he suddenly stuffs himself back inside. 

With you completely pinned beneath him in a press, you can’t do anything except cry out and wail in pleasure as he finally fucks you fast and hard. His balls slap lewdly against your ass, your arousal dripping off of them. 

His eyes are locked on the way you’re stretched so wide around the girth of him. You’re creaming around him, a milky ring left in your wake every time he pulls out. He doesn’t give you much chance to breathe or collect yours, simply fucking you with everything he has. It’s loud, wet, and fucking messy. 

“F-Fuck,” he chokes on the word, voice breaking as it comes out. He’s so close that it hurts, “Play with yourself for me, love, rub your clit.”

Your hand flies down to do as you’re told without a second thought. It only takes a few, quick circles around the hard little bud before you’re cumming with a cute little squeal. Your feet kick helplessly in the air, toes curling from how hard you cum around him. 

Simon groans at the sight and feeling of you losing yourself on his cock. You continue to swirl and tap at your clit, forcing yourself to cum harder and harder until you’re squirting around him with a choked off sob of his name. 

Simon’s hips never still or falter, fucking you fast and deep to work you through the orgasm. Your cum splatters across his hips, thighs, and chest. It makes his eyes roll up into his head before he lets his head fall back. His jaw opens and he moans, loud and deep as his own orgasm finally washes over him. 

His pace falters as you lay there twitching and crying, a few trembling thrusts of his hips as his cock spits rope after rope of cum inside you. He cums longer and harder than he has in a very long time. He continues with short, aborted little thrusts on his sensitive cock as he continues to cum.

Even when the orgasm dissipates, he finds himself fucking into the creamy mess drooling out of your twitching cunt. 

“S-Simon-!” you choke out, nails clawing down his shoulders, “S-Sensitive!”

“I know, love,” he pants, almost deliriously, “J-Just one more. G-Gotta fill you up again.”

You can’t do anything but lay back and let him use your cunt as he works to force another orgasm out of his overstimulated cock. He’s gasping and whining as he moves his hips, pulling his cock out only to stuff it back inside. A mixture of your cum and his drips down, soaking his cock, pelvis, and balls. It’s a heady, lewd mess that he can’t bring himself to worry about now but he knows it’ll be a pain to clean up later. 

You’re trembling and twitching with every one of his movements, tears dried and new on your cheeks. He feels a pang of remorse for you, you’re tired and overstimulated but he just needs to wring this one last orgasm out and then he’ll let you rest.

“You can be good for me, huh?” he coos sweetly, “Just be sweet and let me, fuck, use this pretty little cunt, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, nodding your head as your eyelids flutter in exhaustion.

Simon leans down, pressing his lips against yours. You both get lost in the kiss, with your arms wrapped around his neck. He loves how it feels to have you stuffed on his cock while your pretty, sweet body twitches and trembles beneath him. He knows it probably hurts by now and the fact you’re just laying there and letting him use you like this has him reaching his second high. 

He chokes on a moan, gasping as he cums for the final time. It’s much more lackluster than his first one but he still fills you up just like you both needed. His cock twitches almost painfully inside you as he slowly rocks his hips, wincing at the overstimulation. 

After a few, still moments, he pulls his length free from the soft plushness of your cunt and rolls off of you. You’re both panting, laying on your backs on the bed as you come back to yourselves.

You’re the first one to move, rolling onto your side and wrapping yourself around him. Simon finds himself smiling when he feels the sweet way you snuggle against him, seeking his comfort automatically. 

You start shivering, the mess of cum and sweat on your body causing you to become cold. He urges you to sit up despite your protests. 

“Let’s take a shower and sleep,” he offers sweetly, supporting your shaky body to the bathroom.

He continues to support you and hold you close through the shower. He finds himself grateful that there’s still hot water because you both certainly need it after such a messy tryst in his bed. 

You’re the first to fall asleep, tucked against his chest with your arms wrapped around him like a little koala. His hand strokes up and down your back, just staring into the inky blackness of his bedroom. 

Part of him feels like it’s all a dream, to have someone so sweet tucked against him, offering him comfort and feeling safe as they snooze peacefully. A sense of fierce protectiveness washes over him as he finds himself going through plans in his head – what the future may hold.

He’s torn from his thoughts when you shoot up from your deep sleep with a gasp. Your head wildly turns, looking around the room. His hand finds purchase on your back, making you jump before relaxing immediately in recognition.

“Bad dream?” he asks, tugging you gently to lay you back down against his chest.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I dreamt that I was trapped with them in that hallway again.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, wrapping his arms tightly around you to make sure you feel secure. You go still for a long time and he thinks you fell asleep again but then you ask him a question that surprises him.

“Who are those people in the photos?” you quietly question, “In your living room.”

He hums, rubbing a rough hand up and down your shoulder and arm, “My teammates. Friends, I guess.”

“You guess?” you chuckle.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Task Force 141; Captain John Price, and Seargets John ‘Soap’ MacTavish and Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.”

“Soap is a silly name,” you comment, grinning up at him, resting your chin against his chest, “What about you?”

“Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley,” he responds with ease. 

“Do you know where they are?” you ask.

It’s an innocent question but it sends a pang of hurt to his chest. If he were a weaker, less trained man, he may have felt tears pricking his eyes, “I don’t know,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “I was in contact with Soap when everything started goin’ to shit. Lost contact with him though. He’s a tough bastard though, I’m sure he’s fine somewhere out there. I don’t know where the other two were or are.”

“If they’re even half as good as you, I’m sure they’re all fine,” you offer optimistically. 

Simon hums again, reaching a hand up to brush a stray flyaway off of your forehead. His big hand cups your cheek, stroking his thumb over your lips which you offer a gentle kiss against. 

“All I’m worried about now is you,” he confesses softly, “As long as you’re safe, I’ll be happy. I’ll do anything to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” you smile, laying back down to nuzzle against his chest, “I’m okay as long as you’re here.”

He wraps his arms around you again and closes his eyes, letting himself sleep peacefully with you held safe against him.

It’s not even a week later that you’re sitting on the couch with him, peacefully watching a movie with a full belly after cooking a quick dinner with him, that you hear a loud, mechanical thump and you’re plunged into complete silence and darkness. Your heart jumps and races in your chest, mindlessly grappling onto Simon’s arm as he sits still beside you.

“What happened?” you ask, whispering as if you’re scared to speak any louder.

“Power went out,” he responds, not sounding the least bit perturbed, “Knew it was comin’. Water’s probably out now too.”

“What do we do?” you ask, the tremor of fear in your voice practically breaking his heart. 

He stands up and you whimper in fear when he’s out of your reach. You can hear him moving around in the dark before a bright, blinding light lands on you. 

“We can’t stay here for much longer,” he responds, “We’ll have to move out and find somewhere with more resources.”

“How long have you been planning this?” you ask, getting to your feet to follow him down the hall to the bedroom.

“Ever since the news stopped reportin’,” he responds, grabbing a large backpack from the closet, “Let’s pack up.”

You linger beside him and he looks at you with a raised brow, “I’m scared, Simon.”

His gaze softens and he walks up to you, cupping your cheeks tenderly, “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises, “We’re goin’ to go out, find a small place to hunker down. We’ll look for a generator or a vehicle and get somewhere safe. You trust me, don’t you?”

You nod your head, “Of course I do.”

“Good,” he smiles, kissing your forehead, “Now take this backpack and fill it with what’s left of our canned food, alright? I’m goin’ to pack everything else we need, don’t worry about a thing.”

He offers you a flashlight, which you gratefully take and click on. You’re glad that he gives you an easy task to focus on. You take the smaller backpack he offers you and make your way to the kitchen. You only have about 5 cans of food left and you carefully place them inside the bag before opening the refrigerator to pack a few full bottles of water that you have stored in there. You make sure to toss in a can opener just in case before you place the backpack on the couch. 

Simon emerges from the room with the large, military backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“You get it all?” he asks, taking a seat to shove his boots onto his feet.

“Yeah and a couple water bottles,” you respond, approaching him slowly.

“That’s perfect,” he praises, looking over at you, “You should go get dressed. Jeans and a hoodie. Put your sneakers on and make sure they’re tight, got it?”

You nervously do as you’re told, disappearing into the bedroom to quickly dress yourself under the flashlight. You can hear Simon moving around in the living room, heavy boots thumping against the floor with every step he takes. 

You toss the hoodie over your head and make your way back to Simon, who stands in the living room, looking out the window. The sun is just beginning to come up over the horizon, casting a dim amount of sunlight to come through. 

He turns to look at you when he hears you approach. 

“There you go,” he hums, pulling the hoodie up over your head and tightening the strings, “Keep your neck covered. We’ll find you some better clothing somewhere along the way.”

You nod your head and take a glance over his shoulder out the window. You can barely see the ground from your position but you can see people shuffling around on the streets below. A pang of fear goes through you as you realize that they’re most definitely not normal people – the streets are crawling with those undead freaks. 

Simon leads you to the door and unsheaths a weapon for you – a machete he had taught you to wield with relative ease. You grip it in your hands, nervously twirling it around until you find a comfortable position. Simon nods his head and pulls out a combat knife, holding it low at his side before opening the door. 

The descent to the lobby is relatively easy, you walk over the undead that have already been taken care of in the stairwell.

“I took care of these already,” he explains without you even having to ask, helping you jump over a pile of 3 zombies at the foot of the stairs. 

“You got more kills under your belt than me,” you comment, mostly in jest to lighten your mood.

Simon huffs under his breath, slowly pushing open the door to the lobby, “You have no idea.”

You squint and turn off your flashlight when you step into the well lit lobby. The sun is now above the horizon, allowing you to see with ease once again. 

Simon remains in front of you, making your way to the double front doors. You peek around him, heart racing in your chest as your grip on your weapon tightens.

“Are you ready?” he asks, casting a glance over his shoulder.

“No…” you confess, shuffling closer to him.

“Everything will be okay,” he promises firmly and you actually believe him. 

When he pushes open the door, the groans of the undead fill your ears and you find your eyes darting frantically around the streets that you can now see with terrifying clarity. 

Hundreds of undead swarm the streets, stumbling and groaning as they shuffle around aimlessly in search of food. Simon reaches down and takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You know it’s going to be the fight of your life but with Simon by your side, you have faith that you’re going to make it through and find somewhere safe together.

 property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.

#simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

[targaryenluvs]

OUR LITTLE DOVE

pairings: dark!lucy gray x fem!reader, dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader, coriolanus snow x lucy gray

summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you. but it seems lucy gray is willing to share you with a certain peacekeeper, even if you aren’t.

warnings: crazy lucy n corio conspiring like evil doers, manipulation, chasing, primal play?? is that what is called idk corio enjoys hunting your ass down, kidnapping, drugging, forced into accepting a third partner?? nc touching, abuse of power (peacekeeper), power dynamics, kinda cheating (lucy n corio), guilt-trip, jealousy, threatening, self doubt and relationship problems, murder, betrayal

word count: 3.0k

a/n: lol i complain about wanting to write fluff but all my good ideas r so dark 😭 someone needs to give me tips on how to write girls cuz i have no experience would be easier if i was gay boooo!!

he was like a shadow, stuck to your back, always.

you’d complained to lucy numerous times that you didn’t feel comfortable around him when she played at the hob, knowing he’d be there, in the crowd. “sweetie, he was my mentor. he helped me so much in the games, i wouldn’t be here without him. you love me don’t you? so you need to learn to love him too, he’s a good friend a mine. i love you and i gotta get to the stage baby.” she explained as she ran around getting herself and the covey ready.

you were always front row. wanting to be as close to lucy as possible. she looked especially majestic tonight with flowers in her hair. as you listened to her sing you’d managed to forget about the certain blonde peacekeeper near the back. but he hadn’t forgotten about you, nor lucy.

you’d left to get a drink and you’d came back to an unfamiliar tune. you usually knew every song being played off by heart but this was new.

Everyone's born as clean as a whistle

As fresh as a daisy

And not a bit crazy

Staying that way's a hard row for hoeing

she sounded as angelic as usual and the crowd around you seemed entranced.

As rough as a briar

Like walking through fire

This world, it's dark

This world, it's scary

lucy smiled at you once, just once. which threw you off since you usually got a bunch. especially during new songs and songs about you. was this not also about you?

I've taken some hits, so

No wonder I'm wary It's why

I need you

so it is about me! you thought as you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sway to the music and singing. you’d hoped you wouldn’t miss a smile headed your way.

You're as pure as the driven snow

your eyes flew open as you stared at lucy, she was looking past you and to the peacekeeper. to coriolanus snow. you’d always been a rational person, you prided yourself on restraint but that restraint was hanging on by a thread. you wanted to jam a beer bottle into his neck. lucy was your girlfriend not his. and yet he smiled stupidly towards her as she sang and you could feel your heart clawing its way up. best to leave now rather than stay and hear more of the ever so driven man.

your head was spinning as you slumped to the floor, in one of your finest dresses yet worst mental states. of course, something had formed between the two. she was in the goddamn hunger games and he was her mentor. trauma bonding? he quite literally saved her life, coached her and you did what? sat at home and hoped.

hope could only get you so far.

your hope and faith in lucy gray baird was dwindling as her lyrics swirled in your head. of course she loved him. who wouldn’t? the man was undeniably eye catching. a capitol man. but you’d always imagined lucy staying away from the capitol, despising them. but maybe it wasn’t the captiol part but the man part. maybe she wanted a true life, a home, marriage and children and everything she could wish for.

what on earth could you provide her with?

“y/n?” it sure as hell wasn’t lucy calling out for you and you knew that. coriolanus’s reflection was prominent in the puddle before you as he neared. great, you sneered, would love to get to know you mr peacekeeper. please tell me how you stole my lovely girlfriend from me!

your chest felt oh so heavy as you heard his footsteps in the gravel, determined and unwavering as he made his way to your slumped body. “what do you want? you wanna gloat?” coriolanus stopped in his tracks, gloat? “why would i gloat?” you looked up at him annoyed, “rub it in my face. you practically stole my girlfriend from me.” coriolanus laughed. actually laughed and it made you want to strangle him with his stupid dog tags.

“sweetheart.” vomit. you wanted to vomit. maybe choking and dying on your vomit would be less embarrassing then this. why on earth was this fuck head calling you his sweetheart. “fuck off.”

you didn’t see him coming. and you certainly didn’t expect his demeanour to snap. but the large hand tangled in your open hair was a big slap in the face to your unreadiness. “you of all people don’t get to talk to me like that. do you know who you’re talking to?” you could hear his perfect porcelain teeth grinding at your words. god this man couldn’t handle an insult. wuss.

“what the hell is your- ow! problem!” you yelped as he dragged you into an alleyway. “you need to learn how to respect your superiors. if you’re nice to me, i can make your life easier. doesn’t it hurt? not being able to fully provide for your family? seeing them struggle? do you really think disrespecting a peacekeeper is going to help? i suggest you straighten your act and thank me for even looking your way. there are plenty of other girls here.”

but he didn’t want those other girls. he wanted you. you with the teary eyes and messy hair. you who he’d been seeing in his dreams and during the day. you with the kind smile and curious eyes. you who were so sweet and pretty but mean when need be. the y/n who was stupid enough to spit such hateful words at a peacekeeper. but he’d teach you. whether it be with words and lessons or actions and bruises. you’d learn your place, by his side and lucy’s, and underneath. but with such fearful, brown doe eyes watering up infront of him, the girl he’d heard oh so much about from lucy. how could he refrain from indulging?

his hand reached out to wipe away the few stray tears that fell as his left extended towards your right, which was clutching your head, where he’d grabbed you. “shh, let me help you.” your hand slowly retracted as your heart ran a marathon. the man was obviously unstable, going from a deceptively caring man to violent. coriolanus smiled at your actions, and it freaked you out. he caressed your scalp in an attempt to soothe, “good girl.” he cooed as your apparent saviour approached.

“sweetie?” lucy called out to you as coriolanus withdrew from your personal space. he walked over to her and she let him. he held her hand and spoke with, love? his voice was soft and comforting, his thumb again caressing the back of her hand as they talked, whispered, plotted? god knows, all you wanted was to leave.

was this your chance?

you tested the waters, slow and calculated movements as lucy nodded in agreement with him. but by the time they were done speaking you’d bolted.

but you sure as hell weren’t getting far with these two on your tail, poor y/n l/n. a little dove trying to spread her wings but they were bound to be clipped.

your feet were throbbing and begging for you to slow down. but your brain was in charge for once, your heart which yearned for your dear songbird pushed to the side as your head screamed and urged you to go. she was in league with him apparently. her seeing him corner you and not even batting an eyelash. did she truly care for you so little? did she want to rid herself of you? she could’ve broken up with you and let that be it. maybe the games had twisted her head.

even as you believed yourself to be gaining distance from the two you could hear the not-so distant steps of determined pursuit, headed your way. how would they kill you? slow and intimate? hasty and brutal?

“if you stop running now we won’t be mad little dove!” lucy shouted in warning as you felt yourself momentarily slow at her words. traitor. you thought to yourself as your body involuntary listened, she still had an affect on you. “she’s right, we love you, we won’t hurt you. unless we have to, don’t give us our reasons.”

“shut up!” you screamed. god, i know we haven’t talked in a while. last minute efforts right? maybe he’d listen to you, save you from your tormentors. you should’ve kept your head clear, focused on running. focused on your surroundings and if you had, you would’ve noticed the nearing tree roots, thick and protruding from the ground, ready to knock you down.

you crawled behind the tree, trying to catch your breath as your hands worked tirelessly to provide some form of relief to your aching ankle.

crack.

you’d been found. you fucked up.

“our little dove, ever the sprinter.”

his words had you lurching forwards in an attempt of fleeing but lucy’s cold hand on your ankle dragged protests and cries from your throat as well as you, back to them. “you should’ve listened before, we would’ve been nice. given you some time to adjust, but you can’t sit and think for a second can you?” coriolanus mocked as his hand trailed up your un-injured leg, “that’s okay, you won’t be doing much thinking from now on. we’ll be taking care of you, since you obviously can’t take care a’ yourself baby.” lucy’s voice was saccharine, like honey, and her smile was even sweeter. the familiarity and comfort of her presence was intoxicating, you felt at peace on one side and the other wanted to jump off a cliff. she lowered your guard and coriolanus slithered right in.

the prick in the side of your neck wasn’t painful, but their words were. “you’re with us now, we’ll take care of you, we promise.” and you were stuck, stuck with them for god knows how long.

you blinked away the sleep in your eyes, adjusting to the room. maybe they had killed you? in their own twisted way they’d keep you forever, in their memories and soul. coriolanus and lucy’s voices swam around your head and blended together. you were wrong. yay.

“it’s a bit early for katniss, even if it’s one of her favourites.”

“she should eat something better.”

“better? don’t go all capitol on me now corio.”

he was smiling, you could tell.

“never lucy gray. but she’ll be weak for a few days, proper meals will help her regain some strength.”

you picked your head up and looked through the window, the lake was evident.

“alright, you go grab it and i’ll stay here.”

“why? so you can get more time with her? if anyone should get extra time it’s me.”

“now who was her partner first? oh that’s right, me. you’re acting as if i’m gonna pick her up and run away. if you’re that scared than we’ll both go. take her with us.”

coriolanus’s head whipped towards the cabin and you quickly flopped back down on the bed. you shut your eyes as you heard the door creak open. “gosh, doesn’t she look pretty?” lucy asked, knowing the answer already. “so calm, i liked her better when she was crying.” lucy hit him, “coriolanus snow!” he stroked the side of your face and you had to resist from turning your head and biting his fingers off.

“little dove.” your eyes opened again, turning your head his way tiredly. “we need to get some supplies okay?” you nodded as lucy went outside to gather the baskets she’d left out earlier on to dry. coriolanus’s hand dug into your cheeks as he forced you to look at him, “i told you i’d make you respect me. now listen, if you try anything when we’re in town i will never let you forget it. you’ll know who you belong to every single day. maybe i’ll pay your family a visit? an appointment with the hanging tree for being rebels? stealing?”

you shook your head violently as you began to cry, “you don’t want that? didn’t think so. you listen to me and everything will be fine. your family will get daily help and weekly groceries. they’ll never go hungry again. all thanks to their sweet little girl. lucy’s too nice, but don’t think for a second she’ll save you from me. you’re mine and if you try anything.” he leaned in to whisper, “i’ll strangle her with my bare hands infront of you.” his words were meant to scare you, and they did. but don’t you know? coriolanus snow doesn’t need a reason to do bad things.

coriolanus was wicked and ruthless when it came to what he wanted, if you had any hope of trying to get through this then you’d need lucy’s attention and help. so you nodded. “words sweetheart.” you swallowed your pride, your dignity, and you shook hands with the devil.

“yes, i’ll do what you say.” he straightened up, his white shirt a contrast to his dark thoughts.

“y’all ready to go?” lucy questioned as coriolanus grinned, “yes, yes we are.” he lifted you up and helped you dress, you hadn’t realised the fact that you were only dressed in his own white shirt, dress to you. he handled you like you were the most delicate object. as if he wasn’t hell bent on breaking you, over and over again. till you were fit to his standards. the captiol standards. the snow standards.

his, his, his.

with how obedient you were, he figured you’d do well in the capitol. which was exactly where he was meaning to bring you.

lucy walked in front of the two of you as you made your way through the woods. coriolanus’s hand was glued to your waist as he held you close, afraid to let go. you were at flight risk of course. his grip was tight and bruising. lucy’s humming distracted you at times, if you were delusional enough you could imagine it to be the two of you. your brothers far infront and the covey following. after an amazing afternoon at the lake, heading home for dinner, maybe a performance or the night shift.

your daydreaming was interrupted when you clocked coriolanus’s missing hand from your waist, and his arm now around lucy grays throat.

don’t you remember? you’d do well in the capitol! you were his! but not entirely, no.

not with her in the way.

you were frozen in place as lucy clawed at him before reaching out for you. a plea, a cry for help and aid yet you stood stuck in fear. a minute, two. she’d put up a strong fight, especially when you ran towards the two, pushing and shoving at coriolanus to let her go. but again, you fucked up.

here lies lucy gray baird, singer, victor, psycho.

obsessed? madly in love? you couldn’t think of another word, and as much as you wished to forget her, forget how she’d practically allowed another man into your relationship and let him kidnap you. her lifeless face and hollow eyes made your heart clench. but soon enough she was rolled over, thrown in a pre-made hole and buried. she’d survived the games but no one survived coriolanus snow.

“don’t forget what i said. don’t forget what you agreed to. you said you’d do as i say, i’m telling you to get up and follow me. we’re leaving district 12.” your face was painted with confusion as coriolanus clutched your face, “i’m going back, and you’re coming with me. don’t ask questions, just do as i say.”

and you did.

when he had you say goodbye to your family, a courtesy, a privilege he’d granted you. you kept it short and sweet, no questions just hugs and false promises of return.

when he ushered you onto the train and he wanted you to sit and be silent, you did.

through his time at the university, he wanted you close to him, living with him. and you did.

through his presidency campaign he wanted for you to charm sponsors and entice newcomers. you did.

when he wanted to marry you in a grand spectacle infront of the captiol and dress you up, you did as he asked.

when he held you down on your wedding night after tearing your dress off, biting and marking you down all over, pushing you down to your knees and took you all over the house, asking you to give yourself to him as if he didn’t take you anyways, you did.

you had no idea why at this point.

for your family? who hadn’t reached out in so long, even when they promised to talk to you every day? coriolanus had them all arrested, punished and hung for inciting riots and uprisings.

for your friends whom listened to your concerns of the capitol peacekeeper who hovered and didn’t make you feel crazy? each of them ended up dead in many different ways, hung, shot, a mugging gone wrong.

you didn’t know at this point and when you looked in the mirror you didn’t recognise the girl who stared back. a captiol sheep, dressed up in the finest silk dresses and slick heels yet the filth underneath the finery, jewels, and makeup weighed you down. each time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you, it felt like a peace of yourself was thrown away.

and as you clutched your swelling stomach, you couldn’t help but feel pity for baby number four.

maybe you’d grow up and find love.

maybe i’ll be able to take you all away from him.

maybe we’ll heal.

you thought, but in the back of your head, a little voice wouldn’t shut up.

you’ll always be his little dove.

