#A: cannot be touched or harmed by ghosts or

[softquietsteadylove]

Helloo, how are you?

So its halloween and i have a little request for something scary. Maybe the eternals somehow end up in this very old and problaby haunted house, and then the ghost in said house take a liking for Thena, so they start to hide her and make the others see her when she is not there. And poor Gil is more scared that he would like.

(Also thank you for answering to my asks🩷😭)

"This place really is massive," Gil commented mildly as he moved the flashlight around the walls. It was just the sound of their steps and their breathing. The halls of this old asylum were oppressively quiet.

"It's easily the largest space we've ever been in," Thena agreed as she too moved moved her light to examine their surroundings. "Its a good thing the others agreed to come with us to man the equipment."

Their friends were being good sports about it, whether or not they were present as true believers or because if half of their group was already in, they might as well all come.

"I hope they don't hate me for dragging them out here all Halloween night," he gulped as they turned a corner down - what a surprise - another pitch black hallway.

Thena scoffed at the idea, though, allowing him to walk even closer to her, all but clinging to her arm. "Please, all they would be doing is loitering at Phastos' anyway. He and Ben would be watching something, Makkari and Druig would be pretending not to make out in the corner and Ikaris would be trying - and failing - to hold Sersi's hand during the whole movie."

Gil snickered beside her. Thena's observations could seem cutting at times, but they were never all that inaccurate. And they could be pretty funny, in that way. "I'm sure he'd get there eventually."

"I have yet to see it," she drawled about their mutual friend, more frenemy when it came to her and Ikaris in particular. "Speaking of, when did they last check in?"

Gil pulled pulled out his walkie-talkie. "Ground floor, do you copy?"

"Ugh, Gil--aye, we're still 'ere. You don't have to go all air traffic control for it."

Well, if he was going to be such a stick in the mud. Gil huffed, "roger that, Party-Pooper."

"Oi!"

Thena took his hand and pulled the walkie closer to her. "Sersi, tell us if he holds onto you too tight and we'll switch floors."

"Watch it!"

The constant radio static of the channel clicked again and Sersi laughed. "He's really quite all right, you two. Anything up there?"

"Nothing, so far," Thena sighed before remembering to add, "over and out."

Gil smiled as he put the walkie back in his pocket. Thena probably thought it was silly too, but she would never actually say anything. It was one of the many ways in which she indulged him on these ghost hunts. "Hey."

She looked at him, wondering what had caught his attention. Once she saw him wiggling his hand at her, her smiled turned a little bit shy as she slipped her hand into his. "Do you think they'll know what to look for?"

"I told them about what all the equipment does, they should be able to tell if they get any activity," Gil murmured as they turned down a hall into a more residential looking area. "Whoa, this looks like an actual house."

"This must have been an area for those in a palliative sort of care, like a true hospice," she muttered, pressing closer to him. It was still old floors and concrete walls, but there were now rooms with more than nothing, some even still had an old metal bed frame in them. There was a dresser or two, even a mirror.

Gil winced as their flashlights both hit it head on. He lowered his, but he blinked and rubbed his eyes after the fact. "Can't believe something like that is still standing in a place like this in one piece."

Thena had no comment on it, apparently.

"Kinda freaky, right?" he sighed as he rubbed at his eyes again before shaking it off. "Thena?"

He looked around.

"Thena?" he called out with a little more urgency. He moved the flashlight around, plenty of the room doors were open, but he would have heard her. He would have felt her, wouldn't he? "Thena?!"

He rushed to check each of the rooms, forgetting how creepy everything was. His stomping feet were echoing all over the place, but that didn't matter. "Thena, where are you?!"

All that came back was his own voice bouncing around. He was starting to panic.

"Thena, please, answer me!" he panted, even moving the creaky, old doors to make sure she wasn't hiding somewhere. How could she have just vanished into this air?

He shouldn't have let go of her hand.

"Thena, please!" he shouted, retracing their steps, shining his flashlight down every hall he passed. He knew most of them led to dead ends. Where could she have gone? His hand pulled out the walkie-talkie again, fumbling with it a little. "G-Guys?!"

"Gil, what's wrong?"

"Th-Thena!" he gulped, knowing they needed more information than that. "She was right next to me and-and now-"

"Whoa, Gil, slow down. Nothing's happened to Thena, I'm sure she just went to look at something that caught her eye," Sersi attempted to diffuse his worry.

"Why the hell weren't you keeping an eye on her?" Ikaris snapped at him in sharp contrast.

"Oi," Druig chimed in on his set. "You all need to calm down, I just saw 'er."

"What?" Gil frowned. Druig and Makkari were on the second level, although most of it was sectioned off thanks to a fire from the last century. He rushed to the stairs, "you're sure?"

"Yeah, I saw her walk clear through that light grid you put up, actually," Druig narrated. He paused and then continued, "Kari saw'er goin' down the far stairwell."

"You mean the one to your left?" Gil asked, rushing down the main stairs so quickly he almost tripped at the very bottom. But he took off, full on sprinting.

"Yeah?"

Based on where they had set up, there was no way Thena could be on the stairwell to their left, because it led to absolutely nowhere, just a collapsed hallway downstairs and a boarded up room at the top. Whatever they had seen wasn't Thena.

"Keep your nightvision cam on, okay? And you two stay there--and stay close together!"

"Gil, man, you okay?" Ikaris asked a little more sympathetically, obviously hearing the urgency in his voice over the loud and static-y walkies. "Like Sersi said, I'm sure Thena's just fine."

"I'm on my way to you, just sit tight," Gil huffed. His chest felt tight, like it was on fire. He looked around, only now on the second floor. This place was such a massive hell hole, who knew what kind of malevolent spirits were in here. "Guys?!"

"Hold yer bloody horses, man, hell," Druig flashed his light at him from within the main hallway of the floor. As soon as Gil rounded the corner, though, Druig was already on his feet. Despite his words, his face was dead serious, "she really not with you?"

Gil gulped. Tears sprang to his eyes, although he knew this wasn't the time. He shook his head, trying to catch his breath. The light grid they had set up to pick up any kind of movement was still shining into the closed off areas ahead.

He jumped, but Makkari rubbed his back with a reassuring smile. Druig shone the light a little closer to them to illuminate her words. This place is like a maze, I'm sure she's looking for you too.

That was actually what worried him. He had screamed for her, at the very top of his lungs. And not only had he not heard anything back, but apparently none of their friends had heard him either, which seemed impossible.

And if he couldn't hear Thena, then how would he know if she needed his help?

"Where did you see her?" he asked, shining his own light closer to his face for Kari to read his lips.

She pointed. I swear I saw her walk through the grid. I thought she saw something in the window.

Thena would never walk through the light grid herself; it would compromise any evidence they got of a spectral figure. Still, Gil moved closer to it. He shone the flashlight into the corridor, through the propped open door. It was hard to tell with the light in the window reflection, but he was pretty sure it was just a boarded up, empty room through there.

Druig took the liberty of packing up the light grid and putting it back in his bag. "Take a look."

Gil slid closer to the darkened hallway. Despite never having been on one of these hunts before, all their friends were far less scared than he was. Maybe because they definitely didn't believe in ghosts. His heart hammered as he entered the suffocating dark of the hallway. He pressed his flashlight to the window of the door that was boarded closed. If something jumped up at him he might have a heart attack.

It was just a closed up room, full of evidence of fire damage. He angled the light around as best he could without giving himself nothing but reflection to look at. He jumped as some kind of movement caught his eye. He tried to follow it but it was gone as soon as he saw it. But he knew it moved towards the other door to the room.

And it looked blonde.

Druig and Makkari made room for him as he started running towards the main stairs again. "Come on!"

"If she's messin' with us she's makin' us go through a hell of a workout," Druig felt the need to chime in, following him down the stairs.

But Gil knew that wasn't the case. Maybe - maybe - she might mess with Ikaris a little, possibly Druig, all in good fun. But she would never make him worry about her like this, she just wouldn't. She would never scare him like this, not when it was always her calming him down on these hunts.

It really was like a labyrinth in this place. Gil leapt down the last two stairs and whipped open the doors to the main floor. "Did you see her?!"

Ikaris and Sersi both jumped off the bench of the entrance hallway. They looked at each other and then at him. They still had most of the equipment set up around them, and a floodlight pointed at the ceiling for a little more illumination of the area.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ikaris growled at him for storming in the way he did. "Didn't you see her on your level?"

Druig shrugged, "thought we did."

But Gil rushed past all of them, taking a right and pulling open the doors. This place was so massive, it was hard to keep track. But if the figure he had seen in the other room had been Thena, or worse, something else, it would have ended up in here. "Thena!"

Still, nothing but his own voice. It didn't echo like it did upstairs, though. He moved his flashlight around, seeing all the junk that was pushed into this empty but undamaged area of the building. He moved more slowly.

His heart was still hammering, but he made himself take each next step. He couldn't stop until Thena's hand was in his again. "Thena, are you in here?"

He could have sworn a voice whispered back to him. It would have been great potential evidence if he had any equipment or was recording anything. But for now, he took the potential whisper of 'she's mine' and scowled. "No, she's not."

Whatever whispered at him didn't have another reply to that.

Gil slid around a corner constructed of old office furniture, flashing his light in every nook and cranny. "She's my girlfriend! Whatever you are, find someone on your own plain of existence!"

Something rattled in a far corner. He really was going to have a heart attack in here. But he gulped, re-grasping his flashlight in his sweaty palm. No ghost was getting his precious Thena--not tonight.

He moved closer to the rattling. It was a doorknob turning. Okay, so he might die in here tonight. He hoped his friends would escape, at least. But if he did die, then maybe he could be with Thena. If she had died alone in here, he would never forgive himself.

There was a door, and the doorknob was turning.

Gil let out a breath and steeled his resolve again. He could do this. He would do this! He could do anything if it was for Thena. Thena, he repeated to himself as he reached for the doorknob, Thena, Thena, Thena.

As soon as he touched the doorknob, it was no longer locked, and flew open. Thena tumbled into the room, straight into his chest as he caught her. Both of their flashlights fell and rattled on the ground as they held onto each other.

"Gil!" Thena gasped into his shirt, burying her face in it as soon as she knew it was him. "I-I-I didn't--I-I thought-!"

"It's okay, it's okay," he gulped, holding her as tight as he could without hurting her. It was really Thena in his arms, small and warm, blonde hair under his chin. His tears came again, and he didn't force them away, "you're really here."

Thena held onto him just as tightly, clawing at the back of his shirt so she could hold fistfuls of it. "I-I turned around and you were gone--just gone! And I tried shouting for you but I couldn't hear anything around me but silence. And then I thought I saw this--th-this thing-!"

"It's okay, I'm here," he whispered. He couldn't process any of what she was saying right now. All he could think about was the comfort of having his Thena in his arms again.

Slowly, they released one another. Thena sniffled, laughing as she put her hands on his cheeks. "I'm supposed to be the one here for you."

He laughed as well, just as watery and tearful. He put his hands on her cheeks as well, "I can be here for you, just this once."

She leaned into him again as he kissed her.

"You two okay?!"

Thena pulled back and picked her flashlight up first. She shone it around the room, "where are we?"

Gil frowned as she handed him his flashlight as well. "We're on the ground floor, in that side room we checked out first thing tonight."

"The ground floor?" she repeated, looking completely baffled. "We were on the third floor. I-I felt something pull me and I thought it was you, then I was in this completely other room. I was trying to find my way back to you in the hall."

Nice try, ghost creep; Gil took her hand, weaving their fingers together. He could carry his flashlight in his mouth if he had to.

"Gil," Thena continued to frown as he guided them back towards the entrance, "I didn't go down any stairs. We can't possibly be downstairs again."

"It's okay, Thena," he reassured her blindly. It didn't matter. None of it mattered, now that his fear was lifting. He waved as a flashlight circled from where the door was. "I got her!"

Collective sighs of relief were had. Ikaris was the first to bark at them, "what the hell, Thena?! You nearly scared the big guy half to death--that's not funny!"

"Shush," Sersi soothed the beast beside her, as she always did. "We're just glad you're both okay."

Druig and Makkari gave them both more curious looks, "where the hell were did you go?"

"I-" Thena looked at each of them, seeming completely stunned. "I don't know."

"Doesn't matter," Gil spoke up, more sure of this now than he had been about anything all night. "We're getting out of here--now."

He pushed through them, pulling Thena to the door to the outside, hand in hand. He could hear their friends packing up all the equipment behind them.

"Yappin' orders at us now, is he?" he could hear Ikaris gripe behind them.

"Stop it, they've been through enough." How did Sersi put up with him?

Finally outside, Gil took a deep breath. He put his hands on Thena's cheek again, urging her to do the same. She did, but she looked up at him. "Really Gil, I thought I was making my way back to you. I didn't even see any stairs, there's no way I could have-"

"We'll figure it out later," he resolved. They could do that in a safe place, where there was overhead lighting, and a warm mug of her favourite tea. Maybe he'd even have a blanket around her shoulders and massage her feet. "All that matters is you're safe."

Thena's face shifted to something like guilt. She looked down at their joined hands. "I thought I saw you."

"What?"

"What lured me away," she admitted quietly, and maybe with the first bit of true fear he had heard her voice all night. "I thought I saw you in one of those other rooms. That was what made me follow...whatever it was in there."

It had lured him the same way. But, again, that could wait until they were in a brightly lit space with firmly locked doors.

Gil kissed her forehead and pulled her into his arms. "I found you again, so it doesn't really matter."

"Hm," she sighed, nuzzling her face into his chest again. "I knew I'd find you, I guess you finding me is okay, too."

Ah, his invincible Thena. She was the truly unshaken of the two of them. But he had to admit, he was assured by tonight that he had what it took to square up if he really needed to. If it was for the woman he loved, at least.

[themotherofhorses]

simon riley x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. soft smut. breeding kink.

On the continuation of my “Soft!Ghost” ideas: 

Imagine lovemaking with Simon. 

Simon has you—his pretty girl—tucked inside his bedroom, sandwiched between him and the mattress. Right in his arms, where you rightfully belong. 

(In his arms, you’re protected. Safe. Nothing could possibly ever harm you.)

Of course, the intensity of sex differs with his moods. On some days, he is a delicious mix of dominant and aggressive, claiming your body with a certain roughness that reflects how possessive he is over you. But, on other days, all Simon wants is to possess your heart and soul, in some desperate frenzy to stake his claim over them. 

You were made for Simon. In his eyes, that is the truth. How could it not be? Every inch of you—from the curve of your hipbones and the tanalizing way your bottom lip shines with a fresh layer of gloss to how your beautiful, doe eyes twinkle anytime he is near—is all his. You’re irresistible.

And when you lay beneath him, completely bare, ripe for the taking, whining out for his touch, what else could he possibly do than worship you? 

One arm keeps him steadily up, towering over you; the other cradles your soft cheek against his palm. His thumb strokes along your cheekbone. He’s gentle, smiling, even chuckling. “I’ve got you, baby,” he purrs in that deep, hoarse accent. “Shhh, darlin’. C’mon, lemme take care of ya.” 

“ Si…”

Your body stiffens as Simon gently slides himself into your pussy, until he’s buried balls deep; he lets out a breathless “fuck” as you tighten around his cock, followed by a low groan. “Perfect for me, aren’t ya?” He pauses, leaning to kiss you for a moment.

“That’s my good girl,” he mumbles against your lips, letting his tongue entangle with yours. “So fucking good for me.” 

His hips slap against yours at a slow, gentle pace—matching his thrusts. “C’mon, baby, fuck.” You whine in response, arching your back, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders while your pretty, teary eyes hold his gaze. 

“ Simon…! ” 

Simon chuckles, takes one of your hands in his, and flattens it against your lower stomach. “Feel that, love?” You gasp, nodding. There is an unmistakable bulge in your belly; you can feel it. “Aye, that’s me.” Your cunt takes him so unbelievably well; he cannot stop pistoning his cock in and out of you. 

God, he thinks, you were made for him.

You were fucking made for me. 

The only thing that could possibly be better than this is—

“Lemme make you a mum,” Simon suddenly says, groaning. “God, baby, need to make you one.” His fingers find your nipple, pinching it before rubbing it back and forth, causing you to squeal. “—make these pretty tits all swollen. You’d be so bloody gorgeous, love.” 

Simon wants a family, so fucking badly. He is beyond desperate for one  — ever since he looked into your eyes for the first time, and saw his future staring back. At the time, the feeling was confusing and disorienting….

…now, it all made sense.

“Yeah?” Mid-thrust, he kisses you again, swallowing your gasps and tiny whimpers as he splits you open on his cock. “You gonna let me make you a mum?” Another thrust. “C’mon, baby, use your words, my girl.” 

You nod, unable to muster up a response to your husband; instead, your mouth falls open—pretty, pink lips dropping into a perfect “o." “P-Please, Si…” your soft, little voice whines out, stirring up more heat in Simon. 

(He loves your voice. So bloody fucking much. You could ask him to raze the Earth to a burnt crisp, and he’d do it for you.) 

“Please what, baby?” 

The sensation of his massive cock overwhelms you. You fall slack as an orgasm rips through your body, robbing away all of your inhibitions; all you can do is let out another high-pitched moan, praying your body gives him the answer that your voice cannot. 

“Fuck — gonna breed you, baby. Gonna have my kid in you by the weekend.”

It’s a promise. His thrusts continue, in the exact same measure as before, not wanting to fuck you, but to make love to you. “You’re so bloody beautiful.” He’s gonna cum. Cum deep inside you; give you the family you deserve.

“Look at ya — bloody work of art.” 

Flushed cheeks; breasts sweaty and heaving with countless love marks scattered around the skin; your fingers card softly through his hair, pulling him closer to you. He’s a lucky bastard, indeed. 

“I love you."

Simon repeats those three words— “I love you. I love you. I love you.” —against your mouth, feeling his entire body tauten before he spills his cum inside you.

I love you. You saved me. You’re everything to me. 

You smile up at him, flushed all prettily, and he flashes a smile back, taking a moment to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. God, he fucking loves you.

“I love you,” he says again…and again…and again.

notes: my attempt at writing smut for the first time in months. if it sucks, it's cause im in my late luteal phase.

[rafesslxt]

✧.* 𝑭𝑨𝑽𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬 𝑨𝑭𝑭𝑨𝑰𝑹 | 𝑺𝒂𝒎 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒓𝒐𝒆

summary: you and Sam have a secret affair while your bf is his enemy. when you call him to pick you up in that slutty outfit of yours, he shows you what you‘ve missed while partying. - based on this request

warnings: smut!, arguing, cheating, mention of alcohol, smoking, oral (on both), unprotected p in v, cum, choking, orgasm denial, breeding kink, 69 position, dirty talk, dom!Sam but still whimpering here and there bc you cannot tell me he wouldn't

words: 6,5k (bro WHAT) + it‘s 5am so sorry for typos i‘ll correct later

"Don't tell me you're wearing that!" Sam's voice echoes through my room when he stares with jaw down at the dress I changed into. "Sam, it's none of your concern." I sigh, combing lightly through my curls so I don't separate them too much.

It was supposed to be a mistake, a drunken slip, a one time thing. It's been three weeks now and I can't force myself to pull away from the grip he has on me and I don't think he even knows how powerful that grip really is.

It's like I can finally breath again when I'm with him, even If it's never for long or outside our rooms. Currently he's at mine. He came over when I told him I'm getting ready for a party and well - one thing led to another and now he's sitting on my bed with his clothes back on (imagine it like in the picture at the top) watching me getting ready again.

"Are you gonna fuck him?" he asks, jealousy dripping from his voice. "No." I shake my head and glare at him through the mirror. I'm sitting in front of. Since I started sleeping with Sam I didn‘t let him touch me and Sam knew.

I notice him standing up from my bed and slowly stalking over to my chair. He leans down so his head is at the height of my ear. "| want him to fuck you, so you know I can do it better." he almost demands, suddenly tugging my head back with a hard grip on my curls I just styled so perfectly.

"Sam!" I hiss and roll my eyes at him while he still holds my head back. "You're gonna listen to me m'kay?" I gulp and loom at him through my long lashes, batting them at him. He leans closer again and I see his face upside down from my position.

"If you leave wearing that, then the second you come back I'll bend you over everything possible."

I feel the heat creeping up my neck upwards my cheeks, leaving a slight red tint behind. "You belong to me, don't forget that." he mumbles against my lips so soft that you could think he just said the most beautiful thing but his hard grip in my hair reminds me of the opposite.

I know he's obsessive, possessive, jealous. Kind of funny when you think about the fact that he's the affair with me having a boyfriend. And on top of that, his biggest rival. "Enemy" how my boyfriend James would always say.

James. He's the complete opposite from Sam. Mean, bully, rich, entitled, popular, typical jock. I forgot a long time ago why I am in a relationship with him in the first place.

I remember how he alway told me to stay away from Sam when I met him in the cafeteria in school for the first time. Not even a minute after James came and dragged me away from him, not without insulting Sam for speaking to me of course. I smiled at him apologetic, not understanding what was supposed to be wrong with him.

James said Sam's a lot into drugs and stuff but I didn't care. Half of the school is and as long as he's not harming others with it, I really couldn't care less.

I feel Sam's lips ghosting over mine, teasing me with with his hot breath. I love how he kisses me. It's always so full of life, passion and longing. When James kisses me it's just eager, sloppy and wet. Sam kisses like his life depends on it. As If he can't breathe properly but when his lips touch mine.

"Sam.." I breath out in a whiny tone. "Dress like a slut and I'll treat you like one. I don't kiss sluts." he whispers against my lips before pulling away and letting go of my hair. I sigh in frustration when he let's go of me and apply my blush with a pout on my face.

I hear him chuckle behind me, he probably saw the look on my face. "Don't pout angel, write me when you're on your way home later alright?" he grins at me, putting on his shoes and opening my window to climb out of it. I roll my eyes at him playfully, hiding a smile with it when I already feel the excitement in my chest knowing I'll see him later.

And with that he climbs outside and closes the window behind him, winking at me before walking away. It's a miracle to me how he tells me I'm a slut and how he calls me angel the next minute. He always does this, making me feel alive, giddy, like a fucking teenager.

Wait, I am a teenager. But I mean like a teenager with no experiences or one that never talked to a boy before.

I concentrate on my face in the mirror again, applying my favorite lipgloss before I take my purse and throw the lipgloss in it. "Bye Mom!" I shout through the house when I open the front door, hearing her calling me to have a good time and not come home too late.

I love her, she's not too strict and understands me, not forgetting how her life was when she was young like me. But at the same time she would kill for me and protect me from everything. It's a great balance. She trusts me and I don't overstep boundaries.

When I arrive at the party I dressed up for, I can already smell the alcohol and weed from a mile afar through my car window. I roll it up and park a few houses further away when I see everything full of cars.

But what did I expect right? It's James, I mean everyone in either jealous of him or of me because they wanna be with him. If they only knew how easy I would trade that ticket. So of course his birthday party would explode of people. He lives in a big house, his parent's house of course but I think he mentioned something of them being on vacation for two weeks.

I grab the birthday present that rots since two weeks at the backseat of my car and get out of it, making sure that I closed the doors properly. My stomach wrenched and the closer that I get the more my head is starting to get dizzy from all the weed clouds around me.

I greet a few people that I know, hug some of my 'friends' from our friend group and slowly get inside. The air inside is a little better but still smells like alcohol and sweat from the dancing body's in the big living room. "Y/N!" I hear someone shouting over the music. I turn around and notice James' best friend coming towards me.

"Hey Mike, how are you?" I ask him trying to be polite but the truth is the more seconds passed, the more I wanted to throw my gift at James and get the hell out of here. There was a time were I loved nights like these right I front of me. Where I was one of the dancing body's sweating and drinking, sometimes even smoking. But now I just felt so - out of place.. wrong.

