#Her last name is gray and he's a ghost

[illeaadante]

I wonder what internet linguists, and specifically fandom linguists, think about fandoms that don't have portmanteau ship names/follow general shipping conventions. Specifically, what do they think of the pokemon fandom and the Danny Phantom fandom.

For pokemon, it's not that the show is an anime, because shows like Black Butler, Full Metal Alchemist, and Ouran High School Host Club all fall into common shipping conventions with some outliers. Pokemon has its own hyper-specific naming conventions (ending all of the ship names with -Shipping) that are really hard to parse for anyone that is not In The Fandom. Pokemon ship names are also across media, so the uniformity of the ship names is impressive as it is necessary.

And then, there is the black hole of insanity (I say, with all of the love and respect in my heart as I, too, am DP trash) that is Danny Phantom Fandom ship names. A not insubstantial number of the ship names are full phrases. Hell, some of them don't even make sense to people who haven't seen the show in a bit or haven't been watching closely. Why is Danny Fenton/Danny Phantom "Pitch Pearl"? Your guess is as good as mine! Most of them are puns or self referential (such as "Smells like Teen Spirits" for Danny/Ember or "Shallow Sapphire" for Danny/Paulina) but I had to get those ship names from a collected list on AO3. here

Let's not even get into the actual spreadsheet for Danny Phantom x DC crossover fics.

Idk, I just think these two are interesting outliers in an otherwise pretty set convention.

[bluerosefox]

Gray and Graysons

One of the Bats has a secret. Something they never told to the others.

They were so very young but they have memories of a sibling, so small and tiny. They remember the burst of warmth they had in their heart when they held the tiny baby for just a moment.

But they weren’t allowed to keep them, their family couldn’t raise them. Money was tight, just enough for three but not for four, despite their shows always bringing in a crowd it was getting harder and harder for the world to be wowed by them in the new age and their sibling was too small and tiny and needed to be cared in a single place than for them to be on the road. Their lifestyle was not good for his tiny sibling apparently.

They had to watch as their parents gave his sibling away to people in suits, them promising to give his baby brother to a loving family when they find a ‘home’ for him. He watched his parents try to be strong only for his mother to break down once the car left down the road, his father holding her and apologizing, the rest of the circus troupe all silently coming over to give the heartbroken family condolences.

Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson had tears running down his face when he last saw his baby brother.

A brother he got to name before he had to be given away.

Daniel ‘Danny’ Grayson.

-x-x-

Dick never told the others. If anyone dug deep into his past they might find his brother’s birth records maybe, if someone got around to digitizing the paperwork for him but given the fact he was placed in the US childcare systems just a few days after his birth and the fact that Dick was still pretty young they most likely believed he didn’t remember his baby brother now. Not after so many years.

But they were wrong, Dick remembers. And he kept the secret close to his heart and memories.

And the only physical evidence he had was a single picture of him holding his brother, a smile on his tiny face towards their father who had taken the photo of them together. When he had lost his parents, lost most of the things that connected him to them, to his past in the circus that had been his whole life, had been taken from him in Gotham’s ruthless childcare system, he held on tight to the picture in secret. Hid it away from anyone trying to rip it from him, hid it from Bruce when the man took him in days later, hid it from Alfred despite how gentle the butler was towards him. He couldn’t, wouldn’t risk losing his photo at the time, he hadn’t trusted anyone and by the time he did he didn’t have the heart to reveal it.

So yes, the existence of his baby brother Danny was his most guarded and best kept secret.

So that’s why Dick, as Nightwing, nearly died from a heart attack when leaving a Justice League meeting he spotted a familiar face among one of the new engineers working in the Watchtower.

It was like seeing a young version of himself. Only, Dick could see that the young man was more than a copy of him, so much more than a clone. He held many traces of John Grayson but also had a bit more of Mary Grayson than Dick did. Small details that Dick foggely remembers taking note when he had held his baby brother.

“Hey, hurry up with that report Gray!” Shouted the head engineer from down the hall, his hand beckoning the young adult to come over.

“Coming! And boss, I told you Danny is fine!” Danny shouted back before hurriedly leaving a stunned Nightwing.

[ckret2]

Chapter 71 of human Bill Cipher trying to debate his way out of still being the Mystery Shack's prisoner. Soos has found the stolen Journal 4 in Bill's possession and has to decide what to do about it in light of everything else he's learned about Bill lately.

[*this chapter was renumbered to squeeze in the Axolotl plot arc! If you. Haven't read it yet, go back to ch 61 and read it!]

Soos stared dumbfounded at the journal with a 4 on the cover that he'd pulled from Bill's hiding place. Ford had lost Journal 4 last fall—he'd said gnomes had stolen it. How in the world had Bill gotten it?

Soos sat in the attic window seat and flipped through it. The first few pages were Ford's journal entries—his observations of the dimensional rips they were glueing shut in Gravity Falls post-Weirdmageddon, a hand-drawn map highlighting various places around the globe he wanted to investigate, a few drawings and observations of paranormal beings he hadn't seen his first time in town, half a sketch of a gnome that ended with a jagged scribble across the page followed by a page that said "Shmebulock" over and over.

And then a page that said, in an unfamiliar handwriting of jagged, narrow gray letters: "CURSED BOOK! If your name is Mabon Mason Pines, STOP READING NOW or ENJOY YOUR HEX!"

Bill had written page after page of some weird code of gray and yellow-green dots and dashes. A few sentences in English—every one of them was a threatening message to Ford. "Everything would have been fantastic if you'd just helped me finish, Fordsy." "You'll regret not siding with me when you had the chance." "You should have known better than to let your idiot brother turn you against me." "Sixer, you're lying to yourself every time you say you never worshiped me, and you know it. You spent the first third of your life running away from the god you were raised with and the second third chasing after me. Don't waste your last third denying it. YOU'RE MINE." A small, worrying diagram of what looked like the interdimensional portal. And a sticker.

Wait, hold on.

A sticker. One of Mabel's. The rest of the page was the same as the others, the two-tone dots and dashes, except for the sticker, and an arrow drawn from one paragraph to the sticker.

A yellow smiley, its round edges filled in with black marker to make a triangle, over the words "Good job!"

Soos stared at the sticker.

####

A couple of weeks ago, Melody had texted to let Soos know that there was a mess in the upstairs bathroom, and the kids said they'd been fighting a werewolf ghost.

When Soos had gotten home the next morning, Melody had pulled him aside and quietly told him she hadn't wanted to worry him and the Stans, but she did not think it was a werewolf ghost.

When Soos saw the bathroom, he didn't think it was a werewolf ghost either.

It was a scene from a horror movie. Menacing magical sigils painted all over the walls in blood and toothpaste, Bill's zodiac painted on one mirror, the other mirror broken, glass and water all over the floor. It looked like the site of a really wet demon summoning. This contained none of the hallmarks of ghostly or werewolfish activity. Why would Bill do this?

Soos was kind of reluctant to ask Bill. Bill still sorta scared him sometimes. Sure, he looked like a lost 18-year-old, but Soos knew what teens were like in a fight. So he asked Mabel instead.

Mabel pursed her lips uncomfortably. "Ask Dipper."

So Soos asked Dipper.

Dipper winced and. "Promise you won't get mad."

Soos considered that. "Yeah, I guess that's a fair deal."

Dipper confessed that Bill got accidentally locked in the upstairs bathroom for like a whole day, because he and Mabel didn't hear him yelling. Not because they were out of the house when they shouldn't have been. They were just... somewhere else in the house. Doing something loud. For the whole day.

While Bill was trapped alone.

####

Soos had vented to Abuelita about cleaning the bathroom. Like sure, he got Bill was annoyed about being stuck, but that seemed excessive.

Abuelita had made the observation that sometimes people in profoundly bleak and oppressive situations would just... destroy whatever was around them. Like punching a hole in the wall or snapping a pencil when you were angry, but much more so. Not because they wanted their surroundings to be destroyed, but because that was the last and only thing they had power over, and they needed to feel like they were in control of something. Even if that thing was merely changing their environment from ordered to chaotic.

Bill didn't have control over very much. He probably hadn't since he died. Soos didn't know what kind of space triangle afterlife Bill had been in before he showed up as Toga Lady, but it couldn't have been great if he'd come straight back here.

Soos could remember the one time weeks ago he'd let Bill into the bathroom to shower and forgotten to come back and let him out. How Bill had screamed so all the Mystery Shack's tourists could hear; how he'd seethed in Soos's face, how he'd said he'd rather blow their collective cover and throw them all on the mercy of the town's law enforcement than remain locked in the bathroom a second longer than they'd agreed upon. Soos had thought Bill was just impatient and hotheaded.

Standing in the bathroom, looking at the material evidence of Bill's claustrophobic terror—the broken glass, the spilled blood—he wondered.

####

The same day, he had felt a breeze in the gift shop and found the trap doors to the roof left open. He'd climbed up, shut them, and in between tours he'd visited his office to check yesterday's security tapes. 

He saw Wendy coming into the shack to hang out the morning before. That was fine. Soos had discovered she did that from time to time on days the shack was closed, but she wasn't doing anything bad and she hadn't brought it up yet, so Soos didn't bring it up either. Maybe she just needed a private place to hang. Teen stuff. He was just glad Wendy felt that safe at the Mystery Shack. Maybe she'd just gone up to hang out on the roof and forgot to shut the trap doors...

And then, right there on screen, Soos saw Bill letting himself into the gift shop, through the door, which he shouldn't be able to open. A chill shot up Soos's back. The door curse was their only real means of containing Bill. If he could use doors now, he was out, there was no way they could trap him without doing something crazy like locking him in the bunker and hoping he didn't kill himself.

Or could he use doors? Soos thought back to the frantic messages on the bathroom wall, written in Bill's own blood—his desperation over being unable to escape. Maybe he could use doors but not doorknobs. That was okay, maybe?

On tape, he saw Wendy run into Bill. He saw Wendy take Bill onto the roof. Out in the open air, where he could just... do whatever. But he didn't do whatever. Soos fast-forwarded the tape until Wendy and Bill came back down, and Bill simply returned to the living room.

He'd had the perfect opportunity to shove Wendy off the roof or escape. He didn't take it.

If all Bill was using his new door skills for was ducking into the gift shop and hanging out on the roof with Wendy, Soos thought maybe it would be kinda mean to take that away from him. There weren't a lot of other places Bill could go in the shack. (Soos kept seeing the blood on the bathroom wall. He kept trying to imagine what kind of helplessness would drive someone that far.) Maybe Bill needed the open air.

So Soos had put the security tape on his desk, not sure what to do about it.

####

A couple of day after that, while Soos was restocking the gift shop in between waves of tourists, he'd seen Wendy reading an oddly dull-looking booklet instead of one of her usual magazines. He tilted his head to glance at the cover. The Oregon state driving manual. "Aw dude, gonna get your learner's permit?"

"Think so," Wendy said. "Don't tell my dad."

Soos remembered Wendy groaning about her dad wrangling her into doing errands if she ever got her license. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks."

"What made you change your mind? You were totally against getting a license a week ago."

"It's probably those stupid Gleeful Auto commercials that have been worming into my dreams." Wendy laughed. "I'm just waking up in the morning like, neeeed caaar."

"Oh yeah! Heh, funny coincidence, Melody says she had a dream like that too. Sometimes she gets these like, dreams about monsters watching her in bed? But one time, the monster was Bud Gleeful, whispering in her ear about a big car sale. She totally woke up laughing!"

"Ha! Annoying car commercials should be banned, man. Why do we need to be told multiple times a day to spend thousands of dollars?"

"You make a salient point."

They fell silent for a moment as Wendy read a couple more paragraphs. Then she said, "That, plus... I was talking to Goldie the other day."

Soos looked up from the t-shirt he'd been putting on a clothes hanger. "Oh. Yeah?"

"About where we wanna go when we get out of town."

"Huh." Very casually, Soos asked, "What did Goldie say?"

"He wants to go on some big vacation. Like a world cruise or something, I dunno."

"Huh." Soos wondered if that was true. He tried to imagine Bill Cipher as a tourist. Floating triangle in a Hawaiian shirt with a camera hanging from a strap and a fanny pack. What kind of places would he even visit? Soos bet he wanted to visit the pyramids. Heh. (Was that stereotyping? Maybe that was stereotyping.)

"And I told him I'm moving to Portland for college."

"Oh, hey, I didn't know you were thinking about college."

"I... actually, never told anybody else before," Wendy said. "I've been thinking about it for years, but part of me felt like it's just a fantasy? But Goldie said when he got out of high school, he did the same thing—moved to another town, made a new group of friends, all that. And... I don't know, actually talking to him out loud about it just... made it feel real, you know? So I thought, if I'm gonna move to Portland, I should probably start planning for it. Starting with how I'm getting there." She held up the driving manual.

Soos nodded slowly. "Huh. Yeah. That's a pretty mature way to look at it."

And that was what Bill was talking to Wendy about on the roof? Just... listening to a teen vent and helping her figure out her future?

And so, Soos took the security tape off his desk and put it in a drawer.

####

A few days later, Soos had heard the downstairs bathroom sink running for several minutes, assumed someone had forgotten to turn it off, and went to turn it off himself—and had caught Bill, in the dark, half undressed, washing himself in the sink.

After Soos had backed out and profusely apologized, he'd asked, "But—how come you're washing in the sink? I can let you in the upstairs bathroom if you need—"

"Worry about your own grooming habits and leave mine alone," Bill snapped. "As long as I don't smell, what do you humans care how I do it. Soap is soap and water is water."

It took Soos several days to realize he didn't think Bill had had a shower since he got locked in the bathroom. And nobody had noticed, because Bill made sure nobody noticed, because he'd been keeping himself clean in the bathroom he couldn't get locked in.

####

Dipper would go all summer without showering if he could get away with it; Stan showered like once a week and had constant old man smell; Abuelita also showered weekly and had a more refined old lady smell; Soos didn't know when Ford showered, but he'd never caught him doing it and Ford always smelled weirdly like burned hair. Soos showered almost daily during tourist season—that Mr. Mystery suit was hot—but outside that might go three days at a time. Mabel showered near daily.

From what Soos had observed, Bill was showering like, at least twice a week. He didn't know how often Bill cleaned himself in the sink in between.

That meant he was showering more often than two-thirds of the house.

Yet he was the only one in the house living under the threat of being thrown in the tub at 3 a.m. if someone decided he hadn't bathed enough for their tastes.

The reason Bill had refused to shower during his first week of imprisonment was so he could use the condition of his body as a bargaining chip—with no physical possessions in the world, his own body was the only bargaining chip he had—to try to buy a little more dignity. In return, his captors had taken more dignity away. They permitted Bill less autonomy over how to take care of his body than the household's children had.

Dipper had never gotten forced into a bathroom he couldn't let himself out of.

####

The day after the eclipse, Ford had pulled Soos aside and said quietly, "Soos, as soon as you have some time—could you repair the door to the kids' room? Before the end of the day? The latch has been broken since the tooth fairy's attack."

"Uh, sure, I can probably do that," Soos said. "How come?" The latch had been broken for a couple weeks, and the Pines hadn't been worried about it before.

"Right now, the door can swing freely with just a push," Ford said. "I think Bill's figured out how to use that to get in. Which is worrisome, since he shouldn't be able to use any doors..."

"O-oh." Soos thought about the swinging door into the gift shop. "Yeah, uh... sounds bad. Byyy the way—how'd you figure out he knows how to use the door?"

"Dipper says Bill somehow got in and out of the room last night," Ford said. "Mabel fell asleep in the living room and Bill carried her upstairs. I really don't like the thought of Bill being able to get his hands on the kids while they're asleep and defenseless."

Ford was mad at Bill for tucking a kid into bed? That was the big red flag? "No problem! I'll fix the door right after work."

The next time Soos visited his office, he took the security tape out of his drawer, rewound it, stuck it back into the tape recorder, and let that day's security camera footage overwrite and erase the evidence of Bill's visit to the gift shop.

####

And now, today, carrying Journal 4 in both hands, Soos trudged downstairs, trying to figure out what to do with it. He had to return it to Ford, obviously—but Bill and the Stans were already in the middle of a discussion that sounded a lot more like an argument. Flinging a stolen journal into the middle of the proceedings would just make it worse. Maybe he should wait until they were finished and everyone had cooled down a little—?

While Soos was upstairs, the discussion had apparently moved into the kitchen. He hovered awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, watching.

"What do you mean, you need kitchen access," Stan was asking, "you already have kitchen access. It's never been off-limits! Even after you peed in the sink!"

"It's not kitchen access if I need to ask someone else for permission to eat anything but snacks." 

"No one's making you ask for permission! You can take what you want!"

"Okay, fine. So what can I eat?" Bill gestures at the shelves. "Go on. List anything you can think of. Anything."

Stan grimaced, and glanced at Ford to see if he was willing to walk into the obvious trap first.

Ford looked at the nearby shelves. "Cereal."

"One point for Stanford Pines! Cereal! So am I supposed to eat dry cereal for every single meal, or—?"

"No, of course not."

"All right, then what else?"

"Brown meat," Stan said. "We've got plenty of brown meat. It's good for you!"

"You didn't give me can opener rights," Bill said.

"Huh."

"So no brown meat," Bill said. "No canned soup, no canned chili, no canned fruit, no canned vegetables—"

Ford cut in, "Some of the cans have pull tabs, you don't need a can opener for those."

"Terrific observation! As soon as you realized I could open those cans myself, you moved them all under the counter because you thought I'd use the sharp edges as weapons!"

"It's... possible to open cans without a can opener, I did it sometimes while roughing it in other dimensions—"

"Yeah, wearing off the metal rim with a rock, right? Lemme just go outside and grab a rock—oh wait." Bill crossed his arms.

Ford sighed, and turned to Stan to suggest something else.

Stan surveyed the available supplies, spotted the bread, and said, "You could make sandwiches!"

"With what filling?"

"Uh..." Stan kept looking.

Meats and cheeses, of course, were kept in the fridge. Along with jelly, condiments, most vegetables... tuna or spam weren't options, they were canned... "Hey, we leave out some meats that don't need refrigeration. Sausages and stuff."

"Right, right. The ones that don't need refrigeration because they're wrapped in plastic you need a knife to cut," Bill said. "Sometimes I bite the plastic open with my teeth and rip off chunks of sausage with my fingernails, that's always fun! Then you put the leftovers in the fridge, and I'm out of luck until we buy another sausage."

"You could put... peanut butter on your sandwiches?" Ford tried. "Peanut butter's nutritious."

Bill fixed him with a hard look. "For the past five weeks, every time I've gotten a meal without asking someone else to help feed me like a baby, I've had nothing but peanut butter and banana sandwiches, peanut butter and jerky sandwiches, peanut butter and raisin sandwiches, and peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches. And we're out of bananas, jerky, and raisins." He pointed at the tortillas. "Once I decided to get creative and made myself a cold peanut butter quesadilla! I can't even add spices, because guess where the breakable glass spice jars are kept?"

"Pasta," Ford tried. "We could keep the pasta out."

"Oh, wow, that'd be great! I just love pasta! But I can't open the microwave and I can't turn on the stove! How do I heat the water, Stanford?"

Ford frowned. "Hm."

"I can cook, you know—not that any of you bothered to ask! It might not suit your tastes, but it suits mine! I wouldn't need your help to eat if you didn't make me need help! I am sick to death—" his voice went thick and took on an uncharacteristic waver, "—of having to beg to... eat." He cleared his throat, squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed his eyelids with one hand. "Sh-shouldn't even—need to eat." He clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling.

Stan and Ford exchanged a guilty look. Stan said, "You don't have to beg— I mean, we know the, uh... position you're in..."

Bill was silent for a moment as he tried to get a tough face back on. His voice came out as a rough whisper—too thick to get any louder without breaking. "I had to negotiate to get burnt eggs."

Ford winced.

Soos was dumbfounded.

When had Bill had to negotiate for food? He could all too easily understand how it might have happened—Bill was an annoying guy, sometimes they had to pull out dumb bargains to get him to do stuff. But bargaining for food should never be on that list. Meeting Bill's basic nutritional needs couldn't be dependent on whether he was annoying that day. If it was, he'd starve.

It sounded like he was starving. Right under Soos's roof. He hadn't even noticed.

He thought about the piles of junk food trash upstairs and the bag of chips Bill had hurled across the room.

Ford said, "We'll... discuss it."

"We'll figure something out," Stan said. "I mean it."

Bill nodded silently. Head down, without uncovering his eyes, he hurried out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

He nearly bumped into Soos's chest without noticing him. Soos backed up a step, tucking Journal 4 under his arm. "Whoa, hey!"

Bill froze, head jerking up. "You." His voice was thick and his glare was watery and poisonous. "Don't you have anything better to do than eavesdrop?" He tried to elbow past Soos, smacking his leg with his umbrella. "Move."

Soos realized uneasily that Bill's face looked a little slimmer than it had when he'd arrived.

He stepped in Bill's way. "Can't go upstairs right now. Attic's being cleaned."

"I didn't ask you to clean!"

"I'm not cleaning for you, dawg. It's just gotta be cleaned."

"Fine! Whatever!" Bill veered around the staircase and stomped down the hall, muttering, "Can't decide when I eat, can't decide when I shower, why should I get to choose when my hovel's swept..."

Soos's leg hurt where Bill had smacked it. (Bill couldn't even control whether or not he cried; all he had control over was making someone else hurt.)

In the kitchen, Stan murmured, "Didn't even realize we don't keep anything decent out on the counters. They're so crowded..."

"Chip bags take up a lot of space." Ford sighed. "I assumed he'd get a serving with everyone else whenever Mrs. Ramirez cooks."

"He does, but she only does dinners. And he'll only eat it if he watched her cook it. I've seen him get lunch with Mabel, but I don't know what he does when she's not..." Stan spotted Soos on the stairs. He tiredly called, "Soos? You need something?"

"Uhhh..." Soos hid the journal behind his back. "Nope! I just thought I'd come downstairs! For no reason." He awkwardly walked up the stairs backwards, journal still tucked behind him. "And—and now I'm going up again." He stopped at the landing and scooted sideways up the next flight of stairs. "See ya."

He pressed the journal to his chest and returned to the attic.

####

When Soos and Abuelita moved into the shack, the first thing Soos had done was turn Ford's ground-floor study into a bedroom for Abuelita. Because she was a little old lady, and not quite as steady as she used to be, so Soos didn't want her constantly going up and down the stairs—because falling once, just ONCE, could send her to the hospital or worse. That was how serious it was! You don't mess around with that!

Bill tripped and fell on the stairs so often that they could use it to tell when he was awake. And nobody had thought to offer him a cane? Did anybody even ask if he was alright?

When Bill first arrived and tried to murder everyone, naturally, he came out of it pretty banged up and bruised. That was to be expected. It was self-defense. They'd gotten used to seeing Bill with scrapes on his arms and legs, rope burns around his ankles, and the angry purple-black bruises of chain links over his arms. But in all the weeks since then, Soos hadn't seen Bill bruise-free once. Bruises on his shins and arms, scrapes on his elbows and knees. Soos had seen him with a four-inch burn on his forearm. Bill had brushed it off.

In Bill's first few days in the shack, he'd resorted to peeing in the kitchen sink because nobody had bothered to give a guy who couldn't open doors a way to use the bathroom. And they were the reason he couldn't open doors in the first place!

He threw up in the living room in the middle of the night and went upstairs to sleep on couch cushions on the floor and nobody had talked about it.

He burned off all his hair and was so upset about it that he stole Soos's zodiac blanket and hid under it for half a week, and everyone but Mabel just ignored him.

In less than a month in the Mystery Shack, Bill had lost a tooth.

He had been dragged out of the house during a weird weather phenomenon while terrified out of his mind. Soos had seen Bill cowering on the ground in fear, Ford looming over him, grabbing him by the collar and snarling in rage. Bill had been pleading with everyone in hearing range not to make him go, and had come back in such a state of shock he could hardly walk. 

And yet, he'd protected the whole town from getting hurt in zero gravity—and he'd brought a pet for Soos.

They'd tried to execute Bill two days later.

####

Soos sat in the window seat, flipping through the remaining filled-in pages in Journal 4. The last few pages were packed with stickers. A cat that said PURRFECT! A smiling fish that said A REEL PAL! Bill had started a little collection of pizza slice stickers for some reason. A couple of holographic rainbows, a smiling scratch-and-sniff sun. (Apparently, the sun smelled like lemons and oranges. Astronomy facts!)

Soos reached the current page. Bill was using several pieces of paper—regular printer paper and notebook paper, folded in half—like a bookmark. Soos unfolded them. A list of animals ranked by fuzziness. (Soos was satisfied that he'd been placed under the "smooth and squishy" category, but wondered whether he should be bothered by the fact that he shared the category with pigs and slugs.) A drawing of Bill riding a looping rocket ship and waving a fishbowl helmet above him. A drawing of a blue house with a couple of kids and a pig in the window. Several drawings of shape people kinda like Bill: a pink heart person labeled "Me in Flatworld," a stern-looking red stop sign wearing sunglasses labeled "Bill's parole officer," Bill dancing, the pink heart protecting Bill from some villainous-looking shapes—all clearly Mabel's art.

Several notebook pages in someone else's handwriting detailing names, addresses, and contact information, with statements Soos couldn't make sense of—as if maybe someone had been asking somebody else questions and writing down their answers. He thought the questions might be about how some people had reacted to the end of Weirdmageddon. He got the impression the people being discussed had known that Weirdmageddon was coming. He got the impression they were disappointed it hadn't happened. There were several questions at the end: How will we rendes-vouz? (Whoever was writing didn't know how to spell rendezvous, but to be fair Soos wasn't 100% sure either.) What supplies do you need? What are your interim orders?

Soos stared at the notebook papers.

He flipped back through the journal again, looking at each page more closely.

Sometimes the two-tone dot-and-dash segments had a stray human word: a few characters he recognized from his Teach Yourself Japanese workbooks, sometimes words Soos thought might be Arabic but honestly he didn't have a clue. At one point he listed half a dozen human names that Soos didn't recognize. The most common character was a stretched-out letter M (Mabel?), followed by a 6 knocked on its side (Sixer?).

The dot-and-dash segments had occasional amateurish illustrations. Sometimes they were human stick figures; sometimes the stick figures' heads had symbols off of Bill's zodiac wheel. He saw Stan's fish symbol, Gideon's star symbol, and Mabel's shooting star symbol. Ford's stick figures were the only ones with hands; Bill consistently gave them six fingers. The doodles were like particularly esoteric cave drawings; they were so bad that Soos couldn't tell what most of them were supposed to illustrate.

Except for one featuring Bill (as a triangle) and Mabel and some other inscrutable figures in a really awesome car with flames on the side, its coolness limited only by the fact that it was all in gray and yellow-green crayon. When Soos had been in high school, there had always been a couple of kids who didn't know how to draw anything except expensive cars or name-brand sports shoes, but they drew them in extreme realistic detail. Apparently, Bill was that kind of artist. Nothing but stick figures and the sickest crayon car Soos had ever seen.

It didn't do anything to dispel Soos's impression of Bill as a lost alien 18-year-old.

On one page, in sloppy lines of handwriting that meandered drunkenly up and down the paper, Bill had written, "I don't get why you won't give me a second shot. I asked you to join my gang. I serenaded you in a pyramid. I got a fantastic makeover. I offered you godhood. I showed you my dimension. I didn't torture you until I had to. I even made you a skin couch! I know how much you've always wanted a leather furniture set! I've given you everything from chicken zombification magic to jelly beans, what does it take? What am I missing?"

Soos reread Bill's other messages to Ford. All that "you'll regret not siding with me" junk wasn't threats. It was the impotent rage of a socially inept teenager who didn't understand his own creepiness had driven his friends away. It was the whiny moan of some guy going "Why doesn't she like me anymore" about an ex-girlfriend who had told him five times she didn't like him anymore because he didn't listen to her. Like that guy Wendy dated last summer. So like, a jerk, but not a terrifying world-ending monster jerk, just an annoying creep jerk. A regular jerk. A human jerk.

Soos stood, gave one last look at this journal—clearly stolen, definitely a violation of Bill's "no writing materials" restriction, completely stuffed full of mysterious messages to outsiders and some kind of weird alien code that could say anything at all and might have been super dangerous—and he slid it back into the ripped seam in the attic seat cushion where he'd found it.

He finished vacuuming up the potato chips Bill had flung across the room, thinking about how offended Bill had been that Soos had given him any food except what he'd asked for, remembering what Abuelita had said about people who destroy the things around them when they feel like that's the last and only thing they still have power over.

Enough was enough.

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed! Next week we may interrupt our regularly-scheduled programming to post a TBOB-based chapter I'm inserting early into the fic—it depends on if I get it done by next Friday. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this chapter!)

[tradgedyinwaves]

Touch - Ch. 2

Poly!141 x chunky!reader tw: little creepy at the end, stalking vibes

By the time the other three members of Task Force 141 made the drive to Ghost’s hometown, he had already determined where you were living by following you from the market and was back in his own flat, swirling a glass of whiskey. The team sat down to make a game plan, almost treating you as if you were one of their missions while sitting around Ghost’s beat up old dining table. You’d be theirs, one way or another. 

A Week Later, Saturday. 

Bleary weather had plagued Manchester for the last few days, gray clouds hovering overhead while you attempted to find your motivation for your job. It wasn’t helpful that you’d received news from your mom that your cousin and Kit would be getting married soon. A brick settled in your stomach at the news, ending the call with your mom quickly as you forced down the tears you refused to keep crying over him. 

In an effort to cheer yourself up, you headed out of your flat and down the street to the sweet little flower shop you’d found your first week in Manchester. The owner, Magda, was a kind, gentle old lady who essentially took you under her wing when you had trouble finding your footing in the new country. She’d been a boon to you, telling you the best shops for everything from groceries to clothes. You’d helped her find her cat when the mangy thing had slipped out the back door to fight the stray living behind a neighboring shop.

The bell chimed above your head, banging against the worn wood. You were immediately greeted by the scent of the most beautiful flowers and Magda’s voice talking a man through the best choices for an apology bouquet. You caught her eye over his shoulder and waved, a soft smile on your face as your eyes drifted to the back of the man’s head.

He easily stood a foot and a half taller than the elderly owner, cropped mohawk adding to the already egregious height difference. His shoulders were broad, though not quite as broad as your masked man back in New York. Why were you thinking about him all of sudden? You shook your head, clearing your mind like an etch-a-sketch and headed straight to the hyacinths and lilacs, wanting the sweet scent of your favorite flowers to brighten up your flat and completely missing him turning to take you in.

“Pretty flowers. Almost as pretty as you.” A low voice startled you out of your reverie, spinning on your heel to face the man Magda had been helping previously. Now, you could see that his eyes were a shocking blue and the lopsided smile he provided you made your heart stutter against your ribcage. But the size of him was what intrigued you. 

You’d accepted that this was the way you were now. Despite doing months of working out and eating well, your body hadn’t changed much from when you’d left the States. The cleaner food of England helped you feel better though, breathing a little life back into you after everything you’d dealt with. But that also meant that men weren’t as courageous in approaching you, their bravado faltering in the face of society's expectations. So when an attractive man approached you, blatantly flirting, your first response was to think it was a joke, snort and walk away, effectively blowing him off.

A gentle hand on your shoulder a few minutes later had you whipping around to ask what the guy's problem was, but was greeted by Magda instead. Immediately, you looked around for the mohawk guy, but he was nowhere to be found and you could have sworn the bell hadn’t dinged against the door. Weird. Bringing your gaze back to the elderly woman, you raised a brow at the scrap of paper in her hands. “That sweet young man paid for your flowers and left this as well,” Magda handed you the piece of paper with a number and a messy name scrawled at the bottom. 

Johnny. 

You’d gone home with your overly expensive bouquet and the scrap of paper after, staring down at it as if it would burst into flames at any moment. You took a deep breath, telling yourself “Why the hell not?” as you punched the number into a new message chain. 🪻: Uh, hi. Is this Johnny?

🧼: Ay, it is, Petal.

🪻: Petal? 

🧼: Well, I don’t know your name, do I?

He made a good point, making you sigh as you released your own name to him in spite of your reservations. But maybe, just maybe, you could manage to make a few friends if he ended up not being interested in you.

The next few days were spent lounging around your flat, going to work, and texting Johnny. What you didn’t know, though, was that he was reporting everything back to his boys. It had only taken Simon’s word and the one picture to have each of them wagging their tongues and readying their arms to protect what they now saw as theirs.

By the time you were winding down on Wednesday night and brewing tea that Johnny had insisted you know how to make, you were smiling at your phone that lit up every few minutes with his messages. The two of you had discussed everything from your favorite color and food to what had brought you to England. When he’d heard the details of that night, sans your interaction with Ghost, and paired it with Simon’s recollection, he’d been furious. His fingers tightened around the phone to the point that Price had taken it from him in an effort to not have to buy another replacement.

Simon had been in the same boat as Johnny, opting for stomping out of the flat to walk off his rage and guilt, feeling it gnaw at him for not stepping up before and then abandoning you after. His feet carried him to your building, watching from the ground as you paced around your space. When your pacing brought you in front of the window, you paused and looked through the glass, heart hammering as you saw a dark shape of a man standing on the sidewalk. But the light of the lamp posts made one thing stand out very clearly,

the white skull painted on his mask. 

I didn't want to offend any Scots with trying to type out Johnny's accent. I have a feeling this is going to turn into some long winded fic, so buckle in if you're ready for that.

Thank you so much for your support!

[lisired]

forever yours

pairing: haechan x (f) reader

genre/warnings: smut (lots of it), horror, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood, major character death, mentions of suicide, oral (m/f receiving), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!), exhibitionism

summary: Thirst for exhilaration and a stupid dare brings you, your boyfriend Haechan, and your friends to the eerie camping grounds of Chimera - the name of a town rumored to be occupied by a number of vengeful, lurking spirits. But nothing is as it seems in this ghost town.

word count: 23k (see what had happened was…)

a/n: Halloween is gone but I just could not pass the opportunity to finally write a Haechan horror fic. as always, feedback is appreciated!

There was blood in your mouth. 

A tart, pungent taste followed. Your tongue ached, crying with agony. 

You pivoted around and groaned, “What the hell?” 

As it turned out, the culprit was no other than Winter. And you were less than pleased to be met with the sight of your own best friend giggling in your face. 

“You should have seen your face,” Winter teased, laughing to the point of tears. 

You only rolled your eyes. Curse her and her stupid shenanigans. October was official and Halloween was fresh in the air and given so, she would be a constant of mischief.

Fortunately for Winter, she was your best friend. If not, you would not have hesitated to give her a very large piece of your mind. 

You whined, “You made me bite my tongue.”

Your boyfriend, Haechan, snapped out of his fury-induced trance long enough to pull you close and ask wrathfully, “You’re hurt?” 

“Just a little,” you admitted with a grimace. Now, it hurt to speak. You swayed on the heels of your feet to press a placating kiss to the corner of his lips and say, “Don’t worry, baby. I’m okay.”

Apologetic, Winter frowned and told you, “I’m sorry, bestie. I’m sure Haechan will kiss it better. Seeing as you were a total of two seconds from swallowing each other’s tongues and all.”

Like she was a fly, you swatted her away and sent her off snickering incessantly. Your boyfriend was most likely turned off by now, all things considered. You were about to kiss before Winter screeched, “Bug!” and effectively gave you the scare of your life. 

You were in the middle of nowhere, after all. Chimera was a ghost town with a very tiny population and even fewer tourist attractions because anyone who valued their life would not dare explore the haunted hell town. 

Not to mention you were in the woods. You were on creepy-crawly territory. A stupid, childish dare brought you to the wicked. Last weekend, Jaehyun instigated a game of truth or dare for old times sake, and dared you all to stay a weekend at the haunted camping site. So the story goes. Neither of you were adamant believers in ghoul tales. 

At one point in his tetchiness, Haechan’s expression began to teeter between devilish and sinister, and a very gray area existed there. His dark eyes glared into the distance, although your best friend had already sauntered off in hounding of her next victim. 

Very rarely did your boyfriend wind up on the suffering end of vexation, but having his time with you interrupted would never not do the trick. 

Every time without fail. 

Nevertheless, you couldn’t blame him, but it made your heart swell with sadness. Alas, jam-packed work schedules and even less time for yourselves, your time together nowadays was limited. You came home to each other every night, but grueling days of work meant you were often sound asleep by the time he arrived. 

Sometimes, you would bring work home with you and stay up late, but Haechan would be snoring by the time you finally finished up and crawled under the sheets of your shared bed. 

This put a bit of strain on not only your relationship, but your friendships. Which was part of the reason you agreed to the stupid dare in the first place.

Obviously, it still wasn’t just the two of you, but you’d make it work. You had to. Alongside your best friend, her boyfriend, Jaehyun, was here. Like hell he would send the love of his life into haunted woods without him there to protect her. As well as Ten and Yuta. 

Your boyfriend was still displeased. A part of you was comforted by his protectiveness over you. Still, you wanted to soothe him before all hell broke loose. Bracing a hand on your boyfriend’s chest, you consoled, “Baby, I’m fine. I swear.”

Your lover was aflame, though the sweet sound of your voice made him soften. Only a little. He made sure you were flush against his body. “Promise?”

“I promise,” you replied, grinning from ear to ear. And sending his heart gravitating towards the moon. Then, you purred, “How about we go let off some of that steam in the cabin?”

Haechan smirked and you knew that you had your boyfriend back. “I like the way that sexy brain of yours thinks.”

Giggling, the two of you raced to the cabin. 

Your new home for the weekend was a tiny wooden cabin that was surprisingly very warm and comfy. There were three in total, each surrounding a campfire area. A lake was not too far off and cleared for safe swimming. And there were a couple of trails nearby. 

For an avowedly haunted campground, it was beautiful as far as you’d seen. There were vibrant wildflowers scattered everywhere and the water was crystal-fucking-clear. The sound of nature - leaves rustling in the wind and squirrels clambering up tree branches - was pleasantly therapeutic. 

Now, you were thinking about morning sex with Haechan, moans masking the sounds of birds chirping. 

The sight of you rushing to your cabin, nearly tripping over twigs in the process, was nothing short of comical. Though you found slight humor in your desperation, there was a rationale behind your every move. Above all, you couldn’t remember the last time you and your boyfriend had sex, and you were in need of a refresher. 