#dark!coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader #lucy gray x coriolanus #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x reader #lucy gray x fem!reader #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray baird x reader #dark!lucy gray x reader #dark!lucy gray baird x reader #hunger games x reader

[jedipoodoo]

Bring Them Home (Sergeant Hunter x Reader)

Notes: SPOILERS FOR SEASON THREE EPISODE TWO: PATHS UNKNOWN. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE SEASON THREE PREMIERE. Children, angsty Hunter Edit: STUPID TUNGLR POSTED THIS WHEN I MEANT TO SAVE IT SO PSA-- If you read this before 10pm EST on Feb 27, this one-shot is officially completed so please reread it again and enjoy it in its full glory.

gif by @dreamswithghosts

It had been months since you'd seen Hunter, so of course you and Phee were there when the Marauder touched down in the Archium. Wrecker waved to you both as the ramp lowered, beckoning to someone inside the ship.

Hunter said they were bringing someone with them, but you didn't expect the cadets-- the children --to look so bewildered when they stepped off the ship.

"They're so young," Shep said softly, and you wondered how round and baby-faced they must have been when they left Kamino, the only home they'd ever known.

The three cadets lingered on the steps of the ramp, looking around in earnest while Wrecker waited patiently.

"It smells like Kamino," the tallest said as you approached.

"Mox, did you see the ocean? D'you think they'll let us go swimming?"

"You can do whatever you want here!" Wrecker laughed encouragingly. He gave you his classic thump on the shoulders, and you smiled. It was the happiest you'd seen him since they lost Tech and Omega.

"Hi," You introduced yourself to the cadets, "What're your names?"

"I'm Deke. This is Mox, and that's Stak." The shortest of them stepped forward, while his brothers watched you warily.

"And I'm Phee Genoa, liberator of ancient wonders," Phee smiled warmly at them all.

"Welcome to Pabu," Shep said, "I'm the mayor here. We have a warm bed and fresh food for all of you."

"Thanks," Mox, the tallest, said softly. His arms were crossed over his chest, and Stak's hands fidgeted at his side.

"Wrecker, why don't you and Phee show them the island? I reckon they're as hungry as you."

Wrecker chuckled softly and nodded towards the ship, catching your drift. He beckoned for the kids to follow him. They seemed to trust a clone more than other humans, but that was understandable.

"Have you boys ever heard of Skara Nol?" you heard Phee asking them.

"What's that?" Deke asked.

"It's a big mountain, filled with lots of puzzles!" Wrecker said, waving his arms to demonstrate.

At that point, you'd stepped aboard. The warmth of the sun dissipated as you were enveloped in the Marauder's dim lighting. Hunter sat at the navicomputer to your right, half asleep and blanketed by a hazy blue glow.

"Those boys aren't the only ones who could use a home-cooked meal, you know." You said, putting more weight into your steps so he wouldn't be surprised by your approach.

"I assume you've brought some, then?" He said.

You rolled your eyes and took the canteen of gumbo from your bag.

"Only when you step away from the computer. It won't do you any good to spill it all over Tech's equipment now."

Hunter sighed, and set another diagnostic to run through the files.

"We've got another lead," He said, turning away from the computer. Your heart fluttered at the note of hope in his voice.

"The Intel from the Durands was too old, the kids were all that's left of that lab, but we scraped some data from one of the data banks. We think it could tell us where Hemlock took Omega."

You handed him the spoon, and Hunter tried to eat politely, but it soon gave way to his hunger as he shoveled spoonfuls into his mouth without waiting to chew.

"Careful, you'll make yourself sick," You warned him, "You've been eating too many rations. I'll have to send you off with some real food this time."

Hunter looked up at you, and you used your thumb to wipe some sauce from his chin, but you couldn't quite meet his eyes.

"You could always come with us. How's your leg doing?"

The only reason you hadn't gone with Hunter and Wrecker when they set out to find Omega was because your femur was broken in the same railcar crash that took Tech. Phee had promised to look out for you and keep you from getting too bored while they scoured the galaxy. Despite your protests, you knew that in your injured state, you couldn't be much help at all.

So you made yourself useful in Pabu. You sewed clothes to replace those lost in the tsunami, you looked after children while their parents rebuilt, you made your family's old gumbo recipe for those who were too tired to cook at the end of the day.

Those like Hunter.

"What about the kids? Deke, Mox and...Stak?"

Hunter nodded, "Shep said there were some families on Pabu who could take care of them for now, he even offered to take two of them into his own house."

"Oh," You said softly, "That's kind of him."

Setting the empty canteen to the side, Hunter squeezed one of your hands as it hung at your side.

"Everything alright, cyare?"

"Oh!" After so long without him, you forgot how well he knew you.

"I just...I was hoping we could take them in, take care of them."

Hunter's eyes softened, and finally stood. "I'll admit I thought about it myself, but..."

"Not while Omega's still captured," You finished for him, dropping his hand and folding your arms.

Hunter's thumb brushed against your cheek, begging for you to look at him.

"You remember that night on Ord Mantell, right?" He asked.

You pouted, bottom lip jutting out, "We spent a lot of nights on Ord Mantell." Too many, to be precise.

"You know the one I'm talking about," He cupped your face in both hands, and you looked up at the dark circles beneath his eyes.

And you did know the night he mentioned. It was a full moon, so you could actually see the moon high above all the neons and smoke from the city. Hunter had made you a promise then and there, and you made one to him too. Nothing like marriage, but something like it.

Biting your lip, you reached up to run your thumb over his crows' feet. His eyes closed, blissfully relaxed beneath your touch. You knew how much he needed to find her. He could never forgive himself if anything happened to you, to Wrecker, or any of the cadets they'd just saved.

"I meant what I said that night," He whispered, eyes glistening as his forehead rested against yours, "We'll have our own family some day, something Kamino and the Empire won't ever be able to take from us. We just have to wait a bit longer."

You sniffled just a bit, and buried your face in his chest. You wrapped your arms around his torso, and when he wrapped his arms around you he leaned more of his body weight on you than he usually did. He felt frail, delicate even, like too much pressure in one place would snap him in half.

Hunter needed you, and you needed him.

"I'm coming with you," You whispered. He sighed with relief.

"Let's bring her home."

#tbb spoilers #lizart writes #the bad batch spoilers #the bad batch season 3 #the bad batch season 3 spoilers #hunter x reader #hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader

[fullsunstrawberry]

[part 21: need to find him]

synopsis: when your old college decides that your major isn’t worth the money. Meaning you have to transfer in the middle of your last year to neo university. But luckily you have three fuckboys to bring you out of your shell and help you get off

warnings: alcohol, drunk make-out, swearing,

a/n: hehehe sorry for this one guys... (also did not double check for any grammar problems so shh)

taglist open (18+)

“I'm gonna regret this in the morning” you cried out, throwing back another shot.

Chenle’s laugh filled your ears. “You do have a dolphin laugh!”

Chenle gasped, “I knew donghyuck was a bad influence on you!” he pushed your shoulder playfully causing you to fall back onto the bed with a thump you let out a giggle and grab onto his arm.

Chenle joined you in laughter, enjoying the moment. Chenle shifted, lying down beside you on the bed, and the laughter slowly transformed into a comfortable silence.

“You know,” Chenle began, his voice taking a more thoughtful tone, “sometimes we just need to blow off some steam.”

You turned to look at him, the alcohol warming your cheeks. "You're right," you admitted, a small smile playing on your lips.

Chenle traced patterns absentmindedly on the bedspread with his fingers, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts”

"What thoughts?" you hummed out turning to face him and being met with him already looking at your lips.

His eyes held a flicker of hesitation, but the desire behind them was unmistakable. You could practically feel the tension in the room, thickening with each passing second. The alcohol had blurred your judgment, making the allure of his proximity even more exciting.

Without breaking eye contact, Chenle reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent shivers down your spine, awakening a side of you that had long been dormant. The room seemed to grow smaller as you became acutely aware of his presence, the weight of his gaze heavy on your skin.

Chenle mumbled "We'll deal with the concessions in the morning" before leaning in and pressing his lips into yours.

As you melted into the kiss, all rational thoughts were abandoned, replaced by a raw and primal need. Your fingers tangled in his soft hair, pulling him impossibly closer, while his hands explored the curves of your body with a hunger that left you breathless.

Chenle grinded into you, moaning causing you to close your eyes, and the image of Jaemin's face filled your brain.

"mm Jaemin"

Your mind jolted back to reality, the name slipping from your lips. Chenle froze, his lips barely inches away from yours. The room suddenly felt suffocating, as guilt and confusion intertwined within you.

Chenle pulled away slowly, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. His eyes searched yours for answers, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. Shame flooded through you, threatening to drown any remnants of desire that had sparked between you just moments ago.

"I'm sorry," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with regret. "I can't... I shouldn't have done that."

Chenle's features softened as he reached out, gently cupping your cheek in his hand. "Hey, it's okay," he reassured, his voice filled with understanding. "We both got caught up in the moment."

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "No, it's not just that," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I have feelings for Jaemin. I can't betray him like this."

Chenle's hand dropped from your cheek as he sighed, "I understand," he said quietly. "I never wanted to come between you and Jaemin. I just...got carried away."

You could feel the weight of his words hang in the air, the heaviness of the situation engulfing both of you. The room felt colder now, the warmth that had once enveloped you dissipating into thin air. Guilt gnawed at your conscience, tearing at your heart as you grappled with the consequences of your actions.

Silence settled between you, broken only by the sound of your uneven breaths. Chenle shifted on the bed, creating some distance between the two of you.

"I think... I need to go,"

[previous] —> [masterlist] —> [next]

taglist (1): @manooffline @jaeimjaemin @multifandomania06 @haechansbbg @lowkeyjaemle @nominsgirl @222brainrot @neobowlingshoez @rockstarhaechan @dorkyji @fullsunahceah @gucci-95 @toroufriteh @anna-357j @ditzydaisyy @haobinzzy @darlingz99 @b90lt @jwiloves @w0nslvr @alethea-moon @leep0ems @luvlyrenwoo @erizapanda @nanasbaby @mystverse @hyunjungjae @jaeminnanaaa17

#jaemin #jaemin x you #jaemin smau #jaemin texts #jaemin social media au #jaemin au #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #na jaemin #nct dream #nct dream social media #nct dream fake texts #nct dream text #nct dream social media au

[softhued]

Desperation

warnings/tags: nsfw, dark content, dubcon, somnophilia, cunnilingus, panty sniffing, roommate!shigaraki

word count: 2k

You unexpectedly learned what your roommate Shigaraki does late at night; when he snuck into your room under the guise you were asleep, but you were wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Until he came creeping through your door, forcing you to pretend otherwise.

Once the quiet steps ceased, you chanced a peek, watching him rummage through your laundry basket before he grabbed what he was looking for and brought it to his face. He had the crotch of your used underwear pressed to his nose while his other hand palmed at the growing bulge in his pants. Shigaraki ached to relieve the pressure building as he imagined how you would smell straight from the source, failing to catch your shocked gaze on him. You lay stock still, regulating the breaths from your lungs despite the thumping in your chest.

Once he left, you waited a few moments before rushing to lock your door. From that night on, you made sure the lock was in place, and you were glad you did so when you heard the rattling of your doorknob late one night. You made no mention of what happened since you didn't know what to say. So you pretended like nothing was amiss. But you struggled to talk to him or even look at him as that scene replayed in your mind.

The sound of his muffled groans on a loop in your head as his hand dragged up and down his slick cock, making you feel a burst of warmth in your gut. But you brushed it aside and acted as if nothing was wrong.

Until one night, Shigaraki found himself in your room again. The lock on your door did nothing to stop him from getting to you.

He settled between your legs, removing any clothing that posed as a hindrance to what he planned to do to you before spreading your legs, eager to be at the source of his desires. He dove in nose deep and tongue out, lapping at your hole, begging for it to give him more than what he was coaxing from you. His length throbbed against his sweatpants, begging to be free, but he had to taste you. To savor the taste of your arousal seeping into his tastebuds, familiarizing himself with it while he swelled with pride at the fact you were dripping because of him.

His tongue teased every crease of your cunt until you were whining despite being asleep, and he couldn't help but wonder if you were dreaming of him. If you could feel the things he was doing to you in that state, feeling the expanse of his tongue sinking into your pink, fleshy opening before moving to your clit. Loving the way your pearl swelled further at the stimulation. The bud pulsed against his tongue as he sucked and hollowed his mouth around it. His warm, wet mouth suckling your pearl into his mouth and feeling the beat of your heart through your flesh. Which forced a groan from his chest, sending vibrations through your cunt while his mouth slurped your pooling arousal. Beneath him, your body quivered, writhing under his touch as you stirred.

He didn't remove his mouth or slow down as he peered at you, almost waking you, but he didn’t care. He wanted you to know he was the one making you feel good. That he had your cunt throbbing and quivering against his mouth despite your objections. Most of all, he wanted to stay there forever. To keep his mouth sealed around you as you dripped into his mouth like a leaking faucet. And he wanted more, needed more.

He felt his mouth becoming more urgent and incessant against your slick core. His throbbing cock and hunger fueled his actions, and he attempted to swallow you whole. To latch his entire mouth onto your cunt so there was no telling where he ends and you begin.

Shigaraki grew needier by the second. The scent of your arousal acted as an aphrodisiac, hindering the rational part of his brain as he feasted upon you. The backs of your legs sat in the crook of his arms while his fingers dug into your thighs, pulling you closer to his opened mouth. He could feel the flutter of your walls around his tongue, urging him on, and he wanted nothing more than to taste the sweet gush of your release.

Shigaraki pulled his tongue from you, leaning over your cunt as he lolled his tongue out. His saliva collected at the tip of his tongue before it dripped onto your drenched cunt. He moved back in, swallowing down the mix of your arousal and his spit, wishing you were awake so he could give you a taste of your combined fluids.

Then he heard your once quiet breathy gasps become louder mewls and whines. Your stomach clenching and furling in response to the sensations crashing over you. You were on the brink of waking up, and he had no intentions of stopping. Not now. Not ever. If anything, he increased the urgency and force behind his movements. Desperately mouthing at your cunt, trying to show forth the intensity of his desire. Hoping his actions translated his feelings as he swallowed every drop you had to offer.

Your eyes fluttered open while sleep fought to pull you back under, but you pried your eyes open against the heaviness, shaking off the last bits of drowsiness that lingered. Your blurred vision cleared to show the scene before you. Your shirt was pushed to your chest, resting above your breasts and showcasing your stiff nipples. Then you saw a crimson gaze, practically glowing in your dim room, staring back at you as if they were waiting to catch your attention.

"What the fuck?” Your groggy mind supplied at the sight greeting you.

Shigaraki's lips were wrapped around your clit as he gave a gentle suck that had your stomach shuddering. You moved to push his head away, but he was faster than you, anticipating any resistance so he could snuff it out as he pinned your hand by your side. You tugged against his hold, wondering how he was effortlessly multitasking as his hold didn't falter, much less his mouth. He continued to kiss and mouth at your slick lips, echoing the sounds of his tongue lapping up your arousal.

Despite knowing it was futile, you had to try again. Your free hand settled into his soft, pale hair to pull his head back. But your touch spurred him on, provoking him. The gentle sucking on your swollen clit turned into harsh suctioning. Which had your knees knocking above his head, but he didn't stop. He made sure he had enough space to access you, pulling you even closer as your body twisted within his grip.

“Fuck you taste even better than I imagined,” he said, taking a moment to breathe before resuming his mission. He didn’t even feel the need to pin the hand still in his hair.

There was nothing you could do to remove him from your body, and he made it known as his efforts increased tenfold. He even released your hand, opting to hold your hips instead as your fidgeting grew and the tugging became more incessant. Mewls were the only sounds escaping you as your chest rose and fell in quick breaths as you lay beneath him. Shuddering as you reacted to every pillowy kiss and the stroke of his tongue.

"Why?" You panted, poorly concealed arousal evident in your voice.

He licked and sucked your cunt, triggering more arousal to coat his tongue before he shifted his head to nibble at the crease of your thigh. Not missing the way your breath hitched at the sudden change before he looked at you, finally acknowledging that you had spoken.

"I needed you so badly," he practically whined and your walls tightened around nothing. As if sensing your emptiness, he pressed two fingers inside you, twisting and rubbing that ridged spot to replace the removal of his mouth, and your legs threatened to close. "You smell so good, and I just had to taste you and feel you around my tongue."

That night returned to your mind. Shigaraki in your room with your underwear pressed to his nose while he tugged his aching length, holding back moans to not wake you even though you were well aware, only pretending to be asleep.

Not caring that you didn't reply, Shigaraki removed his fingers and went back to your cunt, "I want to feel you cum."

His mouth resumed its rhythm, feasting on you like you were about to disappear. The flat of his tongue licked your hole, drinking in the steadily pooling arousal before he pushed his tongue in. His tongue reached as far as it could go before wriggling inside you, lapping at your walls until they tightened in response.

Perspiration settled on your chest, and you wondered just how long Shigaraki had been between your legs as your body grew hotter. The aching throb between your thighs gradually worsened, but he wasn’t letting up.

He would stay buried between your legs forever if he could. Like a flip had switched, the hand in his hair went from yanking to simply gripping the shafts of hair for purchase. He couldn't help the pleasure that filled him once he noticed your tugging ceased, and your body went limp within his hold.

Despite yourself, you rolled your hips into his mouth, feeding him more of what he desperately craved as your eyes rolled back. He matched your pace, moving closer to let you grind against his mouth as your hand tugged at his hair again to bring him closer.

"Oh my god. Please just make me cum.” You begged, gyrating against his face due to the endless torment. You were drenched and throbbing against his mouth, and you wanted to release the built-up tension swelling inside you.

“What do you want”

“I want to cum.” You begged, “so badly. I can’t take it anymore.”

The tears welling in your eyes supported your confession as you pleaded for more. Your back arched, raising your chest, and he used that opportunity to brush the pads of his fingers against your brown nipples, stroking the buds back and forth. His fingers played with your pebbled flesh while his mouth slacked against your lips.

"Ride my face."

He stared at you, waiting to see if you would respond. He wanted nothing more than to have you sitting on his face, and you had no reservations about his command as you pushed him down. Matching his heated stare before settling onto his face with your thighs encasing his head. You looked down at the expectant look he wore as Shigaraki controlled himself and made no move to drag you closer.

It was all on you.

Shigaraki opened his mouth in preparation, and that was all you needed. You aligned your cunt with his gaping mouth, brushing your hips towards his face, and nearly keeled over when his tongue brushed your needy clit. You leaned forward to brace yourself, allowing your desire to fuel your actions as you ground against his mouth, letting him taste your fueling lust.

You couldn't stop the whines that welled in your throat and spilled out as his tongue grazed your clit again and again. Your hips had a mind of their own as they moved in closer to gain more friction, and Shigaraki responded, following your lead so you could get what you wanted.

Then his hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you to his mouth as he suctioned your entire cunt. Tremors ran through your body, and you couldn't stop his name from falling from your lips.

"Shigaraki, please," you begged mindlessly, grinding into his frantic tongue. The only thought you had was to cum, and you were so close to the edge. Answering your plea Shigaraki focused on your clit, feeling it throb and pulse with need against his wet, messy tongue. His tongue lapped at your clenching hole as you leaked pathetically, swallowing the taste of your desire as it filled his mouth before returning to your clit. Your walls clenched in anticipation, preparing to release everything you had to offer into his awaiting mouth.

His mouth suctioned your clit, suckling as it swelled further, and he could practically hear your pulse. Above him, you stilled before tremors overtook you, making your gut twist and your walls spasm in pulses. Whimpers sounded from you as Shigaraki held on, keeping your cunt in his mouth as he swallowed every drop from the gush you released.

He didn't pull away until your body went limp. Then he sat up, moving you to his lap where you felt his throbbing cock pressed against you. You could see your arousal coating his mouth, and he looked so content and satisfied as if he orgasmed.

"You taste so good," he repeated before pulling you in. His lips connected to yours, and your combined taste melted in your mouth as you swallowed around his tongue.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki smut #mha smut #tw dark content #tw dubcon #tw somnophilia #black reader

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

chapter 1: this is a gift

Find the masterlist here!

W/C: 2,700

Over the course of his unnaturally long life, Astarion had experienced many things. However, he couldn’t recall ever having had the displeasure of acting with such altruistic compassion before now. It was almost as if Cazador himself had thought up an entertaining new way to torture him, forcing him to don a mask of tight-lipped humility to maintain his facade of belonging.

One thing was made abundantly clear from the start of this journey: Astarion did not belong among this group of would-be heroes. His first taste of freedom in two hundred years, consistently squandered by the incessantly self-sacrificing actions of his traveling companions. He found himself in a constant state of exasperation these days, an eye-roll or a scoff away from striking out on his own, for better or worse. 

No matter how uncomfortable a role it was to play, far be it from him to turn down the objective safety in numbers that his companions provided him with, however unwittingly. It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to playing uncomfortable roles for the sake of his survival. Were they ever to find out just what it was they were traveling with, they’d surely turn him out in an instant, if not stake him outright. Neither being vulnerable to recapture by Cazador nor the finality of death quite tickled Astarion’s fancy, so he kept his head down and the worst of his sarcastic quips to himself in hopes that he would remain relatively safe from prying eyes - or more accurately, prying thoughts.

And it worked - for the most part. The gith and the cleric were too busy quarreling amongst each other to pay him any heed, and the warlock was all too consumed by his loathing of his contracted owner. The wizard, while clearly educated and well-read, didn’t seem to have a perceptive bone in his body if the way he carried on was anything to go off of. Astarion could swear that listening to him speak was the closest he’d come to truly sleeping since he’d been turned. The tiefling woman, bless her infernal engine, had heart and brawn to spare, but had been less than fortunate in the intelligence department.

You, however, were far harder to read, and therefore far harder to trust. Not to say that he trusted his other companions, but he could at least trust that they remained steadfastly oblivious as to his true nature. He was never sure with you, occasionally catching a glimmer of something deeper in the warmth of your gaze when you exchanged pleasantries, or looking up from his book to find you staring at him from across the campfire, your pleasant voice lilting the harmonic accompaniment to the lyre in your arms. Your eyes held far too much keen interest for him to be comfortable, so he kept an especially safe distance from you.

At least, he tried to.

As the days wore on and the fights became more grueling, he found himself growing weary and bone-tired beyond what his typical nightly hunt could satiate. He felt sluggish and weak; stringing together rational and coherent thought had become burdensome. He could scarcely breathe in the company of his companions without feeling overwhelmed by the sheer might of his bloodlust. Luckily, he’d mostly learned to ignore his bottomless hunger over the span of his enslavement, and whatever wasn’t held in the firm grip of his self-control was allayed by the fear of Cazador’s retribution.

The longer he spent away from Cazador, though, the more that fear shrunk alongside his waning self-control. The fact that he’d left his most recent kill, mangled and exsanguinated, in the middle of the path for his traveling party to stumble across was testament to his current lack of presence. Under different circumstances, its discovery could have been his death sentence. As it were, he only had to listen to the shocked and horrified exclamations of his companions, none of them the wiser that the beast in question capable of such a grisly and disturbing kill resided in their camp. For his part, Astarion remained steadfastly silent, watchful gaze leveled on the back of your head and fingers twitching toward his dagger.

After a quiet “hmm” and a shrug, you stood from the corpse of the boar and brushed your hands off. 

“Nothing to be done for it now. Best be on our way,” you said gravely. Astarion’s fingers stopped their twitching, and he released a silent breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

Later that night, as his companions sang and danced and made merry around the campfire, Astarion began to hatch a plan. An ill advised plan, mind, and not one that he was proud to have conjured up, but he was so hungry and could no longer ignore the mouth watering smell of the sentient life around him. All that was left was to pick his target and wait for the right opportunity to strike.

As he pretended to eat his bowl of stew that the wizard had prepared, he sorted through the list of his companions in his mind, weighing his options. Both the gith and the warlock were sure to kill him if they caught him in the act, so they were immediately discarded. The tiefling would melt his face right off if he got too close to her, which made her an impractical option. Something about the wizard smelled off, so naturally he was struck from the list. That left the cleric… and you.

Just as he was preparing to puzzle out the best option between the two, you waltzed past him with your gentle instrumental and sultry lilt, and he made the mistake of inhaling. His mouth practically watered at the smell of you: jasmine blossoms and orange peel and heady musk. Without any further thought, he had his vict- target. 

He shook his head warily, attempting to clear his disquieted thoughts like so many cobwebs from his mind, just as you turned to send a soft smile his direction. 