"I'm good, I'm good. I guess you're looking for your boyfriend? He's in the backyard with the rest." I smile at him and nod, thanking him for telling me before I watch him disappearing back into the crowd.

I let out a deep breath. I got this. It's just one night. A few hours, right? And then I'll be at Sam's. God I have to stop thinking about him like that, he's just.. sex, right?

I walked into the kitchen, looking for something to normal to drink but of course they only bought alcohol. I took a red plastic cup and filled it up with tap water, taking a big chuck from it, trying to calm my nerves a little. Oh fuck it. I grabbed a whiskey bottle and filled my cup up with Pepsi and the alcohol in my hand. Yeah, that's better for calming nerves. I mean, I'm already here so why not try to have at least a little fun.

With the drink in my hand I leave the kitchen and open the glass doors t the back yard where James is supposed to be. And doesn't take me long to find him with 'the rest' how Mike said. 'The rest' is usually our friend group. I like them, I really do. But they're just.. not that deep. It's fun to party with them, go to school with them - well the ones that don't skip all of their classes, and maybe even talking about little problems like arguing with parents or fights with boyfriends and girlfriends. But that's as far as it goes.

Maybe that's the reason why I feel so comfortable around Sam. I remember the first night we had sex, he lit up a J afterwards and asked me If I wanted to. I shook my head and sat on my rooftop with him, watching the stars. I never talked to him a lot before, like I said James kept me far away from him, but still we talked abut everything that came to our minds.

Aliens, the universe, the stars, the whole fucking galaxy. How does everything work? Is the government telling us everything? Are there already people on our earth that don't come from here? Maybe it was the weed, but I don't think so. It felt natural to talk with him. Having a good laugh for the first time win months.

My heart starts to race when I think about that night with him. Sometimes I wonder If I'm - no. That couldn't be. It can't be. He would never also. Right?

I get thrown out of my thoughts when I feel two arms sliding around my body from behind. "Hey baby." a deep voice whispers into my ear. I know it's James. I smell his cologne and obviously I recognize his voice. His breath smells like alcohol, a lot alcohol.

"Hey James. Happy Birthday." I force a smile on my lips and turn around in his grip. He kisses me and cups my face in his hands, squeezing my cheeks together. "Thank's babe. Why are you standing here tho? Come on let'S go to our friends." He takes my hand into his and pulls me towards a little chill lounge where everyone sat with drinks or J's in their hands. "Hey guy's!" I greet every single one of them before sitting down next to my boyfriend.

"Here, for you." I smile at him and give im his present. "Thank you baby." he smiles brightly when he opens it and see's what's inside. "Hell yeah!" he grins and pulls out a pair of shoes. To be honest, I don't know what's so special about him but I knew he talked 24/7 about them with Mike and how hard they are to get to I asked a friend of my dad who had a lot of connections when it was about fashion.

"They are great, thank you baby." He gives me another kiss, sloppy and a little too wet. God how I missed Sam's lips and - no. "Yeah, no problem." I answer, trying to hold my smile up.

The night went by slow, my mind racing with the wrong thoughts when you're considering I'm sitting right next to my boyfriend. He has his hand on my thigh, and his other one around his red cup filled with liquor.

At some point I started to take drink after drink, probably not being able to drive later. I took out my phone, reading some messages I have gotten. Two from my best friend Lisa, who lives in New York, sadly, and one from Sam. My heart starts racing again so I take another sip from my drink before opening it.

"How's the party going?"

I try to hide a smile when suddenly a evil little idea gets to my head. Everyone around my was busy ding something so no eyes were on me when I took a photo of James hand on my thigh and send it to Sam with a little message.

"How I wish it was your's."

I bite the inside of my cheek when I wait for an answer, not expecting it to come as quick as it does.

"Is that you'r way of showing me how sorry you are for ging out like that?"

I swallow down the clump in my throat and try to ignore the bad feeling in my stomach. Is he mad? Was it a bad idea to send him a picture? I know he's a jealous type but I already have too much alcohol in my veins to be reasonable.

I lean backwards against the lounge I'm sitting on and take another picture. This time of my face and cleavage not letting a lot to the imagination. I bite down on my bottom lip and smirk into the little camera of my phone, looking up as innocently as possible.

"How about I show you how sorry I am later?"

What I don't know is how Sam's breath got stuck when he saw my message. He looked at it, imagining how he would rip that damn dress off and fuck me through the whole night. His hand wanders down to his hard cock, massaging it slightly through his sweatpants. A quite moan leaves his lips when he stares at the way I bite down on my lip. "Little minx." he mutters to himself when he closes the picture and let's go of his boner.

"Trust me, you'll be sorry. Have fun at your little party, angel."

With a smile on my lips I put my phone away again, grabbing my cup. "Why're you smiling like that? Who texted you?" the voice of James ask me, making me jump a little. "Huh?" I look up at him when he towers his head over me a little. " I saw you texting and smiling. Who texted you?" he repeats himself, a serious look on his face.

I sigh when I knew how this would go. I mean, he's right and If we're being honest, I'm cheating on him There's nothing romantic or noble behind this. He's right. But at the same time, he was jealous in a little meaner way than Sam is. I never cheated on James before and even two years ago when we started dating, he always accused me of cheating on him or texting other boys when in reality I've never done such a thing.

Oh, there even was a rumor once that he cheated on me with a girl from our friend group, Amanda. She's nice. But also knew it was true that she had an eye on James.

"Lisa texted me." Well, that wasn't a lie. "Oh yeah? And what made you smile about it?" he asks, glaring at me. I roll my eyes at him and look away, knowing he hates it. So I'm not really surprised when he pulls my face back into his direction and repeats himself again.

"What made you smile, y/n?" "Oh my god she's my best friend and lives in another state! I was just happy she texted me!" I groan annoyed and stand up from my seat, his hand dropping from my thigh. "Where are you going?" he calls after me but also doesn't make any attempt on following me so I ignore his words and walk back inside through the house and up some stairs that I know lead to a bathroom.

When I get inside I lock the door behind me and let out a deep breath. I pull my phone out of my purse and look for a certain name in my contact. I hold it against my ear when it starts ringing on the other side. Not even two rings later he picks up.

"What's up, angel?" Sam smiles into the phone. "Miss you.." I mumble into the phone, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub behind me. I hear him chuckling. "Then leave, it's that easy." "You know its's not." I argue, pouting while looking into the mirror over the sink. I run a finger over the corner of my mouth, taking off a little of my smudged lipgloss.

he sighs into the phone now too so I continue talking. "he's gonna ask where I'm going and then will insist on one of his friend bringing me home just so he knows I'm not going anywhere else. And If I go without telling him he'll literally stand in front of my house after at least an hour."

"Break up with him." he says. "What?" I gasp, surprised he said that. I mean yes it is obvious that I should but not one time one of us really spoke these words. "You're not happy with him and you'll never be. You should find someone where you are." Someone. I don't know if it's the feeling slowly creeping up my neck and spilling over after holding them in for so long or simply the alcohol but I only scoff and roll my eyes.

"Yeah, right. Someone." my voice sounds cold and distant, pissed. "Y/n was you know what I mean.." "No, Sam. Actually I don't" Silence. And another sting I feel in my heart.

"See you, Sam." I chuckle sarcastically and press the red button on my phone. Not a second later I hear someone knocking on the door. "Y/n? Are you inside??" I groan when I hear James voice. God why can't he just leave me alone.

I stand up from the bathtub and walk over to the door, unlocking it. "Oh, Mike." I say, realizing it's not James. "Uh- James told me to look after you." "Oh, great? And he couldn't do it by himself?" I scoff, pushing past his best friend. I hear him sigh too and walk after me. "You know how he is." "An asshole?" I state, looking at him. He just grins and shrugs. "It's fine. I just wanna be alone for a moment, okay?" "Okay." He nods slowly and leaves.

I really don't know why he's keeping up with James bullshit. He's way too smart and nice for all of this. Well, just like me.

Still annoyed I wander through the hall of this ridiculous huge house, scanning all these portraits and pictures on the walls. My parents are rich too, really rich but this is just.. hideous A family of 5 living in a house as big at the fucking White House.

My mind races with thought when I suddenly hear voices whispering and giggling. I knit my eyebrows and try to be as quiet as possible to hear them again. They lead me to a big door to which I press my ear against. I recognize the voices but I couldn't quite put my finger on who they were so nosy me slowly opens the door a little just to take a little peep.

I didn't expect to see what was I front of me. My boyfriend. And Amanda. Making out on a couch. "When are you finally breaking up with her?" I hear Amanda whine like the little bitch she is. "I don't know. I told you this is just a one time thing Amanda." he answers.

What is going on? "One time thing? You're telling me four months are a one time thing for you?" she argues back. What did she just say? Four months? I close the door and take a step back.

I mean I know I'm cheating on him too. I'm no saint. But fucking four months? At the same time, I go inside myself for a moment and try to feel anything. But nothing. Not a single tear, not a single ache in my heart. I feel.. relieved? Am I crazy? My boyfriend of two years cheats on me and I feel relieved?

I quietly walk back down the hall, back down the stairs to the party. It's over. It's fucking over. I feel a smile creeping up my face when I walk outside into the backyard again. "Hey y/n, everything good?" A girl named Jessy asks me. I smile at her, almost laughing. "I'm feeling as good as never before." A giggle slips out my mouth when I sit down and take another drink from the table. They share a few looks but I couldn't care less.

I take out my phone and open the chat between me and Sam. Just now I see he texted me right after our phone call.

You know what I meant y/n.

It's complicated.

Please don't ignore me.

Are you still coming over later? I miss you

Miss your tight litte pussy around my cock

I roll my eyes at the last message but chuckle.

Oh and I know you just rolled your eyes at that

Wanna see your pretty (your eye color) eyes roll back when I fuck your attitude out of you

I quickly type in my answer, sending it with no regret now.

Can you come pick me up Sammy? I'm drunk and I want you, please.

Of course angel. Where do you want me to park? The street before the main?

Just park in front of the house

He was surprised at my massage but shrugged it off.

Alright. Gonna be there in 30.

I tucked my phone away again, taking in a deep breath. The excitement crept up in my chest again. Now that I knew James cheated on me too, I had a much less guilty for doing it with Sam. Old me would have ripped her hair out when I saw her sitting on my boyfriends - ex-boyfriends lap. But you know what? Let her have him. I know he's bad in bed. Let her realize one day she's off better.

After only fifteen minutes I heard them coming outside together, giggling slightly before sitting back down and pretending nothing happened. I played dumb and smiled at James. "Hey, where have you been? I looked for you." Yeah, let him sweat a little. "Oh uh- I looked for you too, I've sent Mike to tell you." he grumbled, glaring at his best friend.

"Hm, weird. And why did you came outside with her?" I point at Amanda, who looks at me like a deer in the lights. "She uh- she helped me. She helped me looking for you.." he stumbles over his own words.

I just nod when I felt my phone vibrating.

I'm here. Drove faster.

I smile at Sam's message and stand up without saying a word. "Where are you going?" James asks, this time following me. Amanda and Mike stand up too, following him like fucking puppy's.

"Home." I say, shrugging with my shoulders without looking at him. " You're drunk. Let Mike drive you home, he didn't have that much." he tries. "Oh don't worry, my drive is already here silly." I giggle, my stomach tingling in the best way possible when I see Sam's car lights through the windows.

"What do you mean?" James asks me mad, walking a bit faster now to keep up with me. I walk through the living room again and then outside the front yard where I see Sam leaning against the passenger seat door.

Before walking towards him I stop and turn around. "James, it's over. I'm not mad at you okay? I did the same. I'm just so relieved that you obviously feel the same about our relationship." He looks at me dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?" I roll my eyes and laugh at his words. "Oh come on. I saw you and Amanda and I heard you too and don't even try to deny it please cause I'm fucking someone else too."

I see the anger creeping up his face, ignoring the fact that he's cheating on me completely. "WHAT? Who the fuck are you talking about?" Then it hits him. He looks at me and beside me in the distance, he recognizes Sam standing against his car.

"You've got to be fucking kissing me you dumb slut!" he starts shouting and insulting me but I turn around and walk to Sam. I notice him looking at me confused but I just straight walk towards him, push myself against him and kiss him with all the passion inside me, in front of everyone.

I hear James yelling in the background, Mike probably holding him back. Sam's lips move against mine, his hands wandering up my sides, gripping the flesh beneath his fingers. "Fuck, what's that all about huh?" he mumbles against my lips, pulling away slightly.

Out of nowhere I feel the heat pooling in my stomach, yelling at me to finally fuck him. "I want you Sam. Want you to fuck me stupid." I had to giggle, I can't stop it. God he has to think I'm ging literally crazy but he just bites his lips and pushes me inside his car, driving off with me.

"What happened in there?" he chuckles and gazes at me for a second before returning his eyes back to the road in front of us. 

"You'll never believe! When I hang up I wandered around the house and found him with Amanda, making out and her saying that they are fucking for four months now. And I - I just felt so free all of a sudden. No tear no anger, nothing. Just free." I ramble my words down, smiling the whole time.

"So I got you for myself now huh?" I don't know why but my cheeks burned like hell when he said that. Did he want me for himself? I mean yeah well who wants to share but like- does he want me or want me?

When we arrive his house, he parks in front of the house, helping me out of the car and inside the house. "Your Dad home?" I whisper to him when we walk up the stairs to his room. He shakes his head and grins devilish. "He's camping or something. Means you can be as loud as you want, angel." I bite my lip at his comment and rush upstairs with him, him basically throwing me onto his bed but upside down, so my head is at the edge of the bed.

"Remember what I told you If you go out in that outfit, I'm gonna fuck you over everything possible?" he remarks with his voice so raspy in my ears. I bite down on my lip again, nodding and trying to hide a smile but failing miserable. "This will be the last time you're laying on this bed for tonight." he grins down at me and leans down towards my lips, licking over my bottom lip before kissing me.

I hum against his lips when I feel him nibbling on mine. When he pulls away his breathing gets heavier. Is he just as excited as I am? He puts a hand on my cheek and strokes the skin with his thumb. "You're gonna be a good girl, angel?" "Hmm of course."

"Good, then do what I say, alright?" he half demands. I see him opening his belt, and pulling down the zipper of his jeans. "You got me so fucking hard you have no idea." he chuckles while pushing everything in the way down.

No matter how often I see his cock, it always amazes me again how big he is, his pretty pink tip leaking pre-cum. He takes a step closer to the bed again and grabs my arms, pulling me so much that my head hangs over the edge. "You're gonna suck my cock and maybe I'll play with you." I nod eagerly and open my mouth for him, ready to take him in.

He takes his dick into his own hand and rubs it teasingly against my lips, biting down on his own lip. I sneak out my tongue and lick off the salty essence from his tip, letting it slide over and over it again.

"Hmm.." then out of nowhere, he pushes in, almost choking me with it. His eyes roll back before he moves his hips, fucking my mouth without giving me a moment to get comfortable. "Shit, it alway surprises me how well you can take it. Let's see how far you can." he groans, pushing his hips deeper.

I try to breathe through my nose and concentrate on pleasuring him, hoping he would reward me for it. "I'm gonna fuck your throat baby, 's that alright?" he asks before pushing in deeper after I nod slightly. "Oh fuck.." he let's out a deep groan and closes his eyes. "I can see my fucking dick in your throat baby. God that's so hot."

His gaze wanders over the rest of my body until he sees my purse beside me, my phone fallen out of it. He leans forwards, choking me even more and takes it into his hands. I see him start taking pictures of it and smiling at them like a artist who just found his muse.

Tears start forming in my eyes due the feeling of him choking me every few seconds. "Fuck you look so pretty when you cry baby but that's your fault hm. Got outside like a little slut. Remember, you act like one, I'll treat you like one." he repeats himself.

I move my tongue up and down at the side of his cock, massaging the prominent vein he has. I hear him whimper slightly, his tough facade faltering a little.

He let's his hands wander over my body, massaging the flesh beneath my dress, pinching my nipples through the fabric making me whine around his cock. "Fuck you like that, right? Think I'm gonna reward you for listening so good." he slowly pulls out his cock and let's me catch my breath. I cough a little and swipe away the tears that started to run down my face.

He looks at me expectingly and raises one of his brows. "Thank you." I choke out to which he nods and leans over my body, pulling up the front of my dress. I hear him chuckle when he notices the wetness soaking through my underwear. "You get off on sucking my cock?"

His fingers ghost over my aching clit, teasing it through the fabric. I whine out loud and push my hips up. "Please, please touch me Sammy." "Hmm but I', already touching you. Gotta be more specific."

"Pleeease, need to feel your mouth. Please." never in my life would I beg any man like that. But for Sam to touch me I would get on my knees and start praying.

He pushes my underwear to the side and laps at my puffy folds, tasting me and groaning. "You taste so good.." then he starts sucking my clit and I almost faint at the feeling. I let out a silent moan, bucking my hips but he presses them down and slightly nibbles at my clit.

"Fuck Sam!" my scream echoes probably through the whole house. "Suck my cock again." he mumbles against my pussy, adding a finger and teasing my entrance with it. I grab his hard cock and wrap my lips around the tip, sucking on it with a lot of pressure. "Oh yeah.." he groans against me, sucking harder on my nub.

I feel his finger entering me slowly, then another one so it's two and curling them up just right. I let out a long moan around him, squeezing my eyes shut. I take him deeper until he hits the back of my throat.

He groans against my clit, making me moan around his cock because of the vibration. It's like an endless circle of pleasure.

He starts pumping his fingers faster, flicking his tongue over my clit like he knows every inch of my body. Well – he does.

Then I start feeling it, the fire pooling in my abdomen. My walls clench around his fingers, signaling him I'm almost there. He let's go of my clit and continues pumping his fingers. "Are you close baby?" he asks tauntingly and puts his thumb on my now sensitive clit, rubbing it without any mercy.

I cry out around his cock, tears running down from all the pleasure around me. Never ever did James make me feel like this just from oral. Then, right before I explode, he stops. Pulls out his fingers and let's go of my pulsing nub, even pulling his cock out of my mouth.

"Sam!" I cry, bucking my hips into the air. "That's for leaving in that fucking dress." he whispers, kneeling down so his face is in front of mine. I huff out some air, pouting when I lose my orgasm.

He grabs my should again and pulls me up, away from the bed. He pushes me towards his desk with a mirror on it, grabbing my neck. " 'm gonna fuck you from behind and you're gonna watch yourself in the mirror, yeah?" "Yes." I answer, leanin forwards, my upper body on his desk now. "Spread your legs." he commands and pushes them apart with his knee.

"Look at that, I don‘t even have to fucking touch your dress, you‘re such a little whore." he spat when he sees my dress isn't covering my ass anymore. A sudden pang hit's me. I look over my shoulder back at him and see him grinning at me, slapping my ass again but this time a lot harder.

I moan when his hand hits my skin, making him smirk even wider. "I should have known you're gonna like that." he pulls my underwear down and positions himself at my entrance. "Beg for it, wanna hear what a little slut you are for me."

"Hm yes your slut only.." I moan and wiggle my hips against him, hoping for some friction. "Please Sam, I need to feel you inside me, please. I've been so good, please." my begging is like music to his ears and before I can see it coming, he pushes inside me with one go.

"Oh fucking hell!" he groans loudly, his mouth wide open and his eyebrows pushed together. "Fuck Sam, I feel you so deep!" I whine, grabbing the edge of the desk. He starts moving his hips, slowly at first and then fast like never before.

The sound of his thrusts, his skin slapping against mine could be heard through the whole house together with our moans and groans. Thank god his Dad is camping.

His right hand finds it way around my throat, squeezing it just lightly to make me feel lightheaded. "Look at yourself." he demands. I bite my lip when I watch him through the mirror. I could see the sweat on his forehead, a few hair strands clinging to it. His eyes are slightly hooded from the pleasure he felt every time my walls massaged his cock just so perfectly.

"So fucking tight I swear If I didn't knew better I would think you're a fucking virgin." I love how dirty his words are, every time. "God, you're milking me." a little whimper leaves his lips when I squeeze my walls around him, the sound going straight to my core, making me clench even more. Like I said before, just a circle of pleasure.

"You know what's the best of it all? At first it was more about fucking his girlfriend, knowing she's coming around my cock. But now I have you all to myself and I'm gonna die before I let anyone else touch you ever again. You're mine now, angel." he pants and Strats to move his hips in a brutal pace now, making me scream out his name.

"Yeah, scream my name so loud the whole fucking neighborhood knows who you belong to, come on." The grip of his hand around my throat get's tighter, making me dizzy but also so soaked.

"I'm gonna fill you up so good until your little cunt is dripping with my cum." I gasp at his words, my walls clenching around him automatically. "Oh you like that baby? Like the idea of me pumping that pussy full with my cum? Shit, you're like a fucking dream. Just as sick and dirty as me." "Sam.. please.." I whine, sobbing at the thought of his words.

"Say it baby, say it, come on. Let me hear it. Fucking let me hear you beg for it." he groans, his cock already throbbing inside of me, ready to bust. "Oh Sammy please, please fill me up. Come inside of me, wanna feel it so bad." I let out a few sobs again, watching him react to my words in the mirror.

His eyes roll back and one of his hands wanders around me, rubbing my clit in circles, adding to the tight feeling in my stomach. "I'm so close.." I whimper, closing my eyes.

"No no no, you're gonna watch yourself come around me." I open my eyes again, feeling tears pooling inside my eyes. I look at the desk beneath me, rocking back and forth, all his school stuff already on the floor. "Sam, please let me come, please."

He lets out a dark laugh and slaps my ass again with much more force than before. "Want me to fill you up real good? Wanna feel my cum dripping down between your pretty thighs? Wanna walk around with my baby inside you? Fuck you would be such a good mommy hm.."

My eyes roll back at his words and the crushing feeling finally explodes inside me, a broken cry leaving my lips when I finally come around him, milking him so good.

"Fuck y-yes oh I'm gonna come. Gonna come in that tight pussy." a whimper leaves him again, adding to the crushing orgasm I have. His grip on my hip and my throat get's tighter, so tight I almost can' breath.

With a loud moan he let's go, spilling his hot seed inside of me. "Shit.." I whimper, feeling him flooding my cunt. When I slowly calm down again, I look over my shoulder, seeing him panting heavily, his chest rosing up and down. He slowly pulls out of me, a little whimper leaving me.

He takes a step back and smirks the he scans my body, his cum running down the inside of my thighs. "Hmm looks so fucking good." He comes closer again and pushes his cum back inside. "Keep it there." he whispers inside my ear, leaving shivers down my spine.

He pulls me back up and hold me when he notices my numb legs. "Don't think I am done with you angel. I said on every fucking surface."

My wide eyes look up at him but only met with his devilish looking ones. "This is gonna be so much fun, angel." he speaks before pushing me against his window, my legs wrapped around his hips.

This is definitely better tan crying after a break up.

Sooooo what do we think? My first Sam Monroe fic 🤝🏻

hope u liked it and thank u for reading! 🖤

My Masterlist

xoxo sarah <3

[luvfy0dor]

“You Know That I'm Obsessed With Your Body ♡⁠˖” BSD Men x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Chuuya Nakahara, Osamu Dazai, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Sigma, H.P. Lovecraft

Warnings; Suggestive, kisses, hickeys, bite marks, allusions to self harm (Dazai), sh scars (Dazai), prolly a little ooc

Description; BSD men and their physical attributes

A/n; CAS lyric title!!! But I cannot bring myself to write reqs RN so............but guys i actually talked to a guy OMG never thought I'd have big enough balls but I got his ig ^w^

⑅Chuuya Nakahara⑅

Chuuyas arms are beautiful to you, they're not insanely buff and they're not thin, but at a perfect equilibrium. They're decorated with intricate tattoos and beautiful colors, and sometimes small dotted lines left by your teeth or maroon spots formed by your love and passion for each other. You loved feeling them wrap around your torso or waist with him leaning his head against your back, letting all the thoughts in his mind flow from his mouth like a waterfall. Other times, he'd hang his arms over your shoulders, letting you feel his biceps against the nape of your neck, ghosting over the baby hairs on your skin. His arms can carry you too, no matter your weight. If it'd make you feel better, he'd use his ability to help and reassure you that he won't drop you or let you get hurt.

