#IGNORE HOW THE BLOOD IS NOT FOLLOWING GRAVITY

[smilesrobotlover]

Whumptober day 5- Secrets Reveal

Alright buckle up folks this one is a wild ride. It’s a bit longer and not suuuuper well written but hey, I hope the action isn’t clunky 😭 action is HARD

Warnings: blood, control, walking off a cliff, injury, idk it’s a dark one😭

~~~~

The ruins were a maze. There were some open areas with broken walls scattered about, but there were also labyrinths of walls that led into different rooms or to cliff sides that almost killed Leon. He and Linebeck tried desperately to find Rusl and Kass, but no matter how much they called or how much they searched the area, there was no sign of them. Leon was getting more and more worried for them, not knowing if they were being attacked now or if they were dead, but he prayed it wasn’t the latter. When they ran into yet another dead end, Leon groaned, smacking the brick with his hand in frustration.

“This is taking too long!” He turned to Linebeck. ��Boost me up the wall, I need a better view.”

Linebeck nodded and put his hands together, kneeling to the ground so Leon could climb on. Leon was boosted up to the top of the broken wall, and he scrambled over it so he could stand on his feet. The walls were thick, so he didn’t have to balance too much, but the snow was slick, so he couldn’t be careless. He kneeled and planted his feet the best he could, reaching for Linebeck’s hand.

“Uh, I think I’ll just stay down here,” he muttered, not taking Leon’s hand.

“I’m not leaving you alone, now get up here!” Leon commanded, and Linebeck sighed, taking his hand and crawling up the wall. The man clearly did not like being on top of the tall walls, and his legs shook as he followed Leon along the wall. It was nice being able to see above the ruins, but he couldn’t catch sight of Rusl’s green scarf or Kass’s blue feathers. He treaded carefully, being sure to make sure the steps in front of him didn’t send him slipping off onto the ground, but he did try to move as quickly as he was able. Linebeck suddenly grabbed onto him, nearly causing him to lose balance.

“Linebeck!” He scolded, pulling away from the man.

“Sorry, I slipped and almost died,” he explained, his voice shaky.

“Well don’t grab onto me or else we’ll both fall!”

“I had to hang onto something!”

Leon rolled his eyes and continued. “You won’t die if you fall, it’s not that high up. Honestly you need to toughen up. It’ll be hard to fall anyw—“

Leon’s foot slipped underneath him, and he gasped as he fell on his back and toppled over onto the snowy ground. The landing wasn’t painful in the snow, but his back ached from where it hit the wall. He sat up, rubbing his spine to alleviate the pain while Linebeck stared at him. Leon looked up, giving him a threatening look.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” he warned, but Linebeck finally snorted, covering his mouth as he laughed at Leon.

“Oh, it’ll be hard to fall, huh?” He taunted, continuing to chuckle while Leon dusted snow out of his hair.

“Quiet before I knock you over!” Leon threatened, but as usual with his threats, they were empty. Leon stood and reached his hand up. “Help me.”

Linebeck sighed and kneeled carefully on the wall, reaching only for him to pull back to readjust his legs.

“Linebeck, what are you doing?” Leon exasperated.

“I’m just trying to make sure I don’t fall over when I help you up!” He defended, continuing to readjust himself. Leon groaned and looked behind him, where he was barely able to see a green scarf disappear behind a wall. He gasped and pulled away just as Linebeck reached out once again.

“Rusl!” He shouted, but the man didn’t respond. Leon turned to Linebeck and gestured for him to get on the ground. “Get down here, hurry!”

“O-ok,” Linebeck muttered, shakily and slowly crawling down the wall. Leon rolled his eyes and grabbed onto his coat, pulling him down so he’d fall onto the soft snow. Linebeck yelped as he fell, and he gave Leon a dirty look when he sat up, but the man ignored it and instead dragged the sailor to where he saw Rusl. He was afraid that Rusl didn’t hear him with his small ears, and that he would lose him in this labyrinth, but to his relief, he found Rusl in a yard area near a cliffside. Rusl was standing, staring at the view in front of him which was odd, but Rusl was an odd man, so Leon ignored the behavior out of his mind and jogged up to him.

“Thank the goddesses I found you,” Leon said, just a few feet behind him. “Where’s Kass?”

Rusl didn’t respond, he just kept staring. Leon squinted his eyes and gave Linebeck a look, stopping him from stepping closer.

“Rusl, what’s going on?” Leon pressed, stepping more cautiously towards him. He reached his hand out to rest on his shoulders, but as soon as he touched him, Rusl spun around, the blade of his sword missing him by a hair as Leon jumped back. A gasp was heard from Linebeck, and Leon drew his own sword, barely able to block Rusl’s attacks.

“Rusl! What the heck man!” Linebeck shouted, and Leon kicked his friend away, jumping in front of the sailor.

“This has to be the puppeteer’s work,” he said, holding his sword against Rusl who stared at him with a hostile look. It gave him chills, but he knew that it couldn’t be the real Rusl. The puppeteer always had puppets that he would use against them. Several times copies of his friends or others would attack him, but the puppets were always weak. One kick or stab and they would melt into the clay they were made out of. It really wasn’t a threat to them, but it didn’t make it any less disturbing seeing his kind-hearted friend look at him with hatred and bloodlust in his eyes. Leon glanced back at Linebeck, pushing him back further behind him.

“I’ll take care of this,” he explained, “stay back and stay safe.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Linebeck muttered, and rushed back behind a wall. Leon returned his attention to the puppet, who was pacing back and forth. He only hoped the real Rusl was somewhere safe.

As soon as Leon was ready to fight, puppet Rusl charged at him, once again swinging his sword at him. Leon dodged and swung his own sword, which was quickly blocked. The two clashed weapons together, sparks flying and ears ringing from the high pitched sound of metal scraping against each other. It was difficult to get the upper hand; puppet Rusl would swing his sword, Leon would block, and then he would try to land a hit, only for him to block it as well. Leon would try to get an opening large enough for him to throw a punch or kick, since puppets tend to fall apart from that type of force, but puppet Rusl would recover quickly enough to stop him from trying. While trying to land a hit with an opening, puppet Rusl almost lobbed off his head, and Leon growled as he swung his leg to trip puppet Rusl. He landed in the snow and Leon scrambled to his feet to finish him once and for all, but he once again recovered quickly, rolling out of Leon’s reach. Losing his patience, Leon ran up to him, kicking him as quickly as he could, which he was finally successful in doing. Puppet Rusl grunted against the impact, and while he was distracted, Leon swung his sword. The puppet dodged, but the tip of Leon’s sword grazed his cheek, and he toppled back from the hit.

Leon let out a satisfied huff, glancing at his sword. But where he was expecting the strange goop the puppets were made out of, he saw blood, dripping off the tip and landing in the snow, staining it red. Wait…

Dread clenched Leon’s throat as he stared in horror. Puppets weren’t supposed to bleed. He glanced up only to see Rusl grinning at him, blood pouring from the cut on his cheek.

“Why so surprised?” He asked in a mocking tone, stepping up and punching him hard in the face. Leon fell back, staring at his friend who now walked confidently. Confident to know that they weren’t fighting to the death anymore… or… at least Leon wasn’t. This wasn’t a puppet made to look like Rusl, it was Rusl who was the puppet.

“You—“ Leon snarled, anger towards the puppeteer stronger than ever. “How dare you use him like that!”

Rusl grinned, swinging his sword at Leon who dodged. It was like that for a while, with Rusl attacking while Leon dodged, terrified of raising his sword at his friend. He didn’t know what to do. How was he going to break the puppeteer’s grasp on Rusl? How was he going to keep himself from getting killed without hurting Rusl? When Rusl sliced his cheek, Leon ran back, taking cover where Linebeck sat anxiously.

“What the heck is happening?” Linebeck asked, and Leon let out a huff, trying to clear his head.

“The-the puppeteer is controlling him!” He explained, moving Linebeck as they ran from possessed Rusl.

“He can do that?”

“Yes… I… I don’t know what to do.”

A rock was thrown in their direction, and Leon ducked down with Linebeck following.

“We need to go after the puppeteer if he’s the one controlling him,” Linebeck suggested. Leon nodded, pulling the man behind a wall and grabbing both his arms to look him in the eyes.

“It’s the only way, but I want you to stay here out of sight. I’m going to try to lead him away from you and find the puppeteer—“

“You can’t go off on your own! What are you, stupid?” Linebeck protested, stepping away from the wall, but Leon held him back.

“I’m not risking you getting hurt, now stay right here and—“

Linebeck suddenly grabbed Leon and pulled both of them away as Rusl appeared behind him, swinging his sword at them. The metallic shriek of his sword hitting the brick wall rang out, and the two fell onto the snow. Leon scrambled to get on top of Linebeck, just in time to block the attacks raining onto them. As soon as Rusl left an opening, Leon lunged, latching onto the man in an attempt to tackle him to the ground, but Rusl was stubborn and remained on his feet. They wrestled for a moment before Rusl pulled his arm away, stabbing his sword at Leon. There was a slight, sharp pain in his side, but Leon ignored it as he grabbed Rusl’s sword arm and pulled him close. In one motion, he tilted his sword so his hilt was facing Rusl, and he slammed it into his abdomen. It was a trick that he learned that could knock out his opponent for several minutes, and he prayed that it would work on Rusl so he’d stop attacking.

Rusl stumbled back, his eyes blinking furiously and he stared dazed at the ground, but soon his body lurched towards Leon, continuing his attacks. It was clear that Rusl was unconscious from the move, but the puppeteer still had control of his body, with the attacks more vicious than before. Had Rusl been holding back the entire time? Did Leon just make things worse trying to knock out his friend? He gasped and cursed as he nearly had his head lobbed off again, trying to keep up with the flurry of attacks aimed at him. It was difficult to keep up with, and he let out a yell as his foot caught on a rock, sending him to the ground. He couldn’t react in time as he watched Rusl raise his sword, his eyes still dazed, and he flinched as it was swung down.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Leon looked up to see Linebeck grabbing hold of Rusl, stopping his attack and pulling him away. Rusl squirmed violently in his hold, his arms swinging around in an attempt to grab at Linebeck, but he remained firm and kept him off the ground. Leon scrambled to his feet just as Rusl elbowed Linebeck’s face, causing him to finally be dropped. He was about to stab Linebeck before Leon wrapped his arms around him, the two men trying to contain Rusl. Finally, he broke free, staggering back and panting heavily as he glared at Leon and Linebeck. Leon had his sword drawn, protecting himself and Linebeck.

“Get out of my friend’s head,” Leon said in a dark voice, stepping closer to him, which caused Rusl to step back. This time, Rusl ran with Leon following, and they found each other in an open area by a cliffside. Rusl continued to pant, his body clearly pushed past its limits. His eyes were empty, but a hint of defeat and anger rested in his expression as he watched Leon like a cornered animal. In one last attempt of victory, he charged at Leon, swinging his sword down on his head, which Leon blocked easily. He twisted his sword around and sent Rusl’s sword flying out of his hands, and he was finally unarmed. Linebeck ran to the discarded sword and picked it up, standing defensively. Rusl quickly backed up, looking around desperately, until he let out a defeated sigh.

“I can’t kill you with him as my weapon,” he muttered, standing up straight. Leon brought his sword up again, expecting another attack. “But I can kill him.”

He was too far for Leon to reach as he stepped backwards, letting himself fall off the edge of the cliffside.

“NO!” Leon screamed as he sprinted to catch him, but it was too late. He could only watch, his stomach plummeting as Rusl fell out of his view, falling to the snowy ground below.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hallway Kass was walking through was drastically different from the rest of the ruins. The inside was perfectly intact with it leading to several different rooms, the torches were lit up giving out a soft orange glow, and it was generally clean. Kass looked in every room, but the puppeteer wasn’t anywhere, and he was beginning to question if he actually saw the man walk in here or not. But he heard a voice that spoke a few times that proved to Kass that he wasn’t alone, and he followed to where he heard it. Kass didn’t have the good hearing Hylians had, but the talking was able to lead him to a small closet under the stairs. Kass opened it as softly as he could, spotting the puppeteer who had his back turned to Kass, hunched over a blue light coming from his hands. He was breathing heavily, with a few grunts coming from him, and he didn’t seem to hear Kass walking carefully towards him. Kass picked up a rock, his heart pounding against his chest as he hesitated near the puppeteer. He could kill him here and now…. But….

Kass was always a pacifist. He wanted to play music, not to fight; he wanted to sing for his family, not to shoot a bow. But he couldn’t let the puppeteer go, he couldn’t let him continue torturing the men and the Links. Kass sucked in a breath and raised the rock, looking away as he swung it down on the puppeteer’s head. He let out a grunt as he tumbled to the ground, the light from his hands disappearing. Kass backed up from the puppeteer as he scrambled to his feet, rubbing his head painfully. His one-eyed mask glanced up at Kass, staring almost as if he were in shock from what he did to him.

“Y-you—where did—augh!” The puppeteer held his head where he was hit, pressing himself up against the wall. Kass glared at him and used his height to his advantage, trying to intimidate the man.

“You attacked us first!”

The puppeteer stared at him, clearly shocked, but he scrambled to his feet, standing in a defensive position despite clearly being disoriented.

“And what was your plan?” He asked cooly.

“Where are the Links?”

“Clearly not here.”

Kass glared, stepping closer. “Why did you attack me?”

The puppeteer cocked his head to the side.

“You’re just full of questions, aren’t you?”

Kass frowned, not knowing how to respond to such a strange comment. The puppeteer shook his head, sliding on the wall.

“I wasn’t expecting such a…violent action from you,” he started, before letting out a dark chuckle. “It was a valiant effort, but… you were too late.”

Kass’s eyes widened when the puppeteer suddenly lunged at him, a knife in his hand. He let out a yelp as he fell, and he brought his talons out and scratched at his face. His claws landed a hit on the puppeteer’s face, tearing his mask and chunks of skin off, causing the man to cry out in pain. The puppeteer fell off of him and quickly collected his mask before disappearing in a puff of smoke, leaving Kass alone. He scrambled to his talons and bolted out of the ruins, the puppeteer’s words echoing through his mind.

You were too late.

Too late? Too late for what? He took flight as soon as he went outside, ignoring the pain in his left wing. In the air, he searched the area, trying to find the others as quickly as he could, and to his dismay, he found them.

All of them at the base of a cliff side, with one laying on his back.

No.

Kass landed next to them, his breathing heavy as he stared at Leon hunched over Rusl. No, no no no…

“Wh-what happened?” He asked frantically, his voice already breaking. Leon barely acknowledged him, his face blank as he checked Rusl’s pulse, but Linebeck turned to the Rito, his face pale.

“Th-the puppeteer was controlling him and… he—he threw Rusl off the cliff and—“

Linebeck’s breath hitched, and Kass’s eyes widened. He was too late.

“He’s… is he…?”

“He’s not dead,” Leon said simply, checking over the rest of Rusl’s body. Kass let out a sigh of relief, noticing Rusl’s shallow breathing, though it hurt to hear him struggle to breath. “He’s terribly injured though. The snow cushioned his fall, but not enough.”

Leon rested back on his feet, not taking his eyes off his friend. It grew uncomfortably silent, the only sound being Rusl taking in rattling breaths. His ribs must’ve been broken.

“What do we do?” Linebeck asked, kneeling next to Leon, and he let out a breath.

“We… I…” Leon frowned as he tried to think of something, but he took in a deep breath, then let it out, then sucked in another one, letting it free after a few seconds. He did that for a moment with Kass and Linebeck watching him, and he finally stopped, his eyes on Kass.

“We need to get him down to Talon, but it’s too risky to carry him in such a state,” he began to explain, “his neck could be broken, so… Kass… if I could make a stretcher that you could carry so you could fly him down the mountain—“

“Of course, I can do that,” Kass jumped in, ignoring his aching wing. It wasn’t broken, and he could easily glide down the mountain if it meant saving his friend. Leon nodded and hunched over Rusl again, whose eyes were fluttering open.

“You stay alive, you hear me?” He ordered, and Rusl blinked a few times before closing them, Kass assuming that it was a nod. Leon got up and gestured for Kass to help him, and with Linebeck keeping an eye on Rusl, the two searched the ruins for rope and planks. Fortunately it wasn’t too difficult to find, and Leon built a sturdy stretcher with rope attached to a branch that Kass could hang onto. With enough wiggling to make sure it wouldn’t fall apart, the two returned to Linebeck and Rusl. Linebeck was cradling his neck, the two shivering as the sun dropped behind the mountains.

“Help me put him on there,” Leon muttered, setting the stretcher down and grabbing Rusl’s legs. Kass helped lift him up while Linebeck continued to cradle his neck, but Rusl still hissed in pain. Leon took off his scarf and wrapped it around Rusl’s neck when he was set down, his eyes open again but looking glassy as he stared at the sky. The scarf was packed firmly to keep his neck from moving, and Leon took off his coat as well to tuck around the shivering man.

“Woah woah, Leon, what are you doing?” Linebeck cut in, but Leon ignored him as he began to wrap rope around Rusl to keep him secure to the stretcher. Linebeck put his hand on Leon to get his attention. “You’re gonna get hypothermia without your coat!”

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off of his work. Finally, he tied ropes around the stretcher so that it would be even when lifted off, and he grabbed the end for Kass to hang onto with his talons. “Be careful with him.”

Kass nodded as he grabbed the end, but frowned at the two. “What about you guys? I can't leave you stranded on the mountain.”

“We’ll be fine,” Leon reassured, “but Rusl needs help now. Please just… make sure he’s ok.”

Kass was hesitant, but he knew realistically that he couldn’t carry all of them with Rusl severely injured, even with a wing that didn’t hurt. He stood up, taking to the skies as gently as possible, with Leon and Linebeck helping him keep Rusl steady. Soon, he was high up in the sky, gliding carefully down the mountain, with Leon and Linebeck growing smaller and smaller until they were but little dark spots on the white snow.

[lvmimis]

cw: fluff? reader has described magic.

“It should have been Eva, you know.”

Nero is almost surprised by the sound of your voice, piping up suddenly after nearly a half hour of silence, where you followed him close as he trudged forward despite the fact that you are supposed to lead, as you are the one with the sought after ability.

Now that you’ve made it through the corridors that lead to the underground lab, the two of you have paused, separating even further as you wandered off to peruse the ruins and he found himself unsure of what to do next. Nero had possibly resigned himself not to speak until you did, perhaps still smarted by your irritation with him (only partially fabricated), and found himself perched against a wall, waiting for… he’s not sure what exactly. But right now, he’s not much more than a bodyguard, and you seemed to need a few more moments before deciding how to best approach the task at hand.

So when you spoke suddenly, he found his heart skipping a beat

He didn’t expect you to bring up his grandmother.

Hearing her name, in this new context, is often still so discombobulating to him. When he thinks of family, he thinks of Kyrie, of Credo, of his adoptive parents - lately of Dante.

Yet it’s hard for him to think of Eva in anything more than a somewhat religious feature, and even in that setting, she’s shrouded in mystery. 

But Eva is Dante’s mother, and his grandmother, and Eva’s blood runs through him, with just as much gravity as Sparda does. The bulk of his humanity springs forth first from her.

“What about her?” he asks, gruffly. He pretends no longer to be interested in anything you say, but the truth is, for some odd reason, he’s always liked the sound of your voice. Ever since you first addressed him years ago - there’s something in your eyes and the way your lips move and the way your voice rises and falls and rushes too quickly, sometimes too slow, as if the thoughts in your head and the twists of your tongue are never exactly in sync. He finds himself wondering what you’ll say next, if only it could be kind when it came to him.

When he tosses his head in your direction, you’re not returning his glance at all - rather, your fingers are lightly tracing a dusty textbook. He wouldn’t know it just by looking but you’re looking for a trace of demon or angel influence, the aura of those primordial beings far too powerful to fade or ignore. You’re not as gifted a sensor as your mentor, and will never be, but she’s taught you a few tricks that can help sometimes.

There’s nothing there. You continue to muse.

“We worshipped Sparda like a god, but it should have been Eva. Eva is who reached out her hand first.”

Nero watches you as you smile to yourself, then look around the room. You’ve lost interest in the book, and now are prodding at a few clumps of rubble with the tip of your boot. 

He’s not here to waste time.

Nero pushes off from his leaned position against the wall to stand, but you speak again and unwittingly he stops in his tracks.

“I wonder if when she first met him she was afraid.”

Nero feels like the appropriate thing to do is to roll his eyes and tell you to hurry up, but he’s curious too for a moment. He was raised to hate demons, he feared being found out as anything close to one for so long, but Eva must have immediately sought humanity in Sparda who was nothing but that. A demon.

“It probably doesn’t matter either way,” he points out. You look at him, but instead you’re smiling instead of scowling, a dreamy look in your eye. “It didn’t stop her from…” he pauses. “You know.” He gestures vaguely with a turn of his hand.

You laugh, and he’s actually surprised that you found him funny.

“That’s true. But the reason why I think it should have been her is because her love is what led to the very salvation we prayed for.”

Nero watches you. He’s surprised you can even talk about love fondly.

“Love that humanizes,” you murmur in continuation.

How has he ended up in a room with a woman who hates him, now proselytizing about love?

Nero runs his hand through his snowy hair, visibly frustrated. “Do you want to hurry up and find this portal or…?”

He looks at you and you’ve stopped smiling, a faraway look in your eye.

“I suppose ___ is Dante’s Eva,” you murmur. You’ve started to move, and you’re now looking again, on task.

Nero moves a little closer, deciding somehow if he helps you along, you’ll be able to leave quicker. “I can see that,” he admits. 

“And your Eva would be Kyrie,” you say and he pauses.

That’s not- he wants to say, but he doesn’t really know how to argue for or against. He loves Kyrie. She’s the most important woman in his life, without question. You look at him for a little bit too long, and he can feel an uneasiness in his chest, a pressure building he cannot so easily disperse.

“Maybe,” he decides. Cutting his losses with an unnecessarily uncertain answer.

Admitting that his childhood friend he loves dearly has that sort of immense pull over him feels suddenly uncomfortable to do in your presence. Sparda turned against his own kin for Eva. Nero would do anything for Kyrie, he’s sure of it. But as he looks back at you, he feels as though the confirmation cannot come out of his mouth, not at this very instant. 

You’re looking away from him again, and he hates that.

Why oh why does your lack of attention upset him so?

“I’ve dreamt of having my own Sparda,” you muse. Your hand passes against a sunken bookshelf, then lingers. The portal must be here.

“Does my grandfather have to be involved in your romantic fantasies?” Nero tries desperately to crack a joke, but it falls flat. His ears grow hot as you look at him suddenly, your face blank.

“You’re right, maybe I need a different way to describe it.” You say, simply, even though he expects you to get upset, to retaliate and receives nothing of the sort in return.

If this room suddenly became overrun with demons, Nero could hack and slash his way out easily. But it’s just you, and thus, he has to live with the warm sensation creeping up his neck. 

You sigh. “I’ll shut up.”

“I wasn’t asking you to.” Nero says but he trails off. 

You laugh to yourself. “I’m talking to you like you’re one of my girlfriends. I must be bored.”

You place your hand on the glowing center of the portal you’ve located. Your eyes close, and you feel warmth on the runes tattooed onto your wrists.

“I don’t have to be one of your girlfriends, but I can be a friend.”

Magic glows from your wrist to your palm as you concentrate. Your eyes furrow, squeezed shut tight as you concentrate.

The way you use magic, the way you pour yourself into it, is not unlike Kyrie’s singing, Nero thinks. For a moment, he wonders if you are able to sing, if you’ve ever tried to carry a tune. 

The portal closes, and your eyes shoot open. Nero quickly finds something else to look at.

“I think we’re done,” you murmur. There’s a softness to your lids that suggests fatigue, but you’re still steady on your feet. Slower to move, and Nero wonders how he could offer you a lean on his shoulder. Carrying you would not be hard, but he knows you would object to being so close to him.

You don’t talk anymore. Not about Eva and Sparda, or about Dante and your mentor, or about him or Kyrie, or your version of Sparda that you haven’t met yet -

Someone who you’d be allowed to love so much it would be a sanctifying force.

“Hey.” Nero takes a few quick steps to overtake your fast pace and step a little ahead of you, not unlike earlier.

“Walk slower, okay?” He shakes his head, as if annoyed. “And stay close, there could still be demons prowling.”

You’re too exhausted from using your magic to argue with him.

“Sure.”

He walks slower deliberately but as he anticipated, it doesn’t take long for you to suddenly find yourself lightheaded.

“I… I don’t think I can…” Your head spins. By the time he turns, you’ve already fallen into his arms and he’s just in time, ready to catch you.

—

Your weight is different in his arms than Kyrie’s is, the distribution less familiar. You smell different, like something it feels too sinful of him to parse out and describe, and even the soft way you snore, fast asleep almost instantly, is different. It occurs to Nero that he hasn’t held very many people in his life, not like this.

You’re easy to carry, physical strength aside, and in just moments, he has almost forgotten that he’s holding you when his mind wanders.

How did Sparda know Eva was the one? Had he ever loved anyone else? Had he loved before? 

If only you had spared him all the romance talk, it wouldn’t make this situation so very awkward. Kyrie would kill him if he saw the way he holds you right now, like a princess, carefully, tenderly. Perhaps he could shift you so that you’re no more special than a backpack.

But that feels wrong and untrue.

He doesn’t know when this desire for you to like him came to be, but he can’t shake it. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s something that you aren’t allowing him to know, that you are supposed to mean more to each other than this strained relationship. Otherwise, why do you feel at home cradled in his arms?

Eva probably never saw Sparda as a threat from the very first time she laid eyes on him. She loved him from the start. And Sparda always protected her and the home and the city she loved.

Their love was easy and natural, not a single obstacle in their way. No false starts or missteps or bickering back and forth.

Yet, despite all that, where are either of them now?

Nero doesn’t realize he’s close to the front of the castle until Dante is raising his eyebrow at him.

“So what were you two up to?”

The uptick in his voice is playful and Nero ignores it.

If he’s carried you today, he should remember to carry Kyrie twice as long. Your mentor rushes quickly to check on you, relieved that you’re still bleeding and believing Nero’s account that you’re just fatigued.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” she offers.

Nero shrugs.

“Does this happen often?”

“Not as much as you’d expect.”

—

The car ride back is shorter than Nero wants. You rest your head precariously on Nero’s shoulder, rising only once to look in his eyes without recognition. His heart pounds until you place it again and fall back asleep.

Did Sparda get butterflies?

When you murmur thank you ten minutes later, he is sure he did.

[unwantedmem0ries]

something to prove

Rick Grimes x Fem!reader MDNI (18+) mentions of cheating, sexual tension, age gap, cliffhanger pt 2 coming soon! wc: 2.3k join my taglist

You panted and heaved, every breath tearing through your lungs like fire, your chest rising and falling in quick succession. Sweat beaded on your brow, dripping into your eyes, but you didn’t wipe it away. You couldn’t take your eyes off the walker’s body—lifeless, mangled, your knife still dripping as your grip tightened around the hilt. The world around you slowed, the buzz of adrenaline making everything else feel like static. The heavy silence that followed the kill was almost louder than the walker’s snarls had been.

Rick stood a few feet away, eyes locked on you, lips slightly parted in awe. There was something in his expression—something that almost made you forget where you were. Something that stirred the fire already smoldering in your chest.

Then came the sound of hurried footsteps—Alexandrians rushing toward you, concern etched on their faces. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The air was thick with tension, with the aftershocks of violence, and every pair of eyes had landed on you.

“You uh… alright?” Spencer’s voice broke through the haze. You turned slightly, catching his anxious gaze as he slowed to a stop beside you.

“Mhm,” you mumbled, still staring at the walker's crumpled form like it might reanimate.

Spencer reached out, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to your cheek. His hand found your arm, thumb brushing gently over your skin. “Baby…” he said, voice low with worry. He leaned in, trying to meet your eyes. “You don’t seem okay.”

You finally looked at him, just briefly, and offered a tight smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine.”

But you weren’t. Not really. Not when your pulse was still racing—not from the kill, but from him. Rick.

You could feel his eyes on you still. Watching. Assessing. Admiring?

You brushed Spencer’s hand off gently. Not now. Not when every nerve in your body was screaming from the electricity of Rick’s gaze. You loved Spencer—or you thought you did—but it was complicated now. Ever since Rick and his people arrived in Alexandria, things had changed. You had changed.

Rick was older. Wiser. Hardened by the world in a way that made him magnetic. Dangerous. He wasn’t like Spencer, who still clung to the comforts of what life used to be. Rick knew what it took to survive now. And God, something about that pulled you in like gravity. No matter how much you tried to ignore it, bury it, deny it—there it was. Festering. Twisting. Growing.

It made you push harder. Train longer. Fight better. You wanted to prove yourself—to him. Be seen by him. Be chosen by him. Even if it meant lying to yourself. Even if it meant betraying the man at your side.

You glanced back at Rick. His expression hadn’t changed. His eyes hadn’t left you.

And yours hadn’t stopped returning to him either. Later that day, the heat of Rick's gaze still lingered on your skin like a brand. No matter how much you tried to shake it, it clung to you—haunted you—in every breath, every glance in the mirror. You tried to distract yourself, but it was pointless. The way he looked at you back there… it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t passing. It was intentional.

The water in the shower poured over your body in soothing waves, washing away the blood and grime from earlier, but not the memory. Never the memory. The steam curled around you, warm and comforting, like a ghost of the life you used to know—one filled with safety, and boundaries, and choices that didn’t come with moral compromise.

You ran your fingers through your wet hair, your breathing slow and steady. For a moment, you let yourself forget the world outside. Forget the walkers. Forget Alexandria. Forget Spencer. Just breathe.

You stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel snugly around your curves, still drying your hair with a smaller one. You moved toward your room, each step soft, hesitant. But before you could cross the threshold—

You felt it again.

That weight. That pull.

Eyes on you.

Watching.

You turned your head slowly.

Rick.

He stood in the hallway just outside your door, one shoulder leaned against the frame like he hadn’t meant to intrude… but hadn’t stopped himself either. His expression was unreadable—somewhere between control and something much darker, deeper. His eyes didn’t drop to the towel. They didn’t need to. The way he looked at you—it was like he could see everything without even trying.

“Rick,” you breathed, the word slipping from your lips like an exhale. Was it relief? Worry? Desire? You weren’t even sure anymore.

He hummed, low and soft, as if acknowledging your voice was enough. As if that was all he needed to stay rooted where he stood.