His insides twisted with the sharp discomfort of shame and he smiled back, taking care to keep from baring his fangs. He couldn’t tell if the vise grip of unease was of his own or his master’s making, but it was almost strong enough to make him reconsider. Almost. Then, his hunger returned to him full-force and all at once, and his resolve was strengthened. Once everyone else had reached the land of dreams, Astarion would have his first true taste of freedom: ‘the blood of a thinking creature’. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion volunteered to take first watch, so, mercifully, he was the only one awake. If he were capable of nervous sweats, the back and underarms of his shirt would be soaked through, his palms clammy and the curls at his forehead damp. One would think that being abducted by mindflayers would make the prospect of drinking his companions’ blood pale in comparison, but he found himself more terrified now than those handful of nights ago when he’d been snatched up and imprisoned on the Nautiloid. Perhaps it was the fear of Cazador’s wrath, when he inevitably found out Astarion wilfully disobeyed his cardinal order; perhaps it was the fear of losing control and hurting you, and then paying the price with his life.

Whatever the case, Astarion made a concerted effort to steel himself before proceeding with his plan. He crept from his post, silent as the grave with the practiced ease of a night stalker and crossed the camp to your tent, its flaps open to dispel some of the muggy summer air trapped within. The closer he got to his prize, to you, the further his wits were flung from him until he knelt at your side, salivating at the thrum of the pulse in your neck. He licked his lips and leaned in, intoxicated by the smell of you, fangs poised to puncture your carotid artery -

“You could ask, you know,” he felt more than heard you say. “It’s impolite to touch people without first gaining their consent.”

Astarion reeled back as if he’d been struck, a muffled curse escaping him as he hastily tried to retreat.

“Move any further and I’ll scream. I’d fancy a guess that you don’t want the whole camp to find you unwelcome in my tent, so I suggest you quit squirming away and explain yourself,” you grumbled, and though your voice painted a perfect picture of disenchantment, Astarion could see the way your body had drawn taut with adrenaline; you were prepared to fight your way out of this if necessary.

“No, no! It’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he pleaded, voice just shy of frantic and hands held aloft in placation. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed - well, blood.” 

The shame returned to him at a near dizzying magnitude, his last words falling flat in defeat on a final exhale, sure to be his last.

You sat up, body still tense and prepared to strike if the need arose, and scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. To his surprise and immense relief, you only questioned him further.

“How long since you last killed someone? Days? Hours?” 

Though your voice held the edge of cold steel, it could not conceal the glint of curiosity in your gaze. Despite his better judgment, Astarion decided to tell you the truth, hoping to appeal to the bleeding heart of your empathy.

“I’ve never killed anyone! Well, not for food,” he sneered, then schooled his expression back into something non-threatening after remembering that he did not want to make his predicament worse.

“I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds - whatever I can get. But it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight. I feel so… weak.”

“Ah, so that was your dinner we found so carelessly discarded this morning,” you bit back.

He weighed his next words carefully after examining your body language, still finding you tense but sensing no fear.

To Hells with it, he thought.

“If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please,” he begged, eyes wide and round with desperation.

He watched in relative discomfiture as the tension drained from your posture, expression morphing to regard him with no small amount of pity as your tadpoles connected and you were granted a fleeting glimpse into his centuries of abuse and torment. It took all of his courage to not shut you out; he felt painfully flayed open and on display with what little you were able to glean from the brief brush of your minds. 

To your credit, you didn’t ask about what you’d seen.

“Why didn't you tell me, Astarion?” you whispered.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no,” he scoffed, then sighed, “More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

He held his breath again, daring to hope that you might actually be amenable to helping him.

“Hells. I do trust you, Astarion. Believe it or not, I do. Would have preferred you to just ask instead of having this uncomfortable confrontation in the wee hours, though,” you chuckled.

He almost couldn’t believe his luck, or perhaps it was your stupidity, and he waved a hand noncommittally in front of him.

“Does this mean…” he breathed, his nerves alight with something akin to elation.

“Yes, you may make a meal of me,” you sighed.

“Wonderful! Thank you, truly-” he began, abruptly cut off by the hand raised wordlessly to silence him.

“But you’d better not take a drop more than you need, or there won’t be a next time,” you finished with a resolute nod.

Astarion nearly balked at your words, simultaneously blessing and cursing whatever gods would listen for leaving something so preciously stupid as you alone in his company.

“Of course, darling. Not one drop more, on my honor,” he said, placing a hand over his undead heart.

You snorted inelegantly, “Right, honor. As if you have any of that, Rogue. How do you want me?”

“You wound me, my sweet. More to the point, how don’t I want you?” he drawled, playing up the flirty charm in an attempt to ease the stiffness of anxiety that had once again overcome you. 

However, it seemed to have opposite the desired effect, and he watched in disconcerted fascination as your hands balled into tight fists at your sides. You rhythmically unclenched and clenched your fists a few times before releasing a shaky exhale.

“Do you plan to bite me sometime before the sun rises or not? If you’ve changed your mind, I’d very much like to get some sleep before we have to spend another day meandering through this blasted forest, hunting down an impossible cure for our stowaways,” you huffed out.

“My apologies, do get comfortable,” Astarion mumbled as he scrambled to kneel at the edge of your bedroll once more. He brushed the wisps of your hair away from your neck, fingers trailing down the delicate column of your throat almost reverently. He wanted to savor this moment, this first.

“Will it hurt much?” he felt the rumble of your words through his fingertips.

“Not terribly, but it will be uncomfortable for a moment. I will try to be gentle,” he murmured back, steady gaze leveled with your apprehensive one.

“Get on with it, then,” you gritted out, turning your head to expose more of the tender flesh of your neck.

Astarion leaned in, once again overwhelmed by the smell of you in this close proximity, but no longer dogged by the feeling of malaise at what he was about to do. He gently dragged his fangs up the column of your throat, searching for your pulse point. He heard your quiet gasp and felt the slight shudder that ran through you, one of your hands flying up to nestle in the silvery curls at the nape of his neck and the other twisting in the furs of your bedroll. It was then that he struck.

The first splash of blood across his tongue was like the finest wine he’d ever tasted. He vaguely registered the sound of a groan, but whether it was yours or his, he wasn’t sure. Everything beyond your lifeblood spilling from the puncture wounds in your neck and his tongue lapping at it was hazy with his euphoria. He could taste the salty musk of your sweat coupled with the ferrous tang of your blood, the fleeting sweetness of your desire giving way to a deeper, more buttery contentment. 

He quickly lost himself in the act of drinking from you, gulping down great mouthfuls of your blood like a man having stumbled across an oasis after spending too many long nights parched in the desert. He drank deeply and greedily, rational thought all but gone as he slaked his bloodlust.

Eventually, he registered the bitter taste of your fear and felt the fingers buried in his curls tighten and pull.

“Astarion,” you garbled in warning, “that’s enough.”

Reluctantly, and with no small amount of effort, he pulled back. 

“That - that was amazing,” he mumbled in awe, tongue darting out to clean the blood from his lips and wiping up the droplets that spilled down his chin, only to lick his fingers. 

“And strangely intimate,” you laughed breathily.

“Indeed. My mind is finally clear. I feel strong, I feel… happy!” he breathed, voice full of wonderment. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing you fight,” you whispered, the ghost of a smile playing at your lips.

“Shouldn’t take long,” he smirked back, “So many people need killing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

He stood and turned to exit, then thought better of it and paused at the mouth of your tent. He looked over his shoulder to find you seated upright, looking at him expectantly.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

He didn’t miss the way your face fell as he turned to continue out into the waiting darkness. This time, it was guilt that made his gut churn unpleasantly. As to why, though, he couldn’t say.

#bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion #tav #astarion pov #unnamed tav #no use of y/n #reader insert #afab tav #bard tav #trauma #angst #astarion needs a hug #past abuse #past torture #slow burn #the bite scene #au canon divergence

[entomolog-t]

Bite Me

My first OCs June and Aedes are finally getting their story told!! I'm so excited to finally be posting this. This chapter acts as a sort of prologue to their OG lil comic. I'm very happy to announce I've got 10 or so chapters already written so for the next little while I'll be uploading this story weekly!

- - - -

Next Chapter: Chapter 2

Word count: 759

CW: Vampire adjacent mild gore (mentions of blood, drinking blood)

Darkness had always been a comforting embrace to Aedes. There was an innate safety amongst the shadows, and a beautiful stillness under the light of the moon. Still- but not quiet. The night, in all its ethereal splendor, held a delicate symphony; Wood frogs and crickets sang with fervor, the leaves in the canopy above whispered subtle secrets, and the thrum of a heartbeat rang out in the distance- a sirens song to someone like him. 

Aedes listened intently, following the slow rhythmic beating with well practiced ease- a predator stalking its prey. His mouth watered. It had been so long since he last fed. This rural town afforded him a certain safety, but the cost of less frequent feeding was a hard price to bear. He was starved. Hunger gnawed at his insides, relentless and unforgiving in its demand to be sated, the alluring call of a potential meal pulling him forward as if it were reeling him in. 

He felt almost as if he were in a trance, his fixation on the thrumming causing the world around him to fade away. The nightly sounds seemed to dissolve more and more into the ether with each percussive beat. He followed the beat, his steps marching in time as if dancing to a stranger's most intimate song. Like a doting partner, he let the song lead him, each beat bringing him closer and closer to the unwitting musician. 

There he stood, a quaint two story home before him, its sage green siding looking at home within the menagerie of plant life growing wild around it. As he scanned the building, his eyes fell on an open window. He smiled. It seemed the people of rural towns found a certain safety here as well. 

With the utmost care, he heaved himself up, sliting the screen along its edge as he climbed through the window. He paused, taking in a deep breath as he perched on the window sill. Closing his eyes, he drank in the smell. A scent, smooth and sweet filled his lungs, so tempting it made his breath hitch. His hands shook, and his heart pounded with anticipation- His more desperate instincts calling on him to rush towards that effervescent scent and abandon all rationality. Patience. He steadied his breath, letting his urges feed his excited anticipation. 

A woman lay right there beneath him, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with her heart. Bathed in the pale light of the full moon, he marveled at her ambrosian beauty. Under the glistening light, her soft and subtle skin looked as though she was made of milk and honey, her nectarous lips full and blushing, the sight of their colour teasing hints of that… vigor that flowed so closely beneath her skin. 

And her neck-

He found himself baring his teeth involuntarily, his body begging for him to drink. 

She lay with her head to one side, such an innocent position filling him with such a potent hunger, as if she left herself open and vulnerable just for him. Adrenaline and hunger mingled together, dizzying in their intensity. His own heart thrummed alongside hers, beating much more wildly- a symbiotic dance between predator and prey, the thrill of the hunt intertwining with that ever-present dread of being caught. 

He couldn't wait any longer. 

Silent as the dead, he descended on her- his movements fluid despite their uncanny speed. The call of her heart beckoning him, compelling him to indulge.

Indulge he did.

His teeth sliced into the flesh of her neck, her soft skin offering no hint of resistance to his bite. He suppressed the urge to groan.

The taste - he shivered. 

She tasted like life.

On his tongue, she was a reprise. Her warmth filling him- her blood rejuvenating and invigorating. His mind felt dizzied, dancing on a drunken high he never quite understood. He felt a stupor come over him and welcomed it, riding out the bliss as he drank. 

An oasis is she,

So sweet on my tongue,

If I could drink my fill I would drown- 

He gulped with a primal desperation, his gluttony feeling boundless.

Such an insatiable creature am I,

You, the ambrosia my lips pursue 

Dear, my hunger consumes me,

please, let me consume - 

Her breath hitched. 

Suddenly, the night was no longer still.

In the blink of an eye, his world shifted- or more accurately, flipped- as gravity suddenly ripped him away from his indulgence. His mind reeled, desperate to understand what was happening.

To his horror, he found himself falling. 

#AHHHHHH #I'm so happy to post this #The first chapter is very short but the next few are much longer :) :) #Aedes is such a little fuking creature #g/t #giant/tiny #Entowrites #Bite Me #aedesoc #juneoc #g/t writing #g/t story #Macro/micro #tiny vampire

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 —— 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟕.𝟐𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

Payback draws the first short straw. His face falters, falls, crumples. His bottom lip trembles and his eyes are wet suddenly. He is just about to take a quivering breath, just about to swallow his pride and beg everyone to let him stay, when Fanboy suddenly squares his jaw. 

“I’ll go,” he says. “I’ll go with him.”

Payback doesn't have the strength to say anything at all. But the urge to beg evades him instantaneously. He claps his hand on his best friend’s shoulder and holds it there for a long time. 

Fanboy’s heart is hammering in his chest. He knows it’s the right thing to do and he almost always does the right thing--even if it makes his stomach sour. 

“Someone should probably go to Paul’s cabin, too--just to…eliminate or whatever,” Phoenix says. She’s trembling. “Maybe he’s still…” 

Bradley glances at you--you won’t even look at him anymore. And Jake still won’t look at you. Fuck. Everything’s fucked up right now. This isn’t how this summer was supposed to go. 

You nod, sighing. 

“Good idea,” you comment softly. You’re staring at your hands. “Someone should go.”

God, there’s so much blood beneath your fingernails. You haven’t been able to wash off at all. Mentally, you’re thinking about everything that needs to be packed in Fanboy and Payback’s packs when they go. But really, you wish you could even just think about washing off. You think even just that would make you feel cleaner. 

“I’ll go,” Bradley volunteers. “Don’t need to draw sticks again.” 

Coyote glances at Bradley--he’s watching you intently as you pick at your fingers and furrow your brows. Then he glances at Jake, who won’t look up from the ground. It’d do the three of you good to have some distance--maybe he can even talk some sense into Bradley if they’re alone together. 

“Me too,” Coyote agrees. “We should get on outta here, though. It’s gonna get dark soon.”

“Right,” Bradley answers. He takes a deep breath. “Let’s boogie.” 

So, now you’re here, standing at the edge of camp before Payback and Fanboy. Jake is in the mess hall with all the campers, guarding the front door with the shotgun. Phoenix hasn’t left Bob’s side once. Coyote and Bradley are trekking through the thick trees to get to Paul’s cabin. 

Fanboy and Payback have their backpacks on--sleeping bags, bandages, rations, water, flashlights, kitchen knives included. They’re each holding an ax, which was your idea, and Coyote gave each of them walkies with an extra battery. 

The sun is beginning to set. Everything is orange and pink as you look at the long and winding path before them, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Got everything?” You ask. 

They nod identically. Payback fiddles with the switch on the flashlight--he can never stop moving when he’s nervous. 

“Got enough food to feed a horse,” Fanboy says. 

You smile small--the dry blood on your face cracks. 

“Didn’t want you to go hungry,” you say softly. 

As if hunger is what’s going to kill them. 

The wind kisses the tips of your nose, your ears. It smells overwhelmingly of iris. All three of you look up towards the trees, the sky. It’s going to be dark very soon. They need to start moving. 

“You believe in monsters, Gale?” Payback asks, hands on his hips. He didn’t until a few hours ago. 

Biting your lip, you nod. 

“Have to in my line of work,” you whisper.

“Think they live under the bed?” Fanboy follows. 

“Sure,” you say with a shrug. “What do you think?” 

Payback pauses, eyes unfocused as he stares past you. 

“I think they’re sneakier than that.” 

A pregnant pause fills the air. You don’t know quite what to say to these men that you’re sending off into the dark night, all the spirits and ghouls and boogeymen hiding behind trees just waiting for them with watering mouths. 

“Two days,” you finally say softly. “Two days and then everything’ll be hunky dory again.” 

You don’t even believe yourself when you say it. 

Fanboy nods. Beads of sweat are rolling down the back of his neck. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice thin. “We’ll be back, okay?”

“With a horde of rescuers,” Payback adds softly. The smile gracing his lips is sad and small. “We’ve probably got a better chance than y’all, huh?” 

Nodding, you shift all your weight to one side. 

“Probably.” 

It doesn’t make any of you feel better to say it. 

Payback clenches his fists--they’re sweaty. He doesn’t want to go. And he doesn’t want to stay, either. He wants to go back home to his girlfriend and her awful tiny dog and eat good barbecue and forget all of this ever happened.

But then he glances at Fanboy and Fanboy is looking at him already, squinting under the sun. And he thinks that he is the most friend-looking creature to ever grace this earth. He thinks that he didn’t stutter at all when he volunteered to come with Payback. And then he feels a little bit better about doing this--about leaving and getting help. 

“We’ll be heroes, right?” Fanboy asks, a mischievous smile tugging on his lips pathetically. 

“Yeah,” Payback answers. Then he glances at you. He knows you feel guilty, but he knows you’re backed in a corner, too. You’re doing what you can--just like him, just like Fanboy. “Hold it down, alright?” 

Choked up on all the apologies and all the grief and all the anger of today and yesterday, you can only nod. Alright, you’ll hold it down. 

“We’ll check in every half hour,” Fanboy says. 

You nod again. You grab his wrist, glance at his watch--it’s a Mickey Mouse watch, one you’re sure was a gag gift given his first name, but that he dons proudly all the same. But then your eyes are watery because you hope you see this watch on this wrist again soon. So, so, so soon. 

“It’s eight now,” you tell them. You let go of Fanboy’s wrist. 

“And we’ll be out of range…shit, like, a couple miles out, I think. So, if we don’t respond…” Payback says. He doesn’t finish his sentence and neither you nor Fanboy jumps at the opportunity to either. 

The three of you just stand there for another moment. It’s getting darker--a lavender light is starting to fall all over camp. Shit. Bradley and Javy still aren’t back from their trek to Paul’s cabin yet. But at least all the campers are back inside the mess hall. 

“Don’t die,” you tell them. 

They nod solemnly. 

“No doy,” Fanboy says. “Ditto.”

And then they turn around, their backpacks bulging, and start to walk away from Camp Arcadia. Just for a moment, as the white rice moon untethers itself from the pink clouds, you wonder if this is the last time you’ll ever see them. 

But then you shake your head and look down because the thought is too vicious to bear. 

Payback’s heart is racing as they start down the path, the trees tall and the cicadas loud. He’s gripping the handle of his ax hard, hard enough that it’s splintering his skin. And he’s taking deep, deep breaths.

“Hey,” Fanboy says because he can practically hear Payback’s heart hammering out of his chest. “Maybe we got out scott-free.” 

“Doesn’t feel that way,” Payback whispers. 

“It will when we get to town and have a couple cold ones,” Fanboy says. “Hopefully everyone else is still alive by then.” 

Finally, when their figures disappear behind the treeline, you turn around and face camp again. The day is fading very fast now. You’ll only just have time to wash yourself off in the lake. 

You don’t bother getting naked--you don’t even bother taking your shoes off. You just walk down the incline of pebbles, the warm water lapping at your ankles and pulling you in until you’re standing on your tip-toes with your chin atop the water. 

How could someplace as Camp Arcadia be so beautiful--the towering trees, the deep green leaves, the cotton candy skies, the white stones, the blue-green water--and so horrifying all together in utter tandem? 

Trying to move quickly, you dunk your head beneath the surface and begin to scrub your scalp. God, it’s so quiet under here beneath the water. The continuous hum of underwater life, the muffled cicadas and crickets, the soft moss-bottom. It’s the quietest it’s been in your head in hours and hours. You wish you could stay here forever, dunked just below the rippling surface. 

Jake watches you go under from the mess hall windows. He’s watching you closely--has been since you escorted Fanboy and Payback to the edge of camp, which looked more like a death march than anything else. Bubbles race to the surface as you exhale and then it all goes still. 

“C’mon, Gale,” he whispers to himself, eyes narrowed. He’s waiting for you to bob back up to the surface, to exhale and wipe your eyes now that they’re clean of blood. “C’mon, baby.” 

He imagines something is wrong--that the killer somehow found you in the lake, as ridiculous and sleep-deprived a thought that is. He imagines blood and bubbles and flesh and you resurfacing just to scream his name before you’re pulled back under. He’s so tired, so scared just thinking about it, that his palms begin to sweat. 

Ignoring all the ruckus of the kids behind him, he stands with his hands firmly on the shotgun. He has half a mind to stomp out there and pull you out of the water, but then you finally come up and oh. You’re fine. Totally and completely fine. 

He glances behind him--everyone is settling in. The kids are playing. Phoenix is with Bob. You’re probably the one that needs the most protection right now, anyway, all alone out there. So, he very quietly slinks out the door and starts for the shore. 

You can hear him coming--somehow, you just know that it’s Jake. Maybe because he likes to get you when you’re alone or maybe because you just know what his footsteps sound like on the gravel. 

But either way, you know he’s there, watching you wash off. 

“Can we talk?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah,” you answer, not looking at him. You’re picking the blood out from under your fingernails. “Go ahead.” 

Jake sighs. He’s thinking about how you yelled at him--how he felt like a kicked dog after. You were right, of course. He needed to calm down, grow up, realize there are bigger things in life than what’s going on between you and Bradley and himself. 

“Listen, I…” he trails, scratching the back of his head. But he can’t think of anything to say. 

“I don’t want to talk about me and you or me and Bradley, alright? So, if that’s your prerogative, then just march on back to the mess hall,” you say. Your tone is even and quiet.

You turn your face so he can see your profile against the dying sky. He’s already looking at you, shirt crumpled and face soft and hair messy. 

“Okay,” he answers. He doesn’t wanna leave you. “Can I sit down?” 

If you weren’t so exhausted, you’d tell him he can do whatever he wants on account of it being a free country. But instead, you nod. You just nod. 

He sits on the rocks with the shotgun across his lap, sniffing and digging his fingers into the soil. 

“Are you pissed?” You ask finally. You aren’t looking at him again, busy scratching blood off your calves.

“About what?” He asks, brows furrowed. 

“That I slept with Bradley,” you whisper. 

“Thought you didn’t wanna talk about it,” he says quietly. 

You shrug, sighing. 

“Changed my mind,” you whisper. “I just…I wanna get on the same page, you know? I feel like I’ve been so confused and everything’s just been so--so…muddled. Best to just get it all out there, right?” 

What you mean is: above it all, all the shit and the gore and the horror, you don’t want Jake to be mad at you. You don’t want to wreck what you had. And you just don’t know what you’re doing. 

“Not pissed,” Jake answers. “Confused, maybe.” 

“Why?” You ask. 

“‘Cause of our night together,” he answers. “I thought things…changed that night.” 

“They did,” you insist, brows furrowed. “I mean, I thought they did.” 

“Then why him?” 

You turn to him and finally, he can look at you. You aren’t slathered in blood anymore. You’re washed off now--as washed off as the lake water can get you.  

“Because you can only look at me when I’m clean.”

Jake swallows hard. He doesn’t want it to be true, but he knows that in your private way, it is. He can’t look at blood and you’ve been covered in it for hours and hours. 

“I can’t help it,” he says. He sounds like he’s pleading. 

“I know,” you answer. Casting your gaze back on the rippling water, you bite your lip. “I know.” 

“Are you…in love with him?” He asks. His heart is in his throat. 

“I’m not in anything with anyone,” you tell him. It’s a half-truth, you think. You could be in love with Bradley easily--very easily. But you’re standing on that edge, your toes just barely breaching the murky air. You won’t fall. You won’t let go. “Are you in love with me?” 

Jake laughs--it’s short and humorless. 

“Baby, look at you. Of course I’m in love with you.” 

You nod, a smile tugging on your lips. 

“What are we gonna do?” 

Jake almost says love each other. Be together. But then he realizes that you mean right now, right here. What are you going to do to stay alive? 

“Maybe Bradley and Javy found something,” he says. “Like, a radio or something.” 

“Fat chance,” you answer. 

And then you wash the last of the blood off your skin and start to wade back towards Jake--the sun is almost entirely set now. Your fingers are numb when you think about so many of your co-counselors being out there in the dark, thick woods. 

Jake stands up, leaving the gun on the rocks beside the two of you. You’re soaking wet and the air is getting cooler--he knows your skin must be goosed, he knows your scalp must be prickling. 

“Here,” he offers, opening his arms. He watches you, your lips a tint bluer than they were before, eye him carefully with all the skepticism of a mutt eyeing the dogcatcher. Then he rolls his eyes and beckons you closer with a cut nod of his head. “C’mon, you’re freezing.”

You submit then because you are freezing. You’re freezing and you’re exhausted and you’re scared and you feel like nothing in the world is going your way. 

Falling into his arms, you bury your cold nose in his chest and inhale him. He smells like he always does, like deodorant and sweat and grass--but mainly sweat and grass. It’s a good smell, one you inhale as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to him. And you remember that just a few days ago, being in his arms was good. Comforting. Warm. Safe. Soft. But now everything is different. Everything is gone. Everyone is gone--or at least, that’s what it feels like. 

“Jesus, your nose is an icicle,” Jake says, holding the back of your head and pushing your face further into his chest. “You’re shivering.” 