“There we go, darlin', see, I told you I wouldn't let you get hurt. Literally not even the strongest gust of wind could knock me over with you right now, so quit worrying.”

⑅Osamu Dazai⑅

Dazai has such a gorgeous torso, bandaged or not. His skin is soft on contrast to the rough and volatile life he's always lead. The only patches of skin that aren't smooth are the ones that are littered with past scars, whether self inflicted or from other people. When Dazai trusts you enough, he'll ask you to help him take off his bandages before bed, letting your fingers brush over the rigid bumps and sharply inhaling while adjusting to your sweet touch in a new, naked place. He lets you kiss the scars and it helps him feel a little relaxed receiving your acceptance through soft kisses and affection instead of being pitied or shamed for his past. It's not like you encourage it, but you don't waste your breath on lecturing him on why he shouldn't have. It's in the past, so instead you'll offer your support for him now rather than dwelling on what you can't change.

“Mmnn...your lips are so soft on my back, baby...keep going, sweetheart, you know how much I love feeling your kisses on my skin...”

⑅Nikolai Gogol⑅

Nikolais thighs could resurrect a dead man, and you couldn't help but feel the same way every time you had your head between or against them. Occasionally your hands would hold them apart and squeeze or grope at them, feeling the firmness beneath the palm of your hand. The pressure from your fingertips leaves temporary pale spots with every pinch and your teeth and tongue leave red ones in your wake as you kiss, suck, and bite all over his thigh, and he loves it. Nikolai loves the harsh feeling of your teeth clamping around his skin, making him gasp and giggle in excitement with a hand on your neck encouraging you to continue. He's got a higher pain tolerance, so if you like to give lovebites, especially on thighs, he's your guy.

“Ah-! Oh, don't worry dove, it doesn't hurt. You know I have a good pain tolerance! You can keep going, hehe, I don't mind it.”

⑅Fyodor Dostoevsky⑅

Fyodors hands are thin and pale aside from some select spots with higher blood concentration. His nails are bitten down to the quick almost always and his fingers are bony and thin. They rest gently on your hips when you sit on his lap while he types or just relaxes with you, his thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric of either your top or bottoms. Sometimes they'll travel upwards, resting against your midsection and making you shiver from their low temperature. He'd laugh under his breath at your reaction and slide them further up, loving the idea that he has you squirming in his grasp. Otherwise, he'd keep a hand on your thigh, rubbing it out of habit modestly. In public he keeps his hands to himself, but in private his hands have a mind of their own.

“Are they that cold, Moya Lyubov? You'll get used to it eventually, unless you'd like to find your own way to warm my hands up?”

⑅Sigma⑅

Sigmas jawline is so defined and Everytime you look at it, an overwhelming urge to kiss along it bubbles up inside of you. Sigma doesn't dislike it, but he'll act like he does, always squirming and playfully grimacing. Eventually he'll give in though, holding your hand while you pepper soft pecks along his skin. He'll return them all over your cheeks and nose, tickling your skin and making you giggle. You can't help but watch Sigmas fingers trace over his jawline while he's deep in thought about this that and the other, admiring how perfect it looks on him.

“H-hey, knock it off, I'm in the middle of fillin' out papers! I said quit it- huff...fine, just a few though! You're really distracting, you know that?”

Bonus; ⑅ H.P. Lovecraft⑅

His hair is so long and luscious- how could you not want to run your fingers through it while your sleepy boyfriend lays his head in your lap? The upper half is smooth and straight while it changes into silky curls towards the bottom, though they're not the tightest and allow for your fingers to brush through them with minimal effort. He loves the feeling of your hands against his scalp, giving soft hums and groans of a relaxed pleasure. His face has his usual neutrality regardless of how nice it feels to get his head massaged by his lover. He frequently lets you pull it into a ponytail or put it into braids or whatever style you please. He lets you brush it, too, as long as you start at the bottom instead of ripping the brush through his hair.

“Mnn...that feels nice, dear...don't mind if I fall asleep on top of you, I can't help it.”

A/n; I feel so bad for not getting to requests, something like this was the easiest thing to do this week though because I had mock trial comp right after school so i couldn't write anything from 8am-7;30 pm some nights and it was the end of the quarter so i had to focus more on school work.

[blitzwhore]

What Ghost Fuckers shows us about Blitzø, his face scar and eye trauma, and his deepest fears.

As we already know, Blitzø's scars come from the same accident that maimed Fizz, killed Blitzø's mom, and burned Blitzø's life as he knew it to ashes. We also know Blitzø blames himself for the accident, because he inadvertently caused it by pushing aside the imp carrying Fizz's cake.

In Oops, we also saw Blitzø's eye got badly hurt during the accident.

And, even though it seems to have fully recovered given his precision with a gun, it is still permanently and completely surrounded by scar tissue.

It's his most visible scar—the only one he cannot cover up with his daily attire. It represents his vulnerability and broadcasts it to the world. So much so that, when he's feeling at his most helpless, he shields it from view as a means to protect himself.

Eyes are typically represented in fiction as windows to the soul, so one's eye being hurt or scarred can be a representation of how broken, hurt, or tainted they are/feel inside; an unclosable window that displays their deepest trauma for everyone to see.

We also know Blitzø privately crosses out his face in pictures with his loved ones, and we've seen across multiple episodes that the side of his face that is highlighted in each scene can relate to his emotional state. His scarred side is in full view in moments when he's losing control of his emotional state and unable to hide his vulnerability, whereas his unscarred side will be in view when he's trying to avoid/hide his insecurities and pretend everything is fine. On key moments when he's being honest with himself and others about his emotions, his front side will show, a representation of him acknowledging both sides and approaching a balance between them.

In Ghost Fuckers, eye trauma is also used to represent Blitzø's emotional turmoil, except the eye trauma is no longer his own—it is very blatantly extended to others.

In his Millie hallucination, every single Millie except for the one with the broken arm has got something wrong with one or both of her eyes. Each of them is the realization of Millie being hurt because Blitzø put her in harm's way: the bottle shards from Murder Family, the fire in Loo Loo Land, the giant fish from Spring Broken, the angelic arrow in CHERUBS, and the final Millie, which seems to match the hotel bellboy, implying Rolando has hurt or affected her in some way.

(Notice how Blitzø's scarred side is showing again in this moment).

All these Millies have been ruined in the same way Blitzø is ruined, and they've been ruined because of Blitzø. Because he needed her. Because he put her in harm's way. Because he cared about her enough to selfishly keep her in his life.

All of these Millies have ended up "like him": permanently marked as broken.

This is what his love does, in his eyes (pun not intended). It damages people beyond repair. It is a contagious and unstoppable force that will inevitably destroy anything and anyone it—he—touches.

Just like it did his mother.

She, too, loses an eye in his hallucination. An eye that falls right in his hand as she burns away, marking him as responsible for her corruption; an eye that looks at him even as she vanishes from his grasp. Almost as if she knows. Knows what he did, knows he's to blame for her death. Knows that if it weren't for him, and his feelings, and his love, she'd still be whole. She'd still be alive.

This masterful visual representation of Blitzø's guilt and fear is perfectly summarised in Millie's line, “when was the last time you loved someone without hurting them?” Blitzø truly believes anyone who stays close to him will end up just like him: damaged, and traumatised, and broken, or worse—dead.

And all because he was selfish enough to let himself be loved and cared for by them.

[shirefantasies]

Hello. Could you do a slightly suggestive physical touch x reader thing like you did with the company but with the fellowship instead. If you don’t want to that’s okay. Thank youuuu

Sure 😊 Warnings: well duh 😜 but relatively minor as always

LoTR Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version)

Aragorn

✧ Gives the most amazing massages that have you begging him not to stop, especially when you are on the road.

✧ Catches your hand as it roams over his chest, taking it in his and pressing kisses to it.

✧ You slipped some tongue into the last kiss, so it is only fair for him to be doing the same, no?

✧ He knows you love sitting on his lap, yes, but still you are not expecting the way he takes hold of you and sweeps you up onto it with one swift motion…

✧ His hands may be rough, but gentle are they every time they brush and cup your cheeks, tracing their outline.

Legolas

✧ Does not always realize the effect he has. Swipes his thumb across your lips to keep you clean, brows raising and smile creeping onto his face at your resulting expression.

✧ Shivers at the way your nails ghost down his spine, dragging just enough for him to feel each point.

✧ Leans back to meet you in a kiss when you find yourself running your hands over his shoulders.

✧ As if to memorize your form or write it in the very stars, Legolas is slow, intent with his motions as he traces every dip and curve of your body, eyes awed and focused.

✧ Pulls you back from harm by your waist, but cannot resist capturing your lips when he sees the grateful shine of your eyes, so innocent and yet so amorous.

Boromir

✧ Knowing of your love for physical affection gives him so many opportunities to tease you, most of all indulging his love of surprising you from behind, arms winding about you and breath warm in your ear.

✧ When he picks you up and spins you around, his hand may just find its way to give your rear end a playful squeeze as you are lowered.

✧ Training is more fun with you around- suddenly Boromir has all the motivation in the world to do push-ups... on top of you, of course, finding a new spot to kiss each time he comes down.

✧ Playfully and of course lightly sits on you to pin you down, only offering your release in exchange for a kiss.

✧ Boromir indulges your love- if you take him by the side of his face and pepper it with kisses, he will tilt his head and take you for a more passionate one.

Gimli

✧ Spins word upon word of your beauty, yet his voice is stolen completely at the teasing kisses you sneak upon him.

✧ If you’re alone, he has been known to teasingly smack your arse. Just every now and again…

✧ Pulls you down suddenly, almost roughly, to meet his height, noses and foreheads brushing before Gimli is kissing you passionately.

✧ Makes it your problem when his hands get cold, sliding them up your top to startle you!

✧ Tough as he acts, he loves your predisposition to hold him as well, allowing him to nuzzle against your chest and place kisses against anything exposed there. Possibly a nip or two or three...

Frodo

✧ It sends shivers down your spine the way Frodo’s eyes track your every movement, the small action alone feeling a bit like a dare.

✧ A habit of his upon feeling emboldened is placing kisses from the back of your hand up your arm before finally giving your lips a peck.

✧ Of course you know the effect it has on him when you wrap your legs around him- why else would you keep doing it?

✧ You almost think he is about to protest when you tuck your joined hands into the folds of your clothing, but the shy smile Frodo gives you is encouragement enough.

✧ His whole body relaxes when you rub his back, doing anything in your power to comfort him from the ring’s weight, but at times the look in his eyes tells you he is seeking more than comfort…

Sam

✧ Little does he know his flustered expression when your hands roam only encourages you to continue…

✧ Flusters you back by unexpectedly kissing smears of food off your lips, his tongue swiping out to catch anything he’s missed.

✧ He's nearly always holding your hands, whether it's when you're walking or even sitting, then he rests your joined hands upon his lap, sometimes even pulling yours over to him.

✧ If he isn't holding your hand, then his is resting upon your knee or thigh, roaming ever so slightly especially if you are beneath cover of a table.

✧ Jokes that if you don't keep your hands off him, he'll have to feed you by hand, only to realize that's exactly what you want and give in.

Merry

✧ Comes undone at the way you run your hand down his chest, his breath hitching.

✧ Often walks or stands with a hand upon the small of your back, keeping protective but also the optimal position to give your rear end the occasional squeeze!

✧ Buries his face in your neck when you run your fingers through his hair, distracting you with all the kisses he places there.

✧ Comfortable enough to just reach a hand into your pocket for things, maybe keep it there for a bit, too.

✧ Watch out, he often turns pecks on the cheek into full kisses, turning and taking hold of your cheek at the last minute!

Pippin

✧ Grins wider than anything when you pull him into your chest, especially if the height difference is just the right amount.

✧ Takes you to a meadow where you can lay and laugh and roll around to your heart's content; naturally he ends up on top of you, straddling you and gulping as he glances down, tentatively smiling...

✧ Always happy to coat you with kisses- any inch of bare skin he is granted access to is fair game!

✧ Loves the way you keep your bodies casually intertwined, throwing your legs over his or snuggling into him when you lie together, tangling them completely.

✧ Yet another benefit of wearing a scarf? The way you yank him against your body or into kisses by it, always with great fire and fervor.

Faramir

✧ Develops a little habit of slipping his hands into your sleeves, stroking your arm or simply sharing your warmth in a small intertwined moment.

✧ Eyes you with surprise when you pull his head into your chest, but never shall you hear Faramir complain.

✧ His every touch is reverent, grateful at your trust in him and awed at the beautiful dream that is your body before him.

✧ You will know what touches of yours Faramir appreciates most not only by the hitching of his breath, but by the way his hand will capture yours and hold it where it has made its home.

✧ A flush rises to his cheeks when he is laying there sprawled upon his bed with a book and he feels the weight of your body draping atop his and a lazy kiss to his cheek.

Eomer

✧ Makes his home in the hollow between your shoulder and neck, resting his head and pressing his lips against the crook.

✧ Turns instantly to capture your lips passionately the moment you emerge at his side, breath warm upon the shell of his ear.

✧ If you wear a skirt, watch out for Eomer teasingly lifting up the hem with his foot when only he can see, running it up your leg for good measure.

✧ Wide-eyed the first time you tug on his hair as your lips meet, but the look quickly melts into a smirk.

✧ Given your habit of throwing your legs over Eomer’s lap, the marshal has grown used to the weight upon his body, taking the opportunity to show you a bit of love as he caresses your legs.

Eowyn

✧ The way you two teasingly shove and butt at each other sometimes melts seamlessly into makeouts. Neither of you are quite sure how, it just seems to happen.

✧ Relaxes visibly when you run your hand through her golden hair, sending you the most delicious look of pleasure as your hand combs through her tresses and roams to her neck.

✧ Swept up in it the joy of it all, sometimes you’ll catch Eowyn biting your lip gently as you kiss her.

✧ As you tend to walk with your arms linked, every now and again the fancy will take her to fun her hand up and down yours, bringing her nails gently down.

✧ Always tilts her head to give you greater access when you take to kissing her neck.

Haldir

✧ Shoots you the occasional warning look when your hands roam beneath the potential eye of others, but well aware are you that that is simply the manifestation of how flustered you make him. Not above retaliation, Haldir teases you endlessly in your later time away from those prying gazes when he has you all to himself.

✧ Learns your sweet spot, exactly the spot to kiss, and commits it forever to memory.

✧ One of his favorite things about you is the way you seem to seek him, him of all lucky people, for as much as he teases you he cannot deny he loves the way your hands are always darting toward him.

✧ Spreads his legs when he sits, inviting you to rest between them, your head falling against his chest in surrender to his presence.

✧ Having the cover of trees is truly a blessing, for then Haldir can take you on a 'quick patrol' and make out with you behind a massive trunk unseen.

Galadriel

✧ Smirks mischievously, blue eyes glinting, at the way your hand travels up and down her leg.

✧ Takes your hand sometimes only to draw it closer, bring it to a part of her body in silent, awaiting signal.

✧ Like liquid her body melts into yours when you drape your form atop her, feeling her give into you immediately.

✧ You may initiate the kiss, but with a deep chuckle the Lady of Lórien makes quick work of taking control, her tongue dominating yours.

✧ Great is her happiness upon your habitual reach for her arm to walk side by side with her, bringing her hand, wrist, up to your lips.

Elrond

✧ Never fails to show surprise when you yank him in for yet another kiss, hands falling to his chest. Likes to rest his hands over yours in such moments.

✧ Always helps you undress at the end of the day, motions slow and intent as he unlaces and works, eyes boring into yours.

✧ Presses lingering kisses to your bare shoulders.

✧ Always do his lips brush the shell of your ear when Lord Elrond leans in for a private message, especially if it is one to hold onto for the eventide.

✧ Smiles into every kiss you deepen, grip upon your back tightening as he grants you entry, his tongue welcoming yours into a dance.

Arwen

✧ Gets bolder with your encouragement, laying adjacent to you with her head upon your thighs, her favorite cushion of all.

✧ Leans down to place kisses upon them, sometimes traveling up and down as she goes.

✧ Looks up at you with a mix of love and challenge in her eyes when you hover over her lain form, teasing kiss after kiss from you with a single look.

✧ You can't help but let her run her hands down your chest, not when it brings such a smile of satisfaction to her face.

✧ Adoring the way your hands tend to wrap around her, Arwen nuzzles into your cheek, gently rubbing against yours as she enjoys the contact.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs | Reply/Ask/Message to join!

[succubusmelt]

Can I request SWWSDJ, MDHM, John Doe, and Peter YB with a reader who is pregnant. I don’t know why I just wanna know how they are with a moody Y/N and newborn babies.

Thank you!!! ❤️❤️❤️

I'm sorry I haven't responded in a while... university started and I still haven't adjusted my schedule. I hope you like it.

ALAN ORION

- Alan would be extremely protective and possessive of you during the pregnancy. He would worry constantly about anything harming you or the baby.

- He would insist you move in fully with him so he can take care of your every need. Alan would make sure you are well fed and always comfortable. He loves indulging you with food like pancakes and eggs.

- Alan would be very excited yet nervous about becoming a father. He wants nothing more than to have a family with you but worries he may not be the best at it since he was mostly alone in the woods for so long.

- He loves touching and talking to your baby bump. Alan finds it amazing that you two created new life together. He might even talk or coo to the baby through your belly.

- Sex would be off limits while pregnant but Alan would find other ways to be intimate like romantic baths, massages, and lots of cuddling. He still wants to satisfy your needs and be close to you.

- At night he would watch you sleep even more closely and protectively. Alan wants to ensure nothing disturbs you or endangers the pregnancy.

- Come the birth, Alan would insist on being right by your side through it all. He wouldn't want to miss a moment. Alan would also be very hands on helping care for the baby after its born.

- Fatherhood would make Alan clingier and more territorial than ever. He finds you even more perfect for creating his family.

SUNNY DAY JACK

- Jack is absolutely overjoyed with the news of your pregnancy. He becomes even more attentive and protective towards you, making sure you have everything you need and taking extra care of you during this special time.

- Jack becomes extremely protective of you and the baby, constantly ensuring your safety and well-being. He's always by your side, guiding you through your pregnancy journey with love and support.

- Jack spoils you with attention and affection. He pampers you with massages, prepares your favorite meals (particularly craving cravings), and takes care of household chores to ensure you can rest and relax.

- Jack is there to listen and provide emotional support whenever you need it. Pregnancy can bring about a rollercoaster of emotions, and Jack is always ready with open arms and a comforting presence to reassure you and make you feel loved.

- As a former children's show presenter, Jack knows the importance of a healthy lifestyle. He encourages you to eat nutritious foods, go for regular walks, and takes care of your overall well-being. He may even show off his cooking skills by preparing delicious and wholesome meals for you.

- Jack cherishes every opportunity to bond with the baby. He talks to your growing belly, sings lullabies, and even performs silly little shows just for the baby's entertainment. He believes in creating a strong connection with the baby even before they arrive.

- Jack actively participates in preparing for the arrival of the baby. He helps with setting up the nursery, picking out baby clothes, and reading parenting books to ensure he's well-equipped to be the best parent possible.

- Jack shares in your excitement and eagerly anticipates the arrival of your little one. He constantly reassures you that he will be there to support you through labor and be the best co-parent alongside you.

- Being a ghost, Jack has a unique ability to connect with the baby in ways others cannot. He may gently hover his hand over your belly to feel the baby's movements or use his ghostly presence to soothe the baby when they're being fussy.

- Jack adores your pregnant body and finds you even more beautiful. He showers you with compliments and loves having intimate moments with you, cherishing the connection between you, the baby, and himself.

- Throughout your pregnancy, Jack's love and devotion to you only strengthen. He sees this time as a precious milestone in your lives and is committed to being the best partner and co-parent he can be, cherishing every moment as a family.

PETER KING

- Peter treats darling's pregnancy with the utmost care and affection.

- He is constantly doting on darling, giving them foot rubs to ease their tiredness and seeing to their every craving even in the middle of the night.

- Peter talks tenderly to the baby, resting his large hands on darling's stomach so he can feel the kicks. He is already besotted with his child.

- To help darling feel safe, Peter has Rat coil protectively around their waist each night as they sleep. Though usually mischievous, even Rat knows to be on its best behavior for the duration of the pregnancy.

- Peter worries endlessly about darling and ensures the doctor gives them only the finest prenatal care. Money is no object when it comes to darling's health and comfort.

- Each morning he wakes darling with a breakfast in bed including their favorite pastries, fresh fruit, and a good luck kiss placed gently on their bump.

- Peter is over the moon at the thought of having a family with darling and will be the best father -and husband- he can possibly be.

JOHN DOE

- John is extremely protective of his loved ones, including his pregnant partner. He becomes even more attentive and vigilant during this time, constantly ensuring the safety and well-being of both the mother and the unborn child.

- Being a shape-shifter, John can adapt his body to provide physical support and comfort to his pregnant partner. He can transform into a cushion or a soft surface for her to rest on, alleviating any discomfort or strain.

- John is highly aware of the changes happening in his partner's body during pregnancy. He educates himself on the subject, gathering information from various sources to better understand the process and support her in the best way possible.

- Despite his possessive nature, John recognizes the importance of giving his partner space and respecting her boundaries during pregnancy. He understands that her body is going through significant changes and ensures he is there for her emotionally without being overbearing.

- John is always ready to fulfill any cravings or desires his partner may have during pregnancy. He happily goes out of his way to satisfy her needs, whether it's midnight food runs or preparing her favorite snacks.

- Due to his innocence and lack of understanding of human norms, John may unintentionally overstep boundaries with his physical affection. He may need gentle reminders from his partner or other trusted individuals about appropriate boundaries and personal space.

- John's protective nature extends beyond just physical safety. He becomes hyper-aware of potential dangers or threats to his partner and takes extra precautions to keep her safe, such as accompanying her to doctor's appointments or avoiding potentially harmful situations.

- John's curiosity is piqued during his partner's pregnancy as he witnesses the development of new life. He eagerly learns about fetal development and eagerly engages in conversations about the baby's future.

- As the due date approaches, John becomes increasingly excited and anxious. He assists in preparing the nursery, gathering baby essentials, and ensuring everything is in order for the arrival of their child.

- Throughout the pregnancy, John showers his partner with love, affection, and support. He embraces the role of a dedicated partner, providing emotional stability and reassurance during this transformative time in their lives.

[oceanspray5]

THIS SCENE IS SO MULTI-FACETED AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH AND I HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT!

Anthony being touch starved and Lucy touching him so tenderly like that affects him so much from the get-go obviously cuz it fulfills that need. It also highlights their quickly burgeoning feelings/connection with each other but in the CRUELEST way cuz the reason she's touching him is not because she wants to but because she's possessed.

But, its not only just that she is acting in love with him (making the connection between them so hard to ignore) when its not really her that hurts but she's acting as if she loves him while he (his role) is HURTING her. With Anthony's past being so traumatic, you just KNOW he internalizes that shit even though its not really even Lucy talking and its not even him she's talking about. It hurts him to have Lucy act in love with him but also she's acting as if she has to FIGHT to believe he's not hurting her. She's acting as if loving him is causing her physical pain and that's horrifying for him cuz the one thing Anthony absolutely believes is that he hurts the people he loves. So to be slapped in the face with his growing feelings for Lucy but in a way that pulls at all of his trauma strings in the harshest soul twisting way?