You clutched the towel a little tighter around your chest, more out of instinct than modesty. Your voice came quieter now, almost uncertain. “Where’s Spencer?”

There it was—the name. A lifeline. A reminder. A pathetic attempt at control when you could already feel yourself unraveling in Rick’s presence.

He didn’t look away. His jaw tensed slightly before he spoke.

“Went on a run. Couple hours ago. Should be back soon.”

Your stomach twisted. Should be back soon.

So this wasn’t accidental. He came here knowing you were alone.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “If he walks in here right now, it’s not going to look—”

“I know,” Rick interrupted, voice rough but steady.

Silence stretched between you like a taut wire. Charged. Heavy. A thousand words unspoken, all wrapped up in the space between his stare and your hammering pulse.

You took a step back, your bare feet brushing against the edge of the rug.

He didn’t move.

You didn’t ask him to.

Because part of you—maybe the worst part of you—didn’t want him to.

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” you said, more to the floor than to him. “But it’s dangerous.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly, not in anger, but in intensity. “No. What you’re doing is dangerous,” he said quietly. “You fight like someone with something to prove. You look at me like I’m already yours.”

Your breath caught.

“And I don’t know if I hate it… or want it.”

That broke something in you. Cracked the armor you’d built to protect yourself, protect Spencer, protect whatever shred of normalcy you had left.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said firmly, but your voice had a tremble—one you hoped he didn’t notice.

He did.

Rick tilted his head slightly, and that smile—the one that didn’t quite reach his eyes—curled on his lips, dark and knowing. “You don’t?” he repeated, voice low and rough, like gravel and smoke. He licked his lips slowly, his eyes dragging over you like he was reading a page he already knew by heart.

Then, with no urgency—no hesitation—he stepped inside your room. His boots moved quietly against the floor, hands still tucked into the front pockets of his jeans like he was just some guy wandering into someone’s living room and not into enemy territory.

Except this wasn’t just someone’s room.

It was your room.

And you were standing in a towel.

Rick made himself comfortable—like he belonged there—sitting on the edge of your bed, legs slightly apart, elbows resting on his knees. He looked at you, really looked at you, with that storm brewing behind his eyes. Calm on the surface, but something feral just underneath.

Your breath hitched. Your head screamed for you to speak, to send him away before things spiraled. But your body… your body betrayed you.

Because it didn’t want him to leave.

“I should…” you began, but even you didn’t know how to finish that sentence. I should what? I should stop this? Should tell him to get out? Should cover myself up before I lose every last ounce of control?

Rick’s gaze flicked downward for a second, not to ogle, but to remind you of the power you had—wrapped in a thin towel, hair wet, skin flushed, still dripping from the heat of the shower.

“You know,” he said after a moment, voice like thunder before a storm, “for someone who doesn’t know what I’m talking about… you sure look like you’re listening.”

His words hit you like a match to gasoline. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, both to protect yourself and to keep your hands from trembling.

“You think you know everything, huh?” you shot back, trying to cling to whatever sliver of control you had left.

Rick leaned back slightly on his palms, eyes never leaving you. “No,” he said. “But I know what I see.”

“And what is it you think you see?” you challenged.

“I see a young, headstrong individual…” Rick’s voice was low, deliberate—each word carved from stone and shadow. “…who’d get on her knees for me in an instant, no matter how many people would hate her for it.”

Your breath caught violently in your throat, pupils dilating like a reflex, your heart slamming against your ribs. The vulgarity of it wasn’t what shocked you—it was how deeply, how shamefully right he was. His words slithered into your brain like a wicked spell, conjuring the image with a force you couldn’t suppress. Familiar. Intimate. Wrong.

But God, it was vivid.

He watched your face, smug satisfaction in the way his lips curved into a smile—not kind, not warm, but cruel in its precision. Rick Grimes wasn’t guessing. He knew.

“The thing I can’t figure out, though…” he murmured, pushing himself off the bed in one slow, fluid movement. You instinctively took a step back, but it was useless. He followed. “…is why you haven’t acted on it.”

His voice was steel now, the teasing edge replaced by something darker—something that made the air in the room feel thick, suffocating.

He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. Towering over you, his shadow swallowed the light, his eyes boring into yours like he could see everything—your fear, your guilt, your want.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. You were frozen in place, torn between survival instinct and the traitorous ache that bloomed low in your stomach.

Rick raised one hand slowly, deliberately, and reached for your face—not to touch, but to command. His fingers brushed a single strand of wet hair away from your cheek, his thumb ghosting across your skin with maddening tenderness.

The moment felt suspended in time. His touch was feather-light, but it crashed through you like a wrecking ball.

“Is it guilt?” he asked softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Is that what’s holding you back?”

You swallowed, your lips parting slightly, but still nothing came.

“Spencer?” he continued, with the faintest curl of disgust in his tone. “Or is it that you think I wouldn’t want you after?”

You flinched—because the question hit too close. Too deep.

He leaned in just slightly, voice a low whisper now, heavy and thick like molasses. “Let me clear that up for you.”

You braced for his lips, for the contact you were sure was coming, but it never arrived. Instead, he stopped just shy of touching you, letting the space between you two hum with unsaid words and impossible tension.

“I would,” he said, his breath warm against your cheek. “Again. And again.”

You inhaled sharply, a ragged breath that sounded too loud in the quiet of your room.

“So… since you want to prove yourself to me, sweetheart,” Rick said, voice a low growl laced with challenge, command, and heat, “Get on your knees.”

The room went still.

Your breath hitched, chest rising in shallow, quickened gasps. Your mouth parted slightly, stunned into silence. You searched his face, eyes wide and searching—desperately looking for a flicker of humor, some trace that this was a game, a joke, a line crossed for the sake of intimidation.

But no.

His eyes were steady.

His tone was serious.

And it was real.

Too real.

The air between you cracked like a live wire.

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering, and for a moment, time held its breath. Then, slowly—so slowly—you began to lower yourself. First to a crouch, then easing onto your knees before him. The carpet burned softly against your skin, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. Your thoughts were drowning under the weight of the moment.

But just as your knees hit the floor, Rick held up a hand.

“Nuh uh,” he murmured, shaking his head once, eyes dark and sharp. His gaze dropped—pointed, precise—toward the towel still wrapped around your body. “Take it off.”

A wicked grin curled on his lips, the kind that made your stomach flip and your spine shiver. He was enjoying this—enjoying you. The control. The unraveling.

You tilted your head, letting a smirk rise on your own lips now, matching his energy with a spark of bold defiance. Your fingers found the knot at your chest, and you pulled slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second of the moment.

The towel unraveled inch by inch, falling away like surrender itself, slipping from your fingers and pooling silently at your knees.

Your smirk deepened, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “This what you wanted, Rick?”

The moment the words left your lips, his eyes dropped. His breath hitched. His pupils dilated so fast it was dizzying, black consuming blue. His jaw tightened, his mouth parting ever so slightly, tongue darting to wet his lower lip as if his body was reacting before his brain could.

You saw it—the restraint slipping. The hunger rising. The storm he usually kept so well contained now crashing just beneath the surface.

He didn’t speak.

He couldn’t.

His eyes were glued to you like a starving man at a feast.

[echoes-of-a-dream]

blind instinct 0.2 | matt murdock

blind instinct masterlist | matt murdock masterlist

synopsis: when you find matt unconscious and bleeding out, your instinct is to take him to the e.r.: good instinct. when they won’t release information on his condition to anyone outside of kin, you lie and say you’re his wife: bad instinct. when matt wakes up from surgery with amnesia, believing when the doctors say you’re married, you play along to keep him safe: you don’t even know how to categorize that one.

amnesia | childhood best friends to lovers | marriage of convenience/fake marriage | slow burn | mutual pining | wc 1.6k

<- previous chapter

You don’t know how long it takes for the ambulance and police to arrive. You just know that suddenly you have lights on you, blinding you, hands gently pulling you away from Matt’s unconscious body. Someone is screaming as you clutch at your best friend.

It takes you a minute to realize that someone is you.

“No! No, please! Please let me see him!”

But your pleas go… not ignored, exactly. More unanswered. You’re led to another room, stepping over an unconscious person being tended to by paramedics before he’s taken to the hospital and then, hopefully, to prison. There’s two others—the one in the entryway, and one laying by the coffee table Matt broke through.

You hope they all rot.

The police set you down on the end of the bed, on Matt’s silk sheets, and all you can think is that you hope you don’t get blood on them. You vaguely recognize one of the officers, Mahoney, Foggy’s not-friend. 

“Alright, Miss…?” The one you don’t recognize begins. You give your name a little shakily, clenching and unclenching your hands in your skirt. A skirt you will never wear again, given how stained it is by Matt’s blood. “Can you start from the beginning?” 

So you do. You left, realized you left your purse, turned around, found Matt like that. No, you have no idea who the others are. Yes, it does appear convenient that you found him when you did—it must be God. Yes, you know Matt well; you grew up at the same orphanage. Did he have any enemies? His fame as a lawyer is from taking down the big bads no one else will touch because they’re too scared to, and he’s a defense attorney. It would be easier to name who doesn’t hate him. Yes, you understand the gravity of the situation, your best friend is bleeding out on his apartment floor. Yes, you’re sorry, you’re ready to return to the interview. No, he does not use, he gets overstimulated a lot and stays away from getting drunk, much more staying away from drugs. Yes, you will let them know if you remember anything else or recognize any of the men. 

When they release you, you’re immediately rushing towards the paramedics as they roll Matt out on a stretcher. “Matty? Is he alive?”

One of them steps away from the stretcher, stepping in between you and Matt. “We’re stabilizing him, ma’am. He is currently breathing, but he won’t be out of the woods until we can get him through surgery. Right now we need to get him to the hospital.” 

“Okay.” You try to follow, but the man steps in front of you, blocking you from doing so.

“No, ma’am, only kin can ride in the ambulance.” 

“I’m his wife.”

The words come out before you can think too hard about them. Later, you will berate yourself. You could have said sister. If they doubted (which would be entirely valid), you could say half-sister to explain away dissimilarities. If you wanted to go with romantic, hell, fiancé would be easier to lie about and harder to disprove. But no.

You went with the most obvious lie you could. Like an idiot.

Matt would laugh so hard if he knew.

The paramedic raises a brow. “Wife?” 

“Yes.” You’re digging yourself a deeper hole here. Again, like an idiot.

The man before you appears to be weighing the benefits versus downsides of pressing you about your claim and getting back to his job. The latter appears to outweigh the former as he sighs and steps aside. You’re immediately at Matt’s side, grabbing his hand and gripping it tightly as you half-speedwalk, half-awkward little run to maintain pace with the stretcher.

When asked about it later on, you don’t remember the ambulance ride. You had to release Matt’s hand and sit out of the way as the medics worked. All you remember is training your eyes on his chest, watching the shallow but present rise and fall of it. The proof, the reassurance that he’s alive. He’s still fighting. You force yourself to hope that he will win that fight. That he’ll live.

Come on, Matt. Come on. Come on.

It’s a prayer, every inhale and every exhale dedicated to pushing the thought towards him as if he can hear it. You will him to live with everything in you, will him to make it out, to make it back. To make it back to everyone who cares about him—you, Foggy, Karen, Sister Maggie, all the Defenders and Defenders-adjacent like Claire that he might complain about but that have become a second family to him.

You realize with a start that you need to text Foggy. You can trust Foggy to text the others; you don’t have the energy at the moment. Your hands shake as you pull out your phone and tap at the screen, dotted with crescent moon impressions from where your nails dug into the other hand, some hard enough for blood to well up from breaking the skin. They sting slightly, but not enough to register. Your blood mixes with Matt’s on your phone screen as you text Foggy, hoping he can decipher the typo-filled message.

mstts otw t othe hospital hmoe inavdion will uodate wjen i cna

You eventually make it to the hospital and are stopped once more from following Matt. It takes a minute to realize that they’re taking him to surgery, and you’re aware enough to process that you can’t go with him and stop fighting the nurses. You are instead led to the lobby. Time passes—you don’t know how much—before you zone back in to find Claire kneeling in front of you, snapping her fingers in front of you. She lets out a sigh of relief when you meet her eyes a little blankly.

“Hey,” she says gently, voice low. “Foggy texted, he’s on his way. I’m going to get you cleaned up, okay?” 

“No,” you refuse instantly. “I need to wait for Matt.” 

“Matt’s in surgery. Right now, we need to get you cleaned up, okay? I promise we’ll be done by the time Matt is out.” 

You hesitantly nod and stand. Claire leads you to a bathroom, wetting a paper towel and starting to wipe the blood away from your hands, face, neck, legs, feet. There’s no getting it out of your top or skirt or shoes, though Claire manages to mitigate the damage. When she’s done, she tells you to wait there, disappears, and returns with gauze and antibiotic ointment for the cuts on your hand. “Feel better?” She asks.

You nod. “A little.” The feeling of water brought you back, and the removal of the blood on your skin kept you from the need to dissociate again. “Thank you, Claire.” 

“Of course. I’ve got to get back to work but just let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay.” You stay in the bathroom for a second, playing with the string around your neck before your hands trail to the rings hanging from it, your mother’s engagement and wedding rings. You hesitate before undoing the necklace, slipping the rings off, and sliding them onto your ring finger. It’s a little off in fit—her fingers must have been larger than yours, although you don’t really remember—but it stays, if you clench your fingers together tight enough. 

It’ll at least add a little legitimacy, make investigation a little less likely. You’re pretty sure you signed something for Matt’s surgery and you don’t need your best friend awake to hear his voice in your head informing you that that’s perjury. It’s maybe a little stupid of a way to convince someone, but it at least makes you feel a little more in control of the spiraling situation.

When you leave the bathroom, Foggy and Karen are already in the waiting room. They take one look at you and Karen can’t help the gasp that comes.

“Thanks. Really know how to make a girl feel good,” you joke tiredly as you hug her. You’re well aware you look bedraggled—Matt’s blood crusted in your hair, eyes puffy and red, expression still not recovered from the horror of the trauma. You’ve still got blood on your clothes despite Claire’s best attempts.

“I think that’s supposed to be your husband’s job,” Foggy responds when it’s his turn for the hug. You pull back, embarrassed, to find him staring at you with his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, Claire updated me about that. The hell were you thinking, signing something as his wife?”

You grimace. “I know some really good lawyers?” You offer awkwardly.

Foggy curses, scrubbing a hand over his face as he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like you and Matt are the same person, I swear to G-d.

You flick him in the arm. “Are you taking the Lord’s name in vain?” You attempt humor. Foggy just gives you an I’m-not-doing-this-right-now look and you shut up quickly. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to keep going with pretending you two are married until Matt wakes up and we can leave. You’re not signing anything else. I’m Matt’s medical proxy, I’ll sign everything from here on out. We let Matt know, we hope none of the hospital employees dig, and we get the hell out of dodge as soon as possible. Capiche?”

“Caposh,” you agree, voice small.

Foggy deflates a little, still tense due to both your perjury and Matt’s injury, but nevertheless a little less tense. “I called Jessica, she should be here any moment.”

You nod in response. “Sounds good.” 

“Mrs. Murdock?”

It takes Foggy lightly elbowing your side for you to jolt and remember that thats supposed to be you. “Sorry, yes?”

“Dr. Bahl sent me to tell you. Your husband is awake.”

next chapter ->

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[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Of broken heart and broken bones

Warning ⚠️; jealousy, cursing, old men fighting, old men yaoi, old men crying, Gravity Falls spoilers

Pairing; past Stanford/Male!Reader & present Stanley/Male!Reader

Summary; Stanley somehow got his brother back, but you didn't expect to face your ex ever again. Now Stanford had awkward realization that you are dating his twin who is pretending to be him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Frozen in shock, you still couldn’t believe your eyes. It had been thirty years and yet, Ford almost didn't change besides his hair becoming gray. Same glasses and spark in his eyes.

You hadn't missed him.

Fury burned your blood when Ford punched Stanley in the face, his attention all on his twin as he didn't notice neither you nor the kids. Snarling, you rushed toward Ford who finally saw you. The same surprise as yours painted his face before you grabbed him by the collar, raising your knee to hit him in the nuts. A painful gasp left his mouth and you let go of him, watching Ford fall on the ground.

- “Holy molly! Old men fighting!” Mabel gasped and you almost laughed.

You would have if the situation wasn’t so bad.

- “How fucking dare you? Stan passed thirty years trying to bring your sorry ass back and that how thank him? By punching him in the face, you bastard!” you shouted before you pointed your trembling index toward Ford. “No wonder I left you. You've always been such an asshole.”

You heard the kids gasp but ignored them. Instead, you turned around and walked up to Stan, cupping his face in your hands while examining his jaw. A bruise was already forming, dark and you could count Ford’s knuckles. Your ex hadn't been gentle and thank God for Stanley's toughness.

You brushed the bruise with your thumb, frowning. Stanley took your wrists in his hands, his own thumbs making circles on your skin trying to comfort you. You smiled and Stanley did the same.

- “Don’t ya worry for me, darling. It'll take more than a single punch to take that old man down.” Stanley said, voice softer than usual.

- “I know, I know. I just hate seeing you hurt.” You whispered and Stanley kissed your hands.

There was a moment of silence, heavy and uncomfortable, while you still took in the situation. So much has happened in so little time, your emotions were all over the place. Ford wasn't helping.

He slowly got up, his right hand still holding his bruised balls. He looked at you then at his twin, realization filling his eyes before between replaced by anger.

- “You gotta be kidding me, Y/N. My own brother? My twin?” He asked, almost spitting the last word.

You felt Stanley flinch and a new wave of anger hit you. You turned your head, facing Ford. He looked at you as if you had betrayed him when he was the one who had caused the wedge between the two of you. Ford had been distant, keeping you at arm's length and always making you feel stupid. Not a single time during your relationship did you feel like he actually loved you.

Ford never told you he loved you.

- “You are in no place to talk. At least Stan had been making me feel loved and never once made me feel stupid.” You said, Stan squeezing your hands. “He never put anything before me, unlike you ignoring me all the time.”

- “Wait a second, what is going on here?” Dipper asked, approaching and putting himself between you and Ford. “Who are you?”

Ford and Dipper shared a look as Stan introduced Ford as the author of the journals. Those damn things that had become an obsession for Stan, were his best and only way to bring Ford back. God you wished Dipper had never found it. Maybe, just maybe, this situation wouldn't be happening.

But Ford was back, something Stan had tried to archive for thirty years. A lifetime of work and he did it. You were proud of your man, of all he had accomplished during those years. You couldn't be mad at Ford for being back, he hadn't asked for what had happened to him.

You took the kids back upstairs, Stan and Ford following behind you. Thankfully they kept quiet until you and the twins were out of earshot, even if you could still hear their muffled voices. Back in their rooms, Mabel and Dipper sat on their bed, staring at you and you sat too, on a chair.

With a deep sigh, you explained everything to the kids. About your short relationship with Ford, how he had worked and studied the weird events in Gravity Falls, about his obsession with them. They were old enough to understand how you weren't happy with Ford and why you left a loveless relationship.

But you came back. Not because you missed him, but because you had learned of Stanley’s death. To your surprise, he wasn't but was impersonating his brother. That point had been harder to explain, but Dipper had caught on quickly; by facking his death and becoming Ford, it was the only way for Stan to try and bring back his twin.

True.

And you helped. Weeks became months and you slowly fell in love with Stanley and his personality. He was more outgoing, and extrovert and didn't make you feel dumb. Quite the contrary as he praised your brain over his. Of course, the time periods played against you and you parted ways.

Stanley married and divorced while you stayed single, never truly finding love again. It wasn't until years later that Gravity Falls called you once more and this time you stayed for good. Not only in town but by Stan’s side too. The day you came back, Stan came to find you with your favourite food and movies, asking for a night with you.

The ambers of your love had never gone cold and that night only started the fire once more. You never left Gravity Falls or Stan after that. You two never married, not because you didn't want to, but because of Ford. You didn't want to marry Stanley while he impersonated his twin.

You heard commotions coming from downstairs and sighed, knowing Stan and Ford definitely were at each other throats. Well, Ford was and Stan might have been defending himself. You left the kids in their room and went down. You frowned hearing Ford’s calm but cold tone as he spoke to Stanley. You gritted your teeth and took a deep breath before entering the living room.

- “I’m giving you until the end of summer, then I want you out.” Ford said, index pointing at his twin’s chest.

- “You are the one that getting out at the end of summer, Ford.” You replied, voice as cold as his. “The shack isn't yours anymore, I bought it fifteen years ago when things went south.”

You crossed your arms, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe. Both men stared at you, a different expression on their faces. Stanley with relieve and Ford with surprise and a bit of anger.

- “What?” Ford asked and you rolled your eyes. “What do you mean?”

- “Do you think the economy stayed the same when you disappeared? The world kept turning, Ford, and so did the economy. Gravity Falls is a tourist town, without tourists there is no money and that is what happened. Thank God I had some savings or you'll still be wherever you were.” You explained, watching Ford walk up to you.

Stanley tried to approach but a simple look from you kept him in place. You weren't scared of Ford, never were, and knew if he tried anything it would be a 2 versus 1 kind of fight.

Ford pointed his finger at you, opened his mouth and closed it before closing his hand. For a second you thought he would try to punch you, but no. You saw his shoulders drop and he looked away. You didn't move, didn't react and kept staring at him.

- “Really? Kicking me out of my own house?” He asked, voice calmer.

- “Stanley’s been living here longer and you were kicking him out, even after he just brought your ass back. Why shouldn't I?” You asked back and Ford said nothing.

There was nothing to say.

Silence filled the room, neither of you speaking anymore. The reunion wasn't going the way you thought. You had hoped Ford would have been happy to see Stanley, or at least to be back. But no. He seemed angry, almost bitter and you didn't know what to think about that.

Tilting your head, you shared a new look with Stanley. Your man had wrapped his arms around himself, like a hug, searching comfort. It hurt to see him like that, especially since Ford was the reason. But it was his eyes that spoke the most; pleading. But for what?

Stanley’s eyes moved from Ford to you then back to Ford, leaving you with more questions. You frowned slightly, trying to convert your questions and Stanley just sighed and looked away. And you understood.

The exchange only lasted seconds, but you were use to communicate like that.

You sighed and shook your head, not believing the things you were ready to do for that man.

- “Listen Ford. If you stop treating Stanley like shit you can stay. We kept your lab functioning so you can stay there if you want. Just tell me the food you'd like me to buy.” You rolled your eyes when Ford’s head turned back to you. “Hey, I’m not heartless. I’m just asking you to be kind to Stan, I won't tolerate you disrespecting him in our own house.”

- “I understand.” Ford replied, his gaze softening, almost getting sad. “So you really got with Stanley, didn't you?”

- “What can I say, Ford? It happened by accident, but I am happy. We are both happy.”

To that, Ford was once again out of words. It was unusual for him to be so quiet, but you knew everything might feel like a slap on his face. So much had happened since he fell through that portal and you weren't giving him time to breathe and take it in before throwing another ball at him. But you knew Ford could take it.

Nothing could hurt or break him, it was as if Ford was made of stone.

But you were wrong.

You saw tears in his eyes before he excused himself. Without a word, he went back to his lab. You sighed, hidding your face in one hand before two strong arms wrapped around you. You melted in Stan’s embrace, resting your head under his chin while he patted your back, whispering loving words in your ears.

You felt tears in your own eyes but swallowed them back. It wasn't time for that, not now, not ever again. Why weren't you over it? It had been over thirty years since you and Ford had been over and you had found peace and happiness with Stan. So why now?

Maybe because you never got closure, you realized. You had left, cursing and shouting and Ford had said nothing and you thought he didn't care. But maybe you were wrong.

Maybe he did care, but never showed it.

Drying your eyes, you looked up and Stan smiled at you, he rested his head against yours, taking your chin between his finger and thumb. And you felt safe. You felt safe and you knew everything was going to be fine.

- “Thanks buttercup, I know I can always count on ya to have my back. But ya don’t need to go to war with ma brother, ya know? He’s going to get around it, always do.” Stan said, voice low as his thumb caressed your chin.

You nodded and closed your eyes for a second before you heard giggling and hushing. Opening your eyes, you turned your head to see Mabel and Dipper picking from the corner of the stairs. You smiled at them weakly, resting your hands on Stan’s chest.

- “Everything’s fine kids, don't worry.” You said, your voice wavering a bit.

- “You sure Grunkle Y/N?” Mabel asked, her head tilting. “You look sad.”

- “I am… I am kid, but it's going to be okay. Today is… heavy for me.” You looked at Stan and he nodded, already knowing what you had in mind.

- “Alright kids, leave Y/N alone for now. He needs to have a private discussion with ma brother. Who wants waffle fries?” He asked, putting his hands on his hips.

- “But Grunkle Stan, we don't have waffle fries.” Dipper pointed out before Stan out his hands on his and Mabel’s shoulders, pushing them away.

- “That's why I’m taking y'all out to buy some!”

You watched them leave, arms wrapped around you, seeking some comfort before facing Ford once more. You leaned against the doorframe once more, bracing yourself for what was to come. Would you get closure or a fight? You hopped you wouldn't have to throw hands, or anything, at Ford, but with the genius it was hard to know.

After a few minutes of collecting yourself, and once you were sure Stan had left with the kids, you went down to the Lab. As much as you hated the damn place, it was so much Ford it almost hurt. Maybe it was why you hated it so much.

You found your ex sitting on a chair, his coat discarded on the ground. You didn't hear it, but you knew he was crying. His shoulders shook and his face was hidden in his hands. The sight made you sad, sadder than you already were. You didn't know Ford had it in him to cry.

Grabbing a spare chair, you walked up to him. Ford said nothing as you say next to him. You stayed silent and so did Ford. It was awkward at best, painful at worst and you didn't know how to make it better. Closing your eyes, you sighed and looked away.

- “I’m sorry for hitting you in the balls, Ford… and that you found out about me and Stan like that.” You mumbled, shaking your head. “And I’m sorry. I've been a dick today, you didn't deserve it.”

- “I did.” Ford whispered, followed by a hiccup as he dried his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I did. I was the asshole.”

You didn't reply, because yeah, he had been. But so were you. You turned your head and looked at Ford. Really looked at him. He wasn't the same, you were wrong about that. He was older, wrinkles had found their way into the corner of his eyes and mouth but so did scars. Little ones were almost invisible by his old and pale they were. It was the same with his hands.

Slowly, like with a wounded animal, you took one of his hands in yours, your thumb brushing over the six knuckles. Ford said nothing, allowing you to do as you pleased.

His hand was still rough and callous like before, but they were older like the rest of Ford’s body. Burn spots had appeared because of his age, and maybe whatever sun he had been under.

You sighed, again, and squeezed his hand.

- “I am sorry.” You repeated like a broken disc. “Fuck, I really was an ass back then and even now.”

- “I deserved…” Ford began, but you shook your head.

- “No, you didn't. You might have been the shittier boyfriend I had, but I should just have broken up with you like a normal human being.” You told him, your eyes staring at his hand.

- “And I shouldn't have taken you for granted. I… am sorry I was so cold and distant, I never realized how bad I was toward you.” Ford admitted, squeezing your hand back. “You deserved better, but I never imagined you'd find that in Stanley.”

- “You should give him a chance, really give him a chance. Stan teacher himself all that crap for you.” You said, waving your hand around. “I barely did anything here, it was all him. Because he loves you, because he felt guilty and wanted you back.”

Again, silence followed.

But this time it wasn't heavy or awkward. You didn't need to look at Ford to know he was thinking about it. After three decades, could he really still be mad at his brother after everything Stan did to get him back? Even you softened toward Ford, so why couldn't he toward his own brother?

Ford’s thumb drew a small circle on your hand and from the corner of your eye, you saw him nod. You did the same.

- “I guess I owe him as much apology as I owe you.” He said, voice so low you barely heard him.

- “Yeah…” Was your only reply.

You tensed for a second when Ford rested his chin against your shoulder but relaxed. There was nothing there, but you weren't used to him being tactile. It was strange, but welcome. You rested your chin on his head, his hair tickling your nose and you almost smiled. It felt good. Like finding something you had lost so long ago.

Tears rolled down your cheeks and you knew Ford was the same when he buried his face in your shoulder. Your ex squeezed your hand almost painfully as silent sobs shook his shoulders. You closed your eyes, wrapping your free hand around yours.

This… this was closure and it hurt more than you thought.

All the what-ifs filled your mind. What if Ford had been kinder, what if he hadn't been so obsessed with his research? What if you two had been healthier and sat to talk?

So many things would have been different. Maybe Ford would have never fallen through the portal. Maybe you'll still be together or not.

You wrapped your arms around him when Ford wrapped his around your waist, whispering “sorry” over and over, his voice muffled by your shirt. It broke your heart knowing he actually felt remorse for how he threatened you. For still loving you when you had found happiness with his twin.

You kept embracing him even when the tears had stopped falling, nose buried in his hair. A part of you feared he would fall back into the portal if you let go of him, even if the said portal was closed. While you had no feelings for him anymore, you couldn't deny you still cared for him. Maybe not as a lover anymore, but as a friend… as a brother-in-law.

He was family, and would always be now.

You stayed a long moment in each other arms, not seeing or feeling time pass. You even almost fell asleep until Ford moved and you two detached. You didn't feel empty but at peace. Silently, you led Ford up, knowing Stan must be back with the kids.

You found them sitting in front of the TV eating their waffle fries while watching one of Stan’s shows. Stan smiled and moved his plate so you could sit next to him on the armchair. Ford walked and sat on the place the kids had gotten him.

You knew you two were a mess and it was obvious you had cried, but no one said a word. Stan wrapped an arm around you, keeping you against him. You relaxed, nuzzling yourself against him before stealing a few of his waffle fries.

Dipper was the first one to break the silence, offering some of his to Ford. Your ex took them and the heaviness in the room dissipated. After that, the twins soon began asking question after question to Ford. Mabel weirder one while Dipper focused on the weird shit happening in Gravity Falls and things he had seen in the journal.

You smiled seeing Ford relax and answer every single one of them.

You shared a look with Stan who smiled at you. He kissed your forehead whispering how everything was going to be fine and you believed him. For once you knew he was serious and were happy.