The kind of refresher only good dick and loving could give you.

Haechan very nearly kicked in the door. You let out a cry of surprise when he jerked it back in place with his toe and flung you against the surface, kissing you none too gently. 

You lingered there for a long while, making out in a hot, messy battle to conquer. Your chest heaved breathlessly, moans dangling from your lips in departure as you sucked each other’s tongues with pleasure. For a second, you pulled back, bringing your lips to that sweet spot on your boyfriend’s empty neck. For now. 

When he made a sharp noise and swiftly lowered you to the bed, you knew you were in for one hell of a fucking. 

It went without saying that this was going to be a far cry from a typical round of love-making. Your boyfriend was going to fuck you until every inch of the forest knew his name.

At the sight of you fumbling with his pants, Haechan chuckled and gathered your hands in his, teasing, “Slow down, baby girl.”

“Fuck me,” you heaved, as if the air had suddenly gotten thicker. Your eyes begged for him to give what you desperately craved on behalf of your body. “Hyuck, please.”

Your boyfriend gave a shake of his head, donning the most taunting smile. “Not yet,” he said, chuckling. It was nothing short of delightful to hear you beg for him, but he needed to savor you. It had been too long. “Not before I get a taste.”

Not a second later, your core throbbed, obviously excited about something now. Haechan was quick on his feet and between your thighs in the time that it took you to blink. Your panties disappeared with a yank, quickly tossed into oblivion. Your body shivered in anticipation, knowing what was to come. Haechan ate you out better than anyone to date. 

You got comfortable, laying sprawled and vulnerable. Your boyfriend was in a temporary trance, eyeing your glistening cunt with sheer admiration. You could feel the heat of his breath there, making you tingle with want all over. 

Haechan could feel himself twitching in his pants. Fuck, you were already so damn wet. Though that was nothing new. There was something about making out with your boyfriend that could arouse you like nothing else. 

Before he caved, Haechan made sure to tease, “Be careful not to scream. Your tongue will hate me.”

That made you roll your eyes, identifying your boyfriend as his usual cocky self. Though for good reason. No man had ever made you scream much like him. “Try not to make me scream. Everyone will hate us,” you quipped. 

“No can do, baby. I’m a natural.”

With a shake of your head, you shook with laughter. Granted, there was a good amount of feet between each cabin, but when at your boyfriend’s mercy, you were loud enough to wake the worlds below and above. 

Ever the tease, Haechan lifted his lips and kissed his way from your belly down to the vertex of your plush thighs. You made a noise, noticing he’d skipped between. He nibbled at the edges, rendering you impatient and weaker. You could only writhe and whimper, aware that you were being tested. Or toyed with, for that matter. 

Then, your lover went to town, having his fill of riling you up. You shuddered, eyes closing the very second his tongue muscled in your slick folds. Every muscle in your body was taut with tension. A kind of tension only concocted over time by a lack thereof to be broken loose.

There was a catch in your breath when Haechan lapped at you without holding back. He was a creature of desire, fingernails clamped harshly into your unfurled thighs. You were already moaning, already crying his name. There was no limit on him, none on pleasure when with him. You could already sense the tension dwindling in place of a different kind; the ecstatic variety. 

Though you had been inclined to watch the view, your head angled back in a soft sigh, flush against the pillows. It was a talent how effortlessly Haechan could dismantle you. More or less. The language of your body was indefinitely etched into his memory. 

“God. Oh my fucking…,” you gasped, sentence interrupted by an ensuing moan. This was only the beginning and yet already you were undone. 

Haechan tasted your arousal on the very tip of his tongue and let out an unrestrained, beast-like growl of pleasure. In your mind, it almost seemed fitting. He lapped at you like a ravenous creature. But in his mind, you were the one to blame. You always had to taste so damn sweet. 

You fisted locks of his hair in your fingers, back arching when he targeted your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your body was aflame, and you could feel the blood pumping through your veins hotly. “Don’t stop. Baby, please don’t stop,” you choked, promptly reduced to whimpers of pleasure. And cries of your lover’s name. 

A vortex of pleasure consumed you, tossing you unceremoniously around the eye. Your thighs and toes tingled, a sign that your entire body was very much awake and alert. It came to life at Haechan’s touch, turned on at the way his tongue pivoted on your clit and penetrated your tight hole. There were sparks broiling under your skin, ignited everywhere. 

Haechan slid two fingers inside your pulsing cunt and your eyes promptly rolled to the back of your skull. 

For whatever reason, he was grinning from ear to ear. This was far from his first rodeo, and after years of this relationship, he had the once-mystery of your mind and body completely unraveled. No matter how much you tried to writhe away, overstimulated by the pleasure, there was no such thing as escape.  

He liked watching you squirm as if you had anywhere to flee, bracing his palms on your naked thighs. He liked watching you involuntarily arch your back and rock your hips into his mouth with greed, your systems entering shutdown. Even more, he liked that he made so much of a mess of you that you could hardly seem to tell what you wanted anymore, but the arousal dripping from your cunt was a telltale sign of desire. 

Just like magic, weeks of stress were long-forgotten. Haechan singlehandedly set you at ease and riled you up all the while. Tears of pleasure welled in your eyes and you clamped tightly around his fingers. 

You never knew pleasure of this capacity existed before your boyfriend. He brought you to a different sphere and back, took you higher than you’d ever been. Darn the world. Your boyfriend showed you the universe and made you see every star visible to your eyes. No one had ever made you feel like this. 

Which was not unbeknown to Haechan. When you began to explore your sexuality together, you detailed your past sexcapades very thoroughly to him. None as sensational as those with your boyfriend. As it turned out, they all lacked one thing in common; a partner with as much devotion to your satisfaction as your own. 

They treated pleasuring you like it was menial drudgery. Not Haechan. Even now, he was ignoring the way his cock twitched between his thighs, aching to be freed. Your pleasure was paramount and he would not rest until he made you come. 

He wanted to be the only one you needed and proved to you every single day that you were destined to be together. And you were content with that. You wondered how on earth you’d finally been lucky enough to find a guy that loved you as much as he loved himself. There was no one else for you, you knew that in your bones. Everything felt meant to be with him. 

Unshakable and intangible. You wouldn’t have it any other way. This was a boy you would die and give your soul for. 

And also wanted to suck the soul out of. 

“Haechan, please. Fuck. Please,” you whimpered meekly, without a shred of idea of what you were even begging for. 

Though Haechan knew. You were simply so predictable to him by now. He learned to recognize when you were near, all of the glaringly obvious signs, given that you were not subtle in the slightest. With you grinding into his mouth, it was no secret you were on the verge of a sweet release. 

Haechan let his fingers pull the weight and clamped his teeth into the core of your thighs, then growled, “Come on, my pretty girl. Let go for me.”

Your dear boyfriend became ruthless at light speed, devouring you whole with his tongue like he wanted to leave not even a crumb of you to remain. His fingers were double kill, strumming you to ecstasy. 

Your body submitted to his commands, because of course it did. Haechan dominated you. Even if you wanted to disobey him, it was your body’s natural choice to comply. Every inch of you was owned by your lover and he had no intention of giving it back. Not that you wanted it. You took delight in handing him the reins. 

You were unstill, shaken with orgasm. There was a sharp tingle, swelling up your spine and closing in all over. It was too much. Your pussy throbbed, kneading his fingers hotly and you gave one final cry of his name before your body caved in to destruction, instantly going limp.  

Though you were overwhelmed, you should have known Haechan was far from finished. Never one to stop at a single orgasm, your boyfriend ate you out until you physically could not take it anymore, making you shudder with unalloyed pleasure over and over and over again. 

And given how long it had been since your boyfriend’s head had been between your thighs, you weren’t necessarily complaining.

Your chest was heaving and you were clinging to whatever remained of your breath for dear life when he eased up. Your most intense orgasms were always due to a combination of your boyfriend’s relentlessness and your extreme pent-up stress or sexual frustration. 

“You screamed a lot,” Haechan said, sucking your arousal off his fingers and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

You fought a tiny smirk. You always loved the way he looked with your arousal coating his plush, pink lips. Instead, you rolled your eyes and retorted through ragged breath, “Fuck you.”

Haechan casted a smug grin and didn’t hesitate to scoff, “I’m sure you want to.”

Damn it. Now you were absorbed in the thought of him fucking you within an inch of your life. “Please… I can’t wait anymore,” you begged, core still aching no matter how many times he pleasured you. He made you insatiable. 

“I could never tell my pretty girl ‘no,’” Haechan crooned, inching in on you to scoop you in his sun-kissed arms. You giggled when he surprised you with a kiss. “I’ll take care of you.”

As always. 

True to his word, your wonderful boyfriend began to shred himself of his clothes. With your voluntary assistance, of course. You gaped open-mouthed at the sight of his thick cock standing at attention against his stomach, lost for words and short of breath.

Never passing up the opportunity to tease you, Haechan chaffed, “Baby, close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.”

Heat wafted over you. Your voice was small, “Haechan…,”

“Shh. I know, baby. I know,” he whispered. 

Your lover kneeled between your thighs and you spread them for him instantly. Haechan smirked at how pliant you were. He never needed to ask, because it was simply second nature for your body to bend to his every will. 

He tapped his cock against your folds, asking, “How rough do you want it?”

“Break me,” you rasped without a second thought. 

Haechan grinned, full of mischief. 

He pushed in nice and slow, never wanting to hurt you. He lowered his head and met his lips to yours, kissing you as if it would distract you from the feeling of being slowly but surely stretched open. “Open up for me,” he hissed, pulse pumping at how tightly you gripped his cock, on the border of something vice-like. 

“You’re so… so big,” you choked out, anchoring yourself in the sheets with your nails. 

“Mm. Yeah?” Haechan asked, the slyest of smiles on his lips. “But you can take it. Isn’t that right, baby?”

You bobbed your head and your mouth parted, passing a soft moan. 

Haechan thought you wrapped around his bare cock too good, too withering and tight. He was sure pleasure of this magnitude only lived between you and him, irreplicable. Even so quickly you were making short work of him, leaving him with shackled self-restraint and half a mind to destroy what was left of you. 

You forwent the condoms roughly half a year into the relationship. Which was two and a half years ago. Though you took birth control pills and had no intention of becoming pregnant any time soon, if you were to have anyone’s baby, you knew it would only be your boyfriend’s. Thoughts of carrying his baby and raising a child together in your home plagued your mind, and you smiled from ear to ear. 

Your boyfriend glanced at you through his lashes and an invisible string tugged his heart at the sight of you. “What’re you smiling about?”

“You,” you said with hesitation. “I love you. And I want to love you forever.”

“Funny thing to say to the guy that’s about to wreck you.”

You rolled your eyes. It would kill him to be serious even for a second. You added, “He’s also the love of my life.”

Haechan softened. Only a little. “I love you, too,” he whispered, touch betraying his affectionate words as his fingers found purchase at the flesh of your hips. 

A grimace painted your face as Haechan sank his nails deeper and deeper. 

From that point on, Haechan fucked you as if he loathed all there was about you, save for your body. He kept a brutal pace, seemingly fucking you fuller and fuller of his cock with every passing push. Over your soft moans, you could hear his hips meeting yours with a loud, resounding thwack, and your cunt gushing hotly. 

Upon his death-grip, your lover’s name dangled from your tongue in dangerously sharp cries, sweet as honey and thick as tar. Your fingers scouted his biceps, desperate for some kind of anchorage. Haechan let out a dangerously low growl and you immediately tightened. For as long as you’d known him, your boyfriend had always been somewhere in the gray area between sadism and masochism. 

When asked about it, he told you, “There’s no such thing as pleasure without pain, baby. A very thin line separates the two.”

As twisted as it sounded, you agreed. 

The bed and your bodies performed in league to fill the void in the cabin, the former creaking with every reverberating slap of the latter meeting together. 

You were unapologetically vocal, but Haechan too sang his praises when balls deep inside you. At first, you were pleasantly surprised by his unabashed responses. Most of the guys you’d been with prior would stifle anything above a throaty groan. But when your body talked to him, he spoke back even louder. 

Your boyfriend never hid his affection for you. You were the reason he breathed everyday and he would let his body tell you as much. 

Haechan clamped his tanned arm around your throat and you whimpered. The chokehold was tight just enough to not harm you, but still have you begging for breath. He gave you nowhere else to look but his dark eyes, gleaming darkly with lust and lust only. 

He was all you could see. More specifically his eyes. Yours were locked there, unable to glance away. The only time they were out of sight was whenever your vision was peeling off at the edges by inevitable darkness. 

Haechan cocked his head a little, observing his creation. You were coming apart at the seams, eyes widened and lips parted, trying to take in oxygen. “Hard enough for you, baby?”

“Harder,” you managed to croak.  

Your boyfriend shook his head and laughed. Though nothing surprised him anymore. You took whatever he gave you with an insatiable kind of greed, as if there was no such thing as enough where he was involved. 

Even when sated, you only kept coming back for more. 

His pace was hard and unabating. A sharp cry split your lips when he bit your neck, nibbling at the flesh as he roughly fucked you into the mattress. You were unstill, a depthless well of ecstasy. Pleasure knew no boundaries. It was too greedy. It took, consumed, and it dominated. 

Haechan was right. There was a thin line between pain and pleasure and you were somewhere in the middle, teetering in between. 

The entire room was scorching. You soaked in the sight of sweat beading at your boyfriend’s forehead and gushed hotly around his cock, limbs locked together like a cluster of vines, hot skin on even hotter skin. Haechan’s grip on your throat slackened to hear you moan clearer when his tongue laced into you instead. 

You sweltered. And were positive that you would die. What a marvelous way to die, you thought humorously. With the love of your life by your side. You would have it no other way. 

Your back arched and you rocked your hips into his, desperate for more heat and friction. Only he could give it to you. 

That was how Haechan could tell you were close and he brought his fingers to your wet sex, strumming your swollen bundle of nerves. He was almost there and he wanted you to finish together. You cried out his name, clasping his biceps. 

“Cum. You know you want to,” Haechan hummed tauntingly. 

Your legs wrapped around his hips to draw him deeper inside. There was something about being at the brink of climax that rendered your entire body weak. Every piece of you was tempted into doing whatever he desired; whatever his heart desired. You wanted to please him. More than anything, you wanted to make him proud.

Haechan clamped his hands around your throat anew and that was all it took to finish you. Your mouth opened, crying his name as you finally crossed the threshold of orgasm. The tingles returned, prickling with the warm, pumping blood through your limbs. 

You gripped his cock and he came in turn, filling you to the brim with warmth with a sweet, high-pitched moan of your name. 

Haechan glanced over at you. He never got enough of the look on your pretty face when you shuddered, still throbbing and milking his cock dry until he eventually stilled inside you. You heaved for breath and his eyes soaked in your whole body, barely fighting a smile as he noticed all of the bruises and marks leftover. 

He never wanted to hurt you, but subconsciously, there was a part of him that found twisted pleasure. It meant you were his. He owned you, but you owned him. Every inch. 

For a while, you both only laid there, smiling and laughing at each other. Then, Haechan swooped you into his arms and muttered into the crook of your neck, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

You beamed. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Haechan replied, pressing the lightest of kisses to your lips. 

“No, I love you more.”

Haechan whined, “Jesus, woman. I love you more, and that’s final.”

The two of you continued to bicker as if you were teenagers in love for the very first time. It reminded you of the early stages of your relationship, stealing and prolonging time before the other had to leave by initiating an “I love you” battle. 

As the years passed, you learned to savor every moment you had together. Time became scarcer by the day. It was not to be had when you were two adults with heavy workloads. 

Your boss made it his mission to call you into work even on weekends. Before he died, at least. That was a couple of weeks ago and needless to say, you were not very disappointed. 

“Rest in hell,” you remembered your co-worker saying. To which you quipped, “No rest for the wicked.”

Haechan crawled back into bed with you after you were both all clean and the two of you fell asleep in each other’s arms. You could hardly remember the last time you had. It was always him after you or vice versa. Never together. 

This haunted campground trip would ironically prove to be a nice oasis in a busy stage of your lives, it seemed. 

A shrill scream penetrated the night and you were jolted awake. 

Haechan wiped at his tired eyes and his voice was thick with sleepiness, “Is that Winter screaming in terror, because of Jay, or was that Ten?” 

You nudged your boyfriend. “No, that’s definitely terror. The last time I heard that sound was when Winter walked in on Yuta taking a piss.”

“They all scream like girls.”

“You scream like a girl.”

Haechan whined, “Whose side are you on?” 

Laughing, you shoved the duvet off your bodies and said, “Come on. Let’s go make sure these woods aren’t actually haunted.”

“Or worse - Yuta didn’t forget to zip the bathroom door,” he quipped. 

You snickered. 

Your boyfriend caged you behind his body, insisting that he wanted you to flee in the presence of any actual danger, and he led you outside the cabin. A shroud of fog hung near the ground. The sky was darker than the last you’d seen, perpetually mistier.

Haechan sauntered over to Yuta with you in convey and asked, “What’s with all the raucous?” 

“Winter’s idea of a spooky Halloween,” Yuta said dryly, hands at his hips. 

Your eyes rose and you saw Winter pointing fingers and snickering at a dismayed Ten, hairs standing on end. You figured he must have been the latest victim of her scares. 

Ten’s chest heaved as he yelled, “You are not funny!” 

Winter stuck her tongue out, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Damn right. I’m hi-fucking-larious.”

Jaehyun walked by, chuckling, and announced with a bag of marshmallows in clutch, “Time for s’mores.” 

At the mention of s’mores, the six of you huddled together around the campfire like children at the distribution of sweet candy. Danger dissuaded none of you. Each of you were intent on treating this as a typical camping trip. Per your boyfriend’s idea, your phones were in a cardboard box in Ten and Yuta’s cabin for safekeeping, there were plenty of outdoor activities to keep you entertained, and you were going to spend the weekend bonding together. 

Chimera, as wicked as it may have been, was eerily beautiful. And its nature was on another level. 

“Calories,” Winter squealed rather fondly, clapping excitedly.

You soured the mood and said, “And cavities.”

Winter shot you a glare and had she not been on the other side of fire, she would have leapt over and nudged you in the elbow. 

Instead, your best friend replied coolly, “Don’t worry. I packed Jay and I’s toothbrushes. I sent a reminder in the group chat, so I hope you guys didn’t forget.” 

“I came extensively prepared,” Ten said, snatching a graham cracker from Jaehyun and shoving it in his mouth. Much to Winter’s amusement and Jaehyun’s chagrin. “I brought toothbrushes, books, water, ear plugs, flashlights…” 

Haechan interrupted, “Ear plugs?”

Ten scoffed, “Oh, yes. You and your girlfriend and Jaehyun and Winter are notorious for going all night. I’d rather die than hear those two getting dicked down.”

“You’re just jealous,” you snapped lightheartedly. 

Ten reached for a marshmallow and defended himself a little too swiftly, “Oh, honey. I get dicked down on the regular, but you guys have fun.”

Yuta leaned into your ear from the right and whispered, “And strapped down by you in his dreams.”

“I heard that,” Ten hissed. 

Yuta played innocent and said, “Heard what?” 

Your boyfriend heard it, too, but he only pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of your lips, rubbing it in Ten’s face. 

For his comfort, the topic changed.

The treats began to cook at long last. Haechan made you a s’more, seeing as you were a camping amateur, and you merely watched with fondness twinkling in your eyes. You were so out of your mind in love with your boyfriend that even the simplest of gestures made your heart swell with warmth. 

For the second s’more, Haechan guided you. You stuffed a marshmallow on the tip of a roasting stick and he held your hands in his as you held it over the fire. “Not too close. You don’t want it to catch on fire,” were his words, a certain concentration in his eyes tempting your heart to leap into the wavering flames. 

Ensuing was a treat of chocolatey goodness. 

Your friends were laughing and telling jokes over the campfire and somehow you became so engrossed in the conversation that you didn’t notice your third marshmallow was burning until it was too late. “I burned my marshmallow,” you announced with a frown. 

Yuta had finished up with his, but out of the kindness of his heart, offered to switch. “Have mine,” he insisted. 

“You’re too kind. Thank you,” you replied, appreciative. 

Then, you glanced over to your boyfriend, though he was still chattering with the rest of your friends. For a second, you thought it went unnoticed, but he laced his fingers through yours without a word and that was the end. 

You smiled. He was nothing like any of your past lovers. They were over-possessive and controlling, demanding your constant and undivided attention. Haechan, at worst, was a little clingy. 

He never got jealous over tiny, harmless gestures. The bar was so goddamn low, but finally having a normal guy made you prone to constant comparisons. He was totally chill when you were in the company of male friends and the only time he ever got upset was when you were hurt. 

Which was completely understandable. Instead of seeing you as an object to own, it represented his genuine respect and care for you. 

He’s the one, you thought with a stupid smile on your face. Even your parents agreed and were already calling him their son-in-law. Most people you dated prior didn’t even make it past the front lawn of their house. 

“Did you guys know that Chimera is actually named after a Greek mythical creature?” Ten asked, ever the bookworm. 

Jaehyun insincerely sneered, “Nerd.”

Ten ignored him with a roll of his eyes and continued, “In Greek mythology, the Chimera were fire-breathing creatures that appeared as a lion with a goat head on its back, and a snake for a tail.”

Haechan asked curiously, “Isn’t it also genetic mutations?”

“In biology, yes,” Ten said matter-of-factly. “It refers to organisms with several different genetic complications or DNA molecules with sequences from different organisms done by laboratories.”

“Wow. What a way to take us back to high school,” Yuta teased. 

You shook your head, intrigued. “No, no. I’m interested. Ten, continue.”

Ten flushed a little and his voice was quieter when he added, “Chimera also means a creature of the imagination. It’s something you dream of, but it’s a tantalizing, unattainable desire.”

Winter chimed in, “I’ve heard stories about Chimera. These woods particularly.”

“Me, too,” Jaehyun said. “The gruesome deaths, the questionable suicides. No wonder nobody wants to come out here, as beautiful as it is.”

You retorted, “Then, what does that make the six of us?”

They laughed. 

“I heard a girl killed herself in these very woods,” Yuta said, voice low over the crackling sound of fire. “But rumor has it she was actually slaughtered.”

“In the early nineteen-eighties. I remember,” Ten replied, slightly unnerved. 

Haechan snickered. “You weren’t even born yet.”

“I read a lot.”

That was obvious. 

Winter whispered eerily, “They say that sometimes you can still hear her footsteps dragging across the dirt, lurking in the night’s darkness.” 

Perfectly on cue, there was an eerie sound from the woods and you couldn’t convince yourself that you were the only one to hear it because each of your heads whipped around all at once. Haechan instinctively coiled an arm around you, prepared to protect you even against the soul of a girl that killed herself forty years ago if he could. 

Or maybe she really didn’t commit suicide. Maybe her killer painted her death as a suicide and now she was seeking revenge on humankind for not seizing the murderer. 

You immediately scolded yourself for being so silly. There was no such thing as ghosts or monsters. You believed in one evil and it was the human race. It’s probably just a squirrel or something, you reassured yourself. A squirrel with painfully inconvenient timing. 

Glancing between your boyfriend, Jaehyun, Ten, and Yuta, you said, “And what the hell are the four of you sitting around for? You’re the men! Go investigate.”

Ten was purely dismayed by the mere thought. “And because I’m a man I should be sacrificed to the devil? Absolutely not. This is how people die in horror movies. They go around poking their nose into places they have no business when they should be running for their lives.”

“Let’s go together,” Haechan said, throwing you all assertive glances. 

There was some reluctance, but you all begrudgingly agreed. As they say, no man left behind. Haechan still kept you flush to his chest, as did Jaehyun with Winter. He had his burly arms coiled above her hips. 

“There’s no girl in the woods,” Yuta murmured under his breath. But you heard him through the thick, strained silence. 

Jaehyun quipped, “Who knows. Maybe there’s one for you and you’ll stop showing my girlfriend your penis.”

Yuta retorted, “She’s the one that walks in on me. Maybe your girlfriend wants to see my penis.”

“Please be quiet,” Winter whined. 

Jaehyun, on a mission to be the world’s greatest boyfriend (and a few places behind, in your biased opinion), silenced himself on command and tightened his clasp below her ribs. He wasn’t all too convinced that there was a ghost in the woods, but he wanted to ease her. It was far more likely that you were all overthinking the sound of some animal minding its business. 

Your boyfriend had the exact same idea and held you even tighter. Whenever in the face of danger, his first instinct was - and would always be - to protect you. Only over his dead body would he allow harm to come your way. 

But even in his soothing embrace there was still a sinister energy that plagued you, alerting you that there was something amiss here. Fog blurred your vision and darkness wore at it, making it difficult to see clearly. 

Ten was prepared as always and turned on one of those flashlights he had mentioned earlier. He handed it to your boyfriend, the one currently leading your pack of six. 

Ever courageous, he led each of you through the night’s wilderness, your pulse thumping in your body the entire time. For whatever reason, the fear in you was unshakable. You had no clue where it emerged from, but it completely unnerved you. 

A sound of twigs snapping stunned you all and Haechan shone the light at a tree where the noise seemed to come from, just quick enough to see a squirrel scurrying up a tree trunk. As far as any of you could tell, it was the same tree the first noise sounded from. Haechan assuringly declared, “It was just a squirrel.”

Your breaths came easier. Exactly what you suspected, but it would never hurt to be one-hundred percent sure. Though even with that burden off your shoulders, unease still penetrated you. 

Jaehyun, Yuta, and your boyfriend seemed fearless, while Ten and Winter were relieved that they’d been frightened over nothing. But you were still not entirely convinced. 

Was it only you? 

The rumors and spooky stories are getting to my head. That’s all, you consoled yourself. You’re in apparently haunted woods. Woods alone are scary enough, haunted or not. And this is your first time. Fear is natural. 

Each of you turned around and headed back to the campfire you hadn’t dared strayed too far from and sensing your unease from a mile away, Haechan pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Don’t be scared, baby girl. If any monster pops out, it will have to get through me before it hurts you,” he whispered softly in your ears. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt, either,” you huffed, voice muffled as you put your head in your boyfriend’s chest. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he told you sweetly. “I’ve been told I resemble a bear. The worst-case scenario is one attacks the trashcan and I have to communicate with it to discourage it.”

“And what if it’s a wolf?” 

Haechan tightened his hold on you, purring, “Well, I’ve also been told I’m big and bad.”

You snickered. Leave it to your wonderful boyfriend to melt your worries away with his equally brilliant humor. He made you forget why you had even been so scared in the first place, all by kissing you and making you laugh. 

The six of you decided you’d had your fill of spooky stories for one night and retired to your cabins for bed. You heard more than a couple of noises from the cabin across from you - Jaehyun and Winter’s - and promptly wished you would have also had the brilliant idea of bringing some noise-cancellation headphones. 

Fortunately for you, your boyfriend was a self-proclaimed genius (and maybe once or twice you fed his ego and agreed), and had an even better idea. He fucked you so hard that you tuned out the rest of the world, unable to hear anything over both of your own moans. 

In the morning, you woke up and took your time to crawl out of bed. Haechan had worn you out and you could still feel the soreness in your thighs from the night before. Not to mention the gentle morning sex you dreamed of, moans soft over the sound of birds tweeting quietly. 

It was closer to afternoon when you finally went outside and got some sunlight. Everyone was in their own atmosphere. You ate breakfast and listened to mother nature for a while. 

There was a lake walking distance from the campground and one of the boys called out your name, boarding two three-person canoes. You recognized the voice as Jaehyun’s and he asked, “Wanna go canoeing with us?”

You mulled it over, but noticing Ten’s eyes on you was all the discouragement you needed. Each of the four boys were aboard, including your boyfriend. Ten was as dear a friend to you as the other two, but that was it. No part of you wanted to make things even more awkward and strained in the friendship than they already were. 

Though you and Haechan may not have dropped any comments, Ten’s lingering eyes were definitely not lost on either of you. Besides, being with a bunch of guys was not your idea of a vacation well-spent. You refused to leave Winter alone at a potentially haunted campground. 

For that reason, you had a feeling that Jaehyun was only asking to tease Ten, but you declined the offer nonetheless and said sweetly, “I’m good. I’ll stay and keep Winter company. You guys have some brotherly bonding time.”

The boys told you to have fun and you bid them likewise. 

You immediately scouted Winter afterwards and found her taking pictures of wildflowers. Unnoticed, you decided to slowly creep towards her, but your fun was ruined when she said without turning around, “I know you’re there. You can’t beat the master at her own game.”

You frowned.

Winter turned around, smirking at the fact that she’d caught you with your trousers down. “What’s up, bestie?”

You flopped against a blanket she’d sprawled across the ground. “Do you think Ten likes me?” you asked, fidgeting. 

“As more than a friend? Definitely,” your best friend said, coming to join you. “Jaehyun told me the boys are going canoeing. I can only hope Haechan doesn’t try to drown him.”

You knew she was only being funny, but the thought made you shiver. Of course, you knew your boyfriend well and he would never. The trust you had in each other was all needed to comfort him and to know that you were all his was more than enough. 

He could be possessive, but not over-possessive. He liked to stake his claim to you, holding you and kissing you in front of people so they knew you were his, and leaving visible marks on your neck in  your alone time for the same purpose. He never demanded your complete attention, as much as he adored being in the center. 

Tiny gestures never made him feel bitter. You had no painful memories of your boyfriend’s jealousy. The opposite, rather. He fucked you extra hard until he felt better. 

You fought a smirk. At worst, he was a little meaner than usual. But damn it did you like it when he was mean and rough. 

You defended your boyfriend and said, “My boyfriend is an angel. He doesn’t get jealous.”

“Your boyfriend is a Gemini. Duh, he gets jealous,” Winter argued teasingly, seeing dead through you. A silent understanding passed between you. She liked the jealousy sex, too. “He was so mad at me yesterday.”

“That’s because he was angry. Not jealous. You hurt me and he hates when I’m hurt.” 

“Whatever,” your best friend replied, fondling with her camera that Jaehyun bought her for her birthday this January. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I reviewed the pictures and I saw a ghost?”

You grimaced. “That’s one way to put it. For sure.”

“Okay, maybe not funny. But I don’t think these woods are haunted. I believe the stories about the suicides and murders, but evil spirits? That’s a humongous stretch.”

Never mind yesterday’s confidence. Now, you only shuddered. Though you wanted to agree, there was something about these woods that rubbed you the completely wrong way. And it wasn’t only the tales of ghosts. There was an intangible kind of fear ready to consume you. No matter how badly you wanted to, you couldn’t put your finger on where it stemmed from. 

That was unnerving to you. Only the weekend before, you were more than excited. There was no telling what traps laid waiting in Chimera, much less its woods, which made you all the more determined to unravel its mystery. 

Now, you wanted to leave the knots as tangled as they’d been discovered. 

“I guess,” you told Winter. If she thought nothing of the environment, then there was a chance you were overthinking it all. 

Winter heaved a pleased sigh. “It’s hard to imagine anyone could taint such a beautiful place with blood,” she said, gesturing around to Mother Nature’s handiwork.

 “That sounded strangely poetic,” you replied, feeling as if you were in some sort of murder mystery novel. 

Winter snickered. “As my favorite writer once said, ‘believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see.’”

You gave your best friend a look and asked expectantly, “And what does Edgar Allan Poe have to do with anything?”

“Nothing.” Winter shrugged her shoulders. “I just found it fitting.” 

You laughed a little. In spite of its reputation, Chimera was by far one of the most beautiful places you had ever seen. Unsurprisingly, however, that alone wasn’t enough to attract tourists. When you checked the campground website, you ironically noticed they used its hauntedness as promotion to lure campers. 

Clearly, it was working. 

You found it interesting that Chimera was predominantly grass and trees. There were some signs of civilization, as you’d notice on the way to the campground, though mainly towards the center. Areas placed on the periphery of the town were especially rural. 

For instance, the woods. Wildflowers consumed your vision and you understood why Winter was at peace here. You bit your lip. You didn’t want to be a buzz kill, but asked quietly, “Do you ever get the feeling that something you fear is hiding in plain sight?”

Winter nudged you gently. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s just… I don’t know,” you exhaled frustratedly. “Something about this place keeps me on my toes.” 

“Do you think that girl was killed here?” 

You shrugged, trying to feign some semblance of nonchalance. “I think it would be easy to kill anybody here and get away with it. Think about it. There’s a lot of empty land to cover. Easier to live off the grid. You could be abducted from the mainland and no one would ever find you.”

“Okay, you’re thinking too hard,” Winter quipped with a wince. “I get why you’re scared, babe. But I also think you’re supposed to feel that way. For obvious reasons. What you need is a little distraction.”

That made you well with curiosity. “Like what?”

The second the boys were back from canoeing you and your best friend made a beeline to boyfriends, as if you couldn’t wait another. Winter had insisted only moments ago that good dick was all the distraction you needed and as badly as you wanted to make a spiteful argument, you had none to offer. 

But you also wanted to simply talk to Haechan for a while. Not only was he a lover, but a friend wrapped into one. Your boyfriend had a natural ability to abate your fears, but he was also someone that would listen to them and help you wrap your head around them.

You fought a snicker at how badly that made him sound like a therapist. After this trip, you had a feeling you might’ve needed one. 

Haechan sensed there was something off even from the other side of the lake and coiled an arm around below your ribs as soon as he got a chance, asking, “What’s wrong?”

Your eyes flickered. “How’d you know?”

“Gut feeling,” Haechan said with a shrug. “I know when my baby’s suffering. Talk to me.” 

Your heart promptly ricocheted against your ribcage. You glanced around. Jaehyun and Winter had already snuck off to their cabin for some loving while Yuta and Ten were chattering about whatever, but you still were in need of some privacy. 

You slithered into his arms and murmured, “I wanna be alone. With you.”

“There’s a nice little two-mile trail over here. Takes you around and back from over that way. We could shortcut it and be back in about thirty minutes or take the long way and come back in about sixty.”

“Let’s do it,” you said, gesturing for him to lead the way. 

Going deeper into the forbidden woods was not your idea of resolving your fears, but the marvelous landscape gave you little room for complaints. Plus, being there with your boyfriend was almost romantic. 

There was something about all this beauty that made you fear what was cloaked beneath. 

Haechan was very patient with you and for a while you both walked in silence, absorbing your surroundings until he said, “Ready to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know what it is, really. But this place gives me the creeps and I can’t explain why. It just does.” 

“It’s not just the reputation, is it?” Haechan asked, seeing right through you. 

It was almost scary how perfectly Haechan could piece you together. Nobody had you more figured out than he did. “You read me so well,” you murmured. 

Haechan chuckled. “I call it the fear of the unknown. You don’t know what’s out there, so anything could be out there. The shit we fear is often the same shit we can’t control, and that’s why it scares us.”

“Does the unknown scare you?” 

“No,” Haechan said, but draped an arm over you as a reminder you weren’t alone. “I like unpredictability. Anything could happen. But I understand why it terrifies some people.”

You teased, “Then, what are you afraid of?”

Your boyfriend’s tone and response in general was a hell of a lot more sober than you were expecting, “Stagnation and routine. I hate being confined to patterns. You already know that, though.”

That you did. Haechan mentioned he was considering switching jobs solely because he wanted more flexibility in life. The pay was nice and so was the insurance and paid vacations, but something had to give. 

You supported him wholeheartedly, of course. Haechan never minded change and would have no problem adjusting, plus only having weekends (and scarce vacations) to each other was a ginormous test of your patience. He wanted more out of life. If he couldn’t spend it with you, then he saw little point. 

“Is that all?” you pressed. He was brave, but not fearless. The reminder was very warm to you. And strangely comforting. 

Haechan said without hesitation, “And losing you because of them.”

Damn it. Now, your heart was racing. It was no question how your boyfriend managed to sweep you off your feet. He was full of endless charm and sincerity. There was a kind of passion to him about you that was undeniable and never questionable. 

You abandoned your self-restraint at the campground and rose off the heels of your shoes, meeting your lips to his. He had to be out of his goddamn mind if he thought he would lose you any time soon. There was no way in hell you would be capable of replacing him. In a world without your boyfriend, you would rather die lonely. 

There was also something about learning your boyfriend’s fears that took the edge off your own. Maybe whatever they were rooted in was much simpler. This place spooked you because of the reputation attached. That was all. 

And now that you were making out with your boyfriend, his heavy hands on your hips, you really couldn’t have given less of a damn about these woods. 

He had the same idea and pulled you over by a tree. For a second, you clung onto your mind long enough to wonder what in the hell you were doing. Then, you lost it just as quickly. There was nothing but trees and plants out here. And maybe a couple of animals that would soon be traumatized. With the coast clear, you were welcome to be as reckless as you liked. 

Haechan instructed, “Knees.” 

You wasted absolutely no time in scrambling to your knees, what was left of your mind too warped to give a damn about the twigs crunching beneath your kneecaps. As always, you wanted to pleasure him and make him proud. Whatever the price may have been, you’d gladly pay it. No matter the sacrifice. 

Your boyfriend was amused, though not at all surprised when you hurriedly reached for his pants, tugging them down before he got the chance to give the order. You wanted to taste that big dick down your throat. 

There was something about Haechan’s size that made your mouth water and gape, ripe and ready, though also left you clenching around nothing at all. Obviously, you’d seen it a number of times before, but the element of surprise was a constant, non-changing factor. Damn it, you would never get tired of his cock. 

Haechan noticed the dazed look in your eyes and smirked. He tapped his cock against your lips and said, “Do you got it, or do you want me to fuck your throat?” 

“I’m going to suck the soul out of you,” you said with an unwavering kind of confidence. 

Haechan gave a snicker. He fisted your hair behind your head and you swiftly got to work, wasting not another second to swirl your tongue around the base of his cock. You liked riling him up, liked taking your time to draw him between your lips and you knew your boyfriend liked it, too. No matter how much he bitched and whined.

“Fuck,” Haechan whined when your tongue teased the tip. He was hard as bricks, which took pretty much nothing to happen whenever you were involved. 

You took his noises with delight, doing your best to ignore the tireless thumping between your plush thighs. As a distraction, you finally drew him inside your mouth, steadily swallowing him inch by damn inch as a measure to prevent yourself from gagging. Your cheeks were hollowed, breath entering through your nose. 

