#he looms behind him on a hidden layer

[rafesapologist]

the set up — rafe cameron; part nineteen

summary: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

warnings: angst, swearing, sad rafe

As the weeks passed without any word from Rafe, the uncertainty gnawed at your thoughts. The initial decision to give him space had turned into an agonizing wait, and a growing sense of worry loomed over your days. You couldn't shake the feeling that something significant was keeping Rafe from reaching out to you.

Questions lingered in your mind, each passing day intensifying the unease. You wondered if it was a result of the recent events, the fragile state of your relationship, or something else entirely. The lack of communication left you grappling with the unknown, and the silence became a heavy burden.

Attempting to reach out to Rafe yielded no response, deepening the sense of isolation. As you navigated the emotional turbulence alone, the shadow of unanswered questions cast a pall over your attempts to make sense of the situation. The once-solid connection you shared with Rafe now seemed distant, and the absence of clarity only added to the weight of the unresolved issues that lingered between you.

JJ's peculiar behavior added another layer of mystery to the already tense atmosphere. His infrequent appearances in the living room and the occasional knocks on your bedroom door were accompanied by an air of secrecy. Each time he attempted to engage in conversation, it seemed as though he was purposefully concealing his face, intensifying the enigma surrounding his actions.

The dynamic in the house had shifted, leaving you caught in the crossfire of unspoken tensions. JJ's attempts to offer assistance or initiate conversations felt strained, and his veiled demeanor only fueled your curiosity. The subtle evasion of eye contact and the guarded way he presented himself hinted at a hidden truth, leaving you to wonder about the nature of his involvement in the recent events.

Unable to endure the lingering uncertainty any longer, you finally reached out to Sarah in the hopes of gaining some insight into Rafe's whereabouts and well-being. The weight of the unspoken questions pressed on your mind, and the need for information became too overwhelming to ignore.

Hesitating for a moment before typing the message, you crafted a carefully worded text to Sarah, expressing your concern and seeking any information she might have about Rafe. The digital message became a lifeline, a conduit through which you hoped to bridge the gap of silence and uncover the truth behind Rafe's prolonged absence.

*y/n: hey sarah! hope u guys are doin good. just wondering, have you heard from rafe lately?*

The minutes dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity as you anxiously waited for Sarah's response. The weight of uncertainty hung in the air, and your nerves were evident in the nervous habit of biting your nails. Pacing back and forth in your bedroom, the room felt claustrophobic, the walls echoing the unspoken questions that filled your mind.

The anticipation built with each passing moment, and the rhythmic ticking of the clock seemed to heighten the tension in the room. Your phone, clutched tightly in your hand, became a lifeline to potential answers, and you couldn't help but check it repeatedly, hoping for a message that would bring clarity to the murky waters of the situation.

*sarah: hey! everything's great :) and no, i haven't spoken to really anybody since we all left. why, is something going on?*

*y/n: nah everything is fine, just haven't heard from him yet today. he's probably just busy lol. thank you anyways*

Sarah's response, lacking the relief or clarity you sought, left you in a state of heightened worry and frustration. The absence of information about Rafe's whereabouts and well-being only intensified the whirlwind of thoughts that raced through your mind. Pacing with a heavy heart, your thoughts spiraled into a thousand reasons why Rafe hadn't reached out, each scenario more distressing than the last.

The feeling of being at a standstill, trapped in a state of uncertainty, overwhelmed you. The isolation and helplessness crept in, and the realization that the only person you had left to lean on, JJ, was also behaving strangely added another layer of complexity to the situation. The tangled web of emotions and unanswered questions seemed insurmountable, leaving you yearning for resolution in the midst of the chaotic storm that surrounded you.

Frustration and impatience fueled your determination to seek answers. Throwing on a light jacket over your tank top, you ventured out into the living room. There, you found JJ lounging on the couch, absorbed in watching TV. The contrast between his seemingly relaxed demeanor and the tension that pervaded the household only added to your sense of urgency.

Taking a deep breath, you approached JJ, your expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. "JJ, we need to talk," you declared, the weight of unspoken concerns hanging in the air. The search for answers had brought you to the point of confronting the one person who might hold the key to unraveling the mysteries surrounding Rafe's disappearance and JJ's peculiar behavior.

JJ, sensing the gravity of the situation, muted the TV and sat up, chewing the last remnants of food in his mouth. As you stood before him, a sense of urgency in your eyes, you couldn't hold back the plea in your voice.

"Jay," you implored, the intensity of the moment palpable. "Tell me what the hell is going on. Where's Rafe, and why is everyone acting so strange?" The weight of unspoken concerns hung in the air, and your gaze bore into JJ, searching for answers in the depth of his guarded expression.

"I don't know what you're talking about Y/n," JJ's momentary silence hung heavy in the air, and as he took a dry gulp, his eyes met yours with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. The initial response he gave sounded as if he were unaware of what you were talking about, but you, familiar with the nuances of JJ's voice, sensed the undercurrent of deception.

A flicker of frustration crossed your face as you pressed him further. "JJ, don't play dumb with me. Something's going on, and I need to know the truth. Where's Rafe, and why does everything feel so off?" The urgency in your voice reflected the gravity of the situation, and you awaited JJ's response, unwilling to back down in your quest for answers.

As your eyes scrutinized JJ's face in the dim light of the living room, you noticed a mark on his eye that hadn't been there before. The discoloration appeared unmistakably like a bruise, casting a shadow of concern over the situation. Your gaze shifted from the bruise to JJ's guarded expression, connecting the dots and raising further questions about what might have transpired in the time you were kept in the dark.

The discovery added a layer of complexity to the already mysterious circumstances, and your eyes narrowed as you pointed to the bruise. "What happened to your eye, JJ? Don't tell me that's just a coincidence. Something's going on, and you're not telling me the whole truth." The urgency in your voice escalated, demanding transparency in the face of the mounting uncertainties.

"It's nothing, alright? Don't worry about it," JJ's nonchalant response, brushing off your inquiries about the black eye as if it were inconsequential, only fueled your frustration. His sigh and casual demeanor did little to ease the tension in the room, and the urgency for answers intensified. Running his fingers through his hair, JJ's attempt to downplay the significance of the bruise only served to infuriate you further.

"No, JJ, this is not 'nothing,'" you insisted, your voice firm and determined. The mounting concerns and the evident reluctance to share the truth heightened the emotional atmosphere in the room. "Why are you acting like this?" The plea in your voice carried the weight of the unspoken turmoil, demanding clarity in the midst of the growing chaos.

JJ's persistent refusal to share the truth left you feeling increasingly impatient and frustrated. The walls of the chateau seemed to close in, and the need for answers became unbearable. Ignoring JJ's attempts to get you to stop, you stormed out of the chateau, determined to seek the truth on your own terms.

The sound of his pleas echoed behind you as you headed to your car, the engine roaring to life in tandem with the turmoil within you. The tension between the unanswered questions and the elusive truth propelled you forward, unwilling to heed JJ's requests. The car door slammed shut, muffling the distant sounds of his calls, as you drove away in search of the answers that remained stubbornly out of reach.

The engine roared as you drove with determination towards Rafe's house. Despite the unannounced nature of your visit, the need to uncover the truth and understand what was truly going on proved to be an overwhelming force. The uncertainty gnawed at you, and the relentless desire for answers propelled you to Rafe's doorstep.

The drive was a mix of anticipation and anxiety, the road stretching ahead reflecting the uncharted territory of the revelations you sought. The weight of unspoken concerns and the mysteries surrounding Rafe's disappearance spurred you forward, unwilling to let the unknown linger any longer.

The urgency to unravel the truth propelled you to speed over to Rafe's house, the familiar twenty-minute drive condensed into a frenzied fifteen minutes. The world outside your car became a blur as you raced through the streets, the surroundings fading into insignificance compared to the pressing need to confront the mysteries that shrouded Rafe's absence.

The lines on the road blurred together as you navigated the journey, your focus singularly honed in on reaching Rafe's house. The regular constraints of time and space seemed to dissipate in the wake of your determination, fueled by the relentless pursuit of answers that eluded you for far too long.

The screech of your tires resonated as you pulled into Rafe's long driveway, the urgency of your mission evident. Hastily hopping out of the car, you sped walked up to Rafe's door, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Your knuckles rapped against the door in rapid succession, seeking the answers that awaited on the other side.

To your surprise, the door swung open, revealing the face of Rafe's younger sister, Wheezie. Her eyes widened in recognition, mirroring the intensity of your own emotions.

Wheezie's eyes held a mixture of surprise and curiosity as she opened the door to find you standing there. "Hey, what are you doing here?" she inquired, her voice carrying a note of concern.

You wasted no time in expressing your urgency. "Wheezie, I need to know where Rafe is. Is he okay?" Your words hung in the air, laden with the weight of unspoken worries and the pressing need for information about Rafe's well-being. The intensity in your gaze mirrored the gravity of the situation, and you awaited her response with bated breath.

Wheezie's gaze fell flat, and the gravity of her expression hinted at the weight of the revelation she was about to share. Her eyes shifted to the ground, and she shook her head slowly, a somber tone in her voice as she spoke quietly.

"He hasn't been in a very good state," she admitted, her words carrying the weight of concern and sorrow. The revelation hung in the air, casting a shadow over the atmosphere. "He's been drinking a lot." The somber truth lingered between you, the impact of Rafe's struggles hitting home with a poignant force.

Your eyes widened, and a pang of concern and sadness gripped your heart as Wheezie's revelation sank in. The worry etched on your face was evident as you processed the weight of Rafe's struggles. In an attempt to understand, you asked Wheezie the pressing question that loomed in your mind.

"Why has he been like this?" you inquired, your voice laced with genuine concern. The urgency in your question reflected the emotional turmoil that churned within you.

Wheezie met your gaze with a heavy expression. "I don't know," she confessed, her voice tinged with a hint of fear. The uncertainty surrounding Rafe's state left both of you grappling with the unknown, and the shared sense of apprehension lingered in the air.

A sigh escaped your lips as you crouched down to Wheezie's height, a gentle resolve in your eyes. You placed your hands on her shoulders, offering a reassuring squeeze. "It's going to be okay, Wheezie," you said with a soft conviction, hoping to provide a glimmer of comfort in the midst of uncertainty. "Why don't you go upstairs for a bit? I'll talk to Rafe and see what's going on." The tenderness in your gesture sought to ease Wheezie's worries, even if just momentarily, as you prepared to face the challenges that awaited you in Rafe's tumultuous world.

Wheezie nodded in acknowledgment, her trust in you evident, and headed upstairs as instructed. With a deep breath, you entered the house, a sense of determination propelling you forward. The first floor became a maze of searching glances, every room a potential hiding place for Rafe.

Your footsteps echoed through the house as you wandered through its spaces, the silence broken only by the distant sounds of uncertainty. Eventually, you stumbled upon Rafe in the kitchen, the familiar surroundings tainted by the weight of his struggles.

"Rafe?" you called out, the feeble sound of your voice hanging in the air as you spotted him with his back turned. The atmosphere in the kitchen shifted, and he froze, the tension palpable. His grip tightened on the beer bottle, a visual manifestation of the struggles he carried.

"Rafe," you spoke softly, the concern in your voice mirroring the worry etched on your face. You took a step closer, the distance between you narrowing as you sought to understand the turmoil that plagued him. "What's going on?"

Rafe's dry laughter sent a cold shiver down your spine, the tension in the air thickening. As he turned around to face you, the sight of his bloodshot eyes and the evident signs of sleep deprivation sent a wave of concern through you. It was clear that he was under the influence and hadn't slept in days, the toll of his struggles reflected in the weariness etched on his face. The gravity of the situation unfolded before you, and you braced yourself for the difficult conversation that lay ahead.

Rafe's abrupt response cut through the air, his words laced with frustration and bitterness. "What the fuck does it matter to you?" The harshness in his tone echoed the inner turmoil he grappled with, creating a barrier that seemed to distance him further. The vulnerability in the room intensified as you navigated the turbulent waters of his emotions, searching for a way to break through the walls he had erected.

A flinch rippled through you at his harsh words, confusion knitting your eyebrows together. "I-I was worried about you, since you haven't responded in weeks," you spoke quietly, the concern evident in your voice as you admitted your worry about his prolonged silence. However, instead of understanding, Rafe responded with a sinister laugh, as though the sincerity in your words was met with skepticism.

Rafe's words cut through the air like a sharp blade, his accusation hanging heavily in the space between you. "You're a real bitch, you know that?" The harshness of his statement reverberated in the room, leaving you stunned and grappling with the unexpected venom in his words. The atmosphere grew thicker, a mixture of hurt and anger swirling around the strained interaction.

Your eyes widened, tears forming as you absorbed the weight of Rafe's hurtful words. The pain echoed in your voice as you questioned why he would speak to you with such venom, genuinely perplexed by the sudden hostility. "What did I do to make you act like this?" you asked, the vulnerability in your voice laying bare the confusion and hurt that gripped your heart.

Rafe's tone remained sharp and unforgiving as he delivered another blow. "No, don't cry. Don't you dare fucking cry to me right now." The harsh command cut through the air, a stark directive that added to the emotional turmoil in the room. The vulnerability of your tears seemed to only amplify the complexities of the situation.

Your voice wavered with a mix of confusion and fear as you attempted to make sense of Rafe's unexpected hostility. "Rafe, I… I don't know why you're acting like this. You're scaring me," you admitted, the trembling vulnerability in your words revealing the genuine concern that gripped your heart.

Rafe's words were a venomous twist of the knife, each one cutting deeper than the last. "Why don't you go ask your best friend JJ? I'm sure he'll tell you. Maybe you guys can fuck afterwards since you like to do that." The spiteful accusation hung in the air, staining the atmosphere with a bitter taste. The mention of JJ added another layer of complexity to the unfolding drama, leaving you grappling with the harsh reality of Rafe's words.

Your plea cut through the tense air, a desperate request for Rafe to cease the verbal onslaught. "Rafe, stop, please—" you implored, your voice carrying a mix of sorrow and frustration. The room seemed to close in, the weight of the confrontation pushing both of you to the brink of emotional exhaustion. The battle of words continued, leaving scars that ran deep.

Rafe's anger flared, his words filled with resentment and disappointment. "No, Y/n, fuck you. I can't believe I ever thought a good-for-nothing Pogue like you could ever be trustworthy. You're just like the rest of them." The accusation struck hard, painting you with the same brush he used to view others. The shattered trust and escalating confrontation left both of you wounded in the battlefield of emotions.

Reality set in, the weight of Rafe's words sinking in as you realized what he was referencing. The truth spilled out, and you understood that JJ had revealed the scheme to spy on Rafe. The sinking feeling intensified at the thought of Rafe discovering the truth. You shook your head repeatedly, as if trying to dispel the harsh reality of the situation.

"Rafe, please-"

"Stop! Stop," Rafe's voice began to break as his words trembled in sorrow, tears escaping his azure eyes, "I loved you, y/n. So much. Never in my life have I opened up to someone, gave someone so much, as I have to you. Every damn day I woke up, only wanting to talk to you. You were always the first thing on my mind, first thing in the morning, last thing at night. You.. You were everything to me, and to think this whole time it's been some fucking sick game to you. Running back to your worthless Pogue friends that are nothing but trouble. How could I be so stupid? Trusting a fucking Pogue like you." His words put wounds in your chest and tore at your heart from the pure hatred for you that exuded from them. You never imagined you'd be at the other end of Rafe's spiteful outbursts at the end of it all, but there you were, looking up at him with a cold look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Rafe. I'm sorry, okay? I know that doesn't fix this but I didn't plan for this to happen. I told them it would only be a month and I would be done, but then I fell in love with you. I didn't spend all that time with you because of them. Our agreement was only-"

"Our agreement," he scoffed at your words, "do you hear yourself? You're unbelievable. You think that makes me feel better? Oh, you were only supposed to manipulate me for a month? How generous of you." Rafe mocked back at you, the high levels of alcohol in his system causing him to slur his words some.

"I-I know, I know that nothing I say will make this better. I know that you'll never trust me and you'll hate me forever after this, but I'm so sorry, Rafe. I didn't mean for this to happen." You looked up at him with sincerity, a pleading look in your eyes.

"I don't hate you. That's the fucking problem." He muttered.

"What?" You questioned, confused at his admission.

"I don't hate you, y/n. Believe me, I wish I could right now, but I don't. You think after everything we've been through that I could just hate you like that? That easy? Y/n, you're the love of my life. Don't you get that? I wouldn't be in the state I'm in right now if I didn't love you. I don't know what to do, and I'm at a war with myself because one part of me needs you, and the other can't even stand to look you in the eyes right now." Rafe sighed as he combed a hand through his dirty blond hair. His harsh demeanor was beginning to slip as his features softened and was replaced with an appearance of sadness and void. It was clear that the boy was completely shattered, and it broke your heart. Your mind began racing in that moment, unsure of really what to do in order to comfort the heartbroken boy. Do you leave him be and rip the bandaid off? Was that too cold of you to do? Or were you supposed to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be alright, despite the uncertainty that things would be.

"Rafe.." Your words trailed off as you watched Rafe's bloody lip begin to tremble. He closed his glossy eyes at the sweet sound of your voice, only hurting him more to realize that he'd miss that beautiful noise. He hated how much he craved you, how much he needed you, because he told himself a million times than he could never trust you again after JJ's confession. But he couldn't bring himself to push you away, although you put him in the position he was in. Hurting him worse than anyone has in his entire life.

"I don't wanna think about it right now, okay? I can't.. I can't stand the thought of waking up without you, y/n. I mean call me fucking crazy, but fucking hell, I still love you. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Your heart sank as you witnessed the internal struggle within Rafe. His admission tore through the air, leaving a poignant silence between you. You took a hesitant step closer, your voice gentle as you spoke, "Rafe, I never wanted to hurt you like this. I didn't plan for any of it to happen, and I never intended to fall for you the way I did."

His eyes met yours, a mixture of pain and longing reflecting in them. "I know I messed up, and I understand if you can't forgive me. But please, let me explain. It wasn't a game or a plan against you. It started that way, but then I realized my feelings for you were real."

Rafe's expression remained conflicted, torn between the anger and hurt he felt and the undeniable love that still lingered. "You lied to me, Y/n. You and JJ and the rest of your Pogue friends played me for a fool."

You sighed, reaching out to touch his arm gently. "I never wanted to play games, Rafe. I thought I could keep my distance, but emotions are messy and complicated. I care about you, and I never meant for any of this to hurt you."

He pulled away from your touch, his gaze hardening. "You're right, emotions are messy, and now look at the mess we're in. I can't just forget what happened."

"I'm not asking you to forget," you replied softly. "I just want you to understand that my feelings for you are genuine. I messed up, but I'm willing to face the consequences. If you need time, I'll give you that. Just know that I love you, Rafe, and I never wanted to lose you."

In the silence that followed, you saw Rafe's eyes searching yours for answers, a silent plea for understanding. It was a moment suspended in time, teetering on the edge of forgiveness and irreparable damage.

"I should hate you right now, Y/n, but I can't."

Those words lingered, painting a picture of internal turmoil. Rafe's internal struggle was palpable, and the air was thick with unresolved tension. It was evident that, despite the hurt and betrayal, a part of him was reluctant to let go completely.

As the seconds stretched, you chose your next words carefully, mindful of the fragile state of the connection between you two. "Rafe, I understand this is hard. I never wanted to hurt you, and I know trust has been shattered. But if there's any chance for us to rebuild, I'm willing to try."

Rafe's expression remained a mix of emotions – pain, anger, and a lingering affection that refused to fade away. He took a deep breath, his jaw clenched as he grappled with the conflicting emotions swirling within.

The room held its breath, and you sensed the gravity of the moment. The decision to hate or forgive hung in the balance, and only time would reveal the path Rafe would choose.

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[serawritesthings]

AMBIVALENT MINDS

Pairing | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem! Reader Summary | There was no doubt an air of mystery surrounded Simon, and while you hadn't seen him in years, his sudden appearance rendered you shocked, to say the least. It doesn't come without complications, though, resurfacing feelings that should have been laid to rest. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, smut, angst-heavy, description of violence, very sad :D Word Count | 12k A/N | Hello once again lovelies! I have recently been working in this fic about Ghost, where I had an idea that I thought was very fitting for him. I'm so used to writing for Arthur, so I'm a bit nervous, but I thought I would challenge myself for this one! I really hope you like it, and if you do, don't hesitate to let me know. I would much appreciate it! ♡ Also, I'm still head-deep in my Arthur Morgan phase, so the next fic will probably be of him. Enjoy!

Stoic had always felt like a suitable word to describe the ghost that haunted your mind. Lacing every corner of your thoughts, he strayed, forever walking the memories of your past–unwanted and unwilling, unidentified, and under no sense of obligation to you or anyone else.

His presence had become a looming shadow, casting a heavy gloom over what you so profoundly wished to forget. No matter how hard you tried to escape those clutches, he held on too tightly, etching his essence into the fabric of your consciousness as the echoes of his footsteps reverberated through the corridors of your mind, a constant reminder of what you wished could be undone.

But it left you more unsatisfied than initially prepared for, finding the distance between you to be nauseating, like the miles only made the hurt seem to grow closer until it was seeping into your very bones. Although reality had a funny way of keeping up with you, clouding the past in its grasp, so now, it only felt like someone else’s experience and not your own–oddly comforting and discomforting all at the same time.

Simon always seemed to have that effect on you, and it was always the most challenging part for you throughout the years you spent together. One day, you would find the rough exterior grow gentle as it warmed the harsh edges with the soft look in his consistently monotone eyes; the other day, sharp and cold orbs cut through you like a splicer–like you were a stranger.

It was hurtful and increasingly confusing, making you wonder if you had been in a one-sided relationship all this time. He kept many parts of himself a secret from you, heavily guarded behind thorny walls, as even the slightest inquiry made him shut you out completely. The struggle you went through to gain his trust was like tiptoeing through a glass field, every step bordering on agony.

He never told you where he lived, only ever sleeping at your apartment even though it was too cramped. And, as it came to his private life, he didn’t speak a word but almost knew yours entirely from the number of questions he asked and your willingness to keep talking the moment you got started.

Funny that his nickname spoke so well with his aura, for that was exactly how you had perceived him now that you had a clear look at him that wasn’t shrouded with love and admiration. In reality, you didn’t know who he was under all those layers and cautious ways, your conversations made up of carefully guarded expressions and chosen words, the depth of emotions often hidden behind a veil of protection.

Somehow, he had felt, well, real? More real than the faked chivalry you were so used to when you were brought up, parents having more wealth than you deemed necessary amidst their strive towards perfection. Compared to their stale kindness and expectations, Simon was a welcomed change, as exciting as he was human.

For a younger you, he was fascinating and shrouded in a prolonged mystery you begged him to tell you. But he never did, always preaching about the unsafety of his life and no less job, that you were better left unknowing–for your sake. So curious and unbelievably stupid you were at the time, not realizing the danger that surrounded Simon and how it could affect you.

You understood him, though, and you did for a long time, but for obvious reasons, it grew exhausting to harbor a love for a man like that. You were young and naïve, only surpassing your early twenties that were spent on edge with an older man you weren’t sure could love anyone, no less himself.

In the shadow of your own accord, the best years of your life passed away, and through long days of studying for your medical degree and battling the struggles of barely seeing him–wondering where he was most of the time–you set your sight on other things, naturally.

For this reason, you always reminded yourself that he couldn’t be loved because he didn’t want to. The thought bruised you because for the longest time, you couldn’t imagine being without him. Thank God that time heals wounds, for the thought grew dim; despite his looming presence, you couldn’t shake from your mind, even though you tried your damnedest.

“I wonder where you went just now, missus.” The warm tone of Gretel filled your ears comfortingly as it cut through the obnoxious clicking of the pen you tormented anxiously. Stopping abruptly, you glanced at the woman writing in a patience journal, focused but somehow acutely aware of your absent-mindedness.

“Oh, sorry.” You spoke quietly, the luminescent light flickering above you as you straightened your back, getting ready to continue your work. “Just stuck in my thoughts…” You trailed off with a sigh, avoiding her questioning gaze as she peered at you over the bundle of paper.

Although a sharp and hardworking lady, Gretel had a knack for seeing straight through you. It was a shame since you always prided yourself on your ability to stay undecipherable, a thing you learned after the heavy supervision you had been under when you were younger.

You could almost swear she was psychic, for she always had this look in her eyes, like every thought that passed through your mind was the most obvious thing in the world, and you felt just as ashamed every time you thought something filthy in her presence.

“Hmm, I know that look, dear. Why don’t you finish up and go home? Rest your mind for a while. Lord knows we have a lot of work to get done tomorrow now that the doctors have been slacking off lately,” she hummed unamused at the last statement, turning back to the endless words loitering the pages, glasses hanging low on her nose.

“Oh, you sure?” In all actuality, you weren’t interested in going home anymore. It felt too empty these days, the eeriness seeping into every corner of the house. Here, you at least had people around you every minute of the day, patient or college, and burying your head in work seemed more of an appealing way to deal with your emotions than staring endlessly into the white tapestry of your wall without a single second of sleep.

“Course I am.” Wishing you away with her hands, you glanced uncomfortably at the snow falling outside the window, hoping to stay in the hospital's warmth. But alas, you knew better than to question her, so you finished your work in silence, the loud drag of your chair notifying Gretel you were on your way.

“Any plans tonight?” She sent a mischievous look your way, expectantly. “A special someone, maybe?”

“No.” You only let out a breathy laugh, giving her a look that spoke too much of your answer. “No, I uh, I’m going to bed.” Cringing at yourself, you shut your eyes when your back was towards the inquiring woman, chastising your inability to make up a lie instead of telling her the sad truth.

“I don’t believe that, a fine woman like you staying home on a Friday night?” She put down the papers and put all her attention on you. “Blasphemy, if I’ve ever heard it.”

The corners of your mouth lifted slightly, appreciating her attempts to lift your mood. It was depressing, though; you could admit that. Earlier, you had heard both the younger and older coworkers gossip about the nightly adventures that awaited as the clock turned 5, feeling like shrinking into the floor at the lack of excitement in your life compared to theirs.

“What about that mystery man that came through here some time ago every time you got off work?” Her words made you stop in your tracks, the now remaining cold, stale coffee you were forcing down your throat spilling down the corners of your mouth, staining your shirt.

“Oh, dear, let me help you.” As the woman rushed towards you, your mind grew numb at the thought of the man you had tried so hard to push toward the back of your mind. Truthfully, you hadn’t thought about him for quite a while, but Gretel’s words forced you to face the cold eyes that stared back at you in your mind, ultimately ruining your every attempt.

“Sorry, I just-” Her reprimanding voice cut your apology short.

“No need to apologize,” she shushed you, grabbing the cup from your hands before you dropped it, smiling heartily in comfort as your cheeks flushed a bright red.

You gladly left the building after your mishap, and although with a large coffee stain under your jacket to showcase your bad luck, it felt relieving to be outside in the fresh air instead of your work’s stale smell of disinfectant and latex. More so, to avoid another possibility of embarrassing yourself somehow.

Gretel hadn’t pestered you more about your apparent surprise when she brought up Simon, but you could feel her eyes scrutinizing you when you weren’t looking. You pondered if she would be disappointed if you let her know you were mere strangers to each other, bordering on a heavy dislike from the abrupt end you faced.

When you grew tired of trying, you presented him with an ultimatum that took weeks for you to muster up the courage in order to speak of it. It felt more like he was the one to break things off with you than the other way around, which wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. He didn’t even get angry as the tears of distress from his lack of emotions ran down your cheeks when you questioned him, wondering why he stayed.

The look on his face wasn’t giving away an ounce of hurt, only remaining detached like he always did, like your talk was a major inconvenience. Your distraught voice didn’t affect him as you begged him to listen and realize, it took so much away from you always to be mindful of him.