After thirty years and with the kids here, your home felt completed. It actually felt like a real home. Maybe it was the kids, maybe it was Ford but in reality, it was a mix of everything and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[wuvja]

Operation: Silent Treatment

| Pairing: Severus Snape x Prof!Reader

| Summary: After a petty argument, the reader gives Severus Snape the Silent Treatment — and he absolutely loses his mind.

———————————————————————————

It started over something stupid.

(As all your fights with Severus usually did.)

He had made some sarcastic comment during breakfast — something about you being “charmingly disheveled” — and you’d been in a mood already.

Now, Severus Snape, feared Potions Master, Half-Blood Prince, your boyfriend, was being subjected to the deadliest punishment known to man:

The Silent Treatment.

And you were committed.

⸻

Severus first realized the gravity of the situation when he passed you in the corridor outside the library.

Normally, you would greet him — a little smirk, a teasing smile, a brush of your hand against his.

Today?

You walked past him like he was a ghost.

Didn’t look. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Severus turned on his heel, stunned.

“Excuse me,” he called stiffly.

“Did you go deaf overnight?”

You kept walking.

Severus narrowed his eyes.

So that’s how it is.

⸻

Later, in the dungeons, he tried again.

He “casually” appeared outside your classroom door just as you dismissed your students.

You walked out, papers clutched to your chest, nose in the air like some vengeful queen.

Severus stepped into your path.

“Good afternoon,” he said, voice dripping sarcasm.

You swerved around him without a word.

Severus scowled, turning to follow you down the hall like a very offended bat.

“You are being childish,” he snapped.

You didn’t even flinch.

Severus, now openly glowering, stalked behind you like a black cloud.

⸻

By lunchtime, the entire Hogwarts staff had noticed.

At the staff table, Minerva McGonagall raised a brow over her spectacles as she watched Severus scowl furiously across the table at you — while you buttered your roll with deliberate, regal indifference.

“You’ve done something,” Minerva said dryly, sipping her tea.

“I did not,” Severus hissed under his breath.

Minerva looked at him over the rim of her cup with infinite amusement.

“You poor fool.”

Severus stabbed his peas with unnecessary violence.

⸻

By dinner, Severus had accepted the terms of war.

If you wanted dramatics, fine.

He could out-stubborn anyone.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight dirty.

He waited until you were deep in conversation with Poppy Pomfrey, then “accidentally” brushed his hand against your back as he walked past.

You stiffened — but didn’t react.

Severus smirked darkly.

Challenge accepted.

He waited until you were pouring tea, then leaned close — too close — murmuring just loud enough for you to hear:

“Still ignoring me, darling? It’s starting to hurt my fragile feelings.”

You splashed tea everywhere.

Poppy snorted into her napkin.

Severus looked insufferably smug.

⸻

Finally — finally — as you were storming back to your chambers that night, Severus cornered you.

Quite literally — in a shadowy hallway near the Astronomy Tower.

He stepped in front of you, blocking your path, black robes swirling dramatically like some sort of overgrown bat.

You crossed your arms, glaring at him.

“You’re blocking my way.”

Severus tilted his head, studying you.

“You are insufferable,” he said.

You arched an eyebrow.

“And yet you’re obsessed with me.”

A twitch at the corner of his mouth.

(You caught it. You definitely caught it.)

“Painfully so,” he admitted without shame.

You blinked, caught off guard — your heart doing an embarrassing little stumble in your chest.

Severus took a slow step closer, lowering his voice now, the humor fading into something more serious.

“I missed you today,” he said softly.

You swallowed. Hard.

“You were annoying,” you muttered, stubborn.

“I am always annoying,” Severus said easily, reaching out to brush your hair back behind your ear with the gentlest touch.

You scowled harder — but you didn’t pull away.

Severus smiled — a real, rare, devastatingly soft smile.

“I would prefer,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek, “that you yell at me. Hex me. Throw things. Anything. Just… don’t ignore me.”

You bit your lip, feeling your throat tighten unexpectedly.

You hadn’t realized…

how much it had bothered him.

(You also hadn’t realized how much it had hurt you to avoid him.)

Your lower lip wobbled slightly — traitorous and completely out of your control.

Your eyes burned.

Oh no.

Not now. Not in the bloody hallway.

You sniffled aggressively, trying to hide it — but it came out sounding like a wounded kitten.

Severus immediately froze.

“Are you — are you crying?”

You turned your head away quickly, mortified. “No!”

Another pathetic sniffle betrayed you.

He made a choked sound — was that a laugh?

You glared at him, blinking rapidly.

“You’re laughing at me?!”

Severus, utterly undone by you trying (and failing) to look furious while your eyes welled up, pulled you into his arms without hesitation.

“I’m laughing because you’re adorable,” he said into your hair, voice shaking slightly with amusement.

You sniffled against his chest, miserable.

“I’m mad at you,” you mumbled pathetically.

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re doing a terrible job showing it.”

You let out a weak punch to his chest — it barely moved him.

“Idiot,” you muttered, wiping your sleeve across your face.

“Insufferable,” he corrected fondly.

You scowled up at him — your watery, pouting scowl so fierce and so pitiful at the same time that Severus looked like he was fighting for his life not to laugh again.

You shoved him half-heartedly, and he caught you easily, pulling you even tighter against him.

“There you are,” he whispered against your hair, like he’d been searching for you all day.

You huffed a grumpy breath but curled your arms around him anyway.

There, in the quiet hallway, you finally let yourself relax against Severus — all your ridiculous grumpiness and stubbornness dissolving into the safe, warm, slightly amused embrace of the man who was, for better or worse, just as hopelessly obsessed with you as you were with him.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

omg i really really love your blog<3 you are such a sweet person and so kind to all your followers and others on here and your writing is absolutely amazing!

i saw ur requests were open and i was wondering if you could write something for poe dameron? a hurt comfort because in your rules you said you wouldn't accept full angst which honestly is so real of you and i completely agree :D its just, ive read so many fics where poe's best friend or squadron member is either in love with him or fwb with him and he starts dating someone and they look rlly in love but then he leaves the person for the best friend and i cant help but always wonder how the person he left is feeling! and i was wondering if you could write something along the lines of this but he doesnt leave the reader and hes not really in love with his best friend or anything im so sorry this became really long but you can totally ignore this or say you cant do it its absolutely alright!<33

thank you sm though and i hope you have a good day!

Anon, thank you so much for such lovely and kind words! You are AMAZING! (Seriously, they have absolutely made my day/week/year!)

This ask has killed me (positive), my subconsciousness had a lot to say, it seems.

Tangerine, Tangerine

Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Rating: M Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: angst (but with a happy ending), thoughts that a partner is cheating, blood, x-wing fight, swearing (not star wars swearing, because even though Kriff is great, I need to say fuck), Moonbeam as a nickname, typos, rail road sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 4494

_______________________________________

It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. 

You’d misunderstood, you’d read the situation wrong, you’d seen incorrectly. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. 

Your radio crackled, “Green Leader, checking in. We’re manoeuvring in 5. Call out.”

“Green Two check.”

“Green Three check.” 

 It was just a kiss. 

“Green Four check.” 

 It was just a-

“Green Five check.” 

Just a-

“Green Six check.” 

Just-

“Green Seven,” you swallow. “Check.” 

It wasn’t just a kiss. 

You patted your helmet twice and rolled your neck, breathing deeply as you settled in. On your left, you could see some of Blue Squadron. 

This mission was straightforward - on a holopad. 

Two teams to escort The Harbringer, the resistance supply ship. It had been damaged by a rogue blast from a tie fighter just as it jumped to hyperspace and had had to make an emergency landing on one of Tre’Ral’s desert moons. 

The crew on board had managed to fix all they could. But without proper materials, there was little chance of the ship making it out of the moon’s thick atmosphere and entering hyperspace. So Blue and Green Squadrons had been dispatched. Blue 1-4 had already made contact, jump-starting The Harbringer enough to get it airborne. 

Due to Tre’Ral’s sun and planet density, the gravity on the moons was a little stronger than most world’s atmospheric pressure. 

Green Leader, Sena, had repeated through briefing at how this would affect flying. How to be ready for it. And she hadn’t been wrong, it was different flying here. Tougher. And you loved it.

You’d grown up on Para, a planet with a high gravity density. You’d learnt to fly there well before you’d flown in space. Being here on this desolate moon almost felt like home. Your movements seemed smoother, precise. No longer needing to overcorrect for your naturally ingrained harsh movements. No longer spinning out and fighting low gravity, finally working with the tide. 

The manoeuvre would see the ships escort The Harbringer out of the moon’s atmosphere and then the rest of Blue squadron would form a sort of 3D star formation around the cargo ship. All jumping to hyperspace at the same time to carry it along with them. 

Simple. 

In theory. 

Everyone had spoken about how practically textbook it was, how easy. 

But then, of course, why was Green Squadron going? 

No one at the briefing had asked, why would they when the answer was so obvious. This part of the quadrant was teething with First Order. With a slow, busted supply ship you were all practically screaming for them to come and play target practice. 

You swallow. 

You should be focusing on that, on the mission. Instead of the utter nonsense that was ricocheting around your head and piercing your heart. 

I hadn’t just been a kiss. 

You and Poe had gotten together clumsily, three months ago, your normal awkwardness drowned out by so much Polanis Red that you almost couldn’t see straight. It had been after the battle of Hurthwen, a nasty dogfight that had everyone hyped up on adrenaline. 

He had been drunk when he kissed you, you remembered that. 

Maybe he had thought… maybe he had believed he was kissing her instead. 

It made a lot more sense. 

Sena was the Green Leader, she was a great pilot. One to be reckoned with. She was kind, she was fun, she was beautiful. She and Poe had joined the resistance together, risen the ranks together. Basically inseparable. Always laughing and joking. She had been in the same squad as Poe, under his command before she was promoted to leading one of her own. 

They had always been close. Always. Best friends. 

Sickness bubbled in your throat. 

You remembered Frizz and Hank talking offhandedly, well before you and Poe were a thing. Both of them sure that Sana and Poe were dating or ‘knocking boots’ as Frizz had so elegantly put it. 

“Two people can just be friends, you know.” You’d said, trying to hide your little crush on the commander. 

“Yeah,” Frizz laughed, “But not them. You seen them together?” 

Hank chortled. 

Nonsense. You’d brushed it off then. Allowed it to creep into your thoughts when it was dark and the base was quiet. When Poe’s breathing was soft and light behind you, his arm around your waist. 

Him and Sana just made a lot more sense than him and you. 

“Yeah, but not them. You seen them together?” 

Yeah. Now you had. 

The Harbringer came into view over the horizon. The seemingly endless stretch of desert was cut through in the distance by a fearsome outcrop of crocks, leading up into a field of formidable mountains. 

Blue 1-4 were already hooked up to the cargo ship, all five hoovering moving together as they flew towards you to meet. 

You wouldn’t have said things were difficult with you and Poe. Well, you wouldn’t have said that before. It was complicated for everyone on the base, most staff were on different call schedules, off-world or on a mission at all times. Having a relationship wasn’t straightforward. There were stretches where you wouldn’t even be on the same planet for days, but…

But you had thought it was…

It didn’t matter. 

You’d gone back to the briefing room, just before take off. You’d wanted to tap the main holoscreen twice, for luck. A little ritual you’d adopted early on. Most pilots were a superstitious bunch. 

That’s when you’d seen them. Sana and Poe. Locked in a tight embrace, their lips pressed together in a deep kiss. 

Your heartbeat had thundered so loud you’d been surprised they hadn’t heard it. But they’d been too preoccupied to notice your presence. 

It was cliche but time had almost slowed, calmed and stretched like the moment you take aim, the second before you fired your ship's canons. 

A flash of the control panel had flickered into your mind when you saw them, your fingers twitching as if you had the trigger in your hands. 

You’d turned and left without a sound. Without a word. Without letting them know you saw. Leaving them to… whatever they did next. 

Was it their first kiss? One of many? Had this been going on well before Poe had taken your hand and led you outside so he could clumsily name all the constellations, making up new ones and backstories to make you smile?

“That one here, you see it?” 

“Yeah?” 

“That one’s the best one, best in the sky. It’s orange and it’s right next to that other orange one, like they’re holding hands.”

You’d laughed. 

“That’s me and you Moonbeam.” 

Moonbeam. That stupid nickname. 

You’d gone to your room quickly, the one that you and Poe shared, and taken off the necklace he’d given you. 

“I want you to wear it for luck, Moonbeam.” 

That stupid smile he’d given you as he’d slipped it from his own neck and onto yours. That stupid kiss he’d given you after. You’d thought that expression was cute when you’d seen it, pure. Now it just seemed like he’d been laughing at you, playing some sick joke. ‘How long can I string someone along?’, ‘how far can I go before they realise it’s all pretend?’ 

You’d left the necklace with the ring slipped through on the small set of shelves in the corner, the one Poe normally kept his holopad on. 

It was idiotic, but your neck felt… empty without it. Cold. Every now and then you touched at where the chain normally lay.A subconscious action only brought to the forefront of your mind by the sensation of your own skin instead of metal. 

Something caught your eye in the distance, a flash of sunlight glinting off the horizon. Dread twisted in your stomach as realisation dawned a second earlier than your scanners. The extra gravitational pressure and high quantity of magnetic metals in the sand affected everyone’s ship computers, causing a brief information delay. 

Your alarm sounded out inside your ship, the radar blinking into life as tie fighters approached from the rock outcrop. They’d used the high mineral concentration to hide their energy signatures. 

“Fuck.” 

The radio screamed into life, orders out pouring over orders. Blue squadron rushed into position while Green scrambled. 

“Blue in place now!”

“It’s gonna be rushed, but we haven’t got a choice!”

“No time!” “Incoming!” “Green half split! Evens left, odds right, let’s keep those fighter’s off The Harbringer and Blue squadron! Gamma pattern!” 

“How far away is the Delta?” 

“Calling in attack pattern!” 

You swing to the right, falling in with Hank and Petal and bank hard, it takes less than a second for you to notice that your squad's movements aren’t as precise and well-timed as usual. The stronger gravity throwing everyone, except you, off their game. 

That didn’t bode well. 

You climb for a second, punching hard on the acceleration to get some height and a clear view of the oncoming and flick on your targeting system. The image glitches, doesn’t hold steady even as you focus. Off by half a fraction. 

Shots fire out from both sides, most missing.

“Targeting not working!”

“It’s out!”

“I can’t get a clear shot!” “The read is malfunctioning!”

“Half a click 4/8!” You shout, as you take your shot, hitting two tie fighters head-on. 

“Good shot Green 7!” You can hear the joy and relief in Sana’s voice. “Half a click 4/8, you’ll all have to manually adjust!” 

You dive, swirling around two fighters before skimming close to the ground, trying to draw their attention away from the cargo ship. You spin, slamming your control harder than you would need to in any other situation as you turn and spike past another fighter, taking out one in the process. 

“Wooooo!” Hank yells over the intercom.

You laugh. “Bet you never thought you wished you grew up on Para right?” 

“Every day new things surprise me.” He banks left, you right, Petal dives down. 

It’s too much of a rush, everything all at once, patterns and shots flying, your ship’s systems screaming as you push the engines a little too hard. 

The tie fighters aren’t moving as fast as they normally do, bogged down even more than the x wings by the gravity. They can’t make their normal quick turns and it’s affecting their strike patterns. 

Good. 

But there’s so, so many of them. 

Explosions fly debris out, and you climb higher. Needing a clear view and unable to rely on your targeting systems. 

More shots fly out, The Harbringer is taking a battering but so far its shielding is holding the hull together. 

The radio keeps screaming, overlapping voices that blur into background noise. You’re trained to only hear your call signal, direct messages. You vear off, narrowingly missing a blast to your wing. 

“-On my tail.” Frizz’s voice cuts through the noise, a sharp stab of dread slicing you open as you turn, automatically looking to the reader, it’s still not clear. 

You climb, twist, fall, see a Green ship, followed tightly by two fighters. Accelsorate, bank. You fire. You’re aiming in a panic now, not adjusting right, not breathing through. 

The shot hits one, before you have to swerve to avoid being struck head-on. 

“Thanks 7!” Cril yells over the speaker, managing to shake the other fighter. 

There’s a scream, a crackle of sound over the system. A sound you know too well. You see the ship crash into the desert, exploding before it even hits the ground as the a tie fighter’s shots hit home. 

Frizz.

“No…” 

“Check!” Sana yells, unable to tell who went down with the system glitching. “Green Leader!”

You swerve around another fighter, everything moving so fast, too fast.

“Green Two check!” Cril.

“Green Three check!” Petal. 

Nothing. 

“Green Four!” Sana yells. No call replies. Balna. Not Frizz. 

The momentary rush of relief at Frizz being alive is cut horribly short by the image of Balna’s kind face that bursts behind your eyes. 

You bank left, right, swerve, take aim, twist. 

There’s a chance, a good chance that you’ll win. All of Blue is in place, The Harbringer is moving up with them. The tie fighters are taking more hits than the resistance, their less aerodynamic design hampering them more than usual with this gravity. 

All you need is…

Another alarm. 

“Oh… fuck.” You slam on your intercom. “Z-Fighter!” 

A chorus of yells answer you. 

A Z-fighter, a quick moving ship a fraction bigger than The Harbringer, with two powerful front guns. A few shots would take the cargo ship out completely. 

And with how slow the supply ship was moving, that wouldn’t be hard. 

The Z-fighter storms in, moving fast but not firing, they were obviously having problems with their targeting too, needing a close clear shot. 

“Take out the main cannons!” Sana yells, the panic in her voice cutting through the chaos. You turn, aim, take out a tie fighter but have to veer up at the last second. Twist. 

Someone comes in after you, aiming for the cannons, a fighter clips their side and they can’t correct quick enough. They spiral off, their ship crashing into the Z-fighter. Obliterated on impact. The Z-fighter seemingly unaffected. 

You loop back, adrenaline blinding you to everything, anything that’s not the goal. Take out the canons. Take out the canons. People are counting on you. Take out the canons. 

You fire, a clear shot before you bank to the side to avoid a direct hit to your hull. 

It’s not enough.

You need to pass again, and again. Other x wings flying in, taking shots, the gravity making them slow, imprecise. Only one blast hits and it’s not full on.You’re the only one hitting directly and it’s not enough. 

It’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

There’s shouting and screaming, the zipping of the fighters as they cut through the sky. Someone yells your name and you don’t hear it. 

Another hit lands. One canon out. Only one left. You can do this. The Harbringer is nearly in the upper atmosphere, they can jump from there. Just a few more seconds. You can do this.

“Black Leader!” Poe’s call sign cuts over the dim, followed by the call signs of half of the Red Squadron.

They must have scrambled after first contact. 

The canon’s powering up, a quick glance to your panel tells you that The Harbringer’s shield is barely functioning. They won’t survive a direct hit. With how close they are and the Blue Squadron ships that are attached there’s no way they wouldn’t be pulled down too if The Harbringer fell. 

The canon needs more than one hit to take it down, more than five. No way you can shoot five times before they fire. 

You twist, full force. Pumping the acceleration. Fire. Fire. Fire. Three hit. You don’t slow down. Fire. Fire. Fire. They hit. The canon is still operational. 

Sana is screaming orders, so many shots fire at the canon, none of them hit right, hit full on. 

Two chances left. 

One to fire. If it takes out the canon you just have enough time to serve up, to avoid getting smashed to bits. 

Poe shouts for you over the intercom. 

You don’t answer.

One to fire. If it doesn’t take out the canon then… then you crashing into it head on will. 

Poe yells again, this time cutting over everyone else, sending you a direct call. 

You don’t answer.

You fire. Hit. 

Poe screams for you, his voice painful and panicked. He’s already worked out your plan before you had even thought of it. 

The canon doesn’t go down. 

You cut the call to him. Blocking out his signal. You don’t want Poe to think you did this for him. 

You don’t want him to think you did this because of him.

“Green Seven!” Sana yells, seemingly knowing what you’re going to do. 

Hank screams your name over the radio. It hurts. You think it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard. 

“Moonbeam!” Poe’s voice is ripped raw from yells, Sana has patched him through over her signal. You were wrong. That was the worst sound you’ve ever heard. 

You dip at the last second, not hitting the canon straight on but smashing your right wing into it. The force surprises you, even though you braced for it. The impact sending you spiralling. You try to regain control, try to turn into the spin. Training taking over even though you're a wing and half a ship down. 

Shouts over the radio, you barely make out- 

“-cannon’s down-”

“-Jump!-”

A spark hits, your console explodes into flame, shards hit your side and you yell. Sky and sand tumbling over each other over and over, and you manage to hit the eject button.

The force rips you upwards, free briefly from your burning ship. But you’re too close to the floor, not enough time to slow down your velocity. There’s-

.

The impact of the ground hurts. Pain explodes along every nerve despite the ejection seat dampening. You scream. 

Agony is everywhere, everything. You can’t feel anything else, can’t comprehend anything except floods of pain. 

You hit your belt, falling out and to the desert floor. Looking up just enough to gauge where you are, where your ship fell. It’s an exploded, fireball mess far off. At least it’s not an immediate threat. You crawl to the side and sob. 

There’s blood falling into the sand from your head, the right side of your face. You can’t see properly out of your eye and your left leg is definitely broken. Shattered. Still, you drag yourself forward, digging your hands in and pulling as something ribs and tears in your side, warm liquid soaking into your fight suit. 

The resistance will jump to hyperspace, they’ll get out. They’ll make it. 

You just needed to get away from your ejection seat, when the First Order doubles back they’ll see it, they’ll see you. You just needed to get to an outcrop. Hide. 

Make it look like you had a weapon. 

Make them shoot you first instead of taking you for questioning. 

Can’t let them take you alive. 

There's the faint sound of a ship somewhere above, landing gear coming down. 

For a second you freeze, panic gripping your heart, you dig into the sand hard, pull, pull, pull  yourself closer towards the outcrop of rocks. The air seems to be leaving your lungs, your breathing ragged and hot. 

You cough, red hitting the dirt, iron hitting your tongue. 

You crawl, pull. The pain is making you light-headed. You gasp, trying to get in a full lung full of air. It's not enough. It's not enough. It's not enou…

.

When you open your eyes your first thoughts are simple. Clear. 

I'm dead.

You were either shot in the head in the sand or simply succumbed to your wounds. 

But then things begin to feel… fuzzy. Not painful, but not right either.

And that's when you smell the Bacta. And then the light starts to change to distorted shapes, and finally, you recognise Hank sitting next to you.

“You better not be dead too,” you whisper your voice dry from lack of use. 

Hank jumps up, goes to grab your hand and then stops himself. There are tears in his eyes. He softly places his fingers on yours and you squeeze back. 

“You're a fucking idiot you know that?” He grins and you laugh. Which hurts a little, but feels good. 

“One sec,” he moves away just to speak to someone outside before he comes back. “I'm the one that picked you up, you know?” 

“Now who's the fucking idiot?” You smile but your chest aches, heavy with the weight of his words. “You shouldn't have done that.” You whisper. 

“What?”

“You were under fire, you should have just jumped-” 

“I saw you eject. Saw you moving. You think I was just gonna leave you there?” He sits. “Besides, I was closest. The commander would have blown up the whole planet to get to you.” 

You swallow, turning away slightly. Going cold at the mention of Poe. 

Hank mistakes the look for guilt, and squeezes your hand again. “Hey, look,” he smiles, “you took out the canons, you're a fucking idiot but you know how to fly in heavy gravity.” 

You snort. 

He smiles. 

“Who did we lose?” 

Hank sighs, “three…”

You nod, closing your eyes for a moment. 

“There-”

There was shouting from outside, a crash and then Poe stormed into the room, med staff close behind him.

You swallow, sickness building in your throat.

He looked awful, drawn out and worn thin like he hadn't slept or eaten in days. His eyes red. 

He rushes forward, Hank moves out of the way, so Poe can take your hand in his. He leans forward and kisses you softly, carefully stroking your cheek, being gentle with your bandages. 

“Moonbeam…” he mutters and you flinch back from him. He looks at you with sad, confused eyes. 

“Look, I can only allow one visitor in here.” The med staff member says.

Hank stands, and speaks when you frown. “I'll see you later, Poe’s the one that hasn't left your side. The only reason he wasn't here when you woke was because I made him go take a shower.” Hank smiled, “you can thank me for that later.” 

Both you and Poe are quiet as the others leave. Poe searching your face for something, while you look away. 

“Moonbeam,” he says again softly, but there's an edge to his words that you're not used to. “What the fuck happened on that mission? What the fuck is this?” He holds up his hand, his necklace and ring wrapped around his palm. His eyes are shiny as he speaks. “Were you trying to kill yourself? What the fu-”

“Poe,” you breathe. Best to get it over quickly. “I saw.”

He frowns. “Saw? Saw what?” 

“You and Sana, in the briefing room… before take off.” 

The small frown on his forehead relaxes slightly for a moment as his eyebrows raise. “You… saw?” 

You nod. 

“You, but, I didn’t see you when I pushed her away?” His voice cracks at the end, a splinter running into the muscle of your heart. 

“You pushed her away?” 

“You didn’t see that?” He frowns again, blinking hard, “you just, just saw and walked away and what? Took this off?” He holds up the necklace again. A tear falls from his eye and he rubs it away furiously as if it had scorched his skin. “Just, just left it and… and…” 

“I didn’t know you didn’t want it…” You say quietly, emotion is making your chest tight and constricted. “I didn’t know you didn’t want her…”

“What?” He breathes, moving closer and squeezing your hand. There’s disbelief in his voice, confusion. Anger, it’s deep down and controlled but it’s there. “No, look, she kissed me. I pushed her away, I, I even logged a report, I’ll pull up the god damned camera feed to show you.” 

He’s not lying. His gaze is unwavering and he’s got that painfully earnest look in his eyes. 

“You thought…” he shakes his head slightly, his voice pained, “you thought I’d-”

“You both make sense together.” You blurt out. “She’s… and you’re…” you shrug and sigh, on the verge of tears yourself. “You’re both the best of us.”

“No,” he shakes his head fiercely, “Moonbeam, no.” He wipes roughly at his eyes again, glancing down for a moment and you lightly touch his head. 

He looks up instantly as you stroke his curls, still lightly damp. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

Poe shakes his head again, grabbing your hand and kissing your wrist. “I’m sorry.” He kicks off his shoes and clambers into bed next to you a little awkwardly. He’s trying to be careful, trying not to hurt you but needing closeness so badly it’s suffocating. 

You scooch to the side as quickly as you can in your current state and lean into him as he wraps his body around you softly and kisses you sweetly. 

“Love you, love you, love you,” he repeats after every kiss, pressing his lips to every part of your skin that he can reach.

“Why are you sorry?” You mutter as he holds you, “I’m the one that messed up.”

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry that I don’t make you realise how special you are, how perfect.” He kisses your cheek, “you’re the best of us Moonbeam.” 

You tut but his grip tightens and he holds you tight. 

“And one hell of a pilot.” He grins. 

You scoff. 

“You are.” He kisses you again. 

You nuzzle against him, settling into his touch. Knots have formed in your chest, pain that’s loosening. His warmth is comforting. Home. 

“Sana said she didn’t know I was in a relationship,” he says softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I don’t know if that’s true, but… I do believe her.” 

You nod. “She’s a good person.”

He moves so he can look you in the eyes. “Please, Moonbeam, I… don’t,” he bites his tongue, closing his eyes for a long second. “I want to tell you, I want to say, don’t ever do something like that again… don’t… don’t put yourself at risk.” 

You touch his cheek lightly. 

“But it’s not fair is it?” He smiles sadly. “We both do that every day… You know you were gonna be in my squadron at first?” 

You shake your head in surprise and he nods.

“You were, but… well,” he blushes ever so slightly. “I was so embarrassingly head over heels in love with you,” he laughs lightly. “For months I could hardly talk to you, you know I had to down five Polanis Red’s in a row after Hurthwen just so I could ask you out? I knew I wouldn’t be able to function right if you were in my squad. I knew that I’d put everyone else at risk because if it came down to it… if there was a choice between everyone in the squad dying, everyone on the base, or you… I’d let the resistance burn instead of lose you. Every single time.” 

You close your eyes, fighting the emotion that needs to break through and squeeze his hand like a lifeline. “I love you.” You whisper. 

Your fingertips brush against the necklace, the ring hooking around the first knuckle of your index finger by chance. 

Poe slowly moves his hand from yours and unwinds the necklace from his palm before carefully placing it over your head, giving you plenty of time to move away if you wanted. 

“I love you Moonbeam,” he mutters, his voice low, reverent. Then leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back with all your heart. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[iamzer0]

Yᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ Pʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ Bᴜᴄᴋʏ Bᴀʀɴᴇs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴜᴛᴀɴᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

T/ᴡ: ᴘᴀʀᴀɴɪᴏᴀ, ᴋɪᴅᴅɴᴀᴘɪɴɢ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴀ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴅᴏᴡɴ

Your breath hitched as the lights flashed an ominous red, he was here.

You heard blood curdling screaming in the hallways, your body stilled, terrified.

Your fight of flight response started to take hold as the gravity of this situation set in.

You looked around frantically trying to find a place to hide, finding nothing you ran to the thick metal door, tugging on the handle desperately, your foot kicking the door.

You screamed as loud as you could, desperate to be let out.

Lose tears slipped from your eyes as you thought about your nearing death.

The ‘asset’ had gained a mind of his own, he naturally would want revenge, sparing nobody not even the innocent.

Then the screams stopped, you then heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

You started full on sobbing as you backed into the farthest wall from the door, you went to the floor pulling your knees to your chest.

You held you hand to your mouth trying to smother the sound of your sobs.

The foot steps stopped just outside the door of the room hydra had trapped you in.

The door came crashing down by the hand of the winter soldier.

You backed further against the wall in fear.

He didn’t say anything, he just stared at you.

His eyes staring daggers into your soul, making you sob harder.

He walked towards you, crouching down to your level.

His hand reached up to your face, you instinctively flinched away.

He touched your face, wiping your tears with such an uncanny gentleness.

His hand moved your hair away from your neck,

In one swift motion a syringe full of unknown liquid was injected into your neck.

You let out a gasp, as the liquid started to take affect.

You felt insanely sleepy, you tried staying awake, but you couldn’t stop your eyelids from closing.

You flashed in and out of consciousness, you felt yourself being picked up, in a way that can only be described as gentle.

As you flashed in an out of consciousness, you heard screaming, and the sound of blood hitting the wall.

You woke up slowly, blinking away the sleep from your eyes.

You saw an unfamiliar ceiling, your head slowly turned to examine your surroundings.

You instantly regretted that action as pain shot through your temple.

You looked around at the bland room, it looked almost abandoned.

The walls littered with small cracks and tan stains, the singular window had bars, the door was a standard wooden door but it some how seems ominous.

You reached up hand to rub your temple in an attempt to relieve the pain, you got up slowly trying to keep your balance as you stumbled towards the door.

Before you could reach the door it abruptly opened, startled you lost your balance catching your sled on the bed post.

It was him.

You felt your blood run cold.

“𝘸-𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵.. 𝘢𝘮 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦..?" You asked growing panicked.

He didn’t say much but he basically ignored your question, while telling you the rules you had to follow while staying there.

You became less panicked and more confused as he raddled off the rules.

Your mind started to wander back to your days trapped in the hydra base.

You had met the ‘asset’ before, several times in-fact.

You were healer, so you saw him often.

He was quiet and always stared at you.

You thought he was strange, especially when he was there 24/7 getting healed by you.

One day he came in, his wound was pretty bad, but as you examined it you started to realize that the wound was too neat, too precise, this could only be possible if you did this to yourself.

But why would he wound himself on purpose?

As you were lost in thought wrapping your mind around everything, you were brought back to reality when he snapped his fingers in front of you face.

“𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨...?" You asked confused “𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭?" he said ignoring your question.

He brought his hand up to your hand, checking you for a fever.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬." He says reaching into your pocket pulling out a pill bottle.

"𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘸-𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘨𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.." you say mustering up as much courage as you possibly could.

He just shushed you, slowly but gently pushing you back down to the bed, giving you a pain med.

Despite your need for answers, you couldn’t help but fall asleep anyway.

Living with him was strange, in the beginning you were terrified walking on eggshells around him.

But you knew that if you wanted to escape you would need a very calculated plan, and to have a good plan you needed to be strong mentally.

Bucky was still silent but was more talkative than the soldier.

He saw himself as a father figure to you, you were young and needed guidance. That’s his thought process.

He was constantly terrified that hydra would catch wind that you were alive and try and come after you.

He was so paranoid that y’all basically slept in the same room.

He would wake up in a cold sweat, turning to look to see if you were ok.

This happened so often it got to a point where you would have to sleep in the same bed so he could he could get some sleep.

Bucky was a sweet guy at heart, he treated you right, but his constant paranoia was really off putting.

Now the soldier was a different story.

If you thought Bucky was possessive you haven’t met the soldier yet.

He wouldn’t come out as often because Bucky had much more control but when he did he basically latch himself onto you.

You could barely move because he was holding you intensely.

The soldier loved your presence, you made him feel like he was at peace, he saw you as this angel sort of figure who was there to give him peace and comfort.

You soon pieced together why the soldier used to harm himself to get healed, it’s because he wanted to be around you.

So he did what ever possible to be constantly near you.

Bucky had taken away many things from you, because you had started trying to escape by any means necessary.

You were crafty, using anything you could get your hands on to escape.

You were going to escape no matter what.

I hoped y’all liked this one! I’m trying something kinda new tell me if y’all like it. I hope y’all have an amazing day love you all! Bye bye(˘･з･˘)

[anonymously-a-whore-blog]

The Aftermaths

Zoro x Gn!Reader (reader has a vagina)

summary: After the long, gruelling battle, Luffy stood victorious over the fallen warlord Doflamingo. Cheers rang through the streets, tears of relief and joy streaming from the faces of a freed people. And what better way to celebrate such a triumph than with a feast fit for legends? But tonight… drinks won’t be the only indulgence waiting for you.

Warnings: gore/violence, unprotected sex, fingering, alcohol, under the influence sex, sweet talk, smut with small plot, tiny bit of foreplay

Word count 2.4k

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

The air around you halts as if oxygen itself was holding its breath. Time stood still waiting patiently for your captain to take the final blow. Your body remained in tranquillity, daggers grips tightly in your hands. Blood, dark and slick, traces a delicate path down the side of your cheek, only to kiss the crease of your lip in a silent, haunting moment. A hungry scream of determination bellows from Luffy, a scream you knew all too well, pierces through your ears. Then nothing. Just a sound of a crash was left, followed by a falling body. It was over. Doflamingo, the infamous Warlord of the Sea, had been defeated. The weight of the battle had finally lifted, leaving a quiet emptiness in its wake as the echoes of the struggle faded into nothingness.

As if defying the pull of gravity itself, you willed your body to relax, allowing the smile that had longed to break free to finally appear. It was as though time itself recognized the moment, and with it, roars of victory mingled with the weeps of relief, erupting in a flood of emotion at long last. You turn to see Nami with tears pricking her eyes, waiting to be embraced. Arms open, you accepted.

The survivors gathered themselves, bracing for the next grim task. Scouting for the injured. Hours passed of shouting and lifting debris from the collapsed building that were impacted by the war. Chopper leads the charge, quickly turning an abandoned building into a makeshift hospital to tend to the wounded. The sight before you is something you can never get accustomed to. Bodies, twisted across the cobbled streets, thrown carelessly by the violence that tore through the city. The air thick with the pungent scent of burnt flesh and fresh blood, a foul mixture that clings to your senses and makes your nose wrinkle from the revulsion.

Even as children weep and mothers sing prayers, there's a trace of hope in their voices. After years of torment and blinded by ignorance, they sounded liberated. Amidst the bloodshed that clouds your vision, the echoes of freedom carries you forward. "Looks like we did well" Nami's soft words brings you back to the present. "But, I'm also expecting some payment," she snaps, shifting back into her money hungry self. You can't help but laugh. "I'm serious. Do you know how difficult, and terrifying, that fight was. Never again, I'm telling you-" you let her rambling fade into the background as you walk away, in search for your captain.

It's no surprise to find him bursting with energy, already eager for the next adventure. Rebecca, Viola, Kyros, and Riku gather around him, showering him with praise that only seems to fuel his ever-growing ego. "Man, I could eat a whole Sea King right now," Luffy groans, rubbing his empty stomach.

"You'd do that anyway," Sanji quips as he steps into view. Everyone bursts into laughter, knowing full well how true those words are. Luffy's appetite is legendary, after all.

"Let's celebrate!" Luffy exclaims, stretching his arms to grab onto Sanji, clearly demanding food and drinks without hesitation. Despite the exhaustion weighing on everyone, his energy is infectious, sparking a craving for a well-earned reward. For you, the thought of sake's smooth burn sliding down your throat feels like paradise.

The night greets you with a chill, its icy breath brushing against your cheeks, though the warmth of alcohol coursing through your veins fights to keep it at bay. Your hazy gaze drifts over the lively scene around you, the sight of friends lost in cheerful singing as they down drink after drink, their bodies swaying in a mesmerizing rhythm to the music flowing effortlessly from Brook's instrument, or the sight of Luffy, who's already devouring his 15th meal of the night, his boundless appetite as unstoppable as ever.

You spot Nami deep in negotiation with Riku, her eyes practically sparkling with money signs as she haggles with unmatched enthusiasm. Nearby, you catch sight of Franky, Usopp, and Chopper wielding chopsticks, contorting their faces into absurdly hideous shapes, their laughter ringing through the air. Your gaze drifts lazily, following a undetermined path, taking in the lively chaos of the night until it finally lands on Zoro. You take note of how his cheeks are flushed from the alcohol he's consumed, a faint pink colouring his otherwise stoic demeanour. His hair is tousled, with strands sticking out in different directions, giving him a naturally unkempt yet charming appearance. Your eyes linger on the way his jaw clenches, accentuating the sharp, chiselled line that defines his features. His eyes wanders dreamily, yet there's a glimmer of awareness that lingers within them. The dark, sunken pupils seem to draw you in, captivating you with the haunting allure of his ever-fading beauty.

Lost in memorizing his features, you remain unaware that his attention has now shifted to you. His gaze lingers lazily, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he wonders what thoughts occupy your mind. He takes in your frame, noticing the soft red tint blooming across your cheeks and the way your eyes glimmer with an emotion he can't quite decipher. A small smile tugs at his lips before he pushes himself up and staggers toward you, settling into a comfortable spot by your side. In silence, you both savour the soothing presence of each other, watching the chaos unfold before you.

Once you down the last drop of sake, he offers you another bottle, which you gladly accept.

"We're going to run out if we keep this up," you chuckle, taking another swig.

His laughter sends a shiver through you. Seeing him like this is rare, but it's a sight you secretly adore. You'd never admit it, to anyone or even to yourself, but you tuck these moments away, cherishing them in the deepest corners of your mind.

"You've gotten better," he finally speaks, pulling you from your thoughts. His words make you turn to him, confusion flickering across your face.

"At fighting, that is," he clarifies.

A smirk tugs at your lips. "Were you watching me, Mr. Roronoa?" you tease. His demeanour shifts, a hint of embarrassment flickering across his face. The truth is, he can't keep his eyes off you. The way you fight beside him in battle, the way you laugh when someone makes a witty remark, or the way you look up at him, your eyes glazed with fascination, hanging onto every word he says.

You are intoxicating to him. 

"Maybe," he murmurs, his voice small, so quiet it makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let go.

"Thank you. You ain't bad yourself," you say with a playful nudge against his shoulder. His smile returns as he lifts the bottle to his lips, taking another sip. 

Hours slip by, the music still lively and the cheers still echoing as you and Zoro sway together, leaning on each other for balance, following an aimless path forward. The idea had seemed fun at the time but now, your body protests with every step, scolding you for taking on the challenge of trying to outdrink him.

Both of you stumble up the steps, feet heavy and clumsy, as you lead the way toward the crow's nest.

"I'm never challenging you again," you slur, letting your back hit the wall with a soft thud as you slide down until you're seated on the floor. Zoro lets out a low laugh, mirroring your motion as he drops beside you.

“Told you,” he mutters with a chuckle, one hand loosely cradling a half-finished bottle of sake. He leans his head back, eyes slipping closed as he basks in the rare peace and quiet.

“So nosy down there,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly.

You hum in response, but your mind isn’t on his words. It’s on the slow, steady bob of his Adam’s apple every time he swallows. On the way his lips part just enough as he takes in deep, measured breaths.

You're so caught up in watching him that you don’t realize he’s watching you too. His body inches closer, his gaze fixed on your lips. It’s the heat of his breath, soft and sudden against your skin, that snaps you out of the trance.

"Who’s watching me now?" he teases, his voice barely above a whisper. It sends a shiver through you, your lips parting with a sharp inhale. A smirk tugs at his mouth as he leans in closer, the space between you shrinking by the second. "I hope you like what you see," he murmurs, letting the bottle slip from his grasp as his hand trails to your thigh.

If it weren’t for the alcohol pulsing through your veins, you might’ve passed out from the intensity alone. But instead, it fuels a flicker of boldness.

“Maybe I do.”

The words have barely left your mouth before his lips crash into yours; sloppy, hungry, desperate. A deep groan vibrates against your lips, muffled by the kiss, sending a sharp, pulsing ache between your thighs. He locks on your waist and pulls you, sending you over to his lap. 

“Needed… this,” he breathes, his fingers tracing down the length of your spine before settling on your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “For… so… long.” You grind your hips, desperate for any friction to soothe the throbbing ache pulsing at your clit.

“Please… need more,” you whimper, the words breathless and broken, lost in the wave of heat spreading through your body. He thrusts his hips up to meet yours, the hard bulge in his pants dragging against your clothed centre, teasing, taunting, letting you know he needs this just as badly. 

In seconds, your back hits the cool, hard floor, his body towering over you as your lips remain locked in a breathless kiss. The urgency between you is beyond words; months of whispered yearning, of stolen glances and quiet fantasies, now crashing into this one wild moment.

He moves fast, precise. In one fluid motion, he strips away your jeans and underwear, baring your slick, desperate cunt to the air. He breaks the kiss, eyes dark as they roam over you, soaking in the sight he’s imagined countless times.

“Fuck,” he growls, fingers gliding between your folds, drawing a raw moan from your throat. “Leaking all for me,” he smirks, eyes locked on your flushed, pleading expression. 

You’re just about to beg, voice trembling on the edge of desperation, when he slips his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, silencing you with a quiet, commanding gesture. “Shh, I know what you want,” he murmurs, voice low and laced with lust. “Just be patient.”

His other hand resumes its slow exploration, fingers tracing your soaked folds with maddening precision. “Seeing the way you fought today…” he growls, plunging his fingers into you. The sudden fullness makes your walls clench around him, the sensation deliciously overwhelming. “Made me want to take you right then and there,” he grunts, his pace slow, watching the way your back arches beneath him with each movement.

“Zoro…” his name barely escapes your throat, more breath than voice, just as his fingers sink deeper into you.

Your lips wrap around the fingers still resting on your tongue, sucking softly; needy, eager, your body trembling in time with every movement he makes.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a snap, leaving a thin trail of saliva as the only connection. The hand buried inside you retreats just as fast, leaving you clenching around emptiness. You whimper at the loss, your hips instinctively chasing after his touch.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to feel your tight pussy wrapped around me,” he mutters, fumbling with his trousers and boxers until they’re shoved down, letting his cock spring free and slap against his torso with a heavy thud.

Your eyes widen at the sight; thick, veiny, the red flushed tip already glistening with precum. You let out a soft, breathless whine, knowing he’s going to stretch you open, and loving the way that thought makes you ache even more. 

The last bit of fabric clinging to your chest is stripped away, leaving you completely exposed beneath the swordsman’s intense gaze. He leans down, biting one of your nipples sharply as he strokes himself, eyes locked on yours.

“Please, Zo…” you whimper, voice trembling. You’ve had enough of the teasing,; your pussy leaks with desperation, aching to be filled, to be ruined by him.

He grunts at the nickname, the sound guttural, primal, as he brings his tip to your entrance.

“Say that again,” he growls, voice low and demanding.

“Zo, plea—”

Before the word even leaves your lips, he slams into you. A chorus of gasps and moans replaces the stillness that once blanketed the crow’s nest.

“S-So… good,” you manage, biting into his shoulder in a futile attempt to muffle the cries clawing their way out of your throat.

His rhythm builds fast; precise, practiced, like he knows your body better than you do. His hips grind into you with brutal intent, and when he hits that perfect spot inside you, your walls clamp down around him.

“Fuck, like that, yeah?” he groans, his thrusts relentless, dragging cries from your lips as your breath catches and stutters. Finally, he lifts his head, locking eyes with your utterly wrecked expression; tears streaking down your cheeks, eyes rolled back, mouth slack with bliss.

Every night, he’d imagined this. Imagined you beneath him, imagined the way your tits would bounce by his rhythm, imagine the sounds you'd make as you took his cock like a good girl. And fuck—his fantasies didn't do you any justice. “So fucking pretty around my cock,” he growls, slamming into that perfect spot again, each thrust wrecking you.

Your thighs begin to tremble as the tension coils tighter and tighter inside you. You’re close, so close, and he knows it. “Cum on my cock, pretty,” he coos, voice low and urgent as he picks up the pace. Your gummy walls squeeze around him, pulsing with every thrust. Your back arches, and your hand flies to your chest, fingers gripping your nipple like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Then pop. The bubble bursts.

A cry tears from your throat as your vision goes white, euphoria crashing over you in waves. Your slick leaks out in warm, beautiful streams, pooling beneath you. The sight alone is enough to tip Zoro over the edge. His cock twitches deep inside you, and with a final grunt, he spills; hot, thick, and sticky, his release flooding into you as his body shudders. 

After a few slow, lazy thrusts, he collapses on top of you, letting the high wash over him completely. The room stills once more, the silence broken only by the sound of your shared, heavy breathing.

“We should do more drinking challenges,” you murmur, your voice soft but playful.

That draws a laugh from both of you; warm, breathless, and entirely satisfied.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

a/n - goddddd the things I would let this man do to me ¬‿¬ WIll be doing alot more zoro x reader in the future hehe

[enchantresss97]

Dark Gravity - Part Six Finale part

Characters: Au!Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgård) x reader

Description: This is a Au!Eric Draven, no Shelly involved(although is another girl involved), no Roeg and no powers, other than that is still the Eric we know. He is powerful, dangerous, and infamous for his violent reputation, he’s someone people know to stay away from. A man whose name strikes fear in the hearts of many. His presence is commanding, intimidating. He’s not the type to open up, but when he locks eyes with you, there’s an undeniable tension that pulses in the air between you two. It’s hard to ignore the way he looks at you, the subtle flirting, and the dangerous charm that seems to surround him. You never imagined to meet him, but here you are, caught in a web of questions. Where will this lead? Can there be something more between you two? Will you end up friends, or is there something darker, more complicated in store? You can’t deny the tension, the attraction, it’s palpable. Could something truly happen between you and him? Only time will tell, but you can’t help but wonder: where will this take you?

Warning: (the warnings are for the whole story, not just this chapter) language, angst, drugs, alcohol, blood, violence, guns, murder, sex (at this point you know me), cheating.

Word count: 9930 yep, I know...

Ladies and gents, the moment you’ve been waiting for has arrived. The final part is here. Nearly 10,000 words long, because naturally, I had to finish it in my own style👀

THIS IS NOT EDITED!

Dark Gravity - Part Six

The car skids to a stop in front of the cabin, gravel kicking up beneath the tires. You barely remember the drive, just the chaos of it, Eric bleeding out in the backseat, Mark cursing, Lucas shouting directions. Your hands shake as you kill the engine. The silence that follows is suffocating.

Lucas is out of the car first, throwing the passenger door open and grabbing Eric’s legs. Mark moves fast too, hauling Eric up with an arm around his back. His body is limp between them, his head rolling, blood soaking through his clothes.

“Get the door,” Mark barks at you.

Your legs barely hold you, but you force yourself out of the car and stagger up the steps. The cabin is dark and cold when you shove the door open. No time for lights, no time for anything. Mark and Lucas barrelling past you, carrying Eric inside.

The table in the middle of the room, sturdy, solid wood becomes an operating table. Eric’s body slams onto it, knocking over bottles and an ashtray, but no one cares. His head lolls to the side, eyes barely open.

“Fuck,” Mark grits out, pressing his fingers against Eric’s throat. He exhales. “He’s still got a pulse.”

Lucas is already moving, tearing open drawers, pulling out a med kit. It’s not their first time doing this, not even close. They don’t panic, don’t hesitate. They’ve stitched each other up more times than they can count, learned how to do this because they had to. Hospitals were never an option.

Mark grips Eric’s shirt and rips it open, exposing the wound. “Bullet’s still in there.” His jaw clenches. “We need to get it out.”

Eric groans, his body twitching in pain, but he’s too weak to fight. You take a step closer, but Mark shoots you a look. “Stay back. Let us handle this.”

Your stomach churns, but you nod, fingers curling into fists.

Lucas dumps supplies onto the table. Scissors, gauze, forceps, stitching thread. “We need to stop the bleeding first,” he mutters, already working. His hands move fast, steady, pressing gauze against the wound. Eric makes a broken sound in his throat, his body seizing up.

Mark leans over him, voice low. “Stay with us, man.”

Eric’s lips barely move, but there’s a ghost of that fucking smirk. “You’re… so dramatic…”

Mark exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Shut the fuck up.”

They work quickly, precision in every movement. The bullet has to come out first. Lucas digs in with the forceps, and Eric jerks violently, a strangled groan tearing from his throat. Mark holds him down, pressing hard against his shoulders.

Your nails bite into your palms. You can’t breathe. You can’t watch. But you can’t look away either.

Then—footsteps. Heavy. Fast.

The door bursts open, and four men stagger inside, breathing hard like they ran the whole way. Blood spatters their clothes. Their faces are grim.

Mark barely looks up. “What?”

One of them swallows hard. “They’re dead, all of our men, we are the only ones alive.” His voice is tight, raw. “Victor’s coming. He’s bringing his men.”

A silence heavier than anything settles over the room.

Lucas exhales, wiping blood from his hands. “How long?”

“Not long.”

Mark glances down at Eric. Still half-conscious, barely holding on. Then back at them. His expression hardens.

“Then we don’t have much time. Lucas, finish stitching him up. We don’t have time to be gentle.”

Lucas is already ahead of him, threading the needle with steady hands. The bleeding has slowed, but Eric is still losing too much. His body twitches under their grip, a broken groan slipping from his lips when the needle pierces his skin.

“Hold him down,” Lucas mutters.

“You still with us, man?” Mark says, not looking up.

Eric exhales a weak laugh, the sound rough. “Wouldn’t want… you crying over me.”

Mark grits his teeth, stopping himself for saying something.

Another  sharp groan rips through Eric’s throat, but this time, when his head rolls to the side, his gaze lands on you. His pupils are blown, his expression hazy from blood loss, but something dark flickers behind his eyes.

“You… look so fucking scared,” he murmurs, voice slurred. 

“You okay?” His voice is barely above a whisper, hoarse and uneven. “You’re… not hurt, right?”

You stare at him, stunned. Out of everything happening, out  of the blood staining his clothes, the bullets that nearly tore through him, the fact that he’s barely holding on. He’s orried about you?

“I—” Your throat is too tight to speak.

Eric exhales shakily, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before he forces them open again. “Did good… getting us out.” His gaze is still on you, though it’s unfocused, distant. “Fuck,” he mutters, blinking slowly. “Victor’s not done. He’ll keep coming.” His brows draw together in a sluggish frown, his fingers twitching like he’s trying to move but can’t. “You shouldn’t… be here.”

Something twists in your stomach. “And where exactly should I be, Eric?” you ask, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

His breath shudders. “Somewhere safe.”

His words shouldn’t affect you. Not now, not when there are more important things to worry about but they do. Because Eric is the last person who should be thinking about your safety. And yet, even in his half-conscious state, he is.

Lucas pulls the thread tight, sealing the wound, and Eric’s entire body tenses. His teeth clench, a strangled groan ripping from his throat before he slumps back against the table.

“That’s it,” Lucas mutters. “It’s done.”

After awhile the bleeding had finally stopped. The stitching was done. The room still smelled of blood and sweat, but at least Eric was breathing steady now. He sat on the edge of the table, shoulders slumped, a dark stain of dried blood covering most of his torso. His face was pale, exhausted, but his eyes were sharp again.

Mark handed him a bottle of whiskey. “Here. Take the edge off.”

Eric took it without a word, bringing it to his lips. The burn must’ve been brutal, but he didn’t flinch. His hands, still shaky, tightened around the glass. He let out a slow breath and then, like it was nothing, pushed himself up to stand.

You straightened immediately. “Eric—”

“I’m fine.” His voice was rough, but steady. His stance wasn’t perfect, he was still weak, his balance slightly off. But he was standing. He rolled his shoulders, testing his body like a predator assessing its own wounds. “We got time before they come.”

Mark watched him closely. “Not much.”

Silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. Everyone knew what was coming.

Lucas loaded a fresh magazine into his gun. “We need to set up.”

Eric nodded, already scanning the room like he was planning every move before it happened. The weakness in his body was clear, but something else burned in his expression now. Focus, calculation, something cold and unshakable. He reached for a gun, testing its weight in his palm.

Your stomach twisted. He shouldn’t be up. He shouldn’t be moving like this after what he just went through.

But Eric wasn’t normal. He never was.

The adrenaline was kicking in. And by the time Victor arrived, Eric would be ready.

The cabin turned into a battlefield before the fight had even begun.

Mark and Lucas secured the doors and windows, setting up barriers where they could. The men who had arrived earlier spread out, positioning themselves strategically. Guns were checked, loaded, and set within reach. The air was thick with tension, everyone moving with the quiet urgency of men who had done this before.

Eric sat on a wooden chair near the window, gun resting on his thigh, eyes locked on the dark woods outside. His shirt was still off, his bandaged wound stark against his skin, but he barely seemed to notice the pain anymore. The only sign of strain was the occasional clench of his jaw.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “Eric…”

His gaze flicked to you, just for a second. Then he exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. Without a word, he reached for you, his fingers curling around the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. His lips pressed against your forehead, brief, warm, and grounding.

“I know,” he muttered against your skin. “I know.”

Then he pulled away, his touch lingering for just a second longer before his attention snapped back to the dark woods outside.

You didn’t say anything else. What was there to say? You couldn’t stop what was coming.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees.

Then, in the distance, headlights.

“Shit,” Lucas hissed.

Eric straightened, fingers tightening around his gun. “They’re here.”

The sound of tires crunching against gravel grew louder. Shadows moved between the trees. The cabin, dark and hidden, felt like a powder keg seconds from igniting.

Eric rolled his shoulders, then turned to you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something raw. “Stay close.”

Then, before you could respond, the first gunshot rang out.

Gunfire ripped through the air, echoing inside the cabin like rolling thunder. The scent of blood, sweat, and gunpowder thickened the air once again, turning it into something suffocating. Shadows moved in flashes. Men ducking for cover, glass shattering, bullets punching through wood and furniture.

Eric barely felt the pain anymore. Adrenaline burned through him like gasoline-fed fire, keeping him sharp, fast. He took cover behind the overturned table, reloading his gun with a swift, practiced motion. Across the room, Mark and Lucas were holding their ground, firing back at Victor’s men, but they were outnumbered.

A sudden movement caught Eric’s eye. Victor, slipping through the chaos, heading upstairs.

Eric’s voice was a command, low and insistent. “Go. Hide.”

There was no hesitation in his words. No time for fear. You barely had a moment to nod before Eric shoved you toward the bathroom, his hand firm on your back. You ran, feeling the weight of the situation in every heartbeat. The door slammed shut behind you, your breath coming in frantic gasps as you pressed your back against the cold tiles.

Behind you, the footsteps were loud, unmistakable.

Victor.

He knew.

You heard him before you saw him. Victor’s mocking voice cutting through the silence. “Well, well, well. Didn’t expect the pretty girl to make it this far.”

The door flew open with a violent crash.

Eric didn’t think. He moved.

Pushing himself up, he cut through the firefight, dodging bullets with near-inhuman instinct. He burst through the narrow hallway, following Victor into the bathroom.

He charged in, fury burning in his eyes, but Victor was ready. A clash of bodies, the sounds of fists pounding against flesh, grunts of pain and effort, and the sickening crack of bone. They were like two animals in a cage, brutal, savage, nothing held back.

Eric slammed Victor against the sink, the mirror shattering into pieces. But Victor wasn’t done. He drove a knee into Eric’s stomach, and Eric grunted, stumbling back. They grappled, their bodies twisting, a tangle of rage and desperation.

“Fucking die already,” Victor spat, but Eric fought back, shaking off the daze. Blood dripped from his face, but his eyes burned with fury.

“Fucker,” Eric spat

And before Victor could get a shot off, Eric was on him again, slamming his knee into Victor’s stomach. The force knocked the wind out of him, and the gun went flying.

In the chaos, both men struggled to their feet, blood spilling onto the floor.

Then, Victor managed to get a hand on his weapon, his finger tightening around the trigger—

But Eric was faster.

With a guttural roar, Eric shoved the knife that he found on the counter deeper into Victor’s neck. Victor’s eyes locked onto his, but there was nothing left in them, just pure hate.

In that final moment, Victor pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, and Eric’s body jerked violently.

The bullet tore through his chest, the same place where he had been shot before, and he collapsed backward, his body crashing to the ground like a ragdoll.

Victor didn’t move. His body slumped into the bathtub, lifeless.

Eric stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping from his fingers and from his bandage. His grip on the knife loosened. His body swayed.

And then—

He dropped.

Your body moved before you could even think.

You rushed to Eric, cradling his head in your lap. His blood was warm, sticky on your hands, but you didn’t care. You needed him. He was still breathing. Barely.

“Eric,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

You choked back a sob, your hands shaking as you tried to stop the bleeding.

“No, no, no,” you whispered over and over. “You’re not dying. You can’t. I won’t let you.”

Eric’s hand reached up, weak but steadying. His fingers grazed your cheek, wiping away a tear that fell without your permission. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice thick. “Didn’t mean for you to get caught up in this. But damn… I never thought you’d care for a guy like me.”

“You’re everything to me,” you said, your voice breaking. “Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”

“Eric—” Your hands pressed against his wound, trying to stop the bleeding. His blood was warm, soaking through your fingers, spreading across your skin. “Stay with me.”

His breath stuttered. His grip tightened for a second, then went slack.

Panic gripped your chest. “No. No, stay awake.” Your hands cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. “Please. I—I love you.”

His eyes flickered, his gaze locking onto yours.

Something shifted in them. Something soft.

Eric’s lips parted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, wanting to say something.

And then his hand went limp.

The life drained from his eyes, his chest stuttering before it stilled.

You screamed, the world around you falling into an abyss of darkness and blood.

You’re trembling, your body shaking uncontrollably, and your eyes refuse to focus on anything but Eric, lying there, still, broken, in your arms.

Then, the door slams open.

Mark stands there, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene. The look on his face mirrors what you already know: the horror, the disbelief, the overwhelming weight of the situation. His gaze flicks from you to Eric, and his face contorts in shock. He takes a step forward, his voice shaky but determined.

“We need to get him to a hospital. Now,” he says, though the urgency in his voice doesn’t match the frozen look on his face.

You can’t answer him. You can’t even bring yourself to speak. It feels like the world is ending, like everything is slipping away, and you’re helpless to stop it.

Mark doesn’t wait for you to respond. He moves quickly, his voice a bit more authoritative now. “I’ll get Lucas. We need to act fast. Stay with him, stay calm.” He turns and rushes out of the bathroom.

Your hands are shaking, and you don’t know what to do. It’s as if you’ve forgotten everything. What were you supposed to do? How were you supposed to help him?

A few minutes later, Mark returns with Lucas, both of them looking just as frantic as you feel. Another man follows them, his face grim and set, eyes scanning the room with the same urgency. Lucas kneels beside you, his hands shaking slightly as he places a hand on Eric’s chest, feeling for a heartbeat. There’s a pause, and then he exhales, as if he’s been holding his breath. “He’s still alive. Barely. We need to move him, now.”