But you’re not shivering just because you’re cold. You’re shivering because you’re suddenly crying so hard that you can hardly breathe. Your shoulders are shaking and your spine is curved and your eyes are wet. You don’t even know when the dam broke, when you started sobbing, but you are. You’re so exhausted that your cries are silent. 

He’s stroking your back as the bullfrogs begin singing, his hands warm against your soaked clothing. But then he feels how warm your face is suddenly, how quiet you are. He’s just about to ask if you’re alright when you suck in a deep, quivering breath and sob into his chest. 

He’s never seen you cry before. You’re level-headed, cool, calm, collected. It must mean something, Jake decides, that you’re falling apart right here and now in his arms. It must mean something--it has to. 

Jake isn’t going to say anything. He doesn’t know what to say right now that would make you feel any better. He just holds you close, holds you tight. You’re fisting his shirt and he’s stroking your hair. And because he’s a weak man, because he’s a weak man who is in love with you, he sinks his face into your hair and breathes you in. 

You are hardly clean right now and he’s able to do this. He thinks, if he really tries, if he keeps being in love with you, he’ll be able to stomach anything just to look at you.

“Jake,” you whimper. “Jake, I feel like--I feel like we’re being punished for something awful.” 

He tuts softly, stroking your hair gently. 

“Whatcha mean, baby?” He asks quietly. “Who’s punishing us? For what?” 

“God,” is all you can manage to choke. 

You don’t know why you feel like this, why you feel like something bigger than you, than everyone, is punishing you. But it is an ever-present knot in your gut. 

“Shh,” he whispers. “You’re just tired, baby. That’s all.” 

But now a rock sinks in his belly.  

♀

Jake is sitting on the ground by the mess hall doors, the shotgun laying just beside him. It’s late now--so late that there’s not even a speck of light outside. He’s been the one checking in with Payback and Fanboy every half hour, he’s been the one sitting up and watching the doors, he’s been the one peering over his shoulder at the slumbering campers in their sleeping bags. Phoenix is asleep with Bob in the kitchen and you--finally--laid your head down on his lap and fell asleep after he told you to lay down for the eightieth time. 

“But they’re not back yet,” you said softly, glancing out the windows into the dusk. “What if something happened?” 

Jake swallowed, squaring his shoulders. Your face was still puffy from crying and your hair was still wet. 

“I’ll check it out if they aren’t back by midnight, okay?” 

You bit your lip, considering your options. You really didn’t think it would take this long for Coyote and Bradley to go to Paul’s cabin and come back. There’s a knot in your belly and a headache behind your eyes just thinking about it. But over everything else, you’re so fucking tired. So tired that you’re delirious. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “But you’ll wake me up if you go, right?” 

“Of course,” Jake said, face serious as ever before. “C’mon. Get some shut-eye.” 

The clock is racing towards midnight--only a few minutes ‘til. Jake doesn’t want to wake you up. Quite frankly, he doesn’t wanna go out there in the dark. But then he thinks of Coyote hurt--Hell, he even thinks of Bradley hurt--and a strange sense of duty tightens his sense of right and wrong. 

“Mr. Jake?”

He jumps--cranes his neck to look beside him. Mable is standing there, her hands clasped before her. She’s red in the face and there are tear tracks marking her cheeks. 

He’s just about to ask what’s wrong when he sees it instead--her bandage is bright red with blood. 

“Oh,” he says softly. His stomach turns, his saliva grows thick. But still, he looks at Mable. “It open again?” 

She nods. She had a nightmare about the Devil--the one who wanders the camp, the one who cut her with the Swiss army knife, the one who she is so petrified of. And then she woke up with her cut oozing hot, hot blood. 

“Can you--can you help me?” She asks. 

She sees you, clear as day, sleeping on Jake’s lap. She would much prefer if you helped her bandage the cut, but she doesn’t want to wake you. And she knows, somehow, that Jake doesn’t wanna wake you either. 

“Sure,” Jake says after a few moments of silence. “Like, just…reapply the bandage?” 

Mable shrugs. Right. She’s a kid. 

So, as carefully as Jake can, he slips out from under you, carefully laying your head on the wool blanket you’re laying on. And then he leaves the shot gun behind, ventures to one of the tables where you set up your nurse’s station. Mable follows behind him, wiping her face. 

“So…a bandage, probably. And maybe some cotton, right?” He glances at her. She shrugs again. “Didn’t you watch her bandage you?” Jake asks. 

“No,” Mable says quietly. “I was scared.” 

Jake nods. He gets it. 

“Well, okay. Um…just--why don’t you take off your bandage and put it on the table.” 

He’s preparing himself--steeling his gut, straightening his shoulders, taking a few deep breaths when he starts to feel lightheaded. 

Mable unwraps her wound--a few deep red drops of blood fall onto the floor. Jake squints, lips wrinkled as he tries his hardest not to start gagging. 

“Good,” he says weakly. He presses cotton to the wound and sighs in relief for a moment--at least he can’t see it anymore. But then he can feel it--hot and velvety beneath the pads of his fingers. “Shit--uh, alright. Yeah. You hold it there, okay?” 

Mable does as she’s told. 

Jake struggles with the bandage for a second, unraveling it before wrapping it around Mable’s thin arm a few times. The cotton bulges beneath it, but at least he can’t see the slice anymore. 

He holds the bandage in place then glances at Mable, who’s already looking at him. 

“Now what?” He asks quietly. 

“The tape,” she whispers, nodding to the roll on the table. 

“Right,” he says. He smiles weakly. “I knew that.” 

He rips the tape with his teeth, carefully applying it to the jagged end of the bandage while Mable watches carefully.

“There,” he offers quietly. “All better, right?” 

She nods, examining the shoddy work. It surely isn’t as good as it is when you do it, but it’ll do. It’ll do. 

There’s a pause between the two of them. Jake is proud of himself--he bandaged a bleeding kid all by himself. He almost wants to wake you up just to tell you that he did it. And if he can do that, he’s certain he can do anything else. Mable is chewing on her lip now, too afraid to go back and lay down, but still sleepy.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Mable whispers. “When I said he was coming for you.” 

Jake swallows hard, shrugs. 

“All in the past,” he sighs. 

She struggles for a moment, sniffling. 

“But I wasn’t lying,” she tells him. She looks at his face--his furrowed brows, his twisted lips. “He still is.” 

Jake isn’t mad exactly. But he’s scared and he’s tired and he wants this to be over and done with. 

“Why?” Jake asks because he knows it’s no use arguing. “Why me?”

“Because he wants all of us and you know how to shoot the gun.” 

In your restless slumber, you’re standing outside in the middle of the courtyard. You’re by yourself, covered in blood again, feet planted firmly in the gravel. It’s dark and windy and the waves of the lake are crashing against the white stone uncarefully. 

There’s a sense of something, like a sheer curtain shielding a sunny day, that you can’t quite put your finger on other than it is the feeling of loss. Everyone is dead and gone. Only you are left, all by yourself, barefoot in the onyx night. 

In your hands is the shotgun, but even it is slimy with blood--you can hardly get your grip on it. Rage and terror are fighting inside your cut--so vicious that bile is rising up your throat. 

And there, standing before the lake with that wicked curve in its neck, is the entity. It is as dark and fleshy as ever before, looming over you and everything else as it takes deep and rapid breaths. You don’t know how you know, but you know that its face is covered in blood, you know that it is waiting for you to make the first move. 

You’re going to fight it. Just you and just it. 

The wind is blowing something wicked. You’re scrambling to find the safety. The entity is twitching, snarling, snapping its teeth. It wants to press is mouth to yours, it wants to breath in your scent as it blunges a claw through your throat, it wants to feel the life drain out of you like it felt the life drain out of your friends--

The mess hall door rips open and the sound of clattering footsteps rips you out of your nightmare. And in the dim light, in your haze of upset and in your frenzy of panic, you sit up and reach for the shotgun beside you. Jake is gone--you don’t know where he is--but you know that you have to protect what you have. 

“Don’t fucking move!” You scream, cocking the shotgun and pressing the safety off. You’re still blinking yourself awake as you scramble to stand. “Get the fuck--!” 

Bradley blinks at you--Coyote’s eyes are wide. 

The barrel of the shotgun is aimed directly at them. 

“Whoa, whoa!” Jake calls, hurrying over to your rigid form and Bradley and Coyote. “Hey, hotshot, put the gun down!” 

Still in shock, you lower the weapon. Your heart is racing. Your mouth is dry. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head, swallowing hard. “God, fuck--I’m so…I’m so sorry.” 

Jake takes the gun from your hands, stroking your hair as you stumble back. Your fingers are numb with panic. 

“Jesus Christ,” Bradley gasps, eyes narrowed at you. “Were you gonna fucking shoot us?” 

“No!” You answer, shaking your head. “No, I was just--I panicked. I didn’t know it was you coming in.” 

“Well, it’s not like you gave us a secret knock,” Bradley hisses. 

“I know,” you say, holding your face. 

“Christ, we’ve been busting our asses out there, running through the woods with a killer on the loose--and we come back to that?” Bradley cries. “Way to show your gratitude, Gale.”

He isn't calling you Birdie. 

“Lay off her, man,” Coyote insists, clapping Bradley’s shoulder. “We have bigger fish to fry.” 

Bradley looks at you long and hard--the way you’re holding your face, the way Jake is standing beside you like he belongs there. He’s burning from earlier still--angry at himself and at you and at Jake. 

“Here,” Bradley says, throwing a flurry of newspaper articles and papers at you and Jake. “Read ‘em and weep.” 

Coyote scoffs, slapping Bradley on the back of the head. 

“Don’t be a dick, man,” Coyote insists. 

“Fuck off,” Bradley grumbles. “They need to read ‘em.” 

“I didn’t know it was you!” You insist. “I never would’ve--Bradley, I wouldn’t--!” 

“--I really don’t care right now,” Bradley interrupts, holding a palm up to you. “Read the newspapers.” 

With quivering hands and wet eyes, you lean down and grab the newspapers. They’re old--yellowed and stained. The scent of old ink floods your nose as Jake claps Coyote on the shoulder. 

“Glad you’re back,” Jake tells him. “I was just about to send out the troops.” 

Coyote smiles weakly--he’s more afraid now than he was before. Not even just because they finally made their way back to camp, but because of what him and Bradley found. 

You’re reading as fast as you can, your brows furrowed, your stomach at your feet. 

HORROR AT CAMP ARCADIA. July 19th, 1957. 

“What…?” You whisper. 

Bradley is watching you with his hands on his hips. 

“Paul’s cabin was ransacked. He wasn’t there. God, there was--there was shit everywhere. And a fucking bulletin board full of shit like this.” 

“What is it?” Jake asks, brows furrowed. 

Phoenix peers out from the kitchen, her eyes heavy with sleep. 

“What’s going on?” She whispers. 

“What’s going on is that some shit went down in 1957. You know--like it’s going on now. Like, a guy running around fucking killing type shit. Read it.” 

Your stomach is in knots. 

“‘All seven of the camp counselors and the camp nurse were found brutally slain on camp grounds’,” you read aloud, your voice quivering. You’re lightheaded suddenly, choking on panic. “What the fuck is this?” 

“The Great Oaks Gazette,” Coyote answers. “As in…it’s real.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask. “This is--Jake, isn’t this the story you told at the bonfire?”

Jake swallows hard, eyes wide. 

“I thought it was--Jesus, I thought it was just some spooky story.” 

“Well, it’s not,” Bradley answers. “It happened. Like, it happened here thirty fucking years ago.” 

“‘The maniac’…” you whisper. Then you have to close your eyes and breathe through a bout of nausea. “Christ…what the fuck is going on?” 

“He’s here,” Coyote answers. “Whoever did that--he’s here.” 

“Except that he isn’t really ‘cause he was found dead, too,” Bradley says. “So, someone who knew about him is pretending to be him. And they’re trying to pick us off one by one.” 

“People got murdered here?” Phoenix asks, clutching another newspaper clipping. “Like--here? Camp Arcadia?” 

“Catch up,” Bradley snaps at her. “A whole staff. Just like us. Seven camp counselors and one nurse.” 

Coyote nods stiffly. 

“Two girls and five boys,” you whisper softly. “Just like us.” 

“Yeah,” Bradley confirms. “Just like us.” 

Jake’s head is spinning. He grips your shoulder, his eyes wide. 

“My God,” he mutters. “I didn’t know…I thought…”

That’s when all the bottled-up rage from today, all the fear and the horror, surfaces in Bradley’s chest in a puddle of red. He turns to Jake, his eyes narrowed. 

“How did you hear the story?” Bradley asks him, suddenly turning towards him. “Like, where did you hear about it?” 

Jake’s brows furrow. 

“I…I don’t remember,” he answers honestly. “I feel like I’ve just--like I’ve just always known about it.” 

“Why?” Bradley continues, narrowing his eyes. “None of us knew about it.” 

“C’mon,” Phoenix says, glancing between Jake and Bradley. “Cool it.” 

You’re too stunned to realize how lethal this argument between Bradley and Jake is going to be. If you were less shocked, less hurt, less tired, you would see in their eyes just how bad things are about to get. You would see it in Bradley’s red chest and Jake’s clenched fists. 

“No, no,” Bradley says. “‘Cause while we were out there, trying to get some fucking answers about what’s going on, I kept thinking about it. No one answered me earlier when I asked who would hike all the way out here. Shit, who knows we’re even out here, right?” 

“Someone who knows about Gwyar,” Phoenix says. His name tastes bitter on her tongue. “Someone from town. I don’t know.” 

“Right. You don’t know,” Bradley says, not ripping his gaze from Jake. “I’ll bet it was someone who knew about Gwyar, too.” 

The tips of Jake’s ears are bright red. His face contorts in rage as he scoffs at Bradley. 

“The fuck are you saying, man?” Jake asks. 

Bradley smiles. 

“I’m saying that maybe you’re the one who’s trying to slice and dice us.” 

“Fuck off,” you hiss at Bradley, stepping closer to the two of them. “You’re not helping!” 

“Oh, I’ve been helping,” Bradley insists. “I put my ass on line to get this information--but Jake already knew it, right? You already knew.” 

“It was just a story!” Jake insists. 

“Except that it wasn’t,” Bradley says. The toes of his tennis shoes are grazing Jake’s now. The men are eye-level, each of their gazes fiery as they stare at another. “You know, I was thinking on the way back: how could it be him? And then shit started to add up, you know? The stars really aligned.” 

Coyote is stunned into silence. Bradley never verbalized any of this on their trek back. 

“Fuck off,” you say again. You attempt to get between them when Bradley suddenly juts an arm out and puts it in the middle of your chest. “Hey-!”  

“Stay back,” Bradley says. “I think we found our killer.” 

“You can’t just say that, man,” Coyote says. “You need to check yourself.” 

“Where did you find the ax?” Bradley asks Jake. Jake swallows hard. “Right…your cabin. I remember now. And the Swiss army knife--that was in the bus barn, right? You found it. Didn’t he, Coyote?” 

“You’re making something out of nothing,” Coyote spits. “Leave him alone.” 

You’re watching the two men with your heart in your throat. This display of aggression, of dominance, is making your throat tight with anger. 

Jake’s grip tightens on the gun. 

“He can’t stand the sight of blood,” you say. “How’s he gonna chop Bob’s arm off?” 

“You know, did anyone ever know that Jake was in his school’s musicals?” Bradley asks. He recalled it during the long walk back through the dark woods--that tiny detail Jake shared a few summers back when he’d had one too many, slurring the lyrics to Suddenly Seymore. “‘Cause I remember that.” 

“Mr. Jake isn’t afraid,” Mable pipes up from behind everyone, her heart in her chest. From afar, she thinks that she’s coming to his defense. A sudden loyalty for Jake has sprouted in her chest. She holds her hands on her hips, then juts her arm out towards everyone. “He isn’t afraid of anything. He wrapped my arm back up.” 

Fuck. 

“Convenient,” Bradley sneers. “You can handle the sight of blood when all of us aren’t looking, huh? What else you doing when we’re not looking?” 

“Bradley, you’re way out of line,” Coyote says. 

“And didn’t you tell me that you were gonna kill me? Like, a few hours ago?”

“That’s taken way outta context!” Jake demands. “You were fucking--you were--!” 

“--I was what? Talking about your girl? And you didn’t like that?” 

Bile rises in your throat. 

“What are you talking about?” You demand. “Both of you--just--just quit it!” 

But they aren’t quitting it. They’re stepping closer to each other, not ripping their gazes from each other. 

“Coyote heard it,” Bradley says. “Didn’t you, Coyote?” 

Coyote doesn’t answer. He did hear Jake say it--but he knows…or at least, he thinks he knows, that Jake would never hurt anyone. He wasn't being serious. He was just angry. 

Jake glances at Coyote, whose face is pulled together in agony. 

“C’mon,” Jake says. “You know I didn’t mean it.” 

Your blood runs cold. 

“You said you were gonna kill Bradley?” You whisper. 

“He was talking about you,” Jake insists, incredulous. 

You turn your back on the two men, reeling. Your heart is beating out of your chest. What the fuck is going on? 

“You fuck,” Phoenix sneers. Her emotions are running high, her heart is ripping apart in her chest every moment she has to watch Bob settle in an agonizing slumber. “Did you fucking hurt Bob?” 

“No,” Jake gasps. “Phoenix--you know me. C’mon. We all know each other! I would never hurt Bob!” 

“Yeah, but you’d threaten to kill me,” Bradley insists. “You’re a man of your word, right? Maybe you thought Bob was me.” 

“We need to calm down,” Coyote says. “Let’s--fuck, let’s put the gun down and just talk this through?” 

Jake snaps his head in Coyote’s direction, rage burning the tips of his fingers. 

“Put the gun down?” Jake asks, gaping. “You think I’m gonna…you think I’m gonna hurt someone?” 

Coyote is sorrowful as he shrugs and shakes his head. 

“I don’t know what’s going on!” Coyote cries. “No one does!” 

“I do,” Bradley interrupts. “It’s you, isn’t it? You were gonna shoot me earlier today, too. I heard the safety click off.” 

“What?” You whisper. You look at Jake, who is looking like he’s about to start scrambling for purchase. “What did you do?” 

“No, I didn’t!” He looks at you--all that hurt in your eyes is making his chest ache. “Gale, baby, you’ve gotta believe me! I would never do that! You know me! You know me!” 

Bradley steps between the two of you. 

“Leave her out of it,” he sneers. “Give me the gun.” 

Jake tightens his grip on the gun. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head firmly. “I didn’t hurt anyone.” 

“Jake,” Phoenix says, sobbing. “Give him the fucking gun!” 

“No!” Jake yells, stepping back. “No, I won’t give Bradley the gun.” 

“Then give it to me,” you say quietly. Your face is softer now, your brows pulled together in anguish and your face twisted in confusion. “Give it to me, Jake. It’s okay.” 

In this tizzy, you’ve hardly thought about what’s real and what isn’t. Everything feels real and nothing feels real. You’re living a waking nightmare, you’re having nightmares when you close your eyes. You’re losing. Everywhere you turn, everywhere you look, there’s blood. 

“Gale…” Jake says. He’s crying now, staring at you. “I didn’t do it.” 

“Okay,” you whisper, stepping closer to him. “I believe you. Give me the gun.” 

Jake’s palms are sweaty. 

“Give it to her!” Phoenix sobs. “Jake, give her the fucking gun!” 

Jake gives you the gun and you take it slowly, not breaking your gaze from him. And then you swallow hard and look around at everyone. You’re just about to tell everyone to calm down, about to say that you should all calmly talk about what’s going on, when Bradley suddenly jumps on Jake. 

“What are you doing?” You scream at the two men. The campers start to russell in their sleeping bags, start to sit up. “What are you fucking doing?!” 

Coyote is panicking, holding his hands on top of his head. 

“Stop!” Coyote yells. 

The two men are a blur. It’s fists and blood and legs and hair until Jake is laid out flat on his belly and Bradley is sitting on top of him. 

“Get the fuck off me!” Jake demands. “You stupid son of a bitch! You fuck!” 

“We need to talk about this,” you cry. “Stop it! Stop it, Bradley!” 

“He’s gonna hurt someone else,” Bradley hisses at you, pressing his knees into Jake’s back. “He can’t be in here with us.” 

“What?” You screech. You’re quivering. “We don’t know that he did it! We don’t know what’s happening! He just--Christ, he just heard a story, okay?” 

“And he found the weapons. And he said he was gonna kill Bradley,” Phoenix says. She wipes her face, stares down at Jake. “I don’t want him in here.” 

You turn to her, flabbergasted. Phoenix, the pillar of maturity and level-headedness, suggesting that Jake be cast out when there’s a slasher on the loose. Your knees nearly buckle. 

“Phoenix,” you whisper quietly. Your throat is too choked to say anything else. 

“Please don’t do this,” Jake cries, stills struggling beneath Bradley. “Please, please don’t fucking do this!” 

“Get off of him,” Coyote snaps, pulling Bradley’s shoulder. “He isn’t hurting anyone!” 

“Not right now,” Bradley says. “But he could start again. Any fucking time.” 

All the campers are standing now, watching the showdown.

“You’re a son of a bitch,” you snap at Bradley. “Get the fuck off him!” 

“Why? So he can kill you? So he can kill me? Not a fucking chance, birdie.” 

Panicked, you shove Bradley’s shoulder. It’s enough to rock him but not enough to move him. And before Bradley can shove you away from him, Coyote’s gripping your elbow and pulling you beside him. 

“So, what? What do you wanna do now, Bradley? Wanna stick him outside? Fuck you!” Coyote says. 

“We’ll lock him in a cabin,” Bradley says. “No harm, no foul.” 

“You’re gonna kill me,” Jake screams. “You’re trying to fucking kill me!” 

It’s clear as day to you suddenly, reality. Jake wouldn’t hurt anyone. Jake didn’t do this. Jake would never hurt you. He would never hurt Bradley. Jake wouldn’t hurt anyone. It isn’t him. It isn’t him. 

“Please get off of him,” you cry. You’re sinking to your knees, still holding the shotgun in your hands. 

“Get her outta here, Phoenix,” Bradley says. “She’s hysterical.” 

“Fuck you,” you mutter, spitting at him. “I hate you!” 

“Yeah, yeah, you hate me so much for keeping you alive! I get it! That’s the thanks I get, baby!” Bradley sneers at you. “Nix--take her.” 

Phoenix wraps her arms around you, carefully tugging you up. You are shaking your head, crying, scrambling. But then Coyote is tugging you up, too. He nods towards the kitchen. 

You keep fighting, keep trying to get back to Jake and Bradley, when Coyote suddenly holds both of your cheeks in his hands. His nose grazes yours and his eyes are open and honest. 

“Bob needs you,” Coyote says very seriously. “Okay? You gotta keep your head. It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to Jake, alright? I promise.” 

You don’t feel any better about it, still choked up on anger and grief, but you allow Phoenix to tug you back towards the kitchen. And just as you’re about to cross the threshold, Jake’s cries still echoing inside of the mess hall, you look at Bradley. For one moment, just a fleeting thing like the flap of a hummingbird’s wing, you see it: he winks at you. Or at least you think you see it. 

“C’mon,” Phoenix whispers to you. “Let them do it. It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

“Fuck off,” you mutter to her, voice trembling. You break from her grip. “You know it isn’t him! You know it.” 

The kitchen door swings shut. 

Bob’s feverish body lay crumpled on the floor. Phoenix looks at your face, her own stained with furious tears. 

“No, I don’t,” she says quietly. “But I know that my best friend in the whole fucking world is dying. And I want someone to pay. I don’t care if you’re fucking him or not.” Offended, you gape at her. She stares back at you. “Look outside your feelings for him,” she insists, softer now. “Don’t be one of those girls who wears horse-blinders when it comes to men.” 

Horse-blinders. 

“I’m not,” you spit. “I just know he didn’t do it.” 

“How?” She asks, voice hard. 

You can’t answer. 

“Right,” she answers. “‘Cause your word is lord.” 

The room is quiet. You stare at each other, chests heaving. 

“I don’t wanna fight,” you tell her, shoulders sloping. “I’m…I’m fucking scared.” 

“Me either,” Phoenix says. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry.” 

“Me too,” you tell her. “But I don’t think he did it.” 

She nods. 

“Okay. We’ll see.” 

Bradley throws Jake into his own cabin, the one he shared with the littles. Jake is bright red, cursing Bradley, shaking his head at him. 

“Fuck you,” Jake sneers as Bradley stands in the doorway with his arms crossed. “You’re trying to get me killed, you fuck!” 