Right after that you have Lucy reliving how Annabel choked to death to seal the traumatic incident with a cherry on top, finalizing Lockwood's internal fear that he kills the people he loves and is left alone.

Not to mention as the series goes on we see that Anything absolutely cannot STAND the idea of having hurt Lucy or her being unhappy with him even though he makes stupid decisions. Almost as if this incident triggered in him a crippling desire to never hurt her... So she'd never look at him like that again. Like he's everything... But also as if he destroyed everything in her to the point she fears him.

So in quick summation we have:

Lucy acting in love with Anthony under possession of a ghost while he very much does have growing feelings for her; and the love the ghost in her playing out being an abusive kind, the kind you have to convince yourself isn't harmful, forcing Anthony to relive his trauma and self-depreciate even more about the fact that it's hard to love him because all he can leave behind for his loved ones is hurt. Combine that with the traumatic way she relives Annabel's death and Anthony's genuine worry of Lucy's possession being... well... dangerous as is.

This scene is so beautifully acted. Ruby and Cameron's chemistry is insane. The way they portrayed that much range of emotion in such a short but impactful scene early on.

EDITED TO ADD: I also forgot to talk about the costuming cuz its the softest we've seen Lockwood in the whole series. All three characters are in their pajamas but Lockwood specifically is in a simple gray hoodie. Something that invokes comfort and relaxation. He's tense during the scene because of the situation but he's completely vulnerable as well. There's absolutely nothing for him to hide behind. No witty quips will work when Lucy can't hear him and he's fearing for her life, no physical force can be used to fight her either... And his emotional barriers are all down too. Not only because of the unexpectedness from the multi-targeted assault on his emotions but because he didn't exactly have time to prepare for such a thing occurring either. @locklyleiscanon pointed this out i think but Lockwood uses his suit as an armor. And he's not wearing it. There's no weapons near him. He's completely defenseless when it comes to Lucy in this moment as well as all the warring emotions that are overtaking him.

The first time I watched the scene my first thought was literally how soft and vulnerable Anthony looks. I didn't even have reference for the rest of the show (that he wears suits almost always) but it was a striking detail. Not just the vulnerability on Lockwood's face but in his body language and clothing as well.

Here's an edit I saw that made it all easiest to visualize and word for me:

Props to the person who made the edit cuz the close up scene and the slow motion at Just the right moment makes this so plainly visible to see.

This incident is simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to Lockwood regarding his feelings for Lucy. It shows him early on just how much he needs her, but reminds him of all the reasons why he can't have her.

[bloodyinkandquill]

Ghostwalker x prankster ghost Reader

apologies for this one being so late! i was working on other stuff and like mentioned before this blog, as much as id lit it to be, cannot be my priority

- Sure being a ghost sucked, but you had found ways to keep it exciting, while some other ghosts cried and moped around almost all of the time you learned how to interact with the living world, and after enough time you could temporarily possess living demons

- It was hilarious, the pranks that would bewilder or lightly scare the demons they were aimed at, while you laughed hard, you never intended to hurt anyone with your pranks, you were 90% sure possession didn’t hurt the demons but it did make them cold you noticed

- One day when you went to hop into someone’s body, as you went to suddenly you were stopped by some force causing you to go back and rub your head, now that should not have been possible unless you focused on it you shouldn’t be able to touch anything in this world, you can pass through objects, when you looked up to see what happened your face dropped

- Standing in front of you was Ghostwalker, the deity of the dead and their souls giving you an unamused expression, well that’s how you read it at least, based on the demon not reacting you figured he was only showing himself to you or to the dead

- He asked what you thought you were doing attempting to possess a living demon, you stuttered something out about wanting to tie their shoelaces together or something and he just looked sorta confused at that, you said you just wanted to prank them, he then asked what a prank was, that was surprising but you explained it, he clarified you had no intention of harming the demon or anything, he seemed perplexed by it and asked if every time you had possessed a demon it was for these pranks

- You explained you just liked getting a laugh, especially when most of the other ghosts here were boring as hell or to focused on completing their unfinished business so they could pass on, you just wanted some humor in your unlife, he was still confused but he seemed to understand more, you then asked if he could tell anytime you possessed an alive demon, he explained yeah, being his domain it would be a bit odd if he couldn’t, he then said if you had no intentions of harming demons he had other business to attend to, you told him wait, you were so lonely could you just accompany him, you missed talking to people since most ghosts weren’t that conversational

- He said fine and you floated along as he walked through the world of the dead on his way to take care of other matters, you started joining him commonly going through his domain and talking, he thinks you’re a peculiar ghost, he’s never met one like you, and he’s met a lot of ghosts since he spawned with his siblings, so when he began to catch feelings he confused the feelings since he had never felt them before with curiosity

- When one day during a conversation, he mentioned the odd feelings in his chest and you realized what it was, he was taken aback by it, that shouldn’t have been possible, you decided to give it a shot, it’s not like there’s many ghosts you can date when they are all so boring, so the god of ghosts suffices

- Being with him was interesting, you could actually touch and interact with him, outside of possession you hadn’t felt that in a long time, and especially never the romantic and loving touches you received from him, him holding you gently, putting his forehead against yours, it all felt so loving it made you melt, sometimes actually melting into the ground as a joke, he’d look at you unamused but it made you laugh so he was never truly bothered

- You played small little pranks on him here and there, he usually didn’t react besides for an eyebrow raise but you thought they were funny, you always loved pranking people and joking around, hearing other people’s laughter brought a smile to your face

- One day though he found you sitting against your grave, you weren’t smiling something he rarely saw, he sat by you letting you lean your head on him, he asked why you didn’t work towards finishing your business so you could pass on, you said you were scared, you didn’t want to and if you did you’d have to leave him, even if usually people didn’t laugh playing pranks even for a second made you feel alive again, you just wanted it all back, before him you were so lonely, you missed being alive but you don’t miss the life you had

- Ghostwalker let you talk, never interrupting as you let all your emotions out, about being dead and wishing for life again, looking at your grave, where flowers once played had long died, only you could see where they once were

- He held you close telling you that even if in life no one loved you he loved you in the afterlife and isn’t that enough? You broke and sobbed into his sweater, he didn’t mind, even though you soiled his sweater with tears and snot he just whispered reassuring things rubbing your back softly as you let it all out, from there he brought you somewhere else, his domain was the afterlife but there was a secret part where only he could access, ghosts had no clue it existed and the living had even less of a clue

- It was a meadow, full of pale grass and a soft sky, he said he went here for a break, when he needed to recharge from dealing with souls all day, so much death around him, sure he was desensitized but sometimes even he needed a little rest, it was beautiful and he told you that you could stay here as long as you’d like, and if you left you could return anytime, and if you’d like him to add something to it he would, anything for you

bit more angsty then i intended but oh well, again this one is more like a story then general hcs based on the request but it’s fine, think it came out good

[hoaxghost]

How resistent are your angels?

Could a human gun hurt them

Or only magic stuff?

Anything can be used to hurt them as long as they are on the same plane of existence but I should probably elaborate on that- to preface this is a big major element of my world building I've had since for a decade now so buckle up.

In my story, there are several 'planes of existence' that make up a universe. Earth, and well everything we are physically aware of and can touch/see is the Physical Realm (P.R), aka the tangible zone where spiritual,dream, liminal influence is minimal.

The opposite of the P.R is the Plane of Pure-Existence where everything that cannot exist within the physical resides. It's where angels, demons, souls, ghosts, deities, entities, Heaven+Hell is and has several 'levels' of separation from the P.R.

The closer a layer is to the P.R, the more effect the souls (angels, demons, etc) inhabiting that layer can have on it. For example:

Layer one: A soul can possess a tangible body, move some physical igniting flammable material, conjure tangible elemental threats, communicate with tangible beings. (Think poltergeists)

Layer five: A soul can only communicate with faint elemental influences like a timely breeze.

Movement between the layers is very possible yet the more powerful/large an entity is, the more difficulty it has getting closer to the P.R. This is why guardian angels look the way they do so they are able to be close to humans with relative ease. It's also why The Admin isn't making frequent appearances to humans.

So I guess to answer your question: A human gun cannot harm an angel cause angels typically exist on an entirely different plane. But if they were in the P.R then yes a gun could be used against them. Though that then would beg the question if it would 'hurt' em or well...even inconvenience them

[lets-try-some-writing]

Oh my God! The "Innocent Abominations - Wholesome Edition" snippet was ADORABLE!! I'm grinning like a loon! (Not the original anon btw)

I'm just waiting for whenever Mandroid or GHOST inevitably screws up and Optimus goes Mama Bear Mode. It would probably win Dot's approval of him (if only for the safety of her children) and put Megatron and Elita at ease that Optimus hasn't lost his touch. "Strong Enough To Be Gentle" is right.

It might even be a little bittersweet for them, getting to see Optimus so clearly at ease and carefree, like having their little Orion back aver all these years.

It is indeed a little bittersweet. The Matrix took Orion from them long ago. Seeing him back? It is both a blessing and a curse.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Optimus will fight denta and claw for the Terrans. The Matrix made him a softer mech so that he could interact with them, but it did nothing to eliminate his lethality in battle. The switch is so severe and so quick that it is hard to determine if its even the same mech at all. One moment Optimus was calmly helping the Terrans compose battle plans and praising them for their willingness to fight. Then, without a moment's hesitation, he was sprinting forward with the viciousness of an old god released from his shackles.

Mandroid may have had technology on his side, but he did not have the will of a god pushing him on. Within him, the Matrix made its demands, and as its loyal vessel, Optimus obeyed. It called for the destruction of all that would dare touch the Terrans. He relished in its commands.

The Terrans fought on their own for a time, working with Megatron to bring down Mandroid. But they were not alone for long. Optimus threw himself forward with viciousness that none present had every witnessed. His movements were familiar to Megatron, but the way his gaze locked onto the enemy and the way he seemed to feel no pain? That was new and it worried Megatron more than he cared to admit. The Terrans merely watched in awe as Optimus tore into Mandroid's machines.

When all was said and done, the Terrans cheered and went to Megatron to celebrate. But amidst their celebration, Optimus stood amidst the wreck covered in energon, his axe still readied as he stalked through the ruins. The Matrix demanded he ensure the threat was destroyed, and so that was what he did. Megatron could not call him away, nor could the Terrans. Optimus Prime stalked like a dead mech for hours before the Matrix was satisfied.

When he returned to the Maltos the very next day, there was not a single trace of the terrifying war machine from the earlier battle. Optimus smiled and made his way forward as if nothing had happened. He was covered in cuts, but his disposition was that of the dock worker that Megatron and Elita knew long before the war. It was offputting, but the Terrans didn't notice or care.

Dot had been suspicious of the Prime since his arrival, especially since Megatron was on edge. She had been willing to put up with it, but seeing Megatron's growing concern, she had questions.

Dot: This isn't normal for him.

Megatron: No, it is not.

Dot: What happened to him?

Megatron: He carries the Matrix, a relic from our world. Little is known about it since most of its bearers were either tight lipped or killed before much could be said.

Dot: The relic is doing this.

Megatron: That is my fear. It took Orion Pax from us and gave us Optimus Prime. Now... it seems to have combined the two. I don't believe it will endanger the children or the Terrans, but the Matrix has proven to be unpredictable.

Dot: Do I need to do something about Optimus?

Megatron: Not yet. He has no intention of taking the Terrans. However I cannot say he will not act drastically later.

Megatron: Consider him a wary ally for the time being. Elita and I will observe him and ensure that his state will not harm your family.

[paraphwrites]

solve this | save us | haunted | wanna play

so an entire 0 people asked, so i'm going to overanalyze the words written in the fog on the windows in the dbd series photo from netflix. so there are the four main characters in the shot, & the four above phrases written on the window. & yes it's spooky oo nothing more to say but god knows i have never let something be

"wanna play" i think refers to edwin. because, the baby dolls tortured him in hell. because he was killed as a game, not actually as an attempt to murder him. but, beyond that, it's "play" because to edwin, solving cases is not a game. it is a serious matter, not something to muck around in. further, i imagine edwin thinks he does not play ("i am not a child, charles, i do not play") even tho obviously he does play with charles (re: the cluedo closet, the boxing scene). so it shows how edwin actually can be very un-uptight, even if he rarely admits it. finally, edwin is this line because edwin is, in essence, played with by every man who loves him. simon plays with his life, monty plays with his afterlife, thomas plays with his sexuality - even if it is not meant to do harm, it is, in essence, a game for all of them. something without risks or consequences. so the phrase "play" haunts edwin, because everything has consequences, everything

"solve this" i would put as charles. because charles is a detective, and he solves cases. but, because charles is a detective, and he feels he has to solve cases, not because he thinks he is morally obligated to, but because he thinks it is his job. not job like employment, job like his only function. charles does not think he is inherently worth anything, he thinks he has to prove his value by solving cases and being the brawn and helping out. additionally, i think charles likely has some from of pathological need to solve people's problems. that breakdown on the beach that's something like "i can't help crystal, i can't stop the devlin's from being killed, i can't fix whatever's going on with you." yeah, that.

"haunted" refers to crystal, who is haunted by david, but also by london and all the shit she left behind there. even though crystal cannot remember her trauma, she is still haunted by the ghosts of her wrong-doings, and david. but i also think it touches on the generational trauma that all of the women in her family would have had to go through, discovering their powers on their own. seeing ghosts & magical creatures & having no one to talk to about it. also, i think it gets to the point of crystal has no living friends other than niko who is lowkey preoccupied in that igloo. she's haunted (in a good way) by charles and edwin because they are her friends, even if they're ghosts. but, it also gets at the main point- she's haunted. she's alive. she's not a part of them. she's not actually a part of their world. crystal exists in this messy middle where she's not a ghost but all her friends are, and she is a human but she doesn't belong with humans. she's haunted by the fact that she never truly belongs anywhere

"save us" is, i like to think, about niko. because niko, fundamentally, is kind. she listens to tragic mick's story & that's important because it showcases how she takes time to care about what is important to other people. though niko can be less brave at times, she is kind above all else. so, she saves the sprites, even though they're mean. niko saves people not with cricket bats or psychic abilities or incredible insight but by taking the time to appreciate someone's existence. niko represents an accessible form of goodness, because we can all listen and appreciate. her kindness is quiet and that is important. she doesn't save people out of a savior complex or some form of obligation. she doesn't even really mean to. it's just her nature. she's just kind.

or yk maybe the words were just kinda spooky & i'm reading too much into it! i had fun either way

[carnivore-voyeur]

Re: Allegations that have been made against Jutty Taylor. If you are confused, please see my Jutty Taylor tag, but to summarize an underage fan accused him of touching her inappropriately while posing for a picture and a few other fans accused him of inappropriate exchanges via DMs.

Whether or not you believe the allegations that have been made, it is not our job to either prove them or disprove them.

In fact, you are making it much more difficult to address the situation when you do so. I understand that everyone wants answers. However, we cannot play detective with something as serious as this.

There have been numerous posts on multiple platforms now spreading misinformation that are complicating the matter for both the alleged victims and Jutty.

This is not about Ghost. Do not make it about Ghost. This allegedly happened at a Drag Talk show, with others claiming they had uncomfortable interactions with him via Instagram DMs.

The only people who should be presenting information right now are the individuals involved. I have no business investigating this. I am not going to be investigating this.

I will tell you the actions I am taking:

1) I will believe what the alleged victims have to say until I have reason not to believe them.

2) I will not be posting about Jutty Taylor until I have reason to believe that he did not do what he is being accused of.

3) If he did do what he is being accused of, I will not feel comfortable supporting him as an artist until he has made an effort to restore justice to victims and change his behavior.

4) If he did not do what he is being accused of, I will not go after his accusers. My hope going forward from that would be that he is more careful in his interactions with fans.

I have dealt with artists I admire(d) being accused of harm before. There have been multiple cases where allegations were not proven and/or false. Yet, there have also been multiple cases where allegations were proven to be true.

It is very frustrating. It is upsetting. I understand all of that. Still, this is not the time and place to engage in this for the sake of our own comfort and peace of mind. This is also not the time to flood the situation with unfounded rumors.

[esther-dot]

Do you think Jon and Sansa will meet again at Castle Black, and from there, they will plan to take Winterfell? Or will Sansa take Winterfell on her own and reunite with Jon along the way? I’m of the idea of two lost souls who, when united, find the strength in each other to take the land of their family. But I don’t know, I haven’t finished the books yet so I need guidance on this.

I don’t consider myself an ASOIAF expert, anon so I don't offer guidance, but I will def share my thoughts with you!

In order to talk about this, I'm afraid there are some ADWD spoilers, though. If you mind that, maybe revisit this post after you've read it? Short version, I agree with you. Sansa should be involved in retaking Winterfell because we need a Stark there:

Battles had been fought at Winterfell before, but never one without a Stark on one side or the other. (ADWD, Jon VII)

but I think the reunion happens first because of the The Girl in Grey theory. I'll explain more below the cut due to the major Jon spoiler.

In ADWD, a character named Melisandre tells Jon about a vision she has:

She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander's Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said. "Lord Snow." The voice was Melisandre's. Surprise made him recoil from her. "Lady Melisandre." He took a step backwards. "I mistook you for someone else." At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. "You will freeze your fingers off," Jon warned. "If that is the will of R'hllor. Night's powers cannot touch one whose heart is bathed in god's holy fire." "You heart does not concern me. Just your hands."

"The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you." "I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. "What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?" "Arya." His voice was hoarse. "My half-sister, truly …" "… for you are bastard born. I had not forgotten. I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will." She gazed at Ghost. "May I touch your … wolf?" The thought made Jon uneasy. "Best not." "He will not harm me. You call him Ghost, yes?" "Yes, but …" "Ghost." Melisandre made the word a song. The direwolf padded toward her. Wary, he stalked about her in a circle, sniffing. When she held out her hand he smelled that too, then shoved his nose against her fingers. Jon let out a white breath. "He is not always so …" "… warm? Warmth calls to warmth, Jon Snow." Her eyes were two red stars, shining in the dark. At her throat, her ruby gleamed, a third eye glowing brighter than the others. Jon had seen Ghost's eyes blazing red the same way, when they caught the light just right. "Ghost," he called. "To me." The direwolf looked at him as if he were a stranger. Jon frowned in disbelief. "That's … queer." "You think so?" She knelt and scratched Ghost behind his ear. "Your Wall is a queer place, but there is power here, if you will use it. Power in you, and in this beast. You resist it, and that is your mistake. Embrace it. Use it." I am not a wolf, he thought. "And how would I do that?" "I can show you." Melisandre draped one slender arm over Ghost, and the direwolf licked her face. "The Lord of Light in his wisdom made us male and female, two parts of a greater whole. In our joining there is power. Power to make life. Power to make light. Power to cast shadows." "Shadows." The world seemed darker when he said it. "Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall." Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall. A girl in grey on a dying horse, he thought. Coming here, to you. Arya. He turned back to the red priestess. Jon could feel her warmth. She has power. The thought came unbidden, seizing him with iron teeth, but this was not a woman he cared to be indebted to, not even for his little sister. "Dalla told me something once. Val's sister, Mance Rayder's wife. She said that sorcery was a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it." "A wise woman." Melisandre rose, her red robes stirring in the wind. "A sword without a hilt is still a sword, though, and a sword is a fine thing to have when foes are all about. Hear me now, Jon Snow. Nine crows flew into the white wood to find your foes for you. Three of them are dead. They have not died yet, but their death is out there waiting for them, and they ride to meet it. You sent them forth to be your eyes in the darkness, but they will be eyeless when they return to you. I have seen their pale dead faces in my flames. Empty sockets, weeping blood." She pushed her red hair back, and her red eyes shone. "You do not believe me. You will. The cost of that belief will be three lives. A small price to pay for wisdom, some might say … but not one you had to pay. Remember that when you behold the blind and ravaged faces of your dead. And come that day, take my hand." The mist rose from her pale flesh, and for a moment it seemed as if pale, sorcerous flames were playing about her fingers. "Take my hand," she said again, "and let me save your sister." (ADWD, Jon VI)

The vision keeps coming up and dictates some of Jon's decisions. Jeyne Poole (Sansa's friend) was forced to marry Ramsay in the guise of being Arya, she escapes, and people expect her to reunite with Jon and be the girl in grey (escaping a marriage, she was pretending to be his sister). Others point to Alys Karstark who runs to Jon to escape a marriage. The problem is, Mel doesn't know who it is, she only knows sister. People pick Jeyne because of the Arya connection, but neither she nor Alys are Jon's sister. And Jon has another sister, Sansa.

I would argue the reason that the girl in grey is Sansa (ie Sansa will flee North to escape LF's plots and reunite with Jon before Winterfell is taken/she is in a position of power), is if you read Jon's passage about the girl in grey, Jon being dead is written all over it. His white breath, the reference to him as a stranger, Jon telling himself he isn't a wolf...you see, here is the major spoiler...

Jon is assassinated at the end of TWOW.

Now, he may not actually be dead-dead, some of us have said he might be in a coma like Bran, but a) we believe he warged into Ghost (I am not a wolf--he will need to come back to himself, not lose himself in Ghost), b) the stranger = Jon is dead, c) the white breath = his body being cold cuz he's dead etc. The other side of this is, the way Jon sees Mel and remembers a different redhead can be viewed as foreshadowing for recently undead Jon seeing a redhead and mistaking her for Ygritte. The description of Mel's words like a song made people think of Sansa (it's been speculated Sansa's singing will help Jon remember things post rez/help him return to himself), and Ghost's strangely positive reaction to Mel may foreshadow how he reacts to Sansa as a familiar person. So, when I read that passage, it sounded to me like Sansa and Jon will be reuniting shortly after his rez, or even perhaps before his rez, so yes, I imagine that happens at the Wall.

Way back in 2013, a famous Jonsa essay predicted that Jon and Sansa would be reunited first of all the Starks, and then in 2016 that happened on the show which spurred a lot more discussion in the Jonsa fandom about Sansa being the girl in grey in the books as well.

I'll link some additional posts with various thoughts on how it might go.

Jon as the Stranger, Sansa as a silent sister. Pertinent quotes:

Then one morning she spied three women in the cowled grey robes of the silent sisters loading a corpse into their wagon. (ACOK, Arya VII) The women in grey bowed their heads. The silent sisters do not speak to the living, Catelyn remembered dully, but some say they can talk to the dead. (ACOK, Catelyn V) Grey was the color of the silent sisters, the handmaidens of the Stranger. (AFFC, Brienne VIII) When we find the Imp, we will find the Lady Sansa too. She is not dead . . . but before I am done with her, I promise you, she will be singing to the Stranger, begging for his kiss." (AFFC, Cersei IV)

@loveroflemons wrote a post in 2017 talking about Mel's prophecy and the map of the North to explain why Sansa is the Girl in Grey here. @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir has a post explaining that Sansa is Ned's narrative heir and her path North will follow his here, and some general ideas for her TWOW story here.

@istumpysk talks about The Girl in Grey foreshadowing here. @aegor-bamfsteel tried to give us a time table here, @redteabaron has talked about the possibility that Sansa will be hunted by Ramsay for some Red Riding Hood parallels here, That and Sansa meeting Ghost while Jon is still out of it is discussed here as well. And this post talks about Jon saving Sansa from Ramsay while warged into Ghost using some king’s prize/thief quotes. I also found a Tolkien poem (Martin is a massive fan) that has Girl in Grey vibes here (not proof, just fun).

Anyway, it's a very popular Jonsa theory, for many of us, a given at this point. For a different ask i scrolled some BNF blogs and they mocked it a lot, called us delusional because they can point to the other girls as fulfilling the prophecy, but to me, that prophecy takes up too much space for it to disappear without a real payoff. It makes sense to me that Martin would use that vision to prep us for Sansa arriving in the North.