Haechan’s grip on your hair tightened as he hissed, a telltale sign you were doing something very right. Your mouth was so unfathomably darn warm around his size that he was beginning to lose his mind, but to be frank, he lost it the very same day he met you. 

A part of him used to hope that you would give it back, but insanity was a close friend of his now. Or maybe it was the dormant monster living eternally inside him, roused by you for whatever reason. And it was ravenously hungry. 

A kind of greed came over and dominated you, possessing you to suck him like you genuinely intended to suck the soul out of him. As many times as you’d done it before, there could only be so much of his soul still there, though not pleasure. Pleasure was forever and always. “Just like that,” Haechan moaned, basking in the heat of your tongue pressed to his cock. 

His praises only spurred you on. There was nothing you liked more than knowing how good you could make your boyfriend feel. Between the two of you lay a ride-or-die bond that nobody else would ever fathom. Even you somehow couldn’t comprehend how or why he drove you so crazy. You only knew you would do unspeakable things to please your boyfriend and sucking him off in the woods was far from the most bizarre thing on the list of shit you were willing to do. 

You made eye contact with a traumatized rabbit for a whole second and it was all you could do to keep yourself from laughing and spoiling the mood. You gripped the base of Haechan’s cock, sucking him and stroking him all the while. 

None of this should’ve had you dripping the way it did, but you could feel yourself only getting even wetter. You gagged a couple of times (with his size, it was inevitable) but never stopped, a sting of tears in your eyes forming out of twisted pleasure. 

Haechan liked looking down and seeing you on your knees way too much, his dick in your mouth and your tear-stained face glancing back up at him. Fuck, you knew what it did to him when you looked at him like that. 

Like a pretty little thing warped completely by him. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Haechan said, tugging your hair. You hissed, but as he once said, there was no pleasure without pain. Nowhere did you say you didn’t get a thrill out of the sting. “Shit, baby. Are you gonna take it?”

You bobbed your head, humming around him and having a laugh smothered when he promptly made a noise of pleasure. He always wanted to last longer, but you made short work of him. A weakness if he knew one. 

Noting that he was close to his peak, you pulled out all the stops to bring him to sweet release as quickly as possible. You loved witnessing your boyfriend disentangle, loved when he was running on empty without an inch of self-control. Haechan was at his worst here, rutting against your mouth to meet your pace with a roughness that never ceased to make you gag. 

He was fucking your throat nice and hard, pulling your hair to use as he so pleased until the pleasure became so great that he couldn’t hold back anymore, a wave of warm cum painting your tongue. He never stopped fucking your mouth until his orgasm passed completely, high-pitched moans making you pulse rapidly. You swallowed as much as you could, not wanting to dirty your clothes and leave evidence of your lewd behavior. 

Haechan pulled out eventually, chest undulating as he recovered from his orgasm, though he never forgot to ask, “You good?”

You nodded, wiping saliva from your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“I hope you’re ready to get fucked,” Haechan said, helping you to your feet. Which made you snicker. If fucking in the woods was crazy, you were both out of your goddamn mind in love. 

You moaned when Haechan kissed you again and you grabbed his cock in your palms, stroking him hard anew all the while. The longer you waited, the less you could ignore the fire igniting between your thighs that ached to be taken care of. 

Haechan shoved you against the tree after a while and didn’t bother to slide your panties down, only slipping them to the side, courtesy of your skirt. Your palms dug into rough bark and he instead cuffed your wrists in his own hand, tightening them at your backside. He steered his cock to your entrance with the other, your arousal making it all too easy to skid right inside. 

Your moans were instantaneous. Haechan stroked deeper and deeper until every inch was utterly nested inside your sweet cunt, his cock disappearing inside. He took pleasure in stretching you open, because even after fucking you time and time again, your cunt never seemed to get any less tight. He always had to coax his way inside, no matter how wet you were. 

“Haechan,” you stammered, mouth hanging wide open with moans of his name. 

As much as he liked hearing you moan his name, Haechan clamped his palm over your mouth, smothering your sounds while still keeping your arms locked behind your back. 

Though you and your boyfriend had admittedly had sex in a number of places, some debatably strange, the middle of the haunted woods undoubtedly took the cake. The view was nice. You had to admit that it was somewhat romantic being fucked by your boyfriend against a tree while staring at an array of vibrant plants and pretty skies. And being out in the open aroused you a little more than it should have. 

Your body shuddered when he released your wrists to cup a palmful of your breasts, slipping his hand beneath your shirt and his finger kneading your nipple. “You’re so beautiful like this,” Haechan exhaled. Even now, he sometimes struggled to comprehend that he could call someone as beautiful as you were his, but he would be damned if he let anyone snatch away his girl. 

You listened contentedly to the sound of Haechan’s low groans of pleasure and sticks being crumbled beneath your toes as he pounded into you roughly, your fingernails finding purchase in the tree’s gnarled surface. All you could do was whimper, rooted in place and left to take all he gave you. 

Haechan hit a deep spot and you cried into his palm, a weakness making your head spin with dizziness. He simply had a power over you, goddamn it. Your body could never get enough, a depthless well of lust and arousal in the face of your boyfriend. 

As if he could hear whatever your muffled voice said in the crook of his palm, Haechan’s pace quickened, fucking you tirelessly with a passion that could never be sated. You wallowed in the sound of his hips slamming into yours with a sharp, wet slap. There was no denying what was happening if anyone made the unfortunate mistake of walking by.

Fortunately, your only company were harmless animals and possibly a couple of wandering ghosts. 

The harder you were fucked, the harder it was to stand on your own. Haechan took and took from your body but left a crushing kind of pleasure that rendered you weak and another indescribable feeling, smothering you with the unknown sensation. But instead of fear, it aroused a dangerous curiosity within you. 

“So good for me,” Haechan moaned, draping his lips over your already mark-stained neck. Your entire body was nearly coated in dark bruises ensuing after a long session of fucking and sucking and love-making. “You always gotta feel so damn good.”

His palm slacked on your mouth and you whimpered, “Baby, too much.”

Haechan slowed himself for a second and asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head and ironically whimpered at his slower pace. God, no. You wanted Haechan to fuck you numb. 

He snickered and picked back up his quickened rhythm. “That’s my girl,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “Take it for me, baby.”

Never had your body ever felt so stimulated and alive, every muscle taut with pleasure. It was a lot, but you took it like a champ, loving the way your boyfriend’s thick girth filled you up, hard and stiff. Fire set you ablaze, heat igniting at the vortex of your thighs and shooting through you like a bundle of fireworks. You were smothered by heat, scorching all over. 

Your bodies were on autopilot, sweat beading at the surface of your skin and making your clothes adhere. You were sticky with sweat and arousal and eventually bits of Haechan’s cum, the part you were most excited for. The thought of your boyfriend emptying his balls into you alone was more than enough to make your walls clamp around his cock, wanting to literally milk him dry. You moaned in anticipation. 

“Want you to cum,” you whimpered, body thumped forward with every heavy thrust inside you. “Baby, please. I wanna make you cum.”

Haechan bit his lip when he heard you beg. Why did you have to be so damn sexy? It was the perfect way to bring him over the edge. “Gotta take care of my girl first, baby,” he whispered sweetly in your ear. 

As soon as those words escaped his mouth, you finally noticed how close you were, body under pressure and ready to snap. You could hardly even stand upright on your own, knees very liable to giving in (and more sore than you could notice over numbing pleasure). You were prepared to be broken beyond reclaim. 

“Baby, I…”

“I know,” Haechan shushed you with a sweet peck to your cheek. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m right here. Let go.”

That was all you needed to hear before you couldn’t fight release anymore and it toppled over, draping over you in totality. You came so hard that tears began to well from your eyes, your hands desperately clinging to the tree bark, bruises ready to form all over. Haechan brought his palm back over your mouth quick enough to smother a prolonged, sated scream. 

He whispered praises in your ear even your body slackened, limp against the tree but still letting him use you as needed. You were trembling with anticipation, restless as you waited for him to fill you to the brim. “Baby, please,” you begged. “Fill me up. Fill me up...,”

Haechan developed a ruthless pace now, absorbed in your desperate chants and the way your pussy pulsed around his cock, endeavoring to trigger his climax. He was tangled in the heat of you, dangerously close and gripping your hips so harshly you whined, “Fuck,” into his palm. 

Soon enough, listening to the sound of your sweet voice and muffled cries got the best of him and Haechan’s hips stilled inside, cock twitching with orgasm and promptly releasing hotly inside you. He gave a long hiss while you sighed pleasantly, satisfied at long last. 

Your boyfriend cleaned you up while you rested against the tree, feeling lightheaded. He ensured your skirt was in place and brushed off tiny specks of dirt that had clung to your knees. Haechan, as always, was restless, but you were still trying to catch your breath from the hell of a nut that he had only now given you. 

And you could feel his release still warm between your thighs, caught in your panties. 

You were as fucked out as you looked and he wallowed in the darkly arousing sight of you, evidence of what happened etched across your face no matter the length you went to hide. 

Haechan fought a sly grin and asked, “Ready?” 

You nodded. But when you went to walk, you reeled. Tomorrow was Sunday and that morning you would be kissing these woods goodbye, but you had a feeling your boyfriend would leave you too sore to work come Monday. 

Not that you were complaining. You could only wonder if that was part of his master plan. 

“Disgusting,” Winter sneered lightheartedly when she noticed you limping back to the campground. 

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. I’m sure you and Jaehyun gave the boys a lot to raise hell about while we were gone.” 

Jaehyun, directly beside his girlfriend, pulled her into his arms and said, “Hey, it’s not my baby’s fault she’s loud.”

Winter hummed in agreement. “Right. It’s his.”

“Who’s disgusting now,” you remarked with a playful grimace. 

Haechan - for once in his entire life - was silent, too focused on helping you to a shower. He only chuckled a little and ushered you away to take good care of you.

You felt a hell of a lot more refreshed once you cleaned up and had a change of clothes, though ironically energetic. When in need of a nap, Haechan  fucking the shit out of you plus a nice bath usually did the trick (although the bathroom luxuries were limited outdoors), but somehow you were given a burst of energy. 

Though not too long ago you were spooked by what lay in hiding in these woods, there was now a rain cloud of dread and sadness hanging over you when you realized this trip would be ending all too soon. You were having way too much fun in the company of your friends and boyfriend. The last thing you wanted was for it to end.

This place was growing on you. And now that it had, it was almost time to leave. The goddamn irony. 

You stepped outside. Jaehyun and your boyfriend were firing up the grill and Yuta was talking to a squirrel (you would rather not ask), meanwhile Winter was strangely nowhere to be seen. But Ten was at the empty campfire, spectacles sitting on the bridge of his nose as he flipped pages of a rather thick novel. 

You chuckled. It was almost endearing. Some things never changed. 

Your contemplative face was on. The conversation would have to be had one way or another. That much you knew. Your options were clear, though dull. Either address the elephant in the room, or create a rift in your relationship with willful ignorance. 

So, you hauled ass right over to that campfire. 

Ten was startled by your sudden presence and given the circumstances, he was prepared to give someone an earful over the unannounced interruption, but swiftly silenced himself when he noticed it was you who’d come to his side. 

You winced when you noticed his jumpy reaction. “Sorry. Did I scare you?” 

“No,” Ten lied and put his book face down. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to talk.”

That kindled his interest. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you replied nonchalantly. “What are you reading?”

“This book about the cycle of darkness and light. It’s in German. It’s about how the light replenishes what the darkness steals, but the darkness will always undo it again regardless.”

That genuinely piqued your curiosity. “Sounds deep.”

“Oh, yes. There are plenty of figurative details about hope and hiding your quote-unquote darkness to other people. The author likens human beings to the moon. We all have a dark side, but other people only see the lit part of us,” Ten said, and you beamed at his enthusiasm. “The part we want them to see.”

You leaned over to notice the novel was indeed in German. And impressed that he could comprehend it nonetheless. “Do you have a hidden dark side?”

“‘We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others, that in the end, we become disguised to ourselves.’”

“François de La Rochefoucauld,” you replied, recognizing the quote. 

Ten stared at you, wide-eyed. “You know?” 

You nodded with a smile. “He also said, ‘true love is like ghosts, which everybody talks about and few have seen.’”

Ten went dangerously silent and you knew you’d struck a sore spot, but you weren’t done applying pressure. 

You continued, “You’re a really good friend, Ten. And a great guy.”

“Don’t.” 

You cocked your head. “Don’t do what?” 

“Don’t be nice! Don’t be you,” Ten whispered frustratedly, standing to his feet. Which you did suit. “Do you know you’re the only person in this world who’s never laughed at me?”

It was your turn to be quiet now. Tension had a heavy hand clamped over your mouth. 

“You’ve never mocked me. Never made fun of me. The only time you’ve made me feel less than someone else is when you and Haechan got together. Even then, none of it was your fault.”

Grabbing his hand, you crooned, “I’m sorry.” 

That only exasperated Ten even more and he swatted your hand away, though careful not to hurt you, and hurriedly scooped his things into his arms. “Just stop. Don’t let me down gently. You’ll only make it harder on me.”

Ten stormed off before you could get another word in and you merely stood there, riveted in place. You glanced around and were relieved that nobody seemed to notice, but a sour sensation broiled in your gut as you wondered if you’d only rubbed salt in all the wrong wounds. 

For fuck’s sake. Maybe it would have been a better idea to wait until you’d left the campground. At least then you wouldn’t have potentially ruined his whole trip. 

Jaehyun passed out hotdogs as they were coming off the grill and everyone gathered together for an early dinner, but Ten was still nowhere to be seen. Yuta came to their shared cabin and offered him food, but he denied it, sulking all alone. 

“I mean, shit. What did you do to him?” Yuta asked you once he returned. 

You gave him a hard glare and ignored the question. “You guys should be nicer to Ten. He’s a little sensitive right now,” you scolded, then turned to face your boyfriend who was sitting directly next to you. “You, too.”

Haechan threw his hands up. “Yes, ma’am.”

You gave a prolonged exhale. It was no secret Ten had a mean crush on you, though you had denied it for as long as possible. Now that you’d confronted the issue at hand, it blew up in your face. For that reason, there was another unsettling feeling coming alive in the pit of your stomach, making your skin crawl. 

But this time, you knew why. Ironically, you couldn’t tell if that was worse. 

Nothing else was seemingly out of place and the evening carried on as usual, but you were definitely on edge. The shorter days meant an earlier sunset and by the time the sky dimmed pitch-black, most of the others had retreated to their respective cabins, in favor of escaping the approaching threat of bloodthirsty mosquitoes. 

Except for you and your boyfriend, who approached you carrying two glasses of champagne and handing you one.

You accepted the glass and gave him a look. “And what are we celebrating?”

“Making it through the weekend. Alive,” Haechan joked, taking a seat next to you. 

“Mm. You know what champagne does to me.”

He nodded, like that was the whole point. “Yeah. I expect your hands to be all over me in five minutes tops.”

You snickered and sipped from your glass quietly. Haechan placed a cool hand on your thigh, a stark contrast from the raging heat of the campfire crackling merely inches away from you. The sensation was very welcome. 

There was no one around save for you, your boyfriend, and a large number of still trees. Haechan was usually full of conversation, but he was too preoccupied in drawing circles on your bare thighs, caught in how much he loved them. You smiled slyly. The feeling was mutual. Your boyfriend had some thick ass thighs.

Then, your thoughts were dark, and you frowned at the reminder of the terrible dread reeling like a vortex in your belly. “Ten likes me.”

“No offense, baby. But I think you were the last person to figure that out.”

You frowned. “I think I always knew, but I didn’t want to accept it. Because I value the friendship him and I have and I didn’t want that bond to be broken. I still can’t really believe he has feelings for me.”

“I don’t see what’s so surprising,” Haechan said, glancing up from your thighs to look you plain in the eye. “You’re a likable person, babe. I say the guy has taste. Too bad you’re already mine.”

Your lover more or less played compassionate, but you could tell he didn’t actually feel too bad about the situation. Or much of anything for that matter. Funnily enough, that kindled a kind of uncertainty in you. “Doesn’t it make you angry?” you asked curiously, threading your fingers through his bright head of hair.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would it? I already know you’re all mine,” Haechan reasoned. “I don’t need any affirmation because I know I own your mind, body, and soul. It’s like I have you under a spell.”

Maybe the champagne had you under a spell, because you swore he looked even better than normal, skin glimmering courtesy of the crackling fire. You could see an identical inferno irate in his pretty brown eyes, blood-hungry and spiraling alarmingly out of control. You knew damn well you were playing with fire, but for whatever reason, you were dangerously in love with the burn. 

Your lover’s lips attacked you and you submitted to his touch, within the firing line of danger. Your hands found his body promptly, desperate for warmth, and Haechan smirked because he had predicted as much. 

He could never scare you. The more you uncovered about him, the deeper you fell into some depthless pile of doom. 

Haechan coiled one arm around your backside while the other skirted between your thighs, grabbing a feel of your clothed arousal. You moaned, already getting wetter. “You do realize this is our third time today alone?” 

“What can I say? I’m addicted to you,” Haechan said, kneading between your thighs and watching your lips fall with a pleased exhale. 

You kept touching and sucking each other until Haechan inevitably got a little too riled up hearing your sweet moans and gently pressed you against the thick log, a blanket already draped above. Strangely, time seemed to move slower, like the whole world was frozen over and there was no one else there. Nobody to interrupt your reckless fun. 

A tinge of heat blossomed inside your chest, rapidly spreading elsewhere when your boyfriend plucked your shirt and bra and started to kiss his way down your breasts. You clasped your palms on his shoulders, soft little sighs still doing a number on him as he nibbled at your flesh, cock growing harder. 

Just thinking about all the many times Haechan fucked you into oblivion had you in a drunken stupor and you begged demurely, “Please, baby.” There was nothing you weren’t willing to do if it meant he would stop drawing out the inevitable, no matter how good his kisses were. 

Haechan swore loudly and shoved a hand down your shorts, breaking the barriers and feeling your arousal coating his fingers. Did you always have to be so impatient and wet? Your head tipped back with a moan, body arching against his touch. 

You whimpered in surprise when Haechan brought you to a stand to sweep the blanket over the grassy ground and again when he pulled you to the surface, grabbing your shorts by the band and promptly tossing them aside. Haechan made sure you were far away enough from the fire not to be a safety hazard, but close enough for light and warmth. 

Not that you need very much of the latter. Your boyfriend touching you kindled sparks in your body hot enough to make you sweat all over. 

Your boyfriend hungrily stripped you both of your underwear and then lined his hard cock at your entrance, slippery with your own slick. In your mind, an eternity seemed to pass before he winded inside, and you clung tightly to your breath before you lost it forever. 

Haechan leaned below all the while, leaving a trail of sweet kisses up your stomach. You moaned loudly, arching into his touch, somehow feeling an elated sense of pleasure. You were blatantly more aware of his cock pressed deeply into your vice-like cunt, and your legs locked around his hips, pulling him even deeper. 

There was something new. Drunk sex with your boyfriend was always fun, but it wasn’t this. It was sloppier. It was teeth accidentally clashing and giggling into each other’s mouths. 

None of that was happening. Instead, every sensation was a million times more unrestrained and for a second you wondered if you were making it all up in your head or if your boyfriend was simply that good at pleasuring you. 

The thought disappeared as quickly as it had come, because you were too distracted by Haechan’s warm breath on your neck, tickling the flesh as he whispered a bunch of sweet nothings into your ear, full aware that it would bring you over the edge. You felt like a mad woman, unsure of anything and everything except for how perfect it felt to be in your boyfriend’s arms. 

“You feel so good,” Haechan moaned into your ear, and if you hadn’t already spiraled out of control, you sure as hell had now. 

“Fuck. God, Haechan,” you whimpered, too overwhelmed. How in the hell could he feel so good? Every inch of you was sensitive, but every sensation was heightened. “I fucking love this.”

You were half-tempted to pinch yourself to determine if you were lucid dreaming, but then Haechan dug his sharp nails into your hips and you instantly knew there was no denying you were very awake. 

Haechan poorly stifled a snicker and watched the bounce of your breasts as he stroked deeper and deeper. A wavering orange hue casted over your body and highlighted the irrefutable evidence of pleasure on your pretty face, courtesy of the campfire. 

Lord have mercy, you were beautiful. Nothing made him prouder than being able to call you his girl. No woman before you had ever left him so love-struck, so downright in love. You made him crazy in a way that he would never fathom, but what he did know was that he was in over his head and not even death could part you. 

A thought crossed your mind and incited a lustful greed within you, and you grabbed Haechan’s bicep, whimpering, “Haechan, stop.” 

That pulled him out of his little pleasure-induced stupor and Haechan ground to a halt, quickly scanning your face for any sign of discomfort he might’ve missed in his trance. Needless to say, he came short of answers.

“I wanna be on top,” you explained, making him pull out and lay beneath you now. “Just sit back and relax.”

Haechan submitted to you because for fuck’s sake, he was out of his mind in love with you, and whatever you wanted he would give you. You could cry for the moon and he would steal it for you. No questions asked. 

You switched positions to straddle his body, reaching for his cock and steering him to your entrance. Haechan moaned when he was fitted back inside, and your hands slipped to his chest as you eyed him, having the perfect view of his face tensing with pleasure of all kinds. 

Had you not been interrupted by a moan, you would have giggled. Your fingers pranced around his sensitive nipples and Haechan called out your name, palms seeking anchorage at your ass. You were both obviously driving each other insane, in a war to see who could take the other off their hinges. 

Haechan watched you bounce on his cock and it was the most beautiful sight in the world to him. Your mouth parted with blissful sighs and soft moans, your bodies an amalgam of sticky coats of sweat and hotness. 

“I love you,” Haechan blurted through ragged breath, but goddamn was it true. 

“I love you, too,” you moaned in the midst of fucking yourself on a very hard dick.  And trying not to lose what was left of you. “Shit. Holy fuck.” 

Haechan involuntarily thrusted up to meet your motions, matching your quick tempo. You could feel and hear the blood pumping rhythmically in your head, your pulse thudding. Each of your breaths were quick, like you could hardly breathe through the thick tension of pent-up love and desire between you. 

You simply couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough of the feeling. You couldn’t fathom why it was so goddamn good. Even Haechan had to notice you were riding him harder than usual, chasing satisfaction with a craving that could never be satiated. You felt like an animal, wondering what it was that made him feel even better than you thought possible. 

Every insignificant detail was zeroed in on. Did he always have those little scratches on him? And had you been the reason? Your eyes fell up his neck and down his torso and you bit your lip smugly, noticing all the marks you’d left behind.  

“Baby, I’m so close,” you whimpered, rocking harder. 

“Come on, baby. You’re so beautiful,” Haechan groaned, close and throttled by the tension. You were closing in on him, wrapping around him so tightly and driving him to climax. 

The muscles in your thighs tightened and slackened, and you bounced to the rhythm of the pulsing between your legs. Haechan reached for your hand and laced his fingers through yours, wanting to be thoroughly connected with you through every moment of your orgasm. 

He uncontrollably rambled some more praises in your ears about how good you felt and how beautiful you were, and you couldn’t stop yourself from coming, teeth clamping into your bottom lip to stifle a loud cry and way too immersed in pleasure to notice the pain. Your throbbing cunt and smothered cries prompted Haechan and he released inside, still fucking you back until he rested with a long exhale. 

Your body went limp, crashing at his side. Looking at the sky, you could see stars, but when you closed them, they were still there. 

Haechan immediately started to kiss you and you kissed back, tasting ecstasy on his lips. Your boyfriend cradled your body, whispering, “You did so good. I’m so proud of you.”

You remembered giving a soft little sigh of pleasure and Haechan taking the liberty of redressing you.

Everything after that was a blur. 

When you woke up, the sky was still perpetually dark, but you were in bed. You turned to your side and came to the eerie conclusion that you were very alone. Haechan was nowhere to be found. 

Maybe he’s just using the restroom, you reasoned. Yeah, okay. That happened. For your comfort, you decided to wait up until he returned. 

Half an hour later, Haechan was still a no-show. That was when you began to suspect there was something far more sinister at hand than a visit to the bathroom. You crawled from under the sheets and slipped on your shoes, determined to investigate the matter yourself. 

There was a pounding in your chest. Where could Haechan have disappeared to for thirty minutes in the middle of the night?

Except for anywhere. He could be anywhere in these goddamn woods and you would never find even a trace of him. A cool dread plagued your body and you wrapped your arms around yourself, praying your boyfriend was somewhere safe. You had a strange gut feeling that something heinous had happened and it was all around you, suffocating. 

You crept outdoors and oddly enough, noticed Yuta seated at the campfire. You remembered making love to Haechan there, because the memory was still fresh. For some reason, it felt like moments yet days ago altogether. 

Why was it still lit at this hour? More significantly, what was Yuta doing there so late? 

“Yuta?” you called out. 

No reply. He was stiff as a boulder. You approached him stealthily, wanting to believe he was only playing an evil trick on you. 

When you could finally get a front view of him, you cried out in a blend of surprise and terror. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the gruesome sight of Yuta’s lifeless body. You shrieked and screamed until your voice could barely muster a murmur. For a good while, you only stood there, muscles stiff with shock. Tears silently began to drip as they gathered at your eyelashes. 

You forced your eyes away from Yuta. His face had been burned so badly that you could hardly recognize him. The skin was disfigured with marks, wrinkly and apparently rotten. You noticed the purple lines around his wrists and his slashed throat and hoped he hadn’t been burned alive. 

You refused to look at him, refused to touch him. You cowered away, repulsed by the consuming stench of blood clogging your senses. Feeling nauseous, you turned over and knocked over two near-full wine glasses in your wake, bending your knees. It made you want to throw up. 

This could not be happening. You rubbed your eyes, like there was a chance sleep and your tears were making you delirious. A bitter taste parched your tongue as you prayed this was only a ghastly dream. You would not accept this as reality. You didn’t want to believe Yuta was - completely and irrevocably  - gone.

But regardless of how hard you tried, your body scorned you, refusing to wake up.

This was a living nightmare. 

For some strange reason, there was a canoe approaching the shoreline and you made a beeline for the lake, too blinded by your need for answers to pause and ask yourself why there was somebody paddling at this hour.

“Haechan?” you called out shakily. 

Nothing. Where could he have gone? The night was far too dark for you to piece together who was on the canoe. Which was unnerving.

Dread hit you tenfold when it dawned on you that Haechan could have been anywhere, slain and blood-splattered like how you discovered Yuta. 

Tears made your eyes burn. There was no way in hell your boyfriend was dead. But none of that explained what happened to Yuta. And were the rest of your friends okay?

Why did nobody hear you scream? 

The growing questions only made you tremble with mystification. You couldn’t for the life of you comprehend why anybody would want to do something so unspeakable to Yuta. He had been nothing but an incredible friend to you for years and a wonder to everyone he met. 

Anger briefly numbered you to your fear. Yuta didn’t deserve to die. Not in such a cold-hearted, brutal manner. Nobody did. The look on his face when you found his body was permanently etched into your memory. He had been burned beyond recognition. The damage was irreversible. Even if he somehow survived the burns, there was no way to undo the distortion. 

Your heart had never been so heavy. There was a possibility the wound to his neck killed him, but there was also a fair chance it only damaged him enough to render him unheard. 

What if Yuta tried to scream, but nobody heard him, either? 

You should have known coming to this haunted city was a fatal mistake. The rumors of people slaughtered in Chimera should have been more than enough to dissuade you, but you each were too goddamn stubborn.

Look what that had gotten you. A dead friend, a missing boyfriend, and an uncertain status on the rest of your number. 

The uncertainty about the rest of your friends only made you even sadder. Had they somehow slept through Yuta’s death, too? Or were they victims to a similar fate? 

No. That couldn’t be the case. Because if it was, then why had you been left untouched?

Surely, there were no goddamn miracles in this godforsaken place. 

You wracked your brain trying to remember what happened. For some reason, everything was fuzzy and disoriented. You recalled the whole day up to a point. Haechan and you fooled around in bed until you finally roused. Then, you had breakfast. The boys went canoeing. You went to annoy Winter with your paranoia.

The boys came back and you went on a hike with Haechan only to fool around some more. Then, you returned, took a shower, the boys fired up the grill and you had a conversation with Ten. He froze you out and stormed into his cabin for the night.

Everyone ate dinner without him, they eventually left, and you spent the night fooling around with Haechan under the moonlight. 

Then, everything else went black. You didn’t remember getting into bed with Haechan, but you assumed he carried you there. Your eyes got too heavy after orgasm and you seemingly passed out. 

That was strange. And maybe too much of a coincidence. But Haechan would never do anything to hurt you. Would he? 

Don’t be silly, you chided. Haechan loves you and he’s fucking missing right now. Instead of questioning him, you should be trying to find him before it’s too late. 

You didn’t even let yourself wonder if it already was too late. Haechan was not dead. Anyone could leave you, but not him. Not the boy who promised you forever and then some. 

Haechan was the common denominator, but Ten was the missing piece. You hadn’t seen him since you tried to turn him down gently and there was no telling if he ever came out the cabin since. He may have been in his feelings, but no anger could prompt him to do this. You were certain. 

You were certain about all of them. But if not them, then who did that leave? A ghost? 

Your heart raced quicker than ever before as you bolted to the lake, and you halted dead in your tracks when your feet landed right at its murky edge. The sky was still too dark for you to make out the body on the canoe. You squinted, but you couldn’t even see a body at all. 

Tall, thick trees covered the border of the lake. Moonlight filtered through some of the branches, though unfortunately, it didn’t come close to illuminating the canoe. You glanced at the water and saw a pair of eyes staring back at you. 

And they weren’t your own. 

For a minute, you couldn’t move. You went stiffly rigid, attempting to convince your brain that this was only a figment of your delirious imagination. But the wide pair of eyes didn’t move. They didn’t even blink. 

Fear flooded back into your body, bleeding thickly out of you, and you lurched back with an eldritch scream. Everything happened so damn quickly. Your back hit the trunk of a tree and the branches rattled. A body plummeted violently into the cool water, but you didn’t register the splash, veins pumping icy dread instead of warm blood. 

You didn’t investigate, slumping against the tree and pulling your knees to your bosom. You cried hot tears, because you recognized those eyes. They were the same ones you always caught staring at you. They were the same ones that looked at you with hurt and heartbreak the last time you’d seen them. 

Now, they looked at you with lifelessness. And they unmistakably belonged to Ten. 

“I’m sorry,” you cried, as if he could hear you. “I should have left it alone. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to make things worse.” 

There was no word to describe the depth and darkness of the feeling that plagued you now. You shuddered, an imagined nipping wind numbing you beyond the surface and to the very fucking core. It was brutal and ruthless. 

Every inch of your body was bitter with pain. You were so dizzy with shock and consternation that you couldn’t even stand. Your head ached from crying so damn much. 

You felt like you had done this to Ten. He was even harder to move on from. Your last memories were anything but happy and you could only picture the ache and longing absorbing his features, the hurt crushing the impact of his voice. 

Nothing made sense to you. Ten fell for your gentleness, but resented you for letting him down gently. You wanted to understand him. You wanted to make things better, but you failed and now you would have to live with that mistake forever. Because it was too late to undo. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” you croaked quietly, voice absent. “Now, I’ll never be able to. Please forgive me.”

Every breath you took was pained. You could barely speak without your voice cracking. There was no welcoming feeling. Especially not the self-loathing that swallowed you whole and throttled you. Everything you felt was cold and lingering, dark and unfurling. 

You must have spent an eternity sitting there sobbing your heart out, mourning your dead friend, because you only stood to your feet when you heard the sound of something meeting the shoreline. 

 The canoe. You had forgotten all about the damn thing and frowned when you saw nobody. You walked over and had your blood already not been icy, it would have run cold. 

Jaehyun laid sprawled across the canoe, completely soaked, like he had toppled over into the lake. 

“Jay,” you gasped, shocked. This whole time you had been calling out for a dead body. He was ghostly pale, hair stuck to his skin. 

You made the decision to reach over, careful not to rock the canoe too much in case you tripped over, and felt for a pulse. Even a weak one. Anything that proved he wasn’t gone. 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Jaehyun was ruthlessly still. His body was like ice and in your head, a temperature of a negative degree. You accidentally left a bloody print on his arm, recouping your hand when you begrudgingly accepted he was no longer breathing and there was no chance of him ever doing so again, and crept back over to the shore. 

Just when you thought you had no more tears left to cry, they fell again, mocking you. You could dimly see your reflection, your tear-stained face a complete mess. 

That was the third dead body. With each one, you loss more and more faith that any of your friends were okay. 

But there was still Haechan and Winter. 

That made you confused. Jaehyun would never leave Winter by herself. Especially not in the middle of the night in dark, haunted woods. How in the hell did he get on a canoe by himself? 

The whole reason Jaehyun even came on this trip was to protect her in case this place turned out to actually be haunted. Was Winter okay? Jaehyun would never let anyone harm her, if there was anything he could do. They would have to get through him before they got to her. 

Maybe they did get through him. 

Rage warmed you and gave you life again. Whoever did this would pay. You would find them and seek sweet revenge. But first, you needed to confirm whether or not your boyfriend and your best friend were alive. 

Now that you thought about it, Haechan would never leave you alone, either. It simply wasn’t in his nature and didn’t make sense. Not even a little bit. 

When presented with a perceived danger, Haechan’s first instinct was to grab you and keep you sheltered in his arms. When you were frightened for your life, Haechan never failed to soothe you, promising you he would go through hell and back to keep you safe. 

That wouldn’t change all of the sudden. He was no coward. Now, your heart hurt, wondering if he had given himself up to protect you too. 

You turned around and made a beeline for Winter and Jaehyun’s cabin. You needed to find her. You needed to know she was okay. Together, you could get the hell out of here, but not before you found your boyfriend also. 

The campground was the same as you’d left, still as lifeless as before with Yuta’s corpse by the campfire, and you weren’t too sure how that made you feel. You darted to the right, immediately charging straight towards your best friend’s cabin. 

There were no lights on. The only source of light was the campfire burning in the center. It gave you hope that Winter may have been sleeping peacefully, oblivious to all that happened. 

But unlike you, Winter was a light sleeper. Wouldn’t she have noticed Jaehyun crawling out of bed or something? 

You frowned. You didn’t know what happened. Jaehyun could have sensed danger outside and went to investigate. He could have kissed her forehead and urged her to go to sleep. 

You shook your head and slowly opened the door, ignorant of the blood print you’d left on the knob, pulse speeding at the eerie sound of it pushing open. The darkness made you wary. You couldn’t even be sure if she was on the bed. 

For assistance, you turned on the light, and breathed a little in relief when you noticed a figure slumped under the sheets. But why was her head below the comforter? Winter never slept like that. Something about it being too hot and too hard to breathe. 

The relief you felt was short-lived. Dread returned and you inhaled and exhaled deeply. A part of you didn’t want to know if your best friend was dead or not. But she was too still. Like she wasn’t even breathing under the covers. 

You plucked the cover off her face and trembled. There was fresh blood on her chin, rolling down her lips. And a fork in her left hand. And you had a sneaking suspicion that you knew why. 

Gently, you opened her mouth, and when you saw that a piece of her tongue was no longer there you had a painful moment of realization. 

Your heart broke. It didn’t split down the middle, but broke into millions of pieces. Winter was dead. But you knew damn well Haechan was still out there somewhere, good and well. 

You grabbed Winter’s lifeless body in your arms and cried into her shoulder, oddly comforted by the fact her body was still warm. Everything made sense now. This was all your fault. 

Nothing was a coincidence. Winter frightened you and made you bite your tongue. Then, you found her with a fork in her hand, a piece of her tongue removed. Yuta gave you his marshmallow when you burned yours. Then, you found him with his face burned without a lick of mercy. 

Ten always stared at you. He was always watching. He looked at you with a kind of adoration in his eyes. You found him staring into his own reflection, body slumped on a tree. 

And Jaehyun offered to take you on a canoe ride with the guys. You found him sprawled across that very same canoe. 

“I did this to you,” you sobbed, grabbing her hand. You bristled when you noticed blood on her fingernails, knowing it wasn’t her. Winter fought to protect her damn self. 

And you knew who attacked her. 

You were so overwhelmed. You had never felt this many emotions at once before. Especially not this intensely. You were wounded and betrayed. Angry and regretful. Frightened and loathing. 

For a moment, you only cried in Winter’s warmth, holding her hand and blaming yourself for everything. You begged her to wake up. You begged her to smile and tap your arm, screaming, “Just kidding!” 

This had to be a prank. This had to be some cruel joke that you were the butt of, a trick at your expense. You wanted everyone to open the door one by one and laugh at you for falling for such a stupid scheme, but you knew in your heart it wasn’t true. 

You saw the very real marks on Yuta’s face. You saw the lifelessness in Ten’s eyes. You felt Jaehyun’s non-existent pulse. Even now, you could feel the warmth slowly leaving Winter’s body. 

Eventually you pulled away, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You saw the blood on the sheets and frowned. That hadn’t been there before. Only then did you notice the blood dampening your clothes. 

How long had that been there? Was it from one of the bodies? 

No, because I only touched Jaehyun. And he clearly drowned, you thought. But pushed the thought of Jaehyun’s drenched body out of your head as quickly as it came. 

There were more pressing matters at hand. You needed to get the hell out of here. And you needed to do so alive. Someone had to be the bearer of bad news. Someone had to tell your friends’ parents that their worst nightmare had come true. 

You found the courage to leave your best friend there and crept outside the cabin. Your phone was in Ten’s and Yuta’s. Goddamn it. 

The sight of Haechan emerging from the woods made you grind to a halt. You were scared for your goddamn life. You had no idea what your chances of survival were, but you got it now. Why you had been spared from your friend’s fate. 

The Haechan you loved was not the man staring at you from afar. The Haechan you’d come to know was not the man approaching you. He was somebody else. Somebody you were not familiar with and did not know how to handle. 

Adrenaline thumped in your head. You had a choice. You could flee or you could fight. 

For now, you decided to play dumb. 

“Baby,” you called out, colliding into his cold arms. “Everybody’s dead! Are you okay? What happened to you?”

Haechan stared at you unrecognizably. You knew you were looking danger dead in the eye. There was no warmth in him, no life. He had blood stains on his clothes and scratches on his face. 