“Look, man,” Bradley says. “I’m just trying to keep everyone else alive.”

And before Jake can respond, Bradley is slamming the door shut and locking it from the outside. Coyote watches with his head hung, his heart racing. Fuck. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Nothing was supposed to be like this. 

“Hey, man,” Coyote calls to Jake. “I’ll…I’ll check in on you every thirty, alright?” 

“Fuck off,” Jake sneers, pacing the length of the dark cabin. Panic has seized his heart. “I’ll be dead by the fucking morning.” 

“Drama, drama,” Bradley says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let him out, okay?” 

Coyote nods, not looking up. 

Jake sits on the floor, burying his head in his knees. Fuck. Fuck. 

“I’m gonna die,” Jake whispers. Coyote still hears him. “You’re fucking killing me, man.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: JAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

@thedroneranger

@fandom-life-12

@avaleineandafryingpan

@popsycles

@guacala

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@oliviah-25

@zalmael

@chicomonks

@aboutelijahhh

@angelbabyange

@zbeez-outlet

@dempy

@awkwardgiraffe726

@awesomebooklover17

@ofxinnocence

@nyx2021

@callsign-joyride

@flashyourgreeneyesatme

@one-sweet-gubler

@olliepig

@beyondthesefourwalls

@cherrycola27

@hangmans-wingman

@malindacath

@thenewdaysalreadyhere

@shehulkracing

@vemonbby

@ohemgeewhat

@emi-flaces

@mishala005

@headinthecloudssblog

@anony1080

@bellaireland1981

@djs8891

@xoxabs88xox

@stiles-banshees

@birdy-bat-writes

@bananas1234

@shotgunhallelujah

@pono-pura-vida

@agentminnesota187

@onethirstyunicorn

@furiousladyking

@fandomxpreferences

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@rintheemolion

@daggerspare-standingby

@harper1666

@princess76179

@roosters-girl

@jstarr86

@blahblechblah

@aemondssiut

@twsssmlmaa

@shawnsblue

@wolfiealina

@gothidecorem

@the-philthepill13

@hangmanscoming

@whoeverineedtobe

@lostinheavensworld

@laneyspaulding19

@averyhotchner

@peakascum

@jjlevin

@endofdays56

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@hypatia93

@sunlightmurdock

@tvjunkie08

@okyeeaaahhhh

@ijustwantedplums

@darkheartcherry

@sometimesanalice 

@angelbabyyy99

@bradshawseresinbabe

@unhinged-btch

@bradshawbabe

@topguncult

@kmc1989

#cruel summer #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #jake seresin x you #Bradley Bradshaw x you #horror au #80s slasher au #nightingale #summer camp au #dagger squad #tgm #tgm au #tgm fanfiction #natasha phoenix trace #javy coyote machado #mickey fanboy garcia #robert bob floyd #reuben payback fitch #Jake Seresin x you x Bradley Bradshaw #hangster love triangle #female reader

[bhxrdy]

if i had a heart | finan

author's note: this came to me in the span of a lunch hour. nothing supernatural this time, just regular finan during his kingdom era. lots of fighting and lots of angst. thank you to sweet angsti & @gemini-mama for being my betas! to whoever will read this, hoping you will enjoy! lots of love & stay safe 💕

      Another day, another war. 

Lost in the thickness of battle, in the midst of blood, dirt and agony, he fought primarily for survival and second for victory. 

There was no space for the mind, the body having taken control of all his senses; he became a puppet, guided by the strings of his master as his movements were met with agility, ruthlessness and hunger.  

The clashes of swords sang chaotically, the harmonies calling for Death with its mighty chorus articulating the choreography to its final spiral, tilt and jump.  

He fought with all his might, ignoring the soreness in his muscles, tiredness etching itself onto every inch of him. 

He had to go on - there was no choice in the matter. 

He met every opponent with brutal force, his arms swaying as he gripped his sword and dagger tighter within his palms, the handles encrusting themselves onto his skin; he kept moving on, following the steps of Death’s dance, entranced by the motion, until he took a tumble of his own. 

It was sudden, the harsh impact he met against the ground; he landed on his back, the air escaping his lungs at the sudden abrasion.   

It took him a moment to regain himself, shaking off the heaviness of the blow while he tried to move. 

He was stuck against the grass, unable to get to his feet. 

Only then did he notice he was being stared at; cold eyes locked onto his, shocked as they took him in. 

He mirrored the other’s expression, incapable of breathing as realization dawned onto him, the weight hitting him like bricks onto his head.  

The warrior furrowed its brow, left in disbelief at what they were seeing.  

To each other, the pull of their throats reached for one another, screaming amid the noise surrounding them within the short seconds they made contact. 

“Finan?!” 

“Áine?!” 

Both names spoken in unison, both drudging up a past from dust, the woman’s features swayed swiftly to an amused look. 

She smirked to his bewildered gaze, her lips letting out a soft scoff with a glint of the devil twinkling in her eyes. 

“It’s Katla, actually.” 

      It was bloody, and dirty; the screams of men - of her friends - covered her ears in such torment, she could only drown the noise out with the vibration of her weapons, her sword in one hand, her shield in the other. 

She was battered and bruised, just like the rest of them, her skin painted in mire and crimson, the war adding color to her disheveled braids.  

She kept moving, refusing to slow down at any cost. 

It was glory or it was Valhalla - the motto carved into her bones as she moved to the drums of footsteps, the quiver of swords. 

Men were falling around her, a praying mantis devouring her opponents with starvation trembling at her core. 

All went well, she stood taller by the growing ration until she met a worthy adversary - a man she had not thought about in a long time. 

It was only when she pushed him to his back, only when was she using her weight to ground him, did she finally notice who she was fighting.  

Her heart stopped.  

For a split of a second, she was back in Ireland - in the throes of unmitigated foolery, in the middle of lies and deception, in the center of lust and carnal depravity - until she was pulled back to war with a blow to her body. 

She met the ground, the mud staining her armor as he firmly held her, forcing her still though she did not listen. 

She never did. 

She started fighting him off, using her strength to push him off her. 

He had questions, so many of them, they grew and grew until they took over him, phasing him out of the sudden pain she inflicted on him. 

Unable to move her upper body, she used her legs; she used her knee and kicked him right between his legs inciting a wounded groan from his throat. 

She pushed him away and took a breath as she jumped to her feet, the Irishman taking his own moment before following her as well. 

Everything else surrounding them was gone; the cries of battles shut off as they stared at one another. 

He was looking at a ghost he thought, his eyes never wavering away from the woman that stood in front of him. 

He remembered her as an Irish maid working in his castle, a woman he had encountered many years ago when he was but a prince.  

The woman he had fallen in love with - Áine. 

But they were ripped apart by duplicity and illusion, and they never saw each other again. 

Not until today. 

He couldn’t feel his heartbeat anymore, the blood running cold through his veins. 

They were in a standstill, unable to speak as heavy breaths caught up to their lungs.  

She quickly picked up her sword, her shield left at her feet. 

She was about to take the first step and run away, to leave him without uttering another sound, when she saw Finan quickly glance behind her. It was almost unnoticeable. 

Almost. 

Katla turned around just in time to stop another man from hitting her. 

She met him with her blade striking the other, the contact trembling through her wrists and arms as they hung closely against her cheek. She noticed the pendant hanging around his neck, Thor’s hammer standing out proudly. She huffed mockery under her breath and pushed through, forcing him away from her with no harm to her skin. 

She engaged in a fight with the newcomer, the woman using her strength to defeat him; she was close to winning, the moment long duel was seeing its end just as she hit the other man, making him fall to his knees. 

She was to strike, her weapon famished for blood when Finan ran to her, stopping her from killing his brother in arm. The Irishman pulled her away, the sudden movement causing her to stumble backwards until she was caged within the man’s embrace, her arms stuck by the sides of her body, her sword fallen on the ground. 

She cursed at him while Sihtric stood at his feet, wiping the blood away from the corner of his mouth.  

“Let me go!” She was trying to fight her way out of Finan’s arms, her body moving against the tightness of his grasp as she yelled for his demise.  

She then saw Sihtric coming at her; once he was close enough, she used her legs and lifted them up high enough to kick the Dane in the face before she used the back of her head and knocked Finan, the impact violently echoing against her skull and his nose. 

She fell to the floor as she was released from his hold. She went for her sword and her shield and ran away without looking back, getting herself back into the battle she had fallen out from for the short minutes. 

Recuperating themselves from the aggressive blow they just met, Sihtric yelled at Finan while catching his breath. 

“Who is that?!” 

Finan couldn’t find an answer - he wasn’t able to conjure up the words as they died in the back of his throat, his gaze stuck to the woman disappearing within the mass of bloodied bodies. 

His shoulders depleted, still processing what he had just witnessed, what he had just gone through.  

He was lost in his thoughts, his mind drifting back to the mother land for just a moment; it was the hectic sound from the Dane that brought him back to the battlefield, the other man calling for him as he threw Finan’s abandoned weapon back at him. 

The Irishman caught the sword, startled as the noise came back to cover his ears. 

The second the handle nestled itself into the imprint of his palm, he fell back into the choreography, the dance steps swiftly coming to life at the motion of his body. 

      Time was lost amid the war that raged against the fields, its green decaying for ruby and clay. 

The fight was over, and King Edward’s army was victorious. 

Katla remained away from the crowd, not wanting to be found as she hid away within the woods. 

She sat on the ground against the trunk of a tree, her body numb and weak as she bled, the darkening red marking her with disdain. 

She attempted to steady her hands as she worked around her wound, which resided close to the right side of her abdomen; the Saxon sword that pierced her was unforgiving, unrelenting, determined to see her die. 

She was refusing to listen, to give in when she wasn’t done with her fight. 

She tried patching her bruise, tearing a piece of her clothes to cover and apply pressure in the hopes to calm the bleeding. She wrapped it around her and made a knot tight enough to occupy weight over the cut, freeing her hands. 

She leaned her head back, resting it against the tree, and closed her eyes.  

She took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the pain that seeped through her body, her skin sustaining several cuts and blues. 

She could feel tears lining across her eyelids; she refused to let them escape. She forbade herself from tumbling further than she had already, not wanting to accept such weakness that befell her. 

She had to get up to her feet, she had people to look for. 

She had a fight to finish. 

Her moment of silence then broke, shooting her eyes open in attention. She heard the soft crunches of branches break on the ground and stuck her back further against the trunk, carefully reaching for her sword while ignoring the tremors of her hand. 

Adrenaline budding in the pit of her stomach, she tightened her grip against the handle, her head slightly tilted towards the noise.  

She prepared herself for a duel - it was either the enemy or one of her own. The telling would be the appearance. 

“O-oh-” 

He froze in his steps, taken aback by the sight in front of him.  

She furrowed her brows, not recognizing the intruder. 

The young one examined her silently, noticing her state as he swallowed a shaken breath, holding his fear back. “Y-you’re hurt.” 

Katla didn’t answer. 

She remained calm, taking in the man’s stance. He had dirty blonde hair, light eyes and his armor only covered his upper body under his robe. 

A monk, she thought. 

She cursed under her breath, leaning her head backwards and looking away from him for a moment. 

The man in question slowly backed away, glancing between Katla and the view to the edge of the forest behind him, where everyone else remained. 

She heard his voice again, louder as he called for attention. 

She turned her head back to him, alarmed, and used whatever strength she had left to get up to her feet, her sword acting as an anchor. 

The adrenaline growing within her, she went after him.  

Taken by surprise at the outburst, he felt weight blowing right into his stomach, bringing him to his knees as he coughed. She roughly pulled him from the back, gripping at the collar of his clothes as she heard rapid footsteps approaching them. 

She then picked out her dagger and held it in front, the blade ghosting over the young monk’s neck. A slight fearful whimper escaped him, drowned by the upcoming noise that came for him. 

Finan had started running, hearing panic coming from the woods.  

His feet taking flight, he stopped suddenly when he saw Osferth with a sword hanging over him, ready for the kill. 

He looked up to meet the predator; the color drained from his face, his eyes wide in horror, in shock. 

Katla couldn’t move, the throbbing pain becoming the storm with heavy waves thrashing at her every particle. She pushed the discomfort aside the best she could, gripping at what she held, clenching her jaw and staring straight back at Finan with nothing but spite covering her irises. 

“Stay away or I’ll kill the monk.”  

Finan dropped his weapon, arms up in the air in surrender. He was cautious, careful not to provoke her. “Áine, be sensible. You don’t have to do this.” 

“F-Finan, she’s wounded!” Osferth’s voice broke through, the young one attempting to dissuade the situation; he didn’t dare move, knowing that one inch could get him killed. And so, he remained on his knees, afraid. 

Katla hit him in retaliation, making him groan at the impact while his head started pounding as a result. 

He spoke again, the tremors reaching his tongue, not yet ready to give up. “W-e can h-help you-” 

She hissed, speaking through her teeth as she leaned by his ear, tugging at his collar and slightly tightening it around his neck. “Shut it unless you want the knife in your throat, monk.” 

Finan stared in fright, his body frozen, his heart erratic against his ribcage.  

She had lost her accent - the sweetness of her Irish dying and dissipating from the illusion she had created so long ago. 

It all came back to him like a flood in the middle of the desert, sand turning to mud and growing heavy at the weight of their past. 

‘Katla, she said.’ Her real name resonated between his ears, his heart cracking with every letter. He still carried her after so long had passed - from the moment she had appeared when he was but a young prince, to the day they met across the Irish fields, his army against hers, to today - when they met again, years later. 

She had infiltrated herself into his life, manipulated his heart like a pawn on a chess board; each movements intricately thought from the lingering stares, to the soft touches, to the gentle hush of words and to the aching pleasures of the flesh - all done to encage the king, falling in front of his queen, powerfully seducing him to defeat. 

He had learned of her origins during battle - when his kingdom was in danger from Danes, from her, his treacherous beloved. 

Though his heart broke at the sight, when their swords met, when the clashing of metals reverberated through his bones - he was changed man. 

He needed to be, as he had his people to defend, his family to protect. 

“The fallen prince of Irland!” She muttered a chuckle, mocking him almost while still holding onto the monk. “You were meant to be dead. How did you survive your ship?” 

Rumors had spread of the prince’s liaison with his brother’s wife; how he fell in love, carried out a secret affair, ran away with the milk maid - and how he was disowned and sold to a slave ship.  

She hadn’t let the news phase her, even ignoring the little speck of ache that twisted her heart.  

She had done her duty, accepted the consequence and moved on. 

Finan swallowed the lump in his throat, still careful. “And what about you? The last I saw of you-” 

“I died?” She let out another rumble at the back of her throat. “Surprise.” She spoke in a light tone, antagonizing him.  

The last he saw of her was the moment she had been carried away by a horse during their duel; the impact should’ve killed her, her body flying from the animal’s breast. She had been so close to killing him but was saved by the grace of the beast. 

She had to be a ghost, he thought.  

A nightmare.  

He watched her, eyes wide, as she held onto her hostage, the poor monk fearful for his life.  

Finan took a step, a small one. She tightened her hold around Osferth’s collar, making the young man groan from the discomfort. 

“I told you not to move.”  

He ignored her words, remaining still on his feet. “Am I really going to fight you again?” 

She shrugged with no care. “You decide.”  

“Áine-” 

Feigning exasperation, she shook her head, displaying a farce of disapproval. “It’s Katla. Katla. Áine is dead. Your pretentious little maid is long gone.” 

He exhaled a breath, a saddened sigh toppling over the depth of him. “Why?” 

“Have the English waters dull your brain, Irishman?” She huffed, slightly bemused by his lack of thought. 

“Katla.” He pressed onto the letters, her true name straining at the edge of his teeth. 

She held her head higher, the taunting smirk carved into the right side of her lips. “Now, we’re learning.”  

A soft torturous groan escaped Osferth once again, putting Finan on his toes. “Let him go, I beg of ya.” 

“You’re begging now?” She shared a baffled chuckle, enjoying herself despite the tickling ache that bore into her. “Years apart and nothing has changed.” She slightly loosened her hold onto the boy’s throat, leaning on her good side as her eyes remained on Finan, dying for some entertainment. 

“Do you remember when you used to plead to me, darling? Begging for pleasure, swearing with that tongue of yours, imploring me to give you what you desperately wanted.”  

She was taunting him, the sound of her voice growing in degradation against the man standing in front of her. 

And the more she spoke, she used her words as armor against the throbbing pain that emanated across her limbs, the blood of her open wound seeping through the fabric of her shirt. 

She remained tall, firmly holding her knife against Osferth while she did not look away from Finan, ignoring the movements that slowly came to surround them. They were interrupted by a small crowd; other warriors having joined him in helping free one of their own from her grasp.  

She took a sharp breath, swallowing the lump lodged at the back of her throat, and quickly glanced around the new bodies trapping her like an animal. 

Terror filled her, submerging her under its weight as ache pricked like a needle, forcing her body to surrender.  

She still decided to remain ignorant, refusing to listen to the pleas. 

She was not going to let him win. 

Some of the men slowly approached them, just as Finan did once again. 

Though he remained alert to the situation, he knew she wouldn’t be able to hang on any longer; it was clear from the look in her eyes, from the growing uncertainty that tainted her pupils. She was hurt, her body at her mercy for rest. 

She saw them move and yelled, her voice booming across the distorted circle. “Do not get any closer, Finan!” 

One of the men dismissed the hostile words, noting that the injured Dane would not be able to hold her own. 

At the sight of movement, Katla fought back, proceeding with her promise. 

The tip of her blade grazed the boy’s neck, firmly enough to create a thin red line to appear against his dirty skin.  

He winced at the burn, feeling blood slowly flowing from the bruise. 

The contact agitated Finan as he yelled to the other men, his voice loud with authority and irritation. “Stop! Stop moving!” He looked around to make sure the men were following his orders before tilting back to Katla. 

Determination at his feet, he stared her down. “Let him go. You don’t want him. It’s me you want, love.” 

The words had slipped out unintentionally.  

She chuckled, shrugging it off as it held no meaning to her; Finan had regretted it as soon as had come out, old habits gnawing at him from cracks under his bones. 

“I don’t want you. I want my freedom.” She spoke through her teeth, her hand jerking the young man with one sharp wave, the fabric of his collar pulling at his throat. 

Finan raised his arms in the air once again, speaking attentively as he eyed his friend before looking up to the woman. “Then you’ll have it. Just let him go. Please.” 

A darkening smile reached her, almost stunned. “Again with the begging!” 

The second violent motion she did against Osferth was not as strong as he had expected; Osferth had sensed the warrior was growing weaker, the hold of her knife against him trembling ever so gently. 

The blood loss was apparent now that they were in a stalemate. 

Finan was about to speak once again, trying to reason with her when a sudden strike caught them off guard. 

She felt an abrupt searing sting on her left upper arm, forcing her to drop her weapon alongside her hostage; an arrow had been shot, the item penetrating through with its head sticking on the back of her arm. 

To the loss of contact, Osferth set himself free as he got up to his feet and turned while backing himself away from her. 

With Katla now defenceless, Sihtric ran and grabbed a hold of her, forcing her arms behind her back just as Finan followed, making sure Osferth was well. 

She struggled within her caged trap, her lungs burning from the ruthlessness of her voice as she screamed from pain and from anger. She was forced to follow the Saxon men as they dragged her away from the trees, her steps leading her to the edge of the forest. 

She met Finan in passing, the deadly glare sending shivers down his spine, his blood running cold once again. He saw red lining the inside of her dried lips, the color painting the inside of her mouth down her throat.  

She coughed a blood clot and spit it right at his feet in pure distain.  

Finan remained still, his heart shattered. Unable to look at her anymore, he turned away letting Sihtric take the lead as he pushed the woman forward. 

He did not move, running a hand from his hair down his beard as he took a breath as gentle panic made him tremble. 

This could not be real, he thought.  

She was meant to be dead, to have succumbed to brutal force the last time they had fought. 

He cursed, a short breath escaping him as his hands rested on his hips, taking in today’s events. She had stood in front of him, as alive as ever, as enraging as ever, as frustrating and as beautiful as ever. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised anymore; he should’ve learned from his past lessons. She had deceived him before, hurt him - so why not again? 

He found her sword a feet away, along with her dagger. He picked both of her weapons and trailed behind the others, his mind losing control within the traffic, his thoughts jammed one into the other. 

      She soon found herself forced to limp back to camp as the King ordered the death to the Dane survivors - including her. 

She was forced to stand on her knees in front of the man in question. She spat at his feet, blood reaching his boots, and spoke as she stared straight into his eyes, with all the malice in the world. 

She could tell he was close to snapping, her words irritating his ears; she found it amusing how easily it was to break him. 

But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. She smirked, brow arched as she harassed him, ready for the final blow. 

Instead, he remained unmoving, simply looking at her with his temper simmering at the edge. “You should be thankful your death will be swift. I might as well leave you here to suffer your wounds.” 

“Why don’t you?” She cussed at him once again, a spit of blood landing on the wet grass. 

Edward ignored her words, turning his attention away as he called for one of his own. 

Katla recognized the name, the letters having been cursed so many times, by so many people. 

She was finally going to meet the one they called the Dane Slayer. 

He walked towards them, his sword in hand and his back straight. She observed him as he spoke to the king, her focus placed on them without a care for what was going on around her. 

She clenched her jaw when a sharp pain throbbed on her right side. She took in a deep breath, clenching her left fist with her fingers digging into her palm while her right hand went for the wound, pressing gently and ignoring the uselessness of the movement.  

Her weapons were thrown by her side; she did not lift her head up to see the Irishman looking down at her.  

She picked up her sword with tremor coursing through her veins, using the ground as a reliable surface before adjusting herself back on her knees. She lifted her sword so the point of the blade pierced the grass, the body standing proudly in front of her, dressed in the blood and cries of its victims. 

She dismissed the ache that gnawed at her, from the bruised arm, the multiple cuts, the headache to the stab wound she had suffered from earlier on.  

Resting her hands on the pommel, she let go of her stomach, the blood trailing down from her waist while the one on her arm mimicked the flow; now open and freely escaping. The attempt at bandaging overthrowing its usefulness. 

She kept one knee on the ground, the other bent, and lifted her head to stare straight at her executioner, daring him with a glower, a sparkling of venom. 

“Do it.” She arched her brow, not wavering away from the blue in his eyes, the words spitting out of her with red tainting her lips. “Glory or Valhalla.” 

Finan stood on the sidelines, silently watching, completely disheartened. 

She was the enemy, so why did he care for her predicament? Why was he praying for her survival when he knew deep down it would have still meant nothing to her? 

Why hold a flame for the betrayal he suffered? 

He was but a young man when they first met. She had become a breath of fresh air sweeping him away from the suffocating life of a prince - she had become his distraction, titillating him with such sin within his castle walls and beyond, it had created friction with his former life.  

She was of the devil, they said - a danish spy that had infiltrated her way in as an Irish maid, seeking secrets from within. 

The truth of it all was only divulged across the field, the day they had fought. She had become the snake in the garden, an illusion of blissfulness to the morose life of a royal. 

She had torn him apart, deceived him, entrapped him in guilt and shame. Only when he met someone else had it all dissolved, dissipating from his mind as the warrior became but a ghost, death trapping her and pulling her away from his thoughts. Only when he met his brother’s wife had everything truly changed. 

Katla tightened the grip on her sword, trying to push passed the physical affliction coursing through her body, the blood swimming down like a quiet river, running away from the confine of its old vessel.  

Uhtred lifted his sword, ready to proceed with the King’s order in reluctance.  

The end of the blade was hovering above her chest, right under her pendant. 

She closed her eyes, took a breath as she finally welcomed Death, singing prayers to the gods for a seat at the table. 

It was over. The growing weakness hovering around her deafened her hearing, making her finally give up. 

She waited for the blow, the blade to push through and kill her. 

She had waited, and waited but nothing came of it. 

Too long seemed to have passed. 

She frowned as she opened her eyes only to find Finan standing in front of her with Uhtred walking away. The Irishman had quietly pleaded his friend to stop and not go through with the prosecution. 

She grew angry, she was annoyed. 

She was pissed off. “Are you going to put me through the sword?” 

Finan sighed, his shoulders dropping. “No. You’re free to go.”  

She was startled by his words but did not let it show, her eyes locking him in while trying to understand his surrender. 

He had the opportunity of a lifetime. To kill her and avenge what had happened with him back in Ireland. To get revenge against her betrayal.  

She could not comprehend why he was letting her go when a simple swift motion of his sword could give him everything he’s ever wanted. 