Let me know what you think after you read ADWD!

[hypers-omniac]

Actively obsessed with Ghost in a paranormal AU. Either way- with the reader or Ghost as the spooky spirit haunting the other.

No cw other than death because they’re.. ghosts. Otherwise maybe a bit sad but mostly lowkey fluffy.

He does his best to ignore you. It’s hard, the way it makes gooseflesh rise onto his pale skin, his hair standing in end. It’s not that he’s trying to ignore you- it’s that he genuinely thinks you aren’t there, no matter how much you beg and plea for him to kiss you again. It always sounds like you’re crying, and it always makes his jaw clench hard enough for his teeth to crack- fissures in his enamel that hurt like cavities.

You go to grasp at him, to shake him, and it just phases right through him. It almost hurts from how cold it is on his prickled skin, and he pushes away the thought that he can feel your fingers on his biceps. No one else can see you, but you just know he can, and that’s why it’s so frustrating! You just want him to pay attention to you, kiss you again.

On the other side, he can’t even bear to look at you. He can still see the blood running down your forehead, and even though you look at him, your eyes are still dead. He’s so used to being hurt by his trauma that he automatically assumes it’s just another fucked up things about him. Sure, why not add visual and tactile hallucinations to the list? He’s not surprised. It’s his fault, after all. It was his job to protect you, and he failed. Of course your memory haunts him. He nearly breaks as you press a kiss to his cheek, squeezing his eyes shut and his fingers into fists as sits up in bed, scrubbing a hand down his sweat-slicked face. He’s tired, and the both of you know he’ll never be the same again.

The only way you get him to actually believe you’re there is when you pull a poltergeist on him like a child throwing a tantrum- books being thrown off the bookcases, tables flipped over. Your screams hurt- nearly burst his fuckin’ ears, darlin’. It’s only then does he start talking quietly to you, deciding that your giggles- however creepy they me at times- are still much better than your screams he's so used to hearing.

The other way around? oh, you immediately know its your Simon. Can feel the way his arms wrap around behind you in the kitchen on a cold, lonely morning. Maybe it's a figment of your imagination- but what's the harm in talking to air?

It’s a little less lonely, even if you can’t look directly at him. Only getting cold touches as a response as you tease or pick on him. Sometimes, when things get a little easier, you pick on him for the irony from his callsign. He always pulls you against him for that, regardless of what you’re doing. You scold him, and falter when you realize the only person who can get burnt when you’re over the stove anymore is you. The only person who can stumble and fall in the shower into a pile of giggles is you. The only person in your bed- even if it feels like he’s there- is you.

It’s a push and pull between feeling like you’re going crazy and being completely at peace. Which… itself is maddening. So maybe you buy an Ouija board to try and talk to him. What of it? In sickness and in health, my love. And as it turns out, the reaper himself cannot part you two.

What a hopeless romantic, Simon always was.

Or… maybe even reader who’s introduced to Simon only after he’s dead? UGH too many ideas need ghost cum ):

[kiraman]

Killing Strangers, part 4/5

AO3 link / previous chapters: i. ii. iii. cws: extreme violence/car crash/gore/death/grief/self harm/drugs/guns/sex wordcount: 19,434 / Mizu x female oc / soundtrack art by @hereticdrws / beta by @big-mama-y 💙

Mizu jolts awake. She tastes blood in her mouth, but she does not have the strength to spit it out. Her cheek pressing into shards of glass, she opens her mouth and it pours out, thick and red. She groans, and blinks around her, her eyes burning from the smoke. She can hear a distant buzzing, the turn signal still blinking and clicking.

She slaps her hand around her blindly, searching for her phone, and looks up at the rooftop of the car, her head spinning. She whines as she tries to move, a sharp shock of pain ripping through her leg. She is locked in place by something heavy and wet with blood, something metallic which is lying across her thigh, pinning her down. Mizu groans again, dragging her leg viciously, pushing at the metal to free herself. She can smell a fire burning somewhere near her, fuel gurgling out of the tank to pool around the crushed rooftop, and panic erupts through her blood, adrenaline making her push through the throbbing pain, screaming and gritting her teeth tight as she drags herself out of the crashed car through a window and onto the side of the road.

She lays flat on her back, panting through her nose; the heat is sweltering, suffocating her. She blinks at the sun, the baked, black asphalt burning her back. She rolls over, hissing at the pain that erupts through her, and crawls onto her knees, screaming and screaming.

She drags herself back to her car, but there's no one inside of it, and a hot sob trembles in her mouth, ripping her throat open; she's drenched in blood, can feel it trickle down her forehead, spilling into her mouth, but she cannot stop, she hurriedly stumbles to her feet and cries out in pain, frantically looks around her, panting through her open mouth.

In the distance, she can hear sirens blaring.

Mizu hopelessly screams her name again, but there's no one to answer her desperation; there's just her and the highway; an endless, white-scorching heat.

i. love is a negative space.

13 months ago

Afterwards, she hits the road until she outruns the screams inside her head and at a gas station, in the middle of nowhere, she stands by the side of her car and she leans back and looks up at the sky. She's got a lit cigarette in her left hand, but not taking it in. She likes to watch it burn, likes feeling its burn against her skin. She speeds through a wet road all lit up in neon lights, chasing the ghost of her; at the Continental, she sits at the bar, glasses pushed up on top of her head, does not care who sees her. They won't dare touch her, and when they do, it does not go their way.

She does not give a fuck about the price hanging hefty over her head; slinks through the city like a ghost, always just out of their reach. Someone tries her, outside the Red Circle, the promise of her death, the money in it, too tempting.

In the morning, he washes up on the shores of the river, cold and bloodless, his throat cut open.

She looks for him everywhere in the city, moves like smoke, no one can catch her; they haven't seen the Ghost in weeks now, they say, he's disappeared. Like he always does. Maybe he's after Fowler. Violet's bitch. When Kaji listens to them talk about it in the bar of her establishment, she offers her vague, slow smile, expertly stirs the conversation elsewhere with all of her languid grace, fanning herself and laughing, the crimson fan a dragonfly with eyes in its wings...

Well, maybe she's looking for something else, too, Ringo says, patiently one sleepless night, him on the couch, in her living room, Mizu with her back to him, knuckles burning against the punching bag hanging off the ceiling.

She cuts her eyes to him.

"wanna shut up?"

"just saying." a soft shrug.

She doesn't say anything. She punches the bag so hard, the leather tears.

The absence haunts her like Geraldine not saying goodbye haunts her, like her walking out without a word, the not knowing, the helplessness. Sometimes, she parks her motorcycle across the river, and watches the lights in Violet's home go on at two in the morning, watches the shadows slither across the window, behind the drapes. Wonders if it's Fowler. If it's his wife.

She delves deep into the night, the bars and clubs she knows he frequents, but he's nowhere. She's chasing shadows, and it gnaws at her, the anger, the desperation.

Sometimes, she'll have a drink, maybe two. Kiss a girl. Fuck a girl. Hunger and attention are lonely victories but if people are using her for her body at least she is being used by somebody, at least she doesn't have to think about her, or him or her inability to do anything about the absence that haunts her every second, because god forbid you go back to the one person who actually made you feel good about something, Ringo will say and she will glare at him for so long that he begins to feel the sting of it like a punch.

Sure the whiskey hurts, she does not like to drink, does not drink, but she knows where it will hit her and sure she's never full up, sure slamming herself into potential danger and death every way she can just so she can find him, or a trace of him, or anyone that may know something, anything, is the last way to feel alive — but at least this way she looks like she's doing something, like she's got it all under control, still, instead of half-imploding; at least this way she leaves the room in the morning, eyes burning from staring at her mother's necklace for hours in her bed, sleepless, drained, on auto pilot; has something to chase after, has something to keep her from fucking losing it and spiralling out of control. She speeds through it like she's got nothing to lose, all dark, deep sharpness and impatience, but the road will eventually end, there won't be anywhere left to run to, and everything will settle hard around her shoulders again...

It looks like the storm has passed. New York's wet, grey, seven inches of rain last night, high winds and flooding in some areas. It's still raining but it's a gentle drizzling now. City crews are still working this morning, trying to restore power. She parks her motorcycle across the river overlooking the Continental, and walks towards her swiflty, impatience wrapping itself around her like a rope. Mizu leans against the railing, gives her a look, her glasses reflecting in the rain.

"speak."

"you kept me waiting." Kaji's voice is a shadowy drawl, sharp and deep. She does not look at Mizu, stares unblinkingly out at the day, a cigarette dangling from between her thin lips, sweet with plum lipstick.

"traffic." Mizu intones. "so?"

Kaji cuts her off, turns to look at her. "石の上にも三年... Three years on a cold stone will make the stone warm." Kaji offers, her voice deeper in japanese, like the sting of hot water in your throat. Mizu huffs, flicks her eyes over to her. Her eyebrows, she notices, are very thin, sharply outlined with kohl. Her lips are tight.

"yeah, well. Running out of time." Mizu reaches for her lighter, leans in and relights Kaji's cigarette, guarding the flame with her palm.

"thank you." Kaji sucks in the smoke, exhales sharply. The river below the bridge is thrumming, swollen with the rain.

Kaji reaches in her purse, draws a piece of paper, slides it towards Mizu. "what are you going to do? Everyone's looking for you."

Mizu snatches it out of her hand, her eyes trailing over the address written down, does not say anything for a long time.

So, Paris. she's thinking, her mind already racing ahead of her body, quick to plan, quick to move, but Kaji breaks in,

"you could stay at the Continental for a while. Wait this out. No one could lay a hand on you there. No one would dare. Too much to lose." Kaji insists; she has offered too many times now, her protection, an eye to look over her, keep her safe until all this blows over; and too many times, Mizu has refused the offer, shrugged her concerns off, blunt and impatient.

"no one will lay a hand on me anywhere." she tucks the piece of paper into the back pocket of her jeans, gives her a look; her eyebrows arch and then furrow, creating conflicting lines on her face. "thank you. I owe you." she says curtly with a polite bow of her head to her.

"you do." Kaji presses her lips into a thin line; enveloped in plumes of white smoke, she looks like something cut out of stone; untouchable. "you take everything for granted, child. That things will always go as you wish them to go. Those who've survived an arguably unsurvivable life... the kind of life we live; you live? it's not how it'll always be." a pause between her words, a long silence between the two of them, thrumming like the river beyond the bridge. "the few things we find time to truly care for... pass long before we do."

Mizu gives her a look, her hand impatiently zipping up her leather jacket, fingers fumbling on the zipper.

"thank you, for doing this."

Kaji gives a quick nod.

She watches as Mizu straddles her bike; guns the engine, and drives off.

Somewhere in Paris, Fowler is sprawled out on a chaise longue, sipping on a glass of red wine.

"he's a nobody. some kid from the gutter, a finished clan we should have ended years ago. Violet was careless, too cocky. Risked too much, did not listen and now he's dead. Nothing will happen to us. he's nothing. just a kid. you worry too much."

Heiji, stood at the window, turns to look at him, hands clasped neatly at the small of his back, too small against the glare of the sun spilling in through the stained glass.

"a small ember can burn down everything..." he offers, voice shrill; like he's scared of something that does not exist; a shadow, dogging their every step.

"then snuff it out!" Fowler barks, and snuffs out the flame of the candle burning near him with his thumb.

ii. Routely.

"Welcome to the Velvet Room, my friend. Come Mr. Eiji, come..." Auclair laughs, sweeping his arm to indicate the milling crowd of women in lavaliers, the lush, smoky parlor, silver chains on black satin, men in black sleek suits, clustered in the corners, gesturing animatedly with their cigarettes and voices too loud, carrying over the music.

Mizu smooths the lapels of her perfectly pressed suit, and says, simply, her voice like static, low, deep, "Auclair" as a way of greeting him.

"If you are looking for a fashionable Parisienne, this is the place to find her," says Auclair, clapping him on the shoulder—or more lurches against Mizu to keep himself upright, he is drunk enough that Mizu can be certain, can smell the wine in his breath, sour and sharp. "Do you see your Venus moderne?" he laughs, his accent slithery and drawling.

"that's not why I am here" Mizu says curtly, as she eyes a group of women who flit past. They are beautiful, and their smiles gratifying, but none is her, with the crimson mouth like fire, and the dark eyes.

"oh, come on... Loosen up! It's Paris!" Auclair laughs, touching Smoke's shoulder a little too much, and Mizu shrugs his hand off slowly and just stares at him, her eyes like shards of glass, glinting. "okay, okay... You could put Smoke in a room with nothing but a mirror, and he would still fight his own reflection. Come on. Let's have a drink." he laughs again, leads Mizu to a private table. He waves down a waitress, asks Mizu what she would like to drink.

She sits primly on the sofa, carefully studying the room, says, impatiently,

"Single Malt. Irish, if you've got it." to the surprise of her company, and then, as soon as the waitress walks away, ignoring his attempts at pleasantries, at small talk, asks,

"is he here?"

Auclair blinks, the laughter dying in his throat, "who?"

"don't play games with me."

"I would never presume to..."

Mizu cuts him off, "then tell me."

"you realize where you are, yes?" Auclair lowers his voice to a fierce whisper, eyes red from too much wine, and gleaming,

Mizu does not care. She lays back, legs sprawled open, loosens her tie.

"uh huh."

"you already have a bounty on your head."

"I'm aware."

Auclair blanches, mouth opening then closing, eyes wide.

"what's wrong with you?"

Mizu does not answer. Her gaze is sweeping over the bar slowly, taking in every little detail, something inside of her on edge, senses alert, even when she is sinking back into the cushions, bouncing her left leg up and down.

"he owns the bar, no? Heiji Shindo?" she shoots back, staring at the guard that is walking away from the bar, watching him hiss something into the radio in his hand.

Auclair sighs, looks around them like he's afraid the walls will hear them, swallow his words up. Like he's got someone after him, his lips trembling.

"Ghost. The High Council owns everything he has. They have put him in charge, here. You cannot touch him. You know the rules."

Her smirk plays around the edges of her mouth, and she cuts her eyes back to him. Out of the corner of her eye she can see activity in the back of the bar, senses the guard walk away, disappearing behind a door.

She gives Auclair a long look, the blue of her eyes still shocking to him; too sharp, like the mouth of a gun pressed to a throat.

"He moves about… from one place to the next… Heiji Shindo has put him under his thumb… wherever Shindo goes, so does Fowler."

Mizu considers this, eyes squinting. A fly, buzzes past her ear. The music too loud, the heat in the room pulsing, like a flame. Too many people, and cigarette smoke swelling in the air.

"is he here, then?"

"Fowler?" Auclair sounds like he's choking, laughter too deep in his throat. She can see sweat beading his brow.

"no, no, no... No. he's not."

"Shindo."

Auclair does not know what to say, gives a tight huff, looking over his shoulder.

"She said you could help. You are useless." Mizu intones, sitting up on the edge of the sofa, elbows on her knees, legs spread open. Her voice is pitched low, for his ears only. She is wearing a snarl that could easily be mistaken for a tight smile for anyone watching them.

"I have not seen him in a while. He comes and goes. He's their pawn, controls half of Paris. Even if he comes tonight... you think you can, what? what exactly are you going to do with your little anger, huh? walk up to him and shoot him? Point a gun at his face? This is Continental grounds. you cannot touch him here. You cannot touch him anywhere in Paris, and he knows this. Fowler knows it too... I am surprised she sent you here."

Mizu blinks. Her fingers constrict around her empty glass.

"what are you gonna do? end it all just to what? get back at him for the price he put on your head? it was Violet's doing, and he is fucking dead. By your hand, I hear."

"I am gonna kill him." Mizu says evenly, answers his question unflinchingly, brows tightly pressed together. "if Shindo wants to join him in death too, that's on him."

Auclair snorts.

"you are just going to make things worse for yourself. I've helped you so many times before. but this time you are making a mistake, Smoke." he says, signaling to the attractive young woman with the tray of drinks for another round. His lower lip is trembling.

Mizu stares, does not say anything.  A muscle in her jaw ticks.

As she turns to ask for another glass of whatever Auclair is getting, too, she catches sight of a flash of ebony hair, a slim figure lingering at the top of the stairs.

Her breath catches before she can disappear into the press of the crowd and Mizu feels her body go numb, all of her attention snatched away.  Briefly, her shock exposes itself for all the world to see.  It’s a half-second, barely a tick of a micro-expression, but it’s there.

"yet here we are. here I am. I will tell you this... he hasn't been around in a while, but it is Saturday night and—"

"excuse me," Mizu cuts him off unexpectedly, standing up, too quickly, her mind already elsewhere. She pushes through the crowd, Geraldine's eyes on her still a tiny shock to her system, have made her nerves jump, the electric shock of being plunged into ice-cold water pulsing through her.

She climbs the stairs, but she's pulling away from the railing, Mizu sees her slip through the throng of bodies all around them, disappear into the bathroom, and it feels like she's chasing after something unreal as she makes her way to where she's disappeared into anyway, like the sharp edge of a cliff. One moment, Mizu feels like she's got it, like her hands remember the shape of her pressed to her palms, her rushing sweetness. Her skin is tingling. She takes off her tie, with quick, sharp movements, stuffs it in a pocket pulls down her hair, not that she cares, before shouldering her way into the women's bathroom.

The bar outside is loud, and Mizu closes the door with a soft click, presses her back to it, Geraldine's back to her. She's standing at the mirror, reapplying her siren red lipstick with a tiny, smooth brush, so delicately it’s a dream.

Mizu blinks, loses her words somewhere inside her throat, too tight, closing up. Her fingers curl into fists, her back too tightly pressed to the door. In the mirror, Geraldine flicks her eyes to her, lashes fluttering across her skin; Mizu swallows, watches the way her mascara is flirting with her cheeks. She smiles without fucking up her lipstick, says, a slow drawl that runs through Mizu like a knife, rubs her nerve endings raw, "bold of you to follow me in here."

Mizu exhales; watches Geraldine toss her hair over her shoulder, fix the way her tight dress clings to her curves. The scent of her floods Mizu. She rides on the feeling of her so close, feels the air between of them explode like a firework, like a wildfire, felling everything in its path. A vague sense they are alone atop the universe’s edge fills that dark, hollow space inside her. She is probably dreaming.

"you stole my painting." she blurts out.

Geraldine laughs, swirls the last of her perfect color, makes eye contact with Mizu again in the mirror. Her eyes are very dark, haunting her; they've haunted her for months now; deep, drowning eyes, eyes with teeth. She wants them on her. Wants the bite of them; wants the ache of it. Mizu pushes herself off the door, walks up to her, jaw set; a muscle is jumping in her throat. Her face hurts.

When Geraldine tries to pull away, shove past her, her bare shoulder brushing against Mizu's, she grabs her wrist, makes her stay. "nice fucking stunt you pulled." Mizu snaps, voice too low, smoky.

"what do you want?" Geraldine snaps back, and Mizu gives her a look, can feel the heat of her body, can see how fast her chest is rising and falling; how easy she allows herself to be pushed, her back colliding with only mild force against the counter. "why are you here?" Mizu asks, her hand slipping off her wrist. She is not touching her but crowds her against the mirror, sees that heat travel up the soft slopes of Geraldine's neck, to her face, settling over her like a flame.

Geraldine does not look away, looks up, boldly, her eyes blazing at Mizu's bare-knuckled audacity, the feeling of her pressed close. Mizu sees her inhale, sees her thick lashes flutter rapidly. "stop." she whispers, her hands on Mizu's chest as though to keep her from pressing any closer. "running away without a word. All the way to Paris. Here. To Heiji Shindo's lair—" she snaps, too fiercely, voice a dark whisper, the implication settling between them, and Geraldine immediately breaks in, tries to shove her off, eyes sharpening, "—how dare you. not everything is about you, Mizu! And I did leave you with a word." she reminds her, and Mizu bristles, snorts on laughter, cold, the bark of it too harsh through her teeth. "right. consequences. whatever the fuck that meant, Geraldine."

Geraldine does not say anything to that, looks away, and Mizu can feel her body tightening against her, can feel her pulse, the rush of want between them like a physical ache. Her mouth tingles, and she lifts her hand to her face, tilts her chin towards her, forcing eye contact. She feels the way Geraldine's breath hitches when she meets her gaze, and there are pinpricks of light, burning at the center of her dark eyes.

She feels Geraldine slide her hands up her back like a promise, and her jaw tightens. It always feels colder after she’s been there, her hands on her; like Mizu only remembers warm when she shows it to her. Her hand is soft on Geraldine's face, fingers tracing the shape of her mouth.

"I'm not here with them," Geraldine whispers eventually, all of her anger snuffed out. Her voice is firm but there is something tender in it too. She shakes a little below her touch. Her cheeks are flushed, rosy with heat. "Mizu, I would never work for him. I've just been trying to survive this. Keeping close, but in the shadows."

Mizu stares at her mouth, drags her thumb over her lower lip. She doesn't say anything. She leans in, but Geraldine looks away, her hands too taut on Mizu's back. "I have to get back. I don't want them to see us together."

Mizu stills, draws back an inch, her eyes tearing into hers. "who's them? Auclair? The High Table?" she makes a sound, bitter in her throat. "what are you trying to prove? that you have nothing to do with me? that you are not your father?" she asks, bitter amusement in her voice.

Geraldine pushes at her chest, too hard, but Mizu barely budges. "I'm trying to help both of us, you fucking idiot. Who do you think told Kaji?" she hisses, but it's not angry, it's hurt, Mizu thinks, her voice breaks, thin, like a crack in the wall.

Mizu remembers that night at the club, under the Cabinet, Geraldine pressed to her, like this, her dark laughter; Geraldine saying, No one is our friend. Everyone is our friend... The perfect gleam of her; how she can get her hands on anything she wants. The pull of her. The magnetism. The power of her wit, sharp like a switchblade.

She blinks at Geraldine, her stomach turning, and leans in, or tries to, she won't apologize, but her mouth feels like fire, tingling, wanting, wanting, when the door is violently pushed open, two girls bursting in, giggling, cutting their moment too short.

Geraldine pulls away slightly, but Mizu's eyes are still on her, like a hand, pinning her down. Geraldine quickly fixes her dress where it's ridden up her thigh, clears her throat, and without another word, shoves her way past Mizu and out of the bathroom.

Mizu watches her walk away, her hand curling into a fist. She turns around, does not look at the girls next to her, washes her hands, anger bubbling hot and hungry under her skin.

Back at her table, she's jittery, her leg bouncing up and down, her eyes stalking the room, searching for her. She does not drink, asks for water instead. She tunes Auclair out, and waits, knows he'll be here, she just has to wait it out. Her fingers drum quickly against her thigh. She hasn't put her tie on again, has undone two buttons of her shirt, the heat getting to her, but her hair is up in a tight bun again. She doesn't fucking care what Auclair will think, doesn't care to pretend.

Auclair keeps drinking. Takes her up to the VIP section. The doors to the elevator open, the music deafening. It's darker in there, the heat stifling. A dark, sprawling room, filled with slinky women dancing behind a glass wall; their tiny, silver dresses flash under the strobe lights– one of them presses her mouth to the pane of glass as Mizu passes by, leaves a smear of pink lipstick across it; a low, pulsating music thrums in the air, a conjoined hum of a crowd of people all bursting for the same rhythm; she hears sighs of pleasure from a table near them, sees a man run his hands down a woman's back, over her hips, wonders if she works here; probably has been sent to him.

Her jaw tightens as she pushes her way through the crowd, smells the sourness of too much whiskey in the air, sweat and something too sweet; she watches Auclair take a seat at a table in the back, join someone Mizu does not recognize; she takes a seat, and Auclair's associate does not lift his eyes to her either, too busy snorting lines of white powder off the table, then bouncing in the pulse of the music, clapping Auclair too hard on the shoulder, cackling like he's been told a killer joke. She can feel the danger and corruption in her mouth, refuses the drink when the strange man near her offers. Her eyes are everywhere and nowhere, a slow, focused firmness in the way she studies the room.

When her eyes find Geraldine, Mizu pauses, does not know why she's surprised. She's laughing too much, excessively sweet, Mizu can see the lie in it. She's sitting next to a man, and there are other women at the table too. She feels her jaw tighten.

Geraldine is wearing a burgundy dress with a deep-v and a slit up to her thighs at either side. Mizu watches as that man pours a line of cocaine over her thigh then snorts it up. Her ears are ringing, and she can vaguely hear Auclair offer her a drink again. She says, too sharply, no, does not turn to look at him when he asks why?

“Because I do not want to,” her response is frank, tone unfazed by the apparent tension of the moment.  In fact, she doesn’t even move, does not take her eyes off Geraldine, everything in her still except her left leg, bouncing up and down.  The rest of her remains stone-still, blue eyes resting firmly on Geraldine, flashing in a gesture of irritation when Geraldine meets her gaze, does not look surprised by her presence here; Geraldine does not even flinch, too well versed in the art of manipulation, in whatever the fuck she's gotten herself tangled up into, despite her evident, to Mizu's eye, assumed discomfort. 

Auclair, next to her, huffs, suddenly amused, slurs, "so her!" and Mizu says "don't." and he puts his hands up, shrugging back into the leather cushions.

The hours tick by, too slowly, Mizu chugging water, her leg bouncing up and down from time to time, annoyed by the heat, the pounding of the music in her ears, Geraldine's laughter, how achingly beautiful she looks, how hard it is to look at her and not want to fucking explode.

She's about to get up, shrugs Auclair's hand off her shoulder, he's fucked up on wine, too far gone now, when Shindo slithers like a shadow across the club, the sight of him shocking her into complete stillness, senses prickling, like a hound stalking its prey. Her eyes narrow. She watches him walk too slowly across the room, his face cast in half light under the strobing lights overhead. He moves to Geraldine's table, shakes hands with the man next to her, laughing. He does not linger, moves to another table, joining them with a flourish.

She can feel Geraldine's eyes on her, but Mizu only looks at her for a moment, sees the lines of her eyebrows, her deep frown, deeper stare.

"come on," she tells Auclair, gets up too hastily. She does not hesitate. She walks right up to his table and plops down across from him, legs sprawled open.

There's a bottle of dark rum on the table, iced and sour.

"huh. I was just in the mood for rum." She helps herself to it, fills an empty glass, although she does not drink it.

Heiji pauses mid sentence, gives a funny look at his company, then looks back at Mizu, setting the glass of wine in his hand back down. "Do I know you?"

"Hmmm. I don't know. Do you?" she asks back. Her gaze narrows a degree.

Heiji huffs, a shaky chuckle, a strange smirk on his thin lips.

Whatever he begins to say is cut off, "where's your shadow?" she demands, and he immediately blanches, understanding flooding his expression.

He is on edge, Mizu can tell; like a mouse trapped in a glue trap, she can see his beady little eyes, frantically searching for an out, a way to evade her.

"I have no idea what you are asking me," he changes his tune, laughing sharply, switching to Japanese now. Mizu lifts a dark brow.

“you would do well to change that. This line you are about to be following? won't work on me.”

He sits back; does not dismiss his company. None of them are japanese, no one can understand them. He gives her a long, searching look, face drenched in a sinister glow, something too sharp about it, too disturbing. Mizu does not cower at it.

"you are the one who killed Violet." he draws out the words, wonder in his voice, putting a face to the name.

"the very one." she does not deny it.

"Impressive... you do not look like you have it in you; to do what they say you can do."

Mizu does not care to do this with him, sees right through him. She blinks impassively, but there are storms in her eyes, sharp, dark eyes, like the kiss of the ocean crashing into the shore.

"I could use someone like you... we do not have to be enemies, you and I, you know? We could be friends. Good friends."

At that, she snorts, slowly, says, "friends? — I look at you, and don't even see you."

He purses his lips, feigning indifference, pours out a drink for her, slides the glass across the table. Mizu senses his company slowly leave the table, notices the shift in the air, how the sudden departure makes his jaw stiffen, a glint of wild fear in his eyes. She watches him swallow, watches him tense up; his hand slips inside his jacket; she does not move, but her eyes follow the movement.

"I could give you anything you want... money. Safety. name it and I will give it to you... Killing me won't stop the contract. Killing me will make it so much worse. Ghost... you know what I think? I think you are addicted to it. To the vengeance. you have nothing if you lose that. so let me help you..." his tone of voice is a panther crawl.

"I have no interest in your money. I have no interest in what you think you can give me." she intones, her eyes cold and on Shindo, "how masterfully placed you are," she comments, then, loosely, a dark expression around the edges of her mouth. "what are the chances, hmm? Me and you, both here, tonight... you want to be my friend? tell me where he is."

His hands clench on the armrests, gripping onto the leather. He looks at her for a long time.

Then, he says, slowly, "this is the Continental." gesturing around him with a sick smile, as though it explains something very clearly to her.

"not even a ghost can haunt me here."

Mizu's eyes flick to the elevator. She sits before him, her body tense, stone still, statuesque as he studies him, unmoving.

"Is that right?"

"I believe we both know it is, Ghost." he smiles at her, all teeth, and reaches for his glass.

Mizu nods.

She answers by grabbing the back of his neck and slamming his head against the edge of the table —breaking his nose—before shoving his face into the bucket of cold water and ice meant to keep the bottle cool. The world around them explodes in a frenzy of panic, shrill screams piercing through the pounding of the music. A long beat, and she pulls him back up for air.

"I have a name," she growls at him.

Behind his back, Mizu snaps his wrist, and — as she drives his face back beneath the water— snaps one finger after the next. Underwater, Heiji screams, struggling. His mouth fills up with ice, and he is spasming against her hold, unable to escape. Mizu pulls him free. Chaos erupts all around them, but is silenced by the deafening music, the ringing in her ears; her vision blurs, she can't see past him, and what it means, breaking him.

She feels someone grab at the back of her jacket, and she rams Heiji's face back into the glass table, shattering it into pieces, turns around and grabs at their throat, fingers digging savagely through their skin. She disarms him, grabs him by the neck and shoves herself powerfully against him like a battering ram with all her weight, shoves him down against the shards of glass with her on top of him; he hits it with his face, and howls, the floor splattered with blood. Everyone around her is rushing to the exits, and for a moment, she stills, follows that bright, focused line blinking furiously in her mind, filling up the edges of her vision; she pulls back the slide, studies the pistol with a keen eye, releases it; hurriedly reaches into the pockets of the guard she's just taken down, searching for bullets; too swiflty, she loads a clip with them, and slides it into the pistol: locked and loaded.

Mizu gets up, movements tight and precise, ducks for cover as bullets explode all around her, presses her shoulder to the back of the sofa, adrenaline rushing through her blood. The world around her narrows down to the dull pounding of her pulse, her senses overloaded, chasing after the sounds of footsteps thundering furiously across the floor, men searching for her.

She watches Heiji twitch on the floor, try to drag himself away, blood seeping through his shirt, his face twisted horrifically. She ducks around the sofa, then presses herself onto the floor, a bullet whizzing past her. She is furious. Her eyes dark and wild, searching frantically for Shindo.

She tenses, ears prickling, and drags herself across the floor, takes cover behind another couch.

A beat and she gets up, but someone pounces on her, grabs her arms; Mizu furiously twists at an odd angle, causing him to lose his grasp. With her one arm free, she reaches up, grabs his neck, her fingers ripping into skin and muscle, howling with rage, blood pounding, the music booming in time with her heart beats; she can hear him scream, stumble backwards with a cry, two other men pouncing upon her... they are too close, she tries to shoot at them blindly, but she can't; she grunts, shoves at one of them, her jacket tearing; she does not panic, Mizu never does; she swiftly removes a knife from a shoulder holster under her jacket, driving it into the side of one man's neck once, twice, three times, pantingly furious screams in her throat, before releasing the blade, arching her back, and wrapping her legs around the second guard's neck, tensing until his neck breaks with a dry snap. She loses her balance and falls backwards with the weight of his dead body toppling on top of her, and she grabs at him, uses the body as a shield, shooting blindly.

She expertly fires off four shots, killing another two men each with a pair of bullets. She's gasping, feels blood spill from the side of her neck, and puts her hand to it for a moment, her fingers coming away slick; Mizu pushes the body off her and rolls over, dragging herself to her feet, rapidly taking cover behind the bar, bullets flying, etching up along the bar and into the mirrors above it, shattering them all around her.

She is panting, checking the chamber for bullets. She is light. There's blood on her chin, gushing from between her teeth, and her hair has spilt from her bun around her shoulders, damp with sweat, sticking to her neck.

Into the shards of glass remaining above the bar, she can see another four men aprpoaching.

Okay. Shit. She frantically slaps her hand around the floor, finds a large shard of glass.

Miso watches one of the gunmen slowly approach, and as he rounds the bar, she fires. His left leg disappears as he sinks to the floor, screaming. Mizu fires again, hitting him in the chest. The other three run towards the commotion; she swirls through the air, jumping over the bar, fires at a gunman in the open doorway, sending him spinning out into the hallway. She lands onto the floor, and quickly sits up, heart pounding, screaming as she powerfully throws the shard of glass into the throat of a guard, unerringly tearing it open, shoots the other gunman a second time in the back, dead in a blink.

She pulls herself onto her feet, slips in a puddle of blood, steadies herself on the edge of the bar. Heiji is still dragging himself across the floor, and Mizu throws herself at him savagely, rolling him offer and driving her fist into his mouth. Blood bubbles hot and crimson between his lips and he spits, drowning in it, croaks out please.

"Where is he?"

His eyes roll over, blinking at the elevator. His head lolls to the side. Mizu is about to punch him again, but she hears more feet pounding across the hallway outside, and she quickly drags herself across the floor, sweeps up another gun; checks the chamber. It's empty.

She moves like lightning, picks up another one, cocks it expertly and shoots at the doorway at the exact moment a gunman appears, the bullet smashing into his forehead. They come crashing into the bar then, too many of them, bullets riddling the room, and she zigzags her way through them, ducks and falls down, slithers on her elbows over the floor, under a sofa, takes aim and quickly fires off shot after shot at them, at hands and kneecaps, disarming them. Only one of them manages to get close, grabbing at her throat, but she is faster, and on him, dumping rounds into his sternum and stomach, and over his shoulder, at the rest of the men that come sprinting towards them until she empties the gun; knocking him back, she grabs his shotgun, flipping it, shoving it under his chin and pulling the trigger.

She gets up and runs towards the elevator in the back, blinks at the buttons. There is the floor she came from, then the ground floor; the one leading to the parking lot, too, and then another one. A penthouse. She presses it and nothing happens. She blinks, pulse pounding, synapses flashing.

She pads back to Heiji, but Okiyama, one of Heiji's men, comes crashing into her side, pulling her down onto the floor; he's huge and muscled, arms too thick and broad, heavily tattooed. His hands immediately wrap around her throat, squeezing, and Mizu gasps, feels him powerfully pin her down; thrice her size, he growls into her face, an animal snarl, his hands tightening impossibly. She reaches up, scratching at his face, his eyes, fingers viciously digging into skin, but he pulls away from it, baring his teeth. Mizu punches him savagely into the side, her fists driving into his ribs, cracking them, splitting the skin open, but he does not budge for long, presses back into it. She blinks rapidly, thrashing on the floor, gasps under the pressure, her face red and furious.

Suddenly, a bottle is smashed over his head, and Okiyama reels back from the brutal blow, stunned, his arms slipping from her throat; Mizu sucks in a breath furiously, rolls over onto her elbows, dragging herself away, blindly reaching for her gun on the floor. Her vision is swimming but she can make out Geraldine's shape against the low light of the bar. Her heart stops. She quickly grabs the gun, sits back, takes aims and fires at him before he can reach Geraldine.

The bullet shoots his ear off, and he howls, throws himself at Mizu, but she rolls away fast, panting through her nose, her vision fuzzy, the vague shape of Geraldine floating in and out of it. Mizu gets up, grabs at a bottle from the bar and throws it at him. He tries to dodge it but it crashes into his face, Mizu too fast, her aim too accurate, even half blind from being strangled, to miss. She doesn't waste the chance; she swings into the momentum, throws herself at him as he blindly covers his eyes, blinking through the shards of glass ripping into them as Mizu sends him crashing onto his back with her weight on top of him. He punches blindly and hits her in the jaw and she growls in fury, feels her gun go flying out of her hand. She presses down, tries to hold him there. Geraldine swiftly reaches for Mizu's gun and comes running to her, hands her the gun. "hold him down!" Mizu gasps, and Geraldine throws all of her weight onto one of his shoulders, pinning it to the floor as Mizu uses her own weight against his chest. She presses the gun into his throat and fires, but it's empty and she blinks, startled, doesn't stop, does not know how to, gasping furiously through her open mouth, reaches for her tie in her back pocket, wraps it around his neck as she presses her knee to the center his chest and throws all of her weight into pulling. He gurgles and thrashes wildly, making a squelching, sucking sound, but both of them hold him down desperately, Geraldine not looking, her eyes on the wall behind Mizu, and full of tears; Mizu's on him, fierce and unblinking as she screams and pulls roughly, tensing her arm and squeezing until she hears his neck snap. He twitches once, then slumps over, dead.

Drenched in sweat, Mizu sits back, chasing her breath. Her body is pumping with adrenaline. She gets up and looks for a gun, discards the empty ones.

She sees Geraldine on her knees next to him, trembling.

"are you okay?" she goes to her, presses her fingers under her chin, tilts her head up, searching her eyes.

Geraldine's lower lip quivers. She shakes her head, and Mizu presses her close, presses a quick kiss to her forehead.

"come on." she grabs her hand, pulls her to her feet, but Geraldine breaks away and walks on unsteady feet towards Heiji, half dead on the floor. She grabs the knife he's holding, and Mizu sees her kneel near him, studying the blade for a moment; her shouldes lift with a sharp inhale and then, she uses it to cut off his thumb. Mizu blinks, understanding flooding her as Geraldine hands her the finger.

Mizu hands her the gun, says go, but Geraldine protests, her voice breaking, desperate. Says, no! I will come with you, and Mizu presses her hand, will not hear it.

"No. Go hide. I'll find you."

Geraldine wants to protest again, her expression disjointed, but she nods, her throat flooded with tension. Her eyes are red, and wet, wide open.

"You need the gun." Geraldine tries to give it back to Mizu, her voice a trembling whisper.

"I don't need the gun. You keep it. I'll be fine."

Mizu draws her close, presses her lips to the side of her throat before she seals a ‘kiss’ where her neck and jaw connect. "I promise."

She walks away to the elevator, presses the pad of Heiji's thumb to the last button, and this time, it works. Mizu enters, turns around, watches Geraldine walk towards the exit, her hands shaking.

Before the doors close, their eyes meet.

The ride up to the penthhouse happens in a blink; her senses are in overdrive, like she's cliff-diving.

The doors open and she sinks into the darkness of the hallway sprawling long and narrow in front of her.

She can hear the distant ticking of a clock, slow music pulsing through the walls.

She slithers through the hallways, hands tight, clenched into fists.

She halts her step outside a door, hears something click. Something sharps rips through her stomach, a chill she can’t escape. It is a wide, empty darkness, the world around her, and her throat is closed at the base of it. She slowly pushes the door open, reaching across the glacial silence to find a ghost staring back at her from across the room.

Not Fowler, she thinks, rage exploding through her veins; he's not here, he's not anywhere, he's a fucking ghost, just like her, a shadow, she won't ever be able to reach him, fuck fuck fuck...

But then, the man's face comes swimming into view, cast in half light. His eyes are shockingly blue, and sharp, glinting like the edge of a knife. He's got a deep scar by his mouth, black and thick.

She stares at him, recognition tearing through her memory like a bullet and she recoils against it, eyes wide. She would never forget his face, swallowed up in flames. Her mother dead in the bathtub.

Her mother's voice, shrill, screaming at her to run.

She blinks, her mouth twitching.

They stare at each other for a long time, and he says, "look... I do not know you." holds his hands up. His breath stinks. Even from where she's standing, she can smell it, the alcohol on him. His shirt is only half buttoned.

It is a slow moon, outside. The clock ticks ticks ticks; she can hear the click of his boots against the floorboards as he takes a small step towards her, says I am not who you want. I am not who you are looking for.

Her pain is a howl and she won't look away. Her fingers are tight, could explode her bones into him, tear him to shreds.

"you don't remember me, do you?" she asks, takes a measured step towards him. Her face comes into the light, drenched in blood and horrible.

"look at me. who am I?" she asks when he doesn't answer the question.

Her pulse howls so loud in the silence that envelopes them that she can’t hear anything else.

"who am I?" she hisses, her voice a cruel, bitter growl.

Everything around them stills to complete motionlessness, an indigo blackness. She can feel her heart pound up her throat.

She's faster than him. When he surges forwards, she's already throwing herself at him, pushing him down onto the floor with her on top of him, her fist a black blur as she drives it into his face over and over again, screaming until her voice breaks, until every last bone in her body rings with it, her knuckles raw and torn, blood trickling down his face, gushing from his mouth and shattered nose. It's over too quickly, but she keeps punching him until his bones crack, until hers crack, too, then drags herself away on her hand and knees, panting for breath.

It doesn't feel like it did with Violet.

She swims on her knees and elbows, stills herself against the wall, trying to get up. When she does, she immediately drives her bloodied fist through the wall, roaring in agony, her throat like a wound, raw and aching.

She doesn't linger. She feels her feet take her to the bathroom, looks at herself in the mirror, once, then looks away; her face is cut by glass, fresh wounds seeping hot blood.

At the sink, she watches herself turn on the cold water tap, splash it frantically up into her face, watches it swirl the last of the blood off her hands. She drags a towel over her face, her pulse sputtering. She presses it against her face, digs her teeth into it and screams.

Then, it's over again, the moment, the explosion. She tosses the towel into the sink and leaves, moving quickly, running down the stairs when she reaches the emergency exit. She can hear footsteps pounding against the upper floor overhead, and knows they're looking for her. Everyone will be looking for her.

She runs down the stairs until she reaches the bottom and throws her shoulder into the heavy steel gate leading to the underground parking lot, walks hurriedly across it, can feel them hot on her back, they will be coming, the whole of Paris will be coming for her.

A car rips through the lot, the tires screeching to a stop.

"come on!" Geraldine's voice is urgent, and Mizu does not question it, how she always does this, momentary relief flooding her. She is on auto pilot, her body moving on its own, gets in the car. The gun Mizu had given her is on the dashboard, and she reaches for it, cocks it.

And then, the whole of Paris is on them.

Mizu in the passenger seat, Geraldine speeding through the city; Mizu's phone goes off, and she hisses as she moves, pulling her torn jacket off, Geraldine hitting a bump on the road, making her jostle. It's Kaji. "yeah?" she says as she answers the call, already knows what she wants. Already knows she's heard what she's done, the 'sacred' rules she's broken; Mizu knows she's been excommunicated, no one will let her into any Continental ever again, no one will work with her, sell her a gun, the bounty on her head tripled.

"what have you done?" she's never heard Kaji sound like this.

"Finished it."

"Finished what? Do you have any idea what this means for you?" her voice falters.

"You shouldn't be calling me. Goodbye, Kaji." she says evenly, her face twisted into a pained expression, her shoulder killing her. She ends the call, throws the phone out the window.

The car roars down the street, tires clawing at the earth as it rounds a tight corner. Hold on! Geraldine's voice breaks with a sudden fear as she glances in the rearview window, sees four cars chasing after them.

"okay." Mizu says but slams against the door anyway when Geraldine slams her foot down on the gas and crashes through the garage door of a building, tires squealing as she pulls a vicious one-eighty, the righting itself and leaping out onto the street, gaining momentum, escaping them.

Mizu blinks at her, half shocked, exhales what the fuck?

"I told you to hold on!"

"there's more." Mizu points out tightly, and Geraldine screams an angry little fuck!, and Mizu would have laughed if Geraldine did not look as scared as she did despite how insanely she was driving; she takes the gun in her left hand, shifts, and leans out of the window. "too far away!" she says and Geraldine makes that sound again, says "god, I hate you."

She lets the distance grow smaller, and at the last moment, she violently twists the steering wheel— barely avoiding the Mustang barreling down towards them from the other side. Mizu fires off shot after shot, expertly killing the drivers, leaving the first car crashing into a wall, the second one crashing into the first one, the remaining passengers screaming in horror in the moments before it happens; one of the cars explodes, engulfing both of them in flames.

Geraldine exhales, darts her eyes to Mizu, asks, "are they gone?"

"there will be more. just drive."

"fuck." she sounds more terrified than angry, and Mizu gives her a look, watches her profile, feels her heart pound up her throat.

"it'll be okay."

"alright." Geraldine says, nodding because she has to; because they have to.

There is another one, and then another; she evades the first, wrists flicking the wheel. The second one blows down the streets after them, in full pursuit.

"Mizu?" Geraldine asks, flicking her eyes to the rearview mirror.

Mizu twists, says under her breath. "I got it." as she takes aim; the last of her bullets, has got to make it count. Ahead, the street banks downhill to left and Geraldine takes a sharp turn, just as Mizu fires off three rounds, the bullets crashing through the tinted dashboard of the sedan, enough to shock its driver into losing control, barreling off the street.

Geraldine slams her foot down again and charges off into the distance, tires squealing.

iii. Kagutsuchi

Afterwards, everything is a blur. Geraldine drives for a long time, takes them outside the city. Stops at a gas station, gets water, gets alcohol, thread, a needle.

Back in the car, she will not look at Mizu. Tells her to take off her shirt. "you're covered in blood. Come outside." she has parked behind the gas station, off the road, has switched the headlights off.

Mizu lets her unbutton her shirt, feels the gentleness of her fingers against her skin as she does so, hisses when Geraldine pours water over her, wipes the blood away. Looks at her face, cast in strange light, her eyes soft, lit with the moon.

"are you okay?" she hears herself ask and Geraldine just gives her a quick look, says "this will hurt a little." Her hands are on the side of her neck, soft, tender; Mizu's head is spinning. She growls when she feels the needle pierce through her skin and Geraldine shushes her; Mizu is pressed up against the side of the car, enveloped in the darkness, out of view. "hold this" Geraldine gives her her phone, the flashlight turned on, instructs her to hold it up so she can stitch up the tear in the side of her neck. So Mizu does.

Feels her hands stroke her skin, bandage up her wrist. Feels their softness, too soft, delicate, she barely feels the sting of it as she stitches her up. When Geraldine says, done, Mizu swallows, her heart racing. She can smell her perfume, the sweet scent of her skin, her sweat. "thank you." she says, and Geraldine just hands her a shirt. Mizu blinks. Surely they do not sell shirts at gas stations in France? "don't even ask." Geraldine rolls her eyes, and it's tiny, but it's there, the lightness. Like she can finally let herself take a breath. "just wear it."

"how much did you have to pay to get him to give it to you?" Mizu asks, amused.

"I can't believe you!" Geraldine snaps in that angry little voice, but Mizu finds it cute; finds it lovely, she is lovely, everything about her is so, fucking lovely, and perfect. "don't laugh!" Geraldine snaps again and Mizu just buttons the shirt up, can see the small smile kissing the edge of Geraldine's lips. "fucking idiot" Geraldine mumbles, walking back to the driver's side and Mizu just laughs again.

Geraldine drives them to a hotel, the one she's been staying at for however long she's been in Paris, Mizu realizes.

When she locks the door behind them, she immediately heads off towards the bathroom to wash the night off of her. Mizu hears her lock the door and rolls her eyes, lays her body down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She lifts her hand and stares at it, its outline hazy in the low light. She feels her eyes shut, feels her body sink into it, the darkness that's swallowing her up.

When she opens them again, Geraldine is on the other side of the bed, a cigarette in her hand, staring at the ceiling, too. The lights are switched off, except for the lamp on the bedside table. She must have passed out. She stares at her, blinking slowly, her senses still warm with sleep. The wound in her neck is throbbing. Geraldine's eyes are red, and that startles Mizu awake; she wonders if she's been crying.

"look at me." she drawls, her voice a smoky whisper in the darkness. Geraldine is taken aback, a tiny gasp spilling from her lips, her eyes flicking over to Mizu.

"are you crying?"

"no." she says, and then, not wanting Mizu to press it, says, "you passed out."

Mizu looks at her, her eyes trailing over her face, searching it. Geraldine shifts a little and the dress she's wearing rides up her thigh. Mizu's eyes are immedietly drawn to her legs; her perfume comes to her, the warm scent of her skin floating through the air; she could get drunk off it, her sweetness; it short-circuits her senses. Mizu feels her mouth water, tingling. She says, "smoking is not allowed in hotel rooms." which makes Geraldine give her a look. "nothing we've done tonight is 'allowed', Mizu." she informs her.

Mizu rolls onto her side and doesn't say anything for a while, just watches her take drags of her cigarette, watches her mouth, the smoke sprawling out of her open lips.

She reaches out and puts her hand on her thigh, says, "what is it?"

Feels Geraldine's leg tense below her touch, sees heat rise in her face, climbing the slope of her neck and settling like a flame in the apples of her cheeks. Geraldine's dark lashes blink once, her tongue showing from just behind slightly parted lips before she licks the lower one. All the while, her gaze is on Mizu, an expression radiating something fierce, too hot, too feverish, looking to pass between the two of them in an intimate, albeit silent exchange.

When Geraldine speaks, her voice is a breathy whisper. Time stands too still, thick and pulsing with tension. "I... killed someone... I've never killed anyone." she exhales the smoke too sharply, snubs out the cigarette. Her eyes are still on Mizu. Mizu's hand is still on her thigh, stroking slowly.

She looks at her too long, her brows furrowing.

"we had to." Mizu says, surprised by the confession, her throat closing up. "and you didn't kill him. I did."

"but I held him down and—"

"I did it. we had to. I had to."

Geraldine doesn't say anything for a while, just stares down at Mizu's hand on her thigh. She sighs, puts her hand over Mizu's and presses it tighter to her thigh, parts her legs slightly. She gives her a quick look. Her eyes are very dark. Mizu shifts, pulls her hand away and moves to sit close to her, on the side of the bed.

Geraldine's teeth are like tiny pearls against the flesh of her mouth, and Mizu feels a sudden rush of arousal run through her like a knife, the tension in her abdomen tight and hot; she reaches out to touch that mouth — god, that mouth; soft, delicate, crimson with lipstick— tracing its shape, and it opens like a flower, like a flame, sucking her fingers slowly between her lips, Geraldine's tongue slick and warm against them, swirling hungrily around her fingers, taking them in deeper, as though the taste of her skin does something to her— and it does; Geraldine makes that sound again, that breathless, pained little cry of pleasure and Mizu can feel her teeth sink into the flesh of her thumb, feel the low rumbling of her moans against her skin, and she's done for, her pulse shatters in her throat.

Growling lowly in the back of her throat, Mizu grabs her waist and pulls her roughly onto her lap, feels Geraldine's hands frantically fumble with her trousers as she sweeps her hand over the line of her back, grabs a fistful of her ass, presses her hard to her to tease with a bit of friction between them. “Come on, then” Mizu says, “like you mean it.” her other hand falls off her ass, slipping under her dress, between her thighs, feverishly delving between the folds of her cunt with such furious, fierce want that it makes Geraldine cry out sharply around her fingers, makes her thighs quiver. Mizu hisses, feels another jolt of arousal rip through her.

She takes her time, slipping her fingers in and out of the perfect, wet heat of her mouth, pressing her thumb against her clit over and over through her panties before pushing the lacy material aside, enough to be able to slip her middle and ring fingers into her cunt, fucking into her sweet folds again and again, her hand slow, languid, watching her quiver and tremble on her lap, aching for more; she fucks into her like this until she cannot take it any longer, she has to take her harder or she'll explode, but when Geraldine cries out in desperation, says please. fuck, please— Mizu stills the hand between her legs to complete motionlessness, whispers. No— ride my hand.

And she does, god, she does, she's a wild thing on her lap, feral with desire; she clutches at her shoulders and rolls her hips violently back and forth, lets Mizu's fingers sink inside her again and again, snapping her hips forward, hungered for more.

Mizu keeps her hand still, tightly pressed against her pussy, but she, too, is completely gone, hanging on by a thread; she watches her ride her hand, feels her walls spasm around her fingers, feels them quiver, god she's burning from the inside out, taking her in again and again, she's barely lifting her hips off her now, keeps her fingers buried so deep inside her, Mizu thinks nothing will ever be able to fill her like her fingers have, and the thought makes her lose it, makes her lean forward to bite into one of her breasts through the sheer material of her dress, half delirious with her want, pulling her hand out of her then slamming her fingers right back in, pumping them feverishly.

Her hand is a desperate thing inside of her then, fucking into her so furiously it makes Geraldine scream her pleasure, and Mizu lets her mouth pour over her neck, let's her tongue lick a fiery path up the slope of her throat to her cheek, growls into her ear, this what want you wanted? And Geraldine cries out, desperate, obscene, says yes yes, yes, fuck me, hot and smeared against Mizu's mouth as she tries to kiss her again, her little kisses interrupted by her cries, and for one blissful perfect minute of unimaginable, complete, ecstatic pleasure, she fucks her— deeply, harder, burying her fingers to the hilt, then pulling out at a pace that drives Geraldine wild, has her tossing her head back and crying out in pleasure, again and again and again.

Mizu goes on kissing her throat, the slope of her neck, slow and hard, her other hand moving to stroke and caress over her breasts, and Geraldine sighs with pleasure, trembling as Mizu grasps her closer and pumps her fingers faster, pulses her hand against her pussy, her touch fierce and urgent. Geraldine wriggles around them deliciously, her warm breath tickling Mizu's ear as she sucks sweet, deep kisses over the curve of it, quivering through a series of thrusts, each deeper, each tearing a little more at her her tightness until Mizu's fingers are as deep inside her as they could, pulsing, and Geraldine squeals, biting into the muscled peak of Mizu's shoulder; her body is crying out for completion, now, it is starvation, agony, and she tries to speak through her shallow gasps, to beg her, but it comes out a sobbing whimper until Mizu's pulling her hand away slowly, letting her feel the loss, leaving only the tips of her fingers pressed against her cunt, and it's that lazy, slick glide again, that gentle, torturously slow caressing, her fingers sliding inside her to find the wetness, stroking before they return to her clit and circle it slowly.

"Shh—" Mizu slows the motion of her fingers, rubbing her pussy softly now, then, abruptly, too abruptly, pulling her fingers out of her completely and giving her thigh a soft slap. "Sit still." Mizu drawls, something too dark and raspy in her voice, made somehow even deeper from desire. She tears her dress off, her hands impatient, revealing lace. She gathers the swells of her breasts in her hands and squeezes softly, a low, dark hum thrumming in the back of her throat. She takes her time, palming the mounds of her breasts, rubbing at her nipples through her lace with her thumbs, feeling her calloused pads drag against the stiff skin there, and Geraldine, she is a mess, desperately pawing at her, one of her hands slipping between Mizus thighs, touching her, wanting, wanting her pussy, wanting to feel Mizu, too, but Mizu's left hand lashes out and grabs her wrist. She clicks her tongue in disapproval, grabs both of her hands and forcibly puts them on the peaks of her shoulders, says, a low warning in her throat, "hold still. let me look at you." and Geraldine just whimpers, swallows around the mewl that thrums in her throat.

Mizu returns her attention to her breasts. Licking her lips, she unclasps her bra and pulls it off, watches as the swells of her breasts spill free, and her mouth dries up. She makes a dark, growling sound and fists them again, dragging her thumbs over the generous swells of them, toying with her nipples, pinching them slowly. She leans in and flicks her tongue hotly over one nipple, a slow, broad stroke, loving her softness, how deliciously she smells, her perfume drenching the air, drenching Mizu's tongue, too intense, warmed by her blood. Mizu swirls her tongue around her nipple, her hand squeezing the other breast. She sucks slowly, sucks it into her mouth, moaning when she feels Geraldine's body tense up, feels her thighs quiver, struggling to hold still. Her mouth is hot and insistent, sliding against her breasts, sucking deep, hard kisses all over them, her hands all over them too, pinching her nipples before her tongue pours over them, soothing the sting. Her right hand buries into the hair behind Geraldine's head, and tugs, dragging her down into a hot, slick, open-mouthed kiss, feeling her moan into it, feeling her teeth sink into her lips like she wants to devour her, biting harshly. There is only centimeters between them when Mizu ultimately draws back to breathe, her gaze stoked embers and blown-out pupils. She licks her lips again, this time tasting remnants of their kiss, and bends her head, sucks on her pulse point, her teeth and tongue rough all over her neck.

Geraldine goes taut against her, spasming uncontrollably, sobbing the words out through wet, shallow gasps, her breath completely shattered in her throat. "I'll die. I'll fucking die." She sounds like it.

Mizu will fucking die, too. Unhinged, she gasps, her hand gripping onto her hair, pressing her close, whispering a hot, breathy fuck, wet and low in Geraldine's ear, and then, I wanna fuck you. I will fuck you— that makes Geraldine completely come undone, make a sharp, sobbing little sound that drives Mizu absolutely wild.

She gathers her up in her arms, feels her shake as she wraps her legs around Mizu, and she rolls them over, presses her down on the bed, blind with want, splays her down onto the edge and sinks to her knees between her thighs as Geraldine spreads her legs open for her, panting in anticipation. She tugs and pulls at her panties, trying to pull them across because she wants Mizu inside her, wants her tongue and her fingers, and Mizu helps her, grabbing at the lace and practically tearing it off her.

Mizu begins to kiss her inner thighs, her tongue joining the prowl of teeth and lips as she chases the incline of her leg to the apex of her thigh.

The sounds of pleasure fill the room, then. Heavy breaths, deep drawn-out sighs, that soon sharpen info frantic, keening wails of pure pleasure as Mizu buries her mouth between her thighs with greed. Her tongue delves between Geraldine's folds with deep, indulgent strokes. Geraldine feels her nose bump against her clit as Mizu thoroughly tastes her, draws the full length of her tongue across every last inch of her cunt, tasting her wetness, inhaling the lovely scent, moaning. It is something very akin to a fucking miracle that Geraldine does not immediately come, what with the sheer indulgence that Mizu's mouth demands. Mizu isn’t afraid to taste her, her nose often nudging against her clit as she maintains to taste her deeper, still, harder, still, growling into the sweet, slick heat of her pussy. Her fingers curl against her hips, digging into the soft skin as they drag down the slopes of her thighs, spreading her legs wider.

Frantic, sharp cries and moans are torn from Geraldine's throat, her name filling her mouth as she cries out in pleasure, beginning to topple over, sensing the heat of her tongue, the fierce ferocity of it as it licks into her cunt over and over again and a half-growled hum that promises a certain dark devotion, Mizu's focus shifting rather abruptly to her clit, causing her to quiver as a moan is drawn forth, sharp and abrupt. The tip of her tongue circles around it, rolling flat against it as she opens her eyes, content to watch her unraveling — Geraldine does not deny her it. Gripping onto Mizu's hair, she gives it an almost possessive tug, screams, too shrilly. Mizu grunts as Geraldine feverishly squeezes her thighs against her face, and fucks her with her mouth more roughly, her hand slipping between her legs to rub her clit, fuck into her again, until she feels the muscles in Geraldine's legs give way, until delicate fingers claw at the back of her neck and hair with fevered, delirious need, and her body rises up as the first wave hits.

Geraldine's voice breaks as she screams, and then she’s coming hard on her tongue and fingers, succumbing wholly to the sensation, every last jolt of electricity. Her hands are in Mizu's hair, firmly holding her head in place. Mizu doesn’t stop until she is trembling, hips jerking against her tongue and mouth from the sheer sensitivity of her aching, overstimulated clit, moaning at the feeling of her cunt dripping down her chin. Her mouth chases after her pussy when Geraldine shifts away, too fucked out, her hands grabbing her thighs and pulling her back to her mouth, sucking and lapping at her clit, licking messily all over her pussy through the post-orgasm sensitivity.

Then, Mizu draws her lips off her slowly, whispering fuck, baby, a very wet mouth imposing an unkempt line of kisses to her inner thighs, breathing harshly, her chin so wet, it glistens, and Geraldine is frantic, desperately clutching at Mizu, drawing her up to her, saying, come here. come here, wanting to touch Mizu, her hand frantic on her zipper, slipping inside, touching her, and Mizu makes a breathy little sound, too high, too needy; she presses her forehead to Geraldine's chest, feels her fingers pulse against her pussy, wanting her; she says, fuck, too roughly, too hard, suddenly tense; she grabs her hand and pulls it away, can't stand the ache of it; how much she wants this; it makes her sick, the pleasure, when it is not her giving it; wrong, strange, a vulnerability that shames her.

Startled, Geraldine blinks at her, her chest rising and falling too quickly.

Mizu pushes herself away from her and the bed, doesn't say a word, and Geraldine leans up on her elbows, out of breath, watches her storm off to the bathroom, hears the water turn on.

Mizu strips off, steps into the cold stream of water, unflinchingly, presses her hands to the wall and bends her head, lets the cold water pour over her like a punishment.

From the half open door, Geraldine watches her, watches the tight mucles in her back ripple with tension. Geraldine is breathing through her mouth, too harshly, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks rapidly. She doesn't understand this.

She watches Mizu stand stone-still under the water; stares at the muscles of her abdomen, her arms, and her legs, too tight with lithe muscle, the bulk of her strength in practice and appearance. There’s a softness to her hips, though, to the curve of her waist and the small of her back. Many scars mark her skin, most old and healed over with time; she's got burn marks running all the way from the back of her neck down to her waist.

Geraldine pushes herself off the bed and somehow manages to make her knees work. She steps into the shower with her, tries to touch her, but Mizu grips her hand, softly, says, "don't. it's cold." and Geraldine looks at her, startled.

She doesn't say anything. She wraps her arms around Mizu and presses her chest to Mizu's back. Mizu stiffens, too taut, her entire body cold and tense, but she doesn't shrug her off.

She doesn't bother with soap. Stands under the water for a while, her heart pounding. She turns the water off. Afterwards, Geraldine watches her dress, her eyes on her hips, her breasts, smaller than hers but lovely. She watches Mizu stare back at her, but doesn't say anything, neither of them does. Mizu's hair is loose and long, wet against her skin.

Mizu comes to bed and lays down next to her, stifly, but then, when Geraldine draws the covers over Mizu, Mizu pulls her into her arms, even if it's a little too stiff. She's so cold.

Still, Geraldine doesn't mention it, just presses herself to Mizu, presses her mouth to her throat, warming her.

Somehow, they fall asleep.

"I should go," Geraldine says, in the morning. Her eyes are dark—not as dark as Mizu's, but dark, and sharper, less patient than what Mizu remembers them—she can’t help but look at her. Watch her shrug on her jacket, pull on her thigh high boots.

She’s more beautiful, having fucked her, and Mizu desperately thinks this is unfair, this is cruel—she should have worked this out of her system, now that she’s touched her tits and her cunt and that mouth. But if anything, it's somehow sharper, the hunger she feels around her, the pull. If anything, it's deeper, that sweet, odd ache, the wanting and wanting. The desire.

"go where?" Mizu asks, brows furrowed. Her fingers clench and unclech, fighting off the urge to grab her arm and pull her back to her.

Geraldine kisses her on the mouth, and Mizu tries not to flinch away from the press of her lips, tries not to pull her back when she repeats her question and Geraldine only says "won't take long". She watches her go, she watches her leave, and then she’s gone, and she sits alone, on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands. 

Afterwards, Mizu meets her at the door, and she can tell when Geraldine tastes the smoke on her tongue; mostly because she pulls away, squints at her. "you smoked?" Geraldine asks and Mizu just says, "You came back," she says it like a question, and Geraldine gives her a stange look because of course she did.

"Always," she says. "am I not obsessed with you?"

"yeah. right." Mizu snorts.

Geraldine tosses a bag at her, says "here."

There are clean clothes her size inside, a gun, bullets. "we will be getting you a passport too. A new ID..." she says, says it like it's normal, and Mizu thinks, of course it is. This is Skeffington's daughter. Still, she asks, "how?" and Geralinde sends her a look over her shoulder, says, "everyone's my friend, remember?"

Mizu does not question it. Geraldine asks her if she's hungry and she says, famished, which for some reason makes Geraldine laugh. She likes it, that sound. Making her laugh.

She wants to pull it out of her again.

She sits at the little table at the kitchen, and watches her cook, listens to her talk about how they have to lay low, how Mizu has to keep a low profile, stay out of sight, no one will find her here, she just has to be patient, but Mizu is staring at her mouth, the elegant economy of her hands as she works on dinner, the curve of her hips, her waist, so willowy, an excessively tightened belt around it; she can fit it between her hands she thinks, and her mouth tingles.

"I am serious." Geraldine says and Mizu gives her a look, shrugs. "me too." and then, when she squints her eyes at Mizu, she almost says, you’re always so skittish. always one foot out the door, but swallows it down, says, "you are beautiful."

"are you okay?" Geraldine asks and Mizu shrugs again.

The days that follow are a blur, but then, a soft one, she's had it worse before; they fuck frantically, but Mizu always pulls away when Geraldine tries to reciprocate, does not let her touch her, pins her down when she protests; Geraldine does not talk to her afterwards, sometimes — watches Mizu come out of the shower, cold and detached, watches her try to work out, work around the pain, she is still fucking aching everywhere, gulping down painkillers like they're her addiction; sometimes she just wants to hold her, huffs when Mizu shrugs her off, holds her tighter, does not let her pull away until Mizu relents.

Mizu looks like an electrical storm waiting to happen, sometimes. There is thunder in the way she cracks her bones, the way she stands the window, staring out at nothing, how she moves slow, controlled, everything about her is so, dark and hungered, even the way she looks at you has teeth, Geraldine tells her once, drunk off mini bar bourbon, and Mizu snorts at her.

Mizu watches Geraldine cook and eats with her, scowls when Geradline makes fun of her for eating too sloppily; does the dishes because when she tries to offer to cook Geraldine just laughs and says no, thank you, and sometimes, I'll pass, a comical expression on her face. Geraldine is drinking her coffee with too much sugar, and Mizu makes a face; they lay drunk on the living room rug, passing a cigarette back and forth, Geraldine laughing when Mizu coughs, choking on the smoke. Calls her a baby and weak.  "shut up." Mizu says, and offers her a mini snickers and Geraldine laughs again, says what the fuck? where did this come from? unwraps it without blinking. She puts it in her mouth and lets in melt on her tongue, kisses Mizu right after, slow and hard.

Mizu looks for her at the start of every morning, draws her close under the covers, even if she does it only when she's sleepy; needs her when she is not in her hands, in her arms, in her mouth —tells herself this is a mistake, this is addiction, it is just she and her in the world, this is what this is, desperation; Geraldine is not safe with her, she does not really want her, it will pass.

— but, god. How she looks when she is flushed under her and that smile curls around her lips and her hair is messy and she is panting. She wants her; can't deny her. She fucks her, maybe too roughly, but she loves the ache. Slides hands too hot over her body, feels her moan under her, gasps when Geraldine chokes her when she rides her, and it turns her whole body into fire. It somehow makes it bearable, this sweet ache; the agony, the anger, the desperation to go back out there; finish what she's started. It's a week, and then another, she loses count of the days...

Then, when Geraldine comes back with a new passport, an ID for her, Mizu feels like she is losing something, but she knows what she's lost more than enough of, is time.

"I don't even know what you are thinking." she is standing by the window, Mizu sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I need to get back to New York. To the Itohs."

Geraldine frowns, her arms are crossed over her chest.

"your family?" she asks.

"they owe me. they have to help me."

"even if they do owe you; they won't just say yes. you killed men on Continental grounds. you are excommunicated. all of your privileges have been revoked and the high council wants your head. you are a moving target, Mizu. trackers are looking for you everywhere. no matter where you go, you won't be safe..." she sounds hurt. Like she wants to keep her here, close to her where she is safe, forever.

"can your friend get me there?" Mizu asks plainly.

"yeah... yeah, she can."

Geraldine eyes her phone. The bounty has gone up yet again. A beat and she tosses it to Mizu, then turns away.

She comes back after a minute, asks her if she's hungry.

"yeah."

Geraldine does not try to change her mind again.

The Itoh clan. Her blood. Her mother's blood. A powerful Yakuza syndicate, and one of the twelve organizations that holds a seat at the High Table, although, Mizu had heard Eiji claim once, that they only held a "second-rate seat."

"They are finished... after what happened... they can't do anything."

She stands before them now, neck still scarred, a tear in her lower lip, in a leather jacket, black jeans. She's got her hair down, doesn't bother with her persona. Has sought them out at the kabuki theater they meet, let them lead her down a long, dark tunnel illuminated by a lantern, a cold light washing over her. She's been brought to stand before the father of the clan, and she has bowed respect to him, her voice darker in japanese, presenting her mother's necklace to the oyabun as proof of her right to demand their help, the silver crest on the pendant glinting in the firelight.

He leans back, voice sharp, unpleasant. "you have commited high crimes against the Table. I could not possibly permit your obvious lack of loyalty to the code to go unpunished nor will I put the family at risk of punishment. You knew the rules. You broke them."

Mizu feels her fury swell, but bites back the anger, says, through her teeth, head still bowed, "I am your blood and this is my right. You are bound by our code to help me."

He shifts in his seat, gestures for someone to refill his cup with sake.

Mizu's eyes squint as she tries to focus but the light behind him is blinding her, too bright, and the peripheries of the room dim.

"this is no longer your family. your mother ran away from it." he says and Mizu squints harder, feels the bile rise in the back of her throat.

"do you have any... do you even realize what she did to us? to our honor? our name?"

"I am still your blood."

"You’re forgetting, we’re still under The Table…"

Mizu stares, anger cutting the pain her mother's mention has called forth.

"I must insist." and when he does not say anything, she adds "you will deny your own blood for them?"

He shifts his gaze over her, stays silent for a long time.

"will you swear yourself to the family if we help you?"

Mizu is too good at lying. They are not her family. "I will."

"How many did you kill to get out?"

"Too many."

"you’ll only have to kill one to get what you seek from us." protection. a way into a High Table family that would shield her from what the Table has unleashed after her... after Geraldine.

She can't deny them anything; to hunt down Fowler, she must be free.

"Give me the name."

"you don't need a name."

He leans in. His breath stinks, sour, too much death in it.

"they've betrayed us. they've made a fool out of the clan, too many times now." he says angrily, whispers the address into her ear. Someone in a mask, their face burned. Mizu stares at the photo she's shown before it's snatched away.

"go. bring proof of death."

A score of hard looking Japanese men in gray suits, white shirts, open collars, irezumi tattoos visible at necks and cuff lines are scattered around the gate of the massive building she's been sent to; but Mizu has been given a task, and she cannot fail it, not when the stakes are so high; she slithers through the shadows, swiflty, dressed in a grey suit herself, a white shirt; she has been observing them for days, knows how the rotate shifts, how they talk to each other. She climbs up the side of the fence, too silent, unassuming, quick, like a shadow; she is like smoke.

She cowers in a corner as she enters the massive ground floor, gasps when she notices a security camera humming in the ceiling, rotating slowly; she tosses one of her gloves over it; it expertly lands on the camera and covers it before it can rotate towards her, and Mizu swallows, runs up the stairs to the next floor. An elevator looms ahead, so she takes it, nods respect when a guard passes by her, does not recognize her for anything other than what she presents herself to be. He nods back, yawning as he walks away and down the stairs.

She pauses, hand hovering over the buttons; a red light flashes — and she feels her throat tighten; she doesn't have much time. She presses the button to the top floor.

When she emerges, she blinks, surprised. The walls are entirely made out of glass, bathed in a low blue light. Weapons displays, traditional japanese art, and flickering lights. Figures appear up ahead, flittering through the glass and Mizu ducks around a corner until they are gone. She's got a gun tucked in her shoulder holster, a knife in her back pocket.

A low, buzzing sound is coming from somewhere down the long hallway and she pauses, her ears perking up. She can hear chatter, in japanese, a slow, dark rumble.

She walks carefully, her step too light, pressing close to the walls. She can see a flickering red light through the endless glass.

Her breath stills to motionlessness. She strains her senses, feeling a thrumming in the air, like she's about to fall through the floor; her heart is pounding. She is halting her step again, eyes scanning the area, when someone hits her bodily, driving her through a series of display cases. Glass shatters and weapons clatter to the floor, and Mizu gasps, shocked that they were able to sneak up on her. Her hands find a sword as the someone closes in again. They’re a blur as they cut at the man but he dodges the blows, and she rolls away, scrambles onto her feet, something sharp cutting through her when she meets his eyes.

"Taigen?" her eyes are wide, her voice cold. He seems shocked, too, but only for a moment.

"…They gave you her name."

her? so it's a woman. "her name does not matter." Mizu says impassively; it's a split-second decision, a sharp glance passing between them, and she lurches forward, driving the sword towards him, feet quick, hands expertly swinging the sword broadly. He dodges again, and furiously picks up a sword himself, blocks her blows. Their swords meet with a defeaning clang. He kicks at her, his boot crashing into her side and she reels back, growling, taking cover behind a glass case as his blade hisses through the air towards her.

"I have to."

"Me too." he says and Mizu realizes he is her bodyguard, ducks down as his blade comes around the corner. He swings again, and Mizu's sword shifts, cutting in front of him, freezing Taigen who can’t get his blade lined as she blocks him. A frozen moment, then, they both strike, over and over, metal ringing through the room. Mizu's blade is a blur, cutting at him viciously; he lunges at her, sword held high and she twirls easily around him, the edge of her blade grazing his cheek; he is too fast, but she is faster, has seen him use this move too many times before, could see it coming too clearly, block it with her eyes closed; she ducks under their swords when they cross, blades hissing; she grabs at the momentum and rides its edge, her free hand swiftly retrieving her dagger from her back pocket, powerfully driving it into his chest as she twirls around in the air to face him. Taigen stumbles backwards from the ferocity of the sudden blow, blinking at his chest. Astonished.

She is still holding onto the blade as he drops to his knees, his sword clanging as it falls onto the floor next to him. She sinks with him on one knee, then pulls her hand away. "you have thirty minutes to get to the hospital or you die. don't pull it out." she informs him, hears him wheeze, blood frothing across his lips.

Mizu picks up her gun off the floor, checks the load, holsters it. She does not look back again, rushes down the hallway, can hear voices screaming over a radio through the glass walls. She does not have much time.

Her vision blurs, narrowing down to the one thing she's got to do; she runs through the glass hallways, looking for her.

She is closing in on the room down the hallway, when a bullet wheezes past her head, and a shot rings out, hitting a glass wall. It sheers and shattered glass tumbles through the hall over her head. She dives for cover, takes aim, can see them through the glass wall. Shoots one of the guards running towards her in the head, the other straight through his sternum.

There are more coming. Too many, too fast, she doesn't have enough time to shoot at them all. She draws two knives off the floor and rolls as a guard fires, regains her feet and slashes the man’s throat, twirling in the air and landing onto another one, pinning him down with her knee to his throat. A second is turning on her when she slams a knife into his temple; it goes in too deep, and he collapses onto the glass floor just as Mizu rapidly grabs the gun that she's dropped and angles it towards the guard that she's got pinned down, firing into the side of his head, then shooting another three men down, three quick headshots.

She swings onto her feet, but another guard lunges for her, trying to disarm her. He wraps her arm up, drawing her in even as she drops her gun and quickly catches it with her free hand, presses it against his side and fires two quick shots. Hot blood splatters the glass floor.

She is breathing hard though her mouth, but before she can process what's happened, a huge, muscled man comes at her in a blur of motion and leaps, driving her back onto the floor, his arms tight around her shoulders, trapping her. She feels the glass cut into her back through her jacket and howls, screaming in agony, enraged. She thrashes against his hold, but he is too strong, stronger than her, but Mizu can't stop, she will not stop, her jaws fiercely closing on the man’s throat as they roll on the ground, fighting. He screams and pulls back and she grabs a fistful of shards of glass and drives them through his eyes repeatedly, her hand bleeding, palm torn open; she breathlessly hops on her feet, blood flowing down her back, fires blindly at the group of guards running down the hall towards her until her gun goes empty.

They go down, and she doesn't stop to make sure they are dead, she sweeps one of the curved knives up off the floor, and flees down the hallway, heart pounding, sees a shadow through the glass, the gleam of a red mask, chases it down. Reflections confuse her, but it doesn't take long for Mizu to find her in the room down the hallway.

"wait! wait!" she says urgently, her voice too deep, strange, but Mizu's ears are ringing.

"no." Mizu growls out, drives something metallic between the door and the jamb, and snaps it in two. She can hear someone outside of it, attempting to enter, but the door won't budge.

Mizu, cut and bleeding, moves before the woman in the mask covering half of her face can stop her, sprinting at her, knife held high. Last second, the woman shifts her weight. Mizu misses her, lands, rolls to her feet, leans forward to attack—

"stop!" she says, in japanese, her voice shattered. "stop it" but Mizu is furious, chasing after her maniacally, she does not hear her, the world around her is drowned out, the only thing she can see is the masked woman, and her knife, and the pulsing line between them.

She shifts her weight, watches the woman take cover behind a glass case, her senses locked on her. Mizu strikes, her knife flashing, so quick, the movement is nearly imperceptible. She surges forwards, losing her balance. She quickly catches it, and runs after her again, the woman doesn't wanna fight her, but there's a sword in her left hand, and Mizu lunges forward. The woman's sword tip moves to her throat, stopping her. Her hand quivers ever so slightly, but she does not cut her throat open. "stop!" she barks harshly, trembling. The blade cuts into Mizu's skin, grazing her neck. A faint line of blood trickles down her chest.

Mizu swings. Her hand is a blur as she moves, lighting-quick, disarms her, and swiftly drives her own knife through the woman's stomach. The masked woman's sword clatters away and she drops to her knees as blood blossoms from the wound. She’s reaching for her sword, but not to atatck Mizu, she wants to defend herself, says, "stop it" when Mizu's foot clamps down on her right wrist. She kicks the sword away.

"Mizu." the masked figure croaks out, as her blood paints the floor, flowing from her mouth and the cut in her stomach.

The sound of her name in her mouth sends Mizu reeling.

She watches her drag herself to the side, watches her press her back to the wall. The whole world shrinks to her, and Mizu steps back, something snapping inside her heart. Her head is spinning.

"Mizu." she repeats her name and her hand shakes as she removes the mask. Half of her face is scarred thickly, healed over with jagged skin; burn marks. Mizu stares at it.

She blinks. She sees her in a bathtub, water crimson with blood, her voice breaking as she screams her throat raw at Mizu to run.

Her vision blurs. This isn't real. Her eyes focus on a tattoo just visible on her forearm, faded away with time: a wave.

For a moment, she can’t tell if she is dreaming, or if she's hurting so badly it doesn’t really feel like anything. She remembers Eiji saying that he had chopped off the top of his pinky finger, once, and didn’t even feel it until he reached the hospital. 

She feels herself break like an avalanche, like a rock slide, in tiny bits and then everything all at once, and all of a sudden, until she is suffocating, until everything inside of her is howling in agony, and she is out of breath, dropping to her knees near her, her hands frantic over the wound in her stomach, pressing into it, trying to stop the bleeding.

"no... no.. no, no, no!." Mizu is hysterical, too much choking into her throat, pain, and shock and the world ending, she can't breathe.

"mama. no... no. please," she sobs. "please, no, please come back— you are not dying. you are okay." she presses her face to her mother's shirt, choking on a breath, "you are okay." her voice breaks, sobbing and pressing her hands all over her wound, hopelessly trying to stop the flow, everything around her numb and blank, the whole of the world coming to a screeching halt, dying with her.

Her mother grabs her chin, hands slick with blood. "look at me. stop it. stop. go." she chokes out, blood gushing through her teeth. Mizu is a mess, eyes wide, mouth torn open, sucking in fast, sobbing breaths. She shoves at Mizu's arm, says "go. go! you won't die with me! go!" mama's voice too deep, cracking on a sob. Mizu does not want to go. Her body is stone, she cannot move, but mama pulls her down, presses cold lips to her forehead then shoves at her with everything she's got, says go... please! her eyes flicking over to a door.

She does not know how she does it, does not know how she drags herself back onto her feet, but somehow she does.

It is a special kind of teeth tearing into her as she walks away from her this second time, ripping her open; jaws that don’t let go. (they never will).

When she looks back, her mother's slumped over, eyes open, unblinking. It's the last thing she remembers, does not know how she makes it down the stairs, slips through the back gate. Does not know how she gets back home.

Home?

Geraldine's hotel room.

She feels numb when she comes back to her, but it's 3 in the morning and Geraldine is sleeping and Mizu sits soaked in blood that is not all her own on the floor and tilts her head upwards, stares at the ceiling. Everything feels like a dream; like she has been sucked into some sort of cruel unreality and cannot find the exit. Her head lolls to the side against the wall; she stares at Geraldine's profile, how soft she looks while she sleeps, her dark hair spilling over her pillow like a veil of silk. There is a bunch of necklaces left on top of the dresser, all snarled up and tangled, and Mizu stares at them. There is nothing alive left inside of her; all of it has been snuffed out, she cannot feel her pulse.

She stares at them for a long time, her lower lip trembling. Then she sits, her back against the wall, and slowly, unerringly unpicks those necklaces left on the dresser, so that Geraldine can wear them again.

It's how she finds her, Geraldine, when she stirs under the covers, a long white terror waking her: hunched over her necklaces, drenched in blood. It's still dark outside. Geraldine sits up in the bed, her eyes searching for Mizu.

"Mizu?" her voice is very soft, touches Mizu, like a kiss.

Mizu does not say anything, just keeps working on her necklaces, but her hands are moving quicker now, blindly picking at the chains, which makes Geraldine slide off the bed and move to kneel close to her. Her eyes are wide, taking the sight of her in, the dry blood on her throat, on her hands, her shirt crimson with it. "Mizu..." she exhales, sounding terrified, reaches for her face, cups it into her two hands, makes her look at her. "what happened?" she strokes her thumbs over the arch of her cheekbones, searching her eyes as though trying to read the thoughts behind them, and Mizu feels herself break, her throat too tight, closing up, feels bursts of deep, dark terror spasm inside of her. A sob rips through her throat and she begins to shake, her hands sliding up to hold onto Geraldine. "baby..." Geraldine whispers, desperately holding onto her face, and that does it, Mizu comes undone, stifling sobs through her teeth as she crashes through the reality of what she's done. She chokes on her tears, her hands frantically covering her mouth and Geraldine pulls her close, says come here. She holds Mizu to her, her hand running up and down her back, and presses her mouth fiercely to the side of her head, hugs her to her chest tightly, feeling her body convulse as Mizu sobs into her shirt, hysterical, wracking sobs, rubbing her throat raw.

She lapses deep into silence, afterwards, her mind crashing through a swell of fury at her selfishness, the manipulation, the terrible lies she's wrapped herself in. She is nothing; she is a dead drop, half alive, does not know how to function; she is all free fall. All empty nights and screaming.  

Geraldine pulls back her hair, when Mizu rushes to her bathroom, drops to her knees and pukes, groaning into the bowl of the toilet. Her shoulders are shaking. She washes her face, her hands patient and tender on her, the hollow ring of Mizu's sobs at four in the morning making her cry, too, but she bites it back, does not want Mizu to feel worse. She holds her too hard, kisses her, everywhere, whispering it's okay, baby, it'll be okay.

It will be okay.

Mizu tries to believe her.

iv. there is a girl, and dead in her arms is her mother.

"Human life yearns to collapse in soft yes Your mouth along my neck I think of this, breath against vein God I am staccato I have surrendered ocean currents in denying you Where is my love where is my moveable God where am I where going" Stimie.

Mizu clings to her like she is her lifeline, frantically, blindly, with both hands. It is hanging over her, the loss, the death, all that guilt choked up in her throat, screaming its furious grief, not letting her breathe.

She thinks of that newspaper article she saw Geraldine read over breakfast, and the woman who had her throat cut open, the ribbon of her hair soaked in blood, they had used it to strangle her, and Mizu had thought about it all morning, her mind obsessively circling back to it.

It feels like that sometimes, inside of her body, she thinks. Like she is walking and talking despite being half-corpsed. Like she is hanging on by a ribbon, standing on some kind of cusp. she keeps saying - at least she went fast… I am so lucky she did not suffer.

I am so lucky, so lucky… The idea is river-rock smooth now, all the edges worried off.

They move away from everything.

Leave it all behind. Fowler does not matter. Revenge does not matter; she gets angry sometimes, angry in that black, festering way she has, when Geraldine can feel it in the air, choking as smoke from a chemical fire.

But somehow, she manages, or tries to pretend that she does, swallows it all down, does not think about it; does not talk about it.

They make a life together, somehow, and Mizu holds Geraldine too close, holds her tightly. It is like being punched in the gut, how much she needs her, even when she does not say it, even when it takes her too long to say the words, let her see her.

It's Geraldine and her together, afterwards, a tiny home somewhere no one can find them. She cuts her hair short around her face, a sleek wolf cut. Does not wear her glasses. Pierces her nose, and gets that tattoo, the wave on her forearm, because maybe she wants things for herself, after all, and maybe she can have them, and with her; she does; gets more than she deserves.

She loves her too well, Geraldine, loves her like a fever. Wraps herself around Mizu like her safety net, and does not press, knows how to talk around what happened, how to let her talk to her when Mizu wants to, mouth pressed to her cheek, her breath tickling Mizu's skin as she listens to her; quietly bringing her tea in the morning, just because she knows Mizu would like it without asking. Being able to make Mizu smile endlessly even when she does not feel like she deserves it.

It's everything and nothing, the big and the small that make them, make Mizu fucking love her, fiendishly, like she's the world entire. Mizu loves the way Geraldine's eyelashes look while her smirk plays around the edges of the straw as she tries the .99 cent iced coffee she's put too much sugar in just because it makes Mizu laugh when her cheeks suck inwards at the sickening sweetness. "you are pathetic." Geraldine rolls her eyes, but it's sweet, everything between the two of them is sweet, and careful, like a caress.

She wakes up in sweat from cold nightmares to find that Geraldine is warm beside her, her freckled skin hot and soft, no more than six inches from hers and most nights she pulls her close, sinks her nose into the warmth of her neck, listens to the beating of her heart against her as she stares at the ceiling until her eyes ache.

She stares at her across the table, at diners, or in their kitchen (they've painted it a light yellow color, Mizu's jeans rolled up to her kness, paint splattered on her cheeks, scowling at Geraldine's criticisms of her very fine work, thank you very much, her hands on her hips) fascinated by the way the light plays across her, how she looks at her and her whole face lights up, how she softens when Mizu touches her because Mizu sometimes can't, sometimes doesn't, but Geraldine always knows to find her mid way, hold her hand for no reason, hold her hand because they are walking along the river, talking about something normal and it's strange, Mizu shouldn't be allowed to have this, she can't accept the idea of it, but wants it anyway, lets it happen anyway.

Mizu loves how she sounds singing along at concerts and the slight flush she will get when tipsy and how easily she fits into her as if she has always been the right piece.

She is breathless under her when she lets Geraldine touch her, and it's too feverish and frantic, how Geradline fucks her, like she is starving for it, how she loses herself for hours between Mizu's legs, sucking down sweetnes, how she rolls her hips too hard against Mizu's, pressing her cunt to hers, the soft, wet glide sending tiny shocks of pleasure through Mizu, Geraldine's hand on her throat, holding her down, crying out when Mizu leans up and kisses her fiercely, holds onto her hips and moves her harder, spurs her on, makes her rub rougher against her until both of them explode with their pleasure.

Before all this, they were sitting together in their bedroom, Mizu lacing up her black boots, Geraldine putting on makeup, sitting in the glow of their sunlamp, getting ready for their night out.

She was talking about what she could make for dinner tomorrow, that maybe she could try to cook something with fish because Mizu liked fish too much, putting powder on with a brush, and Mizu had blurted out I love you so much.

and Geraldine had paused, had turned to her, lips parted, and for a moment Mizu had felt her heart stop.

"I love you too."

and then, the fierce, sweet fucking, devouring each other for hours; they had not gone out, but neither of them had minded...

"hey," Geraldine says, upside down, head over the edge of their bed,  "december is next week."

"fuck... yeah?" Mizu is on the floor, has just come back from a run, flushed and sweaty, her cheeks pink. It's 8 in the morning. "no it’s not."

Geraldine shows her the upside-down phone. "yeah it is." her hair is a mess and Mizu is enamored with it. She stands up and moves to the bed, rolls over until she’s above Geradline, holding herself up with her arms on either side of her, laughing when Geraldine screeches because she is too sweaty, and, "I am wearing clean clothes!"

"too bad." Mizu pins her down, biting into her neck because she just loves how she laughs, how she squirms away from it, breathless.

"is that your way of announcing you are ready for a tree?" she asks, mouth hot on her cheek, and Geraldine says mhm, presses her close despite her earlier protestations, loves to smell her when she's like this, dappled in a light sheen of sweat. Loves the salt of her skin, loves the smoky scent of it.

"and that you have to get me something."

Mizu smoothes her hair back from her face and stares down at her, going quiet, her eyes soft; makes Geraldine swallow, when she gets like this, can't bear how much she loves her. The drowning rush of it.

"anything you want."

Mizu always means it.

Mizu slices a ripe peach and feeds her half, while leaning over her shoulder, finding what part of her book Geraldine's at and sucking down the juices.

"oh, you are ahead of me. don't spoil me."

"then move."

Mizu presses her chin to the back of Geraldine's shoulder and holds her tighter, says, "nah."

Geraldine laughs at her.

Before all this, they had been in a store, being silly, fighting over what color the new rug for the bedroom should be, Mizu finally relenting, saying "...if it'll make you happy." when she had caught a shift in Geraldine's gaze, had watched her go stiff for a split moment, only for a moment, and then it had been gone, her smile returning.

Before all this, Mizu had been laying in their bed for hours, staring at her mother's necklace until her eyes had glazed over, raw and red.

Before all this, she had sat in complete silence in their living room at 4 in the morning, staring at her hands. It had been months since she had felt good (had she ever felt good?) but she felt something like good when she would look at her and she felt something like healing when she would hold her hand.

Before all this, Mizu had woken up one night to the sound of water in the shower; she had blinked at the clock; it had been 3 in the morning. When Geraldine hadn't come back to bed after 20 minutes, Mizu had gotten up to look for her but her hand had frozen mid air at the bathroom door; she had stood there, a dull numbness rising in her mouth as she listened to her cry in the shower, the water stifling her sobs. In the morning, Mizu had not said anything, but had been softer with her, too sweet, to the point where Geraldine had narrowed her eyes in suspicion, had asked her if she was okay. Mizu had said "I am okay if you are."

Before all this, Mizu had somehow stopped waking up in cold sweat every night, screaming for her mother.

Before all this, everything had been okay for a moment.

Before all this, they plan a road trip, take their little car and drive down to the river: Geraldine driving, Mizu in the passenger seat, playing with the radio, changing the music over and over, never satisfied.  

"okay, passenger princess. pass me the bottle."

Mizu looks up from the radio, says hmm?

"the bottle of water. oh my god." Geraldine laughs as Mizu unscrews the cap and takes a long sip to make it not spill over, just so Geraldine won't drip water on her.

"thank you." she smiles, takes a sip and hands the bottle back to Mizu.

Mizu says, "you are welcome." and she is smiling, and it still makes Geraldine ache when she does it: like smiling and laughing, is new to Mizu every time; like she is still learning what to do with it. Mizu sits back into her seat, staring out the window, the sun in her face, making her squint. She turns around again and stretches a little, makes a soft groan, turns up the music. She's got a pack of vinegar chips in the backseat, and reaches for them, tears it open and feeds Geraldine the first one.

It's late July, a balmy day, languid light. The highway empty, the streets shimmering under a hot sun.

Geraldine's hands tighten on the wheel as she makes a left down a country road and she feels Mizu reach over and stroke the back of her neck, softly, playing with her hair; she can be so sweet. It makes her ache sometimes, how sweet she is, Mizu. How she's learning to let herself soften.

"I had a thought." Mizu says, her voice a lazy, smoky drawl. She is munching on her chips, wearing her cap backwards. Geraldine reaches over with one hand and fixes it again, does not want her to get sunburnt.

"just the one?" Geraldine says and Mizu scowls in that funny way. "ha! anyway. I had a thought. maybe we could rent that store that closed down the square? I don't know. do something with it."

"you wanna be business partners." Geraldine teases, smiling.

"not business partners. just do something with you." a slow shrug. "could last forever." Mizu says it too naturally, and Geraldine cuts her eyes to her, flustered into silence.

"I love you..." Mizu says immediately when their gazes meet, her hand still stroking the back of her neck. "have I told you?"

"tell me again." Geraldine sounds breathless.

"I love you." Mizu repeats, smiling too brightly, her blue eyes lit with the sun.

Geraldine swallows, and there it is, Mizu thinks, the strange shift, the split-second darkness.

"I love you too... so much." Geraldine catches Mizu's hand and kisses her palm, her eyes on the road.

"yeah?"

"yeah..." a tight little pause, and Mizu sits up a little because she can sense it before it happens, can read her like a book.

"what?"

Geraldine shakes her head a little, exhales,

"I love you so much... and I did not want to tell you this because I did not want you to think anything crazy, but I love you. you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I don't want there to be secrets between us."

Mizu feels her body go cold, a numbness settling over her. Her heart is in her throat.

"what is it?" she repeats, staring at her profile, outlined in the sunlight. She notices her freckles, spread across her small nose, the kiss of the sun on her skin.

"whatever it is I can handle it. Just don't tell me you are a bad guy." she laughs, but it's too tight, sharp; like she's afraid that's exactly what she is gonna tell her.

Geraldine flicks her eyes to her, says "well, it depends on who you ask... but it's not what you think, Mizu. this isn't about the Father or Fowler—"

and Mizu blinks at her, sits back, says "wait, wait... I don't understand. Geraldine... what are you saying?" her voice too tight, stuck in the back of her throat, like a fist, squeezing the air out of her.

"well for starters, my name isn't Geraldine."

Mizu stares at her, trying to process this; something in her chest shifts, like everything else falls away. She opens her mouth, too many questions on her tongue.

She starts to ask them, but then the world stops moving again; she hears the roaring of an engine, tires screeching; the air explodes with a shattering roar; a sedan crashes into the side of their car, sending them spinning out of the road, toppling end over end before landing upside down.

Then, everything goes quiet.