#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😭

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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.

[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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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!!

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@moonlightdivine , @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshametohidemyshame

[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.

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Masterlist

Summary: When (Y/n) isn't well, all she wants is her partner Eddie by her side.

Enjoy.

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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."

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

[fantasy-relax]

Sweet alpha, Dangerous Omega

Part 1 Part 10 Part 11

Your healing continued without trouble despite your unconscious state, the hunger and dehydration plus your wounds exhausted you enough to stay still while Alcina healed you.

The fact that the matriarch had been as delicate as possible with you helped a lot.

The poor cub was just doing her duty

Standing on the side of your bed Alcina closed her eyes, stopping repressing her Beta from whom she could feel disappointment and anguish along with immense fury.

Cassandra is too strong and stubborn to be easily dominated, if the alpha had been like all the others, taking her by force, our wolf would have ripped out her throat with her teeth. Remember that when we found her, she did not have any wounds, not a single bruise or scratch, her aroma was soft and light without a trace of that bitterness that weighed us down so much.

When we returned to that cabin, we found an Alpha in agony willing to die in our hands rather than endure being without our girl for more than a second, she didn't beg, she didn't even try to run away, she stayed still, just holding in her arms the only memory she had left, refusing to die without it. She only acted violently when he noticed Cassandra's scent and her smell only transmitted a threat towards us, a threat that disappeared when she recognized who the omega, she had lived with was, an omega whose reputation was more than infamous, however in her eyes there was only affection. We witnessed her behavior during her heat, we saw firsthand the care and gentleness with which the alpha treated our cub who for the first time in decades was not suffering alone.

Despite the anger, shame and frustration that she feels, Cassandra is much more relaxed compared to her past Heats.

There will never be anyone who deserves our daughters, however, that Alpha will spend the rest of her life trying to be worthy.

Cassandra can deny it as many times as she wants, but her Omega wants that Alpha as her partner. Her stubbornness against her instinct will only cause her trouble and misery.

And you know that well.

The lady of the house put a hand to her face just to stop immediately when she saw the stains she had from your blood.

The blood from the wounds she caused you.

A woman is different, her parents punish her for her existence.

What a familiar story, don't you think?

The Beta's words were like a blow to her face, guilt filled her chest and the gravity of her actions weighed on her shoulders.

A pale woman whose death was hoped for, fighting to live another day.

What a familiar story.

--------------------------------

While causing pain didn't bring her as much pleasure as it did Cassandra, Lucia's moans were music to her ears.

“Hey Bela, what did she do?”

In her quest for revenge, she had forgotten to tell Daniela about what happened she simply burst into the library with a promise of fresh prey and the redhead followed her.

“Remember how I told you that the alpha had failed to demonstrate self-control?”

"Aha?"

"I was wrong, actually her self-control is admirable, in her shoes I would have torn out this bitch's tongue." She took the sickle out of the woman's leg only to skewer it in the other and continued her walk to the dungeon, ignoring the cries behind her.

“Oh? Miss Perfect admitting a mistake? I think boredom is making me hallucinate”

The two stopped when they heard Cassandra's voice, the brunette came out of her swarm with a mocking smile, leaning on the back of her younger sister.

“Oh, did you hear that too Cassie? For a moment I thought I had gone deaf.” Daniela rubbed her ears, smiling at the oldest of the three. “So, what did she do, you can't leave us wondering.”

Bela let go of her sickle, sighing knowing that her sisters wouldn’t let her forget this. Glancing sideways at Cassandra she decided to at least have a little fun.

“Well, you know that mother left me in charge of the Alpha.” The smile faded from Cassandra's face. "In just one month she has exceeded my expectations, her discipline and work are magnificent, and Relia recognizes her ability to the point of declaring her as her future substitute." The brunette rolled her eyes, but in the air you could detect the slight pride that her scent gave off. “That is why I am sad to admit that I judged her without seeking more evidence”

“Eh afa-aff lieugh-s”

It seems that the beating you gave her had knocked out a few neurons in addition to her teeth.

“So, there have never been any acts of violence against said alpha?” Cassandra's posture stiffened. “Are the physical and verbal attacks that I have been informed of nothing more than fallacies?” Her sister, with false calm, approached the maid's body and placed her heel on her chest.

"So?"

“Lie-ugh-s” Yes, she was stupid.

“It's also a lie that the reason she attacked you was because you said that my sister was so desperate to be fucked that she would let the Lycans mount her” Daniela looked at her in horror, shaking her head in disgust at the image while Cassandra turned to her seeing her with indignation and disgust to which Bela only shrugged her shoulders. “Words more words less”

“LI-AHH” Cassandra kicked her jaw, dislocating it again while Daniela grabbed the embedded sickle and twisted it.

"Besides, the person who told me wasn´t the alpha, it was another maid who witnessed your actions." If it weren't for Zina... "You attacked a co-worker and disrespected the Dimitrescu House," she approached the woman's face and force her to look at her by holding her dislocated jaw. “And you still try to evade your punishment? The alpha hasn't made even the slightest complaint these days, and still, you think you're superior?” She asked with anger before controlling herself, “Normally Cassandra would take care of you.”

“Ugh, am I really still grounded?” The brunette complained. “It's been a month already!”

“And mother said you still will be grounded for another eight.” In reality were four, but she was still upset with Cassandra for her irresponsibility. She signaled to Daniela to continue walking. The pool of blood was going to be difficult to remove, and they had left a trail of blood on the entire hallway, perfect that would make them remember who was in charge. “But she said you were free to give advice on how to proceed with her.”

Her sister sighed, but she nodded, accepting what was offered.

“If Daniela can be patient, maybe you can keep her alive for more than a week.”

“HEY”

“Let's start with the basics, we have to prevent her from bleeding completely, Daniela take out the sickle and use this to make a tourniquet on her legs” Cassandra offered a rope to the minor and then smiled evilly at Lucia, making sure to show her fangs “She deserves special treatment after all.”

---------------------------------------

When you woke up you looked at the ceiling of your room feeling relief for not being trapped in the dungeon you looked at the window finally noticing how late it was. Lady Dimitrescu had shown mercy in releasing you early and you repaid her by sleeping during work hours.

You got up immediately to put on your uniform and left the room without even taking a bath, chasing away the flies that fluttered around you attracted by your bad smell. Some of them left but one stayed, refusing to die crushed by your hands. You gave up and let it rest on your neck.

You swore it was laughing at you.

Arriving at the workshop you were greeted by Relia who scolded you, but not for the reason you expected.

“You should be resting for another day! *Sniff* You haven't even bathed, Holy Mother Miranda, give me patience, Come here.”

You followed her without saying anything, you didn't want to make her more angry but as always she was the one who broke the silence.

"I'm sorry"

“Uh?”

“I didn't realize how you were treated, I thought you just didn't want to get involved with Betas when in reality they were the ones who didn't want you to be there.” She looked at you with determination. “Things will be different, I promise you.”

"You don't have to apologize, that's normal for me, an alpha woman is an aberration just like an omega man, their existence is unnatural and grotesque and should be treated as such."

Although you had hoped that outside the town it would be different, the reality was that here being treated with insults and beatings was common. You never expected it to be different in the castle.

You stiffened as you felt arms wrap around you only to relax as you realized it was just Relia giving you a hug.

It felt good.

“I will make sure to create a new normal for you.”

You leaned on her more.

For a moment you thought the fly was rubbing against you offering its own form of comfort.

----------------------------

After your bath, Relia took you to the kitchen where Dorottea received her with a light slap for not going to breakfast while she told you to sit down with a light dish since mealtime was close.

Unlike other days, the kitchen staff interacted with you, involving you in their conversations.

Which seemed to be a bad decision.

Every time you mentioned something about your life in the village, all the women would stare at you with a mixture of horror, pity, and disbelief.

You knew your life wasn't the best and frankly it was bad but it wasn't that horrible either.

Right?

“Let me see if I heard correctly.” Dorottea joined the conversation after a while. “Your father used you as bait to attract a bear” You nodded. “For which he threw a bucket of blood on you and left you in the middle of the forest with just a whistle.”

“He didn't leave me alone; he climbed a tree to aim and see better so he wouldn't shoot me by mistake again.” Your parents were cruel but it's not like they tried to kill you on purpose.

“Shoot you?!”

"Again?!"

“It was only a few times on my arm and leg and once it grazed my cheek” And every time that happened they let you rest until you healed. “After that he changed the strategy”

"To what?"

“He tied my ankle to a rock and when the bear came, he would throw it to get me out of the way” Much more effective and safer.

Silence.

“At the end he would get me down and adjust my ankle if it had been dislocated” Later he will teach you how to do it on your own, a very useful skill in your opinion.

“How old were you?”

"Eight"

The silence seemed to increase the sound of the clock that marked how close it was to meal time.

The kitchen staff got up and proceeded to do their jobs like every day, however you thought that perhaps they were cutting the ingredients with more force than necessary and you were sure that the murmurs they made under their breath sounded like swear words.

Greta came in, looked at the situation and shrugged her shoulders and then spoke to you.

“Lady Bela wishes to speak with you, follow me.”

-------------------------------------------------

There was no trace of resentment on your face.

“Why didn't you say something about the treatment of maids?”

“I didn't think it was necessary, although it caused some delays, it was nothing I hadn't dealt with before”

After reading Greta's report it was easy to understand why it took you so long to get to your lessons. Another thing that she punished you for without first asking you what was happening, she rubbed her temples for a second before looking at you again.

“You could have told me when the incident with Lucia occurred” Your eyes shone with fury for a few seconds. You closed them as you took a breath and the fire faded.

“I broke the rules that were imposed on me, no matter the reason it doesn't change the fact that I disobeyed Lady Dimitrescu's orders, as well as yours.”

Bela sighed, her guilt still weighing on her.

“Any person would react badly upon hearing those words, you had great self-control to avoid killing her considering that she offended the omega of your interest.”

The seriousness with which you acted faded, you blushed completely and avoided her gaze.

“Well it's uhh” You cleared your throat to control your voice “I must act like a proper alpha if I want to be Lady Cassandra's heat partner.”

Oh?

“And what do you think an alpha does that qualifies her as adequate?”

Despite your firm stance there was a resignation and defeat in your eyes.

“Provides their partner with food and shelter, protects them from any enemy and never makes them doubt their loyalty and affection.” You took a deep breath. “I know that the only thing I can offer Lady Cassandra is my presence and body, however, if I can do anything else for her, I will do it without thinking.”

So, for you that's being an alpha.

To protect and provide with love and loyalty.

Black God seems like a line taken from one of the novels that-

“How romantic!”

Daniela likes so much…

“Dani, what did I tell you about entering without knocking?”

 Her sister completely ignored her as she held your hands.

“Don't you want to be my mate? I'll treat you better than Cassie." Her little sister was shamelessly flirting with you.

Blushing up to your ears, you freed yourself from Daniela's grip and took a step back.

“It would be an honor to be your mate Lady Daniela” You bowed your head “However it is Lady Cassandra who my alpha has chosen and I agree with that decision, I apologize for rejecting your generous offer.”

Silence.

Daniela hugged you, almost drowning you in her chest.

“AWW NO PROBLEM, CUTIE I WILL BE MORE THAN SATISFIED BEING YOUR FAVORITE SISTER-IN-LAW”

You were on your tiptoes with your hands fluttering around not knowing where to place them.

You really were a special case.

“Dani, you are going to suffocate her, and Cassandra is going to get angry with you if you rub your scent on her.”

As soon as you were free you took breaths of air without control.

“Killjoy, you don't want me to be her favorite, you've already spent a lot of time with her now it's my turn!”

“If I spend so much time with her, that's why; one, I am in charge of her and two, I give her classes”

“You have surely bored her to death with your numbers.”

“That you don't like mathematics is another thing”

Daniela pouted and then smiled in a way that Bela knew meant trouble.

“You are very busy, dear sister. What do you think if we divide the work?” She raised an eyebrow, intrigued by what her sister was planning. “You teach her about math, geometry and everything boring” she rolled her eyes. “And I am in charge of teaching her about literature, grammar and writing, which you know very well I am better at than you.” Daniela finished by placing her hands on her back while she wiggled back and forth on the balls of her feet.

With a hand on her chin Bela considered the offer, your writing needed improvement and you had numerous errors in your spelling with Daniela teaching, you would learn properly and her schedule wouldn't be so tight.

"That seems fine to me"

“Yesss”

Walking towards you Bela placed a hand on your shoulder, you tensed for a second before relaxing considerably.

“You will continue with your work with Relia, I am in charge of establishing a class schedule with Daniela”

“Boring”

"Daniela"

With her sister quiet, she decided to make something else clear.

“I'm in charge of you, if you have a problem, tell me immediately” You nodded “And if someone insults my family again you are free to punish them” She let go of your shoulder and caressed your head, smiling as she noticed how you leaned closer to her when he walked away. “You can leave.”

Alone with Daniela, it was the youngest who broke the silence.

“The blouse she is wearing is yours, right?”

“Yes, I'm surprised Cassandra hasn't noticed it yet.”

Sighing, her sister sat on the couch.

“Cass hasn't noticed because she's been avoiding her since she kicked her out of her room.” Daniela rubbed her face with both hands. “She denies that she has any interest and what happened was just a slip of her omega's heat"

Bela returned to her new desk, sitting down to review reports on the status of the vineyard.

Daniela turned to look at her. “Do we agree that the plan is to bother Cassie until she admits her interest?” she asked mischievously.

"Absolutely"

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 10 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Ahhhh, my babies, we've finally reached the chapter I've been itching to tell you about for ages! And I cannot WAIT to hear what you think about it!

We left off in Chapter 9 with poor Lori fighting physical exhaustion and a gamut of feelings for Elvis (who's being a stubborn idiot), and when they arrived home to Graceland, their frustrations came to a head. Elvis finally confronted her about her past and a terrified Lori didn't take it well.

Now in Elvis' perspective, we pick up immediately after her collapse. He is mortified and lovesick and convinced that he's harmed her beyond repair. Oh, Elvis. 💔

Like I said, I can't wait to hear your screams about the twists in this chapter, so please don't hold back! 😁 I hope you enjoy!

Much Love! xoxoxox, Madi 💗

TW: Please scroll to the end only if you need them--I don't want to spoil anything for those who hate spoilers!

Broken Glass Chapter 10

Shit shit shit shit, Elvis chants in his head as you vomit violently onto the pavement, go grey as a ghost, and your terrified eyes roll back into your head. His lean arms wrap around you quickly when you collapse, keeping you from falling into your own sick or hitting your head on the ground.

“Shit,” he curses, out loud this time, following your center of gravity and scooping you up into his arms. “Lori! Come on, darlin’, wake up f’me,” he pleads softly.

Your body seems awfully tiny and much too light for someone who’s presence he can never truly ignore, even when he wants to. His heart slams in his chest, his blood already up from his temper, though it fizzled out the moment you started shivering and sobbing and apologizing like he was sending you to the gallows. The look of resigned fear on your face was enough to give him nightmares and that was before you’d lost consciousness.