“What are you doing? Is this a trick?” 

He bit the inside of his cheek, taking a second before looking away from her. “No trick. Just go.” 

She was unrelenting, struck with quiet disbelief. “You sparing my life doesn’t change anything. I’ll find you in the next battle and kill you if I ever come across your sword again.” 

The bourgeoning anger boiling within the remains of her blood gave her strength, mitigating the pain within her weakening body.  

She leaned against her sword, a dark chuckle escaping her dry throat as she swallowed the clot that wanted out.  

Finan couldn’t stand this any longer. Mirroring her emotions, he became irritated. “What the hell is the matter with ya?!” His voice echoed with sudden acuity, catching her off guard for a split of a second, waiting for his loss of control. “It wasn’t enough you destroyed my life in Irland, you had to come after me again here?!” 

“I’m sorry, love.” The mockery in her tone, as she spat her words, sent shivers down his spine, the unwelcoming strain of syllables raising his skin. “Did I step on your crown again?” 

“Áine-” 

“It’s Katla.” 

He huffed, aggravated by the dissonance of her state. He was close to reaching his limits, standing right at the precipice of a cliff. “Who are you?” 

The right side of her bloodied lips curved upwards, an amused smirk gracing him. “I’m the woman you loved, remember?” A low chuckle escaped her once again. “Sweet Áine, a simple maid for the impressionable Irish prince that needed distraction from his duties.” 

Taking in her words, he dropped his head, his heart growing heavier.  

“Did you ever love me?” He spoke softly, a strenuous task grabbing him by the throat. 

He didn’t know why he asked when it had been ever so clear, but the words needed out, they needed to be spoken and thrown into the air for breath.  

She pondered, in mockery. “No. I never had the heart for you, my dearest. You know this.” 

“I do. Which is why I’ll sleep better knowing ya are about to die.” 

A small laugh out, the devilish snark across her face sent daggers straight into his chest. “You’re just as much of a coward as you were in Irland. Pity you couldn’t hold your crown.” 

He sighed at her words and gave her one last look of guilt before he turned his back on her, walking away and leaving her where she still sat on the ground. 

Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she pushed herself up to her feet, a groan from the back of her throat escaping her.  

She knew her body was betraying her; she felt weaker by the minute, her heart straining to keep her alive, desperate for eternal sleep. 

She coughed again, the strength of the disruption making her spit as a blood trail left her lips to reach the mud in front of her. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she eyed her old lover while he was already a couple of feet away from her. 

She was given mercy and she hated them for it. 

“I-I’m not done with you!” She struggled to speak, her voice hoarse as she tried to call for him. “F-Finan-” She grabbed her waist, her hand pressed over her wound while stumbling, falling on one knee. 

He ignored her, not having the heart to deal with her any longer; he had to give her up once and for all. 

Back on her feet again, she groaned from the pain, the rumble shaking her to her core, her eyes never looking away from him. 

She held her sword tightly and took a leap, running after him. 

She wasn’t done with him just yet. 

      Warrior instinct gripped at him, like a moth to a flame.  

He heard the rapid footsteps behind him, heavy and struggling. He made a quick turn without a second thought and grappled at the body that came to him. 

It took him a moment to realize what he had done – he saw heartlessness coated in darkness; it was cold and harsh, it was grey and callous. He was staring right into her eyes, his own wailing aghast. 

His left hand gripped her shoulder, the other one holding his dagger as the blade sunk right at the upper centre of her stomach. 

They remained frozen, simply staring at each other in shock and horror. 

Jolts of reality striking him, he slowly let go of the knife, catching her in his arms as she fell against him. He cursed to himself while rambling continuous apologies through his heavy breaths, his voice broken while whispering closely against her, lips to ears, his ‘I’m sorry’s’ with misery, the letters repeated over and over again like a prayer.  

A guttural scream ricochet across the field as Katla was cradled against him, his arms wrapped around her as he fell to the ground; the voice from afar held anguish and terror, shaking the earth underneath them. 

Tears in his eyes, he was succumbed under sorrow and regret, wondering why his heart wore him heavy when he should have felt lighter, content that she was finally meeting her end, hating her for what she had done to him. 

Yet, he seemed incapable of complying. 

She had died in Ireland. The woman in front of him was simply a ghost, a phantom. A shadow of the woman he had once deeply loved. 

Hearing the shattered screams, he turned his head to find a young woman freeing herself forcefully from some Saxons’ grasp before she started running towards him. 

Finan held tighter onto Katla, his gaze falling back to her as she was patiently waiting for her last breath. 

She could only watch him, no words escaping as her mouth drowned under the weight of her blood. She was struggling to breathe, his heart squeezing itself under his chest as he stroked her hair away from her bruised face.  

She found herself smirking at him, a light tug of her lips while she remained mute under his quivering touch. He was holding onto her wounds, trying to stop the bleeding even though he knew it to be a futile attempt at rescuing her. 

“No!” The heavy pants from the runaway reached him. “Mother!” 

It was spoken under her native tongue, but he still knew its meaning, the term evident to his eyes. The weight of the word shook him like a quake. 

The intruder fell to her knees and pushed Finan away harshly, forcing him to relinquish his hold onto Katla. 

The young woman held her mother in her arms, softly calling for her, soothing her as tears fell.  

Katla smiled - it was warm and loving; it was a smile he had not seen for a very long time. She then softly muttered her daughter’s name under her breath. ‘Rúna’. 

Finan was quiet, trying to approach them but the young one quickly grabbed her knife, holding it against him with the look of death in her eyes, coal painted around them. “You’ve done enough. Stay away.” 

He surrendered, hands mid-air. 

Rúna turned back, finding her mother’s sword next to her. She picked it up and gently wrapped the woman’s hands around the handle, making sure she was tightly grasping it. 

He was paralyzed, studying both women until he could only look at the newcomer. 

His gut screamed at him, knocking the breath out of his lungs. 

He knew she was his - it was the way she looked that had given it away; she held a ghostly resemblance to his own mother. She had Katla’s eyes but yet looked like his own. It was in the nose, in the way she furrowed her brows, the texture of her hair, though the colour was his own, that made it look like he was staring at the shadow of his late mother. 

Her soft sobs pierced through his thoughts. His daughter was leaning over her mother’s body unable to hold onto her tears any longer.  

Katla had quietly gone, finally caving under the song of the Valkyries, forgetting the man who’s heart she broke, for the sight of her own child. 

“May your journey be safe and swift... And may you find glory in the feast hall of Valhalla.” Rúna whispered under her breath, caressing her mother’s cheek, closing her eyes gently with her fingers. 

Defeated, he stayed quiet and watched, silently letting his own tears fall. 

      The scent of smoke filled the air, the flames of death burning bright against the darkening sky. 

Rúna stood in front of her mother’s funeral pyre, watching the flames burn her body.  

Finan approached her carefully and stood next to her, his head straight and watching the fire as well. 

She glanced towards him. “We thought you were dead…” She had spoken softly, a bitter aftertaste decorating the back of her throat. “You were taken to that ship-” She stood taller, looking away from him and back in front of her. “You are dead. You’re nothing to me.” She whispered her words under her breath, a mantra she tied around her heart. 

His own broke, the pieces unknowingly desperate for salvation. 

“Come back with me.” It was gentle, the tone of his voice carried to her ears in a cautious manner. “You don’t have to be alone.” Her shoulders tensed, her teeth stacked tightly within her jaw. “Come home with me.” 

She snapped her head towards him, letting the embers of the fire caress her cheek as the pieces floated with the small wind. “Home?” She scoffed in disbelief. “You took that away from me, and now you expect me to forgive you and come back to wherever it is, with a stranger?” She held his gaze, her irises darkening the longer she stared at him. “You are nothing to me. I do not want you. I do not have the heart for you.” Her words hit him like boulders falling from a cliff.  

He should’ve expected this. 

“You will always be known as the man who killed my mother, so don’t expect anything from me.” She leaned in slightly closer towards him, her words just as menacing as the glare drenching the colour of her eyes. “Next time I see you, I’ll kill you.” 

He tried to push passed the remark, but the gaze was enough to make him stop. She meant her words - she could kill him right on the spot. 

She had no love for him, nor for the ghost of him, nor for the part of her that was him.  

She had no heart to give him as it had died with her mother, the entity burning along her body in front of them. 

All over again, he could only mourn now, never thinking his past would have crossed the ocean to haunt him, let alone come to him in the form of a resentful daughter. 

Rúna bid her final farewell, holding onto her mother’s pendant as she placed it around her neck, in unison with her own, before reluctantly walking away, the sun setting just behind them. 

She turned her back on her father without even a word of goodbye, leaving the Irishman now to stare at the pyre burnt to a crisp. 

He was left with the ashes and embers of his lost love as they hung around him, following the breeze that shifted across the field, the creatures dissipating into patterns that held no true meaning - simply dancing alongside Mother Nature’s breath. 

She had broken his heart, the young maiden who had stolen it by the simple look in her eyes. 

He should’ve known they were held by malevolence, by trickery. 

She never loved him and he should’ve known this, but he was a foolish young man, stuck in a prison with a crown on his head.  

She had given him freedom - the illusion of it, a tainted love, and he fell for it, like Adam to the apple. 

He fell to his knees, the fire almost out as he succumbed to his grief, cheeks stained of tears and anger fueled in his fists as they rested on his lap, tackling the fabric of his pants.  

His head fell back, looking up to the sky, the discoloration inviting night into its warm embrace. 

Flashes of his past took over, pain striking him like lightening breaking into the skies, like a violent lashing strapping him into torment. 

He wanted to convince himself, with every fiber of his being, that she could have loved him; he could almost imagine it. The softness of her being, so enthralling, engaging, mesmerizing. Like a siren calling for her sailor. 

Had she not worked against him, tricking him, spied on him, she would’ve loved him the way he did for her. 

If she had a heart, any smudge or speck of it at all, she could've loved him.  

He was fooling himself, desperate to grasp onto strands of a lie to ease the pain of her perfidy that embedded itself deep into the marrow of his soul. 

If she had a heart, she could have loved him, he kept thinking. 

But even in death, she had no love for him - only depravity marinated her bones, her core yearning for simple primal desire. 

The wondering haunted him, a shadow stuck at his feet, a lonely companion. 

“Finan?” He turned at the sound of his name, the young monk calling from a few feet away with his gentle voice. “It’s time to go.” 

Without a word, he looked back to the pyre, the fire now almost gone. 

He wiped his tears and stood to his feet with great weight on his shoulders. 

He gave one last look to the lost woman and eventually found strength to walk away, turning his back to his past once again. 

God knows if he would ever see his daughter again.  

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

xoxo

#the last kingdom #finan #finan x oc #tlk fanfic #finan imagine #finan the agile #the last kingdom fanfic #finan fic #mywriting #mark rowley #finan fanfic #tlk

[oogaboogasphincter]

black jaguar | dave york x f!reader

dave returns home from a job and can’t wait to indulge in you.

word count/warnings: 1.1k+ words // EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) MDNI!: reader and dave are married, reader has no physical description other than she has stretch marks, slight dub-con due to consensual somnophilia, primal kink like woah, masturbation (m and f), marking/love bites, mild blood mentions, dave is dark!coded and like slightly possessed in this bc it’s spooky season babyyy hehe 😈

a/n: i’m so excited to be participating in kinktober this year! i’m not following a specified prompt list or anything, but i have four pieces planned that i’ll release throughout the month (and possibly a series that i’ve been working on, but it might need more time to develop tbh) i hope you enjoy! <3

Dave comes into your bedroom and shuts the door behind him impossibly quiet, leaving you undisturbed in your peaceful slumber. The bottoms of his boots stick to the carpet, the blood of his slain enemy cloying with the fibers, and root him to the spot. The smart decision would’ve been to take them off downstairs and not trail evidence throughout the house, but right now, his rationality is plagued by a fog of desire; a ravenous compulsion clawing its way from his stomach and tearing pangs of hunger, thirst up his throat, leftover adrenaline from his job webbing the whites of his eyes with red. From the foot of your bed, he greedily drinks in the image of his perfect wife and plots his feast.

Your cheek is turned on the pillow, the eerie moonbeams that stream in through the window are reborn into holy light as they touch your face. On your stomach, one leg is hiked up, exposing your glistening core. A vibrator lays dormant just out of reach of your hand and there’s a wet spot on the sheets betwixt your thighs.

This is the only time that Dave allowed you to touch yourself, when he was away on a job. You would fret so much over him, wondering and worrying which dark corner of the world he found himself in, what morally questionable people he came into contact with, what dangerous conditions he had thrown himself into this time… all in the name of making sure he could take care of you. There was no other option but to fuck your self stupid in order to fall asleep every night. Of course, it was nothing like his brand of ecstasy, but it had to be enough to tide you over until he returned.

His gloves, ripped from his impatience to get them off, follow his bloodied jacket to the floor. He prowls forward with footsteps that hold the weight of the world but don’t make a sound. He sits next to you on your side of the bed, leaning in so close he can smell your arousal, surrendering his control to your allure like the tides to the moon. He studies your body, assessing exactly where he’d like to lay claim tonight. His lips, chapped from the bitter chill outside, press against your naked lower back in a litany of kisses, prepping your skin for his impending release.

Unable to stave off the craving any longer, he takes his cock out of his slacks and begins dragging his fingers along his length, stroking himself to hardness until the veins that run perpendicular to his girth are rigid with depravity. Resting on his forearm, he drops his nose down to the sheets and nestles the pool of slick you left in your wake, a groan shaking up his back and rumbling through his teeth. He drags his tongue along the wet spot, grunting with a newfound softness at your taste. Your essence is so sweet, so honest; deep down in his heart, he feels unworthy of such salvation, but he keeps gorging on you in the hopes that some of your purity might lodge itself in his heart.

His eyes rove over the slopes of your body, seamlessly riding along your every curve with awe. He reaches his fingers out to touch you for the first time in weeks and it’s like he’s been struck with a lightning bolt. Heart rate picks up, sweat breaks out on his forehead, his hips hump the air in a pathetic jolt. He traces the stretch marks that encircle your hips, dipping into the deeper ones like a ravine and following their length with reverence, swept away by their current.

His touch falls over your ass, depositing him at the precious apex of your thighs. With surgical precision, keeping you suspended in the dream realm, he finds his way into your folds and gathers some of your fresh wetness. It’s like you could sense that he’s there, priming your body for him subconsciously. Bringing it to his mouth and engulfing it, he doesn’t allow himself to drink directly from you because he’s entertained enough sins tonight. Tainting your sweetness with his stroke of malevolence would be irredeemable.

But Dave is far from a saint. His rough fingertips slink to your clit and circle it, eliciting some soft whimpers from your parted lips. His grip on his cock tightens at your sounds, gliding from base to tip at a frenzied speed. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to burst so soon, because the sight of your angelic form only propels him toward his peak. With his other senses heightened, your arousal feels even more luscious against his fingers; your sleepy, pitiful moans worm into his mind and make a deep magenta pound behind his eyelids. The air in his lungs is knocked out of him, a choked-out gasp squeezing out of his chest.

Some primal urge maws its way from inside his bones and unleashes itself in his body, flooding him with a raw mixture of possessiveness and love. Hunched over your back, he lurches forward and takes the flesh of where your neck and shoulder meet between his teeth as he comes hard, growling lowly in your ear. You awaken with a gasp, but not one of distaste; your voice quickly melts into a passionate moan as you recognize the distinct timbre that underlines Dave’s groaning. If it were anyone else but Dave, his sounds would be dramatic, silly even. But you know he’s not putting on any kind of show, that those animalistic sounds reverberate from his chest organically, and it puts a satisfied grin on your face.

The sticky drops of his release land on your lower back, their paths curving with the slope of your body. Once he’s emptied himself completely, Dave puts a hand in between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned beneath him for his viewing pleasure. He stares at your marked skin, from the translucent glimmer of sweat and spend on your back to the bite on your neck that is already blooming purple with blood. He collapses and molds himself to you, pressing dainty kisses to your neck as his instinct to nurture begins stemming back into his psyche. His fingers ghost against your wound almost apologetically. Almost.

He would feel a little more remorseful if it weren’t for the adoring glow in your eyes when you finally meet his gaze. God, he’d been aching to see you. He practically has a portfolio of you in his mind, countless memories that he can replay like film whenever he chooses, but nothing will ever come close to simply being in your presence. For the first time since he left you, a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Your mirror it, as his true counterpart.

“Welcome home.”

main masterlist ♡ join my taglist!

💘taglist (if you’re crossed out it means i couldn’t tag you): @pascalpanic @melody13522 @tenderwhat @maievdenoir @pedrostories @uncassettodiricordi @harriedandharassed

#dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x f!reader #dave york x afab!reader #dave york x you #pedro pascal characters #kinktober 2023 #love bites

[ria-writes-stories]

Monsters

Ship: Vuzin Genre: Cotton description: Love, what a futile thing, don't you think? Note: Poly ships scare the ever loving hell outta me, why? I have to focus on multiple characters and I have to do it equally because it feels unfair for someone to get more love than the other and it's a really fragile balance that you need to pay attention to. I hope I managed to do ok tho.

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

(No one's pov)

Drones were a complicated system, a complex meant to mimic the efficiency of human nature, so there was no surprise that these machines, programmed to act like humans did the most 'humane' thing of them all. Exterminating an entire race simply because they do not share the same blood or better said oil, as them. How many species have humans determined to case to exist? How many humans have tormented and ended the lives of others like them for the same reasons? And that gets us to the part where drones as well found themselves feasting on each other for survival. It was just like humans. Wasn't it perfect? Wasn't this what their creators tried to achieve with the making of their beloved puppets?

There was a fault on their system however. Emotions. They were coding wasn't as accurate. Emotions in general were a literal mess and no one understood them and yet somehow drones struggled even more with them, one of the imperfections that they could never in truth mirror in the shape of their creators.

A massacre, a feast, nothing more but a sweet beast. She was hungry, she felt no remorse, she saw nothing more than just a quick snack. Drones have reached their peek and after being left neglected for so long they were ready to compensate their fatigue with the new refreshing taste of the very flesh that made them.

V and N both suffered crimes beyond their understanding, beyond their realisation so upon seeing the very same crimes be unfolded before them by a Drone just like them left them speechless.

Uzi was a wreck, one beyond anyone's understanding, one beyond her own understanding. She made no sense to herself or anyone else but she knew she had to fight, always. She didn't know why, but it was deeply encoded into her. No matter what was to happen, she had to fight, for herself, for others, not that she had any others before meeting N and V, but the point still stands.

Love was not something Drones were programmed to feel and yet they had friends, families. They still lacked in ration and whatnot but still, this emotion was possible and anything else that comes with it such as misery, pain and torment.

V the forever loyal soldier. The knight in shinning armour ready to slay the beast, only to realise that was not the case.

N the foolish prince thinking that he had to save the princess regardless of what state she was in.

Uzi, the beast or the princess, perhaps both depending on how you look at it, fragile yet strong, sturdy on her feet yet easily shaken. She was an anomaly but that made her even the more beautiful.

There was one thing that tied these three together, endless hunger to satisfy a pit that has been dug into their core without their knowledge.

He was so foolish, and idiot at best, but he was so lovable too. Pure and kind regardless of the hostile nature forced into him, V found herself suffering from love for a dumbass. So really it begs the question, who was the more foolish one? How could she not? He was kind, he was brave in his own strange way, and he was good ate the very core of his heart, which is what made him so vulnerable to begin with. Perhaps she couldn't help that he simply had a charm that had her besotted.

Uzi was a different story all together. She was more intelligent to a certain extent. Perhaps it was her rebellious behaviour that kept her from making the kind of mistakes N would do. Perhaps it was the angsty teen behaviour that left her no other choice but to fight when placed into a tight spot as she wouldn't win in a fight where one would use emotions as their primary source. Whatever it was, V found herself mumbling and annoying her whenever she could, provoking her as if daring her to show her the same heated passion and hatred, or perhaps what she was seeking was another type of attention, but this was the closest she could get to it.

N felt love before. He knew what it felt like for his system to overheat.

To have cold bullets of sweat run down his forehead. Hew knew what it felt like for his heart to flutter from seeing her face.

V has changed but the reason he fell for her to begin with never left. Her laugh. Her beautiful hypnotising laugh, it didn't matter that it was psychotic or sweet, it reminded him of the pure girl he once knew. It reminded him how she was always true to herself and her motives without bending or budging them for anyone not even herself. Once she has taken a decision she followed through with it. That must be one of the main reasons he found himself mesmerised.

Uzi was a whole different love story and what they had was just as unique. N didn't fall for Uzi because there was something in her that reminded him of V. Uzi didn't fall for N because he was kind to her like Thad was. Uzi was strong, confident, despite her insecurities, despite being an emotional wreck, despite everything she went through she was still so incredibly strong. N couldn't help but love her even more as she thought about it, as she stood in her presence. She was an emotional wreck no doubt, but that didn't stop her from yet being the strongest person he has ever met.

Uzi had reasons after reasons to take a liking to N. He was 'cool' in his own goofball manner. He was just like those dogs he so dearly loved. He was loyal, he was always down to do anything, he was always willing to help out and give a hand. He may not be always efficient in what he was trying to help your with but one thing for sure he would first have to die in order to stop being himself.

V was so much more complicated. She was always menacing, there was something psychotic about her. There was something that repulsed her and yet pulled her in like a magnet. Uzi was always in some sort of fight with her. What for? She didn't know either. You could call it instinct, but only if it were that simple, they are drones, they don't have such an excuse. Yet regardless of the best wishes when they were away from the other they never managed to end it. But maybe that's simply how loved worked for them.

They were all monsters, terrible awful beasts who knew nothing but the cravings of the flesh much to their demise.

Their hearts would flutter their cheeks will bloom with colour. Crimson red, like the endless pools of blood they have scattered around wherever they went. Rusty red like the components of their victims left to rot, a symbolism of their torment and agony.

The three were peacefully sleeping with each other's grasp. N's arm was warped around Uzi's waist, while Uzi was holding with one had N and the other V, while V had her tail coiled around Uzi while her head rested on N's. They fell asleep on the chair, with V on N's back and Uzi on his lap. One would dare say that it may be uncomfortable but for those three that was the best sleep that they have gotten in a long time. Forgotten by the world in their tiny corner in a space pod hidden inside a tower of corpses. They felt at most ease right there because they knew they did not need to worry about what tomorrow will hold for them in their peaceful quiet paradise in hell. Their cheeks flushed. Scarlet red, like the blood on their hands.

The end

#murder drones v #murder drones n #murder drones uzi #murder drones #murder drones fanfic #murder drones vuzin

[wint3r-h3art]

Until Eternity | Vampire!Strange Supreme

Summary: Fate took you away from him. Now that he found you centuries later, will he let the same fate happens to you again?

Word count: 5.9k

Warnings: ANGST with eventual smut. Slow burn with feels, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, blood (briefly because duh). Happy Ending**

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

A/N: I’m back for today, y’all (literally the only day i’m free 😭). I hope you enjoyed it. I spent literally a month on this (and I kind lowkey not happy with the ending because it feels rush lmao). Nevertheless, I hope you liked it. I don’t know why I haven’t written Strange Supreme at all since he’s my most favorite one???? If you enjoyed it, comment and reblog is greatly, greatly appreciated. I love to hear about your thought on this, because besties, there’s a lot to unpack.

*** Please do not copy/plagiarize my work, or repost it anywhere else.

Stephen stood in the silent darkness, blending into the night as the smell of petrichor permeated the air. 

The rain had just begun to fall upon the earth, soaking every dry crevice with life once more, marking the end of a long, brutal summer, and ushering in the long-awaited autumn. The leaves were just slowly turning red, and the warmth of the summer air barely departed even if it was already October.

His eyes glowed dimly beneath the moonless night, pale and sharp, almost colorless by the way the glacial blue slowly faded to silvery white. His skin was ashen, cool like marble–a contrast to dark circles under his eyes. He looked almost sickly by the way his skin hung over his sharp cheekbones.

A cruel fate, he mused as his lips pulled back, revealing the sharp, pearly canines as he looked down at his gloved hands. Centuries have passed and his heart still hoped that one day the universe would return to what once was his. He had traveled the world, searching in every corner of the world, yet he found himself back here once again.

Standing in the mask of the shadow, watching from afar as his eyes could see, feeling breathless once more as if it was the first time he had laid eyes upon you. A pessimist he was, Stephen couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the sudden burst of warmth that flooded his cold, unbeaten heart. It was like an ocean, filling up the trenches of the scars that were left when he lost you. 