From Winter, you bristled inwardly. You banished the thought, knowing your cover would be blown the longer you thought about how he had preyed down your friends. 

Haechan coiled an arm around you and said simply, “It’s not my blood.” 

“Not your blood?” you repeated slowly, pulling yourself away. “Then, whose blood is it?” 

Your boyfriend only smiled. “I think you know the answer to that, sweetheart,” he said sweetly, but you knew only venom was inside him. 

You wanted to scream. There was no deceiving him. You could tell he already knew. Haechan read you like an open book and you knew he would never not have you all figured out. 

Giving up deception, you cried, “Why?” 

“Because you’re mine,” he explained with a gentleness to his tone, approaching you despite picking up on how adamant you were on keeping him at arm’s length. “Don’t you see? Everybody wants to keep us apart. We can be alone now.” 

“Haechan, nobody was keeping us apart,” you said, unable to justify his actions. 

“Yes, they were,” Haechan argued. “Like the old geezer at your job. He worked you too much and paid you too little. I was doing you a favor.” 

You paused as you processed his words. He was talking about your boss. The same boss that mysteriously died a couple of weeks back. You put the pieces together. 

You gasped, “You killed him?”

Haechan scoffed. “Don’t give me that look. I know you hated the guy. I remember the smile on your face when you told me your boss was dead.” 

“Yuta, Ten, Winter, and Jaehyun weren’t keeping us away from each other,” you hissed, using rage as your fuel and hatred as your anchor. “They did nothing to us.” 

“They were nuisances. You spent too much time with them. You’re better off without them anyway, baby. Winter hurt you and laughed in your face. I mean, what kind of best friend does that? Of course, I had to eliminate the bigger threat before I got to her.” 

The bigger threat was Jaehyun. He would go to the ends of the earth for Winter and you could tell from the moment he was introduced to you. You gave him the golden stamp of approval for a reason. 

Jaehyun would protect Winter until he had nothing left to give. You had no idea how Haechan took him down, but at this point, you didn’t want to know. It made you well with pain. You hoped they met again in the afterlife and in the next one with a much kinder fate.  

Haechan continued, “Yuta was too comfortable. I didn’t like how he talked to you. He always got too close, leaning into you and shit. I had enough. And Ten definitely wanted to take you away from me. I know you saw how he looked at you.” 

The pressure in your heart was building. You couldn’t breathe. You needed a pulse. The whole world was upside down. “You said… you said it didn’t make you angry. You told me that you didn’t care about those kinds of things. I thought you were different.” 

“Don’t you dare compare me to them,” Haechan chided, stepping closer. You stumbled and he caught you in his heavy arms, not letting up even when you tried to swat him away. “I love you better than your exes ever did. They didn’t care for you, baby. They could never love you like I do. Nobody can.”

Struggling in his arms, you screamed in his face, “My exes didn’t kill all my fucking friends!” 

Haechan started to laugh. You gaped at him and his audacity. There was no kind of levity in this situation and yet he was humored. You knew now that your boyfriend was a goddamn psychopath. 

You managed to slip away from him by grace of his distractedness and barked, “What the hell is so funny?” 

Haechan explained through bursts of laughter, “Do you think I could have killed four people by myself? We did this together, baby. Just look at yourself.” 

You reluctantly did as told. That was when the blood on your clothes finally made sense and you started to feel dirtier than ever. Was your friends’ blood on your hands? That would explain the blood on Winter’s sheets. 

Unable to endure the pain, you dropped to your knees, losing the strength to stand. The blood was everywhere. It stained your palms. Now, conscious of its presence, you were hyper aware that you were covered in your friends blood and the feeling was akin to being dipped in acid. 

How could you have only now noticed? You were too frenzied searching for your friends, searching for a spark of life in this desolate city. 

You clung to denial, chanting through sobs, “No. No, no, no.”

“Shh,” Haechan sang, pulling you into his embrace gently. He had stopped laughing, but this was a man incapable of empathy. No matter how convincing he was. “We’re finally alone, sweetie. No one to steal you from me.”

You hated yourself for not loathing the way his body felt around yours. There was a big part of you that wanted to go back to a couple of hours ago, when you thought it was only him and you in this world, and you had no idea the traumatic experience you’d have only hours later. 

That made the world stop. You found peace for a split second before hell peeled the corners of your vision again. Your head rose up, and you looked Haechan in his empty, dark eyes. 

Had you imagined the spark there? No. You had to look deeper. There was a fire there, a web of temptation, desire, and viciousness. That was what you saw in him. It was passion, but you had mistaken it for a different kind. 

“Haechan?” you called out. 

Your boyfriend said pleasantly, “Yes, my dear?” 

“Did you put something in my champagne?”

“Yes.” 

At least he was honest. For once. 

“You spiked my drink,” you began, voice cracking. “Because you knew I would never agree to your sick ways in my right mind.” 

To your dismay, Haechan didn’t deny the accusation, only giving you a sickening smile and stroking your hair gently. Like your whole world wasn’t upside down now. He,  like this was some kind of joke, merely said, “Ahchoo.”

You bristled with a vicious wrath. Haechan was out of his goddamn mind. He didn’t give a single fuck about what he had done and frankly, you’d had enough of trying to converse. You needed to get out of here immediately and seek help. There was no way you would play along with his twisted delusion. 

A chimera. 

Your heart stopped when you once again came to the brutal realization that your phone was trapped in Yuta and Ten’s cabin. You knew Haechan would never let you get away with a phone call. If you could even make one. In the middle of nowhere, there was no such thing as Wi-Fi or service. 

Plus you were surrounded by acres of trees and water. Where the hell would you go? The main road would be too damn obvious even if you somehow managed to get there. And without a car, you were positively out of luck. 

Haechan’s tone was saccharine, but there was only poison in his voice as he leaned into your ear and warned, “Whatever you’re thinking; don’t you fucking dare.”

You glared Haechan dead in the eyes, adrenaline coming over you, and you gave him a smack across the face. 

Then, you leapt up and bolted into the woods. Haechan only laughed when you slapped him, but you didn’t turn around, and you damn sure didn’t stop. Fucking psycho, you sneered. 

You vanished into the thick trees, now grateful for the darkness, though time was running scarce. Daylight would be approaching soon. Shock made you lose track of time. There was no telling how long you’d spent losing what remained of your sanity.

You were a livewire, blood pumping in your ears. The sound of twigs snapping behind you made you hyper aware of Haechan’s manhunt and you knew he wasn’t far behind, but you never gave up. Your legs ached from the lack of oxygen, but your white flag was still lowered. You would never give him the satisfaction of surrender until you knew you’d done all possible to save yourself. 

Your lover called out from somewhere behind you, “You can run, baby - I love a chase - but you can’t hide.” 

The rage blindsided you. He was the epitome of a nightmare dressed like a daydream. How could you not have noticed? This was the man you spent every spare second of your day with. How could you not have seen him for the creature he truly was beneath the surface? 

Haechan liked the hunt. There was still a chipperness to his tone even as he followed the noise of your feet scurrying through those dark, wicked woods. He was evil. He was a monster. But you knew now that the villains of this godforsaken town were not ghosts or spirits - they were the very people you trusted with your life. 

Tears blurred your vision and shock made the world swivel. You refused to be another rumor. You refused to be reduced to another campfire story. You would fight for your life up until your very last exhale.

“Where do you plan on going, darling?” Haechan asked, tone welling with concern. “There’s nothing or no one out here for miles. You’ll die out here before you find someone to save you.”

You slammed into a tree and swore louder than you would’ve liked, knowing Haechan was hot on your trail because you could hear him chiding you for being so clumsy. 

“But you didn’t die out there,” said your therapist. 

You bobbed your head. “I got back up and I ran,” you told her, shuddering as you were forced to place yourself back in what was easily the worst day of your goddamn life. “He was so close. I ran into the daylight. I was in those woods for days. I had nothing. No food, no water.” 

“You had resolve,” the therapist corrected. “Because of that, you’re here to tell the story.”

You nodded a little, because you only barely survived. You genuinely thought you would die that night. If not by Haechan himself, then eventually hunger or dehydration.

“Why does this always happen to me?” you cried. “Every time I fall for someone, they treat me like a possession. But I never thought it would go this far. How come I didn’t realize until it was too late? I even…their blood is on my hands.” 

The therapist stopped you right there. “He took advantage of your trust and adulterated your champagne without your knowledge to make you easier to manipulate. You said it yourself. He knew you would never agree in your right mind.”

None of her consolation helped. Half a year had passed since the most traumatic event of your life. The wound still felt fresh. You could still hear your friends’ voices and see their faces following you everywhere. 

And knowing that their blood was on your hands made things even worse. You could hardly live with yourself. None of this would have happened if you would have never met Haechan, if you would have never given him the time of day. They would still be here, living their lives. 

It wasn’t fair that only you and that monster survived that day. You despised yourself for giving him access, but you loathed him for what he took from you. 

For what he took from them.  

She asked, “Have the nightmares stopped?” 

The nightmares started a little after that weekend and hadn’t ceased since. They would return to you every single night as you slept, more or less the same as before. You would be running for dear life as Haechan hunted you down. The setting was never the same. Some nights, he would chase you through a labyrinth of trees. Others, through a never-ending hallway. No matter the setting, he would hunt you until he finally caught you and leapt over you.

But only once he uttered the same four words in your ear would you wake, “You’re all mine now.”

They were simple, but they never failed to creep the living hell out of you.��

You shuddered. “No. But they’ve become less frequent.”

“And why do you think that is?” 

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It happened after I started spending time with this guy.”

That piqued her interest. “New boyfriend?”

“Not really,” you replied, the mere thought making you tremble. “I’m talking to this guy - Mark. He’s really sweet and I do like him, but I told him I’m not ready for a relationship. Frankly, I’m not sure if I ever will be again. But we still spend time, because I like his company.”

“That is a completely normal response after being exposed to a traumatic event. It may cause you to be emotionally distant, self-protective, and wary of others intentions. It is a difficult part of the process of healing and learning how to navigate through life as you did before.”

Though you already knew the answer, you asked, “Will my life ever be the same?” 

“Not likely,” the therapist told you honestly. “This is a new beginning for you. You’ll be learning to shed your old skin and adapt.”

You frowned. 

The therapist concluded the session not much later and you went home. Therapy was new for you. Ironically enough, it was never your idea. Instead of pressuring you into explaining what the hell happened to you, Mark suggested you tried therapy. 

To think of the boy sitting at home waiting for you was bittersweet. You sincerely enjoyed spending time with Mark, but you simply couldn’t bring yourself to be vulnerable with him. Like the therapist said, you were being self-protective and wary of his intentions. No matter how hard you tried, you knew you would never be able to trust the same way again.

It made you feel as if you were keeping Mark’s heart chained away. Mark was gentle and the one to suggest you take things slowly, but a godawful feeling plagued you whenever reminded he was waiting for the girl he always wanted. And there was a chance you could never be that girl. 

You wondered what he saw in you. What he saw in a girl so broken that she couldn’t bring herself to love anyone. Did he want to take advantage of your vulnerability? Was he the same kind of evil as the ones before him? 

Love was a wager, but you had no more of yourself to give. 

As you stepped inside your car, you monitored everything around you and likely quadruple-checked the backseat. Ever since that fateful day, you were hyper aware of your surroundings. You may have escaped Haechan, but that didn’t mean he would never come back to stake his claim to you.

You drove, obsessively checking your rear-view mirror. Nobody was following you, but you could never be too safe. You were more wary than usual today. There was something in the air. 

Or maybe you were just extremely paranoid. That was more plausible. 

You hated driving through town. There was a song on the radio and it reminded you of Winter, because she would burst out singing whenever it came on. Jaehyun would be sure to duet with her. You changed the station. 

Then, you passed by a bookstore. That was where you met Ten. You remembered the very second your hands touched the same novel, fingers brushing against each other’s, and the glare you both exchanged then said loud and clear that neither of you would be backing down. But when he learned you had a copy of a book he’d been tirelessly hunting for, he let you have it and you promised to swap later. 

Unbeknownst to you, Ten freaked the hell out that night when it hit him that he had unintentionally scored a very pretty girl’s number. 

It was over for you when you saw the lake sitting at the side of the road. Yuta would meet you there for an afternoon jog whenever you had the spare time. Your friends would argue it was too romantic, but Yuta never gave a fuck what other people think. You were close, but he knew where you stood and Yuta would rather die than bone you. 

Tears threatened. Why couldn’t you get them out of your head? The guilt was eating you alive. You wanted your life back. But you tainted the chance of normalcy the second you caught a monster’s goddamn eye.  

As soon as you got home, you noticed another car parked in the driveway. Mark’s car. He asked if he could come over earlier to see you after your therapy session. You told him, “You know where the spare key is.” 

It was definitely frightening, but you wanted to trust Mark. He displayed no suspicious signs, no red flags. Then again, neither did Haechan. And everyone knew how that story went. 

No happy ever after. 

There was an overwhelmingly strong aroma of sauces and spices hitting you square in the nose the moment you stepped inside your house and there was a trail of roses predictably leading from the front door to the dining room. You cocked a brow. Since when did Mark learn how to cook? This was the same boy that could barely make instant noodles without burning you both alive. 

“Mark?” you called out. 

No reply. Which was odd. Mark couldn’t wait to see you. 

You hung your coat and followed the trail of rose petals as that was obviously what you were intended to do. The sound of old school romance music began to play even louder the closer you inched and you shuddered at how much it reminded you of Haechan. 

When he was bored, he would turn on the speaker and sing his heart out to you, making you laugh at how he danced and gave you a five-star performance. 

The memories used to make you smile fondly. Now, you were a well of unadulterated fear. 

Even this specific song tore you down. Haechan loved Michael Jackson more than anyone you ever knew. As far as you were concerned, Mark was more of an old school rap guy. 

You finally approached the dining room and your heart ricocheted at what you saw. There was Mark, bound to a chair with a gag in his mouth. And Haechan stood there with a twisted smile on his face as he saw you, holding a gun to Mark’s head. 

“Mark,” you gasped, knees buckling. 

You could hear Mark whimper faintly, though his voice was muffled. He looked at you with total fear in his eyes and you were more than apologetic, the self-loathing returning as you knew the innocent life of yet another person would ultimately be destroyed because of you. 

Haechan playfully whined, “What about me? I’m here, too.” 

“You fucking monster!” you screamed. 

Your now ex-boyfriend switched on a dime and pointed his gun at you, sneering, “Sit down.”

With a fatal weapon pointed to you, you quickly complied, finding a seat at the table. You noticed there were two plates there, each at the head of the table. Mark was forced to sit at the side. 

Because he had no part in this game. He was only another nuisance, as Haechan had put it in his own terms. Another obstacle to be eliminated. Tears stung your eyes.

Your ex was delighted by your submission and took his seat at the other end of the table, facing you, but he kept his gun tucked close. You couldn’t ignore the plates in front of you both. Only God knew how long he had been waiting for you. You knew he wanted you to play into the fantasy you’d obstructed six months ago, however, your ex-boyfriend was anything but deterred. 

“I’m glad you finally made it. Mark and I were waiting for you to join us,” Haechan said, as if this was some friendly gathering and not a hostage situation. “Although, he was an unexpected guest. But it’s no biggie.” 

You sat there and pleaded, “Haechan, please don’t hurt him. This has nothing to do with him. You want me? Just take me. Leave him alone.” 

Haechan’s tone was lighthearted despite the betrayed nature of his words, “Wow. You like him that much? I thought I meant something to you.”

“That was before you slaughtered our friends like a beast,” you hissed, seething. 

Haechan corrected, “More like a pack of wolves. Everything we do is a group effort, baby. We’re a team. We’re in this together. There is no you without me and no me without you.”

You met Mark’s eyes and instantly knew what he was thinking. This guy is a total psychopath. 

He could tell this was what you had been hiding and you were aware. You had never discussed your trauma with him at length and Mark never made you feel any pressure to. Now, he understood what had you so scarred. 

You called with disdain, “Donghyuck.” 

Haechan ignored you calling him by his government name and changed his tone, feigning woundedness, “I can’t believe you tried to replace me, baby. You even told him where the spare key is. Did you actually think I wouldn’t come back to take what’s mine?” 

“I’m not yours, Donghyuck,” you told him, words dripping with vitriol. “And I never will be again. You had your chance and you blew it.”

“How could you say that?” Haechan asked, eyes wide and dark with an emotion you had no intention of understanding. “After all I’ve done for you. All I’ve done for us so that we could be alone together. I love you so much.”

For a second, you were at a loss for words, then explained, “This isn’t love. This is obsession. You need help.”

Haechan furiously snapped, “I need you. And I will stop at nothing to have you.”

Your ex-boyfriend stood to his feet and you entirely expected hell to break loose, but you were thrown for a loop when Mark tackled him to the ground, somehow unraveling his ropes while Haechan was distracted by you. 

Mark screamed at you, “Run!” 

You hesitated. You didn’t want to leave Mark there alone to die. The past six months had been spent trying to recover from the blood on your hands and you couldn’t go through that torture. There was a chance you would lose another part of your sanity that you barely had as is. But Mark gave you a look and you bolted out of there. 

As soon as you slipped out the front door, you heard a gunshot echoing and trembled, but you never stopped running. Your phone was in your car. You glanced around, expecting at least some of your neighbors to be concerned by the noise, though no one came. 

Your brows furrowed. There were cars parked in most of the driveways and this was a notably safe neighborhood. How could nobody care? 

The moment you got to your car you collapsed in relief when you saw your phone and immediately tried to dial the police, but strangely, your phone had no connection. You threw your head back frustratedly and nearly screamed at the top of your lungs. 

You didn’t even want to ask what the hell was going on. Haechan had returned to resume unfinished business, and this time, he would not leave empty-handed.

Your only other option was to go find help and you felt a twinge of worry sitting in your stomach when you realized that entailed leaving Mark by himself. You had no idea what was happening  - or had happened - in that house.

Without any other options, you searched for your keys and froze when you remembered that you’d left them in the pocket of your coat. Which you had hung up inside. 

You heard the front door creaking open and exhaled in relief when you realized it was only Mark, escaping unscathed. For now. 

Mark was heaving for breath and incredulous when he noticed you only standing there. “Why haven’t you left?”

“I left my keys inside,” you explained frantically, running into his arms. “I tried to call the police, but it didn’t work. And nobody came outside after the gunshot. I think he did something.” 

Mark made a face because despite both your cars parked in the driveway, he didn’t have his keys, either. “We have to go right now. None of us were shot. He’s going to come looking for you any second now,” he said, grabbing your hand and yanking you down the street. 

You could hardly match his long strides, but adrenaline gave you a surge of strength. Between your feet and your pulse, you couldn’t decide what was quicker. Your heart was thumping so loudly you swore Mark could hear. 

The curiosity consumed you and you asked through ragged breath, “How’d you get out of the ropes?”

“Five years of summer camp in a row,” Mark explained. “I never thought learning how to untie knots would benefit me, but look at God.”

Noticing how tightly he was holding your hand only made you weaker. You hoped and prayed you would come out of this unscathed. Not only you, but Mark too. You couldn’t lose another person at the hands of your psychopathic ex-boyfriend. The guilt and self-hatred would consume you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t mean to drag you into this,” you cried. 

“We’ll talk about this when we’re safe,” Mark told you, clearing another corner.

You heard Haechan’s smooth voice calling after you, but his tone was downright spine-chilling. He was out for blood. Mark held you closer to his chest as you both sprinted down the sidewalk, praying to god Haechan didn't know where you’d gone. 

It was downright odd. Why was no one there but you three? The weather was perfect for an afternoon walk with your dog around the neighborhood, but there was nobody. Not even someone tending to their garden or taking out the trash. And how had no one bat an eye at the piercing sound of a gunshot? 

Wondering if it was a coincidence or if there was something much more nefarious at work made your head spin. The emptiness was unnerving. You couldn’t comprehend how Haechan could have gotten the entire neighborhood to evacuate, but you had underestimated him once. You weren’t keen on doing so again.

Having Mark there to support your weight was the only thing keeping you from dropping to the ground in surrender. You were just so tired. You were tired of running, tired of mustering the strength to rouse another day only to be haunted by guilt and regret. It was close to consuming you. And there would nothing of you to remain. You were running on empty. Your body was exhausted, but your mind was worn thin. 

“Come on,” Mark said, noticing your strength dwindling. “You can do this, baby. We can get out of here.” 

Mark ground to a halt to face you and softened when he saw your eyes. He could tell this had ruined you. He would never know the girl you were before Haechan alas broke you. 

There was an uncanny resemblance between now and your nightmares. Haechan was hunting you down like an animal, hot on your heels. Only now, you had Mark to protect you. But deep inside, you knew there was nothing that could stand in Haechan’s way when he wanted something. 

Mark cradled you in his arms when you slept and kept the monsters under your bed away. But this was the real thing. He couldn’t save you. No one could.

It all just happened so fast. 

A loud snap rended the air and the very next second, Mark was crouching on the asphalt, stomach gaping with blood. He was wide-eyed, a hand cupping his stomach. 

“Mark!” you screamed. 

You dropped to your knees, crouching beside him, and tried desperately to keep the blood from leaving him all too soon. But there was so much. The sight of the deep color staining your hands only made you nauseous with deja vu. 

Mark was weak, still on the sidewalk. He couldn’t scream, but you could see the pain in his pretty eyes. It thoroughly devastated you. 

“Don’t leave me. Please, Mark,” you begged, tears stinging your eyes. But you couldn’t hear yourself speak. You couldn’t hear yourself think. You were so fixated on Mark slowly fading away beneath your fingertips that you didn’t notice the presence behind you until it was too late. 

Haechan’s voice was saccharine but his eyes were welling with ire, “He’s not going to make it, darling. There’s no one out here to help him.” 

You ignored Haechan, plagued by fear or hatred or all of the above. Watching Mark die would be too overwhelming. At least you had no recollection of your friend’s deaths. Seeing Mark take his final breaths would kill you too. “Keep your eyes open for me,” you told Mark, noticing he was going cold. “Keep them open!”

Mark was struggling, but he tried for you. You could feel the last piece of you die as he fought for his life and you sat there, unable to do anything to keep him stable. He was dying. He reached for your hand with his trembling arm and squeezed with all the strength he could muster. 

That angered Haechan and seething with rage, he coiled his arms around you, pulling you away from Mark. 

You kicked and threw your arms back, screaming at the top of your lungs, “Get your hands off me, you sick son of a bitch! You’ve taken everything from me! I fucking hate you!”

Haechan was unbothered, only cooing, “You don’t mean that, baby girl. One day you’ll understand that everything I do is out of love for you.” 

Mark was coughing up blood now and the sight was horrifying. Tears rolled down your cheeks. You were in so much pain, covered in wounds only you could see. You could only imagine what Mark was feeling now as he took his last breaths. 

Mark called out your name faintly and said with the last of his strength, “Thank you for being the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

You screamed in agony and grief when Mark’s eyes shut on you. You begged him not to leave you. Though he was only unconscious, you knew you’d seen and heard the last of him. 

Your pain was converted to anger and you thrashed in Haechan’s arms, only wanting Mark’s embrace. “Let me go,” you shouted, trying to escape. But to no avail. Your hands burned with his blood. Every inhale was agonizing. “Let go of me!”

“Shh,” Haechan whispered, swiping a trail of tears from your face. “Don’t you see? He was trying to come between us.” 

Haechan still kept you close by, but finally released you. You kneeled to the ground, too overcome by dizziness to stand. Your mind was screaming at you. Your heart was pounding. Every piece of you was so dead yet alive altogether. You could only scream, wanting to take your friend’s fate for them. 

Nobody heard you. There was nobody there. You cried and raged, but save for you, Haechan, and Mark’s lifeless body, the whole neighborhood was empty. You were alone in your pain and suffering and nobody would hear you cry. 

“Why?” you turned to Haechan and screamed, lips trembling. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”

Haechan pressed his lips to your ear and told you with no hesitation, “Because there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” 

Had you not already dissolved into tears, you would have. Life as you’d known it was forever gone because of this man and it had become unbearable now. There was no way you could live with yourself anymore. The guilt was overpowering. You were being self-protective, but Mark had died to protect you. Winter, Jaehyun, Yuta, and Ten had died at your expense. The feelings that plagued you now were simply too much for the human mind to handle. 

Your palms hit the ground, scuffing the asphalt. Your body was limp with defeat. There was no fight in you anymore. He had broken you. 

“You win,” you croaked, surrendering. “Whatever this game is, you fucking win. I can’t do this anymore.”

Haechan beamed, all too excited by those words. “I knew you would come around.” 

Haechan cradled you in his arms and you let him. You had no more strength or will to fight him. He had milked you dry. You only sat there unmoving, wondering where you’d gone wrong. If this could have been avoided or if Haechan destroying your life was merely inevitable.

Pain throttled you, hands clamped bruisingly around your neck. You cried and screamed until it was out of your system and your voice no longer worked. Haechan endeavored to soothe you the whole time, stroking your back. Even your tears were precious to him. He hated to make you cry, but one day you would understand why this needed to happen. 

For now, he had won. You said it yourself. There was a big grin on his face as he claimed victory. 

“There, there. It’s time to go now, babe,” Haechan cooed, lifting you into his arms. He liked that you still instinctively wrapped your arms around your neck, and he stared into your eyes, in love with the beauty within them. “You’re all mine now.”

“I’m yours,” you repeated back quietly, accepting. “All yours.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. 

[ragingbookdragon]

She feels the warmth flooding down the front of her gear as the frigidness seems to crawl up from her fingers and toes. Her breathing labors as the man pulls her inside the crumbling building under the veil of night and cradles her against his body, her back pressed against his chest. His fingers find their way underneath her vest, and she knows she should feel pain where his fingers press against, but all she feels is a numbness.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters.

“Ghost,” she whispers breathlessly. “I’m scar—I’m scared, Ghost.”

He shakes his head a single time. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“I don’t wanna die,” she says more to herself than to him, panic setting in. “God, I don’t wanna die now. I don’t wanna—”

“You’re not dying,” Ghost growls. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Ghost—”

“You’re gonna be fine. I’m gonna fix this. I’ll fucking fix—”

“Simon,” she stresses, shifting enough to see his face from the corner of her eye. “I’m dying.”

He swallows thickly and gazes at her for a moment before the lump returns. “Fuck, I—I’m not ready.”

“Neither am I,” she smiles, blood staining her teeth, and leans back, her temple to his chin. “Will you…will you stay with me?”

Simon presses harder against her, cursing the tears that sting his eyes. “Yeah, love, I’ll stay.”

She settles then, flightiness stilling in her veins as she relaxes against him. “This isn’t how I imagined going.”

He doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to hear all the fanciful bullshit she’s about to spew about how they grow old and gray, but Simon also knows he’d rather hear her voice all he can before he can never hear it again unless it’s through a speaker.

“How’d you imagine it?” he forces his throat to open.

Her smile is like the stars in the night sky. “Old. In bed together. In our sleep.” She shuffles a bit. “Our kids find us, cuddled close, safe.”

Simon grits his teeth, cracking them under the strain, his jaw aches. “How many kids?”

“Two boys. One girl. Simon Junior, we’d call him SJ. Jonathan Kyle, after Price, Soap, and Gaz.”

“And the girl?”

“Aphra Emeline.”

He nods. “Good name. Strong. Built for a fancy lady.”

“She’d run everyone over.”

“With your looks and my attitude?” he jokes. “Of course. She’d strike ‘em dead with one withering look.”

Her lungs are starting to fail her, and she shivers. “Simon, marry me.”

He can’t stop the tears this time and they drop down his cheeks onto her head. “Who’s gonna officiate?”

“Me. All power vested in me.” She sucks in a breath. “Do you take me as your lawfully wedded wife? To love, honor, and cherish, through sickness and health, until death do us part?”

“I do,” he promises. “And even after life, I will.”

“I take the same. I now pronounce us husband and wife.” She turns with the last bit of failing strength she has, pulls his mask down, and says, “Kiss me.”

Simon’s calloused hands are gentle as he cups her face, brushes his thumb over her cool skin and presses his lips to hers, tears mixing on each other’s faces as he kisses her with everything, he has in him. All the things Ghost is not, he gives in this moment to her. All his hopes, all his dreams, all his love for a better ending. He gives it up in this moment as he burns it into his mind that Simon Riley will never live after—only Ghost.

“I love you, Simon,” she whispers against his lips, and he shakes his head.

“I love you too,” he manages between hers. “I’ll stay,” he promises, pulling away to press his forehead to hers, staring at her. “I will stay.”

“I know,” she says. “I know you will.”

He memorizes the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, the feel of her skin beneath his hands, every detail he can about her, and it’s only when her head tilts forward, forehead bumping his lips that he knows.

Simon inhales and exhales one time, a single, agonizing howl.

[kedsandtubesocks]

blood on your name

Cowboy!Ezra x F!Reader

summary: Texas 1885 - the town’s ranching competition brings in new souls out from the desert, one unfortunately happens to be a ghost haunting you & he’s still as handsome and dangerous as ever

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY. MDNI, old Wild West AU, slight enemies to lovers, very morally!gray Ezra, fingering, oral (f receiving), pussy pronouns, one moment of spit kink, allusions to p in v, scoundrel but soft!Ezra, themes of violence & reader enacting violence on another, use of guns, blood & injury, morally!gray reader, time period views of marriage & shaming women (brief use of derogatory terms against reader), minor character deaths, light gender language usage, use of nicknames

word count: 7.2k

a/n: here’s to finally putting my 7th grade tx history lessons to some use plus I’ve been really missing west texas so here we are lol! Fun history fact - Pecos prides itself as the birth place of the rodeo so this competition is the inception of that! It took me a while to get here & this truly wouldn’t be here without @gasolinerainbowpuddles @julesonrecord & @perotovar i can’t thank you babes enough, and to you, if you decide to read this too, thank you so much ♡

The newcomers that blew into town stand around the edge of the fence.

Pecos had become famous for hosting this rope wrangling event, and you’re not surprised it’s brought others in to observe the spectacle. Just last week it seemed like more wagons wandered into the edge of town.

You’ve been living here among the desert’s harsh eyes with your aunt for a few years now. When your mother unleashed her wrath after she found you with an unmarried man who had drifted into town, you fled with the caravan heading out west. So far west it brought you to the Pecos River. You’re thankful your aunt welcomed you with open arms. The desert proved to be a harsh host. But you’ve managed.

The actual event in town wasn’t taking place until the end of the week. Except so many already want to see the cowboys proudly warming up, showing off.

It’s why you even stop on your way home from the tailor shop.

Duke Williams currently tries his hand at practicing. The handsome young star all the way from Austin shows promise while he maneuvers his threadbare rope with ease.

He lands a solid catch against one of the practice sheep running around, and the crowd claps already impressed.

His bright face, angelic almost, brightens when he smiles triumphantly. When he spots you among the on looks, he beams even wider. You smile back politely.

However, Martha, the mayor’s youngest daughter, nudges you.

“I don’t know why you haven’t let that man swoop you up yet?” She giggles with a slight tease however, her words sting.

Duke’s been pursuing you ever since he came into town last spring. He reminds you of a newly built chapel, lovely coated in pristine and full of holy hope.

Yet, you don’t care for him.

You understand you should be married by now. Especially at your age, you’re becoming a dusting antique on the shelf by the town’s whispers. You even understood your mothers anger after discovering the man she caught you with had simply scurried away without another word.

Everyone in town seems to see Duke almost as your god blessed savior on a white horse sent to rescue you from a desolate destitution.

But you don’t hold any sense of attraction towards Duke. Even as you watch how handsome and sturdy he looks, a fierce cowboy among the other competitors, you simply admire his skills. And that’s it.

You wonder if you’re simply destined to the life of a happily secluded cactus like creature.

Something tickles against your skin, a sensation of being hyper aware of being caught in another’s gaze. Living in the desert has brought you a heightened awareness to make sure no critters lurking among can strike you.

So your eyes flicker around and find the crowd still enthralled by the sight of the cowboys.

Until you find one man isn’t.

One of the newcomers.

Sun kissed skin, an absolutely striking hawkish nose, sparse facial hair and then, the deepest dark earth eyes you’ve ever seen stare straight at you. The dusty black cowboy hat he wears casts a strange shadow across his features, cloaking him almost sinister.

Your breath hitches fast like it’s stolen from you.

You know this stranger.

One of the other newcomers nudges against him drawing his attention away from you. But your face stays stuck on him.

The men discuss with each other low and close, clustered together like a pack of desert weeds sprouting fast.

Except after the mystery outsider relays something back to the group, his eyes flicker back to you.

There’s a simmered wildness to him.

The commotion of spurs clinking comes and so many giggle around you, drawing your attention away.

Duke moves towards you with a shining grin on his face.

A desire to scurry away tugs at you. So with a polite smile, you silently duck away and decide to head home.

“Hey! Why ya leaving so soon?” He calls out. “Did you see me?”

His voice is so bright but also, so slightly arrogant, as if he can maybe keep you from leaving.

“Yes, you were incredible.” You’re truthful in your words.

Thankfully the others all around begin greedily vying for his attention.

As you turn to head home, that strange itch crawls over you again. Someone’s watching you.

So glancing around you think it must be Duke, but his attention is preoccupied.

However, it’s the handsome black cowboy hat stranger who again blatantly stares so direct at you.

A moment passes of you simply staring back at him.

However you break the contact first, needing to head home. But the entire way you sense his eyes blazing a hole on your back.

By the time you hit the edge of town towards your aunt’s cabin, the day creeps into early evening.

Above, vultures circle around high. However… there isn’t any sign of decay nearby.

- ☾𖤓 -

Your walk towards the tailor shop passes by the large stretch of land where the cowboys practice. Duke cries out your name excited. Politely you turn to greet him good morning only to find he’s not alone.

Other cowboys of course have come to wrestle in their skills. One of them surprises you.

The man you saw a few days ago is here.

His deep midnight eyes flicker to you immediately. That handsome face of his stays entirely composed.

Duke rattles on about his day. Yet you pay no attention as the new cowboy has stolen all your focus. The black cowboy hat he wears is dusty, weathered, and for some reason, you feel as if it both does and doesn’t suit him.

Duke chirps out your name again. Apologizing, you blame your dazed attention on lack of sleep.

Your night has been restless

“Hope ol’ lady Julie isn’t working y’too hard at the tailor shop.” He grins boyish and charming.

“Oh, Duke.” A smooth twang of a voice floats out. Waltzing in besides the cowboy, the newcomer arrives.

“You didn’t tell me your bird was so lovely.” His voice is curled with a smile and his voice, a deep drawl, draws an acidic venom in your mouth.

“I’m not his bird.” You politely reply.

“Not yet.” Duke adds warm, shy. But that only causes your stomach to squirm even more.

“Name’s Ezra, dear honeysuckle.” The newcomer introduces himself with a tip of his hat.

You nod back quietly giving him your name.

“Ezra came for the competition, traveled all this way just to try his hand at it!” Duke, ever the competitor, explains excited for the new competition.

Your eyes unfortunately stay on the newcomer rider.

Compared to Duke, Ezra’s frame is lithe. Then again, Duke with his incredibly tall stature is built like a terrifying boulder. Ezra’s broad shoulders and his striking sleek build makes you think of a river, fluid yet quietly powerful.

As unfortunately handsome as he is, his frame does not seem like a cowboy’s build.

Instead he reminds you of the traveling con man you once knew.

Duke continues rattling on and on about how proud he is to show off the town and this event.

You however hate the way Ezra’s eyes still on you make your skin tighten.

Excusing yourself with a soft nod, wishing them both well, you return on your way to the seamstress. Your body burns the entire way.

The day goes by slowly at the shop. After working on a few ruined blouses, Julie, the elderly shop owner, keeps you busy with tidying up. When the sun starts setting, the door clings open, and you wonder who’s coming in so late.

Ezra saunters in, and your throat tightens.

“Welcome in, newcomer!” Julie greets with a grandmotherly grace. “What can we do for you, good sir?”

Ezra smiles with all the charm of a gilded cactus.

“Seems I am in need of a new stitch for these gloves of mine.” Ezra explains pulling out worn gloves.

Leather frayed along the straps speak of the weathered and worn attention they’ve been given. But they seem too big for his hands. You even swear you’ve seen them before on his old business partner. But you don’t want to think too much on it.

Good dear sweet Julie chatters with the man. You simply stay quiet, not even turning to greet or address him.

You don’t even work on his gloves, deciding to let Julie handle them.

You even hide out in the back room, not even listening to when Ezra leaves.

Julie ends up heading home, and you’re left to close up. The sun sets a dusty fading apricot against the shadow of the tailor shop.

As you pass by the alleyway, suddenly you’re handed into the dark shadows. You’re about to scream, maybe even yelp, until a hand goes flying across your face, silencing you.

“Now now, pidge, don’t need you making too much of a holler.” Ezra.

Anger seethes in you, boiling. Violently and with a harsh yank, you tear yourself away from his grasp. You’re almost tempted to storm away.

“Didn’t think I’d ever be graced by your beauty again. That mother of yours still got that shotgun she threatened me with?” He smoothly asks with the amount of dangerous charm a rattlesnake would carry.

“What? This your last attempt at selling that watered down snake oil you call elixirs and tonics?” You snap back razor sharp.

When you first met Ezra, which now feels like lifetimes ago, he was a smooth talking traveling salesman. A drifter, as your mother so harshly called him.

Instead of the cowboy hat he wears now, he looked more stately in his bowler type cap.

He charmed so many of the women in town, trying to sell them the secrets to youth, vitality, beauty, and anything else he could promise in his elixir vials. You however, were not interested, saw right through his ruse.

Though, you realize now you were just as foolish as the others in town rapidly buying his lies. Because you had been just as charmed and fooled as they were.

This man, who’s sharp wit intrigued you, who spoke to you as an equal, became so dangerous because you were willing to give him everything.

Your heart, your body - all of you should have been reserved for your husband. Instead you freely gave everything to this thief.

The swindler swore he would take you with him, make you his wife. But when your mother’s fury came, he fled like a petrified jackrabbit.

You suppose he is more coyote than jackrabbit, greedily stealing anything he can then sneakily moving on.

Ezra’s composed grin on his face flickers, like all the history resting between you and him resurfaces within him.