“You never let me in, Simon. I feel like I’m tiptoeing around you all the time, like the smallest thing I say will set you off.” Whenever you spoke of this, it felt like he dissociated. You might as well be talking to a wall the way he seemed to bounce every word back at you, eyes observing you under the dim light of your kitchen where he leaned against the counter.

There had been something strangely different about him this time, though, as he came to you in the middle of the night, disturbing you, who had just managed to fall asleep after an increasingly tricky work day. It wasn’t that you disliked him coming to you, but he never told you why after being gone for so long, which troubled you.

“I don’t even know you! You never tell me anything, and you know almost all there is to know about me.” You gazed at him questioningly, only gaining a blank look back. Crossing his arms, he gazed out the small window of your kitchen as the rain made its way down the glass.

When you stepped into your apartment after your long walk from work, the memory hit you tenfold: everything looked remarkably the same as that day–the last day you saw him. If you focused hard enough, you could almost see him still standing there, watching you indescribably as you poured your heart out to him, begging him to stop shielding himself from you.

Now that you looked back at it, you almost felt embarrassed for how you behaved compared to his composed self, but you couldn’t hold back your frustration anymore. The pain and defeat you felt had boiled over, making you wonder if he had viewed you as childish for the words that poured out of you uncontrollably.

Taking your stained shirt off, you changed into something more comfortable before burying your head in the sheets, wanting to melt into the fabric so you could resume the ignorance of your past the following day.

It didn’t work, though, as you could almost feel the comforting rumble of his voice under your head like the sheets had magically turned into his chest, the steady beating of his heart pulsing heavily against your cheek. The fold in the linen grew into the familiar, scarred skin under your palms, your fingers tracing the ruined tissue that stretched far as the coldness of him heavily contrasted with your warmth.

The low chatter of your ancient TV grew distant as sleep started to pull you into its embrace. In the last remains of wakefulness, you could feel his coarse fingers caress your cheek before pulling some strands that covered it behind your ear–lingering on the soft curves as it hurled you closer to dreamless slumber.

“Stay quiet.”

Your eyes opened wide at the sudden breath that hit your ear; not a figment of your imagination, but someone whispering the words harshly against you. Your first instinct was to scream, but you found a broad, gloved hand already covering your mouth, muting the sound successfully against the otherwise quiet apartment–despite the low buzz of the TV in the background.

A heavy weight had you trapped underneath it, and you trashed wildly against the hold. Your movements grew limited, though, and as you moved, you found yourself pressed even firmer against the mattress, the voice you could recognize anywhere rumbling dangerously at you when you didn’t listen.

“I said quiet.” It felt like water as cold as ice washed over you when the familiar voice reached you, rendering you quiet and unmoving in pure shock.

You didn’t get much time to ponder over your current predicament, hearing quiet yet rustling footsteps step slowly on the creaking floor panels of your apartment. The hair on your arms rose when you realized others who were unwelcome walked outside the room, the creeping footsteps only growing closer to your bedroom door.

As they did, the hand covering your mouth slowly released its grip, but not before pushing a finger against your lips. You obeyed, feeling him pull you closer so you were pulled taut against him, having no choice but to follow his lead as he stepped away from the bed. Every movement was cautious and quiet as your back was pushed up against the wall beside the door, your whole frame covered by a broad back that towered before you.

It was Simon, no doubt. You were sure of it as you gazed up at the man, the broadness of his shoulders, the tall height, and the gruff voice that had called you out earlier. From what you could see from his back, he was dressed differently; a mask seemed to cover the whole of his head down to his neck, pulled into a sweater of the same color as a thick vest could be seen from underneath it.

In a hasty motion, you felt his hand graze the skin of your stomach as he pulled what appeared to be a gun that was strapped against his body from the waistline of his jeans.

Your breath hitched at the sight, the clicking noise as he loaded the metal slowly cutting through the quiet room, backing up even more so you were pushed tighter against the wall. The footsteps had ceased now, and for a while, you pondered if they had ever been there in the first place, wondering if this was reality or just a depraved dream your exhausted mind had conjured up in lack of excitement.

But then, you saw the door handler move slightly out of the corner of your eyes. Craning your head towards it in fear, your view was obscured though as Simon moved to shield you even further, lifting the gun as the door creaked open, the soft light of your hallway lamp illuminating the room, a giant shadow now apparent on the walls from the figure outside.

The door remained open, and the seconds ticked slowly like ages passed; your trembling hands made their way to Simons’s sides, grabbing his waist as you tried to keep your breathing quiet, heartbeat picking up as he placed a gloved hand on yours for a second to then wrap around the handle again.

What transpired next could only be likened to a horrible nightmare: the muted sounds of a suppressed gun going off, a body falling like a ragdoll down on the floor of your bedroom, dark blood seeping into the fabric of your rug from the man now laying there, completely and utterly lifeless.

Left staring at Simons’s back when he rushed towards the figure, he checked the man’s pulse in a quick motion. You couldn’t form a single sound, neither could you think straight as shock flooded you at the sight, eyes growing wide when you started to register what transpired.

Still remaining pressed against the wall in disbelief, you heard the low rumble of Simons’s voice speak into his intercom, eyes staring at you briefly through the holes in his mask before raising up, putting it back in his pocket while stalking toward you in big strides.

Grabbing your shoulders, he pushed you gently but hastily out the door, pushing your head to look forward as your gaze was transfixed on the dead man, finding it increasingly absurd to see that sight in the bedroom you had just slept in.

In your haze, you had found yourself being led into the kitchen, lifted up with strong arms on the counter as he grasped your cheeks in his gloved hands, finding your eyes unfocused and clouded.

“Hey, you okay?” His voice rumbled low in his chest as his eyes sought yours, patting your cheek gently to gain your attention. You craned your neck slightly to look up at him, eyes covered with black paint under the mask, seeming so familiar yet different from the man you knew.

“Simon?” Your voice was quiet, confusion lacing the edges as tears started to brim the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming emotions that hit you after the apparent shock that rendered you frozen.

“You’re alright,” he told you; as he swept his thumb over your cheek, a tear fell, bringing your head to his chest as his arms wrapped around you, gripping his waist in distress. Shushing you, he let you lean against him for a while as you sobbed, terrified of what had just transpired and what he had done.

You could still see the emotionless eyes staring back at you in your mind, the thought of them still lying in the next room shooting pangs of anxiety through you. Just like that, he had fallen to the floor, and through your tears, you started to feel the confusion fill you and the shock at what Simon had done.

He had killed a man. Also, he was dressed like a madman, wearing a mask and a vest, with a gun strapped into his jeans. He had been prepared to kill, and that thought hit you like a train as you felt your tears freeze, the arms around you caging you in until you started to push on his chest frantically, begging him to step away.

“What did you do!?” Distressed, you hit Simon’s chest in protest, feeling claustrophobic at having him standing so close after what he had just done. He didn’t budge, though, grabbing your arms tightly as he bent down to look you in the eyes.

“Stop that.” Sternly, he tried to get you to stop moving, but you didn’t listen. Still, uneasiness lingering in your thoughts.

“You killed him!” He hushed you with a dangerous look in his eyes, pulling your hands to your back so he could grip your wrists with one hand, stepping closer so he was pushed against you with the other hand gripping your chin forcefully.

“Listen!” He hissed loudly, making you stop your trashing when he did. “I need to get you out of here, got it?” You only stared at him frightfully as he spoke. “You need to stay quiet and keep close to me. Can you do that?”

When Simon didn’t get an answer, he closed his eyes for a second before opening them again, the fabric of his glove pulling your wild hair behind your ear.

“If you don’t do as I say, you’ll face the same fate as the man in your bedroom, understand?” You nodded slowly, and as he released your wrists in caution, he gave you a nod back when he realized you were listening to him.

“No matter what, you stay behind me. Got it?” His voice grew monotone as he took hasty strides towards your window, checking the empty street outside your apartment for a second before lowering the blinds. The kitchen grew shrouded in darkness, only the moon shining through the blinds. Taking a deep breath, you wiped your tears as you tried to gather yourself.

This wasn’t how you planned for your night to go. Just like any other Friday night, you were prepared to sleep the night away, not being witness to a murder, no less by your ex. He had been secretive through the years you spent together, and sure, you had made up various insane scenarios about his background. There had been crazier assumptions than Simon being a murderer, but that didn’t make the thought any easier.

Thinking about it made you shiver, wondering who he was beneath this facade he kept up and if this had been the case when you’d known him. Had he been hiding this from you all this time? You couldn’t help but feel betrayed, even if it was only you assuming. But then, he probably knew you would have one or two things to say about his, well, occupation.

Your first instinct was to keep your distance, but you realized you had no choice but to follow his lead if you wanted to escape this chaotic mess. Somewhere along your distressed mind and trembling hands that were a blend of his actions and being told you might have been killed tonight, his presence made the situation less grim, the usual safety he carried around him soothing your stress.

It wasn’t unusual, for he had always prioritized your safety–almost bordering on possessive. It had been a significant problem for you, seeing as it reminded you of your parents, whom you left when you turned 18, not wanting to be under that kind of supervision anymore. Countless memories of gruesome fights flashed before you, remembering the mood swings that turned Simon into a completely different person, words chilling and inexcusable action plenty.

Although many times horrible, his eyes had always been set straight on you, and despite them being sharp and calculated, you could almost feel the warmth radiate from them when they fell upon you. A hand on the small of your back, a large frame shielding you from others’ curious eyes and his sight, ever-so-watchful on you.

He was a man of actions, not words, and always picked you up when needed, walked you home, and even stayed in your apartment every chance possible, deeming it wasn’t a safe neighborhood. You had Simon to thank for the reinforced locks on your doors and windows, as well as the taser and pepper spray still in your purse to this day.

Cautiously, you trailed behind him as you moved through the hallway, the light above you flickering as you felt his hand planting itself on the small of your back as he reached around you. Pressing you closer to him, he took measured steps that echoed through the walls, not a single sound from the apartments surrounding you.

There was obviously something he wasn’t telling you, and there were so many questions you wanted to ask. Who was that man creeping through your apartment, and why, for all reasons, did Simon manage to be there at the right time? It felt too surreal to hold legitimacy, but somehow, you were thankful he was.

Simon’s gaze, once penetrating, had been soft when it met your wide ones a few minutes ago. It had always been rare to find him vulnerable, rarely getting a glimpse of the man behind the stoic eyes, but it reminded you of why you fell for him in the first place. The rare glimpses of love he showed were enough to fuel your own at the time, running on the tiny specks of affirmation that he might, in fact, love you like you did him.

But there was a twinge of something else, a draft of loneliness clouding them that you had never seen before. It shot a pang of sadness through you, although unwillingly, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had someone else to lean on when you left him, or had you been the only one?

Blinking the reminiscent thoughts away, you refused to direct your thoughts toward the pity that always laced your feelings regarding Simon. There hadn’t been anything you could do to help him anymore when you left him, and you had to put yourself first for once and realize that what you had was growing increasingly more destructive with time.

You were glad you cut it off before it got any worse, wondering many times how it would have panned out if you hadn’t left. And more so, he hadn’t given you a single reason to stay when you left, only gazing into the air like you weren’t there–not begging you to stay like you desperately wanted.

“Where are you taking me?” A worried curiosity started to take hold of you, and amidst your cautious eyes and careful steps down the stairway in the apartment building, the thought of who the now-dead man actually was and if there were more around swirled in your mind.

You only got a miffed head turn in response, glaring at you through the black paint as he raised a finger to his clothed lips. Getting his notion, you kept quiet behind him, sock-clad feet following his every step on the dirty, laminated floor. You didn’t see a single person on the way down, and it felt eerie despite it being in the middle of the night with everyone asleep.

As you descended on what you now realized was the entry floor, you suddenly felt yourself pulled roughly against the corner of a wall, face right before Simon’s chest. You heard voices coming from the opening of the building, sirens audible in the background as the sound of traffic lessened when someone closed the door–voices growing nearer by the second.

You gasped out loud at suddenly being trashed around, but when you saw the broad arms of Simon encase your head with his body pressed up against yours, you relaxed. Craning your head hastily to gaze up at him, you already found his eyes staring intensely at you, although faltering when he met yours in what you might have interpreted as shyness.

Your gaze flickered, unsure where to look now that he was so close to you. You opted to plant your eye on his chest, the folds and curves of the sweatshirt following his ample muscles that were hiding under the fabric, bulging when his m muscles flexed.

A deep, red blush grew on your cheeks, and you chastised yourself for being so obvious, wondering if he took notice. Redirecting your gawking, you tried looking towards the side but found his large arms blocking your view as he leaned down further to shield you from, well, you weren’t so sure.

After some time, you heard the hurried voices pass as the footsteps grew distant. As you looked up at Simon, relieved, you found him already stalking towards the entry door, grabbing your upper arm when you stumbled to drag you behind him.

It was freezing outside, the chilly air seeping into the thin cotton of your pajamas as you cringed when your feet stepped on the snowy sidewalk, now wholly wet. You didn’t have time to ponder it, though, being directed towards a black car poorly parked a few meters away, like the driver had been in a hurry.

The street was empty, aside from a few other cars littered around the streets, heavy with the snowfall that had been falling a few hours ago. It wasn’t a neighborhood with a good reputation, and often you read about the crime and dealings held in the dark alleyways and corners of the city. You didn’t have too many options, though, the already low pay from your nurse job being even lower since you just got out of school.

The seat underneath you was cold when Simon pushed you through the door, slamming it so hard that the sound echoed in the quiet street. Running quickly to the driver’s side, he wasted no time in starting the engine, tires screeching as he belted through the tightly built buildings into the highway.

His eyes were strained, staring firmly ahead, ignoring all laws of speeding when he drove faster–not that there were any other cars around. Confusion clouded your face as you stared at him staying taut against his seat, glancing worriedly in the rearview mirror every other second.

“What’s going on, Simon?” You asked him, voice audibly stressed, gripping the seat tightly and craning your head to look behind you. There was no answer, as expected, and it only managed to fuel your anxiety as you watched his jaw tighten under the taut mask caressing his jawline. It didn’t deter you from continuing to demand an answer to why you were in this chaotic mess in the first place and what his part was in it.

The engine’s rhythmic hymn provided a backdrop to your growing unease, prodding him to speak. “Simon!” You pleaded, but he remained silent, navigating the empty streets with a determination that intrigued and frightened you–the unanswered question hanging heavy in the air, thick and stifling.

Simon’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, and you were shot with a sharp, almost challenging look. “There’s people after you,” he snapped, voice cutting through the air. “But I can’t lay it all out for you now, so just do as I say.”

“What?!” You gripped the seat to turn around, seeing the road behind you devoid of any other cars. “You can’t be serious!”

His gaze, shielded and focused, hid the more profound truth–that the dangerous shadows tailing you were a consequence of his own actions, a perilous side of his life that had unexpectedly spilled into yours when he basked in the euphoria of being loved by you. The bonds you once shared had been like an anchor but now grew into a chain, its links forged in the crucible of his regrets.

You were left staring ahead while damning his stubbornness to not speak through the rest of the ride. The long way allowed you to think about the last hour and how absurd it was, especially seeing Simon again, which you had thought would never be the case some time ago.

Somewhere, deep in the crooks and nooks of your heart, it soared at seeing him again, prodding heavily at the memories you kept at bay, memories that hurt too much to consider many times. You examined his body that too many others bulged in pride and confidence, but to you, hunching slightly in exhaustion, fingers flexing nervously against the wheel.

He had grown much taller and broader since you last saw him, with an air of maturity surrounding him that you hadn’t noticed before. Admittedly, you were both grown adults now, more so since he was older than you, and it felt quite different to be near him. You were unsure if you had romanticized the few good parts of your relationship that weren’t shrouded in misunderstandings and miscommunication or if you actually missed the first and only man you had ever loved.

The air in the vehicle grew tight as time passed, but at least it was warm as he had put the heat on blast when taking notice of your shivering frame. The strain of emotions from the moments leading up to now seemed to get a hold of you, and in a tired haze, you felt your lids droop heavily as you tried to keep your focus on the road.

After some time, though, your head fell heavily against the door, neck craning uncomfortably as your body succumbed to the heavy load of the day. It felt like seconds had passed when you woke up from your deep slumber, head fitted into warm sheets covering your body in heaps as small orange lights shone through the blinds.

As you blinked slightly, you still felt the heaviness of sleep hanging over you, bare feet rubbing against the bedding as you snuggled closer into the warmth and familiar scent that surrounded you, once more falling into a dreamless slumber without wondering where the hard, plastic side of the door against your cheek went.

It wasn’t until the evening sun settled high in the sky that you awoke again, this time wide awake. Only, it wasn’t your bed; instead, dark, blue sheets covered your frame, shielding you against the coldness of the apartment–only now noticing a black jacket twice the size of your body wrapped around you.

–

Slightly dazy and confused, you rubbed your eyes that complained at having to remain open, sitting up straight. So, last night hadn’t been a dream? Smiling lightly, you realized your night had been much more action-filled than your colleagues if that counted for something.

“Hello?” Your voice broke through the silence, quiet and cautious, yet sure Simon had to be nearby. When the silence stretched on, you cast the blanket aside to recognize the familiar chill wound around your legs that weren’t shielded by the jacket.

Grimacing, you pulled the sides of the jacket closer to you, wondering if the heat was off. There was no mistake that it wasn’t yours, the wooden floor under your feet creaking audibly as you stepped over some planks that were missing, observing the small cracks that stretched on the walls and bedroom door that had been wholly wrung off its hinges, now leaning against the wall.

Walking into the small hallway, you stepped over the various objects loitering the floor, bending down to examine what appeared to be some old paperwork among the dirty shirts that couldn’t have been cleaned for a while.

Scrunching your nose, you grabbed the fabric to put it on the old plastic chair that missed one leg, wondering where you had ended up. You heard the slight thud of something falling towards the floor as you did. Gazing down in confusion, the appearance of a small portrait caught your eyes, not having been there a second ago.

Raising your brows, you bent down again, picking up the shiny paper as you observed the familiar smiling face. You remembered the day vividly, the memory making the corners of your mouth chirp up lightly as it flashed before your eyes.

You had rarely gone out with Simon, being told by him that it was too dangerous for you to be seen with him. Despite your disagreement about it, you often spend long days in bed, the smell of homemade breakfast wafting under your nose and the feeling of starved hands moving desperately, heatedly, now filling your mind.

You were buried in your bed sheets; face blushed with hair spreading wildly around you like a halo as you gave Simon a toothy smile, begging him not to take the picture through endless giggles as his hand tickled you playfully. He had just made love to you, tender in his own way, and told you he wanted to show you how beautiful you looked to him at that moment.

You placed the marred picture back into the heavy combat jacket you had laid on the chair just now, curious of the torn edges and suspiciously red substance covering it in some places. Had he kept that picture all these years?

“Simon?” Walking further into the apartment, you grew worried, wondering where Simon was. That’s when you heard the low rumble of his voice, talking in a hushed manner.

Tiptoeing faster, you caught sight of his large frame leaning against the kitchen sink, gazing at you monotonously when you entered as his mouth worded undecipherable words before ending the call, pulling the phone back into his front pocket.

As you placed the puzzle pieces together, you realized you were in his apartment. That explains it, you thought to yourself as your gaze wandered around the room, taking in the dire state of it. You couldn’t help but be surprised, never imagining that Simon lived in such a pigsty. It wasn’t that it was untidy; it was more like someone hadn’t been here for ages and ignored the dire need for renovations, looking like it would fall apart at any moment.

Your wide-open eyes met his calculating ones, and as you opened your mouth to speak, he cleared his throat before you could. “Sleep well?” He raised his brow as the question hung in the air, eyes caressing your form as he took you in.

“I, uh…” you trailed off, scrunching your forehead as you tried to find the right words, completely and utterly overwhelmed at where you found yourself. “Yeah, I think so.”

You got a nod back, still staring intensely into each other’s eyes as you wondered where to start the questions that burned in your mind. “You,” you stuttered. “You’re here.” Your fumbled words grew into more of a statement than a question, confusion lacing your expression.

Simon only gave you a look in response, and had you been looking close enough, you would see the corners of his mouth chirp up slightly, unwillingly, of course.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted out. “No, what am I doing here?” Shaking your head to clear it, you dragged a hand through your wildly tousled hair before trying again, glancing at him in irritation. “What’s going on?”

He straightened up from his leaning position but didn’t step closer, still rendering you shying slightly away from his intimidating posture as he towered over you, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket slightly–nervously fidgeting your feet on the cold planks.

He nodded towards one of the old chairs surrounding a smaller table, beckoning you to sit down. Cautiously, you shuffled into the small kitchen, sitting tentatively on the chair as you hoped it wouldn’t break under your weight. Simon, though, stayed in his place, watching you indescribably before leaning his hands on the end of the table.

He glanced sideways like he was giving something a heavy thought before directing his gaze toward you again. “You’re in trouble,” he said. “The man I killed yesterday, he had been sent out to kill you.”

You froze in your seat as you felt shivers of utter fear running over your back as your heart began to race, its erratic beats echoing in your ears. The silence enveloped the room was broken by the ominous sounds of your breath, each inhaling a reluctant acknowledgment of the palpable reality you had dreaded.

Kill you? Why in the world would someone want to kill you? The fear grew into a hand that tightened its grip around your chest, making it harder for you to draw breath. Noticing your struggle, Simon’s hand flexed slightly as if he wanted to reach you amidst the panic but decided against it. Instead, he draped the mask he had been wearing over his head, revealing the piercing gaze accompanied by the blonde tufts of hair, messy from wearing the balaclava as the remains of sweat wetted the roots of his hair.

“Hey, it’s alright. He won’t get the chance now.” You weren’t sure if his words had been meant to provide you with comfort, but seeing him without his mask made you feel slightly safer.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You only got a grunt in response as he straightened up, turning away from you to look out the window. “Who was he?” You asked, trying to crane your neck to get more glimpses of his face that he had shielded from you until now.

There was something different about them, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. They seemed tired, though; the bags underneath them were hard not to notice, heavy and swollen as the whites of his eyes were shielded under a light redness.

“Kessler.” He let on, words short. Noticing your silence, he sighed. “Victor Kessler”

“But why was he in my apartment?”

Rubbing his eyes, you saw the muscles tense in irritation. “He did… something he shouldn’t, so he got expelled from the task force,” he said. “We’ve been keeping a close eye on him every since, but revenge isn’t a fool's game–not for him, it seems.” He felt your gaze on him, sighing again when he realized you weren’t satisfied by the answer.

“Look, I don’t know. Revenge maybe? He was going to use you to get to me; knowing you being dead would give him the reaction he wanted. Either way, you don’t have to worry about him now.”

“Why would…” As his words sunk in after you started to speak, you stuttered, caught off guard. “Why would he use me of all people?” To say you were baffled was an understatement. What you had with Simon was a story from years ago, a thing of the past, which meant there was no reason for you to be the target of their malice.

You felt his eyes on you, but as you looked back, they returned to gaze out into the dark street lightened by the snow and the flickering streetlamp. There were many things you didn’t know of, many things he hadn’t told you–mostly because of secrecy and his stubbornness, but also from the humiliation he would face if he did.

He never thought about how strange it would be for you to wake up and suddenly see him in your apartment after all these years, but Simon didn’t think as he belted towards your building complex in sheer panic when he got the notion just in time.

Without your knowledge, he had been watching you ever since you decided to leave, dead set on never letting you out of his sight. It wasn’t for some sick, deluded reason as many may think, but more of a worry about how he had involved you into his life that he knew couldn’t be escaped, how your safety was compromised when he was too weak to leave.

“It doesn’t matter.” His response was short and conceit, brushing off your inquiries. You pondered over his words that fell reluctantly from his mouth, growing dizzy from all the questions that surged within you at the information.

“You’re a soldier?” He smiled slightly at your conversation change, unbeknownst to you, as his back faced your questioning glances. “Special force operator.”

“Oh,” you mouthed silently, like his words resonated with you. The Simon you had known for most of your life was a soldier? The thought was strange, but it connected some dots for you and the mystery that had always followed him. Special force operator?

“What’s that?”

“We handle things regular troops can’t touch, take missions that others don’t dare.”

“What, like superheroes?” You managed to get something that was supposed to be like a laugh but intertwined with a scoff.

“No, it’s not about playing superhero, love. It’s about being the one who gets things done when the stakes are their highest.” He felt your gaze burning on his back, closing his eyes as the word fell out against his will, like a habit.

He had sometimes called you that when you were together, the endearing term slipping out occasionally. You chastised yourself when you felt the familiar yet strange fluttering in your stomach when hearing it leave, cautiously raising from the chair like Simon was a provoked animal, even though he remained utterly still where he stood, not minding you.

You glanced shyly as you approached him, still not used to being in his presence after such a long time. “So, that’s why you always were so secretive, huh?” The fabric of your jackets touched slightly, the feeling making him glance down at you in a concealed startle at suddenly having you so close. He looked away as you glanced up at him, refusing to let him get away with a grunt as an answer this time.

“You could’ve gotten hurt if I didn’t.” He looked indecisive when your cold fingers lightly placed their way on his hand that rested on the window sill, dark eyes avoiding yours. The skin under your palm was freezing now that his gloves had been removed, the scarred tissue you knew so well contrasting heavily against your unspoiled ones, pads rough and rugged.

Worming your nimble fingers through the backside of his hand, you observed the difference quietly, leaning your head on his big arm tentatively. The muscle tensed under you, his body growing taut under your touch as he had always done, mostly when he came back from what you, at the time, didn’t know the cause of, bruised and apprehensive.

You relaxed slightly when he didn’t pull away, glancing into the street silently. You should still have been terrified to the bone, but safety had always been a given when Simon was near you, and now you understood why you had felt that way. It made you somewhat sad to realize he didn’t speak to you about who he was, but somewhere, you understood why he hadn’t, why he still didn’t tell you the entirety of the situation.

What rendered you speechless was that he had been keeping track of you for this long since he was aware you were in danger. While you had been trying to forget him and move on with your life, he kept tabs on you, ensuring you would be safe.

“You should have told me.” He shook his head immediately, stepping away from your touch, shivering as he still felt the lingering drag of your fingers on his hand.

“I’m glad I didn’t.” You scrunched your brows at his response, stepping toward him but not getting any closer as he grabbed your upper arms in warning. “You’ve only seen me now because you’re in danger, alright? I’ll let you be once you’re safe. I’m unsure if Kessler has any other connections, but I have people who will look it up before you leave. I also had someone go through your apartment and make sure to remo-”

“I don’t want you to leave, Simon.” You interrupted him mid-sentence, words leaving you before you could think them through. It was dangerous for him to be here since he raised feelings inside you that had been buried a long time ago and were best kept locked away; you couldn’t help it, though, for the good moments you remembered were so devastatingly wonderful–making your now boring life pale in its memory.

He stilled at your words, a profound conflict littering his blue eyes as he gazed into your guilty ones. Raising your hand, you placed it on his cheek, running it tentatively over his skin. You thought he would pull away, so you were surprised to see his eyes fluttering shut at the contact, almost leaning into your touch.

The air surrounding you grew taut, with an underlying tension from the warmth spreading low in your belly. Swallowing nervously, you couldn’t help but step closer to him, bringing your arms around his waist to place your palms against the broadness of his back, breathing in his scent as you pushed your cheek flat against his chest.

You shouldn’t, but there was a pull you had no choice but to follow, wondering if it would feel the same as before. You felt his arms wound around you, your lips trembling at the familiar feeling you remembered always used to leave you breathless with devotion.

Simon pulled you tighter towards him, thinking of how he had remembered you feeling against him on the cold, unsure nights, only a gun strapped to his back and a picture of you in the pocket closest to his heart.