How cruel was the fragility of mortality–ripping you away from him over and over again? 

The wickedness of the universe, punishing a creature like him to eternal damnation– devoiding him of any joy for all eternity—perhaps as a punishment to balance the universe once more for the deed he had done–for daring to try and cheat death; the defiler of the natural law.

But now he finally found you. Again.

Upon centuries of searching through endless, fractured hope of his–centuries of loneliness was nothing compared to the sliver of hope you have given him at the moment. And by the grace of the Damn, he won’t let you go ever again.

Taking a deep breath, Stephen could smell your scent lingering heavily among the crowd, far sweeter with a tinged for floral notes–like honey and lavender coursing through your veins, making his mouth salivate. All of his rationality wavered between hunger and needs.  The thought of tasting you upon his tongue–the smell of your scent overwhelming him once more, and he couldn’t push the thought away. 

How long had he yearned to be close to you, yet the anticipation scared him? The what-if questions, whether you would find him suitable to be a lover or companion scared him more than the light of the sun itself. 

Surely, turning to ashes was less painful than your rejection.

He wanted to laugh at the thought. How pathetic he was–a creature who could swallow a world terrified of a mortal woman…

No, he shook the thought away. You were more than that to him.

You were his heart, his soul, and his star–his compass that guided him on the right path. You were the reason his unbeaten heart remained hopeful.

His attention shifted once more from his thoughts at the sound of your laughter rang in the night. He felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach as you pulled a man into a hug before saying goodbye. He knew he was your friend, but it didn’t stop his heart from feeling a pang of jealousy. Oh, how he wishes to touch you.

 Stephen’s eyes continued to follow you, though he remained where he stood, not wanting to draw any attention to himself.

He watched you looking both ways at the crosswalk, waiting for the traffic to die out a bit. As you took a few steps forward, he heard from the far distance, the tire-screeching sound heading your way, but of course, you were unaware of that.

He listened closely as the truck rounded the corner–so quickly for any mortal to react, and without any consideration of the traffic. He told himself again that he won’t interfere. If fate meant for you and him to not exist at the same time, then he should let it—then images of you dying before him over the course of his immortality flashed before his eyes, and every rationality left him.

“Fuck it,” he said, using his power to transport himself. 

He reappeared less than a second later like a rush of energy, bursting through the sound barrier with a loud bang, sending the speeding truck barreling off the road and straight into a metal pole. He had already caught you in his arms while he reappeared, whisking you away to safety.

A few moments later, five police cars came into halting screech as police rushed out to pull the suspects out of the wreckage. Stephen gazed down at your frightening form, trembling in his arms like a baby animal. Your eyes were wild. Fear permeated from your blood and straight to his nose, reeking of sickly sweet scent like spoiled fruits that were left under the sun too long.

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking down at you. 

You couldn’t answer him, except to nod. 

His eyes scanned your body quickly, surveying for any scratches or wounds. He would not figure himself, nor the driver if there were any marks on you. He relaxed once he noticed that there were no scratches on you.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” he muttered to himself under his breath as he stood there with you still in his arms. He could feel your body trembling in his arms while your heartbeat frantically, pumping the blood in your veins with effort.

Your adrenaline was still pumping in your veins as you stared up. Your breathing was still heavy, inhaling every mouthful of air into your lungs as they allowed you to. 

Stephen could feel the burning sensation growing stronger the more he breathed in your scent. It became too apparent and it made his body tremble with needs from blood lust alone. It shouldn't have happened because he was feeding just before he came to check on you tonight. 

Stephen mentally groaned. You were his undoing indeed. Yet, he longed for it–for you.

“Wh–how did you do that?” You finally were able to speak as you looked wildly up at the man and then at the wreckage. It was impossible what just happened—the speed of the truck, and him—he was on the other side of the road, and then in a blink of an eye, he was here, whisking you away in his arms, away from this wreckage…

Stephen carefully set you down on your feet and took a step back, trying to create a distance between the two of you. But he quickly changed his mind when your legs gave out. It was best to simply let you use him for support.

“Do what? Pulling you out from incoming traffic?”  His voice was too calm. 

You stared up taken aback by how relaxed he was–it was almost as if he wasn’t scared or terrified of it. A normal human would be shaken by just pure adrenaline alone, but this man–this man simply looked bored.

“I saw you across the street a few minutes ago, you can’t possibly get here this fast–”

“I think you mistake me for someone else, miss,” he quickly cut you off, and a small part of you snapped. You didn’t know if it was the adrenaline that was left in you or if was it something else. Whatever it was, you really didn’t appreciate what he just said to you.

“Look I am grateful that you saved my life, but what I don’t appreciate is you gaslighting me into thinking that what I saw earlier wasn’t right.” Your voice wavered between anger and wanting to cry. There were so many things happening all at once, and as your body slowly came down from the high, it slowly registered to your brain that you almost died. For this man—this stranger to just blatantly lie in your face, you were beyond furious. 

“And what do you want me to say to that?”

You narrowed your eyes for a few seconds. He was self-assured. You didn’t understand why he had the need to lie to you about it.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “I don’t know.  Just something that would help me rationalize all of this. At least tell me your name.”

“It’s for the best if we remain strangers, miss. Have a good night.”

His voice sounded so sad. It made you even more eager to understand him. 

When he turned to walk away from you, you instinctively grasped his hand, but all you got was his leather glove. Stephen halted immediately and looked at you with uncertainty and horror as you stood there, looking at his glove and then at his hand. 

Stephen quickly snatched the glove away from you because he couldn’t afford to have your scent linger on his belongings way more than it is right now. Every cell in his body was buzzing and craving for you, and the more time he spent with you, the more he felt all of his sanity slowly slipping away from him.

It would not be long before his hunger dictated all of his wills. 

Your fingers grazed him by accident. Stephen quickly pulled himself away as if he was burned by your touch.

You sucked in your breath sharply at how cool his skin was, but suddenly you felt yourself slipping into the darkness. Your ears range briefly before you feel like your whole body is being submerged underwater.

The noise around you drowned out, melted into a jumble of sound till there was silence. Your body went limp. Images flashed before your eyes like one of those old times in movies. It was blurry, but then the images were clear.

Your brows pulled into a deep frown, watching images of a woman—no it was you, but it wasn’t you at the same time. You flinched at the sudden noise that seemed to emit from the scenes before you. You were smiling and laughing, dressing like one of those old-timey clothes with a man. You weren’t sure of who he was at first, but he felt familiar. Upon further inspection, you found yourself gasping. 

It was the stranger—he was looking exactly like you saw him, except that he looked happier. You were kissing and laughing while holding onto each other.

 “I, Y/N. Take you, Stephen Strange, as my lawfully, wedded husband,” you heard the woman say before she–or you kissed him. 

She–no, you and him was standing under the pale light, wearing a long flowing white dress. There was nothing but the soft, flickering amber from the candlelight illuminating. There were no guests, nor anyone else at the altar, except for the two figures. You felt your chest swell with a sudden burst of happiness, but the scenes soon flashed to a much somber one. 

You were now laying in bed, looking deathly sick. The man was sobbing and holding onto your hands. Crimson tears rolled down his sharp cheekbones, falling onto your white gown, till it was deep red. He was saying something, but you couldn’t hear it well enough because the scene was suddenly cut short. All you remembered was his eyes–they were as they are now–dark, sad, and somber, marred with dark circles, and brimmed with bloody tears.

A loud gasp slipped past your lips, and you felt your body slowly fall. You expected the pain to shoot through you, but it never came.

You blinked as the darkness that covered your vision slowly slipped away. Dim light slowly pours into your line of vision. Your first image was the man once again, looking at you with a concerned look. His eyes were pale blue, almost too pale, you realized. He looked almost otherworldly, yet he was familiar.

“Are you alright?” He asked. His deep, baritone voice sent a wave of warmness through you. 

You frowned when you realized that you were once again back where you were. Tears slipped from your eyes. Your hand slowly reached up with uncertainty to touch his face. The coolness of his skin didn’t shock you anymore as his eyes widened. He opened his mouth to protest, but you felt his whole demeanor shift.

Stephen closed his eyes, savoring the way your warmth felt against his skin. It felt strange, yet familiar at the same time–something that he longed for centuries yet never dared to dream of being this close.

“Stephen…” 

He opened his eyes to find you looking at him with confusion. You sounded uncertain as if you were testing the name on your lips for the first time.

“Your name is Stephen Strange, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t utter the words except that he was nodding slowly in admission. He had yet to reveal himself to yet–

“I–” you started, but frowned to find a better word. “We met before, didn’t we?”

“I don’t know what you mean. This is the first time I see, miss. I’ve said it many times before–”

“Your name is Stephen Strange and I was your wife…in another life–I don’t know which one it is, but perhaps a long time ago.” You struggled to understand yourself as words fell from your mouth. Tears were still rolling down your face, and you didn’t understand why. Your chest hurt so badly every time the images flashed in your mind.

Stephen remained quiet as you continued.

“They were your memories, weren’t they–or were they mine?”

Stephen stared at you for a long moment as you struggled to make sense. He wanted to admit it, but he was scared of what fate has in store for him in this lifetime.

“You won’t believe what I have to say,” he finally spoke. 

“Why is that?”

“Because I know you,” he said quietly. “It happened so many times that I just know you won’t believe me.”

“What do you mean “too many times”?” you asked as you took a step forward. Stephen found himself stepping back. 

He looked around and there were people lingering. “Do you trust me?”

You frowned, unsure why he asked you this but you nodded. A small part of you was afraid though, and Stephen felt too by the way the sickly, sweet scent permeated your body.

Stephen’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line. If only you knew how capable he was at inflicting worse things than what you feared…

“I have no reason to kill you,” he said softly as if he could read your mind, looking more sad than offended. It was in your nature to fear a creature like him. “I just want to give you the answer that you want.”

“Fine. Then show me.”

The heavy, wooden doors groaned as he pushed them open, revealing a grand staircase that led up to the darkness. The place smelled of old books and leather. As soon as you stepped inside, the heavy doors slammed shut with a dull thud, startling you in the process. 

“What is this place?” you asked softly, yet your voice sounded louder in the silent darkness. 

Amber light slowly illuminates the dark, emptiness, revealing rows and rows of floor-to-ceiling bookcases. 

“My home,” he said softly. 

“So you brought me to your home…to show me what exactly?”

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

You thought for a bit and shrugged. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

Stephen took a candelabra and motioned you to follow him up the stairs. They creaked beneath your feet as you followed him not too far behind. He briefly turned before holding up the light to reveal a portrait.

Your eyes widened.

“You and I have met many times before over the course of centuries,” he started as your eyes bored into the portrait of you and him, dressing in the exact clothes you saw a moment ago. “The last time we met, we managed to get married and live happily together, until–”

“Until I suddenly died…” you finished his sentence. “I saw it–I died in this house, didn’t I?”

“You died from consumption–tuberculosis in the modern term. We only married for a few months,” he said almost sadly. “I wanted to save you, but I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“To save you means you have to become what I am, and I couldn’t live knowing that I have made you suffer the same way that I was.”

“So you're just letting me die like that?” you frowned, not understanding his reason.

“We weren’t meant to be together,” he said softly. “The first time I tried to cheat death—to prevent death from happening to you, it made me become this,” he said as he slowly revealed his true form to you.

His eyes were now glowing almost subtly against the dim light. His bluish veins were becoming more visible on the surface of his pale skin. His canines elongated. His fingers were black, his nails sharp almost like claws.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but you remained where you were. 

“The spell that I was trying to cast had somehow doomed me to walk the night, and become this horrid creature. Tell me again why I would want you to suffer the same fate as me?”

“So you just watch me die, over and over again?” you frowned.

“It’s the only way,” he said softly.

“No, Stephen. It’s not the only way. If you love me like you said you do, you would have saved me then instead of wallowing in this self-pity of yours,” you snapped. “I-I just don’t understand why–”

“Your death is an absolute point in the universe,” he cut you off. “No matter what I do, you and I weren’t meant to be together.”

“So you're just going to let it happen like that?” 

“Y/N, please you must understand.”

“What do you fear, Stephen Strange?” you asked as you walked toward him till you could touch his face. Stephen closed his eyes and leaned into your touch almost immediately. 

“You,” he said softly. “I am afraid of existing in a world without you.”

“But you refused to turn me, and instead you continue to chase after me like this?”

Stephen swallowed for the very first time as if you had hit the nail on the head. 

“What are you really afraid of, Stephen?” you asked again.

You could see red liquid pooled in his eyes before he looked down as if he was ashamed to admit it. You cradled his face in your hands and you saw that his crimson tears now stained his pale skin. 

“Losing you forever,” he said softly. “I don’t want your existence to get completely erased from the universe, Y/N.”

“Is that what you think will happen if you turn me?”

He nodded reluctantly. Stephen didn’t know about it himself, but he didn’t want to think about it. The fear consumed him far too much and for far too long. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little unfair for me to have you make a choice for me over and over again?”

Stephen didn’t say anything. You gently pulled him down until he could feel your breath fanned over his face. Fear no longer permeated off you, but a rather new scent–a tantalizing one.

“Why did you save me earlier if I was fated to die then and there.”

“I just found you,” he said softly. 

Your eyes flickered from his down to his lips. You could feel your heart quickening the closer you got to him. “So you wanted to be selfish and save me for a bit before you let me go. Again and again, and again.”

“Please don’t say it like that. I do love you so much that I’m willing to rip this world apart for you.

For a minute, you believed him. You didn’t know the sort of power or ability he possessed at the moment, but you knew he meant it when he said those words. 

Without a thought, you leaned in and kissed him. Stephen was surprised but welcomed your kiss. His arm wrapped around your waist, while the other one cradled your face. You shuddered at the way the coolness of his skin felt against yours. He was slow and careful at first. Each movement was precise and calculated as if he was afraid to hurt you. 

You moaned into him before you opened your mouth and allowed him to slip his tongue inside. Stephen was still reluctant to completely allow himself to be immersed completely in his desires, but you pushed him. 

Oh, you pushed him alright. 

Without a thought, you slowly take a few steps back, pushing him until his hard body hits the wall with a soft thud. Stephen gasped in surprise. You could see him smirking for the very first time, and for that small moment, your mouth captured him once again.

You kissed him with urgency, while your hands laid flatly against his chest. You couldn’t feel his heart beating, but you know it doesn’t matter anyway. You weren’t meant to be together so if the universe decided to say “fuck you” to you, you might as well take this opportunity and give him a memory that would last another lifetime.

Your fingers slowly trailed down his body, feeling the way his taut muscles strained and contracted underneath your palms.

Stephen hissed as he felt your hand covering his growing bulge. He quickly pulled away from your kiss and looked into your eyes.

“You are much bolder this time around,” he commented as he took both of your hands in his. Your eyes widened at the realization of how large his hands were. 

“I build differently this time around,” you joked before standing to your tippy toe to kiss him again. “I also don’t want to die without knowing what’s it like to have sex with a vampire, so maybe I’m just trying to make a good memory for both of us.”

Stephen’s eyes seemed to soften when he chuckled. He looked more human when he laughed, you realized. He brought your knuckles to his lips and kissed him almost too gently. 

“I assure you, it’s not that much different than what you know,” he smirked before he suddenly bridged-carrying you into one of the large rooms.

The candlelight suddenly came to life as you and he entered. Stephen gently laid you down on the large, plush bed before he slowly loosen the tie around his neck.

You were mesmerized by the way his long, thick fingers undone those buttons. Your mouth went dry when he began to undress. Your eyes followed a trail of dark hair that disappeared under his waistband. Stephen noticed your hungry look and chuckled softly before he knelt astride your body.

“Is this some sort of a perk of being a vampire?” you asked as you let your fingers graze over the deep ridges of his abdomen. He didn’t seem to mind, which only encouraged you to explore his body more.

“I’m not quite sure what you mean,” he murmured against your skin as he lazily suckled at your neck. 

“Being hot,” you said bluntly, and if Stephen could blush, he would have been a deep shade of red by now.

“Is that what you thought of me?”

You nodded.

“I’m flattered,” he said. Stephen caressed your face almost too gently as he takes in your beauty. Adoration practically poured out of his skin as he looked at you and touched you so gently. “I know we just met and all, but are you sure you want to do this?”

You nodded. “If I’m not meant to exist in this world at the same time as you, then I might as well enjoy it as much as I can. The question is, will you be ok with it?”

“Every moment I spent with you burned into my memories for all eternity, darling. I’m more than ok with this,” he said before he leaned in and kissed you. He didn’t care at all if that made him sound desperate. 

He was much bolder now as when he captured your mouth. His tongue thrust into your parted lips, sliding against yours, licking and tasting every part of you until you were breathless. 

His fingers moved to the back of your head to position you however he wanted. You melted under the weight of his passion–he was practically devouring you whole. It was possessive and demanding, and you wanted more.

His hips pressed into yours, pinning you against the bed. His erection was prominent and heavy against your lower belly. You moaned into the kiss as your resolve slowly dissolved into nothingness. 

You had no idea how much he craved this. Every part of him was buzzing with excitement and needs. He was seeking solace in you–filling the void of loneliness he felt for so long. Touching you like this, kissing and tasting your skin beneath his tongue like this, touched him in a place he never thought still existed. The moment was fleeting for an immortal creature like him, yet it burned into him with a memory that’d last his lifetime.

Tearing his mouth away, Stephen kissed his way down your neck, nibbling and sucking at whatever skin his lips found. You, on the other hand, were restless and impatient as if something had taken over you. You were breathing heavily by the time his mouth wrapped around your breast.

His tongue slid over your taut nipple, licking and swirling around the sensitive nub just enough to make you moan. Your hands moved deftly on their own. Your fingers weaved into his dark, silken strand, tugging and pulling until he moaned deeply into your skin.

Stephen looked up, and you noticed how silvery his eyes were as if they were molten metal, sending goosebumps across your skin. There was something innately predatory in the way he was looking at you, yet it sparked something deeper inside you that made you want more.

You whined softly when his mouth left your breast, leaving you feeling bereft and restless, but that feeling soon dissipated into pure feral needs. 

Your eyes flew open when you felt his mouth descend upon your molten core. His tongue glided across your folds with a purpose before he pushed the tip past the slicked seam. A sharp hiss left your lips at the way the coarse hair of his beard scratched against the tender skin of your inner thigh.

Stephen moaned deep inside his chest as his tongue slid inside your quivering heat, penetrating as deep as he could before retreating back. He repeated this a couple of times until he was satisfied before he moved to flick his tongue around your sensitive clit. 

His focus was absolute and tuned into your pleasure. Your intoxicating scent permeated the air, making him high, drawing him in like some sort of his own personal kind of drug. He could feel the way your wall fluttered around his tongue, and he knew you were close to your first release. Even then he was relentless. 

He fucked you with his tongue in a shallow penetration until the quiet house filled with nothing but the sound of your moaning and panting.

He concentrated and focused on that one spot that made you strain below him, licking and sucking at the bud until you were nothing but a painting mess. It wasn’t long of course. You came not a moment after, clutching onto his head like it was your only lifeline while he continued to feast upon your body.

“Do you trust me, darling?” he asked as he slowly pulled over the edge. 

You nodded and watched as Stephen slowly slid his pants down until his cock was visible to you. You were watching of course of pure curiosity about what a vampire dick looks like. 

He was long and hard, with a perfect thickness that made your mouth water. Thick ropes of veins ran underside of the length with a promise of a pleasure that was drawn out from the inside.

Your breath shuddered as he stood between your parted legs. His eyes bored into you with that same look earlier, making you shiver and horny at the same time.

You watched as he lined the head of his cock along your aching opening. His chest was broad and oh so sculpted that you regretted not touching him earlier. If you lived to see another day, you’d make sure to let him know that. 

Your eyes continued to watch him stroke himself, making his shaft harder and thicker. 

“I can’t wait any longer,” he said softly.

“Take me,” you urged him, biting your lips, trying to dull your neediness for him. 

His hands pressed you gently before he pushed past your nether lips. The pink, fat tips breached you slowly, stretching you and filling you to the limit. Your eyes fluttered as he surged forward, hard and silken, filling you with torment and relief at the same time. 

You shivered and moaned as he pushed deeper into you, sliding through your scorching, tight heat until he buried himself to the hilt, his forehead pressed against yours. 

Each slow and tantalizing movement sent a shudder through him that he couldn’t help but offer a gentle smile, revealing the pearly white canine teeth. He looked more like a beast here than a man–the predator that he was meant to be, but his touch said otherwise.

He was careful and slow. Every time he surged forward you could feel every part of your soul ascend to heaven. You felt like you were losing your mind every time he pulled himself all the way out till the tip remained inside, making your body feel bereft and empty for his length.

You swallowed hard every time he pushed himself all the way inside you, knocking all the words right out of your mouth. Your forehead was damp despite his coolness as perspiration dampened your body.

Your hand reached up to touch his face. He was nuzzling into your touch at first, but he shocked you when he slipped your fingers into his mouth. 

You didn’t know what to say except to watch. His cheeks hallowed, sucking and drawing on your slender fingers with a steady and rhythmic suction, matching the way he was fucking your pussy with a slow, steady pump.

You gasped at the way the matching rhythm aroused you. You couldn’t think straight at that point. The way he was watching you only made you melt further into the pleasure. Nothing you ever had came this good, and you sure were losing your mind over it.

“I’m going to come,” he panted as his pace quickened. Every thrust seemed to get harder and deeper and the faster he moved, the less sane you’ve become. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. His cock seemed to stroke deeper inside you. His greedy mouth tugged at your skin, building up a pleasure so intense that you came again without realizing it.

Stephen continued to move, faster this time, savoring the way your pussy was squeezing his length. Your body was like it was set on fire, yet not enough all at once as he continued to move inside you with a merciless pace that brought you both pain and pleasure. He hunched over you, caging your body to the bed, thrusting hard until he came with a deep growl.

Time felt like it was standing still as he stood there, spent inside you. At that moment you didn’t care. At that moment you were his once again.

You woke up slowly, reluctant as you lifted your head off his hard chest. You felt drained, tired, and spent, but in the most delicious way. Your body was sore and ached, yet you felt satisfied.

You opened your eyes and looked up to find his liquid, pale sapphire bored on your with tenderness. You were left breathless for a minute before you flashed him a flustered smile. Heat began to flood your face, and you felt him inhaling deeply.

Stephen felt his nerve on fire once more by the way your sweet, floral scent flooded his senses. He was deeply satisfied, yes, but the innate hunger was still there, craving deeply to taste you. He told himself though that he will wait for you to return home before he feeds again.

“Let me become like you,” you said suddenly.

He looked at you with shock. “You know I shouldn’t–”

“Stephen, listen to me. If you don’t do it now, you won’t know what will happen. What if I walked out of here and just went like that? What will you do? Wait for me, search for me for another hundred years?”

Stephen thought for a long moment, but you knew he was still unsure about this. You sighed and cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“This is my choice, Stephen. No matter what happens, it’s all me. Do you understand?”

He didn’t speak. 

“Please,” you pleaded with him softly. 

“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

You nodded eagerly. 

Stephen stared at you for a long moment, unblinking before he slowly brought your hand up to his lips. He closed his eyes for a long moment, inhaling the way your skin smelled. He could hear the sound of your heartbeat against your chest, slowly picking up speed. You smell warm and sweet, and without much thought, he sank his fangs into your wrist.

You gasped at the sudden sharp pain at first but soon melted into something more. Stephen growled deeply at the rich, intoxicating taste of your blood. You were like everything he knew you were: sweet, floral like honey and lavender. Your thoughts swarmed inside his head like a haze, swirling and floating at the back of his consciousness.

He drank for a long moment, as your body writhed against him in agony and lust. Your blood soothed him from the inside out, calming his weary soul. 

Stephen pulled back and quickly cut open his arm with his sharp nail. His dark crimson blood poured out of the long slit and poured into your mouth. Your eyes fluttered as you drank in the way the strange, rich liquid slowly slid down your throat. Your hand blindly reached up to him as your mouth latched onto him. 

Stephen could feel your pulse slow down. He counted in his head until he heard the last faint thud of your heart as you went limp. Then he watched, licking the wound on his arm to seal the wound, and he began counting.

Your eyes flew open, your skin hard and cool just like his. You stared at him and he at you. He was the first to reach out and you melted into his touch just like before. Centuries of memories flooded inside your mind–memories of many lifetimes played before you. 

Blood rolled down your cheeks as the warmth flooded your unbeaten heart. This was his memories of you–what remained of you for all these times.