“Didn’t you hear, pidgeon? My elixirs were plundered. Even my poor partner, god rest his dear soul, was shot down in cold blood!” Ezra explains with sorrow.

You had heard about that. At the edge of town, on the dirt road leading out into the hills, one of the sheriff’s found the large carriage and Ezra’s associate dead. The carriage crashed, run off the road. The damage screamed of the work of bandits. However, Ezra was nowhere to be found.

“I’m just supposed to believe you miraculously made it out of there alive?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

You don’t want to say it, but your instincts twist dangerously in your stomach. You wonder if Ezra did the deed himself, killed his partner and took the valuables.

Ezra shrugs sheepishly.

“That’s the way the desert works, honeysuckle. It’s a harsh landscape that only protects those who can survive its wrath.”

You forgot how much he spoke like a preacher sometimes, so elevated and otherworldly. You hate how badly your heart races just being this close to him again, hearing his voice again.

“So you’re telling me you came all the way here just to try your hand at the competition? Never even seen you ride, much less thrown a rope. Can’t imagine a con-man like you being a cowboy.” You reply skeptical.

He barks a laugh. “You'd be surprised. I’m a man composed of many unrevealed talents.”

You knew that very well.

Cautiously, treading like he’s approaching a mountain lion, Ezra steps closer to you. Out of instinct you step backwards closer to the other shop beside the tailors.

“Now don’t tell me you’re pondering the idea of telling everyone about my past life, pidge?” His voice is low, calm but brewing like an approaching storm.

“Because it pains me just imagining the repercussions that could arise if ya did.” He mutters, and your throat gets tight.

There's an underlying threat below his words.

Fiercely, stubbornly, you glare at him, refusing to speak. But you know you won’t say anything. He must know it too. You’ve left your past far back at home. And you don’t want him reviving your ghosts either.

Suddenly the back of Ezra’s hand gingerly, barely touching your skin, grazes against your cheek. He whispers out your name.

“The years out here have made you bloom, like a beautiful desert petal.” He mumbles with hazed eyes.

Out of spite you snap your face away and scowl even harder at him.

“I have to get home.” You snap angrily, managing to finally remove yourself from him.

“The motel houses me for the time being,” he declares from behind in the shadows.

“Unless that blonde Galahad cowboy of yours is keeping your bed warm now?” Ezra adds almost amused.

Rage bursts a furious fire in you, and it consumes you in its heated path.

“Rot in hell.” You snarl whipping back to him.

“As long as you keep me company, beautiful.” Ezra replies coy.

You’re about to curse his soul when he stomps towards you, fast and steady. His hand flings to your face, pulls you back to the shadow of the tailor shop.

He kisses you with the fierce intensity of a sudden dust storm. It even shakes your soul, spins you around, as if you were caught in an actual twister.

He tastes like the faint hints of a cigar, but something still so deliciously sinful and him. Your knees want to buckle when he easily slips his tongue inside and immediately coaxes his against yours.

You whimper, don’t even realize he’s maneuvered you to the wall of the shop, until your back gently hits the cool wood building.

It’s like your body is imprinted to his, completely answering his call, willingly and wanting to be closer to him while your hands clutch at his broad shoulders.

His body pins you firm against the building, and already he grinds his hips into you.

Then the laughter nearby bursts the bubble, snaps your attention clear.

You scramble and rapidly shove Ezra away. You don’t say another word and simply walk away.

However your lips continue to sting, as if bitten by a bee. Your hands ache empty like they’re missing the presence of his body in their grasp.

You can’t fall for this trap again.

But by the time you arrive back home, greet your aunt warmly, the lie spills from your lips before you can stop it.

“Julie wants to start the inventory sooner. So I’ll be heading back and staying over at the shop.”

Your aunt doesn’t question you, simply grins sweet and wishes you a safe trip back to town.

The sun barely sets in for the night over the horizon. The sky is a dusty blue, the softest color before bleeding into a dark midnight. The desert at night is another creature entirely. Even as you walk into town, you try to stay aware and low from any curious eyes.

The motel approaches fast. The caretaker gives you a curious look but before he can, he’s called away.

Ezra already waits for you at the top of the stairs, hidden in the shadows but still so distinct among them.

He doesn’t tease you, doesn’t even greet you. His presence seems so different with how intense he stares at you. Simply moving to intertwine his hand with yours, he guides you to his room. Inside it’s like the world melts away. It’s only you and him.

He devours you, ravenous, like trying to both make up for lost time and also feel like not a day has passed. Your hands run through his hair, knock off his cowboy hat.

You hate how badly you’ve missed this, missed him. He’s the only man your body has known, and the nights you’ve ached for him your fingers never did him justice.

When you’re bare among his bed, and his fingers slide into your wet core, you whine against his lips.

“This cunt still mine, pretty girl?” He asks mutter.

You wearily nod then all thoughts shatter when he rubs against that certain spot you can never reach. Your body crashes in a climax so shakily fast you have to catch your breath against him.

Ezra kisses the top of your head over and over.

“That’s my sweet peach,” he says in awe.

You greedily now pull him towards you, aching even more for him to be inside.

But he’s not finished with you. Ezra greed swallows your sigh before his lips move down your bare body to your core and kisses you with reverent devotion.

Your body melts into the sheets feeling his tongue trace paths among your wet cunt.

Ezra firmly calls your name. It sounds like your soul is being brought back. Wearily you sit up to see him peering up at you between your legs. Slowly he lifts himself away from your cunt, his face glistening with your arousal.

Those obsidian eyes of his blazing in the candlelight lock you in their gaze. Keeping eye contact with you he suddenly spits down to your wet aching sex, and your mind spins.

It’s obscene, you should be disgusted and horrified. You even wonder if you’ve been transported to the brothel a few ways down the road. But it feels absolutely divine especially when he does it again.

“Oh she likes this.” Ezra coo’s then presses ever the softest kiss against your soaked throbbing pearl. “This pretty little cunt, my lovely lady, ache for me huh?”

You don’t argue with him. You don’t want to. He makes you come again and a creature raw and hungry awakens in you. You claw at him, now needing him inside.

It’s like a piece of yourself returns when Ezra slides into you. It’s hot, heavy, frantic but feels sacred.

Ezra must sense it too, because he doesn’t last long. When he spills over your tummy, his hands become claws and keep you caged in his grasp. Your con artist kisses every inch of you he can.

Sweaty and tangled in him, you still feel a tinge of sadness creep in.

“You left me.” You whimper against his lips.

“And it will haunt me until my dying breath.” Ezra sighs back, his voice weighing heavy. “I was planning to come back for you, my bird. But your mother…”

She had put a bounty out on your drifter, managed to get the sheriff on her side. You knew even in your anger at Ezra leaving, it was smart of him to escape.

His hand cradles your face, and his thumb strokes your cheekbone. Those endless eyes shimmer in the low light.

“But I’m here now, pidge.” Sincerity radiates from him.

You’re now able to bask in his beauty - his gorgeous jaw, his beautiful nose, the striking streak of blonde hair that has been hidden under his hat and you’ve been dying to see.

You nuzzle your face into his palm.

“What are you doing here? Truly?” You ask.

“I told you,” Ezra says, drawing your face towards him to kiss you tender again. “I’m here to try and prove myself victorious.”

You’re not sure you believe his words.

But you end up staying with him. Early morning, before the sun reaches over the desert, his fingers trace your face waking you up.

“Dawn bathes you in her glory.” He mutters. Embarrassed at his words you burrow your face into the pillow.

He doesn’t chase you, but instead lets his fingers draw aimless shapes against your shoulder.

“There wasn’t a day where you did not occupy my mind, even after all these years.” Ezra admits low, as if he didn’t realize those words escaped him.

Slowly you turn towards him and discover those deep eyes hazed over staring at you.

“I hate you.” You tell him without any malice. In fact an emotion something very opposite of hatred soaks your words.

“I know. I’d hate me too.” Ezra agrees muttering then leans down to kiss you gingerly.

You have to leave before the town wakes up, and to seal your alibi.

With a final kiss goodbye, you head to the tailor shop.

Julie finds you in the shop when she arrives and applauds you for your diligence and wanting to get a jump start on inventory. You’re thankful the lie worked out this way. You even manage to convince her to let you finish inventory the rest of the week. Of course she happily agrees.

Ezra drops by to pick up his riding gloves and winks at you shamelessly. You roll your eyes but hate how badly you fight against a grin.

The next few days are spent between the shop and the motel. You already brace your heart for Ezra’s departure approaching once the tournament is over, but you try not to face that.

“You’ve been in a rather good mood.” Your aunt notices when you stop by to drop off goods for her.

“Thought you hated inventory.” She comments.

“Guess not.” You reply with a shrug.

This blissful cloud you’re walking in however does cloud your mind. It makes you sloppy. Instead of taking the longer path to the motel, the one that kept you away from the views of the main road and town, you walk straight into town.

Running right into Duke Williams.

He says your name bright and clear. Dread dawns on you fast.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round. Heard Julie’s got ya working extra hard.” Duke smiles.

You hate this small town and the small whispers that spread like wildfire.

You reassure Duke you’re fine and are even glad you can help Julie.

All his friends, in their sleek cowboy hats, and dusty spurs, stand off to the side snicker. They crowd around each other like an ominous pack of wolves.

One of them even calls your name.

“Might wanna enjoy this freedom while it last!” He proclaims, and your stomach twists.

The other guys snickers, shushing him playfull, and even Duke turns around to reprimand him.

“What does he mean by that?” You cautiously question.

Duke simply waves the conversation off instead offering to walk you to the tailors.

You politely decline.

“Aw come on, sweet thing like you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” Duke smiles but even with his sweet eyes you’re reminded of a crocodile now.

“Well gentleman, that’s why i’ll accompany this lovely bird to her destination.” Emerging from the shadows Ezra grins warm.

He must have come to find you after you hadn’t shown up at the motel.

The men including Duke go eerily silent. Ezra is older than Duke and the younger men. So he holds seniority now. But besides that, Duke now seems wary, and you don’t blame him. Ezra is a man that radiates a sort of unpredictable energy.

“You sure you don’t want me to walk ya back now?” You almost appreciate the slight genuine worry leaking into Duke’s voice. But shaking your head you move to walk with Ezra by your side.

You do hate how all eyes are on you, even walking away from Duke and his mindless followers.

“Just remain calm.” Ezra mutters.

You do especially with him by your side. By the time you open the tailors you thank Ezra, worried Duke and his men are still watching.

You whisper for him to meet you behind the shop, and he does. Your swindler willingly steps into the back room with you.

“Not my ideal choice for our evening, but I do love a good change of scenery.” Ezra comments amused browsing around the storage. Playfully, you throw a ball of yarn at him.

You’re surprised he even helps you with the small bit of inventory you do.

“That young buck…” until his voice comes out low. “He’s fond of you.”

“Unfortunately.” You reply back unamused.

“Earlier at the saloon…he was boasting.” Ezra continues with the same serious tone.

“About enjoying the last days of being an unmarried man.”

That causes you to pause.

“Must mean he’s gotten over me.” You sigh, thank goodness.

“No pidge…” Ezra stops to turn towards you. “He was proclaiming how you were to be his bride.”

Your stomach drops.

You think of the way the boys just now snickered almost knowingly, and that strange comment one of themselves said -

All of it makes your stomach sick, and you have to sit down.

No. There was just no way.

“I’d never accept his proposal.” You snap out hating how badly your body feels frantic, almost skittish like a cornered road runner.

Ezra kneels before you rubbing your hand with his, a strange solid comfort.

Eventually he gathers you into his arms and calms you with soothing soft words.

“We’ll figure out a solution.”

You still don’t know if you can trust his words. But that's all you have. Your drifter stays with you overnight in the tailor shop. You even feel sinful fucking him in the back room but it’s deliciously sinfull all the same.

Sitting and resting against the work desk you fade in and out of sleep. Tender fingers brush against your fingers, ghost like. Ezra is gone by the time you wake up and Julie’s entering the shop jolts you awake.

Her eyes are frazzled.

“Did you hear? Mister Johnston’s eldest son was shot down early this morning.”

You hadn’t heard. Dread fills you fast when you realize Johnston's boy was the one who had made the joking comment to you last night.

There’s talk about postponing the competition. But others in town, especially Duke, argue to continue the tradition in a way to honor the fallen young man.

An ominous terror looms in you.

Later that night, you return to the motel. Too many thoughts swarm in your head, and Ezra even seems distant. He even slides his duster jacket one before kissing you.

“I have some personal matters to attend to, pidge. Get some respite here.”

His boots echo down the hall and then down the stairs.

You can’t sleep. So you move to slide open the window and let some of the night air in.

The faint mutter of discussion very close outside in the alleyway floats into the room.

It’s muffled at first, but once you step closer and concentrate, you pick up the very familiar cadence of a certain drifter.

“No no, I have it covered. As long as you make sure to double the bets on me tomorrow.” Ezra explains in a hush.

The others with him explain the different amounts they’ve collected, and it hits you.

He’s gambling on the competition.

That’s why he’s here.

You knew the men at the saloon often bet, but this feels heavier.

A new clicking of spurs arrives.

“Y’know, you fellas look like a dangerous bunch all here hidden in the shadows.” Duke.

Panic prickles all over your body.

“Now young buck, we’re just here partaking in a fun and friendly wager.” Ezra with his smooth talking skills deflates the tension easily.

“Waggerin’ on what?” You’re surprised Duke immediately quickly jumps in to gamble.

Ezra and the other men begin conspiring on how to make sure Duke wins to favor the odds of their bets.

“I like the sound of that.” Duke grins.

He makes a hefty wager on himself to win, the price even makes someone whistle.

They offer to place their wagers on him as well and with Ezra even in the competition, he’s argued to be an even better reassurance that the outcome falls in their favor.

Ezra even swears by this.

They’re fixing the match, going to cheat. You don’t know how to feel about any of this.

They end their discussion, and you quietly slide back into bed. Before long Ezra returns, the smell of tobacco and the cold air lingers in the room.

His fingers dance against your shoulders while your back stays to him.

“You’re only here… to make money, and cheat.” You mutter hollow.

His fingers stop.

“You overheard.”

You don’t reply to him. Ezra sighs.

“Indeed I am. But I’m no different than the gentlemen that place simple wagers on a game of horseshoe.” He explains low, under the whisper of the candle flicker.

“But it’s like you’re wanting to play with a weighted or lighter horseshoe.” You argue back.

“Is it not in our best natures to make sure Lady Luck favors us by any means possible?”

You don’t know how to reply to him.

“…I’m doing this for you, for us.” He adds.

You turn to him, your face scrunching up in fury.

“Bullshit.” You tell him.

“Believe me a liar, but I’m honest in my endeavor.” His face becomes a firm steeled frown.

You can’t look at him anymore, turning your back again to Erza in bed.

“My hope was to gain enough funds to pay for the bounty your mother placed on me, return for your hand, and make our way into a new life together.” His voice is steady.

“Unless you wish to stay here and wed that Duke.” He offers.

You whip back to glare harsh at Ezra.

There’s a silence heavy and ancient like the desert that settles between you. But it doesn’t last long before Ezra leans down and sweeps in to capture your lips

The discussion dies immediately as passion burns in its place.

You don’t think of gambling cowboys, or of your mysterious drifter, only of the moment consuming you now, and you almost pray you never leave it.

- ☾𖤓 -

Late in the night, wearily half sleep, the bed shifting jolts you awake, and you even hear the door creak open. Before you can ask Ezra if he’s alright, your eyes so sleepy flutter close for a moment. Then he’s sliding back into the warmth pulling you close into his arms. You fall right back to your dreams.

In the early hours of the morning, Ezra kisses your jaw.

“My lucky charm, are you going to observe our tournament today?” He mutters.

The competition was today.

“You nervous?” You had never seen him ride much less try ranch hand work.

“Never.” He says smoothly.

Eventually he slides out of bed and lets you get ready. But soon Ezra walks over and places something in your hands.

The pistol weighs heavy, cold. And your eyes snap open wide now fully awake.

“Why-”

He cuts you off gently. “You know how to fire, yes?”

You nod weakly.

A small smirk tugs at his handsome lips. “Figured as much, after seeing your mother.”

It’s an attempt to tease, but too much terror bubbles in you.

“I just need to know you’re protected.” Ezra reveals, but with a croak you ask why.

“Cause unfortunate as it might be, it’s even more dangerous for a criminal like me to cherish something.”

Your eyes water. There are too many questions in your head, but the day will be starting soon. You need to leave before you’re spotted.

“Tell me you have another gun.” You snap at him.

Ezra simply taps the side of his head. “Don’t need another firearm when I have this weapon.”

You angrily throw the pistol down back to the bed, refusing to take it. That’s when he snaps your name, hard and serious.

You’ve never heard his voice raise like that.

“Take it.” He grabs the firearm and hands it back to you. His midnight eyes are ominously serious with no room for argument.

His hand grabs your face firm in his hand. Your eyes search his endless midnight lake eyes.

“I call you pidge, my little pigeon bird. But I’ve known right from the start you’re a fierce creature. Don’t ever forget that.”

Ezra’s words are beautiful but barbed. They rip up tracks in your heart. He kisses you quick, fierce and short. You hate how it feels like a goodbye.

With shaking hands and confusion, you slide the gun into your satchel. You walk back to your aunt's cabin in a daze. So much so that you barely notice she’s already awake when you sneak back in.

“You have fun at the motel again?” She asks, and fear freezes you.

“I wasn’t-”

“Mac, your uncle’s good friend, gave me the heads up.” She cuts you off softly.

Mac, the innkeeper. God damn this small town. Venom, anger, indignation, they all swirl violently in you.

“Whatever you’re doing there, you’re only gonna find danger.” She says somber, and you stay quiet.

Your aunt sighs.

“You’re lucky this hasn’t gotten out yet. What would young Duke say if he found out?”

Frustration bursts in you, and you snap furious about why would you even need to care about that man’s opinion of you.

“Because he plans on weddin’ you, and I plan on letting him.” Your aunt fires back and her words shoot right through you.

Your legs feel like they’re about to give out, even have to steady yourself against the nearby chair.

You thought your aunt understood. She’s been alone, a widow since she was around your age, longer than your mother had been a widow. You thought she’d never fall into the trap of forcing marriage.

“It’s for your own good.” She argues, watery urgent m. “You need protection, a home, a husband to provide for you.”

You rush out of the house even ignoring the screams from your aunt.

You’d have to think of a plan fast. Maybe leave with Ezra once the competition ends today. It’s all too much. You swallow back a sob and walk back into town.

The competition was today after all.

The day at the shop is very short. Julie doesn’t even notice your somber atmosphere as she’s completely caught up in the excitement of this day. So many more wagons stretch around the edge of town.

Pecos flutters alive with life.

But there’s already commotion, a dangerous kind that chokes the competition tense.

Duke yells loud and furious. The sheriff along with his deputies are nearby. Thankfully you spot Martha and quickly move to ask her what’s going on.

“Duke’s horse is missing.” She whispers.

From what Martha says, when Duke went to the stables this morning the gate was open and his horse was nowhere to be seen. His trusty companion, you even knew how serious an issue this is.

“Well young buck, if you’re that upset then maybe you shouldn’t partake in the festivities.” Ezra, out of thin air, offers.

He looks confident as he strolls up.

“Or you simply ride with another mare?” He proposes with a coy optimism.

“Fuck you!” Duke snaps at Ezra and even looks as if he’s going to lunge.

Your heart hammers hard in your chest. Thankfully the sheriff settles the commotion down.

Angered but stubborn, Duke declares he’s staying to compete and will simply use another horse. He is favored to win after all.

Other cowboys from out of town have blown in like packs of tumbleweed. So many of them are excited to participate and try their hand at showing off their rancher skills

Some are good.

But it is Ezra who proves to be the dark horse, the surprise underdog.

Watching him on his stallion, your throat goes dry seeing how effortless and strong he manages his horse. You never knew he could ride. The way he maneuvers and stays a quiet presence, he reminds you of an outlaw.

“Moves like a bandit.” Someone in the crowd even whispers.

His rope throwing skills however surprise everyone, including yourself. The calf he manages to wrangle takes you by shock. A dangerous lust slithers over your body watching him wrangle the animal with his strength and sturdy form.

But you realize -

This wasn’t what had been planned. From the discussion given last night, Ezra was meant to perform poorly to make sure Duke did better.

But this is exactly the opposite.

He’s the lead runner for champion of the competition.

And then Duke’s turn arrives. The crowd mummers curious, on edge waiting for the favored cowboy to make his move.

The horse he uses is not cooperative. Duke screams, unable to hide his frustration in wrangling the creature.

But once he stabilizes a manageable ride, he goes to lasso the calf. His rope lands and the crowd cheers. He’s already faster than Ezra.

Until the frayed rope snaps and the calf yanks itself free.

The crowd gasps.

It’s not an immediate disqualification, but it doesn’t look good. Duke argues that his rope was frayed and that someone must have slowly started cutting at it. However it’s a long shot argument. There’s no way to prove that and even the sheriff seems a little wary of the accusation.

“That’s just the way rope is son, you just gotta keep an eye on it.”

Duke screams in anguish canyon splitting anger. You’ve never once seen him like this. It’s like it’s a whole new man, or maybe, his true self being revealed.

He’s offered another rope, but it’s almost horrifying to watch that one as well snap. The crowd again gasps.

This wasn’t the outcome meant to happen.

“Duke’s cursed.” Someone mumbles.

The crowd is in disbelief, you even are. The last remaining competitors try their luck, but none can beat Ezra’s speed.

You can’t believe it. But he won.

And Duke is livid. The crowd tentatively applauds Ezra’s win because of the somber mood clashing.

“You bastard! You goddamn cheated!” Duke screams at Ezra while the deputies try settling him down.

“Poor boy,” Ezra says sympathetically before turning to find you in the crowd.

There’s a gleam of something proud shimmering in his dark eyes.

You don’t question it, don’t want to.

Ezra truly is a man of many facets, dangerous ones, like looking at a raw gemstone that could cut your fingers.

The competition spills into the nearby saloons, and the festivities only seem to intensify as the sun starts setting. You can’t even reach Ezra from the groups swirling around him and want to get as far away from Duke as possible.

So you return back to the tailor shop. Julie urges you to join her and the other women at the mayor’s large property, but you decline.

You simply sit in the store trying to muster up a plan. But in a blink, the night arrives and you have to find Ezra.

So after locking up the shop, you head to the motel.

Until the sound of Duke’s screaming and the rage of violence roars nearby.

You freeze, terrified.

Until someone wearily coughs. “That’s what ya get for gamblin’ with bandits, boy.”

Your swindler’s distinct twang drawls smug and now your body rushes to the secluded alleyway.

You swallow back a scream at the sight you stumble upon. Duke with blood fists has Ezra pinned against the wall, like a mythological creature, terrifying and large looking over with violence in his wake.

Ezra’s face is bloody and one of his arms even hangs limp.

“Pidge.” He coughs, and your heart aches.

Duke whips around to see you and barks for you to leave.

Shakily you snatch down to your bag, and whip out the gun to point it to him. Duke’s face falls a bit confused.

“Honey this man wronged me, I’m only enacting my justice.” He argues.

You snap at him to let Ezra go or else.

That’s when a sinister evil darkens Duke’s golden boy face.

“So, ya little god damn whore…you’re workin’ with this man aren’t ya? I knew I should’ve listened to all the rumors about a slut like you.” He spits with venom leaking from his voice.

“Don’t you touch her.” Ezra snarls, but Duke pays him no mind keeping his sinister eyes on you.

“What?” Duke slowly mutters. “Do ya really think you’re gonna shoot me?”

Tears fill your eyes. You don’t want to, but the way your heart races like a terrified Jack rabbit it screams at you to flee. But… you also wonder if your heart races because it’s urging you to attack, to bare your fangs.

Instead of releasing Ezra, Duke moves to grip his coat harder. He slams your drifter hard and fast against the wall. A painful crack-like smack comes, and you scream.

You fire the gun instantly.

Duke blinks, you even wonder if you landed a hit.

Until deep dark crimson, almost the color of dark sludge, leaks across Duke’s side. He crumbles like a fall leaf.

You cry scrambling to Ezra who thankfully is still standing. Duke wheezes out obscenities and even tries hollering for help. You’re however too worried about Ezra.

“M’fine,” your drifter reassures with a wheeze.

“Hand me the gun, dearest.” Ezra somberly mutters. When you do, without hesitation Ezra fires the gun point black down at Duke. And your eyes shut hearing the pistol strike. Duke goes quiet and stays silent.

“Come on, we gotta hurry.” Ezra urges.

Supporting his body, you manage to get him into the tailor shop to tend to his wounds.

Ezra coughs out your name. “M’dearest, I need to make my escape out of town once more.” His breathing his heaved, he needs to rest.

“Don’t leave me.” You cry sharp, unable to focus on anything now.

His hand slides to your face and he cradles you tenderly. You clutch at his wrist as you blink back tears starting at him now.

“It will not be a pleasant life, staying with a devil like me.” He mumbles.

Doesn't he realize, you’re just as tarnished as him now? Blood is on your hands. You simply turn to kiss the palm of his hand feeling more reassured than ever.

“I’d rather be with the devil than live without him.” You speak soft into his skin while tears dry on your cheeks.

He barks a hollow but watery thick laugh as he says your name. “You foolish bird, my lovely dangerous creature.”

The desert is unforgiving to those who do now learn to grow fangs or become just as fierce as its landscape. You wonder if that’s what has become of you. But you don’t question it. You simply gather all you can, steal one of the horses from the saloon and keep Ezra close to you on the saddle.

If Ezra is a devil, then you’re grateful he saved you from your hell. And for him, you will gladly stain your soul.

Under the eternal eyes of the desert, you wander into the night keeping your bandit close to you.

In the distance a lone coyote howls aching at the moon.

You don’t look back once.

[mistydeyes]

Imagine dad!ghost at his daughter's jiu-jitsu/martial arts tournament where she is absolutely demolishing all her opponents.

Ghost and s/o would most definitely be those over-proud parents like Cam and Mitchell from modern family 😭💀

Was wondering if you could write a fic for this??

Y E S thank you so so much for requesting this! first off i love modern family and second who doesn't LOVE a cute lil wholesome moment with the riley family!

a child's eye of the tiger

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summary: It's clear your daughter takes after her father when she absolutely demolishes the competition in her youth jiu jitsu match.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader (established relationship w daughter)

warnings: swearing, violence involved in a jiu jitsu match?

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"What sport is this again?" Simon asked you with a shit-eating grin painted on his face. You slapped his thigh lightly as you adjusted your gaze to find your daughter waiting patiently on the mat. "Jiu-jitsu, Simon," you whispered, "been doing this since reception." You didn't see his reaction but you knew he had a proud fatherlike smile. Despite always asking you these inconsequential questions, he secretly was thoroughly involved in his daughter's life. You tapped your fingers anxiously as you watched the different age groups compete across the dark blue mats. Your daughter sat alone, watching their every move, and stretching her little legs out. "She's definitely your little girl," you whispered to Simon as he put a comforting arm around you.

"Next we have Isla Riley," the announcer called and yours and Simon's cheers drowned out the announcement of her competitor. "Go Isles!" you shouted, ignoring the glares from the surrounding parents. Despite only being six, she sarcastically shook her head before taking her stance. She adjusted her gray and black striped belt as she looked angrily at the other girl in front of her. As soon as the announcer commenced the match, your daughter ran towards the girl, grappling for her legs. You could feel your hands tighten around Simon's as you watched her overpower her and pin the girl to the mat. "She's actually pretty good," Simon beamed as the match continued. Your daughter was then put on her back by the much taller girl and you could feel yourself reacting to their action. "Oh fuck," you said, a little louder than acceptable, and you looked away from the turned heads. Just when you thought your daughter was going to lose the match, your daughter wrapped her legs around the girl's neck and threw her off of her.

"That's my girl," Simon whispered and you could see him smile widely, a rare sight in the Riley household. You were counting the various points your daughter was continuously awarded and it was clear she was in the advantage after her last move. The round continued as your daughter scored for her knee-on-belly, mounting, and passing the guard moves. You could feel yourself clapping when she accomplished the highest-scoring move, the rear mount, and pinned the girl in between her legs and arms. Her heels wrapped around her torso and the girl struggled in her grasp. "I helped her practice that one," you smiled to Simon and you could hear him laugh to himself. As soon as the match started, the 5 minutes were up and the announcer named your daughter the winner with a score of 36. "Let's go Isles!" you shouted and Simon joined with a loud clap that reverberated across the gym walls.

Once she shook her opponent's hand, she ran over to you with her hair in knots and breathing heavily. Simon lifted her up into his arms and placed a soft kiss on her temple. "Happy to be home to see you, baby," he whispered to her as he smoothed out her wild hair. "Did you see I did a take the back?" she excitedly cooed, "I could hear you cheering for me, Mum." You hugged your little family in a warm hug as you celebrated her recent accomplishments. "Want to get out of here?" Simon asked and Isla giddily nodded in response. As you walked out of the gym after a few words with her coach, she held her dad's hand proudly and listed off various sweet shops she wanted to visit. You stood behind them and in a secretive moment, you took a picture of them hand-in-hand. "Glad to have you home, Simon," you whispered before your daughter turned to you and beckoned for you to hurry up. "We're not all athletes here," you joked as you sprinted to walk with your loving daughter and husband.

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sidenote: this is what i pictured w simon and the reader while writing this

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 5 - Wouldn't It Be Nice?

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized Reader/OC, female Reader/OC, John introduces Doll to some normal people, Everyone learns new things about each other, Manipulation, PTSD, Doll has a tragic backstory, Doll is kinda sorta Catholic? Who knew (me I knew)

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above but honestly this chapter is pretty mild all considered.

Ghost, Soap and Gaz come back a few hours later with the blue sports car (a bit scratched up, but tail-light repaired) and a pick up truck that looks a lot like the one John had before, but a generation older, and green instead of gray. John speaks to them briefly before he coaxes you into the truck and drives off, promising that the others will be gone before you get back.

He drives a few miles down the road, and pulls up in front of a little farmhouse. It looks idyllic, children and a dog playing in the yard. Two people on the porch wave, and John hops out and circles around right quick to open your door and help you down.

The couple trots up to greet you both. "Who's this?" The woman asks, looking at you and beaming. "You finally introducing us to a girlfriend?"

"Doesn't feel like the right word, does it, doll?" John winks at you, like your circumstances are all just a funny little blip, nothing nefarious or terrifying about it.

"No, it doesn't," you agree, keeping your face carefully neutral. "I'm Dalisay. Nice to meet you, um, Melissa, right?" You stick your hand out and shake hers. There’s no sense in being rude to them, just because they know John. He’s probably smart enough to keep his old life, and his boys away from his new one as much as possible.

"The very same! We were a bit worried John was going to be an eternal bachelor. Nice to see he's found someone." She introduces her husband, Rob, and her kids, Hannah, Haley and Jackson, who are ten, seven and five, respectively.

"Do you want to see the puppies?" Haley asks, grabbing your hand. Jackson grabs the other one and they pull you along to the garage, not waiting for an answer. You very deliberately don’t look over your shoulder at John, because you’re fairly sure that he’ll be looking back at you with a sickeningly hopeful expression. His comments from last night still ring in your ears, and you’re not willing to indulge that foolish fantasy of his.

The puppies are in a play pen with high enough walls to contain them, but still allow their mother to hop in and out. She hops out to inspect you, sniffing your outstretched hands warily. Her tail starts to wag after a moment, and you give her a proper pat, smiling. The dog has soft ears and a silky, black and tan coat, but you're not sure what type of dog she is.

"What's her name?" you ask, kneeling down.

"Bonnie-bell," Hannah says. "And our other dog is Charaid."

"Proper Scottish names," you say. The kids all have a slight burr, and although Melissa sounds scouse, it's the first hint as to where you are.

"Da said we was gettin' too English, livin' in London," Haley says. "I like it better here anyway. Mum says maybe we can get some coos. "

"I grew up near Aberdeen," you say. "But I've lived in Manchester too long. Lost my accent."

"No' far off, then, aye? We're only about an hour and a bit south and west," Rob says, appearing at the open garage door to supervise. His stern face looks friendlier now that he knows you're not proper English. "Was worried John dragged some poor city girl out'f England to live out here."

You hum. "Well, I am something of a city girl now. Been in Manchester since I was seventeen."

"Weel, welcome home then," Rob says with a wink. "We'll get ye proper re-acclimated soon enough." He leans over and plucks a puppy out of the sleeping pile inside the pen, and hands it to you. The pup is at the age where its somewhere between looking like a potato and a proper dog, maybe six or seven weeks old. "Gordon setter, by the by," he says. "Good dogs."

"Cute too." You settle the puppy in your lap, petting its soft little head. Bonnie-bell licks your wrist and hops back into the pen to lay down next to the others.

"Ye want one? This girl's no' spoken for yet. John's been hemmin' and hawin' about it, but I figure he wouldna want ta leave ye home alone, neither."

"Oh, I'm not sure I'll be staying that long. I'm only here because there was an incident at my apartment and John wouldn't hear of me staying anywhere else." You're not certain why you're stretching the truth to fit around what he and his wife think is happening, but you have no idea what John would do if you did say something. Maybe he would laugh it off like you were making a joke, or maybe he would snap. You don't really think he would hurt these people, but there's a wide-eyed prey animal in the back of your mind that warns you to be cautious, to be careful.

"We'll talk about it," John says from behind you. You hadn't even noticed his approach, with the noise the kids had made when they dashed back outside. "I'm trying to convince her to stay."

"Ye've gotta buy her a ring, ye daft bastard," Rob says, laughing. "A good catholic girl isna goin' ta wait for you ta get yer head out'f yer arse."

"If you don't, I'll introduce her to some lads in town that will," Melissa threatens. "Pretty girl like her has better options than you, old man. Better make your move before she realizes it." She swats John on the arm playfully.

You laugh nervously, touching the little cross around your neck absently. The puppy in your lap seems to sense your discomfort, because she starts wiggling in your arms and trying to lick your chin, little tail wagging. John kneels down beside you so he can pet the puppy too, eyes creased with a smile. "Is that it, doll? You need me to buy you a ring?"

"John," you say warningly. "We don't need to talk about this right now."

"No, I suppose you've had a rough morning. I'll try again later."

"You're impossible."

"Think you might kind of like that about me," he says.

"Not remotely. I think you're an awful, stubborn man," you tell him. Your voice comes out softer and sweeter than you intend, like you don't really mean it, even though it's true. The smile around his eyes grows deeper.

"I am." He picks up the puppy and holds her up in front of his face. "What do you think, girl?" he asks. The little dog's tail wags furiously, and she answers with a high pitched yip. And then she endears herself to you by trying to bite John’s nose. He looks stunned for a moment, but he grins when you start laughing. “Guess we’re all in agreement then,” he says, setting her down in the pen and standing up.

You accept his hand up, and quickly put a little distance between the two of you, before he anchors you to his side with a solid arm, or tries to reel you in close for a kiss. Rob and Melissa invite you in for a cup of tea, and somehow you end up sitting at a dining room table that’s obviously mostly used for crafts, and handed a piece of blank printer paper by Haley, and told by Jackson that you should draw dragons with them. The walls of the dining room are filled with tacked up juvenile masterpieces— Dragons seem to be a particular fixation of Jackson’s, whereas Hannah and Haley have more varied portfolios.

John stands leaning in the door to the kitchen, talking to Rob and Melissa quietly enough that you can’t quite pick up his words over the children’s chatter. You hate him a little for this, dangling Rob and Melissa’s idyllic little life in front of you. The implication is obvious. We could have this, his blue eyes seem to say when you look his way. Wouldn’t that be nice?

It’s frustrating, and confusing. You want to keep him at arms length for your own safety, but he’s already doing his best to roll right past your doubts and better judgment, like they’re just silly barriers between now and the future he’s dreamed up for the two of you.

And worse, you do want it.

“Didn’t know you were an artist,” he says on the drive back. Jackson had been so excited about the dragon that you drew for him that he’d shown his parents and John.

“There’s a long list of things you don’t know about me,” you say.

"For now. We'll get there, sweetheart."

You hum, looking out the window. Spending time with the Stuarts has you wistful and homesick for something you can't get back. Days like this, you'd usually pour yourself a glass of wine, look through your family photo albums and have a good cry before going to bed early. It's been a while since it's caught up with you like this, but you'd always been reliant on your routine, burying grief in structure and familiarity. "Do we need to?"

"I'd like to."

"I'm not going to be what you want me to be."

John drums his fingers against the steering wheel. "What is it that you think I want?"

"Some little housewife. Someone soft and sweet to come home to."

"You seem plenty soft and sweet to me."

You sigh, pulling your arms around yourself. "I'm not consistent. I don't know what Johnny told you I was like, but he only knows me from work. I'm not like that all the time."

"I don't expect you to be."

"You say that now, but you'll change your mind."

"I'm not stupid enough to change my mind based on a bad day or two, doll. You're allowed to be upset. I wouldn't blame you if you spend the next week slamming doors and snapping at me. I'm still going to like you." He puts a hand on your knee and squeezes gently. Men like him shouldn't be allowed to have such attractive hands, and you shouldn't be attracted to hands like his, scarred knuckles, a few fingers broken and healed crooked. You know he's killed people, know it would be so easy for him to kill you. It turns your stomach that you feel any kind of desire for him at all.

Men like him are no different than the ones that killed your parents. Dealing death is not a noble trade, there's nothing honourable about exporting violence.

You push his hand away, and keep your eyes trained on the window.

He sighs, but he doesn't press the issue, just clicks on the radio to fill the silence.

When you get back to his house he sets you up in a cozy room down the hall from the more open main space where the kitchen is, an office of some kind with a couple of arm chairs and a desk with a clunky looking laptop set on top. The room smells kind of smoky, but you're just glad to have a door you can close while he "moves some things around". He opens the laptop up so you can watch something, but you just curl up in one of the armchairs and fall asleep.

When you wake, the door is open, one of your blankets is draped over you, and there's a mug of tea sitting on the desk, alongside a couple biscuits. You uncurl, your muscles stiff and joints cracking from not moving for too long, and pick up the tea. It's cold, like it had been left a while ago, but you drink it anyway, and eat the biscuits. There's a note underneath, explaining that John had run out to the shops, and that he'd be back by 18:00. You shake your head, and check the time on the laptop. 18:00 exactly.