He is no stranger to fainting women, it being a staple of his fame since almost the beginning. While he never could quite understand why he of all people caused such a reaction in young ladies, he was always as calm and gentle as he could be. It was his fault they got overexcited, after all—they couldn’t control it just as much as he couldn’t.

But this was different.

You certainly hadn’t passed out because you were overcome by the joy of his presence. Instead, you look like death, and he’s not remotely calm about it.

“What the hell happened? What’d you do to her?” Gene asks accusatorily, running up behind him, followed by the rest of the guys in various states of concern.

“What’d I do…? Shut yer damn mouth ‘fore ya catch flies, ya idiot, and go call the doctor,” Elvis huffs back, hoisting you up into his arms, swinging around, and hightailing it towards the house.

The fear that lances through him at your pallor and lifelessness hits like a knife. The seed of anger he’s held on to so tightly this last week withers at the thought he’s done real damage here.

This is my fault.

He’s not exactly sure how but he knows. He only had to take one look at your face when he called you out to understand you hadn’t meant to hurt him and your past scared you enough to risk the lie. Stupidly, he’d wanted the satisfaction of confronting your wrongdoing, for you to have a smidge of the hurt he was feeling.

But he never wanted this.

How could he have missed something was wrong? You are so damn strong, meeting every challenge thrown your way that he never considered you might be unwell. Selfish idiot, he chastises himself.

He comes close to kicking down the door to his home, but Charlie scoots around him fast enough to open it before he resorts to property damage.

“Come on, Little Bird, wake up for me,” he murmurs softly as he oh so gently sets you on the long sofa. He hates the boneless way you settle, eyes closed and completely unconscious. Nerves shudder down his spine and he doesn’t bother to hide them.

“Did someone call the damn doctor?” he yells at Charlie.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s on his way.” Charlie has the sense to look worried, unlike his idiot cousin who peers over his shoulder.

“Wipe that dumbass look offa your face and go get her some water!” Elvis snaps at Gene, who looks at him wide eyed for a moment before disappearing.

Brushing a lock of hair off your forehead, he holds and rubs your cold little hand in his as he quietly talks to you.

“I’m sorry, Lo, I-I-I shouldn’t’ve come atchu like that. I-I realize now that, um, maybe you had your reasons f’not telling me ‘bout your past. I jus’ thought you knew you could trust me, and-and it hurt that you din’t and sometimes I just get so mad I can’t see straight but I shouldn’t take it out on you…” he rambles quietly, “Please jus’ wake up, now, you gotta wake up, honey. I can’t do this without ya.” The admission falls breathlessly from his lips, soft as snowfall.

His heart plummets when he thinks about all the ways he’s taken his anger out on you this past week—ignoring you, throwing girls in your face, making snide comments—and his ego wants nothing more to justify his actions, but in truth, you were right. He had been playing mind games and not communicating why he was upset. He should have just asked you about it right after Frank spilled the beans instead of punishing you for something you didn’t even know he’d found out.

Lord, his mama would have his hide for such childish behavior.

Shame flames his cheeks and worries surround him like a dark cloud until the doctor shows up. You still haven’t so much as stirred and it has him nibbling at his nails—a nervous old habit he’s never quite been able to kick.

When Dr. Shaw arrives, Elvis shoos away the audience of men who’ve crowded the living room when he wasn’t looking. At least they all have the sense to look concerned.

“What happened?” Dr. Shaw asks, setting his bag down next to the couch.

“I-I-I don’t know exactly, one minute she was fine, well maybe not fine cuz we were in a bit of a disagreement, ya see, and well, she, maybe she was worked up? One minute she was standing there and the next she lost her lunch on the pavement and passed out,” he says, unsure if he’s making any sense.

“Did she hit her head?” The doctor asks, examining your hairline.

“Naw, I caught her before she hit the ground.” His leg jiggles uncontrollably, wondering if you’re okay, wondering what he could’ve done differently.

Dr. Shaw looks at Elvis over his glasses, taking in his nervousness. “Has she been ill otherwise?”

Elvis blinks. “Um, I-I-I’m not sure.”

The doctor is one of the only people who knows about his illness, who you really are and what you are doing here, so it’s unsurprising he looks a bit incredulous. “Elvis, you’re spending all of your time with this young woman, and you don’t know if she’s been ill or not?”

More shame bleeds through his chest and settles like a stone in his stomach. His face flushes red hot and the temperature in the room seems to have gone up without him noticing.

“Um, no, I-I guess not, sir,” he mumbles.

He knows his faults, and generally being uncaring isn’t one of them. But these past few weeks, he’s been thinking mostly about himself. His feelings. How your secret affected him. Not how it affected you, or why you might need to hide it. You’d tried your best to take care of him, apparently to the detriment of yourself.

No, he’d been mighty careless with you, and spitefully so.

Dr. Shaw gives him a pursed-lip look.

“I, well, now I know the new hours are keepin’ her busy, what with how I gotta live and all. I-I-I guess she’s seemed tired?” Elvis adds, desperate to fill the silence.

He doesn’t feel he can share all the other pieces, like how you’d been on the run from your mafia fiancé who’d…

Oh, Lord.

Dread rolls in his stomach when he realizes his misstep.

The nightmares. You quivering in terror on the bathroom floor. The bruises. Bruises he’d seen staining your body in places no bruise should ever be. The way you’d flinched when he touched you roughly.

Your fiancé had done that to you. That man was the reason you fled New York.

How stupid he was for not putting it all together sooner. Your fiancé hurt you, and you tried to escape the only way you could.

And Elvis was so afraid of loving you, so consumed by his own feelings, he punished you for it. Just another man in your life punishing you for something that wasn’t your fault.

Fuck.

His gut rolls, leaving him queasy. Through his horror, he wonders if you’ll ever be able to forgive him. If you even should.

Your little moan steals his attention as you stir slightly on the sofa.

“Lori?” he asks, jumping to, wanting you so badly to wake up so he can apologize, so he can make it up to you. “Please, baby, you gotta wake up now. The doc is here.” He grabs your hand and doesn’t even care how desperate he sounds.

“Mmm?” Your eyes flutter open and his heart swells to see those crystal blues start to focus.

“What happened?” you moan quietly, rubbing your eyes.

“You, uh, you got sick, darlin’ and then fainted,” he coos but there is an edge of disappointment in it, in himself.

Your eyes narrow and then widen with what he assumes is your memory coming back. He watches the trepidation and embarrassment fill your eyes. You slide your hand out of his, shirking back from him, and his heart crumbles a little.

I did this.

“Dolores, can you tell me what happened? How are you feeling?” the doctor asks.

Your attention pulls away from Elvis, your trepidation clouded by your struggle to focus.

“Oh, I’m sure I’m fine, probably just carsick from the bus ride,” you say, voice wavering, unconvincingly trying to blow off the concern.

“You’re not fuckin’ fine,” Elvis snaps before he can stop himself.

Your eyes widen and Dr. Shaw clears his throat.

“Excuse my language,” he apologizes, then tries to continue more gently, “but you’re not. You’re always gettin’ on me about not tellin’ you what’s what, so now you better answer the doctor’s questions truthfully, honey.”

There’s a beaten, submissive look in your eye that nearly breaks his heart. You turn your attention back to Shaw.

“I’ve had an ongoing headache for days��weeks, maybe? And I am exhausted,” you admit quietly. “Carsick on the rides. It’s probably just a virus. Nothing a l-little rest won’t cure.”

Dr. Shaw purses his lips. “I’d still like to do an examination and some tests. Is there somewhere more private we can go?”

“Upstairs.” Elvis jumps up, eager to be helpful and expend some of the nervous energy coursing through him. He extends his hand to help you off the couch, but you shrink back from him. Stomach churning with guilt, he watches as you warily push yourself off the couch to standing.

You wobble and sway on your feet, and his instinct kicks in as he immediately swoops his arm under you and lifts.

“Elvis, stop, I can get up the stairs by myself,” you protest halfheartedly, but by the way your body sags against him, he doesn’t believe you.

“Hush.”

Scowling, you don’t fight anymore, your eyes getting a dim and faraway look when your head plops on his shoulder with defeat. It’s worrisome.

By the time he maneuvers you up the stairs and into the bedroom, his growing unease has taken root. And it grows more when he sets you on the bed and you look like a shadow of your usual self. Like darkness is trying to swallow you whole and you are letting it.

He looks at Shaw, his eyes trying to convey the deep concern he now feels for your wellbeing, the concern that should’ve been there for weeks if not for his head being wedged so far up his own ass he refused to see what was right in front of him.

“Thank you, Elvis,” Shaw says, “Now, I’ll need some privacy to do the examination.” The doctor nods his head towards the door, dismissing him.

“Aw, hell no. I’m not leavin’ her like this.” He shakes his head stubbornly. The thought of her alone with any man but him suddenly makes his skin crawl, even though he’s known Shaw for years.

“Elvis, I’ve got her. Go. I’ll be down to update you in a bit.” Shaw’s voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for question.

Elvis clenches his fists, his nostrils flaring.

Breathe. In, out.

It’s your voice saying it. He looks to you, sitting stock still against the pillows, staring into space, and realizes your voice is only in his head. It’s both heart-wrenching and comforting.

Finally, he nods curtly, then leaves his—our—room, shutting the door quietly behind him, resisting the urge to leave it open just a crack in order to listen in, to make sure no harm comes to you. But even in his current state, he knows that is overstepping. He forces himself to walk down the stairs, his mind churning.

After pacing the length of the house multiple times, beating himself up for his poor treatment of you, furious at your former fiancé for hurting you, and tying himself into knots with worst-case scenarios, he eventually finds himself at the piano. The only thing that ever truly quiets his mind is music. His fingers fly over the keys and he pours it all into the spirituals coming to him from deep within his soul.

God loves him best when he sings. Maybe He’ll hear his pleas for forgiveness, his prayers for healing—not for himself, but for you.

Lost in the music, he’s not sure how long he sings, but stops abruptly when Dr. Shaw appears in the doorway.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the doc says.

Elvis waves his arm dismissively. “How is she?”

Shaw hesitates. “It could just be a virus, but I took some blood and urine to test.”

There’s something he’s not saying, Elvis can tell. “And?”

Another pause. “I’m a little concerned about her…state of mind. I know I’ve only met her once or twice, but she seems withdrawn, almost traumatized. You said there was an argument?” He looks at Elvis with an undercurrent of judgement.

Heat blazes across Elvis’ cheeks, while guilt stabs in his belly. “I-I-I…yes, sir, but I’d never hurt her! And I-I don’t think…I-I mean, I don’t know…I think something happened t’her before we met,” he eventually gets out. It’s not his place to share your secrets, but damn if he’s going to let this doctor think he’s hurt you physically.

Dr. Shaw’s eyebrow raises, but he doesn’t press. He looks over Elvis with pursed lips and a watchful eye before his gaze softens.

“Can I go up and see her?” Elvis asks, almost desperately.

Shaw nods. “But she needs to rest. Stay off her feet. Eat well, if she can, and drink plenty of fluids.” Not run around after your ass, is the unspoken instruction. “Make sure she’s doing those things but…I wouldn’t press her.”

“Yessir.”

There’s tension hanging in the air before the subject is changed. “How are you feeling? Do we to have someone else step in until Ms. Cannava is well?”

Elvis grimaces, shaking his head. The last thing he needs is someone else poking around in his business, in your business. “I’m alright, sir. Probably could use a little R & R myself.”

Shaw looks at him with a critical eye. “Alright, son. Let’s keep it low-key, shall we? I’ll be back tomorrow to check in and hopefully we’ll have some answers.”

And with that, Elvis sees the doctor out.

He lasts approximately 90 seconds before he runs to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and takes the stairs quickly enough that he spills half the glass before he makes it to his room.

“Knock, knock,” he says gently, opening the door. You are laying on your side now, away from him, curled in on yourself on top of the covers and the sight nearly does him in for how vulnerable you look.

“Doc said you need plenty of fluids, so I brought you some water,” he rambles, coming around and setting the glass on the stand next to the bed. “Can I getchu anythin’ else?”

You blink slowly, but don’t respond otherwise. His stomach drops. It’s unnerving, the way you’re staring through him at the wall, vacant and broken.

He can’t have done this, right? Not like this. There’s got to be more to this than a silly fight.

You’re a fuckin’ asshole, the voice in his head berates. He wants to disagree but can’t. But this isn’t the time for him to feel sorry for himself. Standing here being useless isn’t helping anyone.

What would Little Bird do? The thought snaps him into action. “Imma gonna just take off these shoes a’ yours, okay?” he says gently, not wanting to startle you. With care, he takes off your heels one by one, setting them on the carpet at the end of the bed. He wants you to be comfortable but hesitates to undress you, unsure if that would be crossing a line. But he can’t well leave you to sleep in the clothes you wore on the bus for near a day.

After a minute of indecision, he plows forward. “Alright, honey, I’m just going to help you out of these clothes, just down to your slip, okay? Nothin’ more, don’t you worry.”

You don’t fight him at all, wordlessly allowing him to move you upright and undo your blouse. There’s certainly nothing untoward about the way his fingers manage the buttons or how they unzip your skirt. It’s not the way he ever wanted to be doing these things, though, he thinks as he strips your clothes and pulls down the spread on the bed. You have no outward reaction to him lying you down and pulling the covers up over your body, other than letting your eyes fall closed.

He thinks back to the care you’ve shown him when he’s been such in a state, and it’s what gets him through the feeling of helplessness churning in his gut.

Once you are tucked in, he grabs his own pajamas. He’s got no urge to leave you or deal with the idiots downstairs. No, even though his mind is going, he joins you in the bed, attempting to read the book on his nightstand while worry nags at him. Eventually, his eyes droop closed and the darkness takes him, too.

*

You are a bit more responsive the next day, eating a bite of the toast and jam he’d brought up for you, but you stay in bed, eerily quiet and entirely too withdrawn for his liking. He does his damnedest to follow Dr. Shaw’s instructions and leave you be, but it’s nearly impossible for him to not check on you multiple times an hour.

Honestly, he’s not sure you even register his presence half the time and fuck if that doesn’t stab him straight through the heart.

Charlie and the other boys do their best to distract him, but he’s got no humor for the usual fun and games. No, he’s much too wrapped up in his own head, vacillating from wanting to punch his way through the wall and being so lovesick he feels nauseous. The only thing keeping him from totally spiraling is the fact you are still here and alive and in his bed. He hasn’t lost you yet, he doesn’t think.

He can’t lose you.

By the time Dr. Shaw arrives in the evening, Elvis is about ready to jump down his throat with questions. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“Let’s go upstairs, son,” Dr. Shaw says, in a somewhat ominous tone. If the doc wants him there for the conversation, the news can’t be good.

Elvis’ heart knocks against his ribs with each step closer he gets to you. You can’t be sick. He’s only just found you and Lord, does he need you more than he needs air. If he’s learned nothing else, it’s that.

Fidgeting, he lets the doctor in the room, following close behind.

“How are you feeling today, Lori?” Dr. Shaw asks, sitting near you on the edge of the bed.

Your usually bright and savvy eyes seem dull as you take the effort to focus on the doctor and his question. “I’m tired,” you whisper sluggishly, shrugging.