“You won’t have to be alone anymore, Stephen. I will be with you for eternity,” you said softly before pulling him down for an assuring kiss. Indeed you’d be with him for eternity.

#stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x you #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange x you #strange supreme x reader #strange supreme x you #stephen strange smut #doctor strange smut #strange supreme smut #stephen strange angst #doctor strange angst #strange supreme angst #doctor strange fanfiction #stephen strange fanfiction

[argisthebulwark]

TES Summer Fest Day 5: forgotten/devotion

summary: Watching from a safe distance, Miraak loves every iteration of the Dragonbornborn that forgot him lifetimes ago. gn ldb warnings: non graphic mentions of death & grief @tes-summer-fest | day one day two day three day four

Miraak must be okay. It was his duty to withstand all the loneliness and regret that built up inside of him. Giving into his desires was not an option. His choice had been made ages ago and there was no going back.

He learned to placate the yearning that refused to cease. There was no harm in watching. The first true Dragonborn lived and fought, laughed and cried, all under his watchful eye. It became an interest that bled into obsession. He observed them through the eyes of others, ignoring the gnawing hole that had taken up residence in his chest upon parting from them.

Their love had been swift, cut short by a hunger he couldn't quell. Miraaak knew he was meant for much more, shedding the title of Dragonborn in search of something greater. He'd watched them drift farther away from him until the divide grew too great, reduced to spying on them through the eyes of their companions.

The Dragonborn's death ruined him. Miraak stood uselessly at his desk in Apocrypha, unable to do anything more than witness it. He could not intervene or comfort them as they passed, surrounded by those that had served dutifully as his lens into their life. Those that had not abandoned them as he had. Miraak watched helplessly as the one person he'd ever truly loved passed away.

Miraak fooled himself into thinking that the years had healed his wounds. He believed that he'd moved on. Loving and losing was something all beings had in common, even in his cage he was not spared from this. He carried on with his routine, scouring Mora's pages in search of what would allow him to ascend to the godhood he craved so badly.

Rumors of another Dragonborn being discovered caught his attention but he bided his time. Fear of being hurt once again kept the curiosity at bay. Miraak continued his work without daring to look, dreams haunted by what could have been.

Once the new Dragonborn was summoned by the Greybeards he reasoned it was only rational to peek. Miraak knew that the Dragonborn was the only mortal with power that rivalled his own, if he were to gain a new adversary it was only wise to see their face. Giddy with anticipation he returned to his desk, spying toward the continent he'd left long ago.

Their face was different, hair that had once curled was straight and braided back but it was them. Miraak caught glimpses of his Dragonborn in their mannerisms and the unflinching way they spoke. They smiled at something one of their guards said and the joy of recognition quickly burned away in the wake of Miraak's jealousy.

It was not the same face but Miraak recognized their soul, the fire burning in their heart. It was the same that had once loved him so dearly. He watched as unfamiliar lips spoke with a voice he knew so well, a body he'd never touched moving in ways etched into his memory.

Ages dragged on, empires rise and fell, but Miraak remained frozen. He became a silent observer to Dragonborn after Dragonborn, all different in their own ways but bearing the same soul. One had eyes that were so staggeringly similar to his Dragonborn Miraak bitterly began to wonder if the gods were toying with him. Perhaps watching them was a curse for turning his back on all he'd swore to uphold.

Jealousy became a constant passenger when viewing the Dragonborns. He watched them live, compelled by no force other than his own burning interest. He witnessed so many of them fall in love, aching with the knowledge that none would love them as truly or deeply as he had.

Learning that the current Dragonborn was intended to be the last finally spurned Miraak to rise from his desk. He would see Skyrim with his own eyes instead of through those of some random civilian. He would not let the last Dragonborn slip through his fingers without one final goodbye. Hope clawed somewhere deep in his chest that despite all the lifetimes that had passed they would somehow still know him.

Standing before the Last Dragonborn, heart in his throat and mask tucked under his arm Miraak's ancient heart broke once again. The one person he'd loved above all others peered up at him without a hint of recognition. Their face was different but that confused divot between their brows was there, the intensity of their stare. As he stood before the Dragonborn he loved so dearly he knew he'd been forgotten.

Miraak realized he'd become a stranger to them. His heart ached with the need to kiss them, to cradle that face until he knew it as well as the first Dragonborn's. He wished Apocrypha's texts had shown him some way to unlock past memories of the life they'd led together but his search yielded nothing. The Dragonborn looked through him, no recognition or love in the eyes he'd carved into his heart.

"Do I know you?" They spoke in a voice so similar to the one that had once professed their love for him. Miraak watched his beloved tilt their head and knew that he'd been forgotten by the one person he needed above all else.

"You do not," gloved hands twitched at his side and Miraak wondered how much he'd changed in their absence. "But I would like you to."

#skyrim #skyrim fanfic #writing #miraak #miraak/ldb #tesfest23 #prompt: forgotten

[haitanisbug]

Punishment

Yandere! Ran Haitani x Reader Synopsis: You’ve broken yet another one of Ran’s rules and he’ll get you to love him back the only way he knows how: punishment.

Cw: 18+, Minors do not interact. intense yandere themes. Implied kidnapping. Punishment/torture.

Ran has been gone all day. He mentioned it this morning, how he would be back later than normal, something about how today's Bonten mission is super important. You gave him the barest form of acknowledgement, not wanting to receive his attention so early in the morning. But it's been over 12 hours since Ran left. He doesn't let you wander the penthouse when he's gone, and that means no trips to the kitchen for food. You're holed up in the main living room with nothing to do, you’re starving with no access to food, and above all else you're livid.

Ran likes to rationalize it by saying he’s protecting and providing for you. But at the end of the day, the man ripped you from your life, your friends, your job, and like hell you'd thank him for that. He knows you don't love him. He knows you hate his guts. It’s been months of you living under his twisted version of protection and you tell yourself that you'll refuse his intimacy in any form- make him realize you're a different case than he thought. No matter how cruel he gets when you refuse him, you won't bow down. He took away your life and he’ll pay for that.

You're thinking all these things when the door suddenly opens. It's Ran. It’s only ever him. No one else is allowed in the penthouse but himself, so you know it's him without even having to turn your head. One of Ran’s biggest rules is that he wants to be greeted with a kiss on the cheek and a hug from his doting darling as soon as he walks through the foyer. But you're still seething in anger, your physical hunger fueling the fire of hatred, and you stay planted on the floor of the living room not acknowledging Ran’s presence.

He stops walking, and just stares at you, a quiet click of his tongue is audible. The tension lasts for a few seconds until he says “You don't want to play with me tonight, darling. I've had a long day and I'm not in the mood. I’ll give you ten seconds.”

His voice is stern and makes you shiver slightly. Fear pools a little at the bottom of your stomach but you ignore it. You told yourself you wouldn't give in. He left you here for over half a day with no food, you think. He can shove his rule up his ass, no amount of fear is going to stop you from giving him what he deserves. The seconds pass by quickly and your heart sinks when you hear Ran’s footsteps pound on the marble floor as they get closer to you.

You let out a screech when Ran’s hand grabs at your hair and arm and pulls. He hauls your body up off the floor so your eyes are level with each other. “I told you I wasn't playing,” he growls. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, his grip on your wrist and hair tightening. “If you want to act like a disobedient bitch, then I'll treat you like one.” All of a sudden he's tugging you into the direction of the balcony.

You're struggling in his hold, trying to escape the cruel punishment he has planned. “Get off- get your hands off me, you fucker!” You kick at his feet and he stops right before the glass door, grabbing your chin in between his fingers and pressing hard.

“Just know that you brought this on yourself, darling. You know the rules. I don't ask much. But I don't reward bad behavior. So you’ll stay out here until you've learned your lesson.” He all but throws you onto the balcony and slams the glass door shut. He turns away without a second glance at your bruised figure on the ground.

The wind and air are chilling and your body shakes slightly from suddenly being thrown into the cold winter air from Ran’s warm penthouse. It doesn't help that you're still in a pair of short sleep shorts and a tank top.

“Ran! Ran you fucking asshole let me back in!” One of your hands comes up and slams the glass door but it barely even shakes under your fist. He’s not in the living room, and you can't see his tall figure. Yelling to him is useless, you decide. Yelling to anyone is useless. His penthouse is on the top floor of a Bonten owned building. The balcony is located way above the streets of Tokyo, and no one occupies any of the immediate floors below you. No one is going to hear and no one is going to help.

You slide back down onto the ground and lean up against the door, curling in on yourself to preserve heat. You don't want to imagine how long Ran plans to keep you out here.         

     

You lose track of time after a couple of hours. You don’t know how long you’ve been in the cold but it doesn’t matter because your mind is a blur. The tears that started after 30 minutes have practically frozen onto your face and you can’t even feel your hunger anymore. The pain is replaced with the sting of the cold and the uncontrollable shaking of your body. Your lidded gaze is on the living room, so close to warmth but absolutely out of your reach. Ran’s name mumbles out of your mouth from time to time. Hoping that he can somehow hear you summoning him. You know that even if he could, he’d ignore it.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this cold in your whole life and you can’t help but let out another sob. He’s going to leave you here all night, you think until out of the corner of your eye you see a tall figure approaching the glass. You look up at him as he stares at you. “Please.” You whisper. He doesn’t hear. Not with the barrier between you, but he opens up the door, and steps out.

Your head leans in to get just a touch of the warmth coming from inside, but he shuts it behind him before you can find any relief. He stares at you, and you know he expects you to speak first.

“Ran, please, please let me back in. I’m-im sorry. I won’t do it again, please just let me back-“ your voice cracks, and tears start streaming down your face as you sit at his feet.

He looks down at you and laughs at your broken state. “Are you only saying that because you want to be let back in? Or are you really sorry for your actions? Because I can’t tell the difference right now, doll.”

If you want to be let back in, you know you’re going to have to earn it tenfold. You begin by lowering your head and placing a kiss on the top of Ran’s foot. Another “I'm sorry.” Tumbling from your lips. Your tears drop onto his skin as you kiss up the tops of his feet, apologizing after each kiss is placed.

Finally, he spreads his arms, accepting your groveling. “Now finish your responsibility to me, darling.”

You jump up clinging to his arms, “I’m so sorry, Ran” you whisper one last time before giving him a kiss on the cheek. He turns your head and devours your lips, pushing your back until you hit the railing of the balcony. When he pulls away your burrow your face into his neck, tears soaking his skin and his shirt.

He grabs the back of your neck and forces you to look at him one last time. “I hope you learned your lesson because next time I’m leaving you out here for a full day.” You let out a whimper as he scoops you up and brings you into the warmth of the penthouse. You cling to him, burrowing your head in his neck as carries you into the bedroom. The sheets and the duvet are thrown into the corner of the room leaving the bed bare.

Your mind isn't sane enough to understand why he did that, but days later when you think back to this night, you realize he rid the bed of any warmth in order to get you physically closer to him.

Ran plops you onto the middle of the bed and climbs on, his back against the headboard and his legs spread. You crawl in between his legs, curling yourself as far into his chest as you can get. The cold is still biting at your skin and you don’t think you’ll ever feel warm again. You shove your hands under his shirt, trying to seek out any form of warmth you can get.

Ran lets out a loud laugh “Damn darling, it must’ve been really bad out there huh? You’re rubbing up on me like a dog.” You barely have the energy to let out a word of agreement. Ran strokes your back, and if you try hard enough you can pretend that you’re just two normal lovers finding comfort in each other's embrace during a bleak winter's night.

But the hunger is still eating away at your stomach and once in a while Ran will grip your skin too hard. You hate this man, but for tonight, just for tonight you’d pretend that you could love him. You could ignore the pain for tonight, after all, you shouldn’t have disobeyed him in the first place right?

#ran haitani #ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #tr x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #ran x you #ran x y/n #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x y/n #tj.fics #tokyo revengers fic #tr fic

[fantasynsuch]

Adam Stanheight Angst Fic

TW: this is pure angst. Not an x reader fic. Inspired by O Superman.

"Hello, this is your mother."

Mom.

That's the first thing Adam thought of when he woke up again in the pitch-black void he's become accustomed to in the past week- his mom.

They never had that good of a relationship in the first place, him too deep in his teen angst, and her too stubborn to recognize what Adam was going through.

They hadn't talked since he left after graduation. He gave her a half-assed hug, and she waved him goodbye as he left in his beat-up Corolla. At the time, he was certain he would never see her again- but now, as the hunger swallows him whole and the fear of the dark he never quite got over as a kid looms in the background, he wants her.

Anything would do- her nasty meatloaf, or the plate of celery that she would fix him after school, or even just her arms wrapped around his whithering body. He wants his mom. Any fragment of comfort would do.

Are you there?

"Mom..." He whispers in the dark, his lips cracked and bleeding. His eyes open, but it's still as pitch black as it was when they were closed.

The last voicemail she left him weighs heavy in his static-filled mind.

"Are you there, Adam? Are you coming home?" She begged him. He ignored it, like he did all the other messages. If he could see her, even just one more time, he would tell her how much he loved her. He would curl up in her arms and let her cuddle him like she used to.

But the one last rational part of his brain knows he's never going to see her again. He would die, alone and aching for any semblance of hope, and she would never know what happened to him. She would spend the rest of her days yearning for a son that isn't there anymore. She wouldn't know that he was dead, either. She would think he hated her, and he was choosing to never speak to her again. But Adam knows that's not true. He loves her. His heart aches, and he's struggling to breathe. His eyes are getting heavier and heavier, and he can't bring himself to hold them open anymore.

Are you there?

"Mommy..." He begs to no one as his dry eyes close one last time, to never open again and to leave his mom aching for her son.

He was aching for her too.

"I'm here, Mom." He breaths out and drifts off.

Are you coming home?

He wasn't coming home.

#adam faulkner stanheight #adam stanheight fanart #adam stanheight angst #saw fanfic #saw #adam stanheight imagine #dr lawrence gordon #leigh whannell

[ellieslittlebitch69]

Home Is Where the Heart Is

Summary: first person pov-- after escaping David's cult, you come to find jackson all on your own. your family is dead. but, you have to find something to keep fighting for.

Hello y'all! This is my first tlou fic! It takes place in first person pov, without the use of y/n bc idk why but it always feels out of place to me, and interupts the flow. This is reader x Ellie and this is set right after the ending of tlou 1. I plan for this to be long with frequent updates, hope you guys enjoy!! This is more of a prologue than a chapter one, since it's so short, mostly provides background info.

----

At this point, I was beyond ready to fucking die.

I had been walking aimlessly in the woods alone for two weeks now, constantly shivering. My toes lost feeling ages ago, everywhere else I was feeling too much. All of my wounds from head to toe had been sticky, especially my ankle, with snow and drying blood. My stomach never stopped growling, the last thing I ate was the remaining mint leaves from my pack, washing it down with handfuls of snow.

It was better than before, anyways.

Father and I escaped from David's group in mid December. Between the low rations of food, the disappearance of Mother and little sister Bonnie’s corpses, and the beatings David’s men loved to give if you even coughed during bible study, we decided to take our chances deep in the trees. Besides, I had grown up in the woods. It would be like going home.

Instead, these woods were nothing of my own. The trees hold tons of pillowed ice, plopping onto your head any moment they so choose. Game was sparse, Father was lucky to return with an arrow in between a singular rabbit’s head. Worst of all, the fear of leaving a trail for David’s men to come collect us, or our bodies. I didn’t know which sounded worse.

We both quickly lost any sense of body fat to keep us warm, and we both knew the dangers of lighting a fire in the open. It was hard to keep going, when I was praying to die from starvation already. We had somewhere to go. Somewhere we could finally be safe.

We had heard whispers of the town of Jackson a couple of years ago, right before we made the decision to follow David along to Silver Lake. A town of communism, shared items, a community as a whole. It sounded too good to be true, and there was no proof of it ever existing. Mother had just given birth, and knew deep within her heart that she could never make the travel if there wouldn’t be immediate care. And then his men found us in the woods.

As we traveled, father never stopped trying to keep a smile on my face. He would make silly faces as we walked along the trail, continuing long after I’d give in with a contagious giggle escaping my lips. On quiet nights, he would tell stories of the war, with booming side effects and glowing facial expressions. It was nice to hear the sounds of our laughter, at least more than the sounds of our hunger.

He never made it to Jackson. Just as we were within a day of travel, we were met with a lone clicker, aimlessly wandering the woods. The snow made it impossible to run, and only had a handful of arrows left. I didn’t even get to say a word before father charged it, shoving me down a valley before doing so. When I did turn my head, I could hear the crack of his neck.

When I finally approached the end of a steep hill, numb and weak, the first sight I had was a gun barrel pointing to my lips. Horses surrounded me, along with several other barrels loaded and pointing straight ahead. I held my breath, finally waiting for the sweet release of a bullet. My whole family was gone, my skin was beaten and covered in blood, and I could see my bones through it all. There was no point anymore. I was finally finished.

As I closed my eyes, waiting for the final noise of the raiders finishing me off, I hear a dry, low voice, “Have you been near Infected?”

I look up to the man, deep blue eyes and furrowed eyebrows, the rest of his face covered by a silk handkerchief. His eyes were pained, looking down to see my coat soaked with blood and snow.

“Not within the last two weeks,” I husk. I can feel my throat crack, and ringing begin to play in my hears like a drum.

The man looks beside him, and my eyes follow to see a thick, large dog with growling teeth, his neck and chin dribbling with saliva. I wonder the last time they’d given it a meal.

Maybe I was the meal. Dogs do like bones, after all.

Whatever way it goes, I know that it will end with my final breath. I feel a lump form in my throat, “If you’re going to kill me, please do it already.”

The words barely leave my mouth in time for the dog to come crashing to the snow, hurdling towards me. I don’t even have the energy to flinch, instead my legs give out just as I feel myself turning away. The snow covers my limbs as I close my eyes, waiting for the first blow.

Instead, I’m met with the dog licking my face, warming my nose. Just as a smile comes to my lips, everything fades to black.

—

My eyes flutter open to see two of the cowboys from yesterday, a man and a woman, standing over me with gentle faces. The air is warm, like springtime in the woods at home. Everything feels like a dream. As I look down, I see a plethora of thick, wool blankets piled onto my frail body. The air smells of clementines and vanilla, which automatically makes my mouth water. 

And then I realize. The cowboys, with guns, are standing over my weak body.

My body moves before I can think, as I shoot out of the bed and run for the door, the cool tile hitting my pads of my feet before I immediately collapse onto the floor with a thud. My breath quickens as I begin to crawl slowly, ignoring the shaking in my hands. 

The man sighs, and leans over to pick me up, which results in me screaming and spitting in his face. If they’ve kept me alive, that means they want something from me. Life isn’t free, and after my horrors in David’s cult, I couldn’t bare anymore.

The man sighs, “Easy, young lady. We’re here to help you.”

“Help me?” I shriek, my voice catching in my throat. “Is that why you pointed a dozen guns at me?”

‘Well, we can’t just let anyone in you know.” I begin to notice his features as he comes into focus. Long, black hair just past his ears that almost curl at the ends, deep big brown eyes, and a bushy mustache that covers his upper lip as he attempts a smile. It’s almost comforting.

Almost.

We stare in silence at each other for a moment, as I gather the energy to bring my knees to my chest. My breathing slows as I look over to the woman, who stands over the man’s shoulder. She smiles at me, a warm genuine smile, that is reflected in her honey eyes. It reminds me of Mama.

“We are not going to hurt you,” she begins slowly. “You’re in our hospital, where we’ve been treating your wounds. Hypothermia, several open wounds, bruised ribs, and clearly starvation.”

I nod to her slowly, not releasing the grip on my knees. As I look around, I realize she’s telling the truth. Monitors color the walls next to the bed, along with a tray of food in the woman’s hands. As my eyes graze the window, I notice green blades of grass blowing in the breeze.

“Now, can Tommy help you back to bed so we can chat?”

I allow Tommy to pick me up slowly, wincing as I realize how stiff my entire body feels. As I lay back into the blankets, I immediately burrow into them as the woman places the tray in front of me slowly. Piles of roasted potatoes, seared chunks of meat, and what looks like miniature cabbages. I can’t stop myself from digging in with my hands.

Tommy chuckles, “Easy now, little one. Don’t wanna over do it. We have plenty of food to go around.”

I ignore him as I devour my plate. Where are they getting all of this? I hadn’t eaten a potato in years, and this meat was deprived of the usual freezer burn of David’s. It was tender, juicy, flavorful. All delicacies that I’d been deprived of since I was a little girl. It was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

The woman smiles, “My name is Maria. Now, Before we can help you, I need you to answer a few of my questions. Can you do that for me, honey?”

I can feel myself soften at her words, my mouth coated in the juices of the meat. Before I can even ask, Tommy slides over a tall glass of cool water. It runs down my throat, and for the first time in a while I don’t feel it hit the pit of my stomach.

“Did you travel here alone?”

I shake my head, “No, ma’am. My father started to travel with me but um… he didn’t make it.”

Maria sighs, “I am so sorry for your loss. I only ask to make sure no one will come looking for you, we try to keep a low profile.”

“We?” I ask, looking around. “What even is this place?”

The two look at each other knowingly with a smile, before their gaze returns to me. Tommy looks as if he recognizes me from somewhere, but I can’t quite place his face.

“Welcome to Jackson,” Tommy says. “Were you looking to travel somewhere else?”

My smile erupts with delight. I had made it! I don’t know how, but by the grace of god I made it alive. “This… this is Jackson? I made it?”

“Yes, yes you did,” her voice replies sweetly. “And you are more than welcome to stay, if you choose.”

“Well fuck yeah I want to stay,” I giggle, taking a mouthful of potato. “Wait, that’s it? You’re just… letting me stay? There’s gotta be a catch.”

She nods, “Well, for a few months you’ll be in recovery. You should be cleared for release soon, we’ll assign you somewhere to live in the town. Normally we would put you with another family, but we got some town homes hooked up with power, so if you want a place to yourself it’s yours.”

I continue to listen to her, nodding as I continue to eat myself sick.

“Once you’re all healed up, you’ll need to help out in the community. Pick a job, so to speak. You’ll also be included in patrols once you turn sixteen. Help keep everyone safe and whatnot.”

I wait for her to continue on with the terms, but there’s nothing more. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she smiles. “Is there anything you’re interested in doing? Agriculture, community work, hunting?”

Tommy clears his throat, “You did bring one hell of a bow with you.”

“Had to feed my family somehow,” I say, wiping my mouth with a sleeve. “My father taught my archery, and I’m pretty average at foraging.”

“Excellent. We’ll have you placed with our hunting team. While we do keep and butcher, it’s always better to have more than none.”

An awkward silence fills the room as I take my last bite of the meal, holding myself back from licking the plate clean. That was the biggest plate I’d ever been given. That entire plate could have fed my entire family. Then I remember, that none of them are left.

Maria claps her hands together, “Great! Well, the townhomes are located near town square, near Joel’s. Tommy will walk you over to get settled, and I’ll come by later with prescriptions and whatnot. Does that sound okay?’

Nodding, I begin to stand as Tommy shakes his head, “None of that, peach. You may be discharged but you still need to heal if you wanna walk normal any time soon. I’ll go grab you a wheelchair.”

As Tommy rolls me along the street, I take in the sights of Jackson. Large, lit up buildings with smoke exiting the tops. Shops, pens for animals, even a movie theater. The sun kissed my skin gently, a warm breeze passing through my curly hair, filled with matts. I didn’t even care, because for the first time in my life I felt free.

As we turn a few corners, we approach a medium sized building with a staircase on the side, four large doors separating the space. The paint, deep blue, was slightly chipping at the ends. It wasn’t much, but I guess now it’ll be home.

As Tommy fumbles with the keys, I hear him sigh, “I’m sorry you’re here all alone, little one. Young girl like you deserves a family.”

I can’t bring myself to say anything as the lump in my throat swells. I hadn’t really ever taken the time up until this point to realize, my family was gone. Truly gone, and I’d never be able to see them again. I can hear the sound of father’s laughter in my mind, frowning at the thought that one day I may forget it. It leaves a pang in my chest.

“But I hope that one day,” Tommy continues, “Maybe Jackson can be your family.”

#tlou series #tlou hbo #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #ellie williams #ellieisgay #the last of us #tommy miller #oc x canon #bella ramsey #pedro pascal #clickers #tlou spoilers #tlou2 #tlou part 2 #joeldoesntdie #nogolfing #ellie x reader #posttlou2 #joel x ellie #sarah miller #ellie and joel #ellie x dina #hbo tlou #the last of us game #the last of us canon #pls read and comment #comingoutoffanficretirement