Sometimes, when he was sure he was taking his last breaths, he would grab the piece of printed paper, dust it off from the ashes of war as his blood-soaked fingers swiped over the picture, coloring you in a tint of red as he remembered how you had looked the day it was taken. It’s what kept him going when he didn't feel like pushing on.

He wasn’t afraid of dying, neither was he of going to hell, for every day that had passed without you in it, only a picture as proof, already brought him into the scorching fire as the devil himself tortured Simon by only being able to watch you from a distance, all because of his own choices.

It was his fault, of course, that he had chosen this path, but when he met you, it was too late. No longer could he hide from the life he had chosen, having to sacrifice you so he could keep you safe. If that wasn’t torture in itself, he wasn’t sure what was.

The warmth that enveloped him ran like fire up his veins, all sense of logic falling out the window as he basked in your touch, suddenly grabbing your waist and hoisting you around his, stalking in significant strides towards the counter. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, feeling the coarse stubble rubbing against your cheek as you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling his hands wander their way under his jacket that covered you, finding sanction around your waist as he sighed at the feeling of your nose trailing up his neck.

Bending his head down towards yours, his lips desperately sought yours, all restraint gone as the chains holding him back fell towards the floor in a loud clank, pushing your body taut against his.

Fueled by his affection, you bask in the tenderness of his touch and desperation in his movements as you push all sense of logic to the back of your mind, longing to feel what you had always felt with Simon, the feelings that had been simmering in the back of your mind.

You shivered as his calloused hands crept under your shirt, caressing the soft skin that had remained untouched ever since he left, battled-bruised hands seeking sanction in the curves of your body that filled his wanton dreams, dreams that always depicted you.

“Simon.” you gasped in a quiet voice, hands running up to rest in the tufts of his hair, arching your back when his fingers traveled down to your backside, palms fitting wholly against you as he pushed you tighter toward his front with a quick drag.

A grunt left him when your legs tightened against him, feeling your crotch pressed against him, the euphoric feeling bordering on nostalgia. The room that remained as cold as it had been before wasn’t anything you pondered over when his hands unzipped your jacket, leaving it still wrapped around your arms, but the shirt of your pajamas was now visible.

“Tell me to stop.” His lips attached themselves to the crevice of your neck, bringing the supple flesh into his mouth as he groaned against you, fingers running their way up your shirt to lightly skim over the thin fabric covering your bare chest.

“Stop, Simon.” You said, voice monotone as you heeded his command needlessly, not paying attention to what you were saying as his thumb slowly caressed the side of your breast, begging him to touch you as your legs automatically widened to let him step further into your embrace.

He didn’t stop, though, not being able to restrain himself any longer as he saw how deliciously your nipple strained against your shirt, mouth-watering as they seemed to almost beg for him to wrap his lips around them. Doing just that, he heard the sound of your moan vibrating through the quiet room as you felt the unusual feeling of his tongue swiping over it through the fabric, gasping as you felt him grind his middle against yours slowly.

“Push me away. I mean it.” Weak hands found his shoulder pushing against the muscles that hid under the fabric of his jacket as he growled out the words, not budging him one bit as he continued his assault on your breast, covering the other with his palm as he crouched down slightly to make up for the height difference.

Grunting in frustration at his body not following his mind, he lifted you up once more after detaching his lips from you, carrying your heated body towards the manky, old bedroom. You unzipped his heavy winter jacket the short way you could, worming your hands around him like a snake, disapproving of the bulletproof vest strapped to him under the sweater. Instead, you grabbed his cheeks between your hands, placing your lips on his once more, feeling him pushing you up against the wall in the hallway.

Putting you down on your feet, he roughly removed the jacket from your arms, then gently helped you pull the fabric of the shirt to reveal your upper body, feeling his hands grab your bottom to carry you into the bedroom, carefully minding your head as he laid you down on the hard mattress, standing up to examine you as your chest heaved out its breath, gazing tenderly at Simon.

That did it, no doubt. The sight almost made his knees buckle; he grabbed ahold of the small wardrobe placed by the foot of the bed as he removed his jacket, lifting your back up slightly to put it behind you, your desperate lips finding their place on his neck as he bent down, stubborn legs wounding their way around his hips as you dragged him towards you like a siren.

He couldn’t help but follow, comfortably fitting his front against yours, the thin fabric of your pajama pants letting him feel you better as he strained against his jeans, the material stretched tight under his massive desire for you. Your breath hitched as he moved languidly, placing his forearm under your neck as you stared up at him through hazy eyes, a deep blush falling from your cheeks to your chest.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he swore into the otherwise quiet room at the sight. As your eyes met, you could see the sharp eyes crease as he scrunched his eyes tight, dragging his hand that wasn’t under your head down the curves of your sides, memorizing every crevice like this was the last time he could feel it.

The room grew shrouded in the released tension, now thick with a burning want as the large man hovering over you pushed your smaller frame against his ruined mattress, shame not having the chance to fill him yet from the state of the room he was devouring you in.

You paid no mind either, letting out a cry when you felt his hand creep down between your bodies, feeling the warmth of your crotch under his thick fingers as he parted two of them, dragging their way on the side of your lips, never really touching you where you mostly wanted him to.

“I can’t do this to you.” His voice was rough, blending a deep want and a heavy twinge of regret like he was doing something completely unlawful. You stroked his temple with your nimble fingers, wiping the sweat dripping down his forehead away, caressing the skin lovingly.

“Do what, Simon?” He didn’t give you an answer as you asked him breathlessly, but you knew what he meant, feeling like this was too hasty, too quick. But you couldn’t stay away from him, and all the hurt and uncertainty he had let you face entirely on your own, it felt too good to have him near you–for him to want you.

The slow drag of his crotch against yours growing more forceful, you were brought from your thoughts, breath hitching as the large imprint of him rubbed over the material of your pants, feeling every slide grow muted as a warm shiver traveled down your back, a sting of pleasure shooting sharply up your body all the way to your fingertips.

It was numbing, the way he chased after your lips while trying to pull himself away from you, arm pulling you closer yet head pulling away from you. The internal battle he faced was visible, but your warm and caressing hand lulled him closer to you, soothing the harsh thoughts that filled his mind, the worrying that stretched the lines deep on his face.

At the same time, he panted, dragging your trousers down your thighs, refusing to pull away from you, so when he realized there was no other way, you heard the fabric tear amidst the loud ringing in your eyes from excitement.

Your eyes shot open, but before you could speak, you felt Simon’s thumb push its way into your mouth, muting your sound of protest as he buried his head in your chest. Your hands threaded through his hair as you scratched the roots in pleasure when his other hands rubbed you over your underwear, wetness seeping through the material so his fingers could glide over you more easily.

It was mind-numbing, the sparks of pleasure you felt as his calloused fingers finally met skin, dragging slowly between your folds as your panties were pushed aside.

“Oh, god!” A strangled attempt at speaking left you, mouth agape as you arched up against him, feeling a thick finger slowly wind its way into the gummy walls, clenching down on the intrusion. The feeling left you quickly, though, and as a whine of disappointment left you, you felt his finger caress your clit in soft circles, making your hips move in motion with his hand.

Swallowing your noises, Simon’s tongue wormed its way into your welcoming mouth, lips massaging yours as he grabbed your cheek with one hand gently. Running your hands under the fabric of his sweater, you grabbed the vest underneath it in discontent, trying to show him you wanted it off, unable to do it yourself as his heavy weight rendered you moveless underneath him.

His eyes, now a swirling pool of black in the dark room, gazed dangerously into yours, grabbing the end of his sweater and pushing it over his head, refusing to detach from you. As the skin of his upper body was revealed, your hands ran over every piece of skin you could find to then push against the straps, the vest detaching from its hold, Simon throwing it beside the bed in a hurry, grabbing your thighs to push the plump flesh up beside you, gazing heatedly at your puffy lips that peaked through your panties, red and tender from his fingers.

Closing his eyes, he tried to gather his clouded brain, vision unfocused as he could only make out the blissful expression on your face. Wiping his forehead, he kissed the soft skin of your thighs, feeling them stay planted firmly where he pushed them as he let go.

His hands lowered to drag down the zip of his pants, his hardness straining painfully against the fabric. As the material loosened, a sigh of relief left him. Still, then pleasure so sharp ran through him when he felt your nimble hands slowly caress the bulge in his briefs, beckoning him to retake his place in the crevice of your neck, almost biting into your skin as your hand wormed its way into his briefs.

God had imprinted your every touch into his mind, only dragging them out when nights had turned too cold or lonely. Like some depraved animal, he had imagined your hands gliding over him in the confines of this bed when he was on leave, other times imagining your fingers wrapping their way around his shaft as he found to sleep in the corner of some building, teammates only meters away as he fell into a helpless dream of you and your soft touch.

To feel you touch him like that again must have been some type of depraved joke from the devil himself, finding pleasure in the torture of knowing he would never be able to feel this again. The slow drag of your fingers down the trail of hair that led to his crotch, slowly palming the scorching shaft that pulsed against your touch, the small leak of precum making the feeling all too much for Simon to contain himself.

“Fuckin’ hell, are you trying to kill me?” He panted out, grabbing your wrist when it became too much. Instead of a noise of disappointment, the beautiful sound of your laugh clung in his ears, and when he looked up, he found you giving him a toothy smile, a blissed-out expression covering your face.

“Oh, Simon,” you said, staring warmly at him as you took in the heaving of his chest as he planted his arms beside you, covering your whole frame with his large body. Looking down, you parted your legs even more, the anticipation being too much for you to handle, wishing he would dampen the warmth spreading in the low of your stomach.

Suddenly you felt his mouth against your begging wetness, tongue laying flat against your lips as he massaged and licked striped to your red clit, mumbling incoherent words against you that only vibrated euphorically against your sensitive parts.

As you trashed underneath him, his hands wound their way under your legs, pushing your hips down to the mattress as you felt his tongue worm its way into your tightly clenched whole to then once more tease your clit with his tongue, staring up at your face as the paint around his eyes dripped with the sweat down the folds of your legs, almost eating you whole as he lapped at you.

Hitting his head lightly, you begged for him to end his torture with pleading, tear-filled eyes from the overstimulation. You felt him everywhere as he buried his face nose-deep into your heat, hands burning every part of your skin that they caressed frantically, like starved for the feeling of you underneath them.

Pushing the ball of your palm into his bulging, scar-littered shoulder when he didn’t listen, you hit him once more when you regained more power, and he pushed himself hastily above you, almost manhandling you as he removed your panties off your legs and throwing them behind him.

“Come here,” he tells you, and it isn’t until he’s buried deep inside you that your facade breaks, tears gliding languidly down your cheeks in a quiet sob as he thrusts slow and deep, pushing down your thighs until they are burning from the stretch against the mattress–spread wide for only him. Simon hummed at the thought.

Hugging his head close to you, you can feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your neck as the sounds of him thrusting against you echo in the room, hefty and bulky, as you feel him bullying his way into you.

You knew this was it, and for that reason, you held him tighter, trying to imprint his touch into your head–wishing to prolong this moment so it would never stop, pleading with whoever would listen to make him stay. Your pleading only turned into mindless babbling as the force of his hips pushed you further up the bed, breasts bouncing with every motion.

Hearing the words stumble from you like he remembered they always did, he cooed at you, feeling your walls fluttering around his cock as he swore. “I know love, I know.” Breathlessly, he pushed himself up on his hands, grabbing the headboard as he continued to pound into you, watching you cry out with wet cheeks.

Closing his eyes in pain, he felt his heart cramp when what he was doing passed through his mind, knowing this wasn’t fair to you. But he couldn’t stop himself from having you, for you rendered him weak in the knees every time, not sure you knew of the power you held over him.

“Simon, please,” you begged with a trembling voice, staring into his dark eyes as his breath heaved with strain, begging him not to leave you again. He kept his gaze locked with yours, face contorting in agony when he realized your face would haunt him forever, damning him for his ways. He would stay away and leave you alone–he just needed to feel you for one last time, just once more.

To avoid the hurt that started to spread in his loins at the thought, he suddenly pulled you up by your forearms as he laid on his back, pulling you into his strong embrace as he splayed you over his chest, legs on either side of his waist.

A whine left you when he entered you once again, rutting up into you with strong legs planted firmly on the mattress, feeling you glide up his body with every thrust as your head buried its way into his neck. What left you now wasn’t even moans, mouth open wide in a noiseless scream as his hips slapped loudly against yours.

Grabbing the back of your hair, he pushed your head up so you started into his eyes, trying to tell you the three words he couldn’t speak. You gave no indication of noticing, eyes flickering in both pain and lust, arms on either side of his head as he kept pushing into you.

“Stay,” you managed to get out amidst his assault on you, gripping his shoulder tightly as the coil in your stomach started to tighten almost painfully. He remained quiet as he shook his head, bringing your face closer so he could press his lips against yours.

His chapped lips fitted like a puzzle piece against yours, and your hand lifted to caress the fading scars littering the skin on his face. He hit every sweet spot inside of you, pubic bone creating heavenly friction against your sensitive nub as it rubbed together when his movements grew faster. You found it hard to breathe as he swallowed your attempts, and with one hand on your waist and the other pushing your lips against his, you felt lightheaded as you moaned out against his mouth.

Starting to hit the mattress beside you in panic, he only pushed you tighter against his robot-like motions; the feeling was entirely overwhelming as the warmth that had begun spreading low in your stomach now traveled its way throughout your whole body. Your legs lay limp on the mattress, his muscular legs moving to shove you back on the mattress, now gripping the headboard again so he could push into you with more force.

When his hand found your clit, you saw white streaks of sharp light before your eyes, arching your back of the sheets as a noiseless scream left you, wet tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as you saw his eyes set intensely on you from above, your head shaking from side to side from the pleasure as you felt Simon piston in and out of you.

You didn’t want him to stop, knowing that when he did, you would never see him again. You were sure of it, felt it in how he held you and looked at you. So, when you felt the foil snap, you could only cry out as your ears started to ring, pulsating heavily around him as the cramps of your orgasm filled you with a scorching pleasure.

Every thrust of his prolongs your pleasure, still shooting through you as you fall backward, limp under Simon’s still forceful thrusts.

“That’s it, love.” Panting above you, he fell into your arms, rutting heavily against you as he wound his arms around your waist, finding strength in his muscular legs to keep his hips going, grunting audibly against your neck as you kept clenching around him. “Give it to me. Only me,” he mumbled against your wet skin, delirious from being in your embrace he so had missed.

“Only you, Simon. It will always,” you hiccuped. “Always be you.” The sobbing, blissed-out words coming from you were the final straw, his thrusts growing harder but slowing down as he bit into the skin of your neck, knuckles turning white from gripping your waist as his face contorted.

The pleasure kept roaming through him as he kept on moving inside you, prolonging the feeling as his cum rimmed around where his cock entered you, dribbling down you in heaps as it kept coming, stuffing you to the brim.

Spent, you feel the heavy weight of Simon relaxing against you, staying inside you as he tries to regain his breath–not wanting to part from you. A shaking hand found your trembling ones, intertwining them as he caressed the back of it with his thumb, reveling in how your hand caressed the skin of his back, shivers running down it as he basked in the afterglow of being one with you.

Your already heavy eyelids tried to keep open, refusing to let him slip out of your fingers, but your body had grown spent as it strained against the sleep wounding its way through you.

“Simon,” you mumbled, voice almost inaudible as he brought your hand to rest with his beside your head, humming at you, the vibrating of his chest lulling you closer to sleep. As it surrounded you forcefully, you could only let the last teardrop fall from your eyes, knowing he was seeping out of your grasp like dust.

–

The cold was seeping through you the moment you woke up, shivers wrecking through you as the bleak walls stared back at you–the blanket wrapped around you doing nothing to protect you from the chill. In a daze, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes tiredly, trying to regain focus as you coddled the blanket closer to your body.

That’s when the horror spread through you, head trashing wildly as you gazed around you while taking in your surroundings. A familiar, worn-down apartment stared back at you, the night dark outside as you gasped, fearing being left alone in his eerie apartment.

“Simon!” You yelled out, voice trembling as you stepped onto the wooden planks of the floor, shielding yourself with the blanket as you bolted through the hallway into the kitchen, finding it empty as you trashed open the door to the bathroom.

Your heart picked up its pace, feeling like someone had shot you right through the chest when you realized you were by yourself–completely and utterly alone, and he had left you just like you knew he would.

“Simon!” You belted out once again, leaning towards the wall in distress as the cries grew soundless as the power of it traveled up your throat, feeling it constrict until the wails filled the empty space, sobs leaving you as you grabbed your heart in agony.

By some sort of hope, you had wished he would stay even though you knew it was inevitable, but as you took notice, that wasn’t the case. Once again, the warmth of his hands had left you, forcing you to come to terms with living the bleak years of your life without him in your life, disappearing–never to return to your embrace again.

As you stood there, sobbing with cheeks red with tears, you damned yourself for loving him in the first place, for letting him step into your life once more when you were finally moving forward with your life. Unable to take the pain, you slide down the wall, glancing up at the walls as the ghost of him starts to loom over you, his shadow growing more fierce–more apparent–as you cover your head, unwilling to face reality any longer.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost imagine #cod imagine #Hurt no comfort

[xemdead]

[NSFW below the cut! Minors DNI]

Gentle kisses pepper over your face from above as Levi leans his body over yours. His lips skim across your hairline and down your nose, yet he denies himself contact with your lips. You grind yourself slowly on his thigh that’s helpfully placed between your legs. Clothing litters the floor surrounding your bed- sans underwear, which is still on your bodies.

The orange light from the lamp on your bedside table only illuminates the right side of his face. The hue softens his stress lines making him look younger, more relaxed.

It’s rare you indulge yourselves in each other like this. With your respective roles in the survey corps there’s never time; always things to plan, meetings to attend, paperwork to sign. It’s an overwhelming lifestyle.

Levi leans forward again, placing a careful kiss to you jawline. You caress his nape and guide his head to the dip at the base of your neck. He sighs into your skin, breathing you in deeply. You note that he’s being careful to not lay his full body weight on you- opting to awkwardly loom over you instead.

“You can kiss me, you know?” You murmur into his ear.

“I am kissing you,” he replies bluntly, voice muffled from his position.

“I mean my lips, Levi,” you feel him tense up so you stop grinding, sensing a change in the mood.

He doesn’t move, face hidden so you can’t gauge his expression.

“Levi?” You try again… nothing.

“We can stop if you want?” You express, as your fingers card through his dark locks. The night had stared out gentle and as each layer of clothing was peeled away, your intentions became very clear to each other. Or so you had thought.

“What if I hurt you?” A mumble is heard as he rears his head up to make eye contact with you.

“You won’t.” You reply immediately with confidence.

“But sex hurts for the woman, right?” He questions again, grey eyes unwavering from yours. Your face scrunches up in thought and you consider how you should explain things to Levi without making him withdraw even more.

“It shouldn’t hurt if the woman, or me in this case,” you grin at him, “is properly turned on.” You continue: “I’m not loosing my virginity either, so it won’t hurt in that regard,”

Levi still looks unconvinced. “If I hurt you, you tell me. Immediately.” It’s not a question this time, but a command. Levi wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he caused you pain in such an intimate way.

“Of course,” you reply truthfully.

He nods curtly, unsure how to pick up where you left off. Reaching back up, you lace your fingers around the back of his neck and pull him towards your lips. It starts slow, but soon heat builds between the two of you and you feel Levi’s tongue swipe against your teeth asking for entry. You let him in. Tongues glide and teeth clash as you grow more and more desperate. Repelling apart to catch your breaths, you sit up and reach forwards towards the elastic band of his boxers. With fingers hooked over the edge you look up at him asking silently for consent. He nods again and mimics your movements by tugging down your panties and then looping his hands behind your back to remove your bra.

“Fuck...” he mutters eyes gliding over you. He thinks you’re the best thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

His hand pushes softly on your shoulder, making you lay back down fully. Levi kisses your lips again, less feverishly than before, and makes his way down your body. Kisses litter your breasts and stomach. You let out a gasp as his mouth reaches your inner thigh- so close to where you need him.

“Levi,” you moan.

“Yes?” He deadpans, teasing you.

You reach a hand down and weave your fingers in his hair, guiding his face between your legs. He places a kiss on your core.

“Oh,” you breathe.

Levi begins with a slow long lick up your slit, his tongue just grazing your clit. Upon hearing your low moans of pleasure he picks up the pace- pressing his face further in. You’re soon a gasping mess. His tongue focusing on your clit now, he eases a finger inside of you.

Levi pauses momentarily “This okay?” He quizzes.

“Gods Levi, yes,” you praise, arching your head back. He begins to pump his finger as his tongue returns to your sensitive clit. You grow wetter and as a response Levi slides in a second finger. You can feel your release building as he continues his constant simulation.

“I’m gonna cum-,” you moan loudly to him, body writhing under his fingers.

“Cum for me, darling,” he responds.

And at that, you feel the pleasure snap in your lower belly, you let out a silent scream, your body twitching as Levi continues to finger you through your orgasm.

“… holy fuck,” you breath coming down from your high.

“Are you ‘properly turned on’?” Levi quotes, with a little smirk.

“Oh yeah,” you sigh happily. You look down at his fully hard member, now absolutely dripping with pre cum.

“Looks like you are too, huh?” You say unashamedly, looking back at him. He blushes but holds your gaze.

“We’d better so something about that then,” he quips.

It’s your turn to blush.

Sitting up he folds your legs around his waist. Levi hesitates, then pulls you towards himself for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips.

“Ready?” He asks, trying not to show his nerves.

“Ready,” you smile warmly at him, throwing his fears temporarily out of his mind.

Tentatively, Levi rubs his cock up and down you slit gathering up your slick. Then, pushes his tip in slowly. The usual sting you feel with penetration is barely felt this time and you breathe deeply at every little push. He lets out a shuddering sigh as he works himself fully into your heat, finally bottoming out. You’re both panting, breath mingling together as the distance between your faces is once again closed. Levi stays as still as possible, letting you to get used to the feeling. You cross you ankles together locking your legs around Levi’s waist, your hands reaching up to caress his face and then down his toned stomach.

“I’m ready,”

At your say-so he begins to pull out then thrusts himself back in. Your moans of pleasure synchronise as his movements continue at a steady pace. The bed frame smacks against the wall with each thrust. You never break eye contact, wanting to see each others reactions the whole time.

“Fuck- you’re so tight,” he grunts.

“Ah huh,” is your attempt of a reply, disappearing into your combined moans.

Levi starts sucking kisses into your neck whilst caressing your breast. You reach around and give his ass a small squeeze pushing him deeper towards you.

“I’m going to cum-“ he grunts into your ear.

“M-me too,”

Both of your breathing is erratic as you near your highs. Levi cums first, pulling out quickly as he empties himself onto your stomach. You whine at the loss of him.

“Ah- shit!” He curses feeling the euphoria wash over him. Quickly, his fingers rush to your clit; rubbing small, fast circles so you can finish too. The second orgasm hits you even harder than your first.

Laying down next to you, his and your breaths eventually even out. You roll on your side to face Levi’s, now sweaty, face. Kissing him softly, you curl towards his warmth. “You okay?” he mumbles into your hair.

“I’m perfect Levi. You okay?”

He smiles warmly across at you, “Never better.”

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #fanfic #aot x y/n #levi attack on titan #attack on titan #levi aot #levi x y/n #levi x reader #captain levi #levi fluff #levi angst #levi ackerman x you #aot x reader #fanfiction

[jokeringcutio]

Abijah Fowler x Reader – Finding out R is pregnant

Fandom: Blue Eye Samurai | Mature | Abijah Fowler x (f) Reader

Warnings: Angst, Drama, language, mature themes, Abijah is referred to as European Monster, Reader is referred to as half-breed, Reader is a maid at Abijah’s castle. Abijah might have feelings in this.

The drafty castle’s air brushed past your arms as you were on your hands and knees, the rough stone floor cold and unyielding beneath you as you scrubbed diligently. Despite the harsh task, you were grateful you were just scrubbing the floor today. Far too often had you been in a similar pose, but performing a different task.

Your movements were mechanical, a practiced ritual to keep your mind numb and your presence unnoticed. But today, Abijah Fowler's looming figure broke through your practiced invisibility. He materialized silently in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the polished stones like an ominous stain.

"Working hard, are we?" His voice was a low growl, barely above a whisper, yet it echoed off the walls with the authority of a war drum. In the past, you had thought his accent to be cute. Most women here had laughed at that, called you naïve, and warned you for the European beast.

They hadn’t been wrong.

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. You didn't dare look up, focusing instead on the gray water turning murkier with each pass of your rag. The silence stretched taut between you, heavy with his unspoken scrutiny.

“Always wondered why they let me hire these delicate young women. Suppose they’d let me do anything I want.”

You bit your tongue to keep silent and focused on the rag in your hand and the stones that were already polished until they glinted. You feared to feel his presence behind you, how he would flip your kimono and push himself inside whilst laughing about causing you distress. You tiny women couldn’t take a man his size, he’d say. But he’d make you anyway. He’d done so to you and nearly every pleasant-looking maid in his service. He was famous for that. A brute.

But instead of coming to stand behind you, he remained where he was. Merely watched you in silence, probably aware of your attempt to avoid him, probably suspecting why that was.

"Stand up," he commanded suddenly, and you rose to your feet, the bucket and rag forgotten.

His green eyes roamed over you, slow and deliberate—a predator assessing its prey. A shiver ran down your spine. You knew that gaze, knew the violence it cloaked.

His fingers curled around your arm, grip iron-tight, and he pulled you aside roughly. How many times have you seen him do similar things to former friends? Too often. Their names were no longer mentioned but the memories of them were not forgotten.

Not a word escaped his lips as he pulled you close so he could have a proper look at you. Just a chilling smile appeared on his lips, a smile that betrayed his intent more than any threat could.

"Something's different about you," he mused, his touch on your skin making you flinch.

The muscles in your stomach clenched, not from his roaming gaze but from the life stirring within you—a secret you had hoped to keep buried. Panic clawed at the edges of your composure, threatening to unravel you thread by thread.

"My Lord, I assure you, nothing's changed," you lied, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

"Is that so?" he chuckled darkly, his fingers roaming past the bulge hidden beneath the layers of clothes. “Funny. I can’t remember you bleeding the past few months. Should have noticed, what with being inside of you so darn often.”

His roaming hands came to rest on your waist, fingers tightening.

With a sudden shove, he pushed you away. Instinctively, you stumbled forward, struggling to maintain your balance. His laughter followed you, a sound that carried the weight of a death sentence.

"Watch your step," he taunted, eyes glinting with malice. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to you…or our babe."

You caught yourself before you hit the ground, the fear inside you now a live wire, sparking with the urgency of danger. You knew the stories, the whispered fates of women who found themselves in your position under Abijah Fowler's roof. None had ended well.

"Ah, there you are. On your knees, at my feet, Just where you are supposed to be. Now,” he drew a deep breath, closing his eyes for a short moment as if he relished in this. “Let me have a good look at you.”

He ran a hand through his long oddly colored hair – the grey taking root and fading whatever bright color it had been before. Like the fading sunlight, you thought. Not a color any Japanese man or woman had ever shown. Something unique to him that you could have found attractive if he had treated you and the others better.

“You’ve done a pretty good job fooling me,” his words sounded firm, but his voice was softer than usual.

Every instinct screamed at you to run, to hide, but where could you go? This castle was a cage. Carrying his bastard child. If he wouldn’t kill you, the others in the castle surely would. As you crawled backward, away from your Lord and Master, you realized that even if you could get across these walls, his men were everywhere. Abijah’s influence reached far and wide.

And he had guns.

He didn’t need to stand next to you to end your life.

"I suppose you were going to keep this a secret?" The man who was your master whispered. His accent sent another shiver down your spine, the words sounded so delicate. Such a contrast to how the man really was.