Military habits must die hard. You imagine he’s usually prompt too, so you wander out into the main room, and put the clean dishes in the rack away. You realize that the living room side has been rearranged, condensed to a slightly smaller footprint, with some open space left by the far corner behind the bigger couch. The smaller leather sofa has been replaced with the little red love-seat from your apartment, and your T.V. is sitting on it’s familiar perch on the refinished credenza that you’d painted twining vines and little red flowers up the side of. You’d found it on by the curb on the Kinsey’s street a few years ago, and your friend Ripley had bused over and helped you carry it all the way back to your apartment.

You’re not sure you like seeing more of your things merging into John’s house, like any of it belongs there when you still want to insist that you’ll be leaving soon. You hate him for being presumptuous, but you can’t help but think it’s sweet, too, that he makes space for you so readily, that he’ll happily include your painted flowers and colourful blankets and bright red couch into space that was all his just twenty four hours ago. That he would leave you tea and biscuits for when you woke up, that he would tuck a blanket around you while you slept. You’re not used to someone wanting to take care of you, and it feels strange.

Strange, but nice too.

You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing that it’s twenty past six, and John still isn’t back. It’s getting darker out there, the sun nearly setting, and as much as you try to tell yourself that you’re not worried, it’s hard to deny the stab of relief when you finally see the truck's lights pull up the wooded drive.

You slip on your trainers and step outside as he parks. He grins at you around a lit cigar as he hops out. “Did you miss me, doll?” he asks, insufferably smug.

“Your note said you’d be back at six,” you say lamely. “I just wasn’t sure if you’re usually on time.”

“Usually am. Got caught talking to Wells, down on the corner. Seems someone drove right through his fence last night. Teenagers, like as not. I’m goin’ to help him fix it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You grimace. He must know it was really you. “Sorry about that.”

“No harm. By the sounds of it, you’re quite the driver. Soap said you nearly ran him off the road. That what they teach these days?”

“Defensive driving is well and good, but offensive driving gets you the last good spot in the lot,” you say.

He laughs out loud at that, and leans over to pick up a big paper bag from the passenger side. “Here, can you take this in while I grab the groceries?”

You take the bag (which is slightly greasy and smells like curry), and shift it to one hip. “Can I take anything else?”

He nods and hands you a second paper bag, this one with two wine bottles inside. “Wasn’t sure if you liked red or white, so I got both.”

You settle the bags in your arms and turn to walk away. “Bad time to tell you I like rosé hm?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder.

“Terrible timing. But that’s alright. One more thing, doll.”

You turn back toward him, and he’s right there. One big hand cups your jaw and then his lips are on yours, pressing a kiss that tastes like smoke against you. You stand frozen, holding onto your cargo for dear life, too surprised to do anything. It’s just as well, because in that moment you’re not sure if you’d slap him or pull him closer.

He pulls away without trying to deepen the kiss, which is a relief. You’re certain that you’d drop dinner and the wine.

“John, that wasn’t fair.” Your feet are still frozen in place, and his hand is still on your cheek, his fingers threaded into your hair.

His eyes practically sparkle. He’s entirely too pleased with himself. “Not fair because I kissed you, or not fair because I stopped before we got to the best part?”

Your cheeks flame hot, and you pray that he can’t feel it. “You can’t just— You’re impossible.” It takes concentrated effort to take ordinary, measured steps to the door instead of running. The effect he has on you is apparently very obvious. He never would have tried it if he didn’t know you were teetering on the edge of giving in already.

Boundaries need to be set-- Set and followed-- before you can really even contemplate letting this get any further. Unchecked, you have no doubt that John will have you underneath him in a matter of days. Once that happens you know he'll never let you go, and you'll never have peace of mind if you don't really get to know him first. You know he's not as good as he makes himself out to be, but you suspect he's a better man than your deepest fears might whisper to you. He's genuine about his wants, but that's not enough. You need to know him before you can trust him.

You set your packages down on the table and turn to open the door wide for John as he carries a tote full of groceries into the house. “Thanks, doll.”

The paper bag rips when you open it to pull take-out containers out, setting them on the table neatly. "John, can we talk?" You ask, glancing at him as he stows things in the fridge.

"Course, doll. What's on your mind?"

Nerves threaten to choke you, so you take a steadying breath, in and out, trying to quiet the sea of dread that pitches back and forth in your stomach. “You can’t just take what you want from me. Not if you’re serious about wanting this to be something. I’m afraid of you, John, and I’m not going to fight you. If you push me, I’ll fold, and I’ll hate you for it.”

He pauses, holding a box halfway lifted to the cupboard. It takes a moment before he moves again, setting the box on the shelf slowly. The silence is palpable in the room, settling across both of you like a thick blanket of snow. You fold the ripped takeout bag flat, nervous, the crinkle of heavy paper hardly breaking through the rush of blood in your ears, the panic that grips you by the throat. It’s as though the admission has given your body the chance to catch up with everything that’s happened in the last two days.

You’d been drugged and taken from your home, you’d been handed off to someone you didn’t know, with no clear indication if you’re free to leave or not, you’ve been picked up and manhandled and shot at.

Darkness flickers in the corners of your vision. All you can hear is the pounding of your own heart, the sick, dizzying drums of war, and high pitched ringing like a flat-lining hospital monitor, and screaming, and the rapid burst of machine gun fire. No. The screaming you hear is just in your head, the gunshots aren’t real, they can’t be. It’s not happening, it’s over, it’s been over for a decade, you’re safe.

Except you’re not safe.

Hands land on your shoulders. You lash out, fists striking something solid, knocking the hands away. You have to get away, you have to hide until it goes quiet again. Arms wrap around you in a tight hug, stilling your thrashing limbs and bringing you down to the floor gently.

“Doll! Dalisay, sweetheart, you’re alright, come back.” The voice has authority. You know that voice. It rumbles, shaking loose memory. “Come on, love, breathe slow. You’re okay.” You breathe in, warm spice and tobacco smoke, not burning petrol, not scorched flesh. You’re kneeling on the floor, and John is holding you tight, thighs bracketing yours.

The fight melts out of your limbs.

You’re not safe, but you’re not in danger either. John loosens his hold on you and cups your face, his worried face eclipsing all else. “Doll, where’d you go?” he asks. “What happened?”

“Panic attack,” you lie, because that’s easier to say than My parents were killed in a terrorist attack while we were visiting London ten years ago and sometimes I get so stressed out that I forget it’s not still happening. “I’m fine, I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t a panic attack, doll. Worked with Simon long enough to recognize PTSD. You were somewhere else.”

It’s hard to imagine that Ghost is as fallible, as human as you are, but you suppose there’s no shortage of opportunities for even the the biggest, toughest military men to to wade hip deep in trauma. The worst day of your life would be just another mission for them. The worst day of their lives would probably kill you outright.

"Yeah, I guess it was," you admit haltingly. "Everything just caught up with me. I won't let it happen again."

He shakes his head. "Did I set it off? I need to know— I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

"No, it's not like that. It’s just stress. It's been building since I got here."

"I guess that's what you meant in the truck, huh?"

You nod weakly. "I don't think I can explain it any better right now. But maybe tomorrow."

"Alright." John sighs, some of the tension in his shoulders releasing. " I don't want you to be afraid of me, doll."

"Then you're going to have to give me time, and space. I need to know what kind of man you are. And you should get to know who I am too.” There’s a wrinkle in his shirt, so you fixate on that rather than look right at him, smoothing it out with your fingers. “Let’s worry about becoming friends, for now. And then we can see if there’s something more.”

He doesn’t like that, you can tell by the way he pulls his hands back, reluctant to let go of you. But still, he nods, and smiles ruefully after a moment. “Guess I’m not as patient as I think I am. Too eager to get to the good part.”

You laugh lightly, the sound shaky from frayed nerves. “John, if we can be kind to each other, and come to an understanding, then it’s all the good part. You can’t build the things you want on foundations like this and hold it all together with sheer force of will.”

“You sure about that?" he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "I’ve heard I’m pretty stubborn.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his. You still feel unsettled, your heart still pounding, your stomach still roiling with anxiety. The emotion in those blue eyes is something you can't identify, something fathomless that strikes you with a foreign kind of fear, the kind that's shot through with hope that you shouldn't feel.

“You don’t know me too well yet, John,” you say gently, “but so am I.”

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[whosscruffylooking]

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ The Beginning of Us- Chapter 4 ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

Joel Miller x Fem! Reader warnings: mentions of blood, severe injuries. word count: 8k Series Masterlist

The sun barely breaks through the ash-gray sky, a dull light filtering into the cracked streets of the Boston QZ. The air is thick with smoke and the scent of decay, a testament to how little life has improved in twenty years. Joel moves through the crowd with his head down, blending into the current of weary, hollow-eyed people who shuffle past. His boots crunch on the gravel, the sound swallowed by the din of shouting guards and the occasional gunshot from beyond the wall.

It’s just another day in the zone, another day of scraping by.

Joel focuses on his next deal—a battery, some fuel, anything to keep him moving. He’s been chasing whispers about Tommy’s whereabouts, and today’s promise of trade could get him one step closer to finding his brother. He avoids eye contact with the patrols, his shoulders hunched, the line of his jaw tight. Tess is waiting at their usual spot, arms crossed, scanning the crowd.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” she mutters when he approaches, her voice low to avoid the ears of the nearby FEDRA officers.

“Had to talk to Owens. He’s stalling on that truck part.” Joel adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder, glancing around for any signs of trouble.

“Figures. He’d sell you a brick and call it gold if he could.” Tess smirks faintly, but her eyes study him for a beat longer than usual. She’s noticed it again—the shadow of something else pulling at him.

Joel catches her staring and scowls. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“You just seem… distracted, is all.” She shrugs it off, but the weight of her words lingers. “Been happening a lot lately.”

Joel doesn’t reply, just grunts and starts walking toward the alley where their contact is supposed to meet them. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to name what’s eating at him. Because if he admits it, even to himself, it’ll become real. The whispers he’s heard, the rumors—he’s ignored them for years, written them off as ghost stories. And yet, every time her name drifts into a conversation, his chest tightens.

Y/N.

A name he hasn’t spoken aloud in decades. A name that still cuts, no matter how much he pretends it doesn’t.

He heard about you just last week, some drunk muttering at the bar about a ghost who roams the outskirts, doing jobs no one else will take. You don’t work for FEDRA. You don’t belong to the Fireflies. You’re a shadow, moving through the world like a tale, untouchable and unseen. The stories sound ridiculous—too good to be true—but a part of Joel wonders. Hopes. Hates himself for it.

Because you left. That’s what Tommy told him. You left him behind.

But the truth is murkier, messier, and he can’t make sense of the pull he still feels whenever your name is spoken, like a string tied too tight around his ribcage.

“Joel,” Tess says, pulling him back to the present. Her tone is sharper now. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“That thing where you disappear into your head. You gotta focus, man. These trades go south fast if you’re not paying attention.”

“I’m focused,” he snaps, though it’s half-hearted.

Tess raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t push further. She’s learned not to. Instead, she gestures toward the alley, where their contact is leaning against the wall, waiting.

As they approach, Joel shakes off the lingering thoughts and forces himself to concentrate. The trade is quick, tense—ration cards exchanged for information about the truck part Joel’s been chasing. The man gives him a location, vague directions that might as well lead to nowhere, but it’s all they’ve got.

When it’s done, Joel and Tess head back toward the quieter side of the QZ, away from the chaos of the main square. Tess glances at him as they walk, "I have a few things to take care of. You'll be alright without me?" He nods and they head their separate ways.

Joel heads back to their apartment, determined to do one thing, numb the pain. He fumbles around the cabinet and finds a bottle of whiskey that has seen better days. He sits it down on the table next to a glass but decides against the glass. He takes a long swig directly from the bottle. That familiar burn laces his throat and he winces, but he knows the effects will overtake him soon. 

He walks into the middle of the room and presses on a worn-down wooden dresser, it scrapes the floor as it moves. He bends down to the floorboards where it once was and pushes on one of the planks, it teeters and he lifts it up. Inside, is a small stash of his belongings. A map, with traces of red and blue markings.

He takes another swig of the drink as he traces the red line all around to a mark right by Boston. A small note is written byit, "August 21, 2023 Last Known Sighting." 

He takes another drink and leans back, staring up at the ceiling.

And then it happens—the memories slip through, uninvited and unstoppable.

August of 2002

Sarah bursts into the kitchen, her excitement bubbling over. “Dad! Our new neighbor is here—she brought cookies!”

Joel looks up from the counter, confused. “Cookies?”

“Yeah, come on!” Sarah grabs his hand, practically dragging him to the door.

When he steps into the doorway, that’s when he sees you for the first time. You’re standing there, a small smile on your face, holding a plate of cookies wrapped neatly in plastic.

“Hi,” you say, your voice warm and slightly nervous. “I’m Y/N. I just moved in across the street. I overheard you guys talking the other day about how much you loved cookies, and, well, my sister sent me a ridiculous amount when I moved. There’s no way I can eat all of these on my own, so I figured I’d share.”

Joel blinks, caught slightly off guard. “Uh, I’m Joel,” he finally says, his voice quieter than usual. He takes the plate from your hands, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

Sarah beams up at you. “Thank you! He really does love cookies. I do, too.”

You laugh softly, glancing between the two of them. “Well, then I think these are in good hands.”

Joel clears his throat, still feeling a little off-balance. “Appreciate it. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s nothing, really,” you say, your smile widening slightly. “Just wanted to say hi.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze lingering on you. Sarah elbows him lightly, pulling him out of whatever trance he’s in.

“Right, uh—thanks again,” he adds, stepping aside slightly. “You, uh, need anything, you know where we are.”

“Good to know,” you reply with a nod, stepping back onto the porch. “Enjoy the cookies.”

As you walk back across the street, Joel watches you for a beat longer than he means to.

“Dad,” Sarah whispers, smirking up at him. “You’re staring.”

Joel shakes his head, muttering, “No, I’m not.”

But he is.

The memory fades, and Joel blinks back the sting in his eyes. He takes another drink, gripping the bottle tighter now. He doesn’t want to go there—to let himself linger in what’s gone. But the alcohol, or maybe just the years, has other plans.

September 2002

“Is it just me, or is your new neighbor the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on?” Tommy asks, peering out the living room window with a mischievous grin.

Joel, still sorting through the bills on the kitchen table, doesn’t even look up as he responds, “That’s my neighbor. Keep it respectful.”

“She’s not my neighbor,” Tommy smirks, nudging his brother. “Aaannndd she’s coming over right now.”

Joel’s hand pauses mid-air as he flips through a stack of bills. The thought of you coming over catches him off guard. He’s grown used to seeing you across the street over the past month, a familiar presence, but he’s kept his distance. You’ve waved, shared a few polite words, but he hasn’t made any real effort to engage. Sarah, though, had already grown close to you, and Joel couldn’t help but notice how easily you both seemed to click.

“Looks like she’s got milk and eggs in her hand,” Tommy notes, his voice tinged with amusement.

Milk. Of course. He tries to push any thoughts of you aside, but his attention is still drawn to the door as Tommy heads to answer it.

“Welcome to Casa Miller,” Tommy greets, opening the door wide with a grin. “I’m Tommy. I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

You step inside, holding the milk and eggs in your hands with a sheepish smile. “Oh! Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N. I’m so sorry to stop by unannounced, but my fridge just broke, and I really don’t want the milk and eggs to go bad. Is there any way I could store them over here for now?”

Joel’s steps are slow as he approaches the door. The moment you both catch sight of each other, there’s an unspoken pause. A brief flicker of recognition in your eyes. He takes you in—the familiar features he’s seen from a distance over the last month now up close. You’re just as striking in person as you are from across the street.

Tommy’s voice breaks the silence. “Of course you can, and why don’t you stay for dinner? Let the fridge be the least of your worries tonight. We’ve got you covered.”

You glance between the two of them, clearly hesitating. “Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”

Tommy looks to Joel with a sly grin, then back at you. “Please do,” he presses. “Right, Joel?”

Joel, momentarily caught off guard, nods. He clears his throat, a touch of awkwardness creeping in as he speaks. “Yes, please. Sorry, come in.”

As you step inside, the door closing behind you, Joel feels the weight of the moment. Despite his attempt to keep things casual, a small part of him can’t help but be aware of your presence, the subtle tension between you lingering in the air.

Joel clenches his jaw, his knuckles whitening around the neck of the bottle. The whiskey sloshes inside as he sets it down harder than he intended.

The memories don’t stop.

September 26, 2003

"Stop looking at me like that." You whisper.

He shakes his head, "I can't."

"Try harder."

"Then stop being so beautiful," he whispers, reaching his hand across your hips and tugging you up against him. You gasp slightly at just how perfectly every part of you fits with his.

"Don't go," he repeats himself as he begins caressing every curve of your body.

"How did this happen?" You giggle.

"You seduced me okay?" He jokes. 

"I remember it quite differently," you whisper in between peppering light kisses on his chest.

"Just trying to be neighborly," he places a playful squeeze on your hip.

"Well," you twirl his hair in your fingers, "However it happened, I hope it happens again." 

Before you can pull away too far, he captures your lips with his. His kiss intoxicates you and lights a burning desire within you to pick up where you both left off last night. 

Swiftly, he guides your body underneath his and growls against your skin, "Then let's make it happen again."

Joel exhales shakily, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He drags his hands down his face, trying to will the memories away. But it’s no use.

Because the last one is always the hardest.

September 27, 2003

It’s chaos. Smoke fills the air, screams echoing in the distance. Joel stands there, frozen, as the flames rage behind him. Tommy pulls at his arm, shouting, “We have to go, Joel!”

But he’s searching, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Where is she?” he yells, his voice raw.

Tommy shakes his head, the anguish clear on his face. “She left, Joel. She—she went her own way.”

“No,” Joel says, his voice trembling. “She wouldn’t—”

“Joel, we have to go!” Tommy’s grip is firm, unyielding.

And then they’re running. But every step feels like a betrayal.

The bottle slips from Joel’s hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud. He doesn’t bother picking it up, his hands pressed to his face now. The pain is suffocating, clawing at him from the inside out.

He’s told himself he hates you. For leaving. For abandoning him and Sarah. For not being there when everything fell apart.

But deep down, buried under all the anger and hurt, is something far worse—grief. Grief for what was, and what could have been.

And sometimes, when he lets himself feel it, longing.

»»————————-««

August 29, 2023

Joel and Tess make their way down the dimly lit hallway, their boots crunching over debris. The faint stench of blood and death hangs in the air, the bodies of fallen Fireflies scattered across the floor. Tess finds their battery, but it’s destroyed—just another obstacle in their already complicated journey.

Joel pauses as he hears a groan, his instincts sharp. He follows the sound, moving cautiously through the halls, and spots two women leaning on each other, their movements slow and labored. But the noise from a nearby door distracts him—a loud rattling, followed by a sudden burst. Before he can react, a young girl barrels into him, her small form slamming into his chest. She’s fast and aggressive, but he’s quicker. He tosses her against the wall with ease, disarming her in one smooth motion, his gun pointed directly at her.

“Joel?” A familiar voice calls from behind him.

He turns, surprised. “Marlene?”

The Firefly leader, clutching her side, limps toward him, her face tight with pain but still full of resolve. The girl looks back at Marlene, her expression shifting as she spots the wound on her side.

“Oh shit,” the girl mutters, her tone shifting between concern and frustration.

“It’s okay,” Marlene replies, trying to steady herself, “I’ll be fine. But you can’t be reckless like this.”

Tess steps forward, eyeing Marlene with a mix of disdain and curiosity. “So this is who Robert screwed us over with? The Che Guevara of Boston? Guess your war’s not going too well if you’re buying from scum like him.”

“Yeah, it kinda hasn’t been,” Marlene responds bluntly. “Merch was bad, and he didn’t take ‘screw off’ for an answer.”

The girl, impatient, tries to reach for the knife Joel just moved under his boot.

“Don’t,” Joel warns, his voice sharp.

Marlene gestures toward the girl. “Point it at me, not her.”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “What do you need a car battery for?”

“I need it for a better reason than you do,” Marlene says coolly, her gaze unwavering. “No offense, but Tommy’s just one man. It’s our job to know things.”

Joel scoffs. “To know things?” His sarcasm hangs in the air.

“Okay, Joel,” Marlene says, the desperation in her voice creeping in. “That was a lot of gunfire. FEDRA’s on its way. We were gonna move Ellie outta the zone tonight, but it’s not happening like this. Not for a while, anyway. So now I’m thinkin’… you’re gonna do it.”

“The hell we are,” Joel retorts, his voice rising with irritation. “We don’t smuggle people.”

Marlene takes a deep breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. “There’s a team of Fireflies waiting for her at the old State House.”

Joel’s disbelief is evident. “So?”

Marlene leans in, her voice urgent. “I know what’s out there. We were supposed to have a whole squadron for that. But now, I don’t have a truck. I don’t have a squadron. FEDRA’s five minutes away. What I do have is you two. And I know what you’re capable of. For better or worse.”

Joel glances at Tess, considering it.

Marlene adds, her voice softening slightly, “Get her there safely, and we’ll give you everything you need. Not just a battery. The whole thing. A fueled-up truck, guns, supplies, all of it. I swear.”

Joel slides the knife away from the girl, pushing it just out of her reach.

“Asshole!” she snaps, frustrated.

Joel pulls Tess aside, speaking in a low voice. “Do you trust her?”

Tess doesn’t hesitate. “Me neither,” she admits, glancing at Marlene’s wounded form, “but she’s desperate. And desperate people make deals. She’s got repurposed FEDRA vehicles. If they work like she says, we’ve got a better-than-decent chance of getting to Tommy. But the second we hand that kid over…”

Marlene interrupts, her voice strained. “Please, remember I’m bleeding out here.”

Tess turns, laying out the deal. “We don’t hand the kid over until we have every single thing you promised. Not a minute before.”

Marlene nods, though pain flashes across her face. “Perfect,” she says, the tension in her voice palpable. “I’ve hired a tracker. She’ll get you there.”

“A tracker?” Joel repeats, skeptical.

“Yeah,” Marlene replies, gesturing toward the woman standing by her side. “She knows the ins and outs of every QZ, the danger zones, everything.”

Joel’s gut tightens at the mention of a tracker. He doesn’t know why, but something about this feels off.

“Go get her,” Marlene urges the woman next to her, her voice firm.

The footsteps echo down the hallway. Joel watches closely as the tracker turns. His eyes trace them from their boots up, slowly, as if prolonging the inevitable. Then he sees them—the all-too-familiar eyes that have haunted him for years.

His knees feel weak, threatening to give out. He sways slightly, shifting to regain his balance. The lump in his throat tightens, and the ache in his chest is immediate. No words come to him, only the searing burn behind his eyes—the tears he thought he’d shed long ago for you. The ghost. The woman standing in front of him.

When you turn the corner and your gaze lands on him, your heart sinks like a stone. You had known he was nearby; Marlene had warned you. But nothing could prepare you for the reality of seeing him now. Him. The man who left you to die. There are no tears left to shed for him, only the hollow ache of betrayal that’s festered for twenty years.

Joel inhales sharply, his voice coming out rough and uncertain. “Y/N…” It’s barely a whisper, as if your name were sacred and forbidden all at once.

Tess frowns, glancing between you both. “Y/N? As in—”

Joel nods stiffly, his jaw clenched, his eyes locked on you like he’s afraid you might vanish again.

“See,” Marlene says, breaking the tension with a sharp tone. “You already know each other.”

Joel takes a step forward, his mouth opening to say more, but the words fail him. He forces out, “What are you—” but his voice falters, and he doesn’t finish.

You cut him off before he can gather himself. “I’m sorry, Marlene. I can’t do this job.” Your voice is firm, but there’s a tremor underneath, betrayal woven into every syllable.

Marlene’s eyes widen. “What? No, you can’t—”

“I can’t work with him,” you say coldly, though the effort to keep your composure feels like a losing battle.

Joel flinches, the impact of your words hitting harder than any blow he’s taken in years. He’s always imagined what he might say if he ever saw you again—but none of it prepared him for this.

“You have to,” Marlene says firmly, desperation creeping into her voice. “I already paid you. You’re the only one who can pull this off.”

Tess, watching the scene unfold, steps closer to Joel and presses a hand to his chest, grounding him. “Look,” she says bluntly, addressing you, “whatever history you two have, fine, deal with it. But this isn’t about you, or him. A job is a job. And we need to get to Tommy.”

You glance at her hand on his chest, and it stings more than it should. You’ve had your share of fleeting companions over the years—strangers holding you through hopeless nights—but seeing another woman’s touch on him feels like a cruel twist of fate.

“I’ll do it,” Joel says suddenly, his voice steady but his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a quiet plea in his expression, one you refuse to acknowledge.

You hesitate, the bitterness in your heart warring with the reality of the situation. You’d spent years hardening yourself against the memory of him, but now here he is, alive and breathing. And you’ll have to stay by his side.

You force the words out, each one heavier than the last. “Fine. I’ll do it too.”

Marlene nods quickly, relief washing over her. “Good. Ellie, grab your things. Stay close to Y/N.”

As Ellie moves to obey, you step cautiously past Joel, your proximity sending a wave of tension crackling between you. It’s unbearable—like two magnets drawn together despite everything trying to keep them apart. You feel his breath hitch as you pass, and you can tell he’s fighting the same pull, trying not to look at you. But he does. He always does.

You don’t turn back. You can’t. Not yet.

»»————————-««

The rain doesn’t stop. It beats relentlessly against the cracked windows of the apartment building as the four of you shuffle inside, soaked and silent. Joel lingers at the back, his footsteps heavier than usual, his mind a storm to match the weather.

Every step you take feels fragile like your legs might betray you at any moment. The weight of him walking behind you, so close yet impossibly far, is suffocating. You clench your fists, nails biting into your palms as if the sting will keep you grounded.

“In here,” Tess says, motioning toward a battered door.

She opens it, revealing their makeshift safehouse—worn furniture, peeling wallpaper, and the faint scent of mildew. You pause for a second, letting Ellie step through before following her inside. The door creaks, loud and strained, and just as you take a seat, Tess lingers in the hall, stopping Joel with a hand on his arm.

“Give us a minute,” Tess says firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Your stomach twists. Something tells you to stay near, to listen. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s anger, or maybe it’s the faintest sliver of hope that some part of him feels what you do. You lean against the wall, close to the door, holding your breath to hear their conversation.

“I need to know you’ve got your head on straight,” Tess says bluntly, her tone bordering on sharp.

“I do,” Joel replies, but there’s no conviction in his voice. It’s hollow, and mechanical.

Tess doesn’t buy it. “I know this isn’t what you expected. It’s not what I expected either. But we’re all in this together now. Same goal, same stakes.”

There’s a pause. Joel exhales deeply, and even through the door, you can hear the tension in it. “I just need time to process it,” he says finally. His voice is hard and cold, like the man you’ve come to resent. But underneath, there’s something raw—something broken.

You press your hand to your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut as his words cut into you. Processing. Like you’re a wound he needs to come to terms with, instead of the person he once promised never to leave behind.

Tess sighs, frustrated but not surprised. “Joel, if you can’t handle this, you need to say so now. Because we can’t afford to fall apart. Not now.”

“I’ll handle it,” Joel says, the edge returning to his voice. “I always handle it.”

The lie in his tone is unmistakable. You bite back the lump rising in your throat and step away from the door, moving deeper into the room where Ellie sits quietly.

You wonder if he still believes his own words—if Joel Miller, the man who swore to fight for you, has any part of him left that remembers the truth. Because you remember it. You remember the way his hands held you steady in the chaos of that day, the way his voice cracked as he swore he’d find you.

But he didn’t.

Joel slams the door shut behind him, muttering something under his breath before he drops onto the worn-out couch. His movements are stiff, every ounce of him radiating discomfort. Tess is nowhere to be found and without her, he looks completely out of his depth. His hands fidget in his lap, his jaw tight as he avoids looking in your direction.

Ellie, ever the master of timing, glances between the two of you, her expression caught somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “So,” she starts, dragging the word out, “why do you two hate each other so much? I mean, clearly, you used to sleep together, but where did it go wrong?”

Your breath catches in your throat. Joel’s head snaps up, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing into a glare aimed at Ellie.

“Don’t go there kid,” he warns, his voice low and sharp.

But she just shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Touchy subject, huh?”

You can feel your pulse pounding in your ears. Your shoulders stiffen, and your voice comes out tighter than you’d like. “Let’s all just mind our own business, and this will go a lot smoother.”

Ellie leans back, arms crossed, her grin unapologetic. “Fine, fine. But for the record, I think the drama’s kind of fun.”

Joel exhales harshly, pinching the bridge of his nose. You catch the briefest glimpse of his profile, and it strikes you just how much older he looks now—worn down, his face etched with lines that weren’t there before. You wonder if he sees the same in you, or if he’s even bothered to notice.

The silence that follows is thick with unspoken words. You busy yourself by unpacking your bag, though your hands shake slightly as you do. Joel shifts uncomfortably on the couch, the springs creaking beneath him. He keeps his gaze fixed on some point in the room that isn’t you, his fingers tapping against his knee.

Ellie breaks the silence again, her tone lighter but no less intrusive. “Okay, seriously though—whatever happened, you both look like you want to crawl out of your skin. So… maybe just talk it out? Or like, punch it out? I’m good with either.”

Joel shifts on the couch, clearing his throat. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No,” you say quietly, your voice steady but laced with bitterness. “We don’t.”

Ellie raises her hands in mock surrender, but her smirk remains. “Alright, alright. Just saying—it’d be a lot less awkward for me if you did.”

You step into Joel and Tess’ room, the door creaking as you close it partway behind you. The space is cramped, barely big enough for the bed and the dresser shoved against the wall. You peel off your damp jacket and toss it over the chair, wincing as the fabric catches on your side. The scars there always ache when it rains—ghosts of a night you’ll never forget.

You reach for a dry shirt in your bag, tugging your current one up and over your head. The cool air brushes against the exposed skin of your waist, where jagged scars crisscross like lightning bolts. Shrapnel from that night—the night everything fell apart. The night you lost him.

Joel pauses in the living room, his boots scuffing against the floor. He doesn’t mean to look, but through the crack in the door, he catches a glimpse of you. Of the scars. His breath hitches, the sight of them like a punch to the gut. They’re worse than he imagined, worse than he remembers, and the guilt that’s always lived in the back of his mind surges forward, sharp and unrelenting.

He swallows hard, his hand gripping the doorframe for balance. He’d fought like hell to get back to you that night, but seeing those scars now, he wonders if it was ever enough.

“You okay there?” Ellie’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

He turns sharply, startled, and finds her standing just behind him, arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face. She tilts her head toward the door.

“Bit creepy, don’t you think?” she teases, her voice just loud enough to make him wince.

“Mind your business,” Joel mutters, his voice gruff as he pushes past her. But Ellie doesn’t miss the way his shoulders tense, or the flicker of something—guilt, regret—etched into his features.

Inside the room, you pull your shirt down and glance at the door. It’s slightly ajar, but you don’t think much of it. The scars may have faded over the years, but the weight of them hasn’t. You take a steadying breath, pushing the memories back down, and reach for your jacket.

Out in the living room, Joel lingers, torn between retreating and saying something—anything. But the words stay lodged in his throat, the ache in his chest a familiar companion as he turns away.

»»————————-««

Tess finally returns, and it’s time to head out. The four of you grab your things and descend into the tunnels beneath the QZ. Joel helps Ellie and Tess out of a low drop, but when he extends a hand toward you, you decline, brushing past him with a curt nod.

“Holy shit, I’m actually outside,” Ellie whispers, wide-eyed as she takes in the open air.

Tess pulls her down quickly, the group crouching to avoid FEDRA’s spotlights sweeping overhead. “Stay close to Y/N, okay?” Tess says firmly. Ellie nods, moving to your side without hesitation.

You lead the group beneath an old school bus, relying on your knowledge of the outside. The route is second nature to you now—every corner, every shadow. Thunder rumbles in the distance as the group moves in bursts, running and ducking when needed. Helicopters circle overhead, the distant hum of engines and the sharp crack of lightning adding to the tension.

Ellie clings lightly to your belt loop, keeping close, her movements hesitant but determined. Every so often, you steal a glance at Joel. His face is unreadable, but you can feel the weight of his gaze, the shared disbelief of your situation lingering between you.

Suddenly, you round a corner and stumble upon a FEDRA officer relieving himself in the shadows. Of course. You roll your eyes at the terrible timing.

Joel motions for everyone to stay calm, his hands raised. “Okay, let’s talk this out,” he says evenly, his voice low and careful. You mimic his movements, your elbows brushing against his as you both raise your hands in surrender.

“Turn around! Get on your knees!” the officer barks, his weapon raised. “I told you people to stay home.”

“Just get on your knees,” you mutter, annoyed but compliant.

Tess speaks up, trying to negotiate. “Look, you let us finish this run, and we’ll split the ration cards with you. No trouble.”

The officer doesn’t budge, his expression cold. He scans each of you with a portable infection detector, the light bouncing off your faces. Joel glances at you, his jaw tight, his body tense.

“We’re doing this by the book!” the officer snaps.

You groan, exasperated. “Really, dude? You’re gonna make this difficult?”

Before anyone can respond further, Ellie suddenly lunges forward, jamming a small knife into the officer’s knee. He lets out a pained scream, stumbling backward.

“Ellie!” you shout, your voice sharp with both shock and anger.

Joel steps in quickly, his demeanor shifting in an instant. “We can fix this!” he says, but the far-off look in his eyes tells you otherwise. The officer barely has time to raise his weapon before Joel tackles him, his fists raining down with brutal, relentless force.

“Joel, stop!” you yell, but it’s as if he can’t hear you. The sound of his fists hitting the man’s face is sickening, and the sheer rage radiating from him sends a chill down your spine. This isn’t the Joel you once knew—this is someone else entirely, consumed by something darker, something feral.

“Joel!” Tess shouts, breaking the silence. She holds up the scanner the officer had dropped. The screen glows red.

“She’s infected!” Tess yells, her voice shaking.

“No! No, I’m not!” Ellie screams, her voice panicked. “Look! It’s three weeks old! No one lasts more than a day! I swear, I’m not infected!”

Joel freezes, his chest heaving, his hands covered in blood. For a moment, no one moves. The weight of Ellie’s words sinks in like a stone.

“We’ve gotta move, Joel!” Tess snaps, urgency rising in her voice as she processes Ellie’s revelation.

You force yourself out of your shock and grab Joel’s arm, your voice firm but trembling. “We have to go. Now.”

He looks at you, his eyes clouded with confusion and something deeper—remorse, guilt, fear. But there’s no time to dwell on it. Together, you pull him back to his feet, and the four of you disappear into the night.

You find an abandoned building to spend the night in, the walls cold and silent, offering little comfort. You and Ellie sleep in one room while Joel and Tess take the other. Despite your exhaustion, sleep doesn’t come easily, your thoughts tangledand restless.

In the dead of night, you wake to the sound of muffled voices. You recognize the familiar tones—Joel and Tess. You can’t help but listen.

“You think you’re gonna be able to make it with her?” Tess asks, her voice low but laced with something sharper.

Joel’s reply comes with a long sigh, worn and resigned. “We have to be adults. Besides, she’s here to look after the kid. Once that’s done and we find Tommy, we’ll go back to acting like the other doesn’t exist.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. A sting sharp enough to make your chest tighten. Acting like the other doesn’t exist? After everything you’ve been through, that’s the plan?

You step into the room, the cold air of the hallway brushing against your skin. “I can’t wait,” you say, your voice icy, betraying none of the hurt you feel.

Joel jumps slightly, clearly wishing you hadn’t heard that conversation, but the damage is done. He doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes flicker to you, then away, uncomfortable and uncertain.

Tess, ever the mediator, tries to smooth over the tension. “How about you two take a minute, talk some things over?”

“We don’t need to,” Joel says, his tone clipped and stern, as if to end the discussion before it can go any further.

“I have nothing to say to him,” you reply curtly, your eyes locking with Joel’s. There’s no room for anything but the cold distance between you two now.

Ellie steps into the room then, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “And here I thought I was the child,” she says, her voice cutting through the thick tension.

You can’t help but let out a dry laugh, even if it’s not a happy one. Children. That’s exactly what you both are. So damn childish. But instead of letting it show, you simply shake your head and turn to Ellie. “Let’s get some rest. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

The next morning, you stumble into the main room, groggy and disoriented, only to find Joel and Tess already interrogating Ellie about her bite. Of course. Some things never change.

“What’s the point in over-analyzing the kid?” you mutter, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “The bite’s old. It’s on her arm. If it was gonna turn her, it would’ve happened by now.”

Joel shoots you a glare, clearly annoyed by your interruption, but Tess nods in agreement.

“She’s right, Joel,” Tess says, glancing at him, then shifting her focus to Ellie. “Why are you so important to Marlene? And don’t lie to us, because we will take you back.”

Ellie crosses her arms, giving Tess a defiant look. “You take me back, you don’t get your battery.” Her tone is sharp, and you can’t help but chuckle at her wit.

“You heard that, huh?” Tess shoots a glance at Joel. “Well, you must’ve also heard that he wants to shoot you,” she adds, motioning to Joel.

You lock eyes with Joel, your heart faltering. That familiar, uncomfortable tension creeps back in. Neither of you can escape it.

Tess kneels down to Ellie, her voice taking on a stern, serious edge. “I’m gonna talk to you like you’re an adult, okay?” She looks over at Joel, then back to Ellie. “Joel and I aren’t good people. We’re doing this for ourselves because, apparently, you’re worth something. But we don’t know what you’re worth if we don’t know what we have. So answer my question.”

Ellie exhales loudly, like she’s been rehearsing this line. “There’s a Firefly base camp somewhere out west… with doctors. They’re working on a cure. And whatever happened to me is the key to finding the vaccine.”

Joel’s face tightens, frustration boiling up to the surface. “That’s what this is? We’ve heard this a million times. Vaccines, miracle cures. None of it works.”

Ellie shoots him a look. “Screw you, man. I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Neither did I,” Joel mutters, moving toward Tess. “This isn’t going to end well. We need to turn back.”