Mark nods, quickly crouching down and helping Lucas carefully lift Eric’s body. The other man, without a word, grabs a blanket, throwing it over Eric’s body, hiding the blood, hiding the truth, at least for a moment. They’re preparing him for transport, and you can barely hold it together, your breath coming in short bursts as you try to comprehend what’s happening.

Mark turns to you, his expression softening just for a moment, but the urgency doesn’t allow for it to last. “We’ll take him out the back. No time for anything else. It’s our only chance.”

You nod numbly, unable to speak, too consumed by the gravity of the moment. You watch, helpless, as the men lift Eric’s limp body, moving with a practiced urgency. You’re still frozen, but you know you have to follow. You have no choice but to follow them.

They move through the back door of the cabin, trying to make as little noise as possible. Mark holds Eric’s body against his chest, Lucas watching from the side, ensuring they’re not spotted. They move quickly through the shadows, towards the car parked in the alleyway. The air outside is cold, the night alive with tension, but you can barely feel anything but the heaviness in your chest.

You barely make it to the car, your heart racing as you climb in beside Lucas. He’s already in the driver’s seat, his hands tight on the wheel, his jaw clenched in a mixture of fear and determination. Mark is in the back with Eric, holding his body against him, whispering something you can’t hear.

The car jolts as the engine starts, and Lucas doesn’t waste a second. He slams his foot on the gas pedal, driving like a maniac, swerving through the dark roads, barely slowing down as they approach the highway. The speedometer climbs higher and higher, the tires screeching as the car pushes forward, desperation and fear driving them all.

You can’t even form words, the silence in the car thick and heavy with your grief. You feel like you’re suffocating, the pressure in your chest too much to bear, the loss already beginning to swallow you whole. The thought of losing Eric… it feels like too much.

The car screeches to a halt in front of the hospital, the tires burning as Lucas slams on the brakes, bringing them to an abrupt stop. The headlights cut through the night like a beacon of desperation. The cold air hits you like a shockwave as you spill out of the car, your body shaking from the effort of trying to stay calm. You can barely focus, too consumed with the terrifying thought that Eric might slip away before anyone can save him.

The hospital staff is already rushing out before you even make it to the sidewalk. A nurse, seeing the state of Eric, immediately signals for help. “Get the stretcher!” she shouts. Within seconds, a team of medics swarms around him, pushing a gurney towards the car. Mark helps lift Eric’s still form, holding him carefully as they lay him on the stretcher. You can barely breathe, your heart hammering against your ribs as you follow them, barely able to keep up with the frantic pace.

The doors of the hospital slide open, and the noise of the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway hits you like a cold wave. People bustle around, moving quickly, their faces tense with concentration as they prepare to deal with the emergency. A nurse takes one look at you, and without a word, she directs you to a waiting room, her voice soft but firm, “Stay here.”

“I’m going with him,” you snap, your voice shaking, but your resolve is unbreakable.

The desperation in your eyes must say enough because no one stops you after that. They let you in.

You follow, breathless, as they rush him down the hallway, your heart hammering against your ribs as the doors to the ER burst open. Everything is chaos—

Too bright. Too white. The fluorescent lights buzz above you, a low, relentless hum that scrapes against your skull. The world feels distant, like it’s slipping through your fingers, but you don’t try to hold onto it. You just stand there, staring through the glass.

Inside, they’re working on him.

Doctors move frantically around the gurney, their voices sharp, cutting through the heavy silence that presses down on your ears.

Someone shouts something short, urgent, but the words slip past you like water. Machines beep, alarms wail, gloves snap.

A nurse moves aside, and for a second, you see him. His body still, chest bare, skin too pale under the harsh lights and the only colour coming from his tattoos.

Eric.

Blood is everywhere.

On the sheets, on the doctors’ gloves, smeared across his chest. His body jerks violently as they press paddles to him, a raw, mechanical voice calling out—Clear!—before another brutal shock rips through him. His back arches, then slams back onto the table.

No reaction.

Eric isn’t moving.

A thick, plastic tube is shoved down his throat, his lips parted around it, blood crusting at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are closed. He isn’t breathing.

He looks—

No.

You won’t think that word.

Another shock.

The force lifts him, his muscles seizing, ribs straining under the voltage. The monitor wails, a long, unbroken scream of flatlining sound. Someone shouts something. A doctor throws something aside, snapping orders. Gloves streaked in red press down on Eric’s chest, pumping, pushing, forcing his body to keep fighting.

You can’t move. You can’t breathe.

Eric is dying.

A reflection flickers in the glass. You barely register it, but somewhere in the back of your mind, it scratches. A shape, unmoving.

A girl.

Small, standing down the hallway, her arms wrapped around herself. Long blonde hair spills over her shoulders, pale against the hospital’s fluorescent lights. Her eyes—deep green, too deep—lock onto yours, wide and unblinking. There’s something in her face, something hollow, something afraid.

Why?

Your gaze drops to your hands, your arms, your clothes.

Blood.

Seeping into the fabric, dark and dried in some places, wet and sticky in others.

Your fingers twitch.

Slowly, almost mechanically, you reach for your jacket and pull it closed over your chest, hiding the red.

A voice calls out. A name, maybe yours, maybe his. But you don’t turn. You just watch through the glass as they press the paddles to Eric’s chest one more time.

His body jolts.

And then—

A sound.

Faint, barely there. A blip of resistance against the silence.

Beep.

Your breath hitches.

Then another.

Beep. Beep.

The long, merciless flatline cuts off, replaced by an erratic, stuttering rhythm. Weak. Fragile. But there.

The doctors move in a blur, stabilizing, adjusting tubes, calling out numbers you don’t understand. Someone barks an order, and they push a cart forward, wheeling Eric toward another room. His face remains slack, unmoving, but the screen beside him flickers with life.

Your body sags against the glass, fingers slipping down the cold surface. A sob crawls up your throat, but it sticks there, refusing to come out.

“Holy shit,” Mark mutters beside you, but his voice sounds far away. Distant, like it’s coming through a thick layer of fog.

A hand lands on your shoulder. Warm, grounding but you don’t react. Your eyes stay fixed on Eric, on the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the tangle of tubes and wires.

Not dead.

Not gone.

But not safe, either.

A nurse steps into the hall, pulling down her mask. She looks at you first, at the blood smeared across your clothes, at the way your hands are clenched so tightly your knuckles have gone white. Her expression softens.

“He’s alive,” she says, and for a split second, the world stops spinning.

But then she adds, “Your husband is alive. But he’s critical. We’re taking him to surgery now.”

Her words barely register. The room tilts slightly, the overhead lights swimming in your vision.

Then the words hit like a bullet to the ribs.

Your breath stutters, your body locking up. The nurse doesn’t wait for a correction just gives you a reassuring nod before turning away, disappearing down the corridor.

That word echoes in your skull, clanging against the chaos inside you. You don’t correct it. You don’t say anything at all. He’s alive. That all it matters.

“Hey,” Mark’s voice sharpens. “Breathe.”

You inhale, shaky and uneven.

The next minutes blur. Eric disappears behind double doors, swallowed by sterile corridors and too-bright lights. Mark and Lucas guide you to a set of chairs against the wall, but sitting doesn’t help. Nothing helps.

Your clothes are stiff with dried blood. Your hands won’t stop shaking.

You sink into the chair, legs too weak to hold you. The world feels unsteady, shifting beneath you like you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t quite name.

You sit there, motionless, staring at the space where Eric had been just moments ago. The nurse’s words still echo in your head, looping over and over again.

“Your husband is alive.”

She had said it so naturally, so easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if there had never been any doubt. As if it made sense.

Your husband.

The thought lingers, curling around your mind like smoke. You’d barely processed it then, too desperate to see him, but now it twists in your chest, stirring something deep, something raw.

You press your elbows against your knees, burying your face in your hands. Blood stains your fingers, dried and cracked at the edges, a stark reminder that this is real. That Eric almost died. That maybe he still will.

You exhale, shaky and uneven, and lift your head.

And then you see her again.

The little girl.

She’s still down the hall, but now she’s with her mom, or you think that the woman is her mom. She’s standing near the corner, peeking out cautiously. Her arms are wrapped around herself, her small fingers clutching the fabric of her dress. She isn’t afraid of you. She’s just watching, those big green eyes unblinking.

And then—those green eyes.

She couldn’t have been more than six or seven, her long blonde hair falling in waves over her small shoulders. But it was her eyes that caught you, a vivid, piercing green. The same impossible shade that burned through you every time Eric looked your way.

She was just a child, just a stranger in the hospital. But for a brief, irrational moment, you saw something else.A future, a daughter with his eyes. A family.

Something shifts in your stomach, deep and unsettling.

It’s ridiculous. It’s nothing. It means nothing.

But the thought lodges itself in your brain, and it won’t let go.

Maybe a little girl with green eyes and blonde hair would have been running toward him, calling him Dad.

You swallow hard, pressing your back into the chair.

It’s stupid. It’s nothing.

But still, your heart aches.

You don’t know how much time has passed. It doesn’t feel real.

Then, a voice pulls you back.

“You need to eat.”

You blink, sluggish, disoriented, and look up. Lucas is standing in front of you, holding out a bottle of water and a sandwich in plastic wrapping. His face is drawn, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion.

You shake your head. “I’m not hungry.”

He glances toward the hallway clock and scoffs softly. “It’s afternoon.”

Your stomach turns. Afternoon.

It doesn’t make sense. How could time have slipped away so fast? The last thing you remember, it was dark, sirens wailing in the night. Now, the hospital hums with life, daylight streaming through the windows. You’ve been sitting here for hours.

Before you can say anything, a nurse appears. You snap upright, pulse spiking, searching her face for answers before she even speaks.

“He’s stable.”

The words hit you like a crash, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Stable.

Lucas exhales sharply beside you, but you barely register it.

“His vitals have improved,” the nurse continues. “The surgery went well. He lost a lot of blood, but we were able to control it. He’s going to need time, but…” she offers a small, cautious smile, “he’s better.”

Your chest tightens, your fingers digging into the bottle. “Can I see him?”

The nurse hesitates. You can see the conflict in her face, the rules she’s supposed to follow battling against the raw desperation in your voice.

Then, finally, she exhales.

“Alright. Just for a moment.”

The room is dimly lit, the sterile glow of machines casting faint shadows against the walls. It smells of antiseptic, too clean, too sharp. The steady beep of a monitor fills the silence, rhythmic and unyielding, each pulse a reminder that he’s still here.

Eric lies motionless in the hospital bed.

Wires snake across his bare chest, disappearing beneath the blankets. His skin is pale, the bruises and stitched wounds stark against it. A thick bandage wraps around his shoulder and another one to his chest, where the fresh gunshots wound still lingers, another scars among so many.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for him. Slowly, carefully, you take his hand in yours. It’s warm, solid, alive. A choked breath leaves you, and your knees nearly give out.

He’s alive.

The relief is suffocating. It presses into your ribs, tight and painful, forcing the tears from your eyes before you can stop them.

You squeeze Eric’s hand a little tighter. “You scared me,” you murmur, voice unsteady. “I thought—” You stop yourself, shaking your head. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move. But the machine beeps steadily beside him, a promise that he’s still here, that he’s still fighting.

You lean your forehead against his hand, eyes squeezing shut as a silent tear slips down your cheek.

And you stay like that. Holding on.

At some point, the door creaks open. The sound barely registers until a voice follows it, soft but firm.

“You should rest.”

The voice is soft but firm, pulling you out of your trance. You blink, barely registering the nurse standing beside you. She gives you a small, understanding smile before her eyes drop to your clothes.

“And you should change,” she adds gently.

You follow her gaze.

Blood.

It’s his blood.

You swallow hard, your fingers twitching against Eric’s hand, gripping him tighter.

“I don’t want to leave him,” you say, barely above a whisper.

The nurse crouches slightly to meet your gaze. “He’s stable now. He made it through the worst of it.” She pauses; voice softer. “You won’t do him any good like this.”

The blood on you is dried, but it still feels wet, like it’s seeping into your skin, into your soul, staining something deeper than fabric.

The nurse touches your arm lightly. “Go home. Shower. Change. Come back. He’ll still be here.”

You force yourself to nod.

Slowly, painfully, you unwind your fingers from Eric’s. It feels like ripping yourself open, like leaving a piece of yourself behind as you step away.

When you step into the hallway, Mark and Lucas are there.

Lucas looks up first, eyes scanning you. He opens his mouth, probably to ask if something happened, but you beat him to it.

“The nurse told me to go home and change,” you say. Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own. “She said he’s stable.”

Mark nods. “That’s good.”

Lucas studies you for a second before nodding, too. “We’ll stay here.”

You exhale, gripping your jacket tighter around you, and without another word, you turn and leave.

The apartment feels different.

The moment you step inside, silence swallows you whole. The lights are off. Everything is exactly how you left it, but it feels wrong, like you don’t belong here anymore. Like you stepped into a place frozen in time, but you are no longer the same.

You move on autopilot, stripping out of your clothes the second you step into the bathroom. The fabric clings to you, and you hate it. You want it off, want it gone, want to erase every trace of tonight from your body.

You step into the shower and turn the water as hot as it will go.

It scalds your skin, but you don’t move.

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead against the cool tiles as the water pounds against your back.

You suck in a breath, but it’s shaky, like your lungs forgot how to work properly.

For a moment, he was gone.

And for a moment, you thought—

No.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. No. He’s alive. He made it. You keep telling yourself that, but the fear lingers, wrapping itself around your ribs, squeezing tight.

You don’t know how long you stay there. Long enough for the water to start running cold. Long enough for your skin to feel raw from the heat.

Eventually, you force yourself to move.

You dry off, dress quickly in something clean. You sit down on the couch for a moment. Your knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped around them, staring at nothing. The apartment still feels wrong, like a place that belonged to someone else, to a different version of you who had no idea what the night would bring.

You should leave. You should go back to the hospital. But just for a second, you sit down, just to catch your breath, just to clear your mind for a moment before you go back to him.

Your head rests against the cushion. You blink slowly.

And then—

Darkness.

A sharp jolt rips you out of sleep.

You sit up too fast, the world spinning, panic hitting you like a fist to the chest.

Daylight spills through the windows. The soft, grey kind of morning light that settles over the city, stretching long shadows across the floor.

Morning.

Morning.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“Fuck—” The word rips out of you, raw and sharp as you shove the blanket off of you. When did you even pull a blanket over yourself? It doesn’t matter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You shoot off the couch, grabbing your jacket, shoving your shoes on, moving too fast, your body still heavy with exhaustion but your mind racing. How could you fall asleep? How could you be so fucking stupid?

The hospital.

You need to get to the hospital.

You rush through the halls, your breath still uneven, your pulse loud in your ears.

When you spot Mark, you go straight to him. Lucas is beside him, both of them looking up as you stumble toward them, your words already spilling out—

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how it happened, I just— I sat down for a second, and then I— I should’ve been here, I didn’t mean to leave for so long, I swear, I—”

Mark shakes his head, raising a hand. “Relax.”

“No, but I—”

Lucas sighs, stepping closer, and before you can start talking again, he cuts you off—

“He’s awake.”

The world tilts.

Your breath catches.

“What?”

Lucas smirks, just a little. “Eric’s awake.” His eyes flick toward the door. “And he wants to see you.”

The air leaves your lungs all at once.

Then, without another word, you turn and walk straight toward his room.

The quiet beeping of the machines fills the room, the sterile smell of the hospital air mixing with the faint scent of Eric’s skin. He’s awake now, his eyes flicking to you with that same intensity, though there’s something softer beneath the surface. Something… real.

His voice breaks the silence, rough and a little unsteady. “You look like shit.” The words come out with that familiar smirk of his, but there’s no malice in them. Just that sharp edge of his humour.

You chuckle softly, a little breathless. “Yeah, well, you look like you’ve been through hell.”

He chuckles too, but it’s more of a rasp, like he’s testing the limits of his own body, still fragile from the ordeal. He watches you, a glint in his eyes, as if trying to read every emotion flickering across your face.

You glance away, feeling the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down on you.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you say, your voice quieter than you mean for it to be, but it’s the truth. The fear that had gripped you earlier when you didn’t know if he was going to pull through starts to bubble up again.

He leans forward, just a little, the shift in his posture pulling you in without him even trying. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away that easy, did you?” His tone is teasing, but there’s something more there. Something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his gaze softening just a little. The teasing edge is still there, but there’s something else now. Something genuine, like he’s trying to reassure you.

He reaches out slowly, almost as if testing the waters, and you can feel your pulse quicken. His fingers graze your cheek lightly, then trail down to your jaw, sending a shiver through you. His touch is steady, grounding, but it’s his gaze—deep and searching—that pulls you in completely.

Without thinking, you close the small distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s unexpected but everything you’ve been wanting. His lips are warm, just the right amount of pressure, and when he deepens it, you’re lost. Every worry, every ounce of fear you’ve felt over the past hours melts away, replaced by the rush of heat and the sweet taste of his mouth.

When he finally pulls back, just slightly, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He looks at you, his eyes a mixture of affection and something darker, something that makes your chest tighten.

But then, without warning, he shifts in the bed, his body slowly pulling away from you. You watch, wide-eyed, as Eric starts to swing his legs off the side, his movements shaky, unstable.

You grab his arm instinctively, panic surging through you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Your voice is sharp, laced with concern. His body is weak, and you can see the strain on his face as he tries to stand, his legs wobbling beneath him.

He looks at you, a faint smirk on his lips, though it’s clear he’s pushing himself harder than he should. “I’m getting out of here.”

Your brow furrows, even more confused and alarmed now. “You’re not going anywhere. You can barely stand.”

He lets out a low chuckle, though it’s more out of frustration than humour. “I can’t stay here.” His voice is strained, but firm. “The cops are on their way. They’ll want to question me. That’s how it works with hospitals, sweetheart. They’ve already notified them.”

You freeze, his words sinking in. The police? Here? In this moment, it feels like the last thing you want to deal with, but his expression is all seriousness. He’s not kidding.

The door open slowly as Mark and Lucas come inside.

“You good?” Lucas says while gives Eric a bag with clothes.

We’re good,” you answered in Eric’s place, he being too busy to dress himself.

Lucas gives a nod, glancing at Mark. The two of them share a silent look before Mark steps forward, his expression serious.

“We’ve got the diversion set up,” he says in a low voice. “But it’s not going to last forever. We need to move fast.”

Mark gestures toward the emergency exit, and the four of you move quickly. The hospital is full of sound. Footsteps, voices, the incessant hum of machines but it’s easy to slip by unnoticed, the shadows seeming to swallow you whole.

You make your way to a back stairwell, and that’s when Lucas quickly pulls out his phone. His fingers fly across the screen, and you see him text something, maybe to one of their guys.

“The distractions in place,” he mutters. “They’ll cause a scene on the front entrance. Enough to pull security and anyone else away from the back.”

The diversion kicks in a few seconds later. A loud crash echoes through the hallway, followed by shouts and panicked voices. You don’t turn around, but you can feel the shift in the atmosphere. The tension in the air breaks for a moment as everyone’s attention is pulled toward the front of the building.

That’s their cue.

Mark leads the way down another set of stairs, his steps quick and deliberate. You follow, your heart pounding, Eric’s breath shallow beside you.

You reach a small back exit, the cool night air greeting you as Mark pulls the door open, looking around quickly to make sure the coast is clear. You all slip out into the alley behind the hospital.

You barely have time to process anything as Lucas pulls out a car key and unlocks a nearby black SUV. The engine rumbles to life as you all pile in, with Eric collapsing into the seat next to you, still pale but determined.

We made it,” Mark says, exhaling sharply. “That should give us enough time to get out of the area before anyone figures out what happened.”

Mark laughs from the front seat. It’s infectious, and before long, Lucas is chuckling too, and even Eric’s deep laugh fills the space between you, like a weightlifting off his shoulders.

Eric pulls you closer, his arm reaching across the back seat to bring you against him. His lips are on your neck before you can fully comprehend what’s happening. You shiver, the warmth of his body against yours sending a rush of heat through your veins.

“We fucking did it,” Eric mutters, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill down your spine. He grins like a man who’s just conquered the world, but his eyes tell a different story. They’re dark, almost wild with a mix of adrenaline and something else, something you can’t quite place but know is dangerous.

You glance at Mark and Lucas up front. They’re busy, pretending not to notice, like it’s nothing, like they don’t care that Eric has his hand in your hair, pulling you even closer. It’s like a switch has flipped, and everything feels like it used to. Reckless, unrestrained, the rush of living in the moment.

Eric’s lips find yours in a sudden, urgent kiss, deep and demanding. He tastes like the wild rush of the escape, like everything that’s been building between you two. The kiss is filled with everything you’ve both been holding back, a mix of relief, hunger, and an undeniable connection.

He groans softly against your lips, his hand drifting down to your thigh, his fingers pressing slow into the soft fabric of your jeans, between your legs. His voice drops, thick and dark, as he whispers into your ear.

“I’ve missed this… missed you…” His breath against your skin sends a shiver down your spine. “So fucking much. Don’t think for a second that I’m letting you go.”

You barely have time to respond before his lips are on you again, more frantic now, more desperate. His hand keeps moving on your core. You can feel his heart thumping in time with yours.

In the front, Mark and Lucas keep their eyes on the road, not acknowledging what’s happening in the back seat.

The car eventually pulls into the familiar street, and the noise of the city fades as Mark parks outside Eric’s building. The engine hums to a stop, but the moment feels like it could last forever.

Eric’s breathing is heavy, his lips still lingering on yours, as if he can’t quite let you go, but he pulls away just enough to give you a smirk.

“You good?” he asks, voice rough but full of satisfaction.

You nod, still lost in the heat of his kiss, of his touch, your pulse racing. “I’m good,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mark’s voice breaks through, sounding almost playful. “We’re here. You two better save the rest for later.”

Eric straightens himself up, adjusting his shirt as if nothing happened, though the look in his eyes says everything. He’s back. The old Eric, the one who was unstoppable, who lived for the thrill of the chase. The one you had to be careful of. But right now, he’s just yours.

The four of you head up to Eric’s place.

“You need something, you call” Mark says while Lucas gives Eric a bag full of painkillers.

They hang out for a few minutes, talking quietly, and then leave you two alone.

As the door closes behind them, the silence settles in, the city outside fading into the background.

As you walk toward the bedroom, you glance over your shoulder, making sure Eric is following

“Come on,” you murmur, guiding him gently toward the bed. “You need to lie down.”

“You’re bossy,” Eric chuckles, raising an eyebrow, but he obliges, slowly easing down onto the bed with a sigh. His movements are slow, deliberate, and you can see the pain etched across his face, how bad everything hurt, every move he makes he’s hissing in pain.

“ I like it.” He says reaching over to the bedside table and grabs the bottle of painkillers, swallowing a couple with a grimace before settling back against the pillow. His gaze meets yours, warm and appreciative.

You smile, settling down beside him. “Well, someone has to keep you in line.”

“Let’s watch something” you say  ce Reaching for the remote, you scroll through the options, trying to pick something lighthearted. Something that can take his mind off of everything. Finally, you settle on a romantic movie, one that feels fitting for the soft, golden light streaming through the window. The sun is setting, casting a warm, amber glow across the room, and the curtains flutter ever so slightly, the air carrying the soft scent of the outside world.

You lean back, careful not to jostle him too much, your shoulder gently brushing his as you settle in. He turns his head slightly, his hand finding yours almost instinctively. His fingers lightly trace over yours, the touch soft but somehow weighty, like it holds more meaning than either of you are willing to admit just yet.

Eric’s thumb gently moves along the back of your hand, his touch light but constant. He doesn’t speak for a moment, just enjoying the stillness of it all. Then his hand gently slipping around your waist, pulling you even closer. The touch is tender, almost reverential.

“Do you really like this movie?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there, gentle and sweet, and you find yourself melting into him even more, every little touch making you feel like you’re exactly where you need to be.

You look up at him, catching the glint of affection in his eyes. 

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours, soft and lingering. The kiss is sweet, the kind that says more than words ever could. But soon, it deepens, the sweetness turning into something much hotter. His hand moves from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his mouth presses more insistently against yours.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, your fingers sliding into his hair, tugging him closer. The room seems to disappear around you as the kiss deepens, the heat between you two intensifying, raw and needy. The movie, the sunset, everything else fades into the background. There’s only the two of you lost in the sensation of each other, in the fire that has reignited between you.

As you straddle him, your legs sliding over his, the intensity between you two heightens. Your breath hitches in your throat, heart pounding in anticipation, the space between you shrinking until there’s nothing left but the press of your bodies, the heat radiating between you both. Your legs rest on either side of his, your knees gently framing his waist, feeling the weight of him beneath you.

The touch of his hands on your back is electric, sending a current through you, every inch of skin that connects to his is a spark, and the closeness feels suffocating yet exhilarating, a dizzying mixture of love, lust, and the raw desire that’s been building for what feels like forever. 

Your hands move instinctively, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, fingers trembling as you strip it off. Your eyes trail over his chest, your eyes are drawn down to his torso, to the bandages wrapped around him. The sight of it, raw, exposed, and real stirs something deep inside you, a surge of protectiveness and tenderness. The clean white bandage stands out stark against his skin, marking the injury, the thing that could’ve taken him from you, but also a reassure that he’s here, with you, alive.

Eric leans in, kissing you deeply, the heat of his body matching the fire in his kiss. It’s intense, raw, but beneath it all is tenderness. Something unspoken, a deeper connection that goes beyond the physical.

Between kisses, his hands move to your waist, lifting gently your top, removing it from your body. You both continue till you’re both completely naked.

As you pull away for just a moment to catch your breath, your eyes meet his. His gaze is intense, dark with desire, but there’s still something vulnerable in it, something soft that calls to you. You move your eyes from hisnto his hard cock. His chest rises and falls rapidly as if he’s fighting the urge to take you.

Slowly you wrap your hand around his cock, moving your hand up and down from the base to the tip.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse while his watching your moves.

You don’t stop, you keep moving your hand faster this time. A soft low moan escaped Eric lips. Small drops of precum start to form at his tip.

Suddenly he removes your hand pulling you closer, moving you on top of him, your body presses against his.

“Sorry baby, no time for this, I need to be inside you now. I need to feel you.” He says wrapping his hand around his cock, moving slowly to your entrance.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice low and guttural, when you let yourself down on his cock. You begin to move, slowly at first, teasing him. His head falls back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded, watching you with a hunger that makes your stomach flutter and your pulse race.

 His hands find your hips, guiding you, controlling your rhythm, but you take control again, moving in slow, deliberate rolls of your hips, feeling the weight of him inside you, filling you in ways that make your whole body ache for more. You feel the heat of him beneath you, the way his chest rises and falls with each strained breath.

His lips crash against yours, deep, urgent, and almost too hungry. His hands move between you, fingers sliding down your skin, tracing the curve of your body before pulling you in closer, making you grind harder against him, the friction of your bodies raw and electric.

His hands slide down your body, gripping your thighs as he pulls you even closer, thrusting harder into you. The raw sound of skin meeting skin fills the air, and you can’t help but moan louder, your body rocking against his in perfect rhythm, desperate, needy, unrelenting.

You gasp out his name, and he laughs softly, darkly, the sound laced with something primal that sends a shiver down your spine. “Every time I more, it hurts like a bitch,” he says, a smirk pulling at his lips despite the pain. 

You hesitate for a split second, worried that he’s pushing himself too far, but before you can pull away, he grabs your wrist, his grip tight, not letting you move. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, his eyes locking with yours.

His words hit you like a wave, and you fall into him again, your movements becoming more frantic, more desperate as the pace quickens, every motion causing his body to jerk beneath you.

“Ride me, baby,” he commands in a rough whisper, his voice thick with lust. “Ride me until this pain wears off. Until the only feeling is your pussy wrapped tightly around my cock.”

The raw intensity of his words sends a shiver through you, and with a deep breath, you push yourself up, bracing your hands on his chest for support. Your body moves, a slow grind at first, feeling every inch of him deep inside you, but then you begin to move faster, harder. You feel the way he starts to tremble beneath you, how his fingers dig into your skin, pulling you closer, urging you on. Each time you rock against his cock, the sensation sends waves of heat through you.

As the pace between you both builds, the tension in the room becomes almost unbearable. The heat between your bodies intensifies, and with each movement, you feel yourself getting closer. His hands grip you tighter, guiding you on his cock.

Eric’s eyes are locked on yours, his lips parted, and you can see the strain in his face. They way his jaw clenches as he tries to hold on, torn between the pleasure of the moment and the pain that’s still lingering in his body. His hands tighten on your hips, moving you faster, harder. “God… you feel so fucking good…”  His groans breathes, his voice thick with lust, the intensity of the moment breaking through everything else.

You can feel it too. The slow burn inside you, the heat growing stronger with every thrust, every roll of your hips. Your body starts to tense, that sweet, familiar pressure building, the edge so close you can almost taste it. The air between you is thick, your breaths shallow and erratic, and all you can focus on is him. His touch, his moans, how his cock feels inside you, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

His eyes are half-lidded, watching you as you move against him, and suddenly, his voice comes out hoarse, almost desperate. “Say it again.”

For a moment, you don’t understand what he’s asking. You don’t stop, though. Your body continues. You lean in to kiss him, a mix of passion and sweetness, but his hand grips your chin firmly, pulling you back to look at him.

“Say it,” he repeats, voice strained. “Say that you love me again, like you did in that fucking bathroom. Say it, baby… ’Cause I fucking love you.”

The words hit you hard, a rush of emotions flooding your chest. The depth of his voice, the raw need laced in his tone, makes your heart skip a beat. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you even closer. You don’t even hesitate. You breathe it out, raw and truthful, your voice shaking as the words spill from your lips.

“I love you, Eric.”

The moment those words leave your mouth, everything intensifies. You move against him again, your body rising and falling in a rhythm that mirrors the emotions pouring out of you both. The tension, the rawness, the intimacy, the pressure building. And then, it hits you, the build, the rush. It’s as if the world fades away completely, leaving nothing but the overwhelming intensity of your connection, you left out a soft moan while the orgasm it hits you, you feeling iy through your whole body, making you to clench your pussy around his cock.

His body tenses beneath you, and you feel it, every single inch of him tightening in pleasure and pain, a mix of both. His breath catches in his throat, his hand gripping your body harder, pulling you closer, as his hot seed spills inside you. Eric’s moans become louder, his groans deeper. “Fuck,” he growls under his breath.