“Well, I think we have an answer as to the reason for that,” Shaw says kindly, then motions to him. “Elvis, why don’t you sit?” He gets up from the bed, offering Elvis his spot.

Oh, God, it’s that bad. His dinner threatens to make a reappearance, but he swallows the bile down, sinking onto the bed near your legs.

Dr. Shaw clears his throat. “Ahem, well, Lori, the good news is I don’t think you are sick in the real sense of the word.”

A wave of elation hits Elvis. Thank you, Jesus.

“You are, however, pregnant.”

The crest hits, disbelief slamming into him, taking his breath away in a whoosh.

“How’s that possible?” It falls out of his mouth immediately and without thinking, imbued with much too much innocence after his jaw hits the floor.

A deeply biological sense of panic washes over him then because it is most unmarried men’s nightmare, especially a man like him, to be blindsided by news like this. But his biology and his brain aren’t on the same level because it takes him longer than it should to reconcile there is absolutely no way this child is his.  

This isn’t technically his mess.

But the doctor doesn’t know that and peers over his spectacles with a raised eyebrow. “I trust I don’t have to give you a talk about the birds and the bees, Elvis.”

A flush of heat hits his cheeks and he shakes his head. “No, sir.”

All at once, the gravity of the situation sinks in. The bruises. Your fiancé. That fuckin’ monster. The slightly judgmental way Shaw is looking at Elvis because in the doc’s mind, Elvis is the one who got you in trouble.

Shit.

Finally, his head turns to you. Your olive skin is deathly pale, your icy eyes more intense than usual and shining with unshed tears as you stare straight ahead. Your fingers twist around and around themselves, something he’s noticed you do when you are nervous.

Elvis lightly places his hand on your shin and your eyes whip to his for the first time in over a day. At least you don’t flinch at his touch this time. Instead, his touch seems to ground you and he watches carefully as you come back into yourself and out of wherever your head has held you prisoner since he yelled at you yesterday.

Dr. Shaw looks at the both of you before continuing. “It’s very early days, my guess is—”

“Four weeks,” you finish, the pain of knowing exactly how long etched in your features. It makes his heart ache for you, and more than anything he wants to find the man who did this to you and make him regret he was ever born. But now isn’t the time for all that.

Four weeks is the same amount of time you’ve known each other, meaning this happened after he’d already met you.

How?

“Yes, and anything can happen in these early days, as you well know. I know this is a…delicate situation.” There is unspoken subtext in the doctor’s words, and while Elvis is piecing it out, you seem to understand immediately. The look you give him is heavy and filled with words you cannot say out loud yet. The silence sits heavy between you two.

The doctor takes his cue. “You two have a lot to talk about. Why don’t I come back tomorrow to do your exam and get you set up with what you’ll need going forward? Keep your activity light for now.”

You nod. “Thank you, Dr. Shaw,” you whisper.

Elvis stares at you, trying to psychically glean what you are thinking, but your eyes have shuttered and his own thoughts are going a mile a minute. It’s hard to focus until after he sees the doctor to the door.

“Doc, this probably goes without saying, but we need to keep a lid on this,” Elvis says quietly. He’s too much in shock to understand all the ramifications just yet, but he knows this world is unkind to unmarried young ladies who find themselves in the family way, even if it wasn’t their fault.

He’s got to protect you.

“Of course, Elvis. The same discretion I apply to you will apply to her, don’t worry son,” the man says, patting his back in solidarity.

He ignores the concerned and curious looks from the guys in the living room as he takes the stairs two at a time, his anxiety rising the more he’s away from you.

Skidding through the door, he grinds to a halt when he sees the empty bed. Frantically, he looks around the room, finding you in the closet.

“Little Bird, what’re you doin’?” he says, watching in disbelief as you start pulling clothes and throwing them on the bed before dragging your suitcase, which had only been put away yesterday, back out into the room.

“I have to go,” you say, deliberately not looking at him as you rummage in the closet.

“Go?” he asks stupidly. “Go where?”

“I don’t know…maybe out West somewhere. Canada, maybe,” you mumble, as if this a normal conversation.

His pulse thunders in his head. “What…no, why do you think you’re goin’ anywhere in your condition?”

“I’m not an invalid, Elvis, I’m pregnant,” you scoff. “I’m—” your breath hitches for a moment, your shaking hand revealing your true feelings no matter how calm you are trying to appear. “This isn’t on you, and I know you were getting ready to let me go because I lied to you, which I’ve accepted, but I had no idea…I should’ve known. And I thought I’d have more time to get ready…”

His mouth might be catching flies for how dumbfounded he feels as he tries to follow your rambling train of thought. You scurry into the bathroom and rustle around before returning with some of your things, which you dump haphazardly into the suitcase.

“I know you were getting ready to let me go…” circles round in his head a few times before it hits.

You’re running. And you seem to think it’s what he wants.

“Stop.” The command is low and firm.

You freeze in the closet for a moment before grabbing another armful of dresses, ones he bought you even though you insisted you didn’t need anything.

“Dolores, stop this right now and sit yer ass down, goddammit!” he raises his voice, pointing to the bed.

Finally halting, he watches a shudder run through you before you defeatedly sit on the very edge of the bed, your arms full of clothes. Refusing to look at him. He can’t tell if you are more afraid or ashamed, but either makes his heart crumble and the thought of you leaving has him wanting to break in two.

He sinks to his knees in front of you, desperately wanting to take your hands in his own but not wanting to overstep in your fragile state. He softens his voice like he’s going to sing a lullaby.

“Little Bird, I don’t want you to go. Why would you say that?” It comes out too pleadingly, but he can’t bring himself to care.

You blink rapidly, once, twice, processing his words, the unemotional mask you are trying so hard to keep on your face cracking. “You…you were so angry I lied and have every right to be! I thought you’d want me gone as soon as you found someone new,” you whisper.

“Honey, no—”

“And now, as if Gianni hadn’t already done his worst, now I’m…I’m pregnant.” Your voice chokes and the façade finally collapses as sobs wrack your shoulders.

Elvis can’t stand it any longer, sinking onto the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms. You go stiff for a second, resisting, but he squeezes, and you relent, your head falling on his shoulder, tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Every quiet sob coming from you breaks his heart a little. He still doesn’t know you like he wants to but knows without a doubt you didn’t deserve to be hurt like this. You don’t deserve to bear the consequences of an evil man’s actions.

Gianni.

That was the name you said. Rage simmers deep in his stomach, but now is not the time to plot that asshole’s demise, no matter how much he wants to. Right now, Elvis has to make sure you don’t do something stupid, like leave him and run to Canada.

His shirt soaks with your tears. The damp sticks to his skin and should be uncomfortable yet it’s not. It’s proof you are here, with him, and he holds onto that.

“Breathe, baby. Just like you showed me—in, out, in, out,” he coos.

Sobs turn to sniffles. Your body shivers but fights for those slower breaths, your grip on him loosening as you seem to calm. He is lulled, too, his racing mind given reprieve for a moment, distracted by your presence in his arms.

Heavy silence fills the space.

“I have to go,” you whisper, sounding pragmatic and defeated, but calm. Peeling yourself from the cocoon of his arms, you stand abruptly.

He grabs you gently by the wrist, turning you back to him. “Din’t you hear me, lil’ one? I don’t want you to go. I-I’m sorry I been such an ass. I-I-I shoulda just asked ya what happened instead o-of punishing ya for somethin’ I din’t understand.” Desperation he’s unaccustomed to feeling leeches into his voice.

He looks up into your shining eyes, hating the warring resignation on your pretty features.

“Elvis…” you begin, stepping away, “you have every right to be angry but—"

“No, n-no…I mean, yeah, I was, but that doesn’t matter now. Please, Little Bird.”

You pause. “I need to leave.” You start putting things in your suitcase, much slower this time.

His heart cracks a little more with every beat. “No, Lori. You…listen, I-I-I’ll be a much better patient, I promise. I’ll stick to your diet and routine and all that shit.” He tries to make light but your face fixes in a determined scowl.  

You just shake your head resolutely.

Finally, he grasps your hands. “Honey, ain’t you hearin’ me? I’m sorry, so fuckin’ sorry, an’ I don’t admit that very often cuz I’m a stubborn ol’ goat, but I’m sayin’ it now. I don’t want you to go. So, stop this nonsense and talk to me!”

Quiet tears streak down your cheeks and you try to blink them away as you look down at him.

“I hear you. But you don’t understand—you’re not thinking, Elvis. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go to save you,” you plead.

“What?” He can’t hide his confusion.

“I already put a target on your back. And if Gianni finds out I’m…he’s coming after me. Whether today or tomorrow or a year from now, I feel it in my bones, and I’ve put you right in the crossfire.”

“I can take care of myself,” he bristles.

You shake your head. “It’s not just that. Once the press gets wind of this—” you motion to your belly “—it won’t be good for either of us. If I go now and disappear, you’ll have a chance.” Your sentence ends in a whisper.

He blinks once, twice, trying to absorb what you’re saying. But all the logic in the world doesn’t change his heart. It doesn’t change how much he…

“I need you,” he admits, staring right into your eyes, unwaveringly.

Your lip quivers. “I can’t.” You look away before speaking again. “I’m sure Colonel can find you someone else who can fulfill your needs.”

Fuck. He’s losing you; you are slipping right through his fingers. Frustration fills him with frantic desperation.

“You ain’t gettin’ it, Dolores. I don’t need some other nurse, I need you, goddammit!”

His voice is loud in the small space, echoing briefly before the sound gets sucked into the sound proofing.

“Elvis…” you whisper, eyes going wide with questions he can’t answer, not now.

“Listen—jus’ listen to me, okay? There’s gotta be somethin’, cuz I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you out there by yourself to get hurt by those goons. I’ll fend ‘em off myself.” His brain whirls, trying to see his way through the problem.

“No, Elvis, you don’t understand! This isn’t the movies! Gianni, my father, the famiglia—those ‘goons’—they are dangerous. Lethal. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. And if Frank knows I left, it means even if they can’t get to you physically, they can do worse to your reputation and your career—everything you’re working so hard to keep.”

Your face blanches and your entire body goes tense. “And if Gianni finds out I’m pregnant with his child, even you might not be safe from him. Oh, Madone, I should have never come here.” Green tinges your face and you bolt for the bathroom.

His heart races, slamming against his ribcage again and again. You paint a bleak picture, and your fear is contagious. But the fear of never seeing you again, of you being out there alone and in danger, strikes not only dread in his heart, but a protective fervor he’s never quite felt before.

An idea comes to him then in a flash, and the sound of your retching snaps him into action. Whether it’s terror or the baby, or both, it has you so in knots you are sick, and he can’t have that.

A few weeks ago, he may have been able to tell himself it’s because you are a good nurse, that he doesn’t want to train some new girl when you already know what you are doing, and that’s why he’s about to do something either wildly clever or wildly stupid. But he’d be lying.

He feels like he’s buzzing from the inside out with nerves, almost like the feeling he gets when doing a live show. It’s equally terrifying and exhilarating and addicting and maybe it’s God’s way of letting him know he’s on the right path.

Barely aware of how he got there, he’s in the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and crouching down next to you by the toilet. Not how he ever imagined this would go, but here he is anyway, brushing the hair off your cheeks. He’s so far gone for you, the sick doesn’t even phase him as he wipes your face.

None of it phases him enough to let you go.

You don’t want to look at him, he can tell, but you finally do, your ice blue irises vibrant against your bloodshot eyes, looking defeated and scared and miserable. But still beautiful. Always beautiful.

“Marry me.”

He says it with a quiet confidence only he could muster, despite the pounding of his heart.

You blink in shock, straightening. “W-what?”

“Marry me.”

“Elvis, you can’t be—”

He holds up his hand, halting her reply. “And before you say no, hear me out.”

Your mouth snaps shut in bewilderment.

“Doc said it was early. So, if we get married real soon—love-at-first-sight and all that—it’s still plausible to those without details everything is on the up and up, right?”

Your eyes narrow a little as you work through it. “I…I suppose so, if all goes well.”

A thought comes to him suddenly, threatening to ruin his plan, but he has to say it or he won’t forgive himself for not giving you the out. “I shoulda asked…I-I mean…there are other ways to solve this, less legal ones, but I’d pay for it if that’s what you want. I wouldn’t blame ya, considerin’ the circumstances,” he says almost bashfully.

It takes you a second to glean his meaning, your face going more ashen than it was already. “Oh. Oh, no. I…I’m Catholic. I don’t…that’s not an option for me.”

“Okay.” He nods, knowing he needs to continue, “T-There’s also adoption. I won’t force you to raise this baby, even if it looks bad for me…I-I-I would never do that to ya.”  

Your eyes fill with tears again, a gamut of emotions running through them. “I don’t think I want that either,” you say quietly.

The weight of that settles between them for a moment before he clears his throat. “Alrighty. I hate to ask this, but you said ‘four weeks’ earlier…so did he hurt you after we met? How—how long were y’all together?” It all leaves a bad taste in his mouth to ask, but he needs to know in order to make this work.

Your eyes close painfully. When you open them, there is resolve there, covering your suffering. “We weren’t. Not really. Gianni set his sights on me a long time ago, and my father…well, Gianni’s family is powerful, and Pop knew a marriage between us would raise his status in the famiglia. My mother didn’t want it, but when she died…well, I had to help raise my brothers, and I was too young, anyway. Then, I escaped by going to nursing school and managed to avoid him for a while, but…,” you take a deep, shuddering breath to keep going. “…but the day after we met in the hospital, he cornered me after my shift. He, um, proposed, and I froze. I didn’t say yes, but I-I was paralyzed, and he took that as acceptance. Then he brought me home to an empty house and…stole what he thought was already his.”

Elvis squeezes his fists so hard his knuckles go white. He has never been a particularly violent man, not finding pleasure in it like some men. Even in his bouts of bad temper, his anger is usually taken out on inanimate objects rather than people, but right now the rage he feels at Gianni is downright murderous. He’d like to rip this man’s heart out of his chest for what he’s done to you.

He swallows the bitter pill of his rage, though, tempered by the anguish in your eyes. A single tear streaks down your cheek and before he can stop himself, he’s cupping your face and pressing his forehead to yours.

“Never again, Little Bird. As long as I have breath in my lungs, nobody’s gonna hurt you again.”

You suck in air sharply, then your body shudders on your exhale.

“You can’t promise that,” you whisper tearfully. “I can’t ask you to promise that.”

“Well, I am, and you know better than anybody I don’ take kindly to bein’ told what to do or not do, so you better save us all the trouble and jus’ accept it,” he says, and while there is humor in it, he’s never been more serious.

He fights every instinct in him that wants to kiss your lips, instead pressing his own to your forehead, wishing he could give you some semblance of peace. Pulling back before he does something stupid, he gently wipes your tear-stained cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. You let him, and he supposes that’s enough for right now.

“Does anyone know what he did, besides me?” he asks, hating that he must.