Tess steps forward, locking eyes with Joel. “Is this about finding a cure, or are you just refusing to confront your past?” She leans in, a challenge in her voice.

Joel swallows hard, the weight of her words hitting him. He looks away, clearly rattled.

“Don’t do that,” he mutters, casting a quick glance at you, like he’s hoping for some kind of escape.

You sigh, pushing yourself off the doorframe and stepping forward. “Look,” you say, your voice steady but laced with the same frustration. “I don’t like this any more than you do. But if the Fireflies think this kid’s some kind of miracle, let’s give them what they want. Then we get what we want. After that, like you said last night, we can go back to pretending that we don’t exist.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. You can see it in his eyes—he’s not sure if he can go back to that, or if he even wants to. His silence hangs in the air.

Tess looks at you, her lips curling into a soft smile. “I think that’s a good plan.”

You nod, trying to hold it together. Everyone’s got their own demons. But right now, it feels like you’re all stuck with the same one.

You follow everyone outside, the cool air biting at your skin as you watch Ellie marvel at the world she’s never truly known. There’s a bittersweetness to the way she takes it all in. It reminds you of how you once saw it—the world, unbroken, full of possibilities. But now, everything’s just a memory. Joel watches you from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on you, searching for the girl he once held, the one he thought he’d lost.

“Y/N, once we get through the city, you take the lead,” Tess announces, snapping you out of your thoughts. You nod in agreement, your mind still half in the past and half in the present.

“So what have you been up to for the past 20 years?” Tess asks, her voice light but laced with curiosity. “Why do they call you a ghost?”

You let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the question pulling you back into the painful memories you’d rather forget. But, for the sake of the group, you answer. “It’s a long story,” you begin, your voice quiet. “The day the world stopped turning, I got badly injured. Shrapnel from an airplane hit me. I was out of commission for a while.”

Joel’s eyes narrow slightly, the memory of that day likely just as vivid for him as it is for you. You try not to look at him, but it’s hard to ignore the tension that still lingers between the two of you.

“A group in Louisiana took me in and nursed me back to health,” you continue, your words feeling hollow as you speak them. “After that, I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I started hitching rides on the back of different trucks, making my way through the states. I’d pick up odd jobs here and there until I started getting good at keeping secrets. People would have me take messages across the QZ borders. Gradually, the messages got more important—and worth a lot of money. I ran on my own, found ways to get in and out of different states without being seen. So yeah, I’m a bit of a ghost.”

As you finish, you glance at Joel. His face is unreadable, but you can feel the inner turmoil swirling within him. The memory of you, lost and broken, the girl he once thought would be there, only to have you disappear without a trace—it weighs heavily on him, and you can see it in his eyes.

He swallows hard, as if trying to push the bitterness down. You can’t blame him. He never thought he’d see you again—never thought he’d have to face the consequences of leaving you behind. And now, here you are, a stranger with the same scars, the same haunted look in your eyes.

“Guess that’s one way to stay alive.” Tess says, breaking the tension with a half-smile. But you can tell it’s not just curiosity driving her—it’s the weight of the years that passed, and the guilt that still hangs in the air between you and Joel. 

You don’t respond immediately, the weight of Tess’ words hanging in the silence. It’s not just about surviving anymore. It’s about facing the past you’d both tried to bury.

The four of you continue walking across a highway overpass, the cracked asphalt barely visible under the heavy weight of overgrown plants and dilapidated cars. The air is thick with the smell of decay, and the silence between you and Joel feels suffocating. Tess is leading the way with Ellie, and you fall behind, closer to Joel. Every step you take feels like it brings you both closer to the edge, but you can’t bring yourself to close the gap completely.

You want to break the ice. You want to make this journey—this nightmare—easier, even if it’s just for a moment. But every time you try to speak, it feels like the past is crawling out of the shadows, suffocating whatever words you might say.

Finally, you take a deep breath, forcing the words out, “It’s funny.”

Joel looks at you, his gaze sharp and calculating, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re talking to him or just muttering to yourself. You keep your focus on the cracked road ahead, but you know his attention is on you.

“The last time I saw you,” you continue, voice trembling just slightly, “we were celebrating your 36th birthday. Now, you have a head full of gray hair.”

He blinks, a brief flicker of something in his eyes before a small, rueful smile tugs at his lips. “I guess that’s what an apocalypse does to you.”

You scoff lightly, trying to hide the knot that forms in your stomach. “Or you’re just an old man now.”

You quickly look down at the ground, but not before you feel a blush creeping onto your cheeks, a sudden vulnerability you don’t want him to see.

Joel glances at you again, something in his gaze, before he speaks in that low, gravelly voice. “You haven’t changed at all.”

The words cut through the air, and for a split second, you wonder if you imagined it. His voice, soft, almost too soft. Likehe’s trying to pull himself together, but something’s slipping through. You feel the weight of those words before you even process them.

You meet his eyes, startled, and for a moment, you’re both caught in the quiet pull of what was—what could have been.

“You’re exactly how I remember you,” he says quietly, as if speaking the truth aloud might break something inside ofhim.

The sting hits you then, too quickly for you to stop. A familiar ache floods your chest, but it’s not just the hurt of what you’ve lost. It’s the anger too, the betrayal, the days spent trying to survive without him. You fight to hold it back, but it’s useless. It all spills out in the form of words you don’t want to say, but need to.

“Trust me…” you whisper, barely able to get the words out, “I don’t feel the same.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, the distance between you now not just physical, but emotional. You wonder if he can hear the break in your voice, the cracks in the walls you’ve built. You’re not sure if you want him to. You just need him to understand.

The moment shatters when the distant wail of an infected echoes through the air. Ellie gasps, her hand instinctively tightening around the weapon at her side.

Joel’s head snaps up, and without missing a beat, he motions forward. “Let’s keep moving.” His voice is firm, a shield he’s using to cover whatever turmoil is swirling inside him.

You follow without hesitation. The warmth of the moment is gone, replaced by the bitter reality of survival.

»»————————-««

Taglist: @si1versamurai

[luvrodite]

milk teeth (833)

on returning to gotham, and old ghosts that haunt you

After it all happens, your parents whisk you away.

It amounts to a betrayal you never quite forgive them for and despite their efforts, the move doesn’t quite scrub Gotham from your grief stricken memory. It remains forever in the rearview mirror, a taunting spectre at your back, a permanent black spot that seems to jeer, you’ll be back. You cannot outrun me.

Some days, she is benevolent. In dreams, she coaxes you back with promises of home, nudges towards you the days that had once made up your childhood. Memories of what had once been, but could never be again, are offered to you on a plate. Return to me, return, return, return…

She shows her viciousness, too. When sweetness does not deliver you back to her threshold, she reveals her teeth. Fury driven by what has been stolen from her, you bear the brunt of her scorn. Child of smoke and water, you were never meant to leave the bounds of her domain.  

Sunsoaked and dripping in artificial colouring, the West Coast is nothing like your gray, grim city. It’s lit in technicolour, yellows and blues too bright for your retinas, Brighton weakened, unused to anything beyond the pale smog and acid rain. Flash burns make a home in your vision, oil spills in the corner of your eye that linger long after you’ve withdrawn, sitting in the dark of your room with the curtains pulled taut. 

The name that sits in your hollow chest is never spoken aloud. 

Not by you, nor your parents who barely dare to look at you, as though you will shatter under the very weight of their gaze. It festers there, the restless spirit of the blue eyed boy who had held your hand on the first day of high school, wrathful at being forgotten. What prayers you muster go unanswered. How can one gain forgiveness from the dead?

Little bird with a wounded wing, you flinch from any and all attempts at consolation. Memory and imagination blur together, visions procured that haunt your nights and whittle you into something unrecognisable. 

Where has my baby gone?

There is no answer that will satisfy your mother’s tears, no energy to fashion a lie that will comfort her agony. Not when your own peels you back, an unending flagellation that shows no intention of relenting. 

This is a grief not meant for the young – to love and lose, this should have come in the winter of your life. But the baby fat of your cheeks has yet to slim out, milk teeth not all lost. You do not know crow’s feet, nor silver strands that thread through your mane.

Grief, you come to find out, cares not for whom it afflicts. You come to know her well.

The California sun, over the years, becomes tolerable but it does little to put your heart to rest, to quiet the press of phantom fingers and wisps of blue black hair that brush against the curtain of your memory. 

Your lost boy lingers, your graveyard of bones calls you home and Gotham takes you back into her arms, a near decade after Jason is killed.

It threatens to topple you over, a knife lodged beneath your breast when you take your first step off the bridge and onto the island. 

All around you the city thrums with frenetic energy, a spirit that has run undercurrent to the lives of its inhabitants long before the first slab of concrete was laid down. Steam hisses and bellows from pipes in buildings above your head. You are jostled by the foot traffic, hurried pedestrians casting derisive looks over their shoulder and muttering beneath their breath. Someone yells down the road, a too harsh laugh makes your eardrums ache and the ghost of your first love stands beneath a light pole, smiling.

He looks just as he had, that last day. It nearly brings you to your knees, staring at the curly haired angel leaning against the steel, a toothy grin curving a rosebud mouth upwards. 

Somebody shoves you with a yell to stop hogging up the path that you barely hear. By the time you look back, he’s gone.

In street lamps, under the cover of store awnings and atop buildings guarded carefully by stone gargoyles. The flutter of fabric in the wind rings in your ears and the world takes on a blue quality, the muffled echoes of a dying laugh reaching you through a veil. 

That same gap toothed, crooked grin that you’d known in your youth meets you from across a convenience store and you drop the can of soda in your hand, 13 years old and blustering under the weight of a nosy store owner’s gaze – shouldn’t you both be at school?

You walk out empty handed and twelve years older, with bright purple stains on the canvas of your sneakers and difficulty steadying your breathing. The bright blue eyes on your back stay there the whole walk home.

is this anything? idfk. i have pilates in 3.5 hours and i haven't slept all night. yikes! anyway. here's whatever this is. it's unedited btw but i wanted to post something because i haven't in almost a month and i'm going crazy cuckoo bananas over it

[grandisknight]

sweet macaron | dawnbreaker

summary: On a particular Thursday, Zayne decides to make something he once saw in a dream.

tags: angst, dawnbreaker!zayne, fem!MC mention, she/her pronouns used, hurt/no comfort, dreams, dreams vs. reality + wc: 1.0k | ao3 version here!

notes: vaguely inspired by his anecdote “still in dark” and “eternal attachment” birthday trailer - i needed to get this mild angst out my system in time for zayne’s bday ;; dawnbreaker my poor, poor beloved…

dividers from cafekitsune

Macarons are sweet.

Between carefully crafted pieces of meringue, a thin layer of confectionery fruit, jam or cream completed the dainty desert. Soft yet firm, a well-balanced chew and decadent sugar made for an ideal sweet bite.

Zayne peels off one of the biscuits from an aged baking tray, inspecting with mild interest. It was a delicate thing, with the slightest push of his pinched fingers cracking the already ruined surface between them. Crumbs speckled the air and dusted the countertop, soon tossed aside to be discarded.

Again, he’ll try again.

Tired eyes bored themselves into the tray of dull, gray rounds that were supposed to be tinted a daytime blue. This was his third batch, and he still couldn’t perfect a shade that was just barely out of his reach.

Halfway through the first batch, he wondered what was the point. He hadn’t done anything like this in who knows how long.

And through the second, he nearly scrapped it altogether when the peaks of egg white seemed to harden by his hands.

Cold, cold hands. They harbored his fingers, calloused to the touch and adorned by the sins of his undoings—of killing. Life taken by his hands, frozen by the shards crystallized within them. Piercing into the Abominations that ran amok, that were no longer human. Blackened blades of ice that consumed him and the aimed target, crafted with empty sentiment.

But it was only when a feeling that struck his heart at the precipice of cleaning his stainless bowl that made him reconsider his thrown away efforts thus far. He remembered he had dreamt of it again last night, more vivid that the ones in recent time.

Something very warm. A sound of a laugh filled with wholehearted affection for its recipient. The same one from his dreams, the one who frequently visits especially around this time of year. She had offered him a biscuit, decorated a white blob and details of black forming into a lopsided seal. He felt himself chew thoughtfully and watch her eyes glimmer in anticipation.

How cute, he quietly thought. Or so it seemed to be spoken aloud, seeing how her ears burned a bright red and a shy expression repainted her face. Zayne reassured her that it was a good treat, he liked it as it was.

The callings of his name that fell from the girl's lips were familiar and distant all at once, as if he wasn’t supposed to know.

Wasn’t supposed to hear how the birds sang and sun rose from the warmth of her voice, wasn’t supposed to see the way those eyes crinkled in crescents with a tender adoration.

But he heard it all the same, and it was a sound he's come to cherish, even if it wasn't for him. With such a sweet expression, she chastised him, lighthearted all throughout, about how she gifted him an important blessing. The ghost of frosting kissed the square of his cheek then, and he found himself shaking his head in playful disbelief. His mouth spilled a response then, though speaking from a body that wasn't his own at the same time.

"What an important blessing."

He still remembers the way their hands brushed, fluttering ginko leaves swirled around them with every sway of the breeze. He intimately could trace the pulse of what were his hands calmly clasping over hers, sharing in a heat and gentle caress especially so once their foreheads touched.

In the present, Zayne felt his own hands itch then, empty and tapping against the cold marble of his kitchen counter instead. The solemn reality dissolved the sweet melody that lingered in his mind.

Right. He was alone here.

Turning around, he decided to quietly return a plethora of ingredients to his countertop and robotically whisked together the ingredients.

Maybe for once, he’ll cling onto the things he shouldn’t know and entertain what was otherwise a dull existence. With a fleeting dream at the tips of his fingers, it would push him through what would be his third and final attempted batch.

So here he stood, some time later, harvesting the fruits of his labor. A sweet scent wafted through the kitchen once more. The back of a spoon dipped into a portion of creamy filling and smeared onto the bottom half of a biscuit. No cracks adorned the surface this time when the other half stuck on top, remaining in one, homogenous piece.

His first macaron. The biscuit was on the thinner side, having lost some of its puffed height from a shorter resting period. Not a perfect bakery display piece, but not exactly a failure either. It was fine, he would be the only one eating them after all.

It melted in his mouth with a bite, hints of bitter earl grey and honeyed vanilla seeping into his tastebuds. He stared into the remaining bite, discerning every ridge of the crust and textured chew of the interior.

The macaron was sweet after all. He wondered if the one she made was anything like it.

“Happy birthday,” the man whispered to no one but himself, placing the last piece into his mouth with a soundless bite.

Just for today, he would allow such a warm dream to sugarcoat his cold reality.

He saunters away from the kitchen then, tracing familiar steps of his daily routine. Along the way he carefully handles a potted jasmine, the only other semblance of life he has, and returns it to the window sill once more. The petals were just as wordless as he was, continuing to bloom underneath the return of the sun’s radiant waves.

Maybe one day, the jasmine would be able to experience the warmth of another person. And then he, too, could share in her very warmth that plagues his imagination for days without end. Wouldn't that be a lovely thought?

What was the semblance of a smile thinned out onto his lips, grimacing at the idea of chasing an impossible dream. Zayne turned away from the window, past the kitchen and trailing behind a faint mist of ice. Stepping towards the door, his casted shadows embraced a world without her and left into the abysmal halls.

His birthday was over.

[cheesecakeisyummyy]

COD HEADCANONS!

First post, yay! These are some sfw and nsfw COD headcanons. Enjoy :)

(NSFW headcanons came from @r0achluvr on tt! I did add on to theirs/switched the words just a tad bit. SFW headcanons came from @dolliesita. Some were my own and I just got the inspiration from their headcanon.)

—————————————————————————

NSFW🔞

Alejandro: humiliates you in the sweetest voice you’ve ever heard. 🥹

Captain Price: makes you cum at least once or twice with just his fingers before he fucks you. He will use your cum to lube himself up. 🥴

Keegan: loves having you laid out on your back so he can watch someone else fuck your throat while he fucks you. 🌶️

Captain Price: loves an obedient partner. Ex- if he asks you to do something and you do it without question or hesitation. 🐶

Rudy: fucks you with the door open because he likes the thrill of possibly getting caught. 😳

Ghost: plays with your tits religiously. Size doesn’t matter to him!!! 🍒

Soap: He wants you to sit on his face until he can’t breathe ESPECIALLY if you have thick thighs. 🪑

Makarov: ties you up and writes degrading things into your skin with a knife..ouch! 😓

Captain Price: when he’s punishing you for being a brat and you don’t end your sentences with sir, he will slap you (not too hard but not too soft either) until you fix it. 😤

Graves: he likes when you ride his thigh while he’s wearing gray sweatpants so when you’re done you can see how good you made him feel. 🍆

Ghost: VERY possessive! No one can touch his partner! If you are wearing a revealing outfit, he will cover the parts that are revealing with his hands. There is a high chance he will drag you to the bathroom and fuck you. 🤫

Konig: LOVES overstimulating you with his fingers and mouth at the same time. 😵‍💫

Valeria: Breeding kink. Wants nothing more than to fill you up with her cum. 🤰

Ghost: Waking him up with head is the quickest way to get your throat fucked so hard and raw, it’ll hurt to speak. 🗣️❌

Gaz: He will do anything for a handjob. ✋

Gaz: Loves when you wear short dresses because he likes seeing your underwear when you bend over. 🩲

Valeria: Will get you a leash with your first name and her last name embroidered on it. ♥️

Valeria: Will also get you a bracelet with her favorite dirty name that she calls you engraved on it. 💍

SFW☁️

Captain price: whenever he sees you, he compliments you and it’s a different compliment every time. 🥴

Gaz: likes to scare you when he notices that you’re in your own thoughts. Will %100 stop doing it if you say that you don’t like it. 😛

Soap: lovesss to cuddle. He loves physical affection. He will always try to hug and kiss you whenever he has the chance. 😚

Ghost: He’s not a big affectionate/touchy person but for you, he will cross his own boundaries because he knows how it feels to not be loved and he doesn’t want you to EVER feel that way. 🥲 He doesn’t hate it but he not the biggest fan of it.

Alejandro: Loves seeing you wear his clothes. He will sometimes just ask you to wear his clothes so he can admire you and take pictures of you. 🤳

Rudy: He’s a giver. He will always buy you flowers, your favorite candy, etc. 💐

Valeria: She notices every small detail about you. You could’ve gotten a trim on your hair and she will notice and point it out. 👀

Konig: There is no such thing as personal space in his mind. Yes, if you asked for personal space, he would %100 give it but if not, he will always find a way to be around you. 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♀️

[comfortless]

for your consideration, dearest syl: hybrid Flemish giant rabbit!König 🐇💭

flemish giant rabbit hybrid! König x fem, coyote hybrid! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. hybrids: König is (mostly) human! he just has bunny ears and a cute lil tail & the same goes for reader!, kind of dark- mentions of what is essentially cannibalism, violence, scent & breeding kink, dubious consent to everything. please heed the warnings!

hello lil wisp! sorry!! this veered off a bit from what i usually write. there is still some fluff and sweetness here if you squint real hard…

Winter is setting in.

You could feel it on your bare skin, the chill that sweeps past the trees like breath from a ghoul’s rotting throat: something dead and wretched, so cold it steals your breath and halts the blood in your veins. If you weren’t careful, staying ahead of yourself and the rest of the things lurking in the woods, that ivory death would creep up, grab you by the neck and drown you out in the snow.

With the season comes the need to feed. You don’t have the luxury of hibernation settled into the primitive roots of your brain. While everyone else tucks themselves into dens carved out from mountains or beneath the earth, settled in with the roots of vast trees, you’re still left in smothering snow, heavy as the weight of the hunger.

You were born for this, the hunt: to feel your fingernails dig into the fallen leaves and forest debris, curl in carving your name into the earth, bite and rip and tear. “Little coyote,” the birds would call, seated up on tree limbs so, so far above that the sunlight would burn your eyes if you dare to look at them, “let us watch.”

You always put on the show, always stage the fight with grace. A lost, blubbering sheep one day; the wool ‘round her ears dried your throat, her mournful bleating only died down when your teeth found her throat. The canopy above echoed your pride, they were always grateful to have something to scavenge later, whether it be finger or eye or ear; your hunger wasn’t the only that raged out here in the forest.

This winter would have to be your last alone. You could feel the way a life of roaming without pack or anything to settle with had eaten away at not just your body, but that little illusion of a soul somewhere tucked a long way down inside of you.

It would be a simple one, too— drag some creature to your den to keep your flesh warmed and your stomach full, survive this loathsome season and flourish with the spring. When the leaves returned and the lakes thawed, you could settle into some foreign pack. Flash your neck, hide your teeth and hope they wouldn’t rip you apart as you have so many others.

You think to yourself that a deer would do, some meek little doe that would bat her eyelashes and plead that you only wait the winter out with her, curling against you to keep you warm as you keep her safe until finally…

You didn’t like to think about it too much.

As much as the chase and the thrill had a hold on you, thinking about the loss of life, the ghosts that cling to your shoulders and wail, waiting for your turn to join them was far different. You couldn’t fight your nature, but you knew well enough you could never entirely swallow down the guilt that came with it, either.

There was a pain in your legs as you walked, exhaustion that would go unsatisfied until your plan had been laid out proper. It begins to feel dismal when you realize you have not seen another creature in miles, no prints, either. The only thing that brings you any companionship are the first flakes of snow, sifting down from far above, the great bone white and gray of an falsified sea.

You crouch and wait, curling your arms around your midsection as you shiver. Time passes, but you can’t be certain of just how much… mere seconds, maybe hours. The sky gives nothing away.

Now, there’s a rabbit.

You catch the scent of it on the breeze, musky and floral. Poor thing has probably only basked beneath evergreens, lived in sprawling gardens its entire life, kissed the sun and held flaking petals in its hands. So very unlike you who only knows the shade, the blood, and the hunt.

Your charge is determined, the soles of your feet torn and bloodied from angry thorns springing up from the crushed leaves on the cold soil; teeth bared as you hurtle through the brush of dying plant life. Its so close, so terribly close you can already feel the way your teeth will rend its flesh, feel saliva pooling up on the back of your tongue.

Reaching the forest’s edge you spot… him.

The rabbit is huge, stood in the midst of the deadened field with his back turned to you. The tall, decaying grass just barely brushes against the backs of his knees, low hanging fog veiling his face. If not for the puffy, fawn-colored tail situated just past the expanse of the pale, toned back, you would have assumed you were faced with some sort of bear.

This is not your usual prey.

No matter the sharpness of your claws or the ferocity of your bite, you know well enough that someone like this could never be brought down by yourself alone. It’s too risky, even as your belly aches and you itch to be back in the warmth of your den, surrounded by the pelts of the four-legged imitations and the fire roaring in its pit…

Rabbits were simple, at least. You press your face against them and cuddle, whisper sweet things in their ears and they melt, begging to be swallowed whole without any idea that you’ve only ever meant it literally.

You approach him with cautious, gentle steps, allowing your body language to remain open and friendly as you present him with the view of you bare, claws turned inward into your own palms and teeth hidden away by soft, warm lips. Your ears lie back to rest against your head, tail tucked between your thighs: all a display of utter submission, and a trickery that has worked time and time again.

“It’s getting cold..,” you murmur, voice low and as pitiful as it can get. “Will you keep me warm?”

Your rabbit cocks his head at you, one flopped ear lifting in curiosity. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t startle… The poor, stupid thing remains in place as his stare drinks you in, almost adoringly as you pad right up to him. There’s no hope of your faces being level, you merely use that to your advantage, putting on a cute pout and placing your palms flat against his bare chest.

“Ja,” he murmurs, gently coaxing your chin up to look him properly in the eye. Cute prey was easy, but never… never in your life had you found your prey to be handsome. Even with those silly ears bouncing with each cloudy puff of breath he takes, his face is still something of a myth. The old humans would have made statues in his honor from his build alone, but that face would have given him the look of a warrior of myth— brutish, yet charming with the wide grin he gives you when you meet the sea holly color of his irises. “Come here.”

He lifts you into his arms with ease and your shivering immediately ceases, he’s warm like the summer sun.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers into one of your triangular ears, causing it to involuntarily flick from the rush of his breath and press tighter to your skull.

Your intent was to take him to your own den, but as he begins to move it winds up being the opposite; there are mountains, an ice covered stream all laid out before you as he huffs more sweet words in a foreign tongue against your temple. It takes some time to understand that what you had intended to do and what he intends are entirely different. The mouth of a vast cave comes into view right as he dips his head, huffs several breaths against you, panting like a dog.

You’re only dropped when he kneels down to enter the den— his, ripe with the scent of sweat and musk and something floral. The rabbit has supplies stowed away for the winter, an array of preserved food, ample pelts likely stolen away from some other poor creature. He has weapons scattered about, stolen away from what remained of the old humans and their buildings, some sharper and more deadly than even the claws that crest the peeks of your hands. Your heart only plummets… you’re not in the presence of some stupid bunny, but a behemoth.

You begin your protests in a hiss, only to have your lips met with dried fruit, something sweet and red laid out on your tongue that tastes of sugar. He pulls you up and over his lap as he fits you both into the bed of animal skins and feeds you by gently guiding the food to your lips. The only think still spitting and crackling is a fire pit at the center as you allow yourself to somewhat settle.

The rabbit man only hums his contentment against your throat as your back presses to the expanse of chest behind you, and his hands trail away from your mouth, down further until they’re spreading your legs for him. Your pulse races as your eyes map the daggers across the floor down to the fur he’s seated you with him upon.

There’s only a hiss of breath that leaves your lips when his already leaking cock does press against the heat of your core. You don’t fuck prey— that would only spoil it, and you suppose that you are satisfied in knowing that he has no intention of harming you, only filling you with his seed, perhaps even his kits…

As his tip snags at your entrance, he purrs finding you already wet, bared open for him with his hand still steadying your thigh.

“Coyotes mate for life, hm?,” he rasps against the back of your neck, his own thigh trembling with the sheer excitement of the prospect of breeding you, tethering you to him for not only the rest of this winter.

You can hardly bite back the moan as he pushes through your folds again, nudging your bud as he spreads your arousal over the girth of him.

“Answer,” he commands in a sharp whisper, using his free hand to guide your chin up again. And you do, only in a weak nod.

He stuffs you full then, leaves you a panting heap as he repositions you onto your knees and covers you in himself. The furs smell of him, not the animals they’ve come from. Just the scent of lonely nights and a bitter, masculine stench that you whine and whimper into; all while he grunts his approval and praises about your tightness, your warmth, how you look somehow prettier now, capsized in his bed. Even has the audacity to whisper how long he’s watched you dart through the forest and waited for you to come to him as you sink your claws into hay and fur to steady yourself from the punishing pace he sets.

He only seems more fervent and adoring when he brings you to a rapturous bliss, keening whines and and tight praises pulled free from your throat as your cunt drools around him.

“You want kits?,” he purrs behind you, around you, everywhere as his voice lowers to an almost growl with each word spoken. In your trembling state, addled by sheer bliss as his cock soars into you to grind against your deepest places, you’ve barely the mind to refuse him anything. You merely mumble into the fur, something akin to a yes that has him grasping at your hips as though you’re his last tether to life itself.

When he’s finished, your stomach full of fruit and cunt full of him, he whispers into your ear about how the old humans believed in fate. His hands trail over your back, your waist, every curve only to rise and cup your cheek. His ears raise when he kisses you then, tender, as if trying to push his faith that you belong here right past your teeth.

[honey-riley]

Love You To Death || S.R.

WARNINGS: Military themes, guns, weapons, violence, detailed gore, mentions of Simon's past.

A/N: This contains an OC :) her name is Honey Tailer (my user is after her 🫡), she's German, so I hope you brought your google translate or other translators. There are more descriptors of her in the story itself <3

A/N pt.2: I'm learning German, and for most of the dialog in German, I use a translator. So, if anything is incorrect in German, don't behead me pls.

wc: 5.9k

1 || 2

War.

That's all that ever ran through him. A traumatized, mean, brooding war machine. Ever since he was little, that's all he could remember. The war within his household, the constant abuse that his father passed around. The constant abuse he endured as a child had profound and lasting effects on him. It shaped his worldview, eroded his sense of self-worth, and left him with deep emotional scars that manifested in his brooding and mean demeanor. The war within his household became the war within himself, and it consumed him every day.

He had never truly felt warmth. Sure, he had happy moments, moments where he could forget the trauma, moments where the gray cloud looming above him would clear. But only for a moment. He was human after all. The impact of his traumatic childhood on his relationships was profound. He struggled to form deep connections with others, always keeping them at arms length, afraid of being hurt again. His fear of vulnerability and his need for control made it difficult for him to trust and open up to others, resulting in a cycle of loneliness and isolation.

Riddling himself with routines, sticking to schedules, running everything in a timely, comfortable manner is what he loves. What he thrived on. It was something that he knew he could rely on. Every morning, he would wake up at the exact same time, following a strict routine that he had meticulously planned out. From the moment he opened his eyes to the moment he closed them again at night, every minute of his day was accounted for. He found solace in the predictability of his schedule, as it provided a sense of control and stability in a chaotic world. His routines became his lifeline, a way for him to regain some semblance of order in his life and protect himself from the unpredictable nature of human interactions.

So, the day that someone broke that routine for him, that was a day that he was going to remember.

Preparing for a mission, he went in with his normal routine - shower, get his gear on, put the mask on, prepare mentally, head to base, scan in, have breakfast, pack his tactical vest, check his gear, clean his weapons, and head out to the chopper by 0400.

This time, when he got to the chopper, there was a new face. Striking green eyes, long black hair that was slicked back into a regulatory military bun, fair skin, and God, was she short. Standing at four feet, eleven inches, just barely meeting the height requirements.

"Lieutenant." Laswell nodded as he approached. "This is Sergeant Honey Tailer, hope you don't mind her joining you today." She added with a smile. Ghost stuck his hand out for Honey to shake, which she accepted, giving him a firm shake back.

He took in her appearance one more time, noting her black, polished boots, her uniform, which wasn't digital camo, but more like spotted camo. She had a German flag on her shoulders and on her tactical vest.

"My pleasure, Lieutenant." She smiled softly, her German accent apparent in her words. It wasn't strong, it was subtle, she sounded like she had been speaking English her entire life - but she hadn't.

"It's great to meet you, Sergeant." He nodded, releasing her hand.

"Honey's going to be your DM for today. She'll provide surveillance, make sure you guys keep your heads." Laswell grinned as she looked over at Honey. DM, or designated marksman, was a good position to be in - a position that they needed in the team.

The team then loaded into the chopper, strapping into their seats. Honey's rifle sat on her chest, the barrel pointing to the tin floor of the chopper as she looked out of the window. She stared off, lost in thought, devising a plan on how she would go about this. It was an in and out mission, quick and easy - if things went according to plan.

Honey would provide recon and examine from a distance, while the team went in, gathering intel, hopefully going undetected, then Soap would plant the bombs, they would all get back onto the chopper, where Soap would detonate them.

"You'll do just fine, kid." Price's gruff voice snapped her out of thought as he patted her on the shoulder. Honey shot him a small, tight lipped, slightly nervous smile. She was used to this kind of stuff, but to work with a team she had never met, find her groove all over again, and to do it in time, was nerve wracking.

"This isn't your first time, right?" Ghost grunted as he looked over at her, his voice deep, almost like a growl.

"No, sir. I've been deployed multiple times." She replied with a nod.

Ghost took that in an almost snooty, stuck up way. Like she was so young, and she had all this experience, and she sounded like she was bragging about it. That irked him.

Instead of saying anything, he stayed quiet, crossing his arms over his chest. To pass the time, Honey put her AirPods in, and turned on some music, letting out a small sigh as she leaned back into her chair.

There was something about her that Ghost didn't find appealing. Something about her annoyed him, but he couldn't tell what it was.

The metallic sound of her ring clanking against her rifle as she tapped her fingers to the beat of the song she was listening to only made his annoyance grow.

"Wha' song are ye listenin' to?" Soap asked, nudging her.

"Oh, Love You To Death by Type O Negative." Honey said, looking over at him with a small smile.

"Damn, gothic stuff." Soap chuckled, cuing Honey to nod. "Yer pal, Ghostie over there loves that kind of music." Soap chuckled, nodding towards Ghost, making him let out a small scoff.

Not only was Honey now annoying him, she also had the same taste in music? That felt like it wasn't going to fly with him for whatever reason. He was already annoyed that his routine had been disrupted, and now, her presence alone annoyed him more.

"Alright, team. We're landing in Verdansk, just to refresh, you are to take out Makarov. He's in a highly guarded area, with plenty of people surrounding him." Laswell said over the comms.

"Copy." Honey replied, letting out a small sigh. She was the one who was tasked with disturbing the hive - taking out Makarov. She had already been filled in on why they needed him dead, and all the other necessary things such as his identity, where he would be at, his rank, what he looked like.

Once the chopper landed Price divided everyone into partners, and one trio. Ghost and Honey were tasked with surveillance. Ghost was Honey's spotter.

'I'm gonna be stuck with this annoying, snooty, stuck up bitch?' Ghost thought to himself. He kept his opinions inward, thankfully. Usually, with new recruits, he was very vocal about his disdain for them. This time, he kept his mouth shut, just wanting to get the mission done quicker.

Honey established a sniper's nest, and laid on the roof of the building opposite of where the team would be infiltrating.

"What's the drag?" Honey whispered, looking through her iron sights, ready to set her rifle up.

"Not a clue." Ghost grunted as he looked through the scope of his own rifle, adjusting accordingly. He did know, he just wanted her to struggle a bit, make her more 'human' in his eyes.

"You're no help." Honey muttered under her breath, looking down her iron sights again. She glanced over at Ghost for a moment, turning to her own rifle, contemplating something.

She deftly reached over, sliding the scope off of his rifle.

'Now she's trying to fuck with my gear?' Ghost scorned in his own mind. He looked over at her, his brows furrowed under his mask before he snatched his scope back, sliding it back on.

"Du erzeugst ein Glitzern." She growled, taking it back off.

"English." Ghost muttered under his breath, starting to get pissed off.

"You're creating a glint. There's people in that building that can see you because of your scope." She growled, looking over at the moon for a second before looking back at him. She subtly lifted her hand, pointing at the opposing building, and indeed, a faint reflection from the scope could be seen if you knew where to look.

He let out an audible scoff, rolling his eyes. He adjusted his rifle, getting used to just using his iron sights.

"It's a 42 meter separation, the wind is blowing south-east. We're facing north-west. The wind is 6 knots. Light breeze." He replied, telling her what she would need to adjust her rifle.

"Any visuals on Makarov?" Laswell said through the comms.

Honey glanced through a pair of binoculars for a second, seeing Makarov working at a table in an empty room, his back turned to the window.

"Positive. Black, short hair, suit, I can't tell how tall he is, but Ghost can verify that it's him." Honey replied through the comms. "It's him, Kate." Ghost muttered into the comms. "Permission to take the shot?" Honey asked Laswell.

"Granted." Laswell replied.

Honey put down the binoculars and Ghost picked them up, ready to watch Honey shoot Makarov.

Honey lined up her shot, calculating the drag, and the possible path that the bullet would take once it hit the glass. Doubt nibbled at the edges of her mind, raising its voice as her finger hovered over the trigger. But she pushed it away, reminding herself of the countless hours of training. She took a deep breath, pulling the rifle tight to her shoulder, holding her breath so that the shot was steady. She loaded her chamber, taking the rifle off of safety, and slowly squeezed the trigger.

Ghost's heart raced. He felt a pang of jealousy, mixed with a swirl of emotions. 'This should've been mine,' He thought, his chest tightening. 'This is my team. What does she think she's doing, muscling in on my territory?' His fists clenched around the binoculars, sweat dripping from his temple.

The bullet shattered through the glass, sending a gory red mist into the air as Makarov's head exploded. Ghost's jaw clenched as his anger bubbled, the realization of what just happened setting in.

Honey laid her rifle down, staying on her stomach as she glanced over to Ghost. She could see the tension in his body, the balaclava clinging to his face with each heavy gasp for air. Unsure of how to respond to Ghost's obvious displeasure, she gave him a small, tight lipped, reassuring smile.

Ghost glared back, his eyes filled with the intensity of his rage. 'She's taken everything from me,' he thought. 'I can't let her win. I can't let her take this from me too.'

In the aftermath, the team sat in stunned silence, their gazes fixed on the lifeless body now sprawled on the floor. The reality of their success hung in the air, a weighty, shared accomplishment that lingered, tainted by Ghost's bitter resentment. This was a man that they had been tracking for years and Honey came in and shot him like it was nothing. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. And God, that smile afterwards pissed him off so much more.

'What the fuck is she doing? This was supposed to be my job. What the hell does she know about shooting?' Ghost fought with himself internally. He hated this. He ha=ted everything about her.

The pair watched as the team infiltrated the room, occasional gunfire sounding through the air. Honey watched as Soap went in, took a laptop and all the needed files, planting a few bombs on his way out.

Honey stood up, grabbing her rifle, unloading the chamber and putting it back onto safety. Ghost stood up as well, grabbing his own rifle, storming his way back down the flight of stairs to the ground floor.

"Ghost." Honey said as she followed him, her rifle slung over her back. He didn't bother waiting for her, or even listening to her. He silently stormed his way back to the chopper, getting in, and buckling himself up.

Honey set their things back where they belonged on the chopper, ensuring that nothing would fall out. There was an awkward silence as they waited for the rest of the team to get back to where the chopper was. Nikolai sat in the cockpit.

"How was the mission? You finally nail him?" Nikolai grinned, his thick Russian accent apparent in his words as he looked back through the door, glancing at Ghost.

"Honey did." Ghost muttered, his fists balled under his biceps as he crossed his arms. "Her shot was just luck." He added, looking outside of the chopper, avoiding eye contact. He knew it was more than luck - it was skill, but he didn’t want to admit it.

Honey winced at his words, looking over at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. She glanced away, keeping her eyes off of him. She had always been doubted. She had worked her entire life for this moment, and the entire time, she had been doubted. She didn't know why it even hurt at this point - she should've expected it. But, she was going to stand up for herself for once - even if it didn't work.