"Of course, Master," you managed to say, your voice steadier than you felt.

"Good girl," he said, the two words slicing through you sharper than any blade.

Your heartbeat hammered in your ears. The cool stone walls pressed against your back as you tried to melt into the darkness, your breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. But the heavy footfalls echoed ominously, drawing nearer. Abijah's voice cut through the silence like a knife through silk.

"Stand up," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

The command left no room for defiance. With trembling legs, you complied, rising to face him.

This is it, you thought, fear filling your entire being. This is where I die.

His hands found your midsection, rough and unyielding, pressing against the subtle swell that betrayed your secret. You flinched at the contact, his touch igniting a firestorm of revulsion within you.

"Ah," he said, a smile curling his lips. "I enjoyed you. Every time we joined together. Should have known my seed would take as it did with so many others.” Then, a deep sigh. “A shame I'll have to miss our little rendezvous."

His words were a dark promise, chilling your blood. You stood there, frozen, unable to speak or move away from the invasive hands that claimed ownership over both your body and the life it carried. Even if he did let you live, he would only wait for the child to be born and tear its young life away from you. The babe would end up in the sewers, just like all your friends and their children had.

"Look at me," Abijah growled.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, But what you saw in them confused you. It wasn’t the expected malice, but something else. A mixture of something you couldn’t quite name.

Among the emotions you recognized pride. It glinted in his green eyes, a perverse satisfaction that he had been the one to start a new life within you. That his seed had caught not just in any of his maids, but in you specifically.

"You're a peculiar creature, aren't you?" he mused, his fingers tracing circles over your stomach. "You made it this far... A half-breed yourself… always so fascinating."

The words were murmured, his touch surprisingly gentle. His words hung between you, a twisted compliment that only served to deepen your confusion. Then, without another word, he broke away.

His hand disappeared beneath the layers of his robes, and the instant fear that he was going to draw a gun or knife to kill you took hold of you. But when his hand was revealed again he held a pouch in it.

Without a word, he stood, waiting, until you finally raised both your hands. Then he dropped the pouch, the softness of the silk and the weight against your palms surprising you.

Something in the man’s eyes glistened. But it wasn’t something bad. Just, something you had never really seen before. Unless it was in the eyes of the cook when he looked at his wife. Or the guard who recently married and had looked at his bride.

But surely, you must be mistaken.

In silence, Abijah turned on his heels and strode away, leaving you standing there, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your unborn child. Your heart pounded against your ribcage.

You waited until his footsteps faded before allowing yourself to collapse against the wall, sliding down to the cold floor. Your eyes slid to the pouch in your hands. Trembling, you pulled the strings to gasp at the sight inside.

Glistening and glinting. Enough money to last you and your child a lifetime. Enough money to bribe your way out and get away.

He's proud, you realized with a shudder. Proud of giving me this baby?

Had he done this to other women before? Was it just a trick? You didn’t know, but one thing was clear. He’d given you a small reprieve from death, and in your hands, you carried the promise for better times. A chance to keep you alive, whilst at the same time a death sentence if he wanted to get rid of you.

He could just say you had stolen the purse.

I need to leave, you resolved, the idea taking root deep within you. Before he changes his mind. For our child... I have to run.

~

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Taglist: @queenofcringe @samicte

#abijah fowler #abijah fowler x reader #abijah fowler x female reader #abijah fowler x you #blue eye samurai fanfiction #blue eye samurai

[chronically-ghosted]

title: you may be dead, but i’m still pretty

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: ~5700

summary: it’s Max’s birthday so you agree to indulge him with one of his biggest and most well-hidden fantasies: Buffy Summers. (AKA the one where you dress up as a slutty cheerleader with a stake and completely own his ass)

warnings/tags: i feel like i should send sarah michelle gellar an apology letter for this, BSDM dynamics, tying up, edging, orgasm denial, blow jobs, brief use of plugs, oral (f and m receiving), piv sex, SMUT, no use of y/n, no reader descriptions other than hair long enough to put into pigtails, max dressed as the dollar store general version of Spike (and satisfies the little goth freak inside of me), dare i tag this as btvs or should i more accurately tag it as Boofay the Vampire Layer, as you can see i had way too much fun with this

a/n: from @heareball ‘s request from my 100 followers celebration: 24. A whispered, “Fuck, can we do that again?” against the other’s lips.” with our boy Max Phillips? smutty? (your original ask got deleted! i'm so sorry 😔)

🤍Masterlist

The doorknob to the front door of the luxurious apartment rattled as someone on the other side struggled with the keys in the lock. With a squeak, the door opened and a woman stumbled through. With seemingly no one else home, you frown, confused by the darkness and the seemingly empty apartment. 

“Mom? Dawn? I’m home from cheer practice. Isn’t it supposed to be pizza night?”

No one answered you, the shadows empty and looming. Slightly more worried now, you slip your backpack off one shoulder, your hand sliding into one of the pockets. 

“Ha, ha, very funny, guys, but it’s not my birthday. You can come out now. But feel free to leave out the presents and cake.”

You sneak around to the living room, your hand wrapped firmly around your trusty weapon in your backpack, your pigtails twitching back and forth as you peer into the gloom. Nothing moves, but the shadows feel closer, heavier, darker. You pause, wait, listening, anticipating –

Something moves in the far corner of the room and then strong arms snatch you up around your elbows. You squeak, surprised and a little pissed he managed to sneak up on you, as a long, warm tongue licks up the side of your neck, fangs pinching at your earlobe.

“Slayer,” the shadow hisses, “finally, she came out to play." Oh, no, you trained for this. For six whole weeks at the Y just for this one goddamn move. 

You plant your feet just like you were taught, twisting your body in his arms to readjust his weight and you spin, throwing him over your shoulder and onto his back on the ground. Hardly giving him time to shake off the shock, you snatch up your backpack and pounce on his chest. 

Wide eyes stare up at you from beneath thick black eyeliner. Dark hair slicked back, with at least one fake silver stud in his ear, the vampire watches you with surprise and obvious arousal. Hands with black nail polish hover above your thighs, itching to sink down into your plush flesh. If he thought that was a surprise, just wait until –

You pull a stake out from your backpack and hold it above his chest. 

Behind your ass, his cock jumps awake. You suppress a giggle and force your mouth into a teasing smirk. You press the tip right into his chest and the styrofoam cracks. The vampire breathes sharply through his nose when he realizes you’re not wearing a bra beneath your “Middleton High” cheerleader’s uniform. 

“What do you have to say for yourself? For a creature of the night, you’re kinda lame.” 

Grinning, his hands drop against your thighs, thumb slipping under the edge of the white stocking under your knee, the black shirt around his chest tight and far too complimentary of his biceps. 

“And you’re just a cheerleader. Tell me, are these stockings standard regulation?” 

You shift your weight, pressing into him with your hips and the fake stake, your other hand on his chest, exactly where you put it when you ride him. His mouth drops open slightly when he feels your wet underwear through his shirt, his eyes fluttering.

“I only hunt naughty vampires,” you coo. “Are you going to behave?” 

Brown eyes slipping into a heated blackness as he squirms beneath you, two fangs descend from his upper row of teeth, his tongue licking them teasingly. God, he knows exactly what the sight of him like that does to you. 

“Depends on what you make me do.” 

You smirk and roll your hips once – he groans. “I’m going to make you be very, very naughty.” 

You slide back, out of the reach of his outstretched hands, still pointing that stake at him, and beckon him towards you. He eagerly pushes himself up, revealing that tight torso to the moonlight. You catch a glimpse of his tight black jeans for the first time all night and your mouth waters. You can definitely see the hot outline of his cock, bulging against the seam of his pants. Why didn’t you do this earlier? 

You swallow and catch his gaze again. He’s smirking, glancing down to where you were so shamelessly staring. Flushed slightly, you push him down the hall as if walking a purp back to the holding cell. He even stumbles with his hands up in surrender. You take him by the shoulder and shove him into the bedroom. 

“You’re kind of strong for someone of your size,” he says as he tumbles into the room. 

“Cheerleading is harder than it looks.” His tongue runs the length of his bottom lip as he watches you in a comically small skirt slink towards him. “Kneel for me.” 

He drops to his knees without hesitation, his broad shoulders tight with anticipation. You tuck the tip of the stake under his chin, tilting his head up to look you in the eye.

“Being a hot cheerleader takes a lot out of me.” You prop the sole of your sneaker up against his shoulder, giving him a perfect view of your black lace underwear. His eyes flicker between your crotch and your face. “Take off my shoes for me.” 

His breathing hitches as he delicately takes the back of your ankle, the heat from his fingers warm even through the stocking, as he uses his deft fingers on the other hand to pluck your laces free. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am is my mother.” You cock your head. “Try again.”

“Yes, Slayer.” He nuzzles your shin as he slowly slips the sneaker off your foot, still delicately holding your ankle as if it is precious glass. Looking up at you for permission to continue, his eyelashes thick and heavy, he slowly lowers your foot to the ground, but his hand stays at your heel. Before you can stop him, his hand skitters up and squeezes the back of your thigh, so you press your other knee against his throat and he chokes.

“That’s one,” you warn. He nods, swallowing, and you shift to put your other sneaker against his shoulder. 

“One what, Slayer?” His hands are barely trembling as he unties your laces, tosses your sneaker to the ground. You know he can smell your wetness leaking out onto your panties. His already dark eyes flash with unrestrained want, trying to see where your slick stains your crotch. 

“One time you don’t get to come.” 

His eyes leap from under your skirt up to your face, his mouth slack and desire hot across his face and you nearly give up the game right then – tackle him to the ground and shove your tongue down his throat. But, no, this is what he asked for so you’re going to give it to him. You breathe, trying to steady your own unbalanced nerves, and he sets a warm palm on your knee. 

It’s your boyfriend in his eyes, not some horny creature of the night, asking are you okay? Do you want to keep going? Despite giving him everything he wants, he would drop this scene in an instant if you were uncomfortable in any way. 

You quell the adoration expanding in your chest with an inhale, drop the stake, and you set your shoulders back. You twist your ankle around the back of his neck and flex.

“Come here.” Desire overwhelms his face again, jaw tightening, eyes widening to black as he shuffles forward, careful to keep your leg balanced over his shoulder. 

“Can I touch you, Slayer?” He breathes, voice low and wrecked, hands twitching. Your knee bends over his shoulder, your heel pressing into his back. 

You nod, chest stuttering, his warm breath against your hot inner thigh sending arousal licking up your spine. You nod again and his hand cups the back of your thigh, the curve of your ass, his fingers cradling your opposite knee to steady you. He squeezes just below your ass and you groan. 

“I want my panties drenched. You figure out how to do that.” 

A heavy noise from his chest, and he ducks his head beneath your pleated skirt. His fingers pull aside the crotch of your panties and that first lick has you both groaning. He cups your ass again, pushing you into his face and sending your leg further over his shoulder. You might have stumbled, your knee already weak, had it not been for his hands gripping you, clutching you to his mouth.

He tilts your hips up, holds your pelvis like a bowl, and eats. 

He sucks one lip into his mouth, and then the other, tonguing your flesh as if it needed to be wetter. He dips his chin, licking from your clenching hole up to your clit, groaning praises around the drops of slick that cling to his lips. Tongue firm and steady, he fucks you with it, the curve of his nose pressing against your clit. Heat blooms, pulsates with every plunge of his tongue, your cunt fluttering around him, and it rockets up your spine, yanking your head back. 

“Oh, Jesus – fuck,” your nails dig into his shoulder, his name just in the back of your throat, and the vibration in his chest that you feel against your wet thigh has your knee buckling. With a growl that reverberates up into your cervix, he clutches you tighter, tongue painting you with your own slick even faster. He tucks your clit up into his mouth and sucks – hard.

Your orgasm that detonates in your core is unexpected, strong, and completely knocks you off balance. Entirely dependent on him to keep you upright, you hold him against you, his satisfied licks carrying you through it, teasing aftershocks, and he drinks the splash that bursts out of you with reckless abandon. 

Oh, that bastard is gonna get it . . .

Knees trembling, you pull back, nails wrapped around his hair to drag his head away from your cunt. He growls, displeased, but you manage to wedge your knee against his chest, pushing him farther back with your shin, then your foot. 

He looks manic. Slicked hair completely undone, mouth, nose, cheeks shiny with your release, his eyes were blacker than ever. He licks the corner of his lips, focus still entirely attached to your leaking pussy, and his fangs dig into his bottom lip, seemingly without his control.

“Is that wet enough for you?” 

You use the sternest voice you can muster, almost annoyed at how easily he can pull you apart: “Take your shirt off.” 

He does so without question, without hesitation, eyes catching every heavy breath, every pulse of your heart – he sees the wetness on the edge of one of your stockings and you watch as his cock twitches. 

“What next, Slayer?” It’s intimate, the way he says it, the way it purrs in his mouth. You kind of wish he had gone with the British accent he had been considering, but listening to him beg you just as he is, has your pulse rocketing again. 

In the dim light, he’s all dark shadows and cut muscle. Shirtless, breathing heavy, black jeans slung low on his hips, he could not look farther from the man you know, the man you love, but he’s still there. Still drives you fucking crazy.

In two steps, you capture his mouth with yours, your fingers twisting into his short hair at the cup of his skull as you pull him down into you. His groan is different, relieved, instead of possessive, coming from his ribs instead of his groin. Mouth open, he widens the gap between your lips with the press of his tongue and you taste your own salty, sweet release as his mouth overtakes yours. He kisses your bottom lip, nips at your top lip, and his hands squeeze your ass. 

Your name nearly slips out as he dips his head back, eyelids heavy, but he corrects himself. 

“S-slayer, please, can I fuck you now?”

You shake your head, your confidence growing again, and push him until he hits the edge of the bed and drops on top of it. 

“Oh, no, I’m not nearly done with you. Hold out your wrists.” 

His arms shake slightly as he holds them out to you, his eyes full of desperation and want. You tsk, frowning. 

“It seems I’ve forgotten my super powerful vampire restraints.” You tap the corner of your mouth. He wriggles. “I guess we’ll have to use something else.” 

His jaw drops as you turn around and bend forward, that pathetic excuse for a skirt barely covering the curve of your ass, giving him full view of your dripping wet pussy, as you slide your soaked panties over your hips and down to the floor. Over your shoulder, he looks totally dumbstruck, chest flushed, unable to tear his eyes away as you step out of your panties. His eyeliner is slightly smudged and your cunt clenches. 

He swallows, mouth wet, as you saunter over and poke him in the knee with your toe. 

“All the way back. To the headboard.” 

He scrambles back, still holding his wrists together even though you hadn’t actually tied him up with anything yet. He was always so good at taking directions like this.

You put your panties in your mouth, freeing your hands as you slink up the bed, over his heaving chest. As though tied by string, he follows as you take your panties out of your mouth, loop them around his wrists and firmly secure them to the headboard. It’s laughable, the idea that your wet underwear would actually keep him from moving, his actual vampire strength more than enough to shred them in an instant (as he has done on many occasion), but he settles against the pillows, a red blush emerging behind the brush of hair under his belly button, leading down and disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. 

He won’t last long, already like this.

You slide back, your exposed cunt barely touching his skin as you shuffle down, thighs spread over his. For all his bluster and showmanship, he really is so fucking pretty when you get down to it. You drag your three fingers down from his collarbone, digging in with your nails around his nipple and eliciting a short breath, continuing lazily down his stomach, to that maddening patch of hair. You think you can smell sex on him so you dip forward and inhale. 

He loudly whines, eyes squeezing shut, stomach twitching against your hot breath. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby – S-s-slayer – please, please o-open my jeans.” 

You tongue him once, he shudders, and you pop the button on his jeans. The sound of the zipper is loud, daunting, ratchets up the pulse in your chest, in your cunt. You’re going to soak him through his jeans at this rate, and he’d thank you for it. 

“Please take me out. I want you to touch me.”

You tilt your head, watching as he squirms beneath you, his knuckles white from how hard he clenches his fists. You’ll kiss him later and thank him for trusting you with something like this, but for now, you’re going to keep teasing him.

He whimpers as you lean away from him, back towards his feet. You watch him go a bit red as you smirk over your shoulder at him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you need something?” 

He doesn’t know how to ask for it, and knowing if he does, it’ll cost him. His gaze flickers to your chest. 

You shrug. “I guess you’ve been good enough for this, little vampire.” 

With practiced ease, you slip the cheerleader uniform top over your head, your tits bouncing as they’re released from the tight confines. You watch him bite his bottom lip, eager and desperate to put his lips around your nipple, but that will come later. 

“Better?”

He shifts, hips thrusting against his zipper for some relief, and nods. You lean back again, smirking, and untie his big heavy black boots. You’re dying to ask him where the hell he got this costume, but you have to stifle your own curiosity for his sake. Making sure your ass is in full view, you yank off his boot, and then the other. They thump loudly to the floor and you lick the soft place under his ankle, pulling a groan from his throat.

Now only in your skirt and stockings, you crawl back up his long legs and situate yourself in the cradle of his pelvis. He swallows, his mouth flushed with sweat, his arms tight and flexing around his head. You’d thought up a dozen scenarios when you got to this point, things you wanted to try out, toys to play with hidden in your backpack, but just having him beneath you, you knew exactly what you wanted. 

“Where are my friends?” You growl at him. “My mother, my sister – what have you done with them?” He blinks up at you in confusion for a moment, before pulling his bottom lip into his mouth with his tongue.

“I’ll never tell you, Slayer,” he snarls with a flash of fangs. You wonder if he’ll pull full Vamp Face tonight after all the teasing. Your cunt clenches at the thought.

You tsk. “That’s two.” 

You shuffle down his slim hips, fingers wrapping around the waistband of his skinny jeans, and tug as you go. He eagerly lifts his hips as you pull, harder than normal. How he fucking poured himself into these things, you’ll never know. 

Like a true badass, he’s not wearing any underwear, the teeth of his zipper leaving red marks on his groin, and his cock, so hard for so long, springs out. He is unfortunately very good at getting you to babble mindlessly during sex, his strict questions baring no room for argument.

Whose cunt is this? Yours. Always yours.

Who fucks you the best? You, you, you.

How do you like my cock, splitting you open? I love it. God, I fucking love it. It’s such a pretty cock.

You babble, but never lie. Flushed, thick, long, he does and always has had a gorgeous cock, as far as cocks go. Or maybe it’s just how it makes you feel, tapping against your g-spot, that makes your mouth water with adoration. 

“I have ways of making you talk,” you say gruffly, palming the leaking precum around his head and using it to pump him once. His eyes roll back in his head, his biceps flexing with restraint. But, admirably, he holds out.

“I-I’m not afraid of you, S-slayer,” he mutters breathlessly. That sort of arrogance, cock-assuredness, it made you wet the first time you met him, and it still does. You grind against his thigh, but it’s not enough. You lift your palm from him and spit into the cup of your hand. His eyes track the string of spit as it falls from your lips, as you turn your cupped hand over and take him by the base of his cock. You drag your hand up, feeling every ridge, every throb of his vein, as you twist your wrist, thumbing the head of his cock. Precum leaks more and his cock flushes darker. 

“You still don’t want to talk?”

He shakes his head, eyes tightly shut as if using every mental facility available to keep from cumming. 

“You know what I can do to you if you don’t talk.” He nods. “And you know what’s going to happen if you come before I tell you to. Right?”

You pump him a tick faster and his hips buck. 

“Fuck. Yes, yes, I know.” 

You arch an eyebrow at him, his jaw tight and clenched, the pink from his groin spreading up his chest. You think he might be sweating slightly, his skin fire hot. 

“Then you only have yourself to blame for this.” 

You bend forward and take him entirely into your mouth, his sensitive head pricking the back of your throat.

“Ohhh, fucking hell–,” 

His cock rigid against your tongue, you lap at him, deeply inhaling the musky scent of those curls. His stomach tenses and his hips jerk but he doesn’t move. He knows bucking them into your mouth will making him come like lightning, despite the torture of keeping still. He drops his head back against the pillow and releases a full body groan. 

“I’m gonna fucking die.”

You chuckle, humming around him, before sucking him up and down, up and down – he pants loudly above you – and then you pull off him entirely. 

“You aren’t going to die,” you murmur coolly, using your middle finger and thumb to jerk his head slightly. His thighs shake. “You might, though, when I suck your soul out through this cock.”

You slurp him down again, mouth salty with precum, and suck and twirl and lick and –

“Okay, stop, stop, I’m gonna c-come – I’ll tell you where your friends are.”

Beyond pleased with yourself, you let him drop out of your mouth and look up. You’re struck by what you see.

Chest red and heaving, sweat darkening the hair at his temples, arms shaking and fingers clenched around the headboard, he’s coming undone. He’s falling apart. His teeth clenched so hard, the tension contorts his beautiful face and he breathes harshly through his nose. You know if it really was too much, he’d say the safe word and you’d back off in an instant. But this is also the sort of play your boyfriend goes absolutely bonkers for. 

He swallows. “I-in the bathroom,” he chokes out, his voice cracked and dry, “they’re in the bathroom.” 

You bite his hip bone, flesh twitching beneath your teeth. 

“Good boy.” 

Easing your weight off him, you slide off the mattress and leave him sweating and flustered. You flip on the light switch, the dark room suddenly flooding with an almost painful white light. Blinking back tears as your eyes adjust, you catch yourself in the mirror.

He is the one tied up, edged to the fringe of pain, but you still look debauched. Hair a mess from where he sunk his hands into you as he kissed you, pleated skirt up by your waist, teasing a hint of your cunt, and your tits flushed and pink, the power of a vampire slayer looks good on you. You smirk at yourself, knowing that just this look on you has him at the razor margin of coming in his pants, and then your gaze drops to the counter.

On little pieces of paper in front there are names like “Xander”, “Cordelia”, “Willow”. Clearly planned and thought out, the names sit in front of different sex toys. Vibrators, beads, plugs – you name it. You grin because your boyfriend was often a pop-culture dork and you can only imagine his childish glee as he set this up. Ridiculous. Idiot. 

You pick up a black plug, short and squat, with the name “Spike”. Sometimes he was about as subtle as a train wreck. Taking up the conveniently placed bottle of lube, you go back to the bedroom, to your little plaything. 

His cock isn’t bright red, not as strict, whatever he focused on to keep from coming clearly worked. He licks his lips as he sees you come out, hands behind your back. 

“Did you find them?”

“Yes, I did. Very good vampire.” Kneeling at the edge of the bed, you bunch up the covers and hide the toy and lube underneath, knowing exactly when you want to show them to him. His eyes widen, hands fisting your sticky panties. 

“Can’t we play?” 

“So eager,” you coo as you crawl up to him again. You bite his earlobe, hands palming his wide chest. “We’re almost there, but not yet.”

His hips shift, searching for the heat of yours as you settle on his stomach. Your cunt’s slick smears on his hot skin and his nose flares.

“What do I have to do?”

Heartbeat hard against your wrists, your ribs, your thighs, you swallow his gaze as you reach behind you and squeeze the base of his cock. He gasps, the touch unexpected, and in three strokes, he’s hard, straining, between your ass cheeks. You rub your ass against him once and you can see his resolve start to crumble. He’s been on the edge for too long, buckling against the climbing weight of his own orgasm. He whines, his eyes tightly shut, the eyeliner running down his temple. You wait, thinking this is where he will call it quits, use the safeword and tear out of his restraints. But he doesn’t. He twitches and heaves and shudders, precum running in between your fingers. 

Your little goth badass is struggling to keep it together. 

You bend forward and kiss him lightly on his cheek, his skin warm and wet. 

“You have to make me come,” you whisper. Without looking at him, you reach to the end of the bed, and pull out the plug you’ve chosen.

He literally whimpers when he sees what’s in your hand. His open mouth is wet, stringy with spit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck – S-slayer, p-please –,”

“Not for you, silly,” you hum. Holding onto the plug, you slather a truly horrendous amount of lube over it. It drips wet and warm onto his chest, his skin tightening. His fangs hover above his bottom lip. He wants to devour you. 

You stroke him twice more, inch back, and arch your back, his cock brushing your stomach. On an exhale, you insert the plug into yourself and finally let out the moan that’s been building in your chest all night. Watching your face go slack, he snarls.

“I wanted to do that.” 

You breathe out, feeling full and swollen, slick leaking down your thigh. You crack open an eye and smirk as he seethes. He straddles the edge, cracking under your fingertips, and he still thinks he owns your asshole. 

“Don’t be naughty or I’ll make it three.” 

With a quick lick up his cock, you settle forward and take his red tip into your cunt. He flushes, sweat breaking out on his skin, as you sink, lower, and lower, swallowing him more and more, as your body literally molds to take more and more of him. By the time you straddle him completely, his cock thick and throbbing inside of you, the moan you made is only matched by his, low, deep, aching. The headboard hisses as his fists clench around the slates. 

“Baby – please, you have to – move – baby–,”

“You don’t get to come, even if I do, understand?”

He shudders, his hips jerking up in small strokes, his eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, I k-know.” 

“Good boy.”

And you rise up on your knees and drop all the way back down, searching for a pace that is as fast as it is punishing. Squeezing his hips with your thighs, you ride him, that syrupy heat turning from a simmer to a roar, pleasure throbbing like a fresh bruise. The tendons in his neck flex and strong as he fights to wrangle in that spark, that wildfire, he looks up at you, eyes swimming with need, with adoration, with rage. He wants to fuck you, wants his hands on you, wants to pluck you apart with his fingers, his tongue – but mostly he wants to come with you.

Sweat slips down the back of your neck, over your shoulder, nestling under your breast. More dripped down your spine, his thighs soaked from your slick. His restraint only drags you higher, faster, sharper. His own frustration is palpable and your complete control over him tightens your cunt. You bounce rougher and he grunts, barely audible words escaping his clenched teeth i’m gonna fuck you gonna ruin that cunt gonna split you open baby baby baby his forearms so tight, you could see his veins up through his arms. 

The image of a ruined Max Phillips quivering and sweating beneath you, obeying you, submitting to you, allowing you to reduce him to this – the plug going deeper and deeper, feeling overwhelmed, overspilling – it breaks you open. White lightning pierces you and tears slip out of your eyes, head thrown back, a moan tearing up your throat so loud you wonder if his neighbors will complain. 

You gush over his hips, his jeans, his throbbing cock, every muscle in your lower body tense and tight, milking his cock. Over the ringing in your ears, you hear him make a guttural groan in the back of his throat. Your thighs tremble.

“You can come, baby, come inside me.”

Three things happen within seconds of each other. 

Max tears his way out of your black panties, tears the cheap skirt from your hips, literally tearing the fabric in half, and he flips you onto your back. With a snarl, he shoves your knees up to your chest and thrust deeper inside you than you could ever reach on top. It nearly knocks the wind out of you.

You scrabble at his chest, little nails digging into his damp skin, but he doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t stop. He’s kept himself back long enough for this. Only this. 

He fists the stocking around your calf as he plunges deeper and deeper into your pussy. He pushes against a patch inside of you only he can seem to reach and you tighten beneath him, mouth dropping open.

“That’s it. That’s where you need it,” he smirks, the groan that follows nicking his ribs. “You’re such a filthy little Slayer. Need to get properly fucked by your dirty vampire’s big cock, don’t you?”

You nod, each brush of his cock against that spot has your thighs shaking and knees weak. He gives a particularly rough thrust and tears leak out of the corner of your eyes. 

“Oh god – yes – I need – right fucking there – I need it.” 

“Need what?” He isn’t going to let you get away with it after that much edging. 

You try to focus on his face through bleary eyes, through the rapid pounding your cunt is taking, the whole bed creaking, so cock-drunk you think you might drool, and you claw at his ribs. 

“Need your cock, Max. And your hand.”