“No, not unless Gianni told someone. I didn’t even tell anyone he’d proposed. I just went to work and then Colonel offered me this job and I realized it was my only chance to escape. I didn’t even say goodbye to my brothers in person. I’m so sorry I lied and put you in this position,” you say, voice cracking with emotion.

“You were jus’ tryin’ to survive, honey. No one can fault you for that. I’m glad you got away.” And he is, he thinks, as he smooths your hair. He nearly gets trapped in the blue of your mournful eyes before he snaps himself out of it. He’s got to focus.

“The timeline works out, then, darlin’. Even if people believe we did the deed before marriage, there’s no reason for them to think it’s anyone’s but mine. Gettin’ married cements it, ‘specially with this new, a-dult image Colonel is tryin’ to push of me.”

Colonel is gonna hate this.

“Colonel is never—” you start, seemingly on the same wavelength.

“I know, which means there’s gotta be no doubt in anyone’s mind this baby is mine.”

Your eyes go wide in understanding. You haven’t said yes yet, but he knows how logical and practical you are. He’s got to make you see this is the only way.

“Will Colonel believe it, though? He knows we—I—didn’t take to this arrangement so easily in the beginning.”

“We gotta make him. And I think you continue to underestimate my powers of seduction,” he jokes, wiggling his brow, trying to lighten the increasingly heavy mood.

You sigh. “Be serious, Elvis.”

“I am. It doesn’t matter what really happened, honey, it matters what people think happened. And I’m bein’ honest when I say it won’t take much for most to believe we fell in love and you fell into my arms. Or vice versa. My, um, reputation’s gonna work in our favor.” Heat flames his cheeks, which he knows is silly, but he plays it off with a smirk.

Your eyebrow quirks, but you leave it at that.

He rambles on, “And I don’t know this, um, family of yours, but I’m guessin’ even Gianni is gonna have a hard time provin’ anythin’ if you’re married to one of the most famous men in the world. I can’t imagine even the mob will try an’ steal ya out from under me, so to speak. Not with our ‘love story’ pasted across the world in black and white for all to see. It keeps you and the baby safe.”

You go quiet and still, and he can see the wheels in your head turning. “I…okay. Maybe, just maybe, you’re on to something,” you finally relent.

His heart jumps and he can’t help the proud grin spreading across his face from your almost-praise.

“But Elvis, this is too much to ask of you. This is your life. I know you had no plans to get married, at least anytime soon—”

“Plans change,” he throws back, quickly and a little too adamantly.

“Not like this.”

“Things changed the minute I got this diagnosis, honey,” he adds soberly.

You go quiet, as though with everything going on you forgot what you were doing here in the first place.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” you apologize.

Elvis shrugs it off. But he doesn’t want your pity. No, he wants you safe, and he wants you to stay. And he’s man enough to admit this isn’t all for your benefit. He’s being selfish here, too, because, somehow, you’ve wrapped yourself around his heart and the idea of you ever leaving him fills him with despair.

You continue, “I hear what you’re saying, I do, but, Elvis, I’m afraid you’re not thinking this through entirely. You’re offering to raise another man’s child as your own, offering to marry someone who you don’t love…there’s no going back from that, especially when there’s a child involved.”

He swallows thickly, but not because he’s in doubt. Anything but. The image in his head of you smiling and laughing as he plays with the baby, of early morning whispers of love and sharing a bed in more than just name, of you helping fill the rooms of this damn mansion he bought for his mama with gorgeous blue-eyed children…it is so enticing and so close he can’t bear to think what might happen if you don’t say yes.

I love you.

And even if you can only give your trust in him to keep you safe and help raise your child and nothing else, he would still rather have you at his side and love you in secret than not have you at all.

God, how I love you.

If he let the words fall out of his mouth right now, would you agree, or would they send you running?

He can’t chance it. Not with the state you’re in now. So he steels himself instead, using the charm God gave him to get you to understand.

“Honey, I know what you’re sayin’, and it don’t change a thing.”

Those eyes of yours go wide, and he can tell there’s something you’re debating on sharing. A few moments pass while he lets you deliberate.

“Elvis, you need to know before…,” you trail off. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “This is it for me. Maybe it’s old fashioned, but with my beliefs, even in this insane situation, this wouldn’t be temporary. Gianni, my father…it’s possible they’ll never stop trying to get to me. And in my world, marriage is forever. Divorce is not an option. I…I can’t bear to think I’m the one ever keeping you from true happiness, from a love and children of your own. Instead, you’re getting a sullied wife who shackled you in a moment of need and who you’ll come to regret. I can’t have you regret me, Elvis.” Tears pool in your eyes and if he wasn’t already on his knees, he thinks this would have brought him there.

This is a tipping point, just like the moment the doctor handed him his diagnosis. Nothing will be the same after today, for either of you. God has a plan, he’d thought when you’d shown back up in his hospital room at just the right moment, and it hits him now—he swears on his dear mama—it was all leading to this.

“There’s no me without you anymore, darlin’. Who else is gonna take care of me? Who else can I trust with my life? I’m helping you and your baby, yes, but you’re keeping me alive, too. And you aren’t ‘sullied’,” he says with more conviction than he’s said anything before, his voice trembling with all the words he cannot say to you yet. He can only pray you see him, too.

The welling tears in your eyes overflow once more, and it cuts him to not know what you’re thinking, to think he’s the one making you cry this time.

“Don’t be sad, honey, please,” he whispers, begs. “I can’t bear to make you cry.” Unable to stop himself, he brushes your cheeks with his fingers, cupping one in his hand.

The way you lean into him is so slight he might be imagining it, but it’s enough to give him an ounce of hope, one he latches onto immediately.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad, not about you anyway. I’m crying because I can’t believe you’re willing to do this for me. You hardly know me,” you weep.

“I know enough.” And I’d do anything for you.

You close your eyes, dark lashes clumped with tears fanning across your cheeks. “Can you…can you give me a minute?” you say, not unkindly.

“Y-Yeah, yeah, o-of course,” he stutters, his heart fluttering nervously as he stands. Holding out his hand, he helps you up off the floor, making sure you’re steady on your feet before letting go. “I-I’ll be in there, when you’re ready.”

The door to the bathroom shuts behind him and he hears the faucet running. Waiting has never been his strong suit, which he’s brutally reminded of as the minutes tick by. He tries to sit on the bed, but he can’t keep still and jumps up immediately, running a hand through his hair while pacing the room.

But as much as he should be doubting his decisions, he’s not. He should be questioning his damn sanity, proposing to you like that—a woman he’s known all of a month who comes with more baggage than an airliner—but honestly, he’s never felt so sure of something in his life.

Sure, Elvis from five weeks ago may have sent him to the looney bin for offering to marry a girl and raise another (apparently very dangerous) man’s child, but that Elvis hadn’t been handed a death sentence and a ticking clock. That Elvis didn’t know his Little Bird.

That Elvis didn’t love her.

Hell, he’s much more worried you’ll leave out of some hairbrained thought he’s better off without you and get caught by Gianni, who he’s absolutely certain will hurt you in ways you never thought possible if he catches you.

No, Elvis isn’t scared you’ll say yes—he’s terrified you won’t.

He can’t begin to think of the despair he’ll feel if you disappear. Selfishly, he’s not sure he can stand to take another heartbreak, not now. It would be a cruel joke for God to put you in his life and then rip you away just when he needs you the most.

It makes him think of his mama and the gaping wound of her loss that’s only begun to heal. All Mama ever wanted for him was to be settled and happy, with a good woman by his side. He hadn’t understood why at the time. He’d wanted to focus on his career, to be free, to enjoy his youth and all the perks of his fame. But God humbled him right quick, first by sending him off to the Army, then by taking his mama. Since then, he’d spent too much time falling into the arms of woman after woman both drowning his sorrows and in the hopes he’d find the one to magically fill the void left in his heart.  

Yet all of it led a path straight to you. And there’s something serendipitous about it he can’t ignore, no matter how batty it all might seem.

So, he best convince you to stay.

After what seems like an eternity, the bathroom door swings open. Your color is still drawn and sallow, the dark circles under your deep-set eyes more pronounced than usual, but you are hauntingly beautiful. Silent, you glide your way towards him slowly, your face shuttered in that way of yours, giving nothing away. His blood thunders in his ears and he hopes you cannot hear it.

You stop before him, mere inches away. Anticipation itches under his skin as his pulse ratchets up. He jumps when you place your palm flat on his chest, right over his heart, the way he knows you do to ground yourself.

Well, hell, there’s no hiding now, not when he knows you can feel just how fast you have his heart beating. You’re probably counting his pulse and getting ready to tell him to relax.

But you don’t. You don’t speak at all. You stare at your hand over his heart and wait, but he’s not sure what for. It’s not until his lungs scream for air that he realizes he’s holding his breath. He feels like he’s going to float away and finds himself shakily breathing in. He knows you feel it. His hand covers yours, anchoring him to you, trying to prove he means everything he’s told you and so much more he can’t yet say.

Finally, your eyes raise up to meet his so intensely he might have been knocked off his feet if he wasn’t locked onto your hand so tightly, feeling his heart thrum against your palm.

“Lori—”

Your finger shushes him, pulling against the fullness of his lips. The touch is electric, zinging through every nerve in his body and buzzing around his chest. He doesn’t understand what’s happening until you’re on your tiptoes, your cold little hand pulling down on his jaw.

The two of you have kissed before, of course, but always for an audience, and even then, you’ve never once initiated it. So, when your lips meet his so softly, he’s taken aback with disbelief.

You don’t waver, however, through the milliseconds it takes him to recover his wits, waiting patiently until every sense in his body hums to life all at once. His heart swells and his belly tingles and then he’s kissing you back, as gently as he can, swearing he won’t be careless with you again.

He wants to devour you but doesn’t want to scare you, doesn’t want to ruin this blissful, unbelievable little moment where your lips are pressed so chastely against his own, using them to say all the things neither of you can seem to say out loud.

The sliver of logic still left in his brain tries to convince him this slice of vulnerability you’re sharing with him is likely nothing more than a show of gratitude, but his aching heart can’t tell the difference.

So there’s no helping the way his other hand falls to your waist, cinching there, pulling you closer. Your minty breath puffs against him in surprise, then he’s gently chasing your mouth with his, unable to stop himself—the hope of it all, of what could be, is too consuming. He can’t stop the way it blossoms through him, opening pieces of him he didn’t know existed.

It’s dangerous, this hope, but Lord have mercy, he can’t bring himself to care about the risks. Not when you’re in his arms like this. Not when he needs you like he needs oxygen.

This little kiss is like heaven, he realizes, because you are giving it freely. It’s not for show; it’s not begrudging or afraid. No, a kiss like this from you means only one thing:

It’s an answer.

A promise.

Or it’s a goodbye, you idiot.

The horror of that possibility squeezes his throat, threatening to choke him, but he pushes it away fiercely.

When the sweet kiss breaks, he finds himself winded even though he shouldn’t be, his head bowed and pressing into yours. He threads his fingers through yours over his wildly beating heart. Anything to keep you tethered to him.

Not one kiss out of the hundreds he’s had in his life has ever knocked him flat quite like this.

“You don’t have to do this, Elvis. You are offering me so much—too much—and I don’t know how much I can give you in return…I—,” you whisper, voice wavering.

“You’re enough,” he manages to get out, not wanting to hear the rest. And it’s true. God help him, it’s true.

You breathe in a little gasp of air, one that makes his heart flip. Then your crystal eyes raise to meet his.

“Then, yes, Elvis Presley, I’ll marry you.”

 *

TW: physical illness (fainting, vomiting), dissociation, Gianni and references to previous sexual assault, lots of cussing, unplanned pregnancy due to sexual assault, brief allusions to abortion

*

Thank you for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! It means the world! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

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@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[h3rmess]

COLLAPSE

-> 1✰Geto Suguru

LASER LIGHTS ☆

"ignore it 'til I feel alright."

I'm not really sure when it started. It might have been when Satoru and I were sent out on yet another mission, the gravity of which being way too much for people of our age to handle.

Or, it may have been on an earlier occasion when I was promoted to special grade following my evaluation after the exchange event. The gravity of that title held a great responsibility within it : to help the weak.

Gravity. The force constantly acts upon us on a daily basis. The vector quantity that holds both direction and magnitude. The magnitude of the situations only seemed to grow, and I only seemed to be moving backwards, deeper and deeper into a pool of depression.

"Your job as Jujutsu sorcerers is to help the weak. Save those who can't save themselves."

So what happens when I need help? Who's going to save me? Do I rely on another sorcerer to put me out of my misery?

Being the strongest is nothing but a curse. Living every day knowing everyone is counting on you to help when no one else can. Being the first and last resort in all situations. Having responsibilities that, if given to any other human, would eat them alive and leave nothing but blood splatters on the floor.

Why me? Why did I have to be the strongest? I can't save everyone. I can't save anyone.

Satoru seemed to be doing a little better than me. By a little, I mean a lot. He had become the strongest. He was able to laugh and joke so casually about these topics. Meanwhile, they cause my stomach acid to burn my guts. Thank a sheltered childhood for that. Being the family's pride and joy must have been great for him. Not having to climb his way up must have been amazing. Being born the strongest, never once having to doubt his ability because it came so naturally and effortlessly. He must love his life.

He was being sent on more missions on his own. Naturally, this meant that I, too, had to be sent on more missions alone.

Every day was torture for me.

We were unsure of how it came about, but the frequent disaster of the last year probably played a role. Cursed spirits were springing up like maggots.

Exorcise, absorb. Over and over. Exorcise, absorb.

The more curses we killed, the more I had to absorb to remain the strongest. Once you're at the top, you can't back down. Do you know what it's like to absorb curses? It's like eating a rag that's been used to clean up vomit and shit. It makes me sick to my stomach.

Exorcise, absorb. Who am I doing this for?

Maybe it was the pressure of being strong. Or, it could have been the frequency of our missions. Before I knew it, dark circles were forming under my eyes. Sleep became a foreign concept to me. Something that i yearned for dearly. So many people had died.

Soon enough, my meals started to look unappetising too. Revolting clumps of farmed rubbish put together to be consumed. Curses. Revolting lumps of negative emotions put together to be consumed.

Nobody understands.

I kept it under wraps in front of the others, remaining inconspicuous at all costs. The strong can't help the strong.

It seemed to be getting better for a while. But then, Gojo was evolving. He was learning things I knew I could never do. His pace was immense. He picked it up so easily. I tried to keep up. I was losing my speed.

Satoru had it so easy. He never had to think about anything the way I did. His technique was spoon-fed to him, served on a golden platter. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I had nothing. I was nothing. Amongst the entirety of Jujutsu society, not once would you hear anyone say, "Geto Suguru is so strong!" "He's the strongest!" It was always Satoru. Always him who would block my only hope at being the strongest. Always him who would block my chance at being a decent human being. Getting the recognition I deserve rather than being drenched in a boundless sea of tasks once one had been completed. I was never once thanked for my work. I thought I didn't need it. That was until he came and stole it all from me. I hated it. I hated being weak! I hated Gojo Satoru.

Or at least that was my justification for the events that occurred on that fateful day.