Honey looked at him, her brow furrowing. "Luck?" She asked, her voice slightly hurt. "I took the damn shot, calculated it. I did everything I needed to. And it's just luck? I’ve worked my entire life for this, I’ve worked my ass off. Making sure that I could make a damn shot." She added. Honey wanted to get frustrated, she wanted to argue, but she took a deep breath, keeping her mouth shut.

Ghost's jaw dropped slightly at her response. His glare softened, his unwavering anger faltering for the first time. He didn't know what to say to counter her words, her confidence - and for once, he found himself at a loss.

'All of my years of practicing, honing, just for it to be chalked up to luck? Fuck this guy.' Honey thought to herself, letting out a sigh. She wanted to be on this team, she had worked for it for years. She wanted to be on the top - the best of the best, and this was her chance. She wasn't going to ruin it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rest of the team getting into the chopper, carrying files, laptops, and USB sticks. Everything that they could get their hands on that could be important, they took.

"Let's watch this puppy blow." Soap chuckled as he buckled into the chopper. Nikolai lifted the chopper off the ground, getting it a distance away before Soap pressed the button, making the entire building explode and collapse in on itself.

Honey watched as the orange and yellow flames licked the air, huge billows of smoke and debris shooting up into the air.

"Christ." Honey murmured, watching the smoke shoot up. The blast wave then hit the chopper, making it sway and vibrate. Nikolai quickly corrected, starting their flight back. The flight back to base was almost silent, everyone processing what had just happened, and why it had happened.

'Why was Honey the one to kill Makarov? Why was this new recruit the one who got to end the man we had fought to kill for years? And why was it so easy for her?' Ghost was furious at the thought of it.

'Why did she get the pleasure? The satisfaction?'

When they got back to base, Ghost just wanted to get his report filled and then think things through in his quarters, but of course, Laswell had other plans.

"You and Honey are bunking together." Laswell said as she opened the door to his quarters. Honey stood behind Laswell, her bag slung on her shoulder as well as a few other things in her hands - two pillows and a blanket.

"What about Soap?" Ghost asked, looking over at the other bed in the room - the bed where Soap slept. That side of the room was blank, Soap moved rooms.

"Soap bunked with Gaz. We don't have another room for Honey, so she's going with you." Laswell said, turning around and walking away. Honey came in quietly, her steps silent.

She placed her things on the bed, avoiding him. She busied herself with the task of getting her things set up - making the bed, putting her things in her dresser and closet.

"There are rules here." Ghost grunted as he watched her, his attention drawn away from his paperwork.

"Keep your shit on your side of the room, keep it clean, keep it neat, and don't talk to me." He added. Honey didn't do anything but nod as she folded her clothes. Pajamas, uniforms, dress uniforms, civilian clothes - they were all put away neatly.

There was something about her, something that kept his attention away from his paperwork. Something that kept him from focusing. Maybe it was the rage towards her, maybe it was the envy - there was something. Something that he hated. Something that Simon despised. Ghost hated it more.

What do we think of the first part, y'all? Do we love it? Hate it? Eh? Lmk what I can work on as well! My ask me is still open :))

[princessdimondheart]

The Twins | Ghost x Wife! Reader

Pairing: Ghost x f! Reader + Their Twins

Warnings: 🔪- violence, terrorist act, blood, inaccurate medical scenes; 😭- fear, emotional stuff, family; 🥺- well deserved happiness

Edited: No

A/N: Simon’s mother doesn’t have a canon name so I decided it’s based off of a flower. You pick which one. Almost 8k words 😳. Part 2? Idk. Sorry it took so long! 😭😭

Masterlist

Character banner ©️ Me

Tommy brushed his short hair back like it would do anything. It was a standard military cut, close shaven but not exactly bald. When he had it cut- to get used to it he told himself- his twin sister, Violet, laughed in his face. Said he looked like an escaped inmate with the cut or someone from pre-Y2K. He pouted remembering it, he had yelled something about her blue-dyed hair being basic and threw a dirty sock in her face. She yelled and then grabbed his arm and proceeded to throw him over her shoulder. He really should have seen it coming. Her hard work in Tai Kwon Do really paid off. His back and ass hurt for the next few days. 

Unfortunately, his poor mother paid witness to the little altercation. She was tired from a long shift at the hospital and was laying on their gray couch munching on Doritos. She only shook her head when he whined to her about Violet. She told him that if he wanted to join the army like he dreamed about, then he would have to toughen up and not complain about things whenever they went wrong. A distant look shown in her eyes. An old memory most likely; one of their long gone father, a military man, and one of the reasons why Tommy wanted to join. To follow in his father’s footsteps despite his job being the reason he wasn’t in their life anymore. He and his twin got quiet and then went their separate ways. They knew how much the loss of their father hurt their mother and they didn’t want to bring her any more pain by mentioning him when she’s emotionally drained from her shift. 

When Tommy had told her that he wanted to join the army, his mother froze in shock before tears spilled from her eyes. A hand covered her sobs and her brow furrowed. He had never seen his mother cry before and it nearly had him spiraling. He rushed to hug his mother asking her what was wrong. When she calmed down, she pulled back and held his cheek in her hand. 

“You’re just like your father. I knew something like this was going to happen but I wasn’t sure it would be so soon.” She wiped her tears with her other hand. “It’s okay, you can go if you really want to.”

He didn’t realize the tears building up in his eyes until they were running down his face. He was only 15 but he was already a head taller than his mother. She said he got his height from his father. Tommy had to tell her his decision because her permission was what would get him into the army when he turned 16. He had no other dreams, just the army and making his parents proud. 

“Tommy! Are you done checking yourself out? We need to go to this last store before heading home.” Violet’s voice crashed his preening in front of a mirror in an H&M store. “The sun’s already set and we’re running late as it is.”

“Chill, Vi, we don’t always have to be punctual. Mom’s on shift anyways, we can go home at whatever time we want!” He looked at her through the mirror. 

She rolled her eyes at him, scoffing, “says the boy that wants to join the army where punctuality is very important.” 

Violet’s eye color was from her mother, in fact, all of her looks were from her, even her height except her eye shape was from their dad. Tommy was the one who was almost a carbon copy of their dad. There were slight variations in their looks, like skin tone and hair texture but nothing too different. He liked the fact that he looked like his dad. It made him feel closer to him in a way. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, let’s go so you can shut your whining. I am in the army.” Tommy mumbled the last part under his breath. He shoved a hand in his pocket and pushed the other in front of her face, wiggling his fingers for the bags she was holding. She handed them over when he moved his hand closer to her face and she swatted it away. Sure, he messed around with his sister but he was still a gentleman. His mother would fry his ass if he was anything but. 

They were heading to Piccadilly Circus to look at the stores in search of a birthday present for their mom. It was coming up soon and they were running behind in the gift department. All other aspects of the little party they were planning were already put together, the only thing left was her gift. Now that he was in the army for just over a year, he had some money saved up and was planning on using it for her gift. That was the reason why he was here, he was on leave for her birthday next week. Violet suggested a nice pair of earrings and a necklace for her since she doesn’t really own jewelry other than her wedding bands. Tommy readily agreed. 

The walk from H&M to the square wasn’t longer than ten minutes but they took their time window shopping along the way. The square was decently crowded, it was a Thursday after all and there were plenty of tourists and locals scurrying in and out of the shops. Tommy rubbed his hands together, it was cold that night. Unusual for the time of year but he assumed global warming was to blame. He really wished spring would finish up so summer could get here. 

~~~~~

Ghost was methodically sharpening his knife on a whetstone when Price knocked on his door with a loud bang. His masked head whipped up and he gripped the knife tighter. 

“Load up, Simon. My office, yesterday!” His voice was hurried and gruff. Something was going down and that made Ghost kit up faster than normal. Grabbing his gun he was out of his room in less than a minute. 

In Prices office was the rest of 141, Gaz and Soap were kitted up in their tactical vests with their weapons slung over their shoulders. No one was sitting. 

“We just got word that a terrorist plot is going to go down tonight at Piccadilly Circus. We’re going to head over there before it goes down.” Price shook his head. “Hopefully our presence deters them or we’re able to put a stop to them before anyone gets hurt.”

Gaz was reasonably upset. He had been there for the first attack on the square a few years ago. It was actually how he got into Price’s sights in the first place and joined the Task Force. “Again? Seriously?”

The Captain gave him a knowing look. “If it’s going to be an issue, you can stay here Kyle. You don’t have to go.”

“No-no, sir. It won’t be an issue.” Gaz sighed. “I just hope it turns out better than last time.”

Soap patted him on the shoulder. Price nodded at him and then walked to his office door. 

“Let’s go!”

~~~~~

Violet had tugged on Tommy’s jacket and pointed out a jewelry store that seemed promising. Luckily it was still open so they both went inside. The clerk greeted them but wasn’t as attentive to them because of their youth. That is until they told her their budget. Typical. 

She was looking into the bright glass boxes filled with different types of jewelry in gold, silver, diamonds or other precious stones. Tommy wasn’t really paying attention to her. He fiddled with his dog tags and the busted up ones that belonged to his father. They rested over his jacket. He’d hum and glance at a necklace she was pointing to but he was rather distracted. There was a small commotion just across the street near the metro entrance. 

A black van pulled up and several men jumped out of it seemingly inconspicuous. He thought nothing of it until he saw a handgun sticking out of his waistband. Now, Tommy didn’t do that great in the section about their laws in school but he sure as hell knew that guns were illegal in their country. His brows furrowed, and Violet tugged at his sleeve once more to get his attention. 

“Tommy! What’s with you?” She voiced her annoyance. “What are you looking at?”

She peered around him but didn’t notice what he was staring at so intensely. Tommy noticed that one of the men planted something on a nearby car parked on the street. He felt something go through his body. It was a feeling of cold and dread. Dread of what was most likely going to happen. What it was he didn’t have a clue. He just felt the cold chill his blood and goosebumps ran down his arms. 

His eyes widened in shock and fear when one of the men pulled out an assault rifle from the truck. He only had a few seconds. 

“Get down!” Was all he could manage to get out. 

Tommy turned and grabbed his twin by her arms, pulling her into his body. The shots rang out directly towards them and in various directions. He vaguely remembered hearing a loud boom ring out. Screams spread around them. Tommy could only feel the burning sensations coming from his right arm, lower back and left leg. Violet’s screams were muffled by his jacket, the dog tags dug into her face. Her head had hit the ground hard despite Tommy covering it with his hand, and it throbbed in that dull way. Glass shattered around them and alarms were going off. They dropped heavily to the ground. Tommy’s body was covering Violet’s protecting her from the blaze of bullets still lodging themselves in the walls around them. 

Violet screamed again as one land near their heads. Tears ran down both their faces. He tightened his grip on her. 

“Violet- Violet, please.” He grunted. “It’s okay, we-we’re gonna be fine. Just lay down. S-stay quiet, yeah, you’re good, Vi.”

She was shaking. He was shaking. Although his body was prepared for going to war, his mind had yet to catch up. Although, Tommy wasn’t sure if it was nerves that was causing him to shake, the cold chill spilling through the shattered store front, or the blood seeping out from his wounds. 

Violet felt wet but she couldn’t figure out what it was. At first she thought she had wet herself in fear but the feeling was coming from her torso. She turned her head as best as she could and saw Tommy grimacing in pain. Her eyes looked further down and saw the blood pooling under her. She wasn’t in pain. 

“Tommy! Ta-Tommy, you’re bleedin’!” Her voice pitched high with alarm. She sobbed into his shoulder. Her hands tucked into her body pulled out and wrapped around his back. She held him tight. 

“I-I’m fine, Vi.” He stuttered out. He was feeling weak from the blood loss. 

“Don’t l-lie to me Tommy.” She hiccuped. “You’re s-shit at it.”

More explosions rang beyond the store. They shook the building they were in. Pieces of debris were falling from the ceiling, landing on and around them. Suddenly, various gunshots were fired in rapid succession and Violet worried that more terrorists had arrived. She hoped that the police or some anti-terrorist agency would arrive soon. Several minutes pass and the gunfire lessened until it finally stopped. 

“Tommy? We can get up now, l-let me put pressure on y-your wounds.” Tommy wasn’t saying anything and that worried Violet. Her breathing quickened in her panic. “Tommy!? Get up! Tommy!”

Her hand reached up to push him off of her. It was a struggle as he had gained a significant amount of weight in muscle over the last year. He weighed a ton and when she was finally able to push him off of her, Violet was huffing even with her martial arts skills. Other times she’s able to pull him over her shoulder with momentum but now he was dead weight. God she dreaded the thought. Her shaking hands scrambled to his neck. Two fingers felt for his pulse and found a faint one. It fluttered but it was still there. She sighed in relief. 

Violet tried to remember the first aid course that she took last summer that their mom’s hospital was offering to students interested in joining the medical field. She surveyed his unconscious body to find any wounds and when she found them all she got to work as best as she could. Violet took off her jacket and wrapped it around Tommy’s arm hoping to slow down the bleeding. Then she remembered that he had on a belt and so she took it off to tie around his leg. He unconsciously groaned when she tightened it. She couldn’t really put pressure on the wound on his back but she tried her best to keep a hand covering the wound. The bullet hadn’t gone all the way through and stayed lodged inside him. It wasn’t sanitary but it was the best she could do. 

Her body continued to shake and she looked around the destroyed jewelry store. There were other bodies lying around. Blood was smeared on the shattered glass display where the lady was standing minutes before. The lack of pained noises sent a pang through her chest. More tears rolled down her cheeks and onto Tommy’s shuddering chest below her. She wished she hadn’t insisted on stopping by the other store instead of going straight here. They would have been home earlier. She wished she were the one injured and not Tommy. She was the oldest by a few minutes and it was her job to protect her little twin brother. She wished her mom was there to help Tommy. She wished her dad was there to help them get through this. 

She cried and cried. Pain and sadness filling her up and boiling over in body racking sobs. Her hand gripped one of Tommy’s. 

The silence was almost unbearable, until it wasn’t. 

~~~~~

They were too late, again. The intel that they had been receiving lately was always a little too late than normal. Ghost knew that Price was gonna have a word with all the intelligence personnel when they were done with the mess that was before them. Gaz was pissed as his expression showed. They’d all seen similar scenes like this before but it always hurt more when it happens on home soil. 

The police had arrived but were not as prepared as the Task Force, so they set up a perimeter not letting anyone in or out. They had dispatched all of the terrorists within a few minutes of them being in Piccadilly Circus. A few had lingered in the square while others had gone into some of the shops. Once the area was cleared and the police had began searching for survivors, Price had them doing the same. 

“Soap, Gaz, go together and look for anyone still breathing on the north side. Ghost and I’ll stay on the south side of the square.” They split up and began their search. 

Ghost passed a few bodies that weren’t alive. He saw the Captain flinch at the body of a child but he never said anything. Children were always hard in their line of work but for him it hit closer to home than what Ghost could ever understand. 

“Hello? Is anyone alive?! We’re the army!” Price began to call out in hopes of an answer back. 

There was silence yet it was loud. Sirens, alarms, and broken glass crunched underfoot and around them. They saw that the police and EMTs had found a majority of the survivors near them so they pushed further into the square. Price called out again and a muffled cry called back. 

“Help! Help me please!” The feminine voice cried to them. Her voice pulled them towards her like a lifeline. 

They ran to where the voice came from, a rather famous jewelry store that didn’t look as nice as before. The broken glass and bullet holes would turn anyone away. Ghost made it to the entryway first but Price stopped him with his hand. He gave him a look and went in first. Then Ghost remembered his skull mask and the fear it brought to people, especially civilians, so he waited until he was needed. The familiar crackle of the radio was heard faintly. 

“Shite, get in here Ghost! They’re kids!” Great, another demographic that he wasn’t really good with. When he stood by them he realized that these kids were older than what he thought. They were teenagers. 

Then, he froze. 

Years of memories rushed through his mind in seconds. The sound of laughter… a certain hair color… the smell of her favorite perfume… her flowers, whose scent would waft up his nose whenever he came home. Things he so painfully remembered and yet chose to let go so as to not cause tremendous harm. A feeling that he had longed to never let go. He grasped at the tendrils for a short while before that dreadful night. 

Those eyes… they were her eyes. At first he thought that she was kneeling there before him, but then remembered that more than a decade had passed and she would have changed in that time. Rarely had he seen her with tears streaked down her face. Or blood on her clothes…

Her look-alike cried out a sob and reality overtook his memories. 

“Please, please help my brother he got shot.” The girl pleaded looking up as he walked closer. She wasn’t scared of him in the mask but she was for her brother. That’s when Ghost looked down. 

Was he staring in a mirror? This boy. This kid. It was like looking at a photo of his younger self. 

Clink.

Ghost’s eyes snapped to the sound of metal in Prices hand. He’d already done a glance over of the boy and decided that the girl did a good job of wrapping his wounds with what she had. 

“Are these his?” Price asked the distraught girl. 

“Y-yeah. Tommy just joined the army not long ago. Barely over a year in.” She breathed in deeply as if to calm her mind. 

Tommy… he knew a Tommy once. His own brother. Every piece was coming together. He was one, and they were the other two. Just one was left…

“…and the other?” Price continued. He didn’t need to ask but he wanted to confirm the information he held. The cheeky bastard. 

“It’s our fathers… or what’s left of him.” Those same eyes as her looked down. Sadness filled them. Sadness for himself, he realized. A father long gone. Those were the tags that he left behind in the wreckage. Now here they were… somehow returned to him. 

Ghost hardly remembered when the ambulance pulled up in front of the store. Or when the EMTs moved Tommy onto the stretcher. But he did remember the smell of his blood and the salt in the air from her tears. 

Price was able to convince the EMTs to let them go with Tommy and his sister. They weren’t happy about it but decided that armed men tagging along with them after a terrorist attack wouldn’t be so bad. He’d also radioed Soap and Gaz of their departure. They had found some victims buried under rubble and were trying to get them out with some firefighters. 

Price whispered low enough for only Ghost to hear. “You doin’ okay, Simon?”

He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? His new-found daughter was siting across from him while his son lay injured, bleeding out from wounds caused by a terror act not thwarted by his team. He felt useless. Yet, he felt grateful that he was able to meet his children in a way. The situation was horrible, but that brought them together; and it was highly likely that if it had not happened then he would have never learned about them. He’d have probably died in combat before he ever heard whispers of them. No, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He would continue on the path placed in front of him, for now at least. 

He just shrugged his shoulders and stayed silent. That must have been enough for Price as he just eyed him for a bit before looking down at what the EMTs were doing to stabilize Tommy. 

“Oh!” Price jolted in realization. “We never got your name, love! So sorry.” 

The girl looked up at them. She glanced at him then at John. Ghost must have looked strange sitting there in his black gear. They both definitely looked out of place in the ambulance. 

“It’s fine. I’m Violet… Mister…?” She wasn’t stuttering anymore but her voice was subdued and scratchy from her crying. 

“Call me John, young lady.” He nodded at her. “And this is Ghos-“

“Simon, will do.” He had no idea why he cut him off or why he gave her his name, but it brought a grin to Prices lips. 

“Oh, it’s like my da-“ The ambulance coming to a stop cut her off and the EMTs began off-loading the gurney. 

They moved themselves out of the way and followed closely behind as he was rolled into the emergency department. There were other ambulances dropping off patients from the attack. EMTs, doctors and nurses were coming in and out, and there was a heavy police presence at the entrances. 

Inside was more chaotic. The hospital was in Code Orange for mass casualty or disasters. 

Patients lay in gurneys as nurses and residents tended to them. Many of the dead rested under blood soaked sheets, yet to be moved to the morgue. Blood pooled on the white floors, some of it was stepped on and tracked throughout the rooms. Cleaning workers did their best to mop up the evidence of the nights tragedy. Very few had minor injuries. Friends and family were there searching for missing relatives. One of the smarter police officers began a missing persons board and had them write descriptions of the missing. 

As Violet stepped through the automatic door, she saw her mom finish tending to an older lady who had been grazed by bullets and suffered a concussion when she fell over. She fiddled with her gloves. It was loud in there but when she called for her mother, the older woman’s head shot up in fear. 

“Mom!”

Hearing this, Ghost’s eyes scanned the crowd. He had to find her. A face he hadn’t seen in years, unless he counted the similarities with his daughter. It wasn’t so hard. He’d recognize her face if he was blind and only had his hands to see. 

She was older, of course, but no less as beautiful as he remembered. Her hair was styled differently, likely due to her job, but still shined healthily. Her scrubs were in her favorite color and a blood stained white lab coat donned her body. She wore blue gloves and a face mask as she tended to her patients. 

“Violet!” She speedily walked to her daughter, passing between other doctors and nurses. Fingers tugged on latex and she dumped the gloves in a garbage can filling up with similar bloody items. Her hands rested on Violet’s shoulders as she couldn’t hug her with all the blood on her. 

She gasped when she saw Tommy. 

“Tommy!” She cried and tears flooded her eyes. Her hands went to his cut up face. “You were there?!”

An EMT asked her to help them. “This patient needs immediate care, doctor!”

“I-I’m sorry. I’m too close to the patient.” She stuttered. 

She looked around her in the chaos for a free doctor. She hardly noticed the two armed men hanging back. Her eyes stopped on her colleague. He had worked as a doctor for over forty years and had done thousands of surgeries. He had been a great mentor to her since she first started working at this hospital. 

“Jack! Dr. Yates!” She called over to him loud enough for others to look over. The older gentleman startled but made a bee-line for her. When he was close, she grabbed a part of his white sleeve. “Please, doctor, help my son. I’m too close to work on him properly.”

The grayed man gave a look over Tommy and had them immediately push him to an open operating room. He grasped her upper arm. “Don’t you worry your brilliant mind, sunny. We’ll get him spick and span in no time. Take a break for a few minutes, you’ve been running around since 5 this mornin’.”

Letting go, she only nodded along as they wheeled Tommy away. She allowed a tear to fall. It dripped onto the floor, mixing with other bodily fluids that fell from their patients. She tried not to let her fear of her losing another person get to her. 

Not again. Not here. Not now. 

“Mom?” Violet called for her worried about her sudden silence. She tugged on the back of her white coat, which was still white, surprisingly. That got her moving. 

“Violet? Are you alright? You’re okay, right? There’s blood all over you!” She inhaled once. “Do I need to get you som-“

“Mom! I’m fine! Honestly!” Violet interrupted, her bottom lip wobbled. “T-Tommy protected me. He saved me, mom!”

She sobbed harder than before and her mom, now not caring for the blood, pulled her in for a tight hug. They clung to each other desperately. Violet was shorter than her mom so she was able to burry her face into her neck. Tears wetting her skin and clothes. 

Movement behind them, made her look up, unsure if anyone else needed help. It was the two men that had come in with Violet. She had not really noticed them before because all her focus was directed to Tommy and Violet; her two most important things in life. Both had some blood on, what she now realized was military kits, and they stood there in silence carrying their weapons slung over their shoulders. One wore a funny fishing hat and the other had a rather fitting face mask for the overall mood of the day. The skull plated mask hid the face underneath. Her eyes lingered and he caught her gaze. 

Ghost stared at his once-wife in the eyes. The eyes that would always making him feel like he was falling deeper into her soul. She spoke but his ears weren’t working. Price answered and his hand whacking his arm made him blink twice and their staring ended when she looked at Prices hand. 

“No, we’re fine… Doctor…?” Price answered her worries of injury. 

“I’m Doctor-“

“Dr. Riley!” A nurse interrupted her. Ghost felt his chest tighten. She’d kept his name. “We need you here! He’s code blue-ing!”

She sprang from her daughters arms. “Coming! Violet go to my office and stay there for me, please. I’ll be back soon, hopefully.”

Violet nodded before her mom ran off to where the patient had just rolled in. She jumped onto the gurney and began chest compressions. The EMTs continued to the elevator and up to the operating rooms like nothing had happened. More nurses followed them into the large elevator. Her mom pumping that mans chest was the last she’d see of her for the next few hours. 

She was still a Riley. His Riley. After all these years, he remembered her saying that she wanted to keep her maiden name for her doctor status. He was always okay with that and knew she’d never change her mind, despite her taking his name, although hyphenated, when they married. He wondered what made her change her mind. Then he remembered that he had ‘died’ several months before her graduation as a resident. He reminisced on how he snuck in to see her one last time at the ceremony before running away to the battlefield. 

Price eyed Ghost as he stood there staring at the closed elevator doors, even when they opened as another body was taken down to the morgue. He looked tense, brows furrowed, pained, and understandably so. His whole life just flipped over and over in the matter of a few hours. 

But then Ghost glanced at his hands. Bloodied hands. Tommy’s blood. Then to Violet and then back again to the dried blood. The blood of his only son. It dawned on him that he almost lost him. Almost her. Both of them could have been stripped of their lives. And so easily too. He hardly knew them and that hurt him even more. 

“Ah… let’s escort you to your mums office, yeah?” Price called to Violet, who was also spacing out. 

She wiped her face and nodded. She led them to the stairwell and they climbed up two stories. Several corridors down and they were in a decent sized office. Price told them he would get them some snacks and drinks at the vending machines he saw awhile back. Ghost knew he was giving him time to talk to Violet. He was somewhat grateful and annoyed that Price knew what he needed. 

They both sat down on the cushioned chairs. Violet flung herself down with a loud sigh. She was drained both mentally, physically and emotionally. She wanted this nightmare to be over. 

“You’re Violet, right?” His deep voice asked and Violet’s eyes drifted upward. He’d heard her name multiple times, was even introduced, but he needed the confirmation again. 

“Yeah, I’m Violet… why?” She looked a bit confused, brow raised just like her mother used to give him. 

His chest tightened and he felt like he couldn’t get the words past his lips but he forced himself to. There was no better time than right now. “I- I just know your mum… that’s all.”

“Really? Why didn’t she recognize you?” She asked but Ghost pointed at his masked face and she blushed. “Oh, right.” 

The silence was awkward for a moment before Violet spoke, surprising Ghost with her words. 

“Well… I like your mask. Kinda edgy. It’s actually pretty cool… for an old man.”

“How do you know I’m old?” Ghost tilted his head slightly. 

Violet scoffed and crossed her arms, leaning back into the chair. “You know my mom, so you’ve gotta be old.” Ghost almost rolled his eyes; she was gonna be the death of him. Then she looked contemplative. 

“Do you think Tommy will still be able to be in the army?” She looked at his eyes, her brows furrowed even more. “It’s been his dream for the longest and now that he’s in, I don’t think he’d ever get out… but if he’s discharged, I think that’ll hurt him the most.” 

Ghost didn’t say anything right away so she continued her little rant. “Mom tried to get him to go to uni, but his heart was set on the army ever since he learned that our dad was in. He held onto that dream for so long and when mom let him go, well, I’ve never seen him so happy…”

Her breath shortened as tears ran down her face. “I—I should have been paying more attention. It’s my fault. I have no situational awareness, damnit, even Tommy’s told me that before. If I’d noticed sooner or realized what was going on, he wouldn’t be hurt. I’m the older twin. I should be-be the one taking care of him!” She sobbed harder. 

Ghost came to kneel in front of her. He took her hand that was twisting her bloody shirt. “It’s not your fault. You, nor anyone there, knew what was about to happen. Terrorists have no regards for the lives of the innocent while doing things that would harm them.”

“Tommy’s hurt but I can tell that he’s strong. I’ve been hurt like that before and I healed up fine. Plus he has even greater care here. They’ll take care of him and you only need to keep your head up and know that Tommy’ll pull through.” He continued. “He’s young so he’ll bounce back well enough to return to his unit. Don’t you worry your pretty lil’ head ‘bout that.”

“Thanks.” She laugh-cried. “But it’s hard to take you seriously with that mask.” She giggled. 

Ghost huffed. “Well, Tommy pulled some heroics back there saving you. Might even earn a brag rag with the right recommendations…”

Violet’s confused head tilt made him explain the meaning. “It’s a medal.”

Her eyes brightened. “You’d do that?”

He hummed. “Captain Price might put in a good word too, but yeah, he deserves it.”

There was a sudden and somber silence. His hand gripped his knee to prevent it from bouncing. 

“Ah… any plans for uni? Or something…?” Bollocks, how the hell do you talk to a 17 year old girl, who is also your child but doesn’t know it? Improvise… he guessed?

Violet told him that she was debating going to vet school or medical school to become a surgeon like her mother. She wasn’t sure which university she would apply to. 

“Tommy keeps teasing me that I should join him in the army as a field surgeon. But… um, I think I wanna help out people in our community here.” She chuckled softly. “I told him that if he ever got hurt he could come to me to patch him up, but that I’d have to hurt him again for even getting injured in the first place.”

Ghost smiled under his mask. Mask. His mask?

Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly. Perhaps one too many whacks to the ole head. Or maybe it was the high of meeting his long lost children for the first time. Ghost wasn’t sure what it was…

His hand reached up, curling under the bottom of his balaclava, and pulled the black cloth over his head in one tug. The higher it went, the more his chin, lips, nose, cheeks, eyes, and hair was revealed. 

Violet’s breath hitched as she took his face in. Her eyes roamed over every feature and scars. She knew this face, from the back of her mind she knows that this face is like the one going through surgery right now. Like the one in the frame sitting on her mother’s desk right in front of her. Tears began to burn her eyes but did not fall. Her lip wobbled. 

~~~~~

“Violet, I am your father…” Simon’s eyes stared into hers for a moment before closing tightly. His brows scrunched together and his lips tugged into a fine line. 

“Was t-that a Star Wars reference? Or are you being serious?” Violet asked confused, burning tears finally falling. 

“You’ve seen Star Wars?” Stop deflecting, Simon!

“What?! Don’t change the subject Mr. Simon!” She gasped, her eyes widening. “Mister… Simon. Simon. Simon?”

“Yeah?” He asked, swallowing hard. 

“This doesn’t make sense! I-I must be hallucinating. Maybe, maybe I actually did die or something.” Violet’s voice shook. She closed her eyes and moved her head side to side. There was a subtle shake to her body. “Nope! This is not fucking real! You’re supposed to be dead! Dead, I tell you!”

Oh god, she’s reverting back to her drama club days. 

“Umm… language?” Not the time to reprimand her for her words. “I mean. Sorry. It’s… It’s just a really, really long story. I actually don’t know how I’d tell-“

“Daddy!” Violet sobbed and before Simon could comprehend it, the teenager had her arms wrapped around him as much as she could with his size and body armor. 

The shock in his eyes softened with her continued sobbing. It struck him in his heart. All the walls he’d built since before joining the Task Force began to crumble. Piece by piece, chunks began to disintegrate. His own eyes burned with tears that hadn’t fallen in years. It was almost a relief when they did start to fall. They dropped onto Violet’s shoulder and rolled down her back. 

Simon didn’t know how long they held onto each other for. Hours or days could pass but he would rather still be in the newfound embrace of his daughter. Violet had settled into soft sniffles and little hiccups, eventually falling asleep in his lap. His own tears had dried, for now, leaving streaks down his cheeks. For a moment, it felt peaceful despite the chaos several floors down and a few streets away. His arms tightened around Violet. He wasn’t sure if he could ever let her go… 

His eyes staring off into the wall flashed to the door when it was pushed open. And there she was. 

~~~~~

Dr. Riley sighed as the sound of the EKG flatlining continued. They had initially brought the patient back from cardiac arrest and proceeded with the surgery. However, in the last fifteen minutes he began to show signs of another cardiac episode. The nurses and she had tried their best but unfortunately the patient’s wounds were too much for his body to handle. 

Pulling off her bloody gloves and dumping them into the hazardous waste disposal, she told the nurses to take a breather since they’d been going at it for hours by that point. Hell, her shift had long been over when her daughter and son had arrived but she had stayed. She couldn’t bear leaving while knowing that many people were suffering. She’d seen over a dozen patients when the casualties started pouring in, almost tripling her patient count for the day. 

A quick change of clothes in a designated room and she was walking back to her office. Eerily, the floor her office was on was quiet. There were other busy wards here but the chaos was concentrated downstairs. She heard her crocs squeak on the polished floors. It used to make her blush at the loudness of the sound but now she couldn’t give a fuck. Her patients needed her, damnit!  As if a squeaky shoe would hold her back from reaching her patients on time just because she was embarrassed by the sounds. 

Reaching the door to her office, she noticed that the light was on letting her know that Violet had made it in one piece. 

“Hey, Violet, are you hungry-!” Her eyes widened in mild confusion and concern at what she saw, before glaring slightly. “What the fuck?!”

Her Violet was in the arms of a strange grown man, she been crying, clearly as they stained her cheeks. She nearly lost her top and yelled more before focusing on the man’s features. 

It was like seeing a ghost. 

He said something but it was like cotton balls were stuffed into her ears. Whatever it was she probably needed to see an otolaryngologist. She felt something fall down her face and along her neck and into her clean scrubs. Her vision blurred. She wasn’t sure if it was from tears building up or her body moving quickly in their direction. 

~~~~~

Simon called for her by name. He hadn’t said it in a very long time. It honestly hurt him to. After all, he had left her alone and with his children no less, although he hadn’t known. He’d spent some time thinking about it while holding onto Violet. If he would have stayed had she been able to tell him about them. He would like to think that, yes, he would have stayed, but Simon wasn’t sure if his own insecurities and trauma related to his abusive father would push him from wanting to claim such a responsibility. 

She stared blankly at him. Her dull and tired eyes worried him. He knew she’d had a long and hard day. Simon missed the shine in her eyes from long ago. He was starting to feel strange with her gawking. He shifted in his seat as softly as he could to not disturb Violet. 

The movement seemed to awaken her and gave her the strength to move closer to him. But her knees weakened and Simon had to outstretch an arm in order to catch her. A loud sob fell from her lips. Slightly chapped due to lack of time to care for them that day. The jerkiness of his movement woke up Violet and when she saw her crying mother in the arm of her dad, her tears renewed. 

“Mom!” She tasted salt. The words were taken from her. 

Simon pulled her up into his lap too, before tightening his arms around both of them. Both of his girl’s hands were clutching him equally as tight. They were all breathing heavily and their bodies shook with each sob, with each inhale and exhale. Simon rested his head against theirs. Fingers tangled in their hair. 

After they all calmed down a bit, Simon began to explain what happened all those years ago. What happened to his family, why he left, and that if he had known that he was going to be a parent that he would have taken the time to think things more carefully before doing anything drastic. 

She raised her hand against his stubbled cheek. “It’s not your fault, Simon. I should have told you about the pregnancy sooner. I-I just wanted to surprise you when you came home, but…” 

He knew the ‘but,’ he never came home. Only a news article about a whole family dying in a house fire. Dog tags left to be found hours later. His only living ‘relative’ was his father. 

He needed to stop thinking about his father, who he believes may or may not still be around. But those fears of being like him as an adult presented as usual. It was a constant struggle to let those feelings go. Feelings of inadequacy surfaced and since his face wasn’t covered as usual, it was easier to see by his frown and furrowed brow. 

She recognized that look on his face despite the many years apart. She held his face in her palm. He leaned into it, his own hand coming up to hold hers closer to him. The look in her eyes told him all the reassurances that he craved. 

Violet watched all this in awe. Never would she have thought that she’d be witness to the love between her mother and father. She tucked herself closer to her father’s chest. Violet had grown even more tired after the attack and the crying. Her eyes drooped and a sigh left her lips as she fell asleep. Simon’s arm subconsciously pulled her closer. 

It felt like hours but only thirty minutes had passed before Dr. Riley got restless. She tapped Simon on the shoulder. 

“I should go check if there are any updates on Tommy.” She said and Simon, reluctantly, let her go. “I’ll come back if there’s any news. And I’ll bring you both something to eat. Surprisingly, the cafeteria has a decent sandwich selection.”

Ghost nodded and readjusted his grip on Violet to hold her with both arms. 

“I can have a cot brought in if you want?” She looked lovingly between the two. A soft smile tugged at her lips. 

“Ah… I think I’m fine, for now at least.” His pale cheeks flushed. He just couldn’t let his little girl go. Especially not when she’s sleeping so peacefully in his arms. 

She nodded and left the room. 

During that time, his phone had buzzed and a text from Price glowed back at him. He texted that he had the next few days off and to not come in to work for any reason other than emergencies. 

Simon texted back a simple, “Okay.”

~~~

Dr. Riley returned with food in paper bags and good news. Tommy was in post-op and was being moved to a private room soon. She told Simon that she could take them there. So, Simon stood with Violet in his arms, who surprisingly has not been awoken by the move. His arms were under her knees and back. 

They had arrived before Tommy so Simon took the time to survey the room. It was rather large with a couch on each side of the room. His love told him that they pulled out into beds if they wanted to use them. Simon lowered Violet onto the blue couch, resting her head on the pillow and covering her with the provided gray hospital blanket. 

Thirty minutes later and Tommy was rolled in by a team of nurses. The principle doctor residing over his care began to explain the next steps in Tommy’s recovery. It felt like a lot but Simon was intimately familiar to the process due to his own previous injuries. 

Afterwards, his love was finally able to rest so she sat next to him on the other blue couch. There was distance between them and Simon couldn’t get his body to melt into the soft couch. He could feel her glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. He spied her hand inching towards his. His eyes looked and then looked away. He argued with himself to just grab hers. He finally said ‘fuck it all’ and just wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her whole body closer. 

A soft squeak escaped her lips. He buried his face into her hair and breathed in deeply. It still smelled like her shampoo. She melted into his embrace. 

“Simon?” He hummed. “I don’t know how, but, thank you.”

He looked her in those eyes that kept him awake at night. “Of course.” 

~~~

Two days later… 

~~~

Bleary brown eyes fluttered open. He took several moments to blink away the crust on his eyes. The blindly white room was dark with only a soft amber lamp glowing in the far corner. He felt like his body was stuck to what he was laying on. He looked down and saw white sheets. 

A flash of dark movement caught his eye from one of the pull out beds, fully stretched out and occupied. He shifted his stiff neck to see who or what it was. 

He saw his own eyes. 

Maybe he was dead. After all, he swore he saw his father sitting there by his mother. He tried his hardest but the sedatives won the battle. His tired eyes blinked slowly before finally closing. His breath evening out in slumber. 

Wide brown eyes stared at the monitor. Only relaxing when the machine kept beeping at a constant rate. Then, Simon laid back down and clutched her closer. She sighed and moved closer to him. And damn was he happy in that moment. 

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