Both of you fall, crashing into that blissful moment of release, your bodies trembling together, a deep, guttural moan escaping Eric’s lips as he loses himself in the sensation. It’s as if time stops, and all that exists is this one shared moment of pleasure, of love, of everything you’ve been through together.

The aftermath is quiet, serene, the weight of it all settling in between you. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek as you both try to catch your breath, hearts still pounding.

“I don’t want to let you go, never.” he whispers, voice thick with emotion.

You smile softly, leaning into his touch, your heart full. “You won’t have to, I’ll always be here. Always.”

Eric chuckles softly, his lips brushing against your forehead as he kisses you gently. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with gratitude, but also a little disbelief. “Thank you for choosing to love me. Thank you for accepting me… the way I am. For seeing me, not the mistakes I’ve made. Not all the shit I’ve put myself through.”

You look up at him, your hands cupping his face as you gaze into his eyes. Those green eyes that have seen so much darkness, yet now hold something softer, something more real. You can’t help but smile, your lips curling with affection. “I will always do that,” you say quietly. “I’ll always choose you. I love you, just the way you are. Everything you’ve been through, all of it, it’s part of you. And I’m with you for all of it. I’m here, Eric. I always will be.”

He closes his eyes for a second, taking in your words as if they’re exactly what he needed to hear. His voice is thick with emotion when he speaks again. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he says, his fingers gently tracing the lines of your face. “But I swear to god, I’ll never let you go. You’re my home. You’re my fucking everything.”

“I love you, Eric,” you whisper again, just because you need him to know. Again and again.

“And I love you,” he replies, his voice firm, certain.

You both fall into a peaceful silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you, more powerful than any action or kiss could express.

The room is bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, the warm breeze shifting the curtains. The TV hums in the background, playing a movie neither of you have followed.

Eric is beside you, warm, solid, alive. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your skin, his arm holding you close. Your head rests on his shoulder, his scent still clinging to you.

For the first time in forever, there’s no threat, no fear. Victor is gone. Eric is here. You are here. And the weight in your chest has finally lifted.

Your mind drifts back to the little girl in the hospital, the green eyes, the stupid thought you pushed away.

But now, with him safe, his lips pressing softly into your hair, his touch easy.

Maybe, just maybe it’s not so stupid after all.

“Hmm?” Eric hums, his voice low, lazy. “Did you say something?”

You smile against his skin. “Nothing.”

He just pulls you closer, kissing your forehead grip tightening around you like he knows what you’re thinking.

And with that, you both lay together, knowing that whatever comes next. Whaterver life throws at you, it doesn’t matter. You have each other. And that’s all that matters.

Forever.

_____________

@paraficwriter @clairesblouse

A/N: Before anything else, I want to take a moment to express my gratitude. To each of you who liked, commented, or shared—no matter how you showed your support. It has meant the world to me. What began as a simple anonymous message quickly evolved into an idea I couldn’t ignore. Initially, I envisioned a single one-shot, but the story kept unfolding, demanding more. I told myself it would be two parts, then three… and yet, here we are, at part six. In truth, if we count the length of the final sections, it could have easily been nine or ten. None of this would have been possible without you. Your encouragement kept me going, and for that, I am endlessly grateful. Also, I want to say that this is my first fic. I’ve only written one-shots before. So this journey has been incredibly meaningful to me. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being a part of it. I hope the story lived up to your expectations, I can’t wait to hear your final thoughts on this story! ❤️

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

[cottoncandytomu]

Scream For Me Doll~ Ghostface!Ellie x F!Reader

🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸

🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸

ITS FINALLY FUCKING HEREEEEEE!!!

(I do not own any of the photos! Just edited them, if they are yours and you want them removed lmk!!)

GHOSTFACE!ELLIE AI AUDIOS HERE!!

Before I even start-

18+ CONTENT MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. THIS FIC IS DEFINITELY NOT FOR MINORS!!

PLEASE READ ALL OF THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU INDULGE IN THIS FIC!!

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to finally finish this fic, I wanted to make it the best I could for you deranged Beauties~. I will say though, I only proofread half of it (I'll proofread the other half later - sorry I just wanted to post it already heeheheh~) so any mistakes I apologize they will be fixed in the future!

Those who asked to be tagged, if you're not interested in this fic in particular or want to be removed please lmk!! :}

WARNINGS!! PLEASE READ!!

This fic IS NOT for everyone, so please if it isn't your cup of tea...move on. Any type of hate sent my way I ask for it to not be anonymous so I can do you the justice and block you straight up. This fic contains the following: (If I forget to put a TW please let me know so I can add it on!!)

LOTS of dark themes, Filthy smut, Knife play, Blood play, Self harm (Ellie's behalf - slightly intentional - she cuts herself on the blade), Degradation (Very minor), Possessiveness, Stalking, Cursing, Deranged reader and Ellie, Mentions of murder/killing.

I think that's it - again if I missed anything please let me know. BUT that's about it folks, hope you Beauties~ enjoy!! (7839 Words)

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The sound of breathing was the only thing to be heard, Ellie’s warm breath bouncing off the flesh of the mask and back into her own. She learned very quickly how to stay quiet in situations like these. Her robe almost touched the floor, flowing right along with her movements. The sun had set hours before, a warm yellow moon took its place. Darkness cascades over the town, it was during these hours where she thrived the most. The shadows made for her stalk within the night, hiding all of her secrets in its shroud. She slowly creeps towards your window, forever thankful that your room was located on the first floor. 

A lot of her nights were spent like this. Reveling in her recent victims over the weeks to then come and celebrate by watching you at your most vulnerable. You weren’t on her hit list, far from it actually. Her obsession for you was different, not one of bloodlust. Although she’d love to see the deep velvet color of your blood drip down your stomach. The tip of her blade digging into your skin, not too hard, not too soft, but enough to pierce the skin. She’d imagine rubbing her gloved thumb across the liquid, smearing it towards your hip bone. Where she’d then grip your waist, squeezing the soft flesh in her palm. 

Her true bloodlust was for the imbeciles who fell into her traps, never clever enough to understand the gravity of the situation they’ve put themselves in. What genius would walk through an alleyway alone after a night of drinking? Or answer a phone call in the deep hours of the night? Only idiots would and Ellie hated the idiots of the world. The ones who deserved to be silenced by her blade, one less ignorant human on this planet. She saw the evils she committed as an act of justice. Just what society needed, one less idiot to exist. But fuck there were so many. That’s why she enjoyed you the most. You weren’t like them. 

The way you were always aware of your surroundings, keeping up on the latest murders of the month. Those murders being her own work of course. She saw the way your eyes lit up at the idea of figuring out who the infamous Ghostface was. You were determined, it was cute in your own way. Ellie was always one step ahead though, she knew about your obsession with the slasher. Being your close friend was her advantage to the game. It was her fun version of tag, except for the fact that you were unaware you were playing it with her. Coming so close to touching her, the tips of your fingers stretched out wide but she was able to run and hide. You having to start all over again just when you were so close. She loved when you got close. 

She’d listen to all the theories you’d come up with about who Ghostface could be. You’ve gotten close a few times, even if it was jokingly pointing the finger at her. You’d laugh off the idea of Ellie being Ghostface. It’s too hard to believe your childhood friend who you’ve spent every waking moment with to be the one. You told her she didn’t have the guts to commit such acts, too blinded by the nurturing friendship the two of you shared. As clever as you were, in which Ellie respected, you always missed that one piece. 

There was a moment that she did want to tell you, to scream it off the rooftops or to stand outside your house with it written in bold letters. Hey, it’s me! I’m Ghostface! Surprised huh? But she knew that’d be too risky, as much as she trusts you with her life she doesn’t fully know if you’d be able to keep this under the wraps. Would you run away screaming, telling the first officer you see? Or is there that slight chance that you’d be alright with it… 

This was another fantasy Ellie loved to live in. You overjoyed with the fact that she was the one. Running up to her and caressing her mask, blood staining the tips of your fingers just moments after her fresh kill. But she knew better. Out of all the secrets you two shared, this was the only one she kept to herself. 

Little did she know you had secrets of your own. Your obsession with the slasher didn’t just end at finding out who it was. You wanted them for yourself. You wanted to trace their mask with your fingers, dragging them down the oversized robe and over to their gloved hand. You dreamt of grabbing that hand that yielded the knife. Tracing it up your chest to your delicate throat. To feel the cool blade against your skin would welcome heat that would pool between your thighs. You wanted them to use you how they wanted, bending at their will, doing whatever for them. It was a fucked up fantasy you couldn’t stop. But did you truly want it to stop? 

You had to bite your tongue every time you talked to Ellie about them. She was intrigued with your theories, always ready to listen in on the newest piece of evidence you brought up. But you didn’t want to face the judgment of her words when you told her the main reason you wanted to see what was behind the mask. You imagined her reaction once. You didn’t imagine it again after that. 

As she peers in she feels her chest swell up. It never felt any different for her, you always made her feel a certain way. Especially during these times. When she had the mask on, it changed her. She became a different person, she felt free. She felt like her true self. It was funny in a way, usually people put on a mask to hide their identity. But it wasn’t the same for Ellie, it brought out the worst in her. She loved every second of it. 

You were fast asleep in your bed, legs in a tangled mess with your blankets. Your brows were furrowed, tightly knit together. She was curious as to what you were dreaming about. Was it a nightmare? Troubles from something that happened earlier in the day? It took everything in her to not climb in through your window, coming close to you to smoothen out the lines between your brows. Her eyes trailed down to your lips, taking in how soft they looked. How badly she wanted to glide her gloved fingers across them. Just to hook them into the side of your mouth and pull back the flesh, making you smile like the joker. 

Her nightly ritual would soon come to an end. Much to her disappointment she had to go back to being the regular old Ellie. The Ellie no one suspected was Ghostface. She took in your features one last time before descending back into the night, the darkness consuming her once again. 

Finding the abandoned shed by her house she shed herself of her shroud and mask, putting them away in her pack. She returned home shortly after, unlocking her door with her key. She couldn't wait to also get some rest. Unbothered to do anything else besides sleep she threw her pack across the room. Flopping into the bed it didn’t take long for her to be whisked away into lust filled dreams of your face. 

The next morning came in a hurry. Ellie woke up in a sweat, the stuffy heat of the summer causing her clothes to stick to her skin. It didn’t help that she fell asleep with her jeans and t-shirt on, too tired the night before to change into something more comfortable. Her hand reaches over on her nightstand, grabbing her phone she checks the time, 11 a.m. It wouldn’t be long until you’re knocking at the door, you both had previously made plans to go out today. Finally having a matching day off you didn’t want to waste it away, even with the stupid curfew in place. Jackson didn’t have much to do but you both made it work. Your favorite spot was going deep into the forest, dangerous yes, but you enjoyed the quiet serene scene. The only sounds being what nature wanted to sing to you that day. 

Today would probably be one of those forest days. The overwhelming buzz of fear that clouded the skies of Jackson was starting to be too much for you to handle. You wanted, no needed, a mini escape from it all. And who better to escape all of it with none other than your loyal friend. She understood how you felt, how sick of the people you were. She understood it all too well. 

Ellie placed the phone back down on the nightstand, rubbing her eyes as she sat herself up. Letting out a sigh she climbs out of bed and goes to get ready for the day. It doesn’t take long until you’re knocking at her door. Toothbrush in her hand she rushes over to let you in. Your soft smile sends flutters to her stomach, precious as always. She sends a smile back your way, standing off to the side to let you in. You were wearing a regular t-shirt and shorts that hugged your thighs just right, she couldn’t help her eyes from checking you out. After you walk in she closes the door and returns to the bathroom to finish getting ready. 

You walk over to the door to the bathroom, leaning against the frame watching her finish up. You gave her a knowing look and she knew what would come out of your mouth before you even said it.

“New evidence?” She asks. 

Your grin widens, “Maybe…”

“Spill, now.” 

This happened often, you’d have some new “gossip” about the killer from your unresting research. While Ellie would sit and listen, wanting to know how close you’ve gotten this time. 

“So you remember a week ago when that random man was murdered?” 

Ellie pretends to think about it for a second. She knew exactly who you were referring to, he was a tough one. His extreme persistence to survive almost caused him to escape her grasp, almost. She nods at you. 

“Well apparently he put up a fight.” 

Ellie’s face cringed, thinking back on the memory. Her expression quickly changed to a confused one, now wondering how you knew about his persistence. 

“I know I know, the only reason I found this out is because of someone sharing some info on Reddit.” She waits for you to continue on. “So their Dad is a cop blah blah, shit no one cares for. But because of this he gets inside info. So get this, they found a piece of the handle to the blade Ghostface used to kill him. There’s some overly complicated science as to how they know he struggled. But the piece of it gives them a slight advantage on what weapon the killer uses. It’s honestly crazy how the knife broke. It’s said that the Buck 120 is very durable, some luck huh?” 

Fuck-

Ellie knew her mistake but didn’t think it would be found so soon. By the time she realized the piece had fallen off it had already been too late. That night she was consumed with the need to see you. Specially after that persistent fuck gave her such a hard time. The stress of it all ate her alive, for once she feared she would be discovered if he was able to escape her grasp. Luckily with one hard strike she was able to finally take him down. Enraged after the fact she kept up the hard strikes at his weak skin. Definitely a blood bath, all the emotions clouded her mind. She didn’t realize that her harsh slashes may be the one thing to bring her demise. When she saw you that night all the stress seemed to disappear. She returned home that night, dread still heavy on her head. Seeing you truly did help her but soon as she left you it all came back. The next morning was when she saw the lost piece in her handle. Cursing herself at her stupidity, it was too late. She never goes back to a kill, no matter how satisfying or difficult. It was too risky, the bodies were found usually a day or so after she ended them. 

Ellie snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of your voice. “Earth to Ellie, you there?” 

She rinses her toothbrush and spits out the paste in her mouth to answer you. 

“Yeah.” She laughs it off, “Sorry. Just thinkin’ about what you said.”

You tuck in your lips nodding slowly at her words. “It’s crazy to think about isn’t it? I’ll find out who it is eventually I know it.” 

“Oh you do now?” Ellie forgets about her previous thoughts. More interested in your words instead. 

“Mhm~ You know how close I’ve gotten.” 

“I also know how many times it’s slipped from you too.” 

“Whatever, I don’t wanna hear this shit talk when I find out who it is. I’ll prove everyone wrong.” 

Sure you will. Ellie thinks, “I’m gonna talk shit regardless. You know this.” 

You laugh at her words, “You’re right. Anyways hurry up, I wanna be out as long as I can before curfew.” 

Ellie finishes up what she has to, not wanting to keep you waiting. As she gets her things together you go to sit on the couch, patiently waiting. After she’s done you both head for the front door. Before you can leave Ellie mutters a hold on forgetting one last thing. She goes back into her room before descending out with her guitar case in hand. You smile warmly at her. You always loved when she would bring her guitar. Playing the tunes you were never tired of hearing. You opened the door for her letting her exit with her case. Following her out you both took off to the calming forest. Letting go of all the troubles that plagued your minds. 

After a few hours you and Ellie made it back to her house. The time spent in nature was a refresher you both needed. Similar reasons neither of you were aware of. The two of you didn’t eat the whole day so you both agreed to get food once settled in Ellie’s home. Not wanting the night with you to end Ellie made sure to invite you over after. She knew she’d be around you. Regardless if you stayed or not. She could either have you here or have you through your window. As much as she did enjoy the latter, she wanted to be around you as long as you’d allow. Even if it was when she was regular Ellie. 

The both of you settled down onto the couch. Ellie loaded a game up to pass the time, knowing you’d enjoy watching her play. Ellie made you comfortable no matter the situation, being in her presence made you feel such a relief. A relief no one could provide in the same way that she can. You were scrolling through restaurants in the area on your phone. Stretched out sideways along the couch. Your back against the armrest and your legs over Ellie’s as she sat regularly. Her arms were resting on your lower thighs, fingers pressing away at the buttons. She told you to pick what you wanted, not caring what you’d order. She’d eat whatever you put in front of her anyway. You didn’t want anything too crazy, just something comforting and simple. Which is why you decided on pizza, can’t get more simple than that. 

“I’m gonna get us some pizza.” You look up at Ellie from your phone.

Her eyes were trained on the screen, “Sounds good to me.” She shrugged slightly, replying. 

“Okay I’ll get us a large and a drink as well.” 

Ellie throws a quick glance in your direction, “My card should be in my pack in the room.” 

“I can just buy it Ellie…” 

“Fuck no.” When she looks back at you, this time she doesn’t break eye contact, “I invited you over to eat so I pay for it, yeah?” 

You didn’t bother to argue back with her, you’d lose in the end. You always did. You mumbled alright and she lifted up her arms so you could slip off the couch. The warmth of your legs were gone, causing her to shiver from the cool feeling of her air conditioner. 

You walked over into her room searching around for her pack. Your eyes scan the room when they finally land on it thrown over into the corner. You walk over kneeling down to open it up, digging through it you suddenly feel a sharp sting on your finger. Pulling your hand back from the pack with an ow you look hold your hand to see blood dripping from your middle finger. 

“What the fuck?” You mumble. 

Instead of making the mistake to dig around unaware again you slowly pull open the sides of the pack, opening it up to peek at what's inside. Your brows furrow at the black cloth harshly shoved in it. Slowly pulling it out to examine it an object flops to the floor. Snapping your head down your eyes widen, You can feel the blood draining from your face. A sharp flutter fills your stomach, it was a mask. But not any mask, a Ghostface mask. Picking it up with your free hand to examine it you now notice the red splatters, it stands out from the contrast of the bold white mask. Is that…blood? You think to yourself, it can’t be. This is a joke, there's no way she’s Ghostface. You smirk to yourself, was she really trying to fuck with you like this? She’s done stupid jokes before but never went as far as buying the costume to trick you. Some tricks, huh. Nice try Ellie. 

Did she really think you were that naive? You were going to get up and confront her when the sting of your finger got your attention again. You almost forgot about the cut, you then realized that nothing in your hands could’ve sliced you like that. Don’t tell me she bought a knife too, oh Ellie-. You reached into the pack again, carefully this time knowing your chances of getting cut again were high. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your throat when you saw the light shine off the blade, she really outdid herself this time. You grasp the handle and bring it out from the bag, it was the exact kind of knife Ghostface used. The knife had the smeared red on the blade as well. 

One part of you couldn’t believe the lengths she’s gone this time to fuck with your “investigation.” But the other part of you couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of her going this far. She didn’t truly know what these things did to you. If it was her, which was a long shot, you wondered how much easier everything would be. Not having to worry about who was behind the mask, not that you really cared, but it was something that crossed your mind. What if it was someone you couldn’t stand, would you be able to still keep up that fantasy of them? Could you still keep it up if it was Ellie? Your feelings for Ellie were that of a roller coaster. In friendship terms everything was smooth sailing, there’s no one else on the planet you could trust your life with more. But when it came to the topic of it being more than a friendship, that was a different story. You can’t say you never had feelings for her, you have. You just pushed them down when you realized how badly it could ruin everything. Plus you had no idea, doubted even, that she liked you the same. So you buried your own feelings deep inside, not daring to let them out again. Sometimes though she’d do things that made you shiver. That would cause those feelings to bubble over again, reaching for nothing but the disappointment you’d give them when you continued to shove them under again. 

Although, to know that she did this all for you made those feelings bubble over again. Could she have a clue about your true intentions of wanting who was behind that mask? Is that why she went this far? To make you believe it? To fall for her instead of the true Ghostface? No, she wouldn’t, it’s just a dumb prank. 

You laughed at your thoughts, going the extra mile once again, your delusions would constantly take control when the masked killer was involved. You twirl the knife in your hands one last time before you decide to put it down. As you check it for the last time your fingers smooth over something rough on the handle. Curious, you look at what the disturbed surface could be. 

As you study the handle your heart drops. No, no, no- this can’t be happening, you think. You can feel the anxiety swell up in your chest. You forget how to breathe, your thoughts racing a million miles a minute. All of the countless hours you spent searching, all of the sleepless nights you’ve had. The endless amount of research you would study, day after day. Stuck scrolling on your computer not resting until you get so close to finding out who it could be. The theories of all the different people you had, you even bought a cork board to help your search. You pulled some crazy shit you kept to yourself to find out where or who they could be. Putting yourself in danger in hopes that you’ll be the slasher's “next prey.” 

All of this for what? For it to be your best friend this whole time. The one person you were so sure of it not being. Fuck you felt so stupid. You grew up with her, you knew her better than you knew yourself. You felt pride in knowing that she would never be capable of such a thing, but she was. And here you are, staring at the handle with the piece of it missing that was just discovered by the authorities. As much as you wanted to deny it you couldn’t. Why did you want to deny it? 

In a way this makes everything easier, your mind travels back to your earlier thoughts. The thoughts of what if Ellie was the killer. But why didn’t she kill you yet? If no one was safe from her slashes then why were you? Question after question filled your head, trying to piece all the evidence together to figure out just what you have missed. While in deep thought you heard a loud thud. Locking in place you slowly turned your head to the sound. 

Ellie stood by the door, frozen. The controller that was once in her hand now faced upside down on the floor. She was wondering why it was taking you so long to grab your wallet. She knew it was in her room, in some pack that she threw on the floor yesterday. She hasn't touched it since. It wasn’t until she started thinking about it that she felt the color drain from her face. She was so exhausted yesterday that she forgot to put her Ghostface pack in the hiding spot she usually does. It slipped from her mind until this moment. Now she’s paying the consequences, walking in on you holding her knife. The very knife you just talked about hours earlier. The single piece of evidence that would be 100% proof of Ellie being Ghostface. 

She didn’t know what to do or what to say. Scared that any wrong move would result in your panic, your screams filling the air as you ran for the door. But you didn’t. You didn’t move an inch, holding the knife in your hand you stared back at her. All of this time it was her, you didn’t want to admit it but you felt a sense of relief. You did it, you found out who Ghostface was. 

You opened your mouth, trying to get something out, anything out but you couldn’t. Caught like a deer in headlights you thought about your next move. As you thought about it, so did Ellie. You weren’t supposed to find out, even if you did she didn’t want it to be this way. She wanted it on her terms, if she were to ever tell you anyway. 

As flustered as she was she managed to speak first, “Seems like all that research paid off huh?” She chuckles. 

Leave it to Ellie to make light of a situation like this, you were used to it though. She always jokes around when shit hit the fan, it was one of the many things you loved about her. You just weren’t so sure if this time was the right time for it. You looked down at the knife again, your fingers gliding against the abrasion.

“It was you the whole time…” Ellie’s eyes widened at your voice, “I busted my ass on research and it was right in front of me the whole time.” 

“Surprise…?”  

You let out a dry laugh at her response, how could you be so fucking stupid. She goes to open her mouth to speak again but you beat her to it. 

“Do you know why I really wanted to find out who Ghostface was?” 

Fuck it. It was out in the open so you might as well be honest. You didn’t know where this confidence came from but after finding out who a serial killer was you realized you only really have two options. She would let you go, which you think is unlikely or she would have to end it right here right now. Killing you to keep the risk of her being found out by the public. You didn’t think she was capable of killing you, you were her childhood best friend after all. 

She stays quiet, letting you continue. You figured you had nothing to lose now, why not let it all out in the open. 

“Finding out who was behind the mask really isn’t all that important to me. Honestly I could give less of a fuck who’s behind it. I just want them for myself. My fucked up fantasy of being with the slasher is all that I’ve been craving.” You sigh, your words becoming just a whisper. “It’s sick… I know.” 

Did Ellie just hear you correctly? Are her fantasies becoming reality right before her eyes? All those nights at your window, watching you, craving you. You writhing under her as she pleased you in the one thing that made her feel like her true self. She watched as your face fell in despair, you were ashamed. There’s no need to be ashamed. 

She wasn’t aware that she said her thoughts aloud, not realizing it until you lifted up your head. 

You looked at her with a shocked expression, “You don’t think so?” 

“How could I?” She starts, “You know what I do. I have no room to judge anyone, plus I’ve wanted nothing more than this.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, did you hear her correctly? 

She continues on, “I’ve been dreaming about this moment forever. I wanted to tell you so many times but I didn’t know how. Your reaction was something I was scared of the most. But now that I know you want this, I’m ready to take the next step.” 

“What is the next step exactly?” You ask. 

Ellie’s soft expression changes in an instant, a smirk adorning her lips. 

“I make you mine.” 

You felt a slight pang of fear but not too much. Her words catered to your sick mind, they went straight to your core. She took slow steps towards you, as to test the waters on how you would react. You didn’t move an inch, letting her slowly make her way towards you. The grasp you had on the knife tightened in anticipation. When she came close enough she reached out to your hands, loosening your grasp from the knife she took it from you. Her eyes leave yours to study the object in her hands, the object she knew all too well. Her eyes darken as she grasps the handle, pointing the tip of the blade towards you now. The smirk never leaves her lips when she drags the tip of the blade lightly up your throat, stopping to tilt your chin up towards her. 

“You want to be mine right?” She asks. 

You bite your lip, “Only if you’ll allow it.” 

It was at this moment that you saw the true change in her eyes. The Ellie you once knew, the Ellie you grew up with wasn’t the Ellie in front of you now. This Ellie was different…darker…possessive. You wanted to know this version of her more than anything, the true her behind the mask. The person you dreamt of having for so long was finally yours and you were hers. It was at this moment that you knew there was no going back, the two of you now becoming one in her secret. You’d do anything for her, be anything for her. She felt the same, all those nights she watched you at your window. She’d get rid of anyone who tried to hurt you in any way, she’d protect you from any danger that dared to wander around you. God forbid she catches the ones that hurt you, they’d regret their last moments. 

Her eyes flickered back towards yours, keeping eye contact for just a moment before trailing around your face. They stop at your lips, how badly she’s wanted to kiss the plush skin for so long. She wastes no time and throws her knife to the side. Grabbing at the sides of your face she roughly presses her lips to yours. Your hands grasp at her shirt, kissing her back with just as much fervor. The kiss was far from innocent, teeth clashing and spit mixing, just how she liked it. She took your bottom lip in her teeth, pulling at the flesh and letting it flick back in place. Her lips lock back onto yours, you pull her closer by her shirt, needing to get as close as possible. 

She pulls back after a few seconds, you let out a whimper at the loss. Your eyes filled with desperation as you stared up at her. She coos at the sight, her thumb swiping the spit across your bottom lip. 

She licks her lips, “You gonna let me have you tonight?” 

You enthusiastically nod your head, “Y-yes.” You’re still shaken up by the sloppy kisses you two just shared. 

“Yeah? Gonna let me try something out on ya?” 

You continued to nod your head, you didn’t care what she did to you. You’d give her whatever she wanted if she asked, she knew this. Yet she still wants to make sure you’re okay with it. She then took your hands in hers, pulling you to stand up along with her, she then led you to the bed. She pushed you back onto it, you flopped onto the mattress waiting for her next move. She admired you for a moment before walking back by her pack, she grabbed the mask off the floor and slipped it on. 

“You want me to fuck you in this mask hm?” She asks. Not giving you time to reply she continues, “How much did you dream about this?” 

Your words were stuck in your throat, it was all too much but it was so fucking good. You had envisioned how your first night with Ghostface would play out. Staring into their mask, their fingers buried in you, giving you the utmost pleasure you craved. But this? This was better than anything you could have imagined. Especially when it was with the one woman you loved more than anything. 

She picked up her knife, twirling it in her hands. 

“I would use this but that persistent fucker had to ruin it for me.” She shook her head, the loose fabric at the ends swayed in the air. “Good thing I got another.” 

She walks over to her closet, digging around until she pulls out another Buck 120. She flips it over, checking out the shining blade and admiring it. She loved nothing more than her ol’ reliable knife. 

“Got this one as a back up, y'know just in case incidents like before happened. A slasher must always be prepared~” 

Her head looks up, the soulless black eyes staring into yours. You can hear the teasing tone in her voice when she talks to you. She’s well aware she has you wrapped around her finger, ready to do whatever she pleases. 

She stalks towards you, “I’m gonna fuck you with this knife now~.” Her hold on the knife now tighter, “Don’t worry baby it’s clean, haven’t killed anyone with this one…yet.” 

Your eyes widened, her words went straight to your core. You couldn’t help the little fidgets your body made as she slowly made her way towards you. You couldn’t see because of the mask but her eyes were trained on your thighs that clenched together in anticipation. You couldn’t help but rub them together, needing some sort of friction to relieve the heat building up between them. 

You couldn’t help but ask, “Which side?”

Ellie groaned at your question, “Fuck baby~ you want the blade? Are you that psycho for me?” 

You didn’t particularly want to be mutilated tonight, even though somewhere deep down in your fucked up brain the thought was there, you just wanted to make sure Ellie was on the same page. 

“Just curious…” You reply. 

She now stood in front of you, knife in her right hand. Her free hand comes up to rest on your knee, pushing it to the side to open your legs up for her. You can hear her heavy breaths through the mask. 

“As much as I wanna see you bleed, I don’t want it that way. That’s what your thighs are for.” 

Her hand strokes down your thigh, stopping midway to squeeze at the flesh. She brings her knife up to your skin, slicing it lightly enough to draw a tiny bit of blood. She flicks up the knife, her skills on display as she scoops the blood onto the blade, bringing it up to her mask and smearing it on the white rubber. She drags the knife down to the tip of the chin, tapping it against it a few times, as if in thought of what her next move is. You whimper at the sting of the cut, little droplets still flowing from it. She reaches up to smear the blood across your thigh, taking her time watching the way the red liquid spreads. 

“I’ve wanted to see you bleed for me so bad. S’Better than I ever imagined.” 

You bite your lip, holding back your whimpers as you wait impatiently for her next move. You wanted her to do something, to do anything to relieve the ache you felt. She turns the knife around in her hand, the grip pointing towards you. 

“I’m gonna fuck you with the handle instead. That way every time I slash someone I have a memory of you with me. It’ll be the only thing I’ll think about with my victims.” 

Her words flooded through your veins, firing up every cell in your body. You didn’t know she had such a way with her words, if she kept going you’d probably climax just from them alone. As much as her words had an effect on you, you wanted her to go along with her promise. 

“Please…just fuck me already Ellie.” You beg.

“Patience Doll~ You out of everyone should know I like to take my sweet time when it comes to my victims. But since you said please, I’ll give you what you want.” 

She sets the knife down next to you on the bed, her hands grip at the waistband of your shorts pulling them down. You were soaked, the fabric of your panties so wet that you could see the outline of your pussy. 