I had found myself at the lowest point in my life. I was heavily torn between being able to save one person or an entire population. It was a tough decision to make. Did I want to continue saving people indefinitely, or did I want to get it all done with in one go? To me, the more logical answer was the latter. Re-educating the entire country of Japan would be near impossible. What if there were people like Zenin who had no cursed energy? What, then? Would I be forced to save all the non-sorcerers again?

Then it hit me. The root of my problem. No matter how much I tried to stray from it, it was always right in front of me. The cause of all of my misery. The reason why I was so malnourished. The reason why I found myself in this position in the first place. Those non-sorcerers. The useless beings who couldn't do so much as defend themselves against curses that didn't even qualify for grade 4. The people with no cursed energy who lived their lives in ignorance, not knowing of the mental and physical torment some of us endured daily. Those damn monkeys. Those sub human creatures! They were the issue! The bane of my existence.

And so, my plan to rebuild the nation of Japan was put into action. I needed to wipe out all of the monkeys and build a new world ; a world of jujutsu sorcerers. That way, everyone could defend themselves. I would be putting the weak out of their misery. It would limit the number of deaths from cursed spirits. A small sacrifice like this in the grand scheme of things wouldn't hurt, right?

I killed an entire village. They all went up in flames. It felt amazing. Never once before in my life had I felt such joy, such untainted happiness. I knew that this was for the greater good, and that's what fueled me. That's what drove me to save two girls and build a family where we all shared one common goal - obliterate the monkeys and bring about a change.

Needless to say, I was expelled from Jujutsu Tech, and everyone was after my head. They really didn't get it, did they? They didn't see the bigger picture at all.

And that's when Satoru got involved. He had found out about my massacre and was not pleased, to say the least. Screaming at me on the streets like some uncivil beast. A savage dog spewing bullshit with every word he spoke.

"You know it would be impossible!" He screamed, and I stopped.

I had been blocking out what he was saying, but that combination of words was the straw that broke the camels back for me.

Impossible? He thinks it's impossible? Satoru Gojo, who, with his hollow purple, could wipe out the entirety of Japan. He thinks it's impossible?

Don't make me laugh.

That arrogant bastard. Saying that something is impossible even though he could do it with minimal effort?

How hypocritical.

It must be nice to be so sheltered that you have deluded yourself into completely disregarding your heritage and cursed technique when talking to others. To wholly be able to forget about being strong and try to make yourself appear as if you are anywhere near the level of ther jujutsu sorcerers.

It must be amazing.

He knows that he could do it, and yet he doesn't want to admit it.

Is this the power the strong have? All along, it wasn't about cursed energy or cursed technique, but your ability to manipulate those inferior to you.

Satoru was very crafty indeed.

But two could play at that game. If he thought he was the only one who could manipulate and alter someone thinking, he was dearly mistaken.

"Are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo? Or are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest?"

The words flowed from the deepest part of my heart, a feeling awakened by his ignorance to his own strength.

No, it wasn't ignorance. It was Satoru being pitiful towards the weak, sympathising with us as if he was anywhere near our level. We are merely lowly peasants compared to him.

He acted surprised at my words, telling me everything I needed to know. If I wanted to progress in my mission, I had to let go of my past self, strip myself down until I was nothing, and rebuild a better version of myself. Only then would I be able to achieve my goal. Only then would it be possible to wake up one day without feeling like the world could come crashing down at any second.

I left my best friend that day. The only one who understood me until that point. It had only been us.

I had to start anew, to build a world in which only sorcerers exist. That way, arrogant brats like Satoru wouldn't have free reign over the weak, and my mind would be at ease.

Just a little longer. Everything will fall into place.

m.list

navi☆

[popculturebuffet]

The Book of Bill Review: Bye Everyone He'll Remember You All in Therapy (Comission for Emma Fici)

Hello all you happy people and man it's good to be back. After a week's vacation i'm recharged and ready to plunge back into reviewing stuff. For those of you new here i'm Jake, I review various media , mostly cartoons and comics.

Over a week off filled with batman, persona 5, more batman, Truthful Timmy the Blowjob Queen of Saskatoon, and more, I picked up a certain book since my money dropped: Yes folks thanks to a generous friend who also enjoyed the hell out of this book it's time to talk about mildly curesed new york times #1 bestseller The Book of Bill.

The Book of Bill is the latest in something Disney has been doing for a while, some of the only merch they really make for their telveision animation series: Journals! Specifically books following a character from the show in the first person and helping drop some juicy lore. I naturally have all three previous major ones: Journal 3, The Big Book of Spell and Marcy's Journal. There was also one for Ducktales I need to get at some point and an early Star Vs book, but these big three are the important ones, making real books from the show canon and not only being cool props to own, but also nice bits of canon after the show ended. Or in star vs case as the show slowly burst into flames.

Book of Bill continues that trend yet also breaks it: This book is coming out 8 years after the series ended, is an entirely new creation, and is geared towards adults even having a warning label. Granted it's more a pg-13 than the hard r said warning label implies but the fact disney is acknowledging a product from less than 15 to 20 years ago has nostalgic fans is a victory in itself.

And said victory was followed by an even bigger one with the book recently topping the New York Times bestseller list, even topping "we gotta see what that couchfucker is about just in case". This is a huge victory lap that makes me hope we'll get even more content from various disney shows in book form. At the very least it makes the owl house art book an even easier sell and at most i'm hoping Owl House gets more content now, and I wouldn't say no to Hirsch returning to gravity falls if he has another idea. While i'm used enough to Disney's bullshit to see them ignoring this obvious sign, it could really get them to take kids content from this era more seriously or at least try to get it's creators back to get more of that sweet dollar dollar bill ciphers ya'll. Either way this could be a great thing.

Even if it dosen't lead to more books, Book of Bill is great on it's own and something i'm happy to dive into. And since I know it's harder to get the book outside of the us this is also a chance for those of you outside it to get a peak inside. So let's begin as tonight it's gonna get weird.

Book of Bill is diffrent from the other books in that while it follows a narrative, the first half is mostly just bill shenanigans while the second gives us his history from when he was a baby boy baby to he and Ford's messy breakup involving live snakes, it's a small world and jars of spiders.

It works perfectly too: I forgot how much fun bill was till he burst through the page to greet me

Like bill himself the book deftly ballances comedy and horror. Like gravity falls it leans more to the former, as most of bills antics are just him being unsettling and charming as always, but we get plenty of truly disturbing stuff from his collection of heads to a mouth suddnely popping up demanding blood to this lovely bit showing all the many realities where the pines kids didn't exactly win

Also yeah, outside of Bill's fate, the book dosen't move past where Gravity Falls was on the timeline in the extended Disney Television Universe. It does firmly confirm it's all one universe as we get some refrences to owl house with some tapestry showing off the titan and my boy

As well as a cameo we'll get to later. But it's clear Hirsch, for now has no plans to tell us what happened to errybody after the show aside from bill himself and honestly? That's fine. I'd rather he did a full revivial or book about it at some point than drop it in here and before the nightmare fuel sets in the sleep image of the two on the bus with waddles is adorable.

Back on point the book will hit you with horror well but is maily just a non stop parade of good jokes for the first half. The framing device is simple: Bill created this book and Ford found it shortly before he and Stan went off to make movies, make songs and fight around the world. He tried destroying it but befitting spooky books it kept coming back and so he put in an ash williams style warning telling the reader for the love of god don't read more. And like that idiot from evil dead 2013, I didn't listen and pressed on as i'm sure any of you who got the book did too. I mean we already paid our 20 some dollary doos right?

So the book has bill giving the reader advice, trying to trick them and general other wacky nonsense. This book is DENSE with jokes, and there was hardly a page that wasn't meant to be truly horrifying that didn't have one on it. And sometimes even them. Highlights for me from the first half include his self interview where he deflects being phineas' father, dating a howling void and other hot goss, his entire chapter on silly straws (if you murder someone with one it becomes a serious straw), his having you murder an elf for him, dividing a number and brutally murdering it, and Ford claming he'll tell you how to turn ducks into nuclear bombs.. with Bill doing that immediately after and likely being fully aware of what he was doing.

My faviorite bits are him fleshing out his "reality is a hologram" statment

Every bit of this joke works from me from the reveal, to perfectly nailing the classic pokemon trading card style for this gag. Good stuff. Also not sure why the multiverse has only 50 hp, better not to ask.

The other bit I love the most is bill trying to help the readers love life with advice so good it got this book classified as advice

And helping the love cage with some wonderful bilintines

I"m sending I don't want to die alone to my next crush!

This section really is just a vehicle for jokes and general bill chaos for the most part and it does so gloriously. If you liked bill, your gonna love this thing and if you love him.. he'll never love you back but you'll still enjoy this.

The first half does have a few little pitterpats of lore. One of the biggest.. is that we get more dipcifica

Also Dipper's search history as a whole and while some parts I'd rather forget if my brain would let me, there's a lot of good gags here. But yeah Pacifica Northwest Pagent Video. man is crushing. And also mildly creepy but it's still a step up from looking up Wendy's instagram and other things i'd rather not get into because

This segment goes into the casts dreams, most in depthly Dipper, Mabel and McGucket. That last one is just a really hautning page of how much of a tornado his mind is ... bill BARELY got out. Dipper is naturally bill laughing at his embarassment and revealing he put a bunch of fake author images in his head for funzies.

Mabel on the other hand is one of the funniest segments in the entire book as well as revealing exactly HOW he concoted the scheme. A nice thing we get , and that explains why he gave her her own fifedome.. is that bill actually likes mabel as a person. he likes her chaos, loves watching her dreams which is creepy but for him is about as close to kind as he can get. Problem is he went in AFTER the whole Sock Opera mess, so she hates him. Thankfully the people guarding her dreams are Xyler and Kraz, nature's perfect himbos. So he simply gives himself a hat and blonde hair, a neat jacket and the name chill cipher and gets them on board by eating his skateboard. And to his horror has to do a montage from saying no to drugs to teaching a dinosaur with shades to beleivie in himselef. Just imainging bill doing an over the top 80s montage while having the most pissed off uncomfortable look in the world.. it's going to help me sleep at night.

We also find out he found Mable's deepst darkest fantasy... a tape of Mariah Carrey's fantasy.

It's a genuinely good gag and bill finds out from them how down in the dumps she are, her wanting to let summer last etc.. and thus you can thank these himbos for the apocalypse.

Otherwise the only other little tidbits are in a bit on various dreams. We find out Ford is in love with logic (Bill quips he'd be a plansexual which.. accurate), Soos wants to change his name to pins, and Pacifica.. is suffering horrible ptsd. The big bit though is that dipper walked in on a conversation between his parents about something he wouldn't hear and Bill implies it was why they sent them away. It COULD be divorce, it could be somethign else entirely it's honestly hard to tell given both how little we get and the fact it's bill. Bill's about as trustworth as a snake wearing a top hat

On second thought make that Snake mayor stat.. then god emperor.

But yeah you can't really TRUST bill but it's a nice little seed of info nonetheless and it'd be weird if I didn't talk about it. That said I don't have much to say about it. The kids parents MIGHT have had a rough marraige though that would make sense why they cling to each other so much and make Mable's desperation to keep her brother around even more heartbreaking, so i'm all for it.

So then we get to that sweet juicy lore we woudln't stop bugging Alex for: Bill's history. And this may be my faviorite part of the book simply because there's a LOT of good gags and great visuals tucked in here. A crapton of artists who were VERY good at making something look real enough, as well as GF Vetran Emmy Ciecerga who drew all the gravity falls style art for this book and deserves a LOT of credit, make this book look gorgeous. There's all kinds of styles, from 20's newsclippings to photos to disturbing bill images, all of which needed a great graphic design to it. While none of the books so far are slouches in graphics, journal three itself looked gorgeous, this is far and way the best looking of them so far. Since it's bill their not constrained to one style, like marcy's was mimicking her art style (And later Anne's for her third of the book), journal 3 was. Book of Spells has come closest having each queen have a unique style but it still held to star vs.

This being bill this book goes all over the place: you've got brain teasers, photos, photoshopped nightmarish heads, a reaslitic mouth wanting your blood, all kinds of visual trickery that fits what a visually gorgeous nightmare bill could be. Like the other style, a very chaotic style that oscelates from people magazine to several pages of the great gatsby to punish you for wanting to know his weaknesses (get gatsby'd sucker!) all without breaking a sweat.

The history of bill section is where it really gets to shine once he gets to earth.. but before that.. we adress the elephant in the room. What happened to his home dimension?

Yeah one of the biggest bits of narrative blue balls of book of bill is we don't learn hardly anything about the second dimension and learn NOTHING about how it actually died. Both make perfect sense enough narratively to work and it's clear Alex, while great about answering the shows bigger and more importnat mysteries and not just jerking the audience about, does like to keep some things a mystery. The kids parents, shermy pines, why was thor crying that kind of stuff. While I WANTED an answer for my own works, I respect that it honestly worked better to not get one. We get just enough: bill climas to have been well loved by all in the way a flashback would show he wasn't, having seen the third dimension. It adds layers to him and ford's later friendship: both were outcasts with no one at one point or another. But Stanford at least had stan for a while before he was a dick about things.. bill seemingly had no one and is active denial he was hated and feared.

So he tried to merge dimensions.. and we have no idea exactly WHAT happened.. but not knowing.. is more horrifying. Bill tries to retell it but blacks out

It's very clear Bill has ptsd.. and somehow used urkel to kill people. I feared this day would come but never thought such a dread weapon would wind up in the worst hands imaginable.

It's a great section and I honestly like this... it makes the clear bait and switch work as alex knew what we wanted.. but gave us something more fitting the character.. the one moment bill GENINELY regrets.. but due to eons of lying to himself can't admit. He twisted the narrative to be that he freed a bunch of squares when really it was his first mass murder and the only one he clearly still feels bad about. While he was likely always a tad weird, this event is what snapped him into the monster he is, convicning himself their better this way and he did the right thing instead of truly dealing with his guilt. Bill has lied to himself so much he blacks out when even thinking abotu the truth because if he really thought abotu what he did and what happened, he'd have to rethink his whole sense of self. And Bill can't do that because he's built his whole self worth into his ego after this. That he was specail they just didn't get it and it's to the point he can't even be honest that he wasn't liked> he always had ot be great and special. It's honestly.. sad more than anything. That had bill not done this or simply not made what seems like an honest mistake just not to be alone he may of simply been able to escape and find kinship in ways that didn't involve gaslighting and evil overlord ship.

Sadly he did so we find out he found the nightmare dimension , conquered ita nd slowly gathered his henchmaniacas. We find out little btis; 8 ball has a crush on pyronica, pyronica wants to fuck smokey the bear for the sick thrill of pulling it off

A

Teeth is more a team pet.. all stuff i'm glad we have simply because the henchmaniacs never got fleshed out. Pyronica also has a phd. Bill also has a lawyer named dan crabbleman he uses as a scapecrab because of course. His version of peter I suppose.

Eventually though the good times stopped; While they had nightmare dimension prom (death toll 300), it ultimately was found the dimensionw as dying and we find out HOW bill ended up here and why he hates the time baby so much. .