He knows exactly what you mean, what you want. His grip switches, arm balanced out by your head, and the other hand sliding up between your damp tits and his fingers tighten around your throat. His eyes tracking his thumb, he brushes the spot where he bit you last week. He could have healed you in an instant, hates seeing any lingering hurt on you, but you begged him to leave the mark, leave the scar. You thought you really might love him that day.

He thrusts hard and deep and his fingers tighten. Your vision blurs, blackness creeping in, your body going numb to the pounding, your grasp around his wrists going limp. 

And then, the world rushes back, pours into you, bright, loud, hot, and pleasure explodes out through your body and you come, harder than you’ve ever done in recent memory. It doesn’t even feel like an orgasm – it’s your soul being returned from some other astral plane into a hot, steaming soup. 

Above you, the force of his own orgasm knocks Max onto his elbows, hunched over you and filling you with so much delayed cum it leaks out of you and down the curve of the plug. You feel numb, tingle all over, as feeling slowly returns to your extremities, your skin warm and throbbing. Max’s own body beats in sync with his thudding heartbeat. Sweat pours off you both as if a dripping towel had been wrung out above you. 

As awareness slowly returns, you realize he’s basically crushing you with his full weight, but you wouldn’t dare ask him to move. If he is in the same state you are, he can’t feel his legs. 

Panting through the same shared breaths, Max lifts his head from the curve of your neck and soothes his pulsating skin by gently touching his forehead to yours. Shaking, he presses an embarrassingly chase kiss to your lips. 

“Fuck, can we do that again?” 

You chuckle mindlessly. “Which part? The heart-stopping orgasm or a shameful reenactment of a 90s classic tv show?”

Max groans as he flops onto the bed next to you. “The first one. Both. I don’t know. Don’t ask me hard questions right now.” 

You chuckle, breathing heavy, as you eye the shredded remnants of your cheerleader skirt and panties. 

“You’re lucky I bought this costume outright. Don’t know how I was going to explain what the fuck happened to it.” 

“Hey, you show up in these again,” he flicks the ruined lumps of your pigtails, “I’ll fuck you however wherever you want.”

“Do I even want to know where you got your get up?” You nod to his general appearance, ruined makeup and black nails. He glances down and realizes he’s still wearing those black skinny jeans. 

“Shit, no fucking wonder I can’t feel my legs. Damn things are cutting off my circulation.”

You giggle as he struggles to strip himself bare, kicking the jeans down his legs and off the bed. Carefully, you take out the plug, dropping it to the floor, wince at the emptiness knowing it would need to be cleaned later. And maybe later, Max would use his tongue to soothe the muscle.

But he’s too out of it to notice now. He flops back down, arms outstretched, and not needing an invitation, you curl up against his chest. His arms fold around you, his lips automatically coming to rest against your hairline, as your breathing settles. 

“So, good birthday present?” You grin up at him.

He rubs his eyes as he groans, smearing his eyeliner even more. “Fuck, baby, the fucking best. Like, you don’t even have to get me a Christmas present.”

You trace his chest, his ribs with a finger, a small smile curling your lips. “Hmm, you say that now . . .”

He laughs, no more than a huff, and kisses your forehead. “It’ll be hard to top that, sweetheart.” 

With that smirk spreading across your face, you sit up on an elbow, turning to look down at him. He’s just fucking glowing. 

“I don’t know . . . I was thinking something more dirty. Something that will ensure we definitely go to hell.”

He tips his finger up and down your shoulder, eyes already going dark, cock twitching against his stomach. “What did you have in mind?”

“Have you ever been choked out by a rosary?”

-----

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#100 followers #100 followers event

[azurevi]

assassin/spy!reader x leona brainrot on my mind 24/7. i just need to get this out of my system and shoot it directly into thermosphere

spy!reader who enrolls in NRC with a secret mission. it can be to probe into the workings of the kingscholar family, to take revenge for some decades-long vendetta, or just to execute a kill order (cz why not go all the way).

spy!reader who has to get close to the fearsome dorm leader of savanaclaw under the guise of a clueless student, all the while secretly despising him as the enemy.

spy!reader who, as time passes, eventually sees the layers buried deep beneath the tough-looking prince and learns of his childhood, his dwindled aspirations, his unspoken care for his country. all the vile things they’d heard of him crumble one by one the more they spend time in each other’s presence.

spy!reader who presses down the growing feelings and keeps reminding themselves of their main mission. but it’s getting harder and harder, especially when they can see that they’ve gained leona’s trust. they should be over the moon about this, but all they could feel was the looming fear that they would have to break his trust one day.

spy!reader who (sub)consciously delays the mission. whatever it may be about, they keep coming with excuses-- the timing is premature, there’s this school event going on that’s interfering with the mission, there seems to be more secrets hidden within and they need more time to figure them out. 

spy!reader who was brought up as a heartless weapon but feel themselve melting everytime there’s so much a graze from leona. it’s a foreign feeling, one that they find repulsive at first, but gradually come to love it. it makes them feel...human. normal.

spy!reader who, when leona confesses, says that they feel the same. only that they don’t know whether it’s for the mission or for their own feelings-- they’ve been living in this hurricane of emotions for so long, partly plagued by their responsibiliies, partly indulging in the softest desires of their heart.

spy!reader who can never be too happy with leona. even when everything is perfect, from the weather to the prince sleeping on their lap, there is always a sense of fear haunting them. they know that they have to give it all up one day, that they have to make a decision and it will always have to be to sacrifice this simply yet fulfilling pretense. they know that if they let themselves enjoy this too much, it’ll be impossible to leave.

spy!reader whose time is up. whoever is behind everything has done enough waiting and decides to take matters in their own hands. in the wreckage, among the debris of what was once a dorm filled with vitality and liveliness, leona’s sharp eyes glare at them, laced with fury and hurt as he yells at them to leave.

alternatively: spy!reader who has the tip of the knife kissing the hollow of leona’s throat, yet their hand can’t move despite the many experiences they’ve had. “do it. kill me.” leona says, as if he already knows the answer. he does. and so do them, who wring their hand away and return to the dark place they came from.

+ alternatively: spy!reader trying to convince leona that, yes, they’re here to kill him, but time has changed everything and now they want nothing more than to protect him from the claws of their leader, but leona doesn’t buy it. he stupidly believed that even though the world was against him, he at least had them on his side. now he’s proven wrong and wants nothing to do with them again.

spy!reader who either comes back to end things right with leona and has to live with regrets forever. (i don’t have a definite ending for this au... in fact i probably cannot write something so complicated. but personally i’m leaning towards a fluffy ending cz jesus, look at all this angst already.)

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #sie writes #head empty only brainrots

[keqism]

upon a full moon

⚘ pairing: scaramouche x reader

⚘ genre: fluff

⚘ warnings: hints of scara’s backstory, scara’s real name, a vague time skip, unedited

⚘ summary: a dream is a wish your heart makes; you were his wish come true.

long before the fatui, long before the balladeer existed, kunikuzushi once wished upon a full moon.

it had been a quiet night. dark, looming clouds crowded around the pale moon—a sign of an approaching storm. yet, the lights of inazuma city shone brighter than the hidden stars above, the streets bustling with people. from his perch on a cliff overlooking the city, kunikuzushi could hear the distant sounds of street vendors hawking their wares and peals of laughter accompanied by the quick footsteps of children playing.

he marveled at the strangers in the city. how strange, kunikuzushi thought to himself. these mortals live such mundane lives—yet they seem content. how fascinating.

he sighed, stretching his legs out onto the soft grass below. a faint breeze drifted through the air, sakura petals floating down to the city below. such tedious routines they follow, he pondered. but why? what fuels their perseverance?

kunikuzushi knew the answer. he had spent every night on this cliff silently examining the mortals below, the way their faces lit up when they returned to their loved ones, the joy that lifted the weight off of their shoulders at the end of a long day.

and deep inside, kunikuzushi longed to experience it: a sense of normalcy, a sense of belonging. since the day of his creation, he had wandered the lands of inazuma alone, scared and helpless with nothing but the clothes on his back and the name he had chosen for himself. he could only recall faint traces of her: a quiet yet firm voice that echoed in his head, and violet robes that fluttered in the air—someone who had once loved him and then abandoned him. for he was just a pawn in the game of gods, a simple puppet deemed useless and cast aside.

emotions were a weakness in the game of gods, but as warm tears slipped down his face that night, kunikuzushi allowed himself to feel.

later, when the streets fell silent and the lights of the city winked out one by one, like the stars in the sky, kunikuzushi closed his eyes and made a wish.

crisp, white snow crunched under scaramouche’s feet as he wandered the road ahead. snezhnayan winters were known to be harsh, and this year had proven to be particularly severe. despite his large kasa hat, scaramouche felt the brisk breeze skim his face and burrowed further into his coat.

“scara!” a distant shout of his name came from behind him, and he stopped in his tracks. turning, his eyes landed on your form, bundled in several layers. you ran towards him, careful to step in the footsteps he had left behind to avoid the snow.

his hands reached out to cup your ice-cold face as you approached him. nuzzling into his touch, you granted him a gentle smile. “you forgot your lunch.” you held the forgotten bundle up to him and he took it.

“thank you, my love,” scara mumbled, leaning down to press his lips to yours. he savored the warmth of your embrace, hands drawing you closer to press your body against his own.

he tried to deepen the kiss but you broke away, panting heavily. “you’re going to be late,” you reprimanded, weakly pushing him down the snow-covered path. “go easy on the recruits today! if i hear you electrocuted another soldier today, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

scara let out a laugh at your nagging. “go back inside before you catch a cold,” he scolded, eyes tracing the light shivering of your body. “you’re dressed too thinly and i don't have the patience to coddle you.”

“coddle, my ass,” you grumbled, gently slapping his shoulder. “you're the one who gets whiny when you're sick, not me.” you shot him a playful smile, waving once. “i'll see you soon!” you promised before waddling down the path towards your shared home in the distance. his gaze lingered on you and he felt the corners of his lips curve up.

scara glanced up at the winter sky above, spotting the faint outline of the moon. a full moon, he mused. crystal snowflakes danced in the corners of his vision, much like the sakura petals above inazuma city.

scara let his thoughts wander to a time from long ago, a memory of bright city lights and a different full moon. with a light, nostalgic smile on his face, he turned and continued down the path towards the fatui headquarters.

long ago, kunikuzushi once wished for a family: someone who would fill the void in his chest, someone who would stay by his side despite seeing the ugliness inside.

eons later, you came into his life.

a/n: in memory of my wish come true. you came to us on a full moon and you left on a full moon. i miss you

#genshin impact fluff #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche fluff #genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fics #genshin impact angst #꒰ა a memory of forever ໒꒱

[jackdaw-sprite]

Funerary Rites Chapter 1

For Ectoberhaunt 2022, Day 3, chaos!

This is a fae au I've been tossing around in discord since August, and I'm pretty excited to start on it!

Read on AO3

There is something wrong with the door to the basement.

There is something wrong with the door to the basement, and the basement itself is destroyed. In the rubble, Danny discovers what his parents have done -- and the familiar fae who has come to exact the price for such a trespass.

To save his parents' lives, Danny makes a deal. But why is the price to save their lives so light?

Or is it light at all?

Characters: Danny, Clockwork

Words: 4126

Warnings: Uhh implied violence? Slug metaphors? I expect this story to get somewhat uncomfortable but nothing viscerally upsettng, and nothing too bad by phandom standards is in this bit.

There was something wrong with the door to the basement.

Danny hovered his hand over the knob. Even inches away he could feel the heat off it like a pan from the oven. In the corners of his vision, his hair fluttered, and behind the door he could hear a cacophony of bells. They layered on one another like a swarm of insects, building to a crescendo that hurt his ears even with the door closed.

His parents used bells in their work sometimes. It sounded nothing like this.

The door shuddered in its frame. At the edges, it began to warp as cracks spread up its length. One bell emerged above the rest, clear and low and threatening. Like a funeral dirge.

His parents had always said to run if something like this happened.

Danny got the oven mitts.

From the stairway, the study was hidden in a haze of smoke. It stung at his nose as he descended, but the sensation paled next to the bells. Without the door to muffle them, they rang loud enough to feel in his chest.

The stairs were curling.

Danny had to look down to avoid stumbling, and it was hard to see in the half-light. There was a flickering glow coming from somewhere and as he descended, the study floor emerged. It was a wreck, full of splintered debris and dust. An old book rested spine-up against the bottom stair.

Danny poked it with a toe and looked up. 

"Mom?" He sneezed. "Dad?"

A looming shape in the haze turned, and Danny realized it was a person the same moment he saw its eyes.

Red. Red and glowing like coals in its silhouette. 

The world fell silent.

Danny swallowed. The feeling of wrong redoubled, squirmed like slugs in his skin. He kept his eyes fixed on the fae as he called again, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

"Mom? Dad?"

The fae didn’t move. 

Behind it, a pile of dust shifted. A fragment of bookcase fell to the side as it grew taller, taller until the towering shape of Jack Fenton stood in its place. He shook himself off, and clouds of dust sloughed away, swirling the haze thicker around him.

The fae remained still. If he hadn't seen it move, Danny might have taken it for a statue.

Behind it, Danny could see the moment his Dad noticed him. His usually dynamic posture dropped like a stone as he went stock still.

Danny's mouth was dry. His stomach was in knots.

He still hadn’t seen his Mom.

Where was his Mom?

A blur of movement answered his question as Maddie Fenton launched herself out of the shadows at the fae with a shout of "DANNY RUN," that jerked him into motion. He stumbled on the floorboards and nearly fell flat on his face several times but he must have gotten back up the stairs somehow because suddenly he found himself in the living room.

His legs felt like jelly.

Through the windows, he could see an average summer day. A single cloud peeked into the gap between buildings across the street, disrupting an otherwise perfect rectangle of blue.

Downstairs, there was a thump and a scream.

Danny didn’t think it was the fae.

His heart was in his throat, Danny realized. He'd always wondered what that meant, and now he knew. It rested high and frantic, stuck there like a great lump and again Danny thought of slugs and gagged–

There was a short grunt and then a thwap. Something collapsed.

Danny should have been running. Danny should have been out the door, on the way to a pay phone to call Jazz but his hand lay frozen on the door handle.

Downstairs had fallen silent.

He became very, very aware of the yawning darkness behind him.

He'd forgotten to shut the study door.

He looked down.

An umbrella stand stood beside the front door, containing one shabby umbrella and a significantly less shabby bat.

Fae weren’t forces of nature. Not most of them. He knew that.

Danny pulled the bat from the umbrella stand and took a single, shuddering breath. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. This was very, very stupid. Endlessly stupid. So stupid. He paused at the top of the stairs and gulped down some more air. The smoke stung at his throat.

He didn’t want to become an orphan. If they survived this his parents could ground him later.

He went back down the stairs. 

Danny didn’t know what to expect as the study came back into view. He crept down step by step in an attempt to keep quiet. He didn’t know how well it was working.

The dust on the floor had swirls in it now, like someone took a huge brush and painted it in something dark. Shadows swallowed half the room, and the flickering glow made them dance across the rest. The dust blanketed everything, except. Except his parents, slumped near each other in the middle of the room. Except the fae, looming over them. Danny’s knuckles ached, he was holding the bat so tightly. He tried to hold it tighter.

Danny didn’t really get in fights. He had no idea what he was doing. But he had to try something.

Just pretend it's a t-ball. 

Danny took one more step onto the study floor, and the board under his foot squealed.

He stopped.

The fae straightened, and Danny's blood turned to ice.

It was going to kill him, too. But that had been likely from the start, hadn’t it?

"Are you planning to hit me with that, child?"

If the fae noticing him had turned his skin to ice, the sound of its voice did the same to his skin.

His voice.

Danny knew it. 

And then the fae took a step and his face was illuminated in the depths of his hood, and Danny knew that, too.

The blue skin, the craggy features. And the scar. It cut down the side of his face like a crack in a china cup.

It was a trick. A glamor. It had to be. He–and Danny had no name but a series of memories secret and treasured–he would never do this. He protected.

He wouldn't.

This wasn't him. It couldn’t be. Relief flooded through Danny, followed shortly by anger. How dare this fae pretend to be him?

"Who are you," Danny demanded, and brought the baseball bat up between them.

The fae stopped his progress forwards, staff–and how had he stolen that?–clacking against the floorboards. He tilted his head, and the gesture was achingly familiar.

“You want a name?” and the tone was familiar, too.

“I want to know why you’re–” Danny cut himself off. Why you’ve killed my parents. Why you’re impersonating another fae. Why you’re…"doing this." 

“Fine,” said the fae. “Your parents,” and here the fae nudged his Mom’s arm with his staff, “have taken it upon themselves to upend the laws of nature. To rend the veil which exists between Faerie and your world.”

No.

“I am tasked with its preservation and protection.”

Please, no.

“As such, I am tasked to punish its violators and to tend its wounds. That is why I am doing this.”

Danny’s chest felt numb. His voice, small. “You killed my parents.”

The fae froze.

For long moments, neither of them moved. The only motion was the swirling of dust with Danny’s huffs of breath.

At last, the fae spoke. “I have done no such thing.”

“What?” Danny asked. He hardly dared breathe.

And the fae, Danny’s fae, stepped to the side with a swirl of cloth and a tip of the staff. “See for yourself.”

By the time Danny’s bat met the floor with a clatter, he was already past it and kneeling by his parents’ forms. He pushed at his Mom's arm like he'd seen the fae do, then his Dad's.

Neither stirred.

Danny looked up.

"An enchanted sleep,” said the fae. “They still breathe."

Hands shaking, Danny put one hand before his Dad's mouth and felt warmth. His mom, too. They did. They did. They weren't dead. 

He let out a shuddering breath. They weren’t dead. Now that he wasn't caught up in horror, Danny could see the rise of their chests.

His parents were alive. But they were asleep, and that was a question of its own. 

He looked up again, and found his fae watching him. 

"Why?" he asked.

It wasn’t really what he wanted to ask. Betrayal was bitter on his tongue even though he knew this wasn’t. That this couldn’t be, with no promises between them.

But Danny had trusted him.

"They attacked me instead of listening,” said the fae. “I have little patience for the uncooperative. They can pay the price of their trespass regardless."

A price. Of course there was a price. Danny’s skin was pricking like something electric had its teeth in him and he wanted this to stop, he wanted to get away but.

"What price?"

The fae’s spider-like fingers were loose around his staff but his eyes were focused on Danny. Only on Danny. "Only what is needed to repair it thrice over."

That didn't seem too bad.

Of course. Of course his parents were wrong. Hadn't this fae proven that many times over already? He'd saved Danny so many times when he was young and afraid and lost...

But still.

"What would that be?" Danny asked.

Danny's fae hesitated. Danny’s stomach sank.

"The traditional price would be their lives," the fae said. "And all memory of them, considering the size of the wound."

Danny felt the blood drain from his face. His heart stopped. 

"What?"

The fae's lips twisted as he looked down at Danny, and there was a tightness to the corners of his eyes. "I will take no pleasure in the anguish this will cause you."

"You can't!"

"I must." and with that, the fae raised his staff, running one hand up the spine of it. The air shimmered and gained weight and–

"Wait!"

The fae paused. Cocked his head in a gesture Danny knew meant he was curious and listening.

"Can't I do something?"

"Like what?" asked the fae.

"I don't know! I don't–" Danny felt as though he were falling. He didn't want–he didn't want any of this. Something like nausea was twisting his stomach. The slugs rose to mind again. "I don't want to lose them."

"They tore the veil open," said the fae, voice soft. "You can feel it, can't you? The way it's making the world sick."

Danny shifted under the weight of his stare.

The fae lifted a hand, almost – but not quite reaching out. "It must be mended. And they are the ones who trespassed."

"But they're my parents."

"That does not matter, with these things. Everyone is someone's child. That you are theirs is unfortunate."

"But it has to matter. Please. They can't have known."

"The matter of their ignorance is of little concern to me." His voice hardened, and the staff he'd begun to lower raised again.

"What if I pay part of it?"

The fae paused mid-gesture. "In return for what?"

"I mean, if I pay some of it, it'll be easier for them, right? They won't have to die?"

"That would depend on how much of the price you paid yourself,” the fae said, but his voice was considering. “And whether I agreed. But yes. With the right price paid, your parents could live."

Danny bit his lip. But it wasn’t really any choice at all, was it?

“I’ve given you stuff before. In return for taking me home when I get lost. Or given you little favors.”

The fae waited patiently. 

"But taking me home is a lot smaller than this, isn't it?"

He nodded. "It is."

Danny looked back down at his parents. His mom's hair was in disarray, like it got when his parents were close to a breakthrough.

"There is another difference, as well."

The fae’s voice was still soft.

Danny looked up. 

"There are three groups involved. You and I could make a deal, yes. But it is your parents who have incurred the debt.” The fae traced a path along his staff with one long finger, eyes still on Danny. ”I can collect it without their agreement, such are the consequences of their trespass. But to lessen it without their agreement. Without an exchange from them–that would be a gift."

Something about the word was final.

“And you don’t do gifts.” Danny didn’t bother making it a question. The resignation was probably clear in his voice. He didn’t care. His chest felt like it was tearing, his throat like there were nails in it.

“I am not so cruel as that.”

“But,” Danny said, hope sprouting. “wouldn’t I be the one giving it? If I were the one paying?”

“It would depend on what you provide me as part of our deal. But yes,” the fae said, shifting his grip on the staff. “Ultimately, you would be the one giving.”

"Then why would it matter, if I gave them something?"

"Why indeed," murmured the fae. "But if you wish to shift the weight of their debt, I will not stop you."

"Then. What I can give you that will let them live?"

The fae only eyed him evenly. 

"Can I give you my name? What would that be worth?" Danny bit his lip. "My hair? My – something else?" 

The fae hummed. "Your hair is a tempting offer. But I will refuse, I think. As for your name… you seem to have forgotten I already have it, Daniel James Fenton."

Danny winced at the reminder. 

"But as it would happen," said the fae, and his voice was full of intent now. "There is something you can give me in exchange."

"My life?"

"Don't be morbid. Your time."

Danny frowned, searching for a horrific interpretation of that. It wasn't hard to find one. "You want to take years off my life?"

"No. A week."

"A week? How is that equivalent to my parents' lives? Wait, they weren't going to die next week were they?" he couldn't handle it if he saved them now only to lose them so soon. The very thought of it made panic rise high in his throat again.

"No."

"Then how is me dying a week earlier equivalent?" 

"It isn't. You won't be dying a week earlier."

"I thought–"

"You would spend a week with me. In Faerie. There is something you could help me with."

"But I thought you needed to mend the tear." it was impossible to forget about it. It felt like there were slugs crawling in his stomach. "How would you do that with me just spending time with you?"

The fae straightened. Something like approval colored his tone as he said, "You are correct. This is a three way deal. I pay some of the cost of mending the veil myself in exchange for your time in faerie, which you provide on behalf of your parents. As a gift to them."

The betrayal which had quieted during the conversation returned, sharp and biting. Danny stepped back, stung. "You can pay? Why don't you, then?"

"It would be a gift, without an exchange from another."

"You were going to kill my parents!"

"I am letting you arrange otherwise," the fae said, icy.

"I don't care–" Danny interrupted himself before he could finish the sentence. This fae, his fae, did not appreciate lying. Not even conversational niceties or protests. "I do care." The next words were difficult to force out, but important. "Thank you."

His fae inclined his head. Like Danny was expected to be grateful. Danny swallowed down the bitterness, but it lingered on his tongue. 

"A week?" he asked, trying to keep himself from dwelling.

"A week," confirmed the fae. 

"And I'm not going to come back and a hundred years have passed, right?"

"We can negotiate constraints and rules to the agreement, if you wish."

Danny swallowed. "I don't even know where to begin with that, though." He looked down at his parents. "I've only ever made little deals with you. Mom and Dad…"

He trailed off. His Mom and Dad would know what to ask for, what tricks there were to these things.

"Do you want me to wake them?" the fae asked.

Danny considered that. They could tell him if he was making a mistake with his wording, if there were holes in it for the fae to exploit. They could suggest limitations, rules to follow that could cover harms Danny might never think of. And he considered what it would mean if they woke, when they'd attacked the fae once already. What they'd do if they thought Danny was still in danger.

What it would mean for them to learn that Danny knew a fae, had traded with one and given him his name.

"No," Danny said, still looking at them. "It's just a week, right? And then I'll be back?"

"That can be part of the agreement."

"And they'll live?"

"Not forever," said the fae. "But I will not use their potential to mend the tear they have created in the veil. I will still punish them. I must, it is within my duties."

Danny hesitated. "What are you going to do?"

The fae tilted his head. 

"To punish them, I mean."

That got him a hum. "Something to keep them from repeating their mistakes."

"That light?"

The fae smiled humorlessly. "I am fair, child. As faerie is fair. Your parents will not agree when they wake, but it is not their standards to which I hold myself."

"But they'll live," Danny said, and his voice was a little ragged.

The fae hesitated, and then he knelt down so they were eye to eye. "Yes. You will see your parents after this, and speak to them while their hearts still beat."

Danny did his best not to sag with relief. "Then," he said, he swallowed. "I can still specify conditions?"

"Yes."

Danny looked down at his parents again. For them. "I don't want to be gone more than a week. And I don't want you to do anything weird to me."

"Child, I'll be taking you to Faerie for a week. You'll have to be more specific."

"Don't change me?"

"Experiences themselves change you. I cannot both have your cooperation and freeze you in time. And unless you wish to forget what you do…" 

That would be bad. "No, um. Scratch that. Maybe… don't change me to the point I'm a different person?" He caught himself looking at the fae for his reaction, and jerked his eyes away to the shredded bookcases. 

"That holds the same problem," said the fae, patiently. "The idea of difference is an ambiguous one, here. To live is to change. You are changing now. I cannot promise you will not be different any more than I cannot promise you will be unchanged by the experience."

"But you know what I mean," said Danny, hearing frustration edge into his tone. 

"Do I?" asked the fae. "Are you certain?" 

No. He wasn't certain. Danny wasn't certain of a lot of things right now. 

“No. I guess not.” One of his hands was fisting the cloth of his pants. Danny pulled it away. “But what am I supposed to say, then? I don’t want–”

I don’t want to come back to my parents wrong. I don’t want it to be like the stories.

I thought you were different.

The fae cleared his throat, and Danny looked into his eyes. They flicked over Danny’s face in a quiet dance.

Danny shifted, uncomfortable.

“There is nothing that you are supposed to say, child.” The fae sighed. “But perhaps it would be better to ask yourself what you wish to stay the same.”

Danny turned that over in his head.

The fae let him, and for a time the only motion in the room was the flicker of the light Danny still hadn’t seen, the swirl of the slowly settling dust.

“I want my body to–no, wait. That changes continuously too, right? I want to still be human after this. And I don’t want to lose any memories I have right now. And I want, um. I don’t want my personality to change?”

The last sentence raised an eyebrow, and Danny worried his lip.

“That’s vague, isn’t it? Or, no it’s not. It’s impossible to technically comply with because my personality is like my body, so maybe…” he trailed off. 

"I want to still love my family after this, and I want to still be. I want to still be me." and maybe his voice was a little plaintive at the end there. "I don't know how else to word it. I want to be the Danny Mom and Dad and Jazz and Tucker know. I want to be the Danny I know. I just don't," he scuffed a foot against the floor. "I guess I don't really know how to name that."

The fae was still examining him, but with no sign of disapproval. Danny hunched his shoulders and forged on. 

"Okay. And, um." The food! How had he almost forgotten the food. "You can't give me food."

That got a reaction.

"Child, you will be gone a week. If I don't feed you, you will be harmed by your own metabolism."

Oh. Right.

"Then, um. You have to give me enough food to not be harmed? And it can't do weird stuff."

The fae pursed his lips at the word. "What do you mean by, 'weird stuff?'"

"Like, turning me into a frog or a bug, or making me tiny or, um. Tying me to Faerie forever. Especially that one."

"Ah," said the fae. "I see." He made a little hum. “Our food is made of consequences. I cannot promise that the food I supply you will do nothing–not even human food does nothing at all. But I can promise that I will explain the food, and what it will do. And I will let you refuse to eat it.”

“Let me?”

“The rules of hospitality in Faerie can be complex.”

“Oh.”

Danny hesitated. This was dumb. This was a bad idea, the worst idea. Even if he knew this fae, had made deals with him before and never been hurt, even if this fae had saved him from dark woodlands and strange situations and returned him home…he was still a fae.

And Danny’s parents were still lying on the ground, fast asleep.

Because of this fae.

But Danny’s parents had done something so foul that the very air down here was clogged with it, and the fae wanted to fix it, and nothing came for free in Faerie. Danny knew that much. And Danny could make sure they didn’t pay too much. And it would be a week, and he’d be at least recognizable to himself.

For a moment, he wondered what Jazz would think when she got home from the library.

He wished she were here.

No he didn’t.

Jazz wasn’t here, and he should be grateful for that even if it felt like being left behind, like drowning, like getting lost again. Jazz wasn’t here, but Danny was and their parents were. And their parents had messed up, and maybe he could keep it from getting worse.

The fae was still kneeling in front of him. The shadows of his hood were deep in the half-light, but Danny could still make out details – a slice of ear, strands of pale hair. The scar was dark and clear across his brow and cheek, and Danny found his eyes lingering on it for a moment too long.

The fae raised an eyebrow, and Danny coughed, embarrassed.

“So how do we make a deal?” he asked.

“You’ve done it before,” said the fae.

“Yeah, but nothing this big, right? Just…little things. Ways home, that stuff.”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t this different?”

The fae tilted his head again, and Danny found himself reminded of a bird. “No. We only have to agree, and it will be our word which binds us.”

The idea of that formed a pit in Danny’s stomach, and he found himself looking back down at his parents, clutching one arm to his side.

There was a hand at his shoulder.

“But that is true of myself as well, child. My promises I will keep.”

"So…"

"You say your demands, and I say mine."

Danny nodded, head jerking like a marionette's. It felt like he was falling. And then he said the word around which the rest of his life would pivot.

"Okay."

#danny phantom #ectoberhaunt22 #danny fenton dp #clockwork dp #funerary rites fae au #jackdaw-spwrite #jackdraw-spwrite

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Part 2 - Forgiven

A Till Death AU

Major spoilers for Till Death in this thing, obviously. Three parts, 2,5-3k words each. Content warning: It’s fucking cold.

Find Till Death here: Ebook | WIP Intro

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Snow. On the ground, on the trees, falling from the sky. Making each new step harder than the one before as Finnian stumbled through the bitter cold. Eyes almost closed against the biting wind, he pushed on. He couldn’t feel his hands anymore; the only reason he knew he was still holding the cane was because that damn thing got stuck on every possible obstruction hidden beneath the layer of white.

His toes were cold, and numb, and probably half frozen off already, too. It made it harder for him to keep his balance, and he kept stumbling, sinking up to his thighs into the snow. He wore both pants he owned over another, but the thin fabric was long soaked, sucking the last bit of warmth out of his body. 

After struggling back to his feet, Finnian clung to a tree, catching his breath. He didn’t have the strength to remove the freezing clumps clinging to his legs, and it would be pointless anyway. Instead, he squinted against the snow, hoping, praying to see anything at all. A path, the regular shape of a man-made structure, a warm light. Anything to show him the way.

His sense of direction had always been extraordinary, but no one would be able to orient themselves in a storm like this. The only thing telling him where he had come from was the trail he left in the snow. He didn’t know if he was still walking in the right direction. He feared he wasn’t. Even though he couldn’t see the sun, the light was fading. He should have been there already. 

Everything white was slowly turning gray. The ground. The clouds. All around him, the barren deciduous trees reached their branches towards the sky like skeletal fingers, the snow-covered pine trees looming dark and threatening in between. Droplets of red glistened in the snow in his wake, but he didn’t know where he was hurt, and it didn’t matter. At least he couldn’t feel it.

He fell, and he fought to get back to his feet. His hand around the cane trembled so hard it didn’t do much to keep him steady. Staring ahead, he dragged his feet through the snow until he fell again, and again, and again, and every time, it took him a bit longer to get up than the last.

Until he didn’t get back up.

His hand grasped at nothing, having lost the cane. He tried to push himself up with his arms instead, but they crumpled under him, leaving a flurry of red and muddy brown behind as his trembling fingers slid over the ground. Snow clung to his cheek, and his head still pounded, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and rest.

Looking at the endless white, he knew he wouldn’t open them again.

He gathered the last of his strength and started to crawl. Snow filled his boots and his sleeves as he dragged himself over the ground. He made it a step and a half before he collapsed for good, his shoulder stuck halfway in a pile of snow. Too weak to lift his head, Finnian tried to pull it deeper into his soaked scarf. If he cried, the tears froze on his cheeks before he could feel them. His eyes burned all the same.

It was hopeless. He wasn’t going to make it. Accepting the inevitable, Finnian closed his eyes. He pressed his hands against his chest in an attempt to keep them away from the snow, even if there was no warmth to find. As the storm raged around him, he tried to remember Eilis’ hut, to keep the one memory worth holding onto with him as the darkness reached for him.

* * * 

The storm was bad, but not as bad as she had expected. Eilis sat in front of the fireplace, a half empty mug of lukewarm tea next to her. Not wanting to bother with the unwieldy loom yet, and with too little light for embroidery, she alternated spinning and knitting last year’s dyed wool into a blanket. 

A loud bang outside made her drop the spindle, and not in the way it was meant to be dropped. She nudged it away from the fireplace with her foot, listening. Just when she thought the wind had blown a branch against her wall, the noise returned, and a moment later, metal clattered.

With a huffed exhale that was the closest to a curse she ever got, Eilis put her spindle aside. Silly goats. Of course, they would pick the worst time for their little games. Perhaps they were bored, or perhaps they were upset she had come earlier today for the second milking. Be it as it was, she had to make sure no one got hurt.

Instead of grabbing her shawl, she took her cloak from its hook, pulling the hood over her hair before she stepped outside. The sun had barely sunken below the horizon yet, and it was already so much colder than during the day. She kept close to the hut as she stomped towards the shed, the snow catching enough of the fading light so she didn’t need a lamp.

With her hands wrapped into her cloak, she wiped the stack of snow from the latch before pulling it back. She blocked the door with her foot as she opened it, only a slit in an attempt to keep the cold out and the animals in.

From inside the darkness, a goat bleated angrily and a black head rammed against the door. With a yelp, Eilis jumped back, her big toe pounding. Another impact, and the black one squeezed through the opening and ran off.

Hopping on one leg and humming angrily, Eilis peeked inside the shed. A few curious stares and the quiet rustling of feathers answered her, but all the other animals seemed to have settled down. She closed the door and started following the trail the black one had left in the snow, repeating in her mind every curse she had ever heard.

Anger was better than the fear creeping into her thoughts. If he ran into the forest in such weather, he was going to die. Gods, he had never done something like this before, and she could have understood it when he was a young ram, bored with being cooped up in the shed all winter; but why start now when he was getting old? 

Her heart sank when she saw that the trail led into the darkness between two snow-laden trees at the edge of her clearing. For a moment, she considered going back for a lamp, but that would cost her valuable time. With this much snow, it wasn’t the lack of light that was a problem anyway, it was the storm.

At least between the trees, the wind wasn’t as strong. With her cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders and her arms wrapped around herself, she followed the trail for a minute or two. The sight of a black shape against the barely brighter backdrop gave her new strength. She’d grab that stubborn goat by the horns and drag him back if she had to.

As she came closer, something didn’t look right. The black one wasn’t alone. Something—someone else was lying there, a shapeless mound in the snow, dark fabric and leather almost completely covered with white. The black one stood next to the figure, looking at her. Eilis ran, every exhale lingering in the air as a white cloud.

Next to the black one, she fell to her knees, her hands trembling as she reached out. What was someone doing out here, at night, during a storm? Perhaps a wanderer who had gotten lost. Who might already be dead, for all she knew. Who was—

Finnian.

For a few seconds, she stared into his too pale face, unable to believe it. His eyes were closed, his left temple crusted with dried blood. He didn’t stir as she put her hand on his cheek. Gods, he was so cold. She had to get him inside. 

When she tried to turn him onto his back, his backpack was in the way, so she slipped the stiff leather straps off his shoulders. Without it, she managed to roll him onto his back and pull his head into her lap. She couldn’t see if his chest was rising under layers of snow-crusted fabric, but if he was still breathing, it was shallow—or cold—enough not to be visible in the frigid air.

Don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead.

Despite her quickly rising panic, she took the time to crawl around him, checking for obvious injuries she’d make worse by dragging him along. There were none. Instead, her knee hit the solid wood of his cane, which was buried in the snow next to him. 

As she dug it out, she wondered how she was going to carry it. He needed it, and if she waited until the morning to fetch it, the storm might very well bury her tracks and everything else under a fresh layer of snow. His backpack was less important, but perhaps she could carry it on her own back, or perhaps…

She fumbled with his cane, finally managing to tie it to the backpack, and then threw one of the straps over the black one’s head. The goat looked less than impressed, but he didn’t try to shake it off, dragging it behind him just as she dragged Finnian behind her.

The way back to her hut took way too long, and with every step, it became harder for her to dig her freezing fingers into his clothes and pull. Despite being dropped multiple times, Finnian didn’t wake up. Why didn’t he wake up? He had to wake up. He had to be alive.

Eilis almost fell into her hut with him, mobilizing the last of her strength to pull him in front of the fireplace, shoving the things lying there out of the way. Her cup toppled over, but she only threw a rag onto the spill, not bothering to clean it up properly. All the snow was going to melt anyway.

At a quiet “baa” from the door, Eilis’ head jerked up. The black one stood in the doorway, backpack strap wrapped around his neck and snow-covered backpack stuck on the doorframe. She cast one last glance at Finnian and jumped up, because she needed to close the door, and she couldn’t leave the goat outside in the cold.

After being freed from the backpack, the black one followed her willingly, vanishing into the shed without fuss. She’d have to thank him tomorrow, perhaps give him some dried carrots, but right now, she needed to make sure his vigilance hadn’t been in vain.

Back in the hut, with the backpack shoved into one corner and the door latched shut, Eilis approached Finnian, kneading her hands in an attempt to bring the feeling back into her fingers. He was so horribly pale, water dripping around his motionless body as the snow began to melt.

Please don’t be dead.

No. He couldn’t be. The layer of snow on top of him had been too thin for him to have been lying there for long, and besides, the black one must have heard him. He was alive, and he was going to be fine.

With shaking hands, she tugged on his clothes, freeing him from his soaked woolen scarf and tattered coat. Three shirts followed, one so threadbare and full of holes the only thing holding it together must be three strings and a prayer.

Clutching the wad of fabric, Eilis watched his chest. She held her breath until she saw it rise, and then her shoulders dropped with a relieved exhale. Still, she couldn’t help but notice how thin he was. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Perhaps he hadn’t. Half starved, half frozen, his clothes in tatters. What had happened to him?

She could ask him that when he was better.

With renewed determination, she went for his shoes. The leather was wet, but well-worn enough it wasn’t hard to get them off. His pants were a different story. The wet fabric clung to his skin, and tugging and pulling got her nowhere. She had to peel the layers off one by one, but even though she moved his bad leg this way and that, he didn’t wake up. 

When all the cold, wet fabric was finally gone, and all that was left on him was a small silver bell on a leather band around his neck, she rubbed him dry with the thinnest blanket of her stash, then spread one half of the remaining ones on the floor in front of the fireplace. She rolled him on top of the blankets so he was lying on his side and facing the fire, and buried him under the rest of the blankets. He would need more warmth than that, but first, she double-checked the door and windows, made sure the flame in the oil lamp was burning as low as possible in case the fire in the hearth went out, and stripped out of everything but her undergarment. 

The water in her pot was still lukewarm. She filled a cup and returned to Finnian’s side. He didn’t wake when she put her hand on his cheek, nor when she shook his shoulder. In the end, she dipped a piece of cloth into the water and squeezed the drops into his mouth, massaging his throat to prompt him to swallow.

After half the cup, she gave up. She put the water aside and threw more logs into the fire, glad she had brought enough wood inside to weather a several day storm. With her bare arm held in front of Finnian, she waited a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t too close to the fire. Assured that he wouldn’t be burning instead of freezing now, she slipped under the blankets behind him.

He was so terribly cold, not feeling like a living being at all, but as she pressed herself against his back, she could feel his breaths; weak, but regular. Eilis stretched to entangle her feet with his, wrapping both arms around him. Shivering, she thought back to the last time she had held him, worried he might die. Back then, she had been afraid to lose a stranger. This time, she was afraid to lose a friend.

And she wasn’t going to.

#my writing #whump #fantasy whump #wip: till death

[eldritch-flower]

alt: The Waking — see here for trigger warnings

Chapter 1 of 9 [next]

Before the Waking, there was nothing.

It began, then, with the opening of his eyes and the rapid blinking that crumbled tears left tacky and stiff on his cheeks. And so, Orville Shepherd, flayed raw and naked, woke.

On his back, staring through the vacant haze of sleep-tired eyes up into the wooden beams above, he let out his first sigh of consciousness. In fact, his brain was already whirring and working for him, the cogs spinning at speeds previously unreachable through the thick fog of his dullness. It refused to let him make eye-contact with the taxidermy woodland beasts – murdered, eviscerated and stuffed – that stood watching. Waiting, for so it seemed to Orville, with black and beady eyes of marble and polished glass. They said little and saw too much.

One of the more concerning places the man had awoken to in his life, he was in a state too painful to be swept beneath the cautionary rug he usually kept in place for such day-after phenomena: Thick knots of harsh industrial rope cinched his wrists and cut into the pink flesh of his stomach where it burned and rubbed away at the thin layers there.

The fiery vixen trapped in the corner opposite him eyed her company with dead eyes and a beautifully arched spine. Needle-like teeth bared at a hidden superstition that Orville couldn’t see – something far behind him, or perhaps simply looming at his shoulder. And if anything was a cause for concern, it was that Orville could feel it, whatever it was, floating through the space around his head like a noose.

A cold chill swept through the room, void of all exits for the air to flow, like ghostly hands that touched and caressed and did nothing but hurt, and Orville shivered. The fox - because he was, naturally, fixated on what he could see, what he could understand - had a patched, matted coat of crimson fur: Blood stained her throat, crudely sewn across to hide where it had been split open, and Orville guessed that the grimace on her face had been preserved as she had died.

It was that train of thought, staring through starry eyes at the dead fox with wool bursting from hidden seams, that lead Orville to his next worry: He didn’t know where he was. But he did know, beyond all doubt, that the vixen had once woken in a position not dissimilar to his own.

And just look how she had ended up.

Orville had learnt once (probably from Henderson and his gang of nerds… or from the page in whatever stupid textbook Thomas had torn out, to teach him how to roll a blunt) that animal sentience enforces fight or flight. Something beyond the specifics of a name, an age, a persona. The place where humanity and ferality collide, out of reach of the conscious mind, was something all animals shared. Something he shared with the fox.

Had the creature an inkling of who she was as the hunter held a knife to her throat? Or was she simply caught in the mechanical mode of survival that wild animals know all too well?

Orville wondered, bizarrely, if he would ever find out that self-preservation disregarded all but survival. Wondered what the use of his name was if it killed him. Somewhere in the depths of his shallow mind, who he was was imprinted in his brain; hidden within the cascading neurones that fired questions without answers and lacked understanding.

He had never been smart. Philosophising about the world had always been the forte of some other guy, someone better. Orville thought it was best left to them, too. He was too old to start a new hobby.

The man tried to roll onto his side to avoid the telling eyes of that fox - and all the thoughts that it sent spurring into unhelpful action - but the movement sent a current down his spine that rippled painfully through his legs. Something warm trickled down the bared flesh of his ribs, slipping wetly onto the sheets twisted beneath, and he rubbed it between his thumbs idly, lubricating the stained twine locking him in place.

Semantics flooded his brain. Would he choose fight or flight? Would he bare his own teeth when cornered? Or would he, like the disfigured head of the roe deer docked above the foot of his bed, be forever imprisoned in his final moments? Would the fear remain shining in the whites of his eyes once all life had drained?

He squeezed his eyes shut, the world spinning around him. He didn’t want to think about it.

Orville let his breathing even out, laboured and wheezing. There was no use premeditating a death that would so inevitably find him. He was too tired, tired of fighting for his life when it only resulted in postponing the unavoidable. Orville used to find the thought comforting, that there was such an assurance in the world. Now, though, he had things to live for, people to live for. He no longer knew how he would die, and the thought of it being by his own hand was a nauseating one (“It’s the coward’s way out, Orville,” his dad used to say, back when the man still saw him as a son, and Orville had bit his tongue in case he let it show that he was a coward, dad, always will be).

It was like some sick and twisted joke, one where he was the punchline. King Orville had forced his way to the top of the food chain in high school so the jokes wouldn’t be on him. Now that protection was gone, where did it leave him?

Here, he thought mildly. It left him here… Wherever here was.

He blinked and heard the whispers of his life, shredded and remade; taped together like torn photographs. The man thought that maybe, just maybe, he was dead already, and this was the part where people said your entire life flashed before your eyes. Orville’s life was filled with regrets. Everything he should’ve done, and things he should’ve gotten right the first time around. Things like Maddie, his weary brain supplied dismally. That hurt more than the aching in Orville’s ribs, more than the pounding in his head.

He shifted again. The flesh of his back peeled away from the cotton sheets, scabs tearing and fresh rivulets of blood turning the crisp white pink as he struggled upright. The pain was instant, red-hot and searing, and Orville’s eyes threatened to roll into the back of his head as his world flashed white. He’d always had an odd dissociation with pain - even now, he heard more than felt his breathing pick up behind the filthy rag that had been shoved to the back of his throat, understood the natural response to pain but couldn’t quite get why. But tears pricked suddenly in an onslaught of bad emotions that were only furthered by the partial sweetness of agony.

Fuck.

The weight of his situation seemed to crash down on him all at once, a cresting wave diving for the shores of his fear: He didn’t know where he was.

Orville was tied up. He had open wounds. He didn’t know where he was. And he was crying because he didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. Didn’t know what had happened. All he knew was that he was likely going to die.

Probably.

Hopefully.

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#wip : the waking #writeblr #writing community #creative writing #excerpt #the waking #writers of tumblr #wip #horror #lovecraftian

[neo-shitty]

chevron signs — l.yb

pairing. lee felix x gender-neutral reader genre. hurt/comfort warnings. none word count. 0.8k notes. my attempt on putting into words how it feels like to be hotwired to think that vulnerability is something bad. this mindset isn’t easy to unlearn and difficult to adjust even during times of desperate need. if you’re independent, that’s great. but here’s your reminder that there’s also no harm in reaching out every now and then, especially when you can’t take it anymore :) | inspired by the 30th - billie eilish

“stay with me.” you hear him say and you’re trying to. 

when you pry your eyelids back, your vision only makes out black and white cycling in even intervals. sometimes you could make out the ceiling, its iron beams and strips of fluorescent light. ever so often you’d pass under a lit bulb but even then, the shadows remained—guarding the posts of your bed as they wheeled you down an endless hallway. 

the shadows are solid beings because they can touch you, because they can ask you if you can hear them, can ask if you can stay with them. they’re all faceless figures, faces hidden beneath a veil of darkness and making them impossible to recognize. all except for the one beside you, the one with a hand on the railing and the other closing in on you.

you swat his hand away before your skin could touch, muscle memory remembering what you were trained to do even as you lay paralyzed on the hospital bed. it’s instinctive, embedded into your mind after countless years of repetitive routine, even when you don’t want it to. it seemed that the hands you once held when the darkness crawled close where the very same ones who allowed the darkness to seep in in the first place. while the years have aged them, your distrust remains—thicker like the bark of century-old trees in hooded forests. 

but even beneath the layers of hardened bark, your fear was tied to you like an anchor. and as the elements danced to form both you and the darkness you cast, human touch remains as your remedy. it’s an unspoken conflict within you; the desire to be held through the dark path often overshadowed by the need to remain on guard all the time. it’s a double-edged sword, both appearing just as frightening as the other in your mind.

as you lay there, you counted your fears. vulnerability terrified you and so did the idea of comfort coming at the expense of letting your guard down. maybe it was years of servitude that beat the idea into you, any form of reliance becoming a chink in your armor that puts you at a heavy disadvantage. death, even after your countless brushes with it, terrified you. and while this was only one of those many times, it was your first time feeling its finality looming.

your heart races at the thought of it, panic finally seeping in through the cracks of your glass cube. the water is rising and even when you can swim and float there is no escaping the glass ceiling. 

“'lix.” the call is faint yet he hears it over the rattle of the metal bed. your vision is a blur of figures and light but you can make out his movements, the way he turns to look at you. the words are on the tip of your tongue but it takes so much of you to say them. there’s a tug of war beneath the surface, two fears fighting on who will govern the remainder of your consciousness for tonight.

but you were trained to survive and vulnerability becomes excusable on the most extreme of circumstances. still a shadow stands behind you, years of distrust and paranoia morphing into a solid figure whispering taunts into your ear. you could no longer make out what they’re saying.

“my hand,” your voice shakes but you manage, “my hand can you please hold it?”

he’s a mosaic of orbs and flares when you try to look at him, your vision blurry as the blood-loss finally kicks in. but whatever your other sense missed, your skin makes up for because you can feel his touch on your cheek—a gentle hand wiping across it. you didn’t realize you were crying.

and as the armor sheds you feel naked. the plates begin to fall off one by one, piece by piece until you’re left with nothing. their indents have left marks on your skin and bone, your body missing its weight already. but it is lighter with the armor down, easier to breathe with the walls coming down. 

felix’ hand finds its way to yours and while you flinch on first contact he makes sure to hold you. his warmth spreads across his palm into your own, quivers stabilizing with something to keep it in place. hand to hand, skin to skin. 

“i got you,” he whispers, feeling his thumb rubbing the skin on the back of your hand. “hold on.” 

your body begins to relax, your initial panic overrode by a sudden influx of fatigue. the bed bumps over something, then rattles as you hit a ramp, the orientation slanting until you reached a levelled floor again.

“area clear,” another voice says but you can’t make out who it belongs to. 

even with your eyelids closed, you feel his proximity when he leans closer. “stay with me, please.” he repeats and again, you try to.

© neo-shitty, 2022

#felix angst #skz angst #felix fluff #skz fluff #districtninewriters #kwritersworldnet #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #felix x reader #skz x reader #felix imagines #skz imagines #felix timestamps #lee felix #skz #stray kids #skz felix #toff.writes #literally forgot this posted tonight if not for kat #and forgot to add tags too #god damn

[dreadfutures]

Sword of Damocles

Pairing: Corvo Attano & The Outsider (gen)

Rating: T (for past character death)

Summary: The Outsider tells Corvo how he was made a god, and Corvo sees the god in a new light.

-:-:-

The Void stretched an eternity above him, and for a moment that lasted just as long, Corvo stood on the edge of the black stone island and held his breath.

He couldn't say that he liked the Void. He was certain that he would never grow used to it. But he also couldn't deny its appeal: like the knots he could twist in time around a speeding bullet, all the dangers of the Void lay frozen, just shy of causing harm. And it was thrilling, and comforting, and terrifying in equal measure.

"Isn't it?" mused the Outsider, his soft voice hiding a note of laughter. "I thought so too, the first--and last--time I laid eyes on it."

Corvo turned and looked down his nose at the young man who dripped black seawater from his hair and black death magic from his boots.

There was no smile on the Outsider's face now, despite the amusement Corvo had heard in his voice. In fact, the Outsider seemed wary of him, shoulders curling slightly in defense against Corvo's stare as if the lowly mortal were the one with black voids for eyes.

"Look around you," the Outsider directed, so Corvo relieved him of his gaze and swept his gaze across the strange stone figured immortalized on this island. It was unusual, more like Delilah's sculptures rather than the Outsider's normal illusions.

"Just a crumbling island at the very edges of the Void," said the Outsider, strolling past him with his pale hands behind his back. To Corvo, he almost seemed to dance between the stone figures, peering up into their hidden faces as he wove theough their ranks.

Corvo followed, but when he glanced into the hoods, all he saw was blank stone. He would have been more comforted if he had seen a slavering maw or perhaps a whale's brutalized face, instead of flat, featureless rock, but this was the Void and he had found that its horrors were rarely so spectacular.

"But this one is special, Corvo. It's the place where my throat was cut, four thousand years ago."

Corvo's head snapped up to stare at the Outsider, who was not looking at him, who was standing in front of an altar where a statue raised a strange knife. An empty altar made of the strange baleen rock everything else in the Void was made of.

"This is where my life ended and where it began again," the Outsider said, as if the repetition made it any more believable, or any less impossible. "It's where they made *me."*

The Outsider vanished, and Corvo started forward despite himself. Before he could even comprehend why he lunged for the god, the Outsider had reappeared, spread out on the altar and staring up at the looming knife with breathless focus, and Corvo held his breath too, as if he did not know the moment was frozen and the knife would never fall. Death and danger do not happen in the Void; it is a certainty Corvo held onto. And yet he could not tear his eyes from the Outsider's bobbing throat, as if he might blink and miss the moment of unimagined legend.

Corvo held his breath, and it burned in his throat, and he wondered if the Outsider had screamed, once.

The boy--and he was a boy, younger than Emily by some years, a frail and gaunt thing beneath heavy layers of worn winter clothes--thrashed uselessly on the stone.

"Right up until the end I thought I'd find a way to escape," the Outsider said, and through the echoes of eons in his voice Corvo heard it--heard the fear that perhaps had never before been spoken. The Outsider did not look away from the knife even as he struggled against invisible bonds, and in the black eyes of the Void that burned so coldly in his face, Corvo knew the sight of that knife must have been burned into them for eternity.

"I fought but the ropes only cut my skin so I went limp," the Outsider said, illustrating his words with exhausted action. "And then the knife touched my throat and I knew I'd waited too long."

And just like that, the spell broke. The Outsider sat up, swung his legs over the side of the altar, and Corvo gasped for breath. If the Outsider noticed his reaction, the boy did not react at all in return.

Yet in his mind, Corvo's thoughts raced. He should have been focused on the theological implications, the shitstorm he could unleash in the Abbey, or how this might lead him to undo or avoid the Outsider in the future.

All Corvo could think about instead was how unfair it was for the fate of the world to rest on such small shoulders. Again.

Even Emily was taller than this boy, now.

No, not a boy. The Outsider.

But where before the title had sent shivers down Corvo's spine and instilled in him a sense of disdain--the Outsider, set apart from humanity by unknowable wiles and facetious wimsy--now the only feeling the name summoned was a sinking one. Corvo was increasingly familiar with it.

Loneliness. Rejection.

The Outsider.

"The blood ran out and I became a god."

The Outsider disappeared again, just for another moment that stretched eternal. And in that moment, Corvo brought himself to speak.

"Who did this to you?"

The Outsider swung his legs idly from a branch ahead of him, and he watched with a frown as Corvo stalked toward him.

"Ah yes, if only I had had a Lord Protector at my side to protect me from the Eyeless," he said idly. "That's a privilege for Empresses only, it seems. The rest of us gutter rats have to find our own ways, but fortunately, the Void is malleable for those who've shed enough unwilling blood to curry its favor."

He waved an idle hand to dismiss Corvo, before Corvo could ask the futile question of what the Outsider thought of all the blood spilled to curry *his* favor, then laced his fingers together, rings glinting in the pale light.

"Now you know Delilah's secret. At the end of her days, she drifted through the Void and should have been lost forever. But her will and cunning are second to none. She found this place, the island in the Void where I became what I am. It changed her and she discovered a way to draw from it, tapping into the power here."

The Outsider looked at Corvo, then looked away and scowled.

"Delilah is... a part of me now. And I don't like it."

"Don't blame you," Corvo grumbled. "She's weaseled her way into all sorts of places she shouldn't be. Tell me what to do, and I'll take care of it."

"You have to give Delilah credit," the Outsider said as if he hadn't just been so upset himsslf. "It's hard to remain soft in the face of life's hardships, isn't it, Corvo? She stole a crown with blood, but she made herself immortal with a thing made of bones. You shouldn't be surprised that she would go so far as to tear out a piece of herself and hide it away."

Corvo eyed the Outsider, who had begun to circle him in a bit of a predatory fashion. He shrugged at the boy.

"I'm not surprised," Corvo said. "She took something that didn't belong to her, either way."

The Outsider smirked. "You aren't so certain of that, are you?" he asked. Then, without waiting for Corvo to answer, he spun away and continued with an over-the-shoulder drawl: "If you want to kill Delilah, you're going to have to find her spirit and give it back to her. Reaching it won't be easy, but what comes after that might be the hardest thing you'll ever have to do."

#dishonored fanfic #dishonored 2 #dishonored 2 fanfic #corvo attano & the outsider #this will get polished and more philosphical and emotional maybe before it goes on ao3 #i just had to get this out bc im having dad!Corvo feelings and the Outsider was a CHILDDDDDDD #😭

[missingartist]

Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes

The fragrance of rosemary lingered in the air, its woody aroma blended with the petrol fumes and the greasy odour of the takeaways that lined the streets. That herbal smell soothed the raging thoughts that cluttered against his skull, but that scent was like blood in the water for the shark circling. And he had been circling for some like.

He had circled for months. Watching his pretty prey, patiently protecting from the shadows.

Dark eyes followed the plush frame bundled under layers of jumpers and a hideously bright hat capped over wild and messy threads of hair. Only a pale sliver of bronze skin peaked out, goosebumps rising against the bitter cold. She needed a good winter coat now that the winter was looming, but his poor little cariño seemed to favour feeding the pigeons in the park and then saving for a warm coat. Her clothes were kind of funny, a mix of charity shop best buys and hand me downs thrown on in a weak defence against the London weather to compensate for the lack of funds to buy a coat.

That would change. Soon.

A strong puff of rosemary filled his nostrils as she turned into the supermarket. Swirls of white vapour danced overhead where mindless droves of people huddled across the pavements trying to reach home.

‘You are getting distracted from the task at hand.’

Khonsu’s words died in the air. Settling against the brickwork Jake watched as his woman trudge up and down the aisles, a deep grimace sat against his face. She scanned the reduced section and selected only the cheapest items.

‘She is rather pretty in a human sort of way….plump. Reminds me of the temple priestess.’ Khonsu boomed in his usual way of announcing his presence.

She was. Short and plush, fleshy and soft. Voluptuous. All curves and round edges were hidden away under unflattering garments. Warmth spread across his fingertips shot up in his arm and towards his heart. It ached against the emptiness, burning as he remembered the touch of her, the feeling of her warm skin as they collided. The feel of his hand over her, those brief moments before she snatched her hand back, blushing the most attractive shade of pink, hiding behind her mop of hair as she scurried away. From that moment she had put a spell on him, and he was besotted, devoted, obsessed. It was fanatical and fervent. He needed to feel her soon, to strip her bare and pull her apart till she is so cock drunk that all she could do was to scream his name.

‘If the worms find out about this they will not like it.’ The sense of concern in the god’s voice was fake but Jake did not care.

Khonsu stood examining his avatar for a moment. He was a loyal servant who enjoyed his work, revelling in the death and blood, a fist of vengeance. Yet there was a danger in him, he was not reckless or stupid but unpredictable. A short leash in which to keep him was slowly straining. His gaze turned to the girl. Blissful unaware as she shopped. Such mundane things humans. Weak and delicate and their emotions made them all the more pliable.

‘They will not find out.’

‘We will see, in my experience, women do not like to be hidden. If you must take a woman, do it quickly and do not make the worms aware of your presence.’ Khonsu stood disappearing into the street.

Jake’s plan meant that his presence would not be a problem, there would be no need to hide. He could serve Khonsu during the night and spend his days between the legs of his Rosemary, worshipping her.

A sweet fog of rosemary invaded his senses pulling his plotting.

‘Mi amada’ he inhaled, before resuming the hunt.

@love-on-the-murder-scene for you

#moon knight x reader #moon knight #steven grant x reader #steven grant #marc spector #marc specter x reader #jake lockely x reader

[carni-val]

How to Touch My Dead [Jax Teller]

Part 4: A Deal with God

pairing: Jax Teller x Nicknamed!OFC [could be read as a reader insert]

summary: When Jax makes a grave mistake, it’s up to her to make things right.

warnings: Canonical violence [two murders take place]; angst; mentions of urine and vomit

author's note: Here we are! The final part. I want to thank everybody who's kept up with this fic. It was a struggle to get this fic finished at some points but I have to say I'm happy with the final product. I hope you all enjoy this final part.

music: runnin' up that hill [kate bush]; the night we met [lord huron]; work song [hozier]

Picture courtesy of @writer-wednesday

How to Touch My Dead Masterlist | Jax Teller Masterlist

Oswald’s Lumber was barely recognizable — the paint making up the sign faded under the Californian sun and the paneling was barely holding on, losing most of its colour too. The building seemed so strong and sturdy before, maybe because she knew what had been housed in there for many years. Shelves on shelves of weapons made the building seem almost intimidating.

It was quiet in the expanse, nothing else could be seen from where she was standing, just dirt, a short, wooden fence that was losing most of its sturdiness, and yellowing trees. Tall cliffs stood proudly to the right of the warehouse, the only thing that hadn’t lost its strength.

She circled the perimeter, looking for any signs of Clay or the Irish and even stepped inside the warehouse to find it just as beaten down as it was on the outside. Emptied shelves caved in on each other and some had even collapsed completely.

But still no Clay.

Making her way out the back of the warehouse, she looked up towards the sky, noticing the dark clouds overhead still looming, though the rain had stopped about half an hour ago. Still, mud clung to the bottom of her shoes, almost creating a second layer with how much of the concoction she trekked through. A gentle breeze passed through and lent a lazy helping hand in drying her off.

Other than that, it was pure silence. Silence that was chilling at first; almost anticipatory, like the calm before the storm. The wait before the chaos tore through.

But this would be the end, and that brought her some comfort, no matter what the end consisted of.

She was itching to get this over with but too tired to formulate what she would say at the same time. She let her weight rest against the warehouse, almost cautiously as she worried the whole thing would come falling down around her as everything else she touched seemed to. All she knew was that she wanted it to be over — all the fighting, all the sneaking around, all the death. It was time to leave this life behind and find whatever was left out there for her, if there was anything there at all.

The friction of tires on the gravel made her stand up and off of the wall. She took her time rounding to the front of the warehouse, craning her neck to see exactly who had pulled up. The slamming of a car door reverberated throughout the air before she caught sight of Clay standing next to a grey van. She didn’t recognize it; it definitely wasn’t his own, the licence plate alone confirmed that much.

Clay scoped out the area before he pulled out a cigarette and placed it into his mouth. He leaned against the car, as relaxed as ever as he pulled out a lighter from his pocket. He lit it up, took in a deep breath and let it out nice and slow, the cloud of smoke trailing up towards the sky before evaporating along the way.

She glared at his form, almost envying the ease with which he carried it. He’d caused obstacles before but nothing as hellacious as this. He didn’t even know exactly what he’d done, but she intended to educate him.

Clay brought the cigarette to his mouth again, pausing suddenly when he heard the crunch of gravel under her feet. His head whipped towards her, but she kept herself hidden behind the warehouse for just a moment longer.

As she rounded the corner, she caught sight of his furrowed brows and rigid body that was standing straight as an arrow now. He was craning his neck to see who exactly it was, but his high alert decreased slightly when he recognized her form.

But she wasn’t the same anymore and he’d soon figure that out.

Clay’s eyes scanned over her, the confusion still present on his face but somehow sharper now.

“What the hell happened to you?” was all he thought to ask, trying to cover his surprise with his usual snark.

She hadn’t been able to look at herself in a mirror all this time, she was sure she looked like hell though, because she felt like it.

Glad I got that confirmation.

She put her bag down to lean against the rickety wall of the warehouse, the ache in her shoulder easing some now that the weight was off of it. “I’ve been looking for you,” she replied, voice and steps even and calm.

“The hell you looking for me for?”

“I know what you’re trying to do here and it’s not gonna happen,” she told him.

Confusion dissipated and was replaced with his usual air of arrogance in times like these. “Is that so?”

She only nodded silently.

“And how do you figure that? Contrary to what you may think, sweetheart, you’re not a member of this club, unless there was a vote I wasn’t present for.”

“There’s a lot you haven’t been present for.”

“Like what?”

She glared at him through her shades, resentment building up to a high that it never reached until now. “Jax is dead.”

Clay’s cocky demeanour stuttered at the news, his raised brows falling along with his smirk and his bright eyes dimming. “What?” he spat.

“He tried to get the club out of the shit you put them in with DeMarco.”

Clay paused, his eyes falling to the floor as he shook his head. Grief took a backseat when vengeance washed over his features, tightening his jaw and squinting his eyes, “DeMarco,” he spat. “The son of a bitch-“

“It was the club,” she cut him off.

Clay’s eyes flashed towards her, confusion present again.

“He tried to make the deal with DeMarco, he didn’t deliver on time and Tig died because of it. Because of you,” she stepped forward some more.

He opened his mouth to speak but she continued, “Your time with the club is over, Clay. It ends today. You may think you’re gonna make this deal and undo everything Jax did for the club, but you can forget it. You’re not sinking this charter,” she stood just a few feet away from him now, staring him down and watching as his eyes flickered up to her.

“I’m trying to save my club,” Clay fired back.

“Putting them to war with DeMarco’s crew will be suicide — even with the guys that Bobby pulls together.”

Clay stuttered, clearly taken aback that she knew that.

“That's why you’re here, right? He told me all about it — the NOMADs, the guns, going to war,” she listed sharply before evening out her tone, “Even with all of that combined, it’s still not enough to take on DeMarco’s crew. Alvarez tried to do the same thing years ago and his charter almost folded.”

“So what’s the solution here, Evie?” her name rattled from his mouth, a deadly rattlesnake, waiting to strike.

“You are,” she simply answered.

Clay stayed silent, trying to steel himself behind a cutting glare.

“You’re the closer for Jax’s negotiation with DeMarco. He was supposed to hand you over, you ran off, and now he’s dead because of it. How it plays out from here, I’m not entirely sure, but all I know is the only way you’re making this deal with the Irish, is over my dead body.”

Clay was still for a moment, deliberating, before he spoke, “I think that can be arranged.”

He reached out and grasped onto her arm and she fought against his hold, seeing his jaw lock and his eyes square in on her. Her heart thudded and arm ached as his fingers dug into the flesh there even harder.

Suddenly, the roar of engines had them both stopping and turning to look at the source of the sound that cut through the quiet air. The three familiar bikes pulled up just a few feet away from them and she felt her breath get caught in her throat as the possibility of the club siding with Clay weighed on her.

As they dismounted from their bikes, she felt Clay shove her away from him, putting her in the middle of all the men that eyed her dangerously. She didn’t miss Chibs’s penetrative glare and the way Happy stood rooted in the ground as he always seemed to. Juice stood beside Happy, hands at his sides and looking at her with the same stoic expression. It was strange to see on him; he wore a smile as much as he wore his kutte.

“What the hell is this?” Clay questioned lowly.

Chibs put his helmet on the handle of his bike before he began approaching her. She swallowed the dryness in her throat away, willing herself to be strong. He stopped a couple of feet away from her and she noticed the ends of his hair still held onto some of the rain that fell earlier. How they kept up with her through that rainstorm, she’d never know.

Hopefully, she’ll be glad she did.

“I know you’ve been waiting for this,” she noticed the slight quiver in her voice, “But let me say something before you do whatever it is you plan to do to me.”

Chibs shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still watching her with an unreadable expression. It was meant to intimidate, that much was all she could tell, but there was nothing else other than that. It was a skill he carried — never letting you know what he was thinking until the final moment; you could be on track the whole time with whatever you said to him, but you could also be leading yourself off a cliff.

“What Jax did was wrong, I think we can all agree on that, but we’re here now and the only way to fix this is to finish it,” she laid it all out honestly, “I’m sorry that all of this happened; if I knew what he was planning to do, I would’ve stopped him, but he would’ve tried again, and again, and again.”

This made Chibs’s eyebrow quirk momentarily, breaking his stoney facade for a moment. Underneath his tough exterior, he brandished a good heart. He wanted the same things for the club that Jax did, he just wanted to achieve it all differently — without the casualties, without losing another brother.

“When you guys had that Mayhem vote for Clay, it was Bobby that stopped it from passing because he knew it would turn Jax into just another copy of Clay, but Jax tried to get rid of him again for a reason.

“Clay’s here now trying to get back into business with the Irish so you guys can go to war with DeMarco’s crew. He’s getting the firepower from them and the manpower from Bobby and the NOMADs, but it won’t be enough. The Mayans tried it and they’re still recovering.”

“Alvarez didn’t know what he was up against — we do — and we can get more firepower than the Mayans ever had,” Clay spoke up from behind her.

But she paid him no mind, keeping her attention on Chibs and he afforded her the same.

“You do whatever you want with me,” she spoke quietly, “But just know that if you let him sit at the table again he will be the reason the charter folds. You want out of drugs, you finish the deal Jax made. Hand him over to DeMarco; it’s the only way the club survives this.”

Her eyes pleaded with Chibs, trying to break through his impenetrable exterior. She was looking death in the face right now, but she didn’t know if that was a fact or a hope.

“Hold on-“ Clay began to object behind her.

“As stupid as it was, he was only trying to help the club,” she continued despite it all, holding Chibs’s gaze, “That’s all he ever tried to do, because he loved the club more than anything” she concluded, her voice breaking momentarily. “And if you killed Jax because he went behind the club’s back and it got a member killed, then you might as well do the same thing for Clay. But I suggest you do it now before you lose more bodies.”

The wind passed by between them as the stood still in front of one another, staring at one another, waiting. A few beams of sunlight were breaking through the clouds, illuminating the patches on Chibs’s kutte; a kutte she once associated with protection — with family — but now represented the opposite.

“We know,” Chibs finally spoke. “He did help the club.”

It wasn’t the reply she was expecting and it made her weary to hear the rest.

Chibs turned to Juice and Happy and nodded his head in her direction. She tensed up, watching the two of them approach. Her fists balled up at her side and she took a step back as they got closer to her, getting ready to bolt.

It couldn’t end just yet, not until she was certain that Clay would never sit at that table again.

“Relax,” Chibs told her, “We’re not here for you.”

She stilled and watched as Happy and Juice walked past her only to grasp onto Clay who immediately began fighting in their grasp.

“What the hell-“

“It wasn’t Jax’s deal,” Chibs told her, causing her to look back at him. “It was our deal, as a club.”

She stilled, watching him for any sign of deception.

“Once Jax was president, we all spoke to DeMarco and tried to strike a deal for them to cut us loose,” his gaze shifted to the former president. “They wanted Clay, and we tried to compromise at first, but there was nothing else DeMarco wanted,” he spoke as he approached the man behind her.

She watched the two of them face off, Clay holding a strong, stoic stance, visibly boiling at the surface with anger.

“So you sacrifice a brother to save yourselves?” Clay challenged.

“We took a page out of your book,” Chibs replied lowly.

Clay squared his shoulders, “Go on then,” he prompted, “But make it your best shot.”

Chibs smirked before shaking his head, “That wasn’t part of the negotiation.”

He turned away from Clay who clearly had more questions, and faced her again. “DeMarco should be here any minute to close the deal.”

“Jax,” his name fell from her lips.

“He’s with DeMarco.”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she begged herself to remain calm. She bit onto her bottom lip as she felt the tightly wound knot in her stomach unravel. The darkness inside her unfurled its iron grip and released her, exorcised from her at the news. A toxin expelled first through a sigh, then a sob that ripped through her. She felt her knees wobble and Chibs grab onto her before she could plummet to the ground. She buried her face in his shoulder, glasses askew on her face as she cried out in relief.

Images of Jax flashed through her mind, the warmth of his embrace that was stored in her bones made its way to the surface again after being pushed down for so long. Grief vacated every memory she had of him and the memories were now a soothing balm to her aching soul.

“The other thing they wanted was collateral in case we didn’t bring Clay in time.”

She watched Chibs, still unable to read his face. “But he’s — is he…” she trailed off, scared to finish her sentence.

“We only made you think he wasn’t because after everything with Tig, we knew you’d only make it harder for him to go,” he replied before saying, “He is.”

The headache she’d been carrying and the slight pain still wracking her body from Gemma’s attack made her sobs simmer down quickly as something bitter piqued inside of her. She pulled back from Chibs’s hold.

“You made me think…” she trailed off, stare locked on him. “…Because I wouldn’t let him be collateral?”

“And because we knew it’d put pressure on you to find him-“ he nodded to Clay, “-if you knew he was.”

She was stuck, conflicting emotions fighting for dominance inside her. Betrayal twisted her gut but relief eased the tension.

“And you’re sure he’s okay?” she asked, completely unravelling from Chibs.

“Been calling DeMarco for confirmation every chance we got,” Happy confirmed, nodding at her as she looked over at him from Chibs’s shoulder.

“We made him put Jax on the phone every time,” Juice added.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” she quizzed.

“Half an hour ago,” Chibs replied, a single, stoic nod.

She wanted to cheer, cry, and celebrate that Jax was still alive, but if he was, was everything that she went through worth it?

Before anyone could say anything more, a familiar black van began pulling up in the distance. She went rigid, watching as it pulled up and began to slow to a stop in front of them.

“I saw him,” she said quietly to Chibs as the van parked, DeMarco visible now through the windshield. “I saw them at a diner a few miles back, before I got to Bobby,” she nodded to the man driving the van as well.

“They’ve been keeping up with us using a different route,” Chibs informed her as the doors of the van swung open, and DeMarco and five of his men stepped out of the vehicle.

Hatred returned full force seeing DeMarco wear the same smile he always did, no matter the circumstance. His white teeth against his bronze skin almost made it all the more taunting, because you couldn’t help but notice it.

From beside her, Clay began to struggle in Juice and Happy’s hold the closer DeMarco got. Juice and Happy wrangled him and got him under control enough for Happy to land a debilitating elbow right into the side of his face that subdued him slightly.

Her focus was sharp on the van, searching for any sign of Jax through the windshield, or any movement from the van.

“DeMarco,” Chibs greeted flatly.

She noticed the way he puffed up, keeping her somewhat behind him.

DeMarco said nothing, just turned to the man on his left and nodded.

In one swift move, the man reached behind him whipped out a gun. She inhaled sharply at the sight, feeling Chibs force more of himself in front of her before the gun went off. She flinched under the sudden noise that echoed out in the expanse. She heard her shaky breathing loud and clear and the thud of a body against the ground blended in with the gunshot’s echo.

To her left, she saw Clay’s lifeless body sprawled out across the ground, a bullet lodged right between his eyes. It left a trail of deep crimson blood flowing down the bridge of his nose before it diverted to his left cheek; the poison embedded within it streaming out too. But it was powerless now, unable to hurt anybody else.

She exhaled a shaky breath, a knot still in her stomach but relief in her chest that he was finally gone.

“Thought we’d save a little time doing it this way since we showed up late,” DeMarco spoke up, pulling her attention to him. “Apologies for that by the way, we got caught up along the way.”

“You got what you wanted,” Chibs replied, paying no mind to DeMarco’s antics. “Where’s Jax?”

DeMarco and his men paused before looking to each other, silently communicating in their looks. Some of them quirked their brows, others had the hint of a smirk on their lips.

Her heart fell deep into the pit of her stomach and her breathing picked up, both out of fear and fury. She noticed Chibs go rigid in front of her, and noticed Happy and Juice looking between one another, trying to decipher what exactly was happening.

“Where is he?” the question left her as soon as she thought it, her voice breaking in the midst of the sentence.

All eyes were on her as she stepped in front of Chibs. “Where’s Jax?” she demanded.

DeMarco kept his eyes on her, his smirk reminiscent of the one he held in the diner once his eyes found her. “He’s not too far now,” he assured her, “You can find him off the I-80, on the wrong side of the grass.”

“What?” Happy piped up, his usual gravelly tone becoming sinister.

He took a step closer, prompting Clay’s murderer to point his gun at him.

“We had a deal,” Chibs insisted though gritted teeth.

She couldn’t help but shake her head at that; fury bubbling up further at both parties now. How could they have been so stupid to trust someone like DeMarco to make good on a deal when he didn’t do it from the beginning?

“We did,” DeMarco agreed, “But I’m afraid you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain,” his eyes fell to her, “Dora the Explorer wasn’t as efficient as you promised.”

“We found Clay and brought you to him,” she spat, her filter gone with the wind and her vision blurring by the sudden onslaught of tears.

DeMarco winced half-heartedly before sighing dramatically, “Not on time.”

“You’re about seven minutes too late,” one of his guys added, flashing his watch.

She approached at a quick pace, paying half a mind to the gun pointed at her now. She ripped off her glasses and launched them off to the side as she stopped a foot away from DeMarco. At the sight of her bare face, he physically recoiled, his men following suit — forever the mindless followers.

“I ran into a couple problems on my way here, so I’m sorry if I was a few minutes late,” she seethed.

“Jesus,” DeMarco huffed, recovering from the sight. “This has been a hell of a ride for you, huh?”

Anger took on a physical form and words suddenly weren’t enough as she felt her fist ball up and her arm swing out in front of her, aiming right for DeMarco’s nose.

But DeMarco was quicker.

He grabbed hold of her arm before it collided with his face and used the weight of his body to send her back into the ground. The brunt of his weight landed on her midsection as her head bounced against the ground painfully at the impact, his knee digging right into her gut, making it hard to breathe as he was refreshing a bruise that was barely starting to heal. His other hand grasped onto her jaw, holding it with a bruising strength.

She stayed still, unable to find any movement anyways, besides the heaving of her chest.

Footsteps scuffled behind her but stopped suddenly. She shifted her eyes to find the gun now pointed behind and above her. She was sure it was Chibs who rushed over.

DeMarco’s eyes returned to her after Chibs settled in place. The menace in her stare didn’t waver despite the fact that he had the upper hand here.

She saw visions of him bloodied and bruised, laying next to Clay’s lifeless body, just as dead. The need to make that dream a reality made her body twitch under his, but as soon as her head came up from the ground, DeMarco slammed it back down again.

She groaned, her eye closing as she exhaled sharply before she forced herself to recover and look him in the eye again.

“You can bullshit them, but you’re not gonna bullshit me,” she spoke lowly and through clenched teeth, partially because the pain in the back of her head was still seering. “You and I both know you never had any intention of bringing him back alive.”

“That’s why we had to get you out of the picture,” DeMarco retorted. “Because you are just so damn smart!” he almost hooted.

She opened her mouth to speak but stopped when he leaned in close before he spoke low enough for only her to hear, “He was practically begging me to keep you alive, and I wanted to keep my promise — I really did — but you’re just making it harder and harder to do.”

Just as she opened her mouth to say something, another round of engines roaring in the distance got louder and louder by the second.

Confusion stilled everybody around her, she listened closely, the engines almost deafening before they were killed. She tried to move her head to see who it was, but even with DeMarco’s loosening grip, she didn’t have much luck, his curiosity overtaking his attention to the task at hand.

In the silence, she heard Bobby’s voice echo out, “What the hell is going on here!?”

She let out a sigh of relief at the NOMADs’ presence but that sigh turned into a quiet laugh as snide curled her lip. DeMarco looked down at her again.

“I guess everybody’s behind schedule today,” she taunted, her words slightly muffled by his hold.

“Looks like you boys are outnumbered,” Chibs’s voice rung out now, “So why don’t you just let her go?”

She heard a gun cock, but was unable to tell which side had pulled it, but DeMarco’s loosening grip gave her the opportunity to lift her head up just enough to have it collide with his nose.

A satisfying crunch underneath his stifled groan was all she heard before the onslaught of gunfire drowned everything else out. She maneuvered her legs between them, kicking him back and away from her. He fell back and she scrambled up, watching him hold his nose to ease the pain as he tried to make his way up too. Self-soothing proved dangerous for DeMarco as she was able to land a punch against his the side of his head.

His head snapped to the side at the impact, his body tipping over towards the ground before he caught himself with his other hand. Her eyes scanned the area vaguely, noticing everyone with a kutte engaged with one of DeMarco’s guys or assessing an injury. Bobby gave the Sons the upper hand by bringing four other NOMADs with him.

The consequences of her actions were catching up to her quickly and she felt like a deer in headlights for a moment — spotlighted and found out as DeMarco’s eyes locked on her before he began charging towards her. Whether it was self-preservation or her wrath begging to be unleashed on the one man who had it coming for a long time now that prompted her to stay in place and not cower under him, she didn’t know. Or maybe it was accepting that this is what the end entailed: meeting her maker and maybe finding Jax again. Still, she felt satisfaction at the sight of the trail of blood leaking from his left nostril.

DeMarco was only a few steps away before he was knocked off course and to the ground by another body.

Once the mass landed, she recognized Happy through the fists that were flying from both parties. A few feet away, a gun laid just outside of their tornado of a scuffle and she didn’t think twice before she swept it up and latched onto it with her hand. It had to have belonged to Happy, he was never disarmed.

When she turned to them again, DeMarco had gained the upper hand, keeping Happy pinned below him as he landed a few blows to his face. Without another thought, she brought the gun up, swinging it over her head and launching it back down to land a blow to the back of DeMarco’s head.

His body went keeled over before it fell over to the side as he clutched the spot of the attack. Happy was on his feet again as she made her way to DeMarco. She grasped onto his shoulder, forcing him onto his back to find him blinking and staring up at the sky, trying to clear his vision. Beams of sunlight were streaming down on him through the parting clouds as she cocked the gun and pointed it at him, the metal refracting the rays of light.

“Evie, don’t!”

She cut Bobby’s cries off by pulling the trigger, lodging a bullet right into DeMarco’s forehead, watching him go lifeless after he exhaled the last bit of breath he was holding.

She heard nothing but her own panting for a moment and the gun felt hot in her hand, but she didn’t let it go. Silence befell the expanse again and all eyes were on her, watching her but taking no action against her.

Her stare left DeMarco and scanned all around her. Men in their kuttes were all around — some still standing, others clutching onto different parts of their bodies that leaked blood, and some of them unconscious on the ground. DeMarco’s men had been overtaken; the casualties more grievous on his side than the Sons. It was a graveyard not yet concealed by the earth.

Her throat closed up as she realized what she’d done and she didn’t know if it was a precursor to tears or an attempt to prevent an onslaught of vomit from coming up.

Before she could decide, a high-pitched whirring from above caught her attention.

She craned her neck up to the sky, seeing the silhouette of a plane close to its descent outlined by the fiery sun behind it. The dark clouds were moving on by, making space for the plane and the sun. Everybody watched as it landed, the heavy wind flushed out from underneath threw her hair and the lapels of her jacket backwards.

Her stomach steeled, blocking anything from coming up as she watched and waited for the man to exit the cargo plane, no doubt, filled with all kinds of weaponry.

The engine was cut and the door on the side of the plane slid open. A moment later, a man she hadn’t seen before descended from it. She didn’t care to know anything about him. He paused when he noticed all eyes were on him before he realized what he’d walked in on and stiffened for a different reason.

“The deal is off,” she called out to him in a thunderous voice, still short of breath.

The man found the gun in her hand before the inkling of a smirk began to appear on his face. His eyes fled from her and moved to the person approaching from behind her.

It was Chibs, pointing his gun towards the man before firing at the ground near his feet. The man jumped and backed up towards the door of the plane, holding his hands up in mock surrender while trying to maintain his composure.

“Fuck off back to where you came from,” Chibs sneered, watching him ascend the stairs of the plane before disappearing out of sight.

She couldn’t look at him as she emptied the magazine from the gun before tossing both of them to the ground.

She was no stranger to the feeling of eyes on her. Not anymore, but this time she turned and looked at all of them, giving them a moment to take in the sight of her as she was now. Chibs was close enough that she could hear his sharp inhale. She flinched at it slightly, but steeled herself again.

Bobby was equally taken aback, but for a different reason. She couldn’t hold his gaze for very long, so hers went up to the sky that finally cleared to reveal sun; its warm touch cascading down onto her face, similar to the way his hand once touched her cheek. It was the last remnants of the star before it went down for the night to blanket her in darkness once again.

The rumble of the motorcycle underneath her became a constant for the last few hours. The sun had fallen behind the horizon but her sunglasses were perched on her face once again. Her arms wrapped around Chibs’s waist and she even let her cheek press against his back. When she shut her eye, the edges of the patches on his kutte dug into her cheek and the feeling of flying down the road all made her feel like she was on Jax’s bike again.

Jax.

She didn’t know if it hurt more now than it did before. Getting that slight feeling of relief only to have the knife plunged in again, but this time deeper.

She still didn’t know if that was justification enough for her actions.

The other guys would’ve done the same.

That’s all she could come up with and at the moment it felt like enough, but she didn’t know how she’d feel about it tomorrow.

Bobby, after being caught up on what had happened before he and the NOMADs got there, relented on his silent disapproval of her actions slightly, her grief apparently giving her some wiggle room.

She grasped what she could when Chibs had explained it all to her.

After meeting with DeMarco and learning that they needed to give up Clay for them to cut the Sons loose, they took a vote and it passed. It was supposed to look like just another hit, but when Clay went missing and Tig caught the bullet instead because of it, they knew they had to find Clay fast. DeMarco was the one to bring her up in conversation. If Jax was going as collateral, she’d be the one to have to find Clay because there was no one else to do it. Jax refused at first, not wanting her involved in any of this, but DeMarco gave them no choice. He caught onto how tightly bound she and Jax were from their first meeting and played them like pawns in the palm of his hand.

She still didn’t know if she felt angry or upset at that. Maybe betrayed was the right word — a good middle ground between the two emotions. But she was too tired to feel them. Too overcome by grief to feel anything else. Its cold hand wound itself around her neck and had her in a chokehold that she surely wasn’t gonna escape from now.

While those who were injured tended to their wounds, others went to go find Jax to bring him home and have a proper funeral for him.

She couldn’t go. The thought alone of seeing what DeMarco had done to him was enough to turn her stomach. Picturing DeMarco’s bruised and bloodied in the aftermath of her wrath soothed the feeling somewhat — satisfaction even reared its head, though she’d never admit it to anyone.

Whether she started a war with DeMarco’s crew and the Sons, she’d never know, but Chibs assured her that it was their problem now and they would handle it. Bobby and the NOMADs he brought along were willing to go to Charming and help them fight — they might even talk to Alvarez about teaming up, and maybe even other Sons charters.

She wanted to fight back on the idea — suicide. Suicide. It would be suicide.

But maybe Chibs was right. It was their problem. It was club business.

The long line of trees seemed to pass her by over and over again on a loop as the bike sped down a never-ending road. She wasn’t convinced they were getting anywhere. The air was cleaner up here, the night was quieter, and it scared her just as much as it did all those years ago.

The motorcycle was an intrusion and she felt the same; intruding on the peaceful farm with her chaos. More than she ever imagined she could carry.

Gemma never made it to the farm. Chibs explained that they had found her in the gas station bathroom, recognizing her car in the lot as they were tailing her. They found Gemma with blood on her hands and a bruise or two on her face. The grieving mother barely got out that she’d seen Evie and was about to do her in.

A prospect was meant to be keeping her company back at the clubhouse, but Gemma had her ways, and when Chibs, Juice, and Happy found her sitting on the floor of that bathroom, they let her in on the truth — keeping up the cover story with her at first for the same reason they kept it up with Evie: there could be no interference from anybody, especially not the two most headstrong women in his life. Jax’s disappearance as they searched for Clay had to be accounted for and this cover story should’ve been enough to keep Gemma from interfering. She was outnumbered with the club and she would do as Old Ladies did and kept quiet in the face of it all.

They didn’t think the two of them would run into each other; they thought she’d be long gone from Charming by the time Gemma heard about her son’s supposed passing, but while they accounted for the love of a mother, they hadn’t accounted for that of a grandmother.

They’d persuaded her to go back to Charming after telling them what was really going on. She was so distraught she couldn’t speak, but they just thought it was because she was so relieved, not that she had just mutilated the other woman in Jax’s life.

Chibs, remorsefully offered to take a look at her eye, ready to pop his glasses on and inspect her injury.

She declined, dusting off her glasses from the dirt blown onto them before putting them back on her face.

Chibs offered to take her back to Charming.

She declined that too, swallowing down the lump in her throat that formed at the thought.

He was eager to make up for all of this in some way, and she let him, hitching her final ride as a passenger on the back of his bike to the farm.

Once they approached the house, Chibs cut the engine, letting silence prevail in the night. She dismounted from the bike, taking off the helmet and handing it back to him. His gaze lingered on her, worry furrowing his brow.

“We’ll, um, let you know about-“

“Okay,” she cut him off, almost pleading with him to not finish the sentence.

Chibs sighed heavily, his eyes falling to his lap.

She heard shuffling behind her. Turning her head, she saw a light shining through one of the lower windows on the front of the house before the door was opening. It was quaint and she wondered how there would ever be space for her in there. She made out Nero’s tall frame taking up most of the doorway and noticed Wendy peeking out from behind him.

“I won’t tell Gemma about this,” he nodded to the house when she turned back to look at him. “You have my word.”

She nodded, finding belief in one thing Chibs said today. He knew how much Abel meant to Jax and how Abel would only meet the same fate as his father if he went back to Charming.

“Thanks for the ride,” she told him.

Chibs nodded, holding his breath, eyes glossy under the moonlight when he gathered enough courage to look at her again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She wanted to turn him away, tell him that she should be and he shouldn’t have been so stupid for falling into DeMarco’s trap.

She didn’t say a word though. She only stepped forward and brought him into an embrace. His head leaned against her shoulder and he inhaled sharply, desperately trying to muffle the sound of his weeping.

She knew he didn’t mean any harm — none of those guys did — when they made that deal. Chibs’s love for the club ran deep but his love for his brothers themselves ran even deeper and she knew this would cut him up for the rest of his life, but there was a seed of resentment that she couldn’t ignore poking around deep in her chest and for that reason alone, she knew that right here, right now, she had to say goodbye to him and the club. Staying there would be all the nutrition that seed would need to grow into something nasty — something she’d never come back from.

“Me too,” was all she said before pulling away.

She didn’t spare him another glance as she turned to the house and walked towards it.

Nero’s gaze wasn’t nearly as stoic as it used to be, emotions he tried to bury poked through; sympathy creased his brows and made his eyes bigger. She casted him a glance but continued on in the house when he moved aside.

She felt his hand against her back as she stepped over the threshold. He gently shut the door behind her when she met Wendy who was standing in the foyer.

She looked like a mess, eyes round and puffy with dark circles accenting them, face makeup-less, and hair almost as dirty as hers. Her shaking hands were clasped together and tucked under her chin.

The house was quiet, she could hear the occasional cricket outside, chirping away as it played its song. She hoped Abel was asleep by now — it’d be too late for him to be up at this hour. Her eye trailed up the short staircase behind Wendy, surmising that he was up there in his room and sleeping.

“Ojo,” Nero’s voice was soft, trying to disturb the night as little as possible.

It was followed by Chibs’s roaring engine cutting through the silence again before it sped away and left them in silence again.

She hoped that didn’t wake Abel.

“Let’s get you in the shower,” Wendy offered, her voice raspier than usual.

She hoped that Wendy kept herself hidden from Abel whenever she cried. If she couldn’t hold it back while he was around, she hoped she left the room and came up with some sort of excuse for her behaviour. She hoped she hadn’t broken his heart yet.

She gave them a semblance of a nod, moving her all too heavy head a couple of times before Wendy took a cautious step closer.

“I’m gonna take your bag and Nero will put it in your room,” Wendy told her, waiting a moment before she reached out for her.

She let her take the muddied bag and watched her put it aside.

“I’ll take your raincoat,” Nero said from behind her.

She let him do that too, trying not to flinch at his gentle touch as he grabbed onto the lapels of it from behind and slowly unravelled it from her shoulders and down her arms.

She saw Wendy kneel down and begin untying her shoes. They were muddy, beyond disgusting and she felt bad for stepping into their home like that. They seemed to keep it neat and tidy. Her feet were guided out of the shoes before they were put aside and Wendy stood straight up in front of her again. Nero came to Wendy’s side, throwing a glance at the blonde before focusing on her again.

“I’m gonna take your glasses off now,” Wendy said.

She couldn’t nod to that. She just stayed still and let Wendy’s careful hands approach.

They’d see how different she was now, but they’d experience more of the change later.

Would they be so gentle with her if they knew all that she’d done?

She didn’t have time to come up with hypotheses as her face was bared to them now. Nero’s chest inflated suddenly with a quiet gasp, his mouth agape in disbelief at her face. Wendy was frozen solid, eyes wide and breath locked in her chest.

Her gaze fell to the floor and they quickly gathered themselves to resume: Wendy taking her upstairs to the bathroom and Nero staying in the foyer to pick up all of her stuff.

In the bathroom, Wendy began drawing a warm bath. The running water at this hour seemed too loud — almost like they shouldn’t be doing it; like Wendy shouldn’t be doing this for her. She stood off to the side, watching the running water for a moment before she felt her stomach clench uncomfortably. Saliva filled her mouth before her lip quivered. She immediately rushed to the toilet, dropping to her knees and emptying the contents of her stomach.

Wendy was there in a flash, hand rubbing against her back as she let it all out. Her eye welled up with tears, a few leaking out as she remained hunched over the toilet, heaving. She clutched her stomach, forcing herself to breathe deeply through her nose to settle the reflex.

She leaned back, Wendy still rubbing her back with one hand as the other reached over to flush the contents down the drain.

She didn’t feel any better.

In her own time, she stood up again as Wendy turned off the tap on the bathtub. The blonde returned, helping her take off her clothes one piece at a time. Wendy’s concern sharpened when she caught sight of the bruises staining her torso.

Those would heal, but her eye had done all that it could.

She’d carry this with her forever. All of this.

It wasn’t until Wendy helped her take off her pants that she noticed they were stained with urine. She didn’t know when that happened and although Wendy didn’t say anything about it, she still felt mortification poke in through the grief that was back with a vengeance.

Wendy sat at the edge of the bathtub once she was submerged in warm, soapy water. Gentle, tattooed hands washed her hair, noting places where she winced and taking extra care to not aggravate the sore spots any further.

It took everything in her not to break down in that moment. She hadn’t felt a gentle touch like this since the last time she saw him. Still, her body was too highly alerted to allow relaxation to settle in. It still didn’t feel safe, even though, logically, she knew it was. She knew releasing the onslaught of tears would give way to that, but she just wasn’t ready for that yet.

“Is there something I can do for your eye?” Wendy asked softly once her hair was clean.

She could only shake her head.

She’d been wrapped up in a bathrobe after towelling off and Wendy guided her down the quiet hallway. It was dimly lit, the light from the bathroom bleeding into the corridor. She saw where they were headed, the door at the end of the hall slightly ajar, but she stopped in her tracks when she found a door with a colourful letter L and A plastered on the door.

Wendy stopped too, looking between her and the door.

“Can I see him?” she finally spoke, looking at the blonde now.

The child’s beaming smile flashed in her mind; his father’s following quickly after.

Wendy hesitated at first but then replied, “Let’s get you dressed first.”

She let out a sigh, her vision blurring with tears, but she nodded anyways.

In the room at the end of the hall, a set of pyjamas lay on the bed for her — a pair of Wendy’s no doubt. A simple tank top and pastel coloured, cartoony patterned pants.

The room was simple; a bed, a nightstand with a lamp on top of it, and a wardrobe in the corner. The lamp was the only light source in the room. She was thankful for it, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, or maybe it was the same headache that lingered in the background; too much going on in the foreground to be noticed. It was plain enough to be a guest room — no personal photos or belongings. She decided it’d be up to her to fill in those blanks. She wouldn’t know where to start.

At her request, Wendy gave her privacy as she got dressed. Her movements were mechanical and limited by the pain of her injuries which were becoming apparent to her all over again.

She noticed her bag slumped next to the wardrobe. She carefully bent down, avoiding landing on her knees due to the bruises there, and unzipped the bag.

The map she’d crumpled up haphazardly in there was taking up all the space. She pulled it out, letting it fall to the ground before she found her laptop next. She lifted the heavy device and opened it to find the screen shattered and black. She let out a small sigh, regret creeping in at her actions during her meltdown. She pressed a few buttons anyways, but nothing happened.

It was useless to her now anyways.

Setting it aside, she looked into her bag again, pulling out her antibiotics and painkillers before finding the one thing she’d been looking for. She clutched the photograph in her hand and his childish grin encapsulated within it almost seemed to light up the room. She let out a small sigh of relief, noting that the photograph was in more or less good shape. The edges were slightly crumpled and she tried to smooth them out against her leg.

Tears fell at a rapid pace and she sniffled, her stuffed nose not letting much air in now. She looked up to the ceiling, trying to find some sort of belief that she’d done some semblance of the right thing. She didn’t find it then, but when she looked back at the picture, it was staring at her right there.

She ran her finger over his face, the digit dwarfing his features. It was the happiest she’d ever seen him; just a boy, free of any weight on his shoulders and eyes bright with all the possibilities of the future.

Wherever he ended up, she hoped he was happy.

A light rap on her door made her head snap towards it. “Evie,” Wendy’s gentle voice coaxed, calming her sudden panic. “Do you still wanna see him?”

She looked back at the picture. She’d been preserving it all this time for that boy down the hall.

However, when she stood up, she placed her medication on the nightstand and the photograph against the lamp, letting the lightbulb underneath it illuminate it some more before she made her way to the door.

Wendy was gentle as she opened the door to Abel and Lucius’s shared room. She was gentle as she walked into the room — more gentle than she’d been in days. She casted a glance over at Lucius as he lay in his bed at the other side of the small room, ensuring he was asleep before she looked to Abel. She knelt down next to his bed, watching his body inflate and deflate with each steady breath of air he took. His mouth was slightly agape, reminiscent of how deeply his father would sleep when given the opportunity.

Her heart clenched and her throat tightened when she realized that in a matter of hours, his whole life would be changed and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. She couldn’t take back every wrong decision that brought her here, she could turn back time to prevent any of this from happening, she couldn’t save his father even though she tried her damndest to.

She found herself curling her lips in to stop a sob from ripping through and disturbing his peace. She wanted to preserve as much of it for as long as she possibly could. She wanted to repent, whisper apologies over and over again, but she knew it’d never be enough.

She forced herself to regain control long enough to plant a kiss on his forehead and brush some of his cropped, golden hair back. She felt her whole body shaking and she pulled away quickly, not wanting to risk waking him.

She just had to see him. Had to get the reminder that at least some part of all of this — in one way or another — was worth it.

Back in the room, she found herself laying awake. She tried to turn the lamp off, assuming that’d help her, but it didn’t stay off for long. She couldn’t bare it. There were no lights outside to battle the darkness and no work to distract her from all of the thoughts swirling around her mind. All she had was this lamp and the photograph that settled beneath it. 

She turned her body to face the window. She peeled the curtains back before lying down, but all that was out there was the same as all that she held inside her — an expanse that held nothing but darkness.

It was a tender night — not too blistering and not too breezy, but perfectly balmy.

She unravelled from the blanket she’d thrown on top of herself and made her way to the window. She unlatched it from the pane and pushed it up just a sliver, feeling the fresh air wash over her and the room.

She climbed back into bed, breathing in the fresh air. She looked around the room for something else to do. She’d already put the map and computer back in her bag when she returned to the room, and she’d fluffed her pillows at least a dozen times now.

She was left with herself. She figured she should get used to it by now; find some way to try and compartmentalize everything.

She drifted in and out of sleep — eye flying open when she realized she was slipping into unconsciousness, but eventually growing too tired to fight it anymore.

The pink sky brought on by the setting sun was reflected in the body of water that waded in and out at the shoreline. Peaks in the distance were silhouetted and this water was the bluest body she’d ever seen. The air was fresher here — even fresher than the farm now that there was no manure underneath the otherwise clean air.

It was picturesque, almost as if she was in a painting. Pastel colours swirled in the sky as if they were blended in there with a paintbrush. The water was lush and her bare feet made imprints in the soft sand as she walked closer and closer to the ocean. The foamy tops kissed her toes before retreating back towards the sun.

Bending at the knee and balancing herself with a hand on the ground, she sat down in the sand, bathing in the last few rays of sunlight. It didn’t hurt to make her way down and she sighed in relief at that.

She shut her eye and breathed in once again. There was room for her breath to move; no darkness for her inhale to catch onto, and none for her exhale to stumble over. There was no pain here, no heaviness in her heart.

When she opened her eye again, she caught sight of a figure in the right corner of her eye. She turned her head and there he was; hair as golden as the highlights in the sky and eyes as blue as the water before them. His legs were bent and he was hugging his knees, comfortably hunched on the Tofino beach. He was missing his kutte but the navy blue of his sweater was familiar; one that had SAMCRO printed across the front.He could never part from it completely.

Behind him, the beach spanned further than she could see, but it was empty. Reserved just for them.

His eyes found her and she felt panicked for a moment, the need to shield herself from his gaze dissipated when the water rushed up to her feet again; the cool temperature bringing her back to this moment.

One where he still existed.

It brought a smile to her face and he mirrored it the same; light filling her at the sight.

“Hey,” her voice was a whisper, almost lost under the occasional crash of the waves.

He reached out a hand, cupping her cheek and running his thumb under her left eye. He seemed to settle into the space even deeper, finding even more peace at the contact before he opened his mouth and said, “Hey.”

-

author's note [This Is Us spoilers!]: So if you've seen This Is Us, you know that the final bit of this fic is heavily inspired by Jack and Rebecca's reunion and I think that's what really inspired this fic overall. Once again, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed Jax and Evie's story.

#jax teller #jax teller imagine #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam imagine #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #writer wednesday

[how-masterful]

31 Fics of Fright

Day 23- Sacred Coffin, Sacred Heart

Delgado!Master X Reader

Prompt: Coffin

Notes: It’s officially my birthday! It’s also the day we lose 13- guess you can’t have one without the other! Enjoy this very pre written fic while we mentally prepare ourselves for whatever happens in The Power Of The Doctor!

Warnings: None

The castle was positively labyrinthian, each winding corridor almost identical to the other. Stone walls ladened with various antique paintings of nobles and kings, each posing proudly as they flaunted their wealth and stature. Sconces adorned with fat dripping candles, wax pouring onto the cold floor.  Dark mahogany wood furniture, shattered glass mirrors, golden fineries decorating every surface. The castle oozed and retched with decadence. The perfect backdrop to the organised demise of yourself and the Master. 

Or so the creature hunting you down had thought.

The dust that had settled itself upon the rugs and pathways was disturbed by the thundering feet of escapees, your path to freedom taking you in what seemed like a never ending circle of hallways. The servants were racing after you at strong speed, their own paws bounding across the floor in a desperate attempt to close the gap. As you passed you attempted to imagine what you could do to slow them down, what could possibly buy you time to make your escape alive.

The Master was keeping an incredibly tight hold of your hand, ensuring he couldn’t possibly lose you in the chase. His decadent black cape blew behind him in the rush of the escape, your own ball gown attempting to trip you up at every free moment, the thick layers of rich fabric catching themselves under your pointed heels. It was a chase your life depended on, your pace fighting heartily to both outrun the threat and keep up with the Master.

The Timelord had shared your idea of slowing them down- with a harsh grunt he yanked the looming bookcase from its position against the wall, the large oak creation and its belly of books all crashing down into the path of your enemy. The servants screeched, one succumbing under the weight of the sudden onslaught of bibliographical rain.

You made a beeline for the staircase on the left, the Master shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost yanking you down the stairs. You could hear the yowls of more servants behind, of others being called to arms down within the other corners of the castle. You looked at the Master helplessly as you scurried down the same old hallways- you were quite positive you were going to die.

This was a notion the Master refused to entertain. In a sudden moment of insane thinking, he pulled you to the right and towards a small, cavernous room, its interior hidden by a short and rounded entrance. Reaching down you took grasp of one of your shoes, yanking it from your foot and launching the heel down the far corridor, the shoe clattering against the stone a good distance from the door. The Master tugged you forwards, heading towards the ornate coffin that sat upon a plinth of stone. Lifting the lid, the Master lay himself down inside, his hand bringing you with him- in one swift move you were suddenly laying atop his person, as the lid of the coffin swung shut with a clatter.

In those velvet lined confines, you allowed yourself to gather control of your ragged breathing. In and out on top of the Master’s chest you allowed the adrenaline to run its course, your whole body yearning to sink into the arms of the man below you. You hoped he wouldn’t find it offensive; you still weren’t certain exactly where you stood with the Master. Or, in the current moment, exactly where you lay.

“May I ask, my dear,” The Master whispered, breathing ragged.

“Why did you part with your shoe?”

You laughed, a hapless breath.

“I hoped they’d think I lost my shoe running down the next hallway.”

“Quite the wonderful ruse.”

In the dark of the coffin, you couldn’t make out a thing- but you could perfectly picture the Master below you. His salt and pepper beard, those dangerous eyes, that smile that could inspire such fear and excitement. His hands had wound themselves around your middle, pulling you close to his own chest. You could sense, by the proximity of his breath, that your faces were mere inches apart.

“How long do you think it’ll take them to lose our trail?”

“Hopefully not long, they’re dangerous but highly primitive. We shall be out of here in good time.”

Part of you was thankful, another almost disheartened. You could feel the heat radiation off your cheeks, the Master’s hearts thumping inside of his chest against your own. You were quite enjoying your confines, despite the ever-present threat.

“Master?..” You called, voice hushed, tone laced with apprehension.

“Yes, my dear?” He replied from beneath you.

“I um… what are we going to do... when we get out?”

“Well,” The Timelord pondered, tilting his head.

“I suppose you will want to return home after this rather eventful evening.”

Oh. He was going to drop you back on Earth. Back home. Away from the adventure, from the TARDIS, and him. You hated the sudden pain that had begun to build within your chest, the dull ache of the twisting blade within your desire. You felt his grip upon your middle tighten, fingers trailing idly down the small of your back.

“Unless, of course, that isn’t what you wish to do.”

Subconsciously, you felt yourself leaning closer and closer towards the Master’s face. Your noses were mere millimetres apart, the breath catching in your throat.

“Do you wish to go home, my dear?”

Slowly, you shook your head, the tip of your nose brushing against his own.

“I want… to stay. I want to always stay. To never go home again.”

The Master gave a soft laugh, a shiver sending itself catapulting through your body. You felt the sides of your noses softly rubbing together, the hairs of the Masters beard tickling at your skin. You were sure, if there were any source of light, he would have been able to see the fierce crimson blush that had spread across your cheeks.

“Please…” You whispered, lips ghosting against his skin.

“I want to stay with you, Master.”

“Then stay you shall.” The Master replied, eyes fluttering shut. “Stay with me, stay by my side. If that is what you desire.”

“But what do you desire, Master?”

Wordlessly, the Master gave his reply. In tandem with your own the gap between your lips closed, the soft press of your rouged lips against his own lighting your entire world on fire. How you burned for him, the heat of his touch melting you into his embrace, the warmth of his embers singing you into eternal damnation of lust. You knew from this moment, this incredible moment, that you’d never be able to leave his side ever again. You were utterly content with that. 

The kiss was delicate, chaste, but loaded with the irresistible ammunition of want. The moment you parted you sighed in content, your top lip brushing against his own, his hands firmly grasping you to his front.

“In that case, our plans for our escape will have to be redesigned.”

“Forget the plan.” You whined, kissing the side of his mouth in need.

“Let’s stay here. In this moment, forever.”

The Master chuckled, his entire chest bursting with the sudden feeling of content. It was strange, such a raw form of happiness implanting itself in his body, his eyes yearning so desperately to steal a spark of light and see you in this moment- pressed against his own body, he could feel the desperate power within your yearning gaze. He wanted to devour you, contain you within his arms, own you for eternity. Keep you pressed against his person, never to part with you again. 

The Master nodded, reaching to press another tender kiss upon your lips.

“We have all the time in the world.” he purred, holding you close in that sacred , secluded coffin, yet envisioning every single star in the sky. He was going to show you the universe. In that coffin, that restless place of death, the Master declared he was going to give you the life you so wanted and deserved. 

All you had to do first was survive the night.

#delgado!master x reader #delgado!master #roger delgado #the master #the master x reader #master x reader #doctor who #bbc doctor who #bbc #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #reader #halloween #coffin #31 fics of fright

[fankhx-invasion]

Spring Equinox

Before I even begin,

@mangowritesstuff literally wrote half of this!! He is always so helpful adding in edits to make my writing better, and I was absolutely in love with what he contributed to this. Please enjoy!

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Eyes, green like fresh, spring leaves, gazed over the land that managed to survive the bitter winter's grasp; lifeless grass, barren branches, and thin layers of frost. The celestial scoffed at the sight, mumbling something incoherent yet disdainful under his breath. He despised the death and destruction caused by the wintertide god.

Regardless of how the previous god came and in his wake left behind nothing but a shell of the once lush valley, the younger man couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for him. Hidden behind a looming facade of brimstone, ash, and volcanic smoke, was the kindest man the spring god had the pleasure of knowing.

Taking a branch from the nearest tree delicately into his fingers, a gentle smile formed on his soft lips. He breathed out in a relaxed, focused manner, a yellow, otherworldly glow emitting from the god's fingertips, warm and comforting. The dogwood before him began to bud leaves on each branch, and, as if on cue, plants sprung to life, painting everything in a sea of pastels and vibrant greens.

The deity smiled at the familiar feeling, humming approvingly at the new scene before him. As the lithe god walked through the valley, surveying his creation, he noted the few animals coming out of hibernation. Stretching their legs and yawning, a few even coming up to the gentle man to give him a curious sniff before running back to their packs. The smile on his face widened when he saw the first daffodils of the season beginning to sprout, their soft yellow petals opening to soak up the warm sunshine. As he turned to keep walking, something in the middle of the small bush caught his eye. As the young deity moved closer, he noticed the familiar glimmer of golden jewelry. Perhaps an offering from the mortals, he thought, as he carefully knelt down.

In the center of the small bush was a stunning ankh, complete with a delicate gold chain. A gift from the winter god, he realized, seeing the dainty red garnets arranged in a star in the center of the pendant. As he clasped the shimmering chain around his neck, a sharp gust of cold wind billowed through the valley; a small sign that the god was watching Vincent. Even during the transitions between their seasons and solstices, they still made time for each other, for not even the heavens above, nor the flames below, could keep the two apart.

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#kiss band #fanfic #writing #30 day challenge #gene simmons #the demon #the ankh warrior #the wizard #vinnie vincent #god au #vinnie x gene #mango you wonderful being #mango whatever you do dont stop writing #mango my beloved #🥭🥭🥭 #Spotify