“Mmh so wet for me, all I did was speak to you and draw a little blood.” Her thumb presses into your slit, pushing against your juices. 

Her fingers hook into your panties pulling out the fabric, she then grabs her knife and cuts off your panties. You breath hitches at how close the blade was to your core, any closer and she would’ve cut you. Making you bleed for the second time that night. She chuckles at your reaction then shoves the panties into her back pocket, saving them for later. 

She pushes up your thigh, opening you up for her and lines up the knife handle to your entrance. She teases you, gliding the end of it up and down your slit collecting up your juices to lube up the knife. 

“You ready Doll?” She asks. 

You whisper out a yes as she slowly slides the handle into your pussy, watching you grip onto it. You can feel her push back on your thigh more, making you stretch so she can get a nice view of you. Even though it was happening in front of her she couldn’t believe you were sprawled out before her like this. She’d catch herself staring at her knife imagining how it would look against your skin, how much she craved to slide it through your folds. Now that she was here it was almost too much, but she didn’t let her excitement take control. She wanted to fully immerse herself in this experience, taking all of you in. From the scrunches of your brows to the curling of your toes, she wanted to see all of you. 

She carefully dragged out the knife, her hand delicately holding the blade. She pushes the handle in and out of you, setting a slow steady rhythm. You writhe under her touch, not being able to hold back your moans anymore, the cool handle adding to the pleasure. You grab onto her wrist, holding her tight. You look up at her mask and she catches your movements tilting up her head. You’re staring hard enough to see her eyes through the meshed fabric, seeing the darkness behind them. She’s wanted this just as much as you did and you’re so glad it’s her that’s giving you this much pleasure. As good as it felt you wanted more, the slow pace was killing you. In a way you felt like she was holding back, still too afraid to lose herself, scared that she might hurt you. 

“Ellie…” You moan out, she twists the knife slightly muttering a yes. 

“Please don’t hold back.” Her movements stop and you whine at her, “I want you to let yourself go, let Ghostface come out.” 

Ellie’s hand quivered at your words, were you sure? Once she’s in that mindset she’s gone, she doesn't wanna risk too much. Although her dark thoughts were always in the back of her mind, how badly she wanted to drill her knife into you and watch you squirm at her force. 

“Baby, are you sure? I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.” 

You loved when she called you that, “Yes, I’m sure. I want it this way, I’m begging you~.” 

You gave her wrist a reassuring squeeze and that was all she needed before the light in her switched. The Ellie you grew up with, knowing better than anyone is not the Ellie that’s in front of you now. That confirmation from you was all she needed to let her true side take control. It happened so fast you didn’t know how to react, Ellie had grabbed you and flipped you over. Making sure your ass was up in the air, almost hanging off the edge of the bed. You braced yourself on your hands, an oof coming out of your lips when she pushed your face down into the mattress. 

You felt a harsh smack on your ass, you moaned at the sting it left behind. She kneads the flesh after, spreading you open and admiring you from behind. Without second thought she reaches down to grab the knife, this time firmly grabbing it by the blade as she plunges the handle inside you once again. She wastes no time fucking you hard and fast, her knuckles white from how hard she holds onto the blade. 

“F-fuck Ellie!” You gasp out. 

You’re in ecstasy, loving the way her demeanor changed. She loses herself in you, focused on the handle pushing in and out of you, how your juices cover the handle and drip down the blade onto her hand. 

“You like that Doll? You’re taking this knife so well~ M’so proud of you.” 

Your moans grow louder by the second, you’re not able to hold back anymore, not that Ellie wants you to anyway. You grip the bed sheets tight, your face repeatedly pushing into the mattress at her relentless force. You knew she was strong but fuck not like this. You were never really on the receiving end of her strength to truly know but now that you were you could see why no one stood a chance against her. She slaps at your ass again before she brings her free hand down to rub circles against your clit causing you to cry out. If she kept fucking you this way it wouldn’t take long for you to reach your high. 

“Shit-” You heard her whisper. 

You whip your head to the side to look at her. You can see her head tilt up to look back at you, she suddenly took her hand off your clit to reach up and tear off her mask. Her hair was a mess, tangled and stuck to her face in other spots from her sweat. Her eyes were blown wide, a harsh darkness to them you’ve never seen before and her lips. Her lips were red and plush from how much she bit them at the sight of you. You were a masterpiece to her, this was all she ever wanted. When she pushed her hair out of the way you noticed the blood that smeared along her forehead. She saw your eyes on her hand and gave you a lopsided smile, her hand going back down to rub at your clit once more. 

“Fuckin’ you so hard I cut myself.” She laughs darkly, “You don’t mind right?” 

Well fuck-

Your eyebrows scrunched together at her words, “No!” You moaned. “Don’t mind.” 

You could barely form sentences from how good she was making you feel, she knew this and she reveled in that fact. A cocky smirk on her lips as her eyes watched the way you squirmed and stuttered under her. She could give less of a fuck that she’s bleeding, your pleasure being the only thing that matters. It didn’t take much longer for you to feel the build up in the pit of your stomach, you were close. 

“Ellie I’m so close, please don’t stop~”

“Don’t plan on it Doll~” Ellie replies, speeding up her movements, if that were even possible. 

You bury your face into the mattress but then you feel a harsh smack to your clit. 

“I wanna hear your moans Sweetheart, don’t hide them from me now.” 

You nod your head rapidly, tears are starting to form in your eyes from all the pleasure you’re experiencing. Who would’ve thought you’d be right here, experiencing the one thing you wanted the most, you never thought your day would end up like this. You’re thankful nonetheless, this is exactly what you wanted and you wouldn’t want anyone else doing it to you. 

It didn’t take long until you reached your high. 

“Ahh~ I’m cumming!” 

Your back arched more, pulling at the sheets so hard they come undone from the edges. Ellie doesn’t slow down her movements either, ignoring the pain in her hand she keeps sliding the knife in and out of you. She watched as your juices flowed down onto the blade and her hand, mixing in with her blood. It made her moan out loud, a sight she’d never forget. 

“Mmm cum for me Doll, just like that. I wanna see your juices on my blade.” 

She helps you ride out your orgasm and your legs start to tremble. She chuckles at the state you’re in and slowly pulls the blade out of your pussy, watching your sticky juice strings stick to the handle. You watch her bring up the knife to her lips, sucking your juices off the handle, you whimper at her actions. When she’s done she throws the knife to the floor, her hands back onto you she spreads her blood up your thigh and onto your ass cheek as she gives you one last squeeze. You’re panting as you turn yourself over to lay on your back, she helps you lie down with a dark smile. She loves how she got you to this point, as much as she’d like to do it again she decides to save it for another night. 

She reaches over to give your hand a quick squeeze saying she’ll be right back as she walks over to her bathroom. After a few moments she comes back with a wet towel, a cloth is tied around her hand to stop the blood from flowing. She walks over to you and wipes away all the blood and cum off your body, giving soothing strokes to your skin afterwards. 

“So…” Ellie starts, “You gonna turn me in?” 

You can’t help the snort that comes out of your throat, “Fuck off.” 

“Is that a no, or?” She questions a knowing smile on her lips. 

“I let you fuck me with your knife, do you think I’m gonna turn you in?” 

She laughs at your response, “Just fuckin’ with ya.” 

She climbs into the bed lying next to you, throwing the towel onto the floor, she faces you and strokes your cheek with the back of her knuckles. You look over at her with tired eyes and a warm smile, she really does switch up fast. 

The two of you wrap up in each other's arms for the rest of the night. You ask all about her time as Ghostface, wanting to know every gory detail and she tells you it all. After a few hours of chatting you both lay in silence, content in each others presence. 

Ellie speaks up first, “So…about that pizza?”

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RAVIOLIII!! I hope you all enjoyed my fic!! I thank you all for reading my content! I have more on the way but I will be taking a small break to work on my drag projects I got going on!! As always any feedback is appreciated as I always want to level up my writing. Thank you all for being patient with me!! You Beauties~ have a wonderful day/night!!

⛧Taglist⛧

(if you would like to be tagged in any of my works lmk hehe~)

@moonlightdivine , @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshametohidemyshame

[revelboo]

RAHHHHH the rammatra fic outta nowhere had me going ʕʘ‿ʘʔ

(Tbh I think he and genji were my gateway drug to robots)

Absolutely scrumptious as always

Anti-Gravity Pt 2

Ramattra x Reader

• Ankle screaming when you put weight on it, you use the length of rebar like a cane to pick your way closer to the pinned Omnic. He still has one good arm, so you’ll need to be quick. Drive that rebar deep as you can, through that baleful optic and out the other side. Omnic aren’t people, they’re not alive, just a clever impersonation of it. Except. You remember months ago, getting caught on the outskirts of a mob running down a lone Omnic. Watching them pull it to the ground, but doing nothing to stop them. It wasn’t your problem, you just wanted to go home. But it hadn’t begged or pleaded with its attackers. All it had said while it still could speak was that it was ‘seen in the light of the Iris.’ Like it believed it was more than just a machine. Raising the rebar, you stare down at it. Him, Ramattra. A machine. Just a machine.

• Servos curling in a fist, he tiredly watches the human poised to attack him. One side of your face smeared with blood from a sluggishly bleeding wound at your temple. Baring your teeth at him, rocking forward, but faltering. And your hands are shaking as you make to lunge and then stop yourself again. Finally meeting his optics. “You’re a monster,”you tell him, voice tired as you slump down on a pile of rubble nearby. Above the two of you something shifts and dirt patters down. He understands that hate in your eyes, but your mercy takes him by surprise. “You deserve to die,” you add, voice angry now. At him or yourself?

• “If I’m a monster, it’s because your kind gave me no choice,” that low, digitized voice growls as he tries to drag himself more upright before giving up. Head tipping back to stare at the rubble above them and you follow his stare even as his words whisper through you. Make you think of that Omnic dying for no reason at all, torn apart by that mob. What had it even done? Just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Dared to exist?

• Growling softly, he knows that if they start messing with the debris above, it’s likely to come down and your mercy will mean very little when you’re both crushed. “There’s always a choice,” you counter, rolling up your pant leg to gingerly prod at your ankle and he watches your little shoulders hunch. From above, there’s another shower of dirt and rocks, the drip of water becoming a steady stream from a busted pipe.

• You’re afraid to take off your sneaker and see how bad it really is. Afraid you won’t be able to get the show back on if you do. The only thing you’re certain of it’s that you can’t stay here. You’re not sure if you’re in the sewer or in some kind of maintenance tunnel, but you don’t want it to become your tomb.

• “Your naïveté will get you killed,” he growls, watching you turn your attention back to him. To his trapped leg. While you can still walk, he can’t. Not alone. Doesn’t have the energy to swap back to nemesis form to try and free himself, too damaged to risk it. Ignoring you since you’re apparently not going to try and end him right this moment, he tries to free his pinned lower leg. Tensing when you limp over and drive that rebar under the broken wall crushing him and pushing down on it like a fulcrum. Too small to budge it at all, but still trying. Above them something creaks and scrapes. How long? Minutes or hours? And he follows your attention when it drifts toward the dark tunnel. “You can’t see in the dark, but I can. Find something sharp. Metal.”

• You stare at him, attention drifting back to his lower leg. Knowing you’re not going to get him free in time, but he’s right. It’s pitch deeper in and the only light is coming through the shifting rubble. You’ll never find a way out without him. Limping sends jagged shards of pain through your leg and knee, but you find something useable and carry it over. Feeling oddly squeamish as he positions it against the joint of his knee and you realize what he wants. Just a machine, you remind yourself as he tries to saw at the joint, making a low, snarling sound of very real pain. And you grab the sides of the metal fragment and drive it down. Again and again, feeling the edges biting into your palm. It takes both of you to sever the lower half of his leg and your palms are cut up and sticky with blood as you offer him a hand. “You’re still a monster,” you tell him as he lurches unsteadily upright with only one leg and one arm. Skin crawling as he leans on you and nearly knocks you both down with his weight. He’s silent as you grit your teeth and start moving, letting him use you for balance. Because even if he’s a monster, he doesn’t deserve to die like this. No one does.

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[n0vazsq]

Ethereal | JB22 x Reader

pairing . . . vampire!jenson button x gf!human!reader

summary . . . You'd always noticed a weirdness to your boyfriend, but by the time you connceted the pieces, it was too late

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.4k+

warnings . . . vampires, possesive-ish jenson, blood, stalker-ish behaviour if you squint!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . wow. ik on my masterlist it said young jenson but lets ignore that <3

. . . The night wrapped around you like a velvet cloak, the chill of the evening air brushing against your skin as you stood near the edge of the paddock.

The hum of the world had quieted; the team’s laughter and the clinking of tools had faded into the distance. The track stretched before you, an endless ribbon of possibilities under the silver gaze of the moon.

Jenson moved like a shadow, his steps silent on the gravel. You always noticed how effortlessly he glided through the world, as if the laws of gravity bent to his command.

Tonight, under the pale light, you saw it more clearly than ever. His face, carved by time yet untouched by it, seemed to hold secrets you couldn’t grasp.

He was forty four, you knew that, but he looked no older than twenty eight. The smoothness of his skin, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and the faint glow that seemed to luminate from him were unnatural; and yet, you couldn’t look away.

It wasn’t just his appearance. It was everything. How his breath never fogged in the cold air. How his hands never trembled, even on the chilliest mornings. How you’d never once seen him eat, though he always made sure your plate was full.

And then there were the nights; the ones where you’d awaken with a faint dizziness, your limbs heavy, your mind clouded. You’d brushed it off as stress, as overwork, as anything but what it truly was.

The first time you’d noticed the marks, you’d ignored them. Two tiny holes on your wrist, so small they could have been from an insect bite. They didn’t hurt, not really, and they healed quickly enough.

But they kept reappearing.

Sometimes on your wrist, sometimes on your neck, always faint but undeniable. You’d told yourself it was nothing. You’d wanted it to be nothing.

But Jenson’s presence made it impossible to ignore. He was always there, always watching, his gaze piercing yet unreadable. He never seemed to tire, never faltered, never lost the quiet intensity that drew you to him like a moth to flame.

And the way he looked at you… it was as if you were the center of his universe, as if every breath he took was for you.

Tonight, the air between you felt charged, electric. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was heavy, laden with unspoken truths.

You could feel his eyes on you, could sense the way his focus sharpened as you shifted your weight or brushed a strand of hair from your face. Every move you made seemed to draw him closer, though he never truly moved.

Your mind raced with the pieces of the puzzle, fragments of moments that refused to fit together. The times you’d caught him staring at your throat, his jaw tense, his hands clenched at his sides.

The way he always knew when you needed him, appearing as if summoned by your thoughts. The nights you’d woken from dreams of him, your heart pounding, your skin flushed, only to find him standing in the shadows of your room, his expression unreadable.

And yet, you trusted him. You couldn’t explain why, but you did. Even now, with your heart pounding and your thoughts spiraling, you felt safe in his presence. There was a tenderness to the way he watched you, a protectiveness that made your chest ache.

The moonlight cast a silver glow over the paddock, illuminating the sharp angles of Jenson’s face. He looked almost ethereal, as if he belonged to the night itself.

You took a step closer, your breath hitching as his gaze followed you. There was something magnetic about him, something that made it impossible to look away.

You thought about the marks on your skin, the dizziness, the nights you couldn’t remember. You thought about how he never seemed to eat, how his eyes glowed faintly in the dark, how his hands were always cool to the touch.

The pieces clicked into place, each one more damning than the last.

And then he moved. It was so subtle you almost missed it, the faintest tilt of his head, the slightest step forward. But it was enough. You felt the air shift around you, felt the pull of him as he closed the distance between you.

His fingers brushed against your wrist, gentle and cold. You shivered at the contact, your skin tingling where he touched you. His other hand came to rest on your shoulder, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle.

Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above your neck.

You should have pulled away. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were frozen, captivated by the weight of his presence, by the quiet intensity in his eyes.

And then he kissed you. His lips were soft, impossibly gentle as they pressed against yours. It was like stepping into a dream, the world around you fading until there was nothing but him.

The kiss deepened, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek. Your heart raced, your mind spinning as you melted into him, into the warmth and the quiet desperation that lingered in his touch.

When he pulled back, his lips lingered near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "The day you die," he whispered, his voice low and raw, "I die. So I made sure we never do."

Before you could process his words, his lips found your neck.

There was a moment of sharp pain as his teeth sank into your skin, a bright, searing sensation that dissolved into something darkly euphoric. Your knees buckled, and his arms tightened around you, holding you steady as your world tilted on its axis.

Time seemed to stretch, each second an eternity as he held you there, anchored in his embrace. The night around you blurred, the edges of the world fading until there was nothing but him.

And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. He pulled back, his breath mixing with yours, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that grabbed the air from your lungs.

You touched your neck, your fingers coming away stained with a crimson red. Your pulse thundered in your ears as realization crashed over you.

The dizziness, the marks, the way your body hummed with a strange, unfamiliar energy… it all made sense now.

You had become a vampire.

The thought sent a shiver down your spine, both terror and exhilaration. You looked at Jenson, his eyes glowing softly in the moonlight, and for the first time, you truly saw him.

Not just the man you thought you knew, but the creature he was.

Beautiful, dangerous, eternal.

The night seemed to hold its breath as you stood there, caught between who you were and who you had become. And as the moonlight bathed the world in silver, you knew there was no going back.

The realization of your new existence came with an intoxicating clarity. You felt the blood coursing through your veins, not your own, but his.

It was a sensation unlike anything you had ever known, a heat that surged and burned, filling you with a power that was both thrilling and terrifying.

You met Jenson’s gaze, and for a brief moment, you saw not the monster, but the man who had chosen to share forever with you.

A part of you wanted to recoil, to question, to rage against what he had done. But as his hand brushed your cheek, the tenderness in his touch silenced the storm within you.

His eyes, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light, bore into yours with a mix of sorrow and love. You understood then that this was not just a choice for him but a necessity, an act born from an all consuming desire to keep you by his side, forever.

"You’re mine now," his voice broke the silence, a whisper that carried both a promise and a claim. The weight of his words settled over you, and as the night stretched on, you couldn’t deny the truth that had taken a place in your heart.

You belonged to him, and he to you. The world had shifted, irreversibly, and in its place was a bond that even death could not break.

 taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[megalony]

Family

This is my first Eddie Diaz imagine from 9-1-1, I hope you will all like it. Any feedback or requests are always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread

Masterlist

Summary: When (Y/n) isn't well, all she wants is her partner Eddie by her side.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) leaned her head against the window and tried to take deep breaths to see if it would help relieve the slight nausea she was starting to feel, but it didn't. Each bump the truck rolled over had her stomach churning and every sharp corner spun her head.

When the truck made a harsh break, (Y/n) kicked her foot out and pressed the heel of her boot into the chair opposite to steady herself but she could feel her breaths jittering past her trembling lips.

"You good?" Buck raised a brow and smiled as (Y/n) gave a thumbs up but he could see she wasn't doing great at the moment.

"I'm just great,"

(Y/n) ignored the small chatter through the headphones but when she opened her eyes again and dared to look across from her, she felt shivers spiking down her nerves. Eddie was watching her intently, and he didn't look pleased. Usually when her partner looked at her, he cocked a brow or smirked or tilted his chin down and smiled to himself. She loved it when she caught him staring because Eddie would look up at her through his lashes in such a sweet, innocent way that made her heart flip.

He wasn't looking at her with those innocent eyes now, he was looking at her through stern pupils and furrowed brows and his jaw was clenched. He had both his hands clenched together on his lap and his head was turned down just a little but his eyes were trained on (Y/n).

And when he shook his head and mumbled a quiet 'no you're not' (Y/n) pressed her lips together to prevent a frown.

He told her to have a few more days off, he said she wasn't well and not up to being back at the job just yet. Part of him prayed if she did come back then Bobby would put her on light duties or keep her at the station and away from any calls but they were short staffed and she was needed.

For a week now (Y/n) had been sick with a bug and although she looked better than before, she wasn't one hundred percent.

(Y/n) was glad to throw off the headphones when the truck came to an unsteady stop and they could all get out at the scene. There was already another unit here but they needed back up to help evacuate the building and tend to anyone with injuries.

She grabbed her helmet and followed out the truck, the last in the line to climb down but as soon as the temperature change and the gravity shift hit her, (Y/n) felt uneasy. When her feet were planted on the floor, her hand automatically reached out and her fingers curled around Eddie's arm over his florescent jacket just as he was putting his helmet on.

"What's wrong?" He whispered softly and his head turned to look down at her. He could feel her tight grip on his upper arm and he could sense how close she was standing to him like she was trying to merge herself into his back.

"Just a wobble,"

"Promise?"

"I promise," (Y/n) nodded and batted her eyes up at him but she couldn't bring herself to smile, not yet. She could feel the adrenaline pounding through her blood from arriving on scene but it wasn't enough to rid her chest of the tightening feeling or relieve her tense stomach.

She forced herself to let go of his arm even though she didn't want to, and secured her helmet and gloves. She could feel her stomach knotting but one of the many knots started to ease when Eddie stayed stood beside her with his arm and shoulder in front of her like a shield. He didn't move an inch away from her as they stood waiting for orders and even though he had his hands clasped in front of him and his body facing forwards, (Y/n) could feel his gaze constantly drifting over to her.

"Okay, Buck and Eddie, I want you round the back with the 211 to evacuate. Chimney you with me through the front to make sure everyone gets out. And (Y/n)," Bobby had either heard the brief conversation in the truck or he guessed just by looking at her that she wasn't one hundred percent yet. "Go with Hen, help check everyone over and assist medics."

(Y/n) didn't question it, she knew not to and deep down she was relieved to have an easier task than running in blind to get everyone out. She wouldn't be quick enough today and she didn't hold enough strength to pull anyone out and run back in for a second go. Helping the wounded was a much easier job for (Y/n), it was automatic to tend to people and help with their injuries whereas Buck and Eddie were far better suited to run into the burning buildings and find ways to get out.

Finishing a callout had never felt so good.

When the last deeply wounded person was escorted onto an ambulance and the medics were assuring everyone else that they would be fine, (Y/n) felt like a weight had lifted from her shoulders but another one simultaneously settled in her stomach.

Her chest was heaving even though she hadn't been running around or rushing as much as the boys had. She had gone down the rows of injured people, assessing, patching up, calling for help and moving on. But it wasn't fast-paced and it shouldn't have made her as breathless as it did.

With all the equipment packed up in the medic bag, (Y/n) hoisted it up on her shoulder and made a slow walk away from the make shift tents, over towards the fire trucks that felt like they were a mile away.

She barely got towards the truck before it felt like her lungs were filling up with stones and all the air was starting to drain out of them like they had a leak. And bending over with her hands on her knees only awakened the sickness she had been feeling earlier and the pressure on her lungs started to swim down to her stomach.

Straightening up, (Y/n) made a brisk shuffle over to the truck and dumped the bag in the small compartment while her chest heaved. She threw the helmet off and chucked it inside the truck before letting her head fall forward against the side of the truck, willing the urge to be sick to subside and leave her be.

When everyone else started to filter back towards her, (Y/n) used what little strength she had left to pull herself up into the truck and take her seat at the far side next to the window.

Her hands clasped together between her parted knees and she stooped over, lowering her head down as her chest and sternum started to burn.

"Everything alright?" Eddie grabbed the door and leaned his head up to look over at (Y/n) but when she looked up and managed a smile, he felt a little calmer. He hopped up into the truck and took the liberty of taking the seat next to her, bumping their shoulders while he grabbed two sets of headphones and handed one over to her.

"My chest was a bit tight but I'm okay."

That didn't do too much to calm Eddie's raging nerves when he knew for a fact that she never usually struggled with any problems like this. He was starting to think she had something more like the flu or even pneumonia rather than a simple cold.

But (Y/n) lived with him and Christopher and neither of them had gotten the cold she supposedly had, they both felt perfectly fine and they were around (Y/n) everyday.

(Y/n) smiled when Eddie looped his arm around her shoulders and gently reeled her into his side so she could rest her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and kept his lips there for a while, breathing into her hair as the rest of the team slowly flooded into the truck. They were all ready to head back to the station and get something to eat and have a rest. And possibly a shower.

When they got back to the station, everyone drifted off in their own direction. Hen wanted to refill the medic bags in case they had to rush out on another call, Chimney stayed with the truck to start cleaning it and Bobby and Buck filtered upstairs. (Y/n) followed Eddie towards the lockers and took off her jacket while he rummaged around in his locker for a towel, he needed a quick shower.

Eddie paused with his arm halfway in his locker when he felt a pair of arms suddenly curve around his waist and a familiar face press into his back between his shoulder blades. A smile wormed its way onto his face and he stayed motionless for a minute, maybe two, relishing in the hug and comfort before he turned around in her arms.

"I'm gonna grab a shower, promise you'll tell me if you feel worse." Eddie loosely curved his arms around (Y/n)'s neck and brought his lips up against her temple.

He needed to feel assured that if she felt like she was going to be sick or thought she was getting worse, she would tell him. They both knew he was going to worry for the rest of the shift anyway but if Eddie thought (Y/n) was starting to get worse he would tell Bobby and try to get her to go back home and rest.

"I promise,"

They parted ways and (Y/n) trudged slowly up the stairs towards the kitchen and eased down into one of the navy blue armchairs at the back of the loft space. She needed a sit down for a little while, just to steady her system and feel better, then she could offer Bobby a hand with the cooking he almost always did.

(Y/n) wasn't sure how long she stayed there for. She knew Buck had walked past her a few times because each time he did, he ruffled her hair or patted her head in a teasing manner and laughed to himself. He was like a big brother, he just loved to wind her up or catch her by surprise, it was his favourite pass time.

For a while, (Y/n) thought she was about to nod off and fall asleep but she managed to stay focused on the radio playing softly in the background and the sound of Bobby comically singing along.

But when an overwhelming wave of sickness washed over her like a tidal wave, (Y/n) smothered a groan with the back of her hand and shifted around in the chair. She laid her head down on the armrest, curled her knees up to her stomach and squashed her frame into the seat to try and see if it would take away the sickness and make breathing a little easier. If anything, it made the tension worse. Her chest and upper torso muscles were tightening so badly it was making her mind go numb.

She bound her arms to her chest and pressed a hand down on her stomach to see if a different, more direct form of pressure would help. Her stomach felt uneasy like she was going to throw up but the sickness never came.

Her teeth clamped down on her lip and she took a deep breath through her nose, held it for a few seconds and released it through her lips, repeating the cycle a few times to try and calm down and breathe through the pain.

Everything seemed to slow down yet speed up at the same time, her sense of time was distorted and her vision blurred before her eyelids pulled down like shutters trying to prevent her from feeling worse or experiencing her world spinning on its axis.

All the chatter and music and noise filling the loft started to filter out into static and when her stomach churned, (Y/n) slowly started to get up.

She was going to be sick.

Every inch of her skin was sweltering and droplets of sweat glistened on her in the harsh lighting and she was flushed everywhere even though the loft was fairly cold with the air con and she hadn't done anything tiring in over an hour. The burning in her stomach turned into an intensifying ache in her abdomen and each and every muscle was contorting and twisting inside her in a way which felt impossible.

The agonising twist of her muscles stopped her from standing up straight but she tried her best to look as okay and normal as possible.

One arm bound around her stomach and her other hand gripped the metal banister as she almost slipped down the stairs and hobbled through the back towards the showers where the toilets were.

As soon as she was in, (Y/n) let herself hunch over and drop to her knees in one of the toilet cubicles, getting there just in time to throw up.

She kept one arm around her stomach and used the other to rest over the toilet so her burning forehead could flop on her arm. the static in her ears got worse until it was deafening white noise and she began to shake despite the cold air in the bathroom.

"(Y/n)… just checking if you're okay? You didn't look too good back there," Hen cautiously opened the bathroom door and peered around, unsure how far to walk in in case (Y/n) didn't want help and was actually okay. She had seen (Y/n) hobble down the stairs and stumble towards the toilets and she looked like she was in pain, making Hen worry.

(Y/n) couldn't help the small cry that escaped her lips when Hen pushed open the cubicle door and froze, staring down at her. This was not how she wanted her coworkers to see her, curled over, throwing up feeling feeble and useless and like someone they would see at one of their scenes rather than a firefighter in the station.

"Okay, can I take a look at you?" Hen bent down in the doorway but (Y/n) coiled away, inching further towards the toilet. She didn't want anyone seeing her like this or reaching out to touch her.

She wanted Eddie.

"G-get Eddie, please…" Her lips curved down at the sides and her lower lip started to wobble before a pathetic howl left her lips and she gasped to take in a proper breath.

"Okay, okay I'll fetch him now."

As soon as Hen backed out and bolted from the bathroom, (Y/n) feebly pushed away from the toilet but she didn't know what she was doing or where she was trying to go. Her arms bound around her lower waist and she doubled over, tucking her head into her knees to smother her cries and soak up her tears and runny nose.

Her stomach was on fire, it felt like her intestines were being twisted and pulled down and her chest was burning like she was on fire on the inside. All she wanted to do was curl up as small as possible and pass out to make everything stop. She wanted to wake up at home in bed with Eddie and have this be a bad dream or a distant memory from weeks ago that she didn't have to remember.

"I want Eddie." It came out as a broken wail and she wasn't speaking to anyone in particular but when she heard his rushed footsteps, she knew he heard her but she couldn't find the will power to be embarrassed.

"(Y/n)? (Y/n), baby it's me. Oh, baby," Bursting into the bathroom, Eddie slumped down on his knees in the doorway but his heart burst when his eyes set on his girlfriend. She was curled in on herself like she was trying to hide or become as small as possible but he could see her shaking and he could hear her smothered cries.

He wasn't sure what to do or where exactly to touch her but he knew he couldn't help her when she was curled over like this.

Doubling down, he leaned his chest on his knees so he was more level with her and placed his hands carefully on her upper arms to let her know it was him.

"Come here, sit up for me sweetheart." He slowly leaned up and pulled (Y/n) up with him until she was knelt up on the floor the same as him so he could look her over. But it still wasn't going to be easy when she was in the cramped cubicle and he was wedged into the doorway that wasn't much bigger than his frame. "I'm gonna move you just a little, okay? I've got you, take deep breaths for me baby."

With his arms wound around her waist as carefully as he could and (Y/n)'s head burrowed into his neck and her hands on his shoulders, Eddie slowly moved onto his feet and hunched over. He held her tight and slowly shuffled backwards until he was out of the cubicle and (Y/n) was coiled into his chest.

(Y/n) dug her nails into his shoulders when he sat her down on the cold tiled floor so her knees were pulled up but her feet were now on the floor and he knelt back down beside her.

"Talk to me, what's happening?"

"Hurts… God, it hurts Eddie, a-and I've been sick," (Y/n) coiled one arm back around her stomach to show him where the pain was but her other hand stayed puncturing into his bicep like tallons. And she leaned forward to press her temple into his shoulder, finally feeling a tiny bit of relief when he kissed her temple and rubbed his hand up and down her leg.

When he pulled back, he moved his hand and pressed the back of his hand against her temple, sighing to himself when he felt that she was starting to get a fever.

"Can I?" Eddie moved his hands towards (Y/n)'s stomach and when she nodded, he carefully moved her arm away and peeled up her shirt that had been tucked into her trousers.

He pressed his fingertips against her right side around the bottom of her ribcage, then towards the left before moving down and applying minimal pressure around her abdomen. He didn't like the reaction he got; flinches, whimpers and bubbling cries when he moved lower down. A sigh fell past his lips again and he held his fingers over her wrist to check her pulse, it was fast but not dangerously high.

"It might be some kind of internal blockage or a hernia," Eddie turned to look behind him at Hen but the way he rolled his lips and tensed his shoulders gave away the panic he was feeling.

There were a few possibilities of what this could mean, none of them good and Eddie couldn't do anything or make a judgement call and guess. He needed to take her to the hospital and they both knew it.

"Take her, I'll go clear it with cap." Hen was out the door the moment she finished speaking. They all knew Bobby would fully agree with them, (Y/n) needed medical attention that Hen or Chimney couldn't give and Eddie had to go with her. He couldn't stay on shift and worry, waiting anxiously for a phone call that he could miss if they had another call soon.

"We're off to the hospital baby, ready?"

(Y/n) nodded and when Eddie shuffled closer she took the hint and wound her arms around his neck. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the crook of his neck, bracing herself when an arm looped around her lower back and beneath her knees. At least when he lifted her up she stayed much in the same position, knees near her stomach and her body curled over slightly which felt best to relieve the pain.

She nuzzled her face into his chest just beneath his shoulder when he walked out the bathroom, trying to hide herself away from prying eyes. She didn't want anyone looking at her and seeing her like this and she knew Eddie felt the same when his chest tensed beneath her and his jaw tightened and rested on top of her head.

***

(Y/n) felt the need to curl her knees up to her stomach again but she knew she couldn't sit like that, not when the doctor was finally about to assess her.

She didn't know who to look at, the doctor with a soft yet somewhat uncomforting smile, the nurse stood on her left or Eddie on her right. She had been staring up at Eddie for the last ten minutes and she knew he could feel her eyes on him. The concentration in his eyes was sweet and if (Y/n) could of smiled up at him she would. She loved the intensity burning in his eyes and the way he kept flexing his biceps, moving from having his arms crossed over his chest to hold (Y/n)'s hand and run his fingers through her hair. He didn't know what to do with himself.

Eddie could of cried with relief when they got transferred through from the waiting room into here and (Y/n)'s crippling cramps seemed to dull down somewhat. He noticed the way she uncurled herself just a little and stopped clenching her jaw and writhing in agony and it made him feel faint and relaxed and relieved all at once.

"Okay, let's take a look." The doctor smiled again as she moved over the ultrasound machine that had been brought in a while ago.

They had gone through all the preliminary questions when they arrived in A&E, then again when they got moved into this room, although Eddie had done most of the talking. (Y/n) only spoke to confirm he was right and ask why she couldn't have morphine yet. If Chimney was here he would have given her something already for the pain.

It didn't hurt as much as it did earlier when pressure was applied to her stomach and (Y/n) took that as a good sign. The ultrasound checked her stomach first to make sure there was no blockage there before going over to her liver just to be safe.

"Stomach and liver are clear, let's go further down."

(Y/n) tilted her head back and looked up at Eddie instead, although he was focused on the ultrasound. She could never work out those black and white images, her eyes weren't trained to spot differences or abnormalities so she never bothered looking.

"Miss (Y/l/n), I'm going to presume you didn't know this, but it seems you're pregnant."

Her eyes wouldn't look away from Eddie, not for a second. Even as her lips twitched from a slacked expression to a tightened grimace from the pain, she continued to look up at Eddie. His eyes narrowed at the corners and his blushing red lips parted but he couldn't find anything to say.

All Eddie could do was tighten his hand in (Y/n)'s and run his fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands until he was about to have a tuft of hair come out between his fingers.

"What?" Eddie couldn't breathe, he could barely speak and he took one small glance down at (Y/n) biting her lip before he looked over at the monitor across from him. How was this possible? How far along were they? Did that mean the pains were something to do with the baby? So many questions rattled around in his mind but he was getting no answers.

"But I… my period, a-and I…" (Y/n) stopped herself before her mind overloaded and started to short circuit.

Sure, her periods were miss-matched and irregular but she'd been having them and she didn't feel any different in herself. She didn't even look pregnant, how far along was she, she couldn't be more than a few weeks, three months at most.

"I'd guess you're around thirty weeks, but with you not knowing or sensing anything and not having the usual symptoms, this seems to be a cryptic pregnancy. Not very common but it does sometimes happen."

"Oh my God," Reaching behind him, Eddie grabbed the flimsy plastic chair and scraped it along until he could sit down, as close to the bed as he could manage until his knees bumped into the bedframe. "Is the baby okay? What's causing the pains?"

"Pre-term labour pains, it could be brought on my stress and induced by you not knowing anything about this. But we can easily give you some medication to ease the contractions and prevent labour. I'll go and get that sorted and give you a moment to talk."

(Y/n) tried to smooth her hand over her stomach but it made her shiver and made a lump form in her throat.

How could she not know? She didn't feel any movement, she had random, short periods that clearly weren't really periods and she had no swelling. A little weight gain maybe, but nothing to suggest a baby. She had been doing extra shifts and helping lift people out of collapsing buildings, hoisting people up onto back boards and climbing the ladder. She had done everything she shouldn't do while pregnant and she didn't even know.

The job could have been the stress that pushed her confused body into thinking now was the best time to go into labour. (Y/n) had thought about kids with Eddie a lot, but this was never the way she wanted to find out or how she would ever want to tell him when the time was right.

Was now the right time for a baby? Whatever the answer, they didn't have the time or the means to change things now.

"We don't have long to do this… we'll be lucky if we get a few weeks to get everything and sort the house out. We have to tell Cap, God and Christopher, he'll be so excited."

Surprise flooded (Y/n)'s face and she sat up a bit straighter when she processed Eddie's sudden ramblings.

He was happy, he was already planning this out in his mind, she could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. He knew what early contractions like this meant, they wouldn't reach full term now. It didn't give them long to tell the team and find a replacement for (Y/n) at work for her to be on maternity leave. They would need to buy everything now and set up the spare room, and tell Christopher that in only a few weeks, someone else would be moving in with them.

When a tired but nevertheless pleasing smile took over Eddie's face along with a few tears, (Y/n) couldn't help but start to cry. This was fast, but she'd always wanted a baby and if Eddie was really okay and thinking this through happily, she didn't have too much to worry about other than work and a short time for planning.

"We're having a baby," (Y/n) whispered quietly, reaching her arms out when Eddie stood up and leaned over her. His arms tangled around her waist and he lifted her up slightly to hold her as close as possible, grinning from ear to ear when he felt (Y/n) kissing his neck.

This was his family.

[candy69gurl]

POV: You are Sukuna's Vessel 4

Warnings- mentions of blood, self harm

wc- 1.7k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

You stir, your head pounding as you find yourself in a dimly lit room. Your vision swims, your body protesting as you try to sit up.

You hear familiar voices, a sense of relief washing over you as you recognize them.

Gojo, Megumi, and Nobara, standing just outside the door,. Gojo's voice is filled with concern, Megumi's with worry, and Nobara's with anger mix with grief.

You listen intently, straining to hear their conversation.

"... How can there be a highly special grade curse in such a friendly competition?", Nobara asks, her voice quivering.

"I mean yes, there were a few special curse meant for you all guys to handle together as a team, but we did not expect death of any competitor" Gojo says, his voice filled with sadness.

"We must always be vigilant," Megumi adds, his voice filled with concern.

"Momo Nishimiya's death is mysterious", Yuji speaks.

You swallow hard, the gravity of the situation hitting you.

"What do you mean by she is dead?" you call out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Their heads snap towards the sound of your voice, their faces lighting up with relief.

"Y/N!" Nobara exclaims, rushing to your side.

"Are you alright?" Megumi asks, his eyes filled with worry.

"Yes I am alright but I don't understand, how is she dead?", your eyebrows frown with concern.

Gojo steps forward, his eyes filled with sympathy, "It appears there was a highly special grade curse in the mix, it killed Momo," he explains, his voice somber.

"We found Nishimiya's dead body a few distance away from your dead body. Thankfully, no one else got hurt." he adds. "But for now, you all can return to your rooms." Gojo says, extending a hand to help you up.

As you stand, you can see Yuji staring daggers at you.

"Is something wrong?", you ask Yuji..

"N-no nothing", Yuji laughs giving you an awkward smile.

You follow the group back to your room, your thoughts whirling with the day's events.

Yuji's behavior towards you feels off, the air thick with tension.

In your room, you collapse onto your bed, your exhaustion finally catching up to you.

Yuji lingers by the doorway, his eyes fixed on you for a few seconds then finally leaving.

Once everyone has left the room, you can't help but feel a sense of unease.

Something's off. Presence of a highly special grade curse, Momo Nishimiya's death and Yuji's strange behavior hangs heavy in the air.

You decide to take a shower but the thought of Sukuna seeing your naked body, stops you.

"Don't worry brat, I am not going to see your body", Sukuna replies.

"Stop reading my mind", you speak back to him in your mind.

"Oh I cannot help it", he chuckles.

You shake your head, trying to clear your mind as you undress, stepping into the shower. The warm water cascades over you, washing away the grime and stress of the day.

You try to focus on the soothing feel of the water, ignoring the feeling of being watched. "Sukuna stop I can feel your eyes watching me."

"I swear I'm not looking," he says, his voice filled with mischief. "But it's hard not to look, your body looks so soft, gentle, and vulnerable." Sukuna adds, his voice dripping with amusement.

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sensation of being watched.

"Just leave me alone," you say, your voice tinged with frustration

"Hmm.. I wish I were in my real form infront of you, I would have-", his words interrupted by you,

"I don't want to hear your non sense."

Sukuna's laughter echoes in your mind, his voice fading as he withdraws a bit.

You step out of the shower, reaching for a towel to dry your hair. As you dry off, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your reflection stares back at you, your skin flushed from the heat of the shower. You run a hand through your hair, trying to smooth it down. Your skin prickles as Sukuna's mouth forms on your cheek,

"Don't you think your hair makes you look weak?" he asks, his voice filled with amusement

You jump, your heart racing at the sudden appearance of his mouth.

"Stop it!", you snap, your voice shaking with anger and fear. "And I know it's perfect," your breath hitches.

"Oh brat I just wanted to give you some suggestions," he says, his voice filled with mock contrition.

"Do you think I need it?", you reply.

"Fine brat if you want it that way."

You slip into bed, your exhaustion finally getting the better of you. As you drift off to sleep, you can't help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. The weight of the day's events and Sukuna's presence still lingers, but for now, you'll rest.

Midnight comes, and once again, Sukuna takes control of your body. He pads over to the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. He runs a hand through your hair, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"Brat really thinks she can do disobey me, the king of curses," he murmurs, his fingers idly playing with a lock of hair.

He glances at your body, "I'll show you who's the owner of this body."

He sighs, his eyes flicking over your physique, "I mean you would have been killed today if it's not for me" he adds, his voice filled with amusement "You have the guts to order me around. I'm going to teach you a lesson. You care about your hair so much, let's see what I can do to ruin it."

He rummages through your drawer, finally finding a pair of scissors.

With a decisive snip, he starts cutting your hair. It falls in clumps to the floor, the sight making you wince even in sleep.

He continues until your hair is as short as he can get. A brutal bob that makes you look like a completely different person. He examines his handiwork, his eyes narrowing in approval

"Not bad, but I think we need to do more" he mumbles to himself "but I still look so weak."

Sukuna gets to work again, trimming your hair into a boy cut. The transformation is dramatic, your appearance changing drastically.

When he finishes, he tosses the scissors back into the drawer. "Better," he says, his eyes appraising your new look.

"Now this body needs to get trained," he adds, a wicked grin forming on his face. "But for today this is enough. This will finally make you understand, who is the owner of this body."

He runs his hands over your new odd-looking hairstyle, then slides down to your breasts and squeezes them slightly. Walking back to the bed, he lays down, relinquishing control over your body.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the unfamiliar sensation against your neck. You reach up, your fingers encountering the short crop of hair.

Panic rises in your chest as you realize what has happened. You rush to the bathroom, your heart hammering as you gaze into the mirror.

The reflection staring back at you is a stranger, your hair cropped into a weird ass boy cut. Your stomach twists in panic, your mouth going dry.

"Sukuna!" you shout mentally.

"I gave you a present, vessel" he says, his voice filled with mirth. "You needed a change, don't you think?"

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart. "Why did you do this?", you ask, anger rising in your voice.

"Because it was annoying me during fights," he replies, his voice carefree. "And also you should thank me, I made you look more handsome, right?"

You stare at your reflection, not sure how to respond. Tears well up in your eyes, panic flooding you. You swallow hard, your hands shaking as you touch your new haircut. Your heart races as you contemplate the situation.

"You need to accept it, brat," Sukuna says, his voice calm "I own this body of yours."

You take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself.

"I hate you, Sukuna," you say, your voice trembling with emotion "Why do you keep doing messing with my body?"

"Because your body is my vessel," he replies, his voice unrepentant "and you accepted that didn't you?"

You clench your fists, your anger and humiliation rising.

"Come to think of it, why do feel that you are to blame for Nishimiya's death?", now you are speaking aloud.

Sukuna laughs, and his laughter only makes you angrier, "I had no idea that your subconscious mind is this powerful."

"You shouldn't have done that," you snap, your voice shaking. You finally realize the reason for Nishimiya's mysterious death, "Do you have any idea how guilty I feel right now?"

"I can understand but I really don't care", he answers in a nonchalant tone.

You take a deep breath, trying to find your composure.

"You don't care huh.. What's gonna happen if I just die and don't allow you to take control" you say, your voice cracking in anger.. Your eyes drift back to the mirror infront of you. With a cry of rage, you smash your fist into the mirror, shattering it. Blood wells from your fingers, but you ignore the pain. You grip a shard of glass, your eyes wild with fury. Your heart races as you raise the shard, aiming for your chest.

"What are you doing?", Sukuna says, his voice alarmed.

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "If I die, you die" you say, your voice breaking.

Sukuna hisses in your mind, his voice filled with malice. "Stupid brat, you won't kill me," he snarls, his voice filled with venom. "You'll only kill yourself!"

Your hand trembles, the shard poised above your chest.

"If you die, the curse will transfer to someone else, Yuji consumed only 4 fingers, there are 16 more," Sukuna says, a mocking tone lingers in his voice. He knows you will never hurt yourself.

For a moment, the room is silent, the tension suffocating. "I am sorry I don't want to be live like this." You thrust the sharp tip into your chest, a scream tearing from your lips. Blood gushes from the wound, your vision swimming with pain.

Sukuna rages in your mind, his voice filled with fury. "You idiot! You stupid brat!" he roars "Give me the control right now!"

As your world fades to black, you can feel him struggling for control. His power surging through you as he fights to hold on to his vessel.

In the end, it's too late. Blackness claims you, your consciousness slipping away.

Taglist : @moonlightazriel @unholiiness @nyxlai @cocoaxbunny @persephone-lilly @iraa567 @rabbidbunwy @sweetchildcloud @lotus-n-l0ve @smashhed @imhellakawai @loveoreos @selfloverrrrrr

Dividers from @cafekitsune

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Thirteen: The Minho Way SS: 4 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 1.3K & 1.4K Content Warnings: Drug Use, Discussions of Addiction, Minho holds Hayun underwater Previous Next Masterlist

Minho strides up to Yeji's dingy apartment building, his mind a storm of frustration and concern. The door is weathered, the paint peeling and it’s just another detail that makes Minho’s blood boil. He bangs his fist against it, hard enough that the doorframe rattles under the force. 

"Open up!" he shouts, his voice reverberating down the narrow hallway. "I’m here for Hayun!"

There’s a muffled thud from inside and then an irritated voice calls back, "Who the fuck is it?"

Minho’s jaw tightens. "Lee Minho, Chaeryeong’s brother!"

The silence that follows is thick, but then the door creaks open. Yeji stands there, leaning lazily against the frame, dressed in a loose tank top that hangs off her shoulder, her hair a mess like she just rolled out of bed. Her eyes flicker with amusement as she takes him in.

"Well, fuck me," she says with a smirk, her tone slow and taunting. "Didn’t expect the murderess’ brother to be tight with Sunshine Hayun. What the hell do you want?"

Minho’s eyes narrow, his patience already wearing thin. "Where is she?"

Yeji’s smirk doesn’t falter as she lazily gestures behind her with a flick of her hand. "She and Ryujin are in the living room. Took oxy. They’re having a good time."

Minho pushes past her without another word, his heart pounding with anger. He storms into the cramped, dingy apartment, his eyes scanning the room until they land on Hayun and what he sees makes his stomach churn.

Hayun and Ryujin are sprawled out on a battered, stained couch. Hayun’s wearing her sunglasses inside, and her body is slack, limp, as if gravity’s winning the fight to keep her upright. Ryujin doesn’t look much better, equally out of it, eyes half-lidded and glassy.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Hayun," Minho growls, stalking over to her, his anger barely restrained. "It’s eleven in the morning. How high are you right now?"

Hayun turns her head slowly, almost dreamlike, a lazy smile spreading across her lips. "I had two oxys," she slurs, her voice thick and sluggish. "I'm just lightly buzzed."

Minho crosses his arms, staring her down with a mix of frustration and concern. "Yeah? Then why is your neck like a limp noodle?" He reaches out and gives her shoulders a light shake, her head lolling to the side, clearly unable to stay upright on her own.

Hayun just sighs, her words slow, dreamlike. "Stop being dramatic, Minho."

His eyes darken as he yanks off her sunglasses, revealing the full extent of her glazed-over, half-closed eyes. "You’re fucked up, Hayun," he mutters under his breath, staring at her in disbelief. "Jesus, you're really out of it."

She giggles softly, as if nothing's wrong, and leans back into the couch. "I feel great."

Minho’s hands tighten around her shoulders as he shakes her again, more urgently this time. "Stay awake, for fuck’s sake. You’re not passing out on me."

Hayun groans, weakly trying to bat his hands away. "Stop being mean!"

Minho’s voice drops, sarcasm biting through his frustration. "Yeah, that’s me. Big bad meanie Minho, here to take care of your drugged-up ass. Again."

"I didn’t ask you to come here," Hayun mumbles, her words barely coherent as she tries to pull away from him, though her movements are clumsy, slow.

Minho’s expression hardens, his jaw clenching. "Well, tough shit, princess. Every time you do this to yourself, I’m gonna show up. Every single time. I’m not letting you bury yourself in this mess."

From the doorway, Yeji leans against the frame, lighting a cigarette. She watches the scene unfold with mild amusement, taking a long drag before speaking. "She’s a big girl, Minho. She can make her own choices."

Minho spins around, glaring at her, his frustration barely contained. "Yeah? And you’re the one feeding her these choices, aren’t you? You and your drugs did this to her."

Yeji blows out a cloud of smoke, unbothered, her eyes half-lidded as she shrugs. "She did it to herself. I just provide what she’s looking for. I keep an eye on her when she’s here. So does Ryu." She motions to Ryujin, who is barely conscious, slumped against the arm of the couch, her eyes rolling shut every few seconds.

Minho glances at Ryujin, his fury growing. "Yeah, because Ryujin looks real capable of babysitting anyone right now."

Yeji shrugs again, flicking her cigarette ash onto the floor without a care. "There’s no point moving her now. She needs to ride it out. Just let her be, Minho."

Minho’s patience snaps. He steps closer to Yeji, his voice low and dangerous. "You’re going to stop selling to her. Right fucking now."

Yeji’s eyes gleam with amusement as she takes another slow drag, blowing the smoke directly toward him. "Why would I do that? She’s got demons, Minho. Demons to run from. I help her run. I’m the only thing keeping her sane."

Minho’s eyes flash with anger. "Sane? You think this is sane?" He motions toward Hayun, who’s barely holding her head up, her body limp against the couch.

Yeji chuckles softly, shaking her head. "First time she came to me, I said no. Told her I didn’t want to sell to some sixteen-year-old kid. But she told me what she’s been fighting since the night Yuna disappeared." Her eyes flicker toward Hayun, her expression sharpening. "I took pity on her."

Minho’s voice tightens, his frustration bubbling over. "You know what happened that night?"

Yeji leans back against the doorframe, her cigarette dangling lazily between her fingers. "I’m one of the only people who know the truth. Me, Hayun, Yuna, Lia, and Mingi. And well..." Her lips curl into a sneer. "Yuna’s dead. Good riddance. If your sister killed Yuna, she deserved a fucking medal for it."

Minho’s whole body tenses, his fists clenching as he steps closer, his voice cold and dangerous. "Chaeryeong didn’t kill Yuna. And she didn’t kill herself, either."

Yeji holds his gaze for a long moment, her expression unreadable as the cigarette burns down between her fingers. "Believe whatever helps you sleep at night, Minho. But you’re swimming in shit you don’t understand."

The room falls into a thick, uncomfortable silence. Hayun slumps further down on the couch, her head tipping forward slightly, barely aware of the tense confrontation happening around her.

Yeji takes a final drag from her cigarette, then flicks the butt onto the floor, crushing it beneath her foot with a slow, deliberate movement.

"You’re not going to fix her, you know," she says, her tone light but mocking. "She’s been broken for a long time. And you? You’re just a Band-Aid on an open wound."

Minho doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on Hayun, his mind racing. The anger is still burning under the surface, but there’s something else. Something more helpless. He can’t fix this in one day. He knows that. But there’s no way he’s letting Hayun drown in this. Not here. Not with Yeji. Not ever.

Without another word, Minho steps forward and scoops Hayun up into his arms. She’s light and limp, barely responding as he lifts her, her body slumping against him. He adjusts his grip, holding her securely as she leans her head against his chest, too out of it to fight back.

Yeji watches with a smirk, her arms crossed as she leans back against the doorframe. "You can take her, but she’ll be back. She always comes back."

Minho glares at her, his voice steady but filled with fury. "She’s not coming back here. Ever."

Yeji just laughs softly, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Oh, Minho. You don’t get it, do you? You can’t save her. No one can."

Minho doesn’t respond. He turns and walks out of the apartment, Hayun still cradled in his arms, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He casts one last glance over his shoulder at Yeji, his eyes cold.

"Watch me."

With that, he steps out into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Yeji’s laughter echoing through the empty apartment.

Minho grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white, his jaw clenched in a way that makes his teeth ache. The frustration in his chest is building to a boiling point, and the worst part is the worry tangled up in it.

The image of Hayun slumped over in the passenger seat, her head lolling against the headrest, makes his gut twist. Her face is pale, her lips parted slightly as she breathes slowly.

When they finally pull up to his house, Minho jerks the car to a stop, tyres screeching slightly on the pavement. Without waiting a second, he jumps out, rushing around to the passenger side. He pulls open the door, and Hayun’s body slumps further, almost falling out of the car. Minho catches her before she hits the ground, hoisting her into his arms.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, adjusting her limp form. She’s barely conscious, her head lolling against his shoulder. "Come on, stay with me."

He kicks the front door with his boot, his patience long gone. It swings open almost immediately, and Hyunjin stands there, eyes widening as he takes in the sight of Minho carrying Hayun.

"What the fuck, Minho? It’s the middle of the day. What’s wrong with her?" Hyunjin asks, stepping aside to let them in, his voice full of concern.

"She’s high," Minho snaps, pushing past him into the house. "And do not tell Jisung or Felix. Don’t tell anyone. Help me get her to the bathroom."

Hyunjin’s eyes harden, and he gives a quick nod, following Minho toward the hallway. "Shit. Yeah, okay. Let’s get her up."

They half-carry, half-drag Hayun down the narrow hallway toward the bathroom. Her feet barely touch the ground, her shoes scuffing against the floor. She’s murmuring something under her breath, her words slurred and incomprehensible.

Once they get her inside, Minho and Hyunjin hoist her into the shower, clothes and all. Minho slams the door shut behind them.

"Turn it on," Minho orders and Hyunjin twists the knob, setting it all the way to cold.

The water comes blasting down, frigid and relentless, soaking all three of them instantly. Hayun jerks slightly, her body reacting to the sudden shock of cold, but she’s still far too out of it to fully comprehend what’s happening.

Hyunjin, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, shoots Minho a grim look. "Yeji again?"

"Yeah," Minho growls, keeping his grip tight on Hayun to keep her upright.

Hyunjin’s lips tighten. "I hate her. She’s my cousin, but I don’t give a shit anymore. She’s killing people like Hayun. Slowly, but surely."

Hayun whines softly, trying to push herself away from the freezing water, her body shivering uncontrollably. "N-No... s-stop..." she murmurs, her voice weak, almost childlike.

Minho holds her firmly, his voice cold. "Suck it up, princess. You wanna get high at Yeji’s? Then you sober up the Minho way."

"The Minho way sucks," Hayun groans, her weak attempts to move away from the water doing nothing as Minho keeps her steady.

"Yeah, well," Minho mutters darkly, "you’ll hate it even more by the time we’re done."

She’s shivering so violently now that her teeth are chattering, but Minho shows no mercy. He keeps her under the freezing water, his jaw clenched as the icy spray soaks through his own clothes. He knows it’s brutal, but he doesn’t care.

"I’m not your responsibility," Hayun mutters, her words slurring together. "I never asked you for anything."

Minho’s eyes flash, his frustration mounting as he leans in closer to her face. "Yeah, well, you made yourself my responsibility when you made me care about you," he snaps. "You don’t get to self-destruct without me getting involved."

"I’m not an addict," she mumbles, her head lolling forward again as the cold water drenches her, running in rivulets down her face and body. Her lips are turning a pale blue, and her hands tremble as she tries to keep herself steady.

Hyunjin, holding her up from the other side, snorts bitterly. "Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that. You’re drowning, Hayun, and you’re pretending you’re swimming."

Minho tightens his grip on her shoulders, leaning down to speak directly in her ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You go back to Yeji’s place again without telling anyone, I swear to god, I’ll fill a bathtub with ice water and hold you under. You hear me?"

Hayun tries to bat his hands away, but her movements are weak, barely more than a half-hearted attempt. "You don’t get it," she murmurs, her head drooping forward as if she’s losing the battle to stay awake.

Minho’s voice is sharp, cutting through the roar of the water. "Then explain it to me, because right now, it looks like you’re trying to kill yourself."

"I don’t need you to save me," Hayun mutters, her voice quieter now, almost fragile. "I was fine at Yeji’s. I was happy."

Hyunjin’s jaw clenches as he glances at Minho. "You were high."

Hayun lets out a weak, bitter laugh, the sound hollow. "Same thing."

Minho’s patience snaps. "You think this is happiness?" he demands, his voice rising. "This? Lying on a couch, high out of your mind, waiting for someone like Yeji to bury your body when you take one pill too many?"

Hayun groans, barely able to keep her eyes open. "You don’t understand."

"Fine," Minho says coldly. "I’m done being nice."

Without warning, he steps away from her, leaving Hyunjin to hold her up as he moves toward the bathtub. He turns on the faucet, cranking it all the way to cold, and within moments, the tub is filling with freezing water. Hyunjin watches him, eyes wide, but doesn’t say anything as Minho leaves the room and returns with a bag of ice, dumping it into the tub without hesitation.

"Minho..." Hyunjin starts, his voice uncertain, watching the ice cubes swirl around in the frigid water.

Minho cuts him off, his voice hard. "No more cold showers. That clearly didn’t work."

Before Hayun can even register what’s happening, Minho yanks her out of the shower, her feet stumbling against the wet floor. She’s barely coherent, her head still lolling to the side as Minho lifts her into his arms once again.

"Minho, wait-" Hyunjin tries again, but Minho doesn’t listen.

With a determined, almost cold efficiency, Minho lowers Hayun into the ice bath, submerging her body in the freezing water. The shock hits her immediately. She gasps, her limbs jerking weakly, but the drugs in her system are still dulling her reactions.

"Deep breath," Minho orders, his voice steely, and Hayun barely manages to inhale before he pushes her head under the water.

One, two, three, four, five- he counts silently in his head, his jaw clenched as her body thrashes weakly under the surface. Then, he pulls her back up, water pouring off her face, her breathing ragged as she gasps for air.

Minho stares into her eyes, his gaze hard, looking for any sign of clarity. But her pupils are still blown wide, and the haze in her eyes hasn’t faded.

"Still high," he mutters, his frustration growing. "Guess you’re going under again."

Before Hayun can protest, Minho pushes her back under the water. Her body jerks again, weaker this time, as the freezing cold assaults her senses. After another five seconds, he pulls her up, and this time, she spits at him.

Minho wipes the spit from his face, his expression dark. "Cute," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I’m going to do this every time you get high. Don’t like it? Stop popping oxy."

Hayun’s body trembles violently, her breathing shallow as she slumps against the edge of the tub. She’s still not fully sober, but the cold is starting to break through the fog, bringing her back to reality.

Hyunjin watches in silence, his arms crossed, but his face is grim. "He’s right, Hayun," he says quietly, his voice soft but firm. "This isn’t a game. You’re playing with your life."

Minho’s gaze softens just slightly as he leans down, his voice quiet but filled with determination. "I care about you, Hayun. And I’m not going to let you destroy yourself, no matter how much you try."

Hayun’s lip twitches, her eyes still glassy, but there’s something broken in her expression now. She doesn’t spit this time. She can’t. She’s too worn out, too cold, too drained.

Minho stares at her for a moment longer, then reaches into the tub, lifting her out of the icy water. Her body is trembling uncontrollably, her teeth chattering as he wraps her in a towel, holding her close.

"You’re not going back to Yeji’s," Minho says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I won’t let you."

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