Now granted the section with the time baby, only a few pages.. didn't do much for me. I've never really been a fan of the time baby: he comes off at least a touch evil, if less here since ANYONE comes off less evil when compared to bill, and the only joke they seem to have is he acts like a baby but is an elder god or something. He's one of the weaker weridos our heroes encountered.

Thankfully bill defeats him and the dinsoaurs would rebound eventually

And we'd only have to deal with time baby a few times after this before Bill kills him

So we then find out why Bill was spread about history. Turns out, not suprisingly, he landed in gravity falls which was perfect for his nonsense. In 30 Million BC he found a small tribe and befriended it's local shaman.. then kinda killed that good will when his first portal created the bottomless hole, let loose sea monsters and killed a lot of people.

This is also where something clever about the book comes about, something I hadn't noticed in the show till Bill's history made it clear: While Bill CAN manipulate a person fairly well he has a huge weakness besides tin foil or techno: He dosen't care enough to hide how unhinged he is. Bill by this point in the story, after eons of self denial and surrounding himself with people who either enable him or he tortured until they enabled him presumably, simply can't grasp that maybe giving a kid deer teeth or a head that's always scremaing isn't the way to make a good first or second impression.

And those moments from the show did set this up well: i'd always assumed he did that shit because it was fun. See the "Your insane!" "Sure I am what's your point?" exchange that's the second thing he ever says. But now I get it's .. well still part that, Bill likes fucking with people.. but it's also that he can't turn OFF his need to fuck with people. Even in this very book instead of giving genuine if shallow love advice he wants you to lock someone in a love cage or become johnny cobra arms. And I mean the second one is sound advice if you've got sufficent padding or a venom immunity, who dosen't want cobra arms, but this book really hammers home that Bill , while good at praying on people's desperation... is REALLY bad at actually keeping them on the hook unless their already as mad as he is or their desperate. He has one exception in ford but as this book, journal 3 and the series all establish.. Ford is also weird, dosen't really get people or social norms. Not saying all societal norms are good.. but maybe don't give your grandaughter a gun Sixer.

It dosen't detract from Bill's threat, as Ford comes to horrifying conclude later... no one actually BEAT bill pemrenantly. The shaman simply banished him and gave out the prophcey for the finale.. a prophecy that ended up not working. Bill constnatly gets shooed away or bribed by people to please shoo, shoo good sir shoo.. but it's not till stan after centuries of work on earth that someone actually BEAT him.

But it does humanize him, even if calling him human is not even a stretch it's just innacurate, but it's the term we got: Bill's ultimate weakness isn't his ego or collection of sily straws: it's that he simply CAN'T stop being him long enough for someone to actually buy into his shit. He actually had the founding fathers listneing.. until he called martha washington hot lips. He nearly gets the US Government to get him to the president.. but can't reissit talking about how fun it'd be to set all the nukes off at once. He makes a truly fun looking silly siphonies style cartoon.. but then it's time to relase the bees

Bill for better and for worse can't help but be himself. his schemes usually drive people to madness or away. He's good at preying on people's desperations and it ultimately needed him his three days of weirdmageddon.. but but he's not good at pulling the long con and only managed it once in his long career.

Thankfully while the book has plenty of great failures from bill from his computer to his do wop group the cipher tones (And the insuing country music backlash record calling him the devil. Please the devil threw him out because living with him is like living in a living nightmare).

There's a few slightly meatier episodes: There's his days in the dark ages.. and one of the few times someone actually got the better of him: he seemingly cons a dark wizard into joining him, sending some knights on a fetch quest to get his copy of monty python and the holy grail. How Disney got away with using the full title I have no idea but they did. God I hope it's not the same copy I have. Turns out though said wizard pulled a sandman and trapped him in a glass orb somehow woven with unicorn hair. Granted it does lead to bill goign on a rampage the second he's free but said rampage gets him banned from Europe so we'll call this one a draw.

The other is the anti cipheretes, a turn of the century group that means well and is engaging.. but sadly tried to preent their findings publicly and their leaders gets intionalized. It's honestly sad.. all this guy wanted was bill out of his head and they lost.

There's also said Silly Symphonies detour where the walt disney expy uses it's a small world (not named directly but barley disguised) to drive bill out.

It's another fun section, filling things in and letting bill fuck with history. He even gets a genuinely heroic moment

Yeah Bill deals with the puritans.. and they piss him off something bad, their lack of imagination making most useless to him, their society being horrifcally stuffy even by the cipher standard of "Stuffy assholes won't let me fill a theater with bees. Charlitans", so he helps an abused local housewive used as a footstool discover what laughter is and soon forms a coven. Said coven inacts a bloody coup, sure.. but it was puritan times, this is the only way a feminism could happen.

We then get the penultimate chapter in our story: At this point it's the 80's, do a lot of coke and vote for ronald regan and bill.. is at the end of his rope. His last scheme is easily one of my faviorites...

I know disney won't because they hate merch but I genuinely hoope a fan recreates these to own. Even the 3d model used here would be appricated for printing.

But then... fate threw bill a bone: he started laughing. Uncontrollably.. lights turned yellow his image was on every computer and breakfast cereal... someone.. opened up gravity falls again.

This is where Ford comes in: In a clever twist the next bulk is from Ford's perspective, with Bill having somehow found pages ford torn out. This is great for two reasons: the first is that it allows us to see their story more on the ground.. and the second is it's a resonable explination why pages that would've defintely told dipper who the author was were missing: Bill points out Ford tore them out due to his own shame and vanity. The former was on display in the last mablecorn, with him not telling dipper and only not getting mindwipped because the horrifying experinces recounted in those pages made him get a plate in his head. The second was in the book: Ford's biggest weakness and one Bill fully took advantage of.. was his ego. Ford thinks a LOT of himself and while he is impressive, it's his need to be seen, to be recognized after being ostrachized most of his life that makes him easy to play like a fiddle before bill and made him stubborn and dangerous after.

Ford can't admit he was wrong and had he left that vunerablity in there the show might of gone diffrently and weirdmageddon probably woudln't of happened.

It also covers in the one gap the journal glaringly left out, but again for plot reasons: that winter Ford was at his cabin. It's a geninely touching story: Ford feels lonely, and bad that he didn't get fiddleford anything before McGucket goes to see his wife back home, and spotted dipper and mable's footprints.. and ends up kidnapped by the krampus and having to rescue a bunch of children because of where he lives. What's heartwaring is fiddleford returns.. and while he fucked up his relationship by forgetting to get her a present, though the shippers certainly got one with this story arc, Ford decorates the portal to cheer him up.

The bulk though is about Bill and Ford: While Fiddleford IS his friend, he's gone a lot because he you know has a life. We see a side we didn't really see too much in the journal but makes sense: Lonliness. Ford is just too dang weird and awkward to be around people, can relate and bill takes full advantage of that. We get to see bill play full on manipulative boyfriend as he preys on Ford's ego, need to not be alone and subtly tries to isolate him when stan comes up and after the heartwarming moment above. It's neat to see just how things went wrong, how Ford got played by bill. Like I said Bill can't hide who he is.. but it works here as Ford dosen't get people so while creepy as hell, Bill leaving a giant pile of dead rats in his name for his brithday and getting him karoke drunk is not a red flag. You also get the sense that while bill isn't remotely a good friend, person or triangle, Bill WAS fond of ford, he genuinely liked the guy and gets shitfaced when eh dosen't on "i'm totally fine juice" and crashes an interdimensional mexican restraunt. Also props to alex I didn't know I needed to see Ford and Bill hammered on seperate occaions but here we are.

Naturally it goes south and the post breakup is easily the most serious part of the book. There's still some great jokes, but it shows how horrifying bill can be. His first actions are, after Ford installs his lab's retinal scanner to keep bill out (since the pupil thing isn't just stylistic, it really happens), he beats the poor guys knuckles bloody trying to claw his way out. He revivies Zombies to stop ford at the mourge as it turns out he can control ANYTHING with a brain. That does lead to a really awesome moment I didn't see coming as Ford admits he's missing him.. but his aim is getting better

Yes they called back to THAT of all things.

It's then things get terrifying: Bill starts writing on ford's post it notes, taking his body at intevals since Ford let him in.. and it's something I just never thought of: while we saw what he could do to dipper, we knew it was a bad idea and he was able to get him out pretty quickly. This segment.. shows what happens when bill can come and go as he pleases. Fordapparenly would just pass out for a second and wake pu with notes.. and when Bill got tired of the post it note tag.. he went a bit further with what's easily my faviorite joke of the whole book

It's just so bill. Grante did' be terrified and probably dead from such a stunt, but it's still just.. so damn perfect.

Ford gets him back with it's a small world after all.. only for us to get to the most unsettlign portion of the book. Ford wakes up on the roof and finds bill left a tape. And while a portion of bills shenanigans, memoralized with polaroid are just hilaroius, like slapping a cop or getting a baby girl tatoo.. we also get shit like eating a jar of spiders (And as an arachnophobe the sentence I keep coughing up siders is.. a lot for me ) and hammering his own hand. We'd seen this kind of shit with Dipper.. but this is what he'd do when he dosen't necessarily NEED the body for himself.

The lowest though is Bill.. trying to call stan. And trigger warning for his next image as it's ... pretty fucking rough.

Yes Bill.. nearly sent a suicide note to stan over the phone in ford's name. It's only sheer luck and likely some lawsuits that saved it but it just hits so hard. Even as much as Ford hates stan.. he dosen't want this and is truly terrified. It strips away the wacky nonsense of bill and gets right to the point: bill is gaslighting and abusing ford, even making him forget his own name for a second, until he gets what he wants. The earlier parts showed him playing the more manipulative roll of abuser but now.. we see what happens when bill goes full on petty and vindictive and there's nothing humorous about it.

Thankfully ford got the plate in his head, he called stan, you know the rest.

It's here the book reaches it's climax: Ford contacts the reader again.. but in a nice bit while he begged them before.. he can't blame them. THe post weridmageddon character development shown in journal 3 stuck: he was where they were. Not only that while he hid the book from his family they found it and instead of turning all into bills.. they just laughed. They'd all grown enough to just find his attempts at playing them funny. They all took his embarssing past in stride. As Stan perfectly puts it "So you messed up a bunch. Guess that really makes you a pines". Stan of all people has EVERY reason to never let ford live this down.. yet does because he gets it. Everyone fucks up and it helps Ford see he's human.. and so's bill. Well again eh's a triangle man but he's ultimately as Ford puts it "A sad theater kid desperate for attention". This book isn't some grand demonic tone: it's the sad last effort of someone who already lost.

We get some fun letters from each pines: dipper and mabel both encourage the reader, and Mabel, even if she threatens to fucking murder bill if he goes after her brother again.. even offers Bill tips on getting over ford. Dipper sympathizes with the reader and also threatens to murder him. And stan.. well stand does what he does best.. promote the mystery shack. Yes even when he's not the owner he can't help plug it. But he also gives bill the biggest kick to the nuts of all: he dosen't care. He hasn't had the personal trauma the others have and just sees bill as another werido trying to steal his wallet like every other thursday in this town. Stan Pines murdered one of the greatest villians in history.. and he somehow tops that by not even carring.

We get Bill screaming STANNNLEEEYYY again, having been beaten and the reader convinced not to swap places with bill. Not only that Stan and co also figured out something important: If bill isn't dead but IS trying to escape.. where he is cant be good.

And we finally find out what happened to him. Which is a mild suprise as while it's VERY nice we found out, as seen in the rest of the book alex is keen to keep some secrets close to the chest. He teased at bill's possible return: the statue in the finale, the axotitl he invokes showing up in a non canon choose your own adventure story, that sort of thing... but it wasn't guarnateed going into this book we'd learn. Thankfully Alex, as ever knows when to not tell us stuff and when it'd be a real dick move not to and not in a funny way.

Bill made a deal with the axitotl to reincarnate. For those less familiar, all two of you the axitotl is some mysterious god taking the shape of that adorable creature whose as kind and benevolent as that sounds and even gave BILL a second chance.

He isn't, thankfully stupid.. and thus after a lifetime of lopsided deals.. just like with Stan moments before making this one.. Bill gets hit with a bad one. And the thing is unlike Stan who just flat out tricked Bill like Bill played so many people, the Axitotl didn't lie: it told bill he'd have to repent. It was bill's own ego that assumed he could scheme his way out

Instead bill is now inside the Theraprism, a maximum security dimensional prison that takes all commers and is filled with sterotypical therapy activites like arts and craft and constant group sessions. And while a tad unsettling it's honestly.. nicer a fate than I expected. It's still pure hell for bill.. but the place isn't EVIL. it geninely wants to help it's patients, even the worst people imaginable and while there's things like a sensory deprevation void, it's clearly because this place is essentially arkham asylym but ran compitently and with actual care towards ehabilitation. To let those who genuinely repent reincarnate.. granted there are options like "cloud of spore sor a butterfly" but I get that maybe Freddy Kruger dose'nt need to come back as a wolverine and possibly maul faces. Let him get a chance at that third time around.

But for Bill.. a place to self reflect, heal and come back as something powerful.. as hell. There's no ESCAPE: whatever's running this place is clearly powerful enough to hold fucking BILL down. Darcy's helmet is there too in a nice little cameo and I wouldn't be suprised if every dead disney villian deemed enough of a threat was here. Honestly making Bill and Belos room together is the punishment they deserve. or belos does, Bill would get a kick out of having someone to torment so maybe just let him do it in moderatoin. As a treat if he participates in group.

It's Bill.. trapped in his own personal hell... a place he can't escape through manipulation, surrounded by people he dosen't respect, with the only way out being self reflection and a cursed arts and craft project that was quickly confiscated before it coudl take the reader. Bill's fate was already great in the show.. but this improves on it> Bil got conned twice and is trapped in a hell he could easily escape but never will because he just.. can't grow. He won't. He refuses to. His ego can't take it. So all that's left in the book is bill pathetically whimpering that SOMEONE wil lcome from him.. but with his henchmaniacs thinking he's dead and having spent his life burning bridges.. no one ever will.

This book is amazing. Read it if you can. A truly great little followup that fills in some gaps, is packed densely with jokes, has some really effective horror and has a truly amazing ending. Check it out if you haven't and if you can.

Thanks for reading

[gravitywonagain]

Jack of All Trades

(a Fresh Powder in the Pine Trees story in three vignettes)

Sometimes when you’re working at Juniors’ Club, you’re actually doing any number of other jobs around Cloud Recesses.

~

Ski Patrol

Sometimes, you’re just faster than Ski Patrol...

.

“Lan Zhan!”

Wei Ying waves his free arm around, flagging down Lan Zhan who, to his credit, skis directly over to him. 

He watches Lan Zhan take in the scene as he approaches: Wei Ying, one foot strapped into his board, holding a child and their board in his arms, a small amount of blood running down the child’s leg. There is, also, an adult skier sitting nearby looking suitably chastened. Lan Zhan is smart, he’ll put it together.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. I need you to watch my students. Take them back to JC, I’ll meet you there. I need to get this little guy to Wen Qing and that guy,” he jerks his head at the skier, ignoring the eight-year-old’s protests at being called ‘little,’ “needs to come with me.” He keeps his voice calm and light, but his face, he knows, shows his anger. 

“Can you wait for Ski Patrol?”

“Lan Zhan. There's blood on the snow and these kids are eight. No. I cannot wait for Ski Patrol.”

“Are you--”

“Lan Zhan.”

“Yes. I will meet you at Juniors’ Club.”

Thank the Heavens for Lan Zhan and his fucking serenity. Wei Ying draws on it for the briefest of moments before he moves again. He feels steadier when he does. 

“Thank you. Here,” he hands Lan Zhan the child’s snowboard, “take this, too.” 

Lan Zhan nods at him and takes it.

Wei Ying turns to the students who are all still sitting so nicely on the snow. They really are being absolutely perfect. Lan Zhan will figure out how to compensate their parents for the truncated lesson, but Wei Ying will make them all extra hot chocolate or something when he gets back to JC. 

He adjust his grip on the kid -- eight-year-olds are not light.

“Okay guys. This is Lan Zhan. He’s a skier, but he’s going to bring you guys back to the Clubhouse and hang out with you until I get back. Don’t worry, he’s super cool. You won’t even know I’m gone. Did you guys know he used to race?”

With that new distraction in place, Wei Ying shares another quick nod to Lan Zhan and skates over to the skier sitting on the snow. The man looks appropriately guilty so Wei Ying doesn’t feel the need to yell at him again. He steps his right foot into the binding -- kicking the straps out of the way with the toe of his boot, resolved to ride like he skates -- kid still in his arms, and nods.

“Come on. Let's go tell Ski Patrol what happened.”

The skier stands and follows him. He’s not quite as incompetent as he seemed when he hit Wei Ying’s student and they make it down the hill relatively quickly. 

It’s awkward as hell, snowboarding with fifty pounds of eight-year-old in his arms. His center of gravity is so off and he can’t quite gather the speed he wants, both because it’s a green run and because he can’t let the skier out of his sight. But they make it to the clinic. The skier stays with him. Everything is fine. 

-

Wen Qing yells at him for not waiting for Ski Patrol to stabilize the child’s leg before moving him. She waits until the kid is safe with his parents and the skier has been dealt with and is gone, of course, but it’s still loud. 

“It’s just a laceration, Qing-jie. Ski Patrol would have freaked out my students and taken forever to get there.”

“A-Ning would have been there as fast as he could, and you know that.”

It’s true. Wen Ning has always been Wei Ying’s friend, but for the last few months, he’s been weirdly attentive. You get a nosebleed and pass out one time and suddenly your EMT friend comes sprinting whenever you call. 

“As fast as he could is still not instantaneous.” 

“Wei Ying --”

“I’m first aid certified, Qing-jie. He’ll be okay.”

“If he has so much as a sprain…” She points a finger at him, accusatory and threatening. 

“If he has a sprain, he got it when the fucking skier hit him, not when I carried him down the mountain.”

“Okay.” Wen Qing seems mollified by this. “You’re dismissed. I want a copy of that incident report for my records.” 

“Yes, Wen-daifu.”

“Don’t put that on me,” she says, exasperated but fond. The accusatory finger is back. “You have to wait!”

She’s starting her bachelor’s degree this summer and then med school. Wei Ying is so fucking proud of her. 

-

Lan Zhan is sitting on one of the tiny benches when Wei Ying walks into the Clubhouse. It’s adorable. He does not fit at all, knees practically up to his ears. He’s surrounded by Wei Ying’s class and they’re all drawing or asking him questions or drinking hot chocolate and Wei Ying can’t help but smile at the scene. Lan Zhan, for his part, looks entirely comfortable. He has a purple mountains’ majesty crayon in his hand, poised above the paper in front of him while he answers one of the junior’s questions about rail slides on skis. 

Wei Ying absolutely does not want to disturb any of this. But, alas, it is his job that Lan Zhan is doing and, no matter how outwardly calm he looks, Lan Zhan is probably very tired of eight-year-olds and their inexhaustible curiosity. 

It’s almost time for their parents to come pick them up, anyway. Wei Ying will just sit there with them until it’s time. Maybe he’ll take them back out to the practice hill, but getting all of their gear back on sounds fucking exhausting. 

One of the kids notices him and yells out, “Wing!” effectively ending the calm. The table turns to him, big smiles on the kids’ faces, something almost soft on Lan Zhan’s. Surprisingly, nobody spills their hot chocolate. 

Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow and mouths, wing? at him, which is fair, but they’re eight and he only has them for like four hours so what are you going to do? 

“Hey guys!” Wei Ying smiles brightly at Lan Zhan and the pack of juniors. “See, I told you you wouldn’t miss me. Lan Zhan’s pretty fun, isn’t he?”

A quick survey of the various hot chocolate levels in their cups leads Wei Ying to decide to spend a little bit longer inside. He settles himself down on the bench across from Lan Zhan, straddling it and dropping his knees almost to the floor, and starts engaging with the juniors. One of the kids shows him their drawing. Another very nearly spills their hot chocolate, but Wei Ying catches it just in time. He brushes off questions about their missing classmate and steers the conversation back toward snowboarding. 

He looks up to see Lan Zhan’s eyes on him again, or maybe still, and suddenly the room is way too warm. 

“Who wants to go out to the hill and get a few more turns in?”

The kids start jumping up, excited to go back out to the snow. Wei Ying busies himself with helping them gear back up for the cold. Lan Zhan helps, too, and soon everybody is ready to go. 

On their way out the door, Wei Ying stops Lan Zhan and says, “You know you don’t have to stay with us, right? I’ve got it from here. I’m sure this isn’t how you expected to spend your afternoon.”

Lan Zhan nods, but it’s a confirmation of Wei Ying’s ability, not an agreement. “I will stay,” he says, “I need to speak with their parents anyway.”

Which is a totally valid reason and Wei Ying tries not to notice the way his stomach swooped at Lan Zhan’s easy “I will stay.”

Wei Ying leads the line of juniors out to the practice hill and gets the Magic Carpet running again. The rest of the hour passes easily: Wei Ying child wrangling and filling out report cards, Lan Zhan helping to catch kids and soothing parents’ concerns with promises of free lessons or ticket vouchers or something. 

It’s easy, working with Lan Zhan. Too easy. Wei Ying could get used to how easy this is. 

It’s a shame, really, that Lan Zhan mostly sticks to adult lessons. He’s so good with the kids. Bullying Lan Zhan into taking more JC lessons seems a bit out of Wei Ying’s self-appointed mission for this season, though. Maybe it’ll be his goal for next year. 

Next year.

Wei Ying smiles to himself at the thought before an approximation of his name pulls him back to reality and he jogs to the top of the hill to help one of the juniors clear ice out of their toe clip. 

-

“Someday you’re going to tell me how you got a bunch of eight-year-olds to sit and color for an hour,” says Wei Ying once they’re finally back inside.

“I told them it was useful for developing fine motor skills.”

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow, “And that worked?”

“I may have implied that refined fine motor skills would improve their reflexes in the terrain park.”

Wei Ying puts down the bright green vest in his hand and turns to Lan Zhan. “You told them coloring would make them better athletes?”

“I did.” 

“I… I don’t know enough about childhood athletic development to dispute it.”

There’s a hint of a smile curling Lan Zhan’s lips, “Neither do I.”

.

[Next: Hot Chocolate Machine Whisperer]

[mybelovedwoo]

Long Journey - Chapter 8: Arrival at Port Royal

Life hurts a lot, that's just how it is. At least that is what Destiny thought, living a life where living hurts more than dying. But one day everything changes when an unexpected guest appears. What does this long journey hide behind? Will it be worth it to be alive again?

"Sailors tell stories, Pirates make legends!"

ateez pirate au, fluff, angst, smut

??? x named reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: violence, fighting, guns and weaponry, blood injuries, trauma, smut, sa, pa, abuse specific to this chapter: fighting, creepy men, trauma

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The first light of dawn painted the horizon in hues of amber and rose as Destiny stood on the deck of the ship, watching as Port Royal slowly came into view. The bustling harbor was a stark contrast to the tranquility of the open sea they had left behind. The scent of salt and tar mingled in the air, a familiar reminder of the life she had grown accustomed to aboard the vessel.

Destiny ran a hand through her wind-tousled hair, trying to shake off the restlessness that had plagued her throughout the night. The rain had washed away some of the doubts and fears that had plagued her, but now, facing the reality of their arrival, they resurfaced with renewed intensity.

"Port Royal," Wooyoung murmured beside her, his voice tinged with awe and apprehension. "I never thought I'd see it with my own eyes."

San chuckled softly, his usual irreverent grin tempered by the gravity of their situation. "Welcome to the heart of the Caribbean," he quipped, though there was an underlying tension beneath his jest.

Captain Hongjoong joined them on deck, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the bustling port before them. "We won't be staying long," he announced, his voice carrying authority born of years at sea. "We have business to attend to, and then we sail."

Destiny nodded silently, her gaze lingering on the jumble of ships and buildings that crowded the harbor. The familiar rhythm of the crew preparing to dock filled the air—ropes creaking, sails unfurling, and orders barked in a language that was both foreign and familiar.

As the ship eased into its berth, Destiny found herself caught in a whirlwind of activity. The crew moved with practiced efficiency, securing lines and making the vessel ready for their brief stay. She marveled at their coordination, each member playing their part in the intricate dance of life aboard the ship.

"Destiny, can you gather the necessary supplies?" Seonghwa's voice interrupted her reverie, drawing her attention back to the task at hand. "We'll need provisions for the journey ahead."

"Yes, of course," Destiny replied, grateful for the distraction. She descended into the cargo hold, the scent of spices and dry goods enveloping her as she took inventory. Barrels of water, crates of dried fish, and sacks of flour—each item a lifeline in the unpredictable expanse of the sea.

"Need a hand?" Mingi's voice came from behind her, startling her slightly. She turned to find him standing there with a mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"I've got it," Destiny replied curtly, feeling Mingi's gaze linger a moment longer than necessary. There was something about him—his playful demeanor and quick wit—that put her on edge.

Mingi shrugged nonchalantly. "Suit yourself," he said with a shrug, feigning disinterest as he leaned against a stack of crates. "But don't expect any special treatment just because you're the captain's pet project."

Destiny frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. Mingi had been openly skeptical of her from the beginning, his playful teasing masking an underlying distrust that she couldn't quite understand.

Ignoring his comment, Destiny focused on her task, the weight of Mingi's scrutiny following her like a shadow. She worked quickly and efficiently, stacking supplies and double-checking the inventory with meticulous care.

"You know," Mingi's voice broke through the quiet, his tone casual yet edged with something sharper. "You're the reason we're all here."

Destiny froze, her hands pausing mid-motion as she turned to face him. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice guarded.

Mingi shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Wooyoung," he began, his voice low and measured. "He's not himself since you came aboard. He blames himself for what happened to your father."

Destiny's heart sank, the weight of Mingi's words settling like a stone in her chest. "That's not true," she replied, though the uncertainty in her voice betrayed her.

"Isn't it?" Mingi's grin was lopsided, his gaze challenging. "You're a distraction, Destiny. A reminder of everything he's lost."

Anger surged within her, hot and fierce. "I didn't ask to be here," Destiny shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. "And I didn't ask for any of this."

Mingi's expression softened, his usual bravado momentarily faltering. "Neither did he," he said quietly, his gaze searching hers for understanding.

Destiny turned away, the weight of Mingi's words settling heavily on her shoulders. When the last crate was stowed, Destiny wiped sweat from her brow, feeling a sense of accomplishment amidst the chaos of their preparations. She glanced over at Mingi, who was watching her with a lopsided grin.

"You've got spirit," Mingi said suddenly, his tone softer than before. "I'll give you that."

Destiny met his gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism.

Mingi chuckled, the tension between them momentarily easing. "Take it however you like," he replied cryptically, before turning to leave the cargo hold.

Destiny watched him go, her mind racing with questions and doubts. Mingi's words lingered in the air like a challenge—a reminder that their journey was far from over, and that the shadows of their pasts would continue to haunt them.

As the crew prepared to disembark, Destiny felt a mixture of apprehension and determination. Port Royal stretched before them, a maze of alleys and markets teeming with life and opportunity. She knew that their time here would be brief, a mere stop on their journey—but she couldn't shake the feeling that their destinies were intricately intertwined with the secrets and uncertainties that lay ahead.

-

As the crew dispersed into their respective tasks, the morning sun cast long shadows over Port Royal's bustling streets. Destiny, accompanied by San and Yunho, made their way through the narrow, winding alleys, each step echoing with the rhythm of their footsteps against the cobblestones. Their mission was clear—gather essential supplies for the journey ahead, with a special focus on herbs and other remedies that would sustain them through the stormy seas.

"Think we should hit the tavern tonight?" San's voice broke the silence, his tone casual but laced with an underlying excitement. "Could use a drink after all this."

Destiny glanced at him, the memory of Mingi's words still heavy on her mind. She hadn't shared them with anyone yet, and the weight of it was starting to gnaw at her. "I don't know. I've been thinking about what Mingi said," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

San raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "What did he say?"

"That I'm the reason Wooyoung is so messed up," she replied, her tone laced with frustration. "He thinks I'm a distraction, a reminder of everything Wooyoung has lost."

Yunho, who had been walking quietly beside them, looked up, his eyes filled with concern. "Mingi's always been a bit rough around the edges," he said softly. "But he's not entirely wrong. We all have our demons, and sometimes it's easier to lash out than to face them."

Destiny sighed, her thoughts drifting back to the night of the storm, to the chaos and the fear that had gripped them all. "I just don't know what to do anymore. It feels like we're all carrying so much weight."

San placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We'll figure it out," he said, his voice warm with conviction. "One step at a time. Let's get what we need and then maybe we can find some time to unwind."

As they turned a corner, the sight of an old, decrepit shop caught their attention. The sign above the door read "Faba Mama's Curiosities," its letters barely discernible through the dust and grime. The shop's windows were dark, the interior shrouded in shadows that seemed to pulse with an eerie light.

"This place looks... interesting," Yunho remarked, a hint of caution in his voice. "Should we check it out?"

San shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "Why not? Could be worth a look. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

Destiny hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Let's see what she's got."

They stepped inside, the door creaking loudly as it swung open, revealing a cluttered space filled with odd trinkets, ancient books, and jars of unknown substances. The air was thick with the scent of dried herbs and something distinctly metallic, like old iron. Shadows danced along the walls, the flicker of candlelight casting strange shapes that seemed to move and shift.

Behind the counter, an old woman with a hunched back and wild, silver hair peered at them with eyes that sparkled with mischief. Her nameplate read "Faba Mama," and her presence was as unsettling as the shop itself.

"Welcome, wanderers," Faba Mama's voice was a croaky whisper, her gaze never leaving them. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Destiny stepped forward, her curiosity overcoming her initial apprehension. "We're looking for some herbs and supplies. Things that could help us on our journey."

Faba Mama cackled, a sound that seemed to echo through the very bones of the shop. "Ah, seekers of knowledge and remedies! I have just what you need, but be warned, not all treasures come without a price."

She gestured to a table laden with various jars and bottles, each containing strange and mysterious substances. There were dried leaves, powders that shimmered like stardust, and vials filled with liquid that seemed to swirl with an otherworldly glow.

San picked up a jar filled with what looked like crushed emeralds. "What's this?" he asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Dragon's breath," Faba Mama replied with a grin. "A powerful ingredient, but use it wisely. It can either heal or harm, depending on the intent."

Yunho, who had been examining a book of strange symbols, looked up. "What about this one?" he asked, holding up a book with a cover made of what appeared to be human skin.

Faba Mama's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Ah, the book of shadows. It contains spells and secrets lost to time. But beware, knowledge can be a double-edged sword."

Destiny's eyes were drawn to a small, intricately carved box on a shelf at the back of the shop. It seemed to hum with a faint, almost imperceptible energy. "What's in there?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Faba Mama's smile widened. "Ah, the heart of the ocean. A rare treasure, indeed. But its price is steep. Are you willing to pay it?"

Destiny hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Faba Mama's expression turned serious, her eyes darkening. "To possess such power, you must first give up something of equal value. What is it you hold dear? What are you willing to sacrifice?"

The room fell silent, the only sound the flickering of the candles and the distant murmur of the sea. Destiny's mind raced, her thoughts swirling with the choices before her. She knew that the path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, and the allure of Faba Mama's treasures was strong.

"We'll take the herbs," she said finally, her voice steady. "And whatever else you think we might need. But I'm not sure about the rest."

Faba Mama's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Very well. Consider it a blessing and a curse. Take what you need, and may the spirits guide your journey."

As they left the shop, the weight of the encounter lingered in the air, the echoes of Faba Mama's words a constant reminder of the choices they had yet to make. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets, and the promise of a night of revelry and respite seemed distant and uncertain.

"Let's head to the tavern," San said, breaking the silence as they made their way back to the ship. "We could all use a drink and some time to unwind."

Destiny nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Yeah, sounds good. Maybe we'll find some answers, or at least forget about the ones we don't have."

As they walked through the streets of Port Royal, the flickering lights of the tavern beckoned them, a haven of laughter and music amidst the shadows of the night. The mysteries of the day and the weight of their journey seemed momentarily forgotten, replaced by the simple desire to find solace in each other's company.

The door to the tavern swung open, and they stepped inside, the warm glow of the fire and the sound of laughter washing over them. For a moment, they were just a group of friends, bound by the sea and the shadows of their past, ready to face whatever lay ahead, one drink at a time.

-

The tavern was alive with the hum of voices and the clinking of tankards as Destiny, San, and Yunho found themselves a table in a cozy corner. They settled in, the warmth of the fire and the lively atmosphere easing the tension that had built up throughout the day. Tankards of ale were brought over, their frothy tops spilling over the sides as they were placed before them.

San raised his tankard with a mischievous grin. "Here's to new adventures and old friends," he declared, his voice carrying over the din of the tavern.

Destiny hesitated for a moment, staring at the tankard in front of her. "Actually, this is my first time drinking," she admitted sheepishly, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks.

Yunho chuckled softly. "Well, what better place to start than with friends?" he said, his tone gentle and encouraging.

San laughed, leaning back in his chair. "We'll take it slow then," he reassured her, his dimples deepening with his smile. "No need to rush into anything tonight."

As they sipped their drinks and exchanged stories, the tavern door swung open once more, and the rest of the crew—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and Mingi—entered, their faces flushed with excitement and the thrill of their successful mission.

Hongjoong spotted them and made his way over, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Well, well, what have we here?" he teased, clapping San on the shoulder as he took a seat next to Destiny.

Seonghwa followed, his usually calm demeanor softened by a hint of amusement. "Looks like you've started the party without us," he remarked, his eyes twinkling as he settled in beside Yunho.

Wooyoung, quieter than the rest, took a seat next to Destiny, his expression thoughtful. Mingi, trailing behind them all, eyed Destiny with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin.

"Having fun, are we?" Mingi asked, his tone teasing as he took the seat opposite Destiny, leaning back with an air of nonchalance.

Destiny met his gaze evenly, the effects of the ale warming her cheeks. "More than I expected," she admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Hongjoong leaned forward, his expression serious as he shared the news with the rest of the crew gathered around the table. The tavern had grown quieter now, the lingering echoes of revelry replaced by an air of anticipation.

"The map isn't with just any pirate crew," Hongjoong began, his voice low but steady. "It's with Captain Black and his crew—the most ruthless and cunning pirates on these waters."

Seonghwa nodded solemnly beside him, his gaze fixed on Destiny. "They've been terrorizing these seas for years," he added, his voice carrying the weight of their grim reputation. "They'll stop at nothing to get what they want."

Destiny's heart sank as she processed their words. Captain Black was infamous even among the most hardened sailors—a man known for his cruelty and greed. The realization hit her like a wave crashing over the bow of a ship. This journey had just become far more dangerous than she had ever imagined.

She glanced around the table, meeting the eyes of her companions. Wooyoung's brow furrowed in concern, his usual cheer replaced by a somber expression. Yunho looked troubled, his fingers tapping nervously against the table. Mingi's earlier skepticism seemed to have faded, replaced by a cautious wariness.

"And you're sure this is where the map is?" Yunho asked, his voice steady.

Hongjoong nodded grimly. "We've gathered as much information as we could. It all points to Captain Black's hideout," he confirmed, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

San leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "What's our plan then?" he asked, his voice edged with concern.

Hongjoong exchanged a glance with Seonghwa before continuing. "We need to find a way to infiltrate their ranks, gain their trust," he explained, his mind already racing through strategies. "It won't be easy, but it's our best chance to retrieve the map."

Yunho spoke up, his voice calm but resolute. "We'll need to approach cautiously. Any wrong move could jeopardize everything," he cautioned, his experience as navigator evident in his words.

Destiny listened intently, her mind racing. She couldn't shake the feeling that everything was connected—the diary, her father's dealings, and now this dangerous mission. Pieces of a puzzle she hadn't known existed were falling into place, revealing a picture she wasn't sure she wanted to see.

Destiny stormed out of the tavern into the dimly lit streets of Port Royal, her mind swirling with a maelstrom of emotions. The revelation about Captain Black and the map had been a harsh blow, shattering her illusions and leaving her feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Her father's desperate obsession with El Dorado, the cryptic entries in the diary—all of it now made sense in a cruel, stark light. It was always about the gold, about wealth and power, about dreams that turned into nightmares. And Captain Hongjoong, with his role in concealing the truth, stood equally culpable in her eyes.

"How could they?" Destiny muttered to herself, her voice lost in the quiet of the night. Her father's actions, his hidden motives, and now the captain's deception—they all echoed in her thoughts like a haunting refrain. She had trusted them both, believed in them despite the whispers of doubt that had crept into her heart.

Lost in her tumultuous thoughts, Destiny turned a corner and found herself in an unfamiliar part of the town. The streets were deserted now, the revelry of earlier hours replaced by an eerie stillness. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore mingled with the hushed whispers of the night.

A sense of unease crept over her as she realized she had wandered too far, too deep into the heart of the unknown. Port Royal, with its bustling markets and crowded taverns, now seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the solitude of empty streets and looming shadows.

Destiny paused, uncertainty gnawing at her resolve. She had always prided herself on her strength, her ability to weather any storm that life threw her way. But now, faced with the harsh reality of her father's deception and the captain's betrayal, she felt lost, adrift without a compass.

The night pressed in around her, a shroud of darkness that seemed to swallow her whole. She closed her eyes, willing herself to find clarity amidst the chaos of emotions. What was she to do now? How could she reconcile the truths she had learned with the dreams she had held dear?

A rustling sound snapped her out of her reverie, and Destiny spun around, her senses on high alert. The alley behind her stretched into darkness, its secrets hidden from view. Every instinct screamed at her to retreat, to find safety in familiarity. Before she could react, however, a group of rough-looking men emerged from the shadows.

Their faces were weathered and scarred, their eyes gleaming with malice as they advanced towards Destiny. They leered at her, their intentions clear in their predatory gazes. "Well, well, what do we have here?" one of them sneered, his voice laced with menace. "A pretty little thing wandering the streets all alone."

Destiny's heart pounded in her chest as fear gripped her. She backed away slowly, her mind racing for a way out. These men were no doubt pirates, drawn by the allure of Port Royal and the promise of easy prey. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she steeled herself, searching desperately for a way to escape.

Just as the men closed in, their intentions unmistakable, a commotion erupted from the end of the alley. Voices raised in anger and concern cut through the night, and footsteps echoed against the cobblestones. Destiny dared a glance over her shoulder and relief flooded her when she saw Wooyoung and Seonghwa rushing towards her.

Seonghwa's eyes blazed with fury as he assessed the situation, his stance shifting into one of readiness for a fight. He was poised to defend Destiny with everything he had, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive.

But Wooyoung froze.

His eyes widened in terror, his breath caught in his throat. The scene before him triggered memories he had desperately tried to bury—the night he had killed Destiny's father to protect her, the weight of that act heavy on his conscience. For a moment that stretched into eternity, he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

Destiny's heart sank as she saw the paralysis grip Wooyoung. She knew he wanted to help her, to shield her from harm, but the trauma of his past deeds held him captive. Tears welled up in her eyes, a mixture of fear and disappointment washing over her.

Seonghwa, sensing the danger closing in, lunged forward with a primal roar. His fists connected with the first pirate's jaw, sending him reeling. The other pirates hesitated for a moment, taken aback by Seonghwa's ferocity, but quickly regrouped and retaliated.

Destiny, her mind racing with adrenaline, snapped into action. She grabbed a nearby wooden plank and swung it at the nearest assailant, catching him off guard. The impact stunned him momentarily, buying her precious seconds.

In the chaos that ensued, fists flew and curses filled the air. Seonghwa fought with calculated precision, each strike landing with deadly accuracy. Destiny held her own, fueled by desperation and determination to survive.

Amidst the melee, Wooyoung struggled against the weight of his memories. He clenched his fists, willing himself to move, to intervene. But the echoes of that fateful night held him in their grip, rendering him helpless when Destiny needed him most.

Just as the tide seemed to turn in their favor, reinforcements arrived. Hongjoong and Mingi sprinted into the fray, their presence adding much-needed firepower to their defense. The pirates, outnumbered and outmatched, began to retreat into the shadows from whence they came.

Destiny's hands trembled slightly as she leaned against the wall, her breaths coming in ragged gasps after the intense altercation. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, and the weight of the moment hung heavy in the air. Seonghwa approached her cautiously, his usual seriousness momentarily softened by a hint of humor.

"Why is it always you, Destiny?" Seonghwa asked with a wry smile. "Do you have some sort of trouble magnet hidden somewhere?"

Destiny managed a weak chuckle, appreciating Seonghwa's attempt to lighten the mood despite the tension. "If I do, it's definitely cursed," she quipped, though her eyes betrayed the lingering fear and uncertainty.

Hongjoong stepped forward, his expression grave as he glanced between Destiny and the frozen Wooyoung. "Let's not linger here. We need to get back to the ship," he suggested firmly. "I'll go get Wooyoung and talk to him. You all head back first."

Seonghwa nodded in agreement, his gaze shifting between Destiny and the darkened alleyway they had just escaped from. "Sounds like a plan," he said, his voice more serious than usual. "Let's move."

Yunho kept a watchful eye on their surroundings as they made their way back through the maze-like streets of Port Royal. Destiny followed closely behind, her mind still racing with unanswered questions and the unsettling realization that danger seemed to follow her wherever she went.

As they reached the pier where their ship was anchored, Destiny glanced back one last time at the shadowy streets of Port Royal. She couldn't shake the feeling that their encounter with the pirates was just the beginning of a much larger challenge ahead.

-

taglist: @dinossaurz @tiredlittlevirgo @everythingboutkpop

[chuuyaspinkmotorcycle16]

Day 17: Nonverbal Communication

The first time it became apparent they needed a system of communication for only themselves, it was shortly after officially becoming Double Black. 

Dazai had gotten himself captured to gather intel and the plan was for Chuuya to save the day. 

Simple enough, right?

Unfortunately, no – not with Chuuya’s rash aggressiveness, according to Dazai, and not with Dazai’s inability to communicate, according to Chuuya. 

When the slug decides to raid the building /before/ Dazai has gotten his main piece of needed information, it’s a problem.

When the mackerel yells at Chuuya to stop attacking before he kills someone, it’s an issue.

And in the end, when they manipulate the situation enough to get the information out of a dying enemy, their victory is only met with glares at each other.

They knew they had to fix whatever their deal was – especially after Mori heard about their almost-failure – and enlisted the help of Kouyou and Hirotsu.

The best solution was torture to both of them: locked in a room with only themselves and a set of notecards with words and ideas they had to create hidden symbols for.

It took five hours before Dazai got over messing with Chuuya enough to actually do something. 

(Chuuya didn’t know it at the time, but Dazai teasing him for so long was the brunet actually testing the expanse of Chuuya’s expressions to find a pattern, and even then Chuuya was so unpredictable that Dazai had to abandon multiple hypotheses.)

Chuuya, for his part, had noticed small things in how Dazai moved about during his teasing, guard up as he tried to predict Dazai’s next action of torment.

Neither remembers how they figured out their signs, but it worked.

Soukoku’s success rate remained 100%, and the Port Mafia thrived.

Until one-half of Double Black left.

That was four years ago.

“Oi, Dazai!” Chuuya calls out. He locks eyes with the man across the room, the brunet wiping away the blood from his nose. Chuuya blinks once, tilting his hat back up as he jumps up and to the right, using gravity to lighten himself.

He kicks the hitman in the head, knocking him out. Behind him, Chuuya hears the bang of Dazai’s gun going off, likely pointed at the other hitman who’d been aiming at Chuuya.

They’re on a mission, a routine wipeout of an organization that’s been threatening both the ADA and PM.

Within mere minutes, they’ve established control of the area, their other allies coming in to retrieve the enemy organization’s data.

Dazai strides over to Chuuya, the smallest of limps in his gait, which does not go unnoticed by the redhead. The bastard pokes Chuuya in the cheek, a shit-eating grin plastered over his face. Chuuya reaches up – feeling a tightness in his shoulder that he ignores – and flicks him on the forehead for it. 

“Oww, chibi’s so mean,” Dazai whines, rubbing his forehead. 

“I’ll show you mean, bastard,” Chuuya says, rolling his eyes.

With their part of the mission done, they’re free to go. Both organizations are well-capable of handling clean-up.

The second they’re in Chuuya’s apartment and walk into his bedroom, he rounds on Dazai, moving the brunet’s tan jacket out of the way in order to untuck his shirt. 

“Lemme see,” Chuuya murmurs. He raises his shirt, immediately spotting the swelling bruise on his hip. 

Above him, Dazai is still, hands frisking around to find purchase, only to settle on Chuuya’s shoulders. Chuuya wouldn’t be surprised if the mackerel hip-checked something earlier today and the only reason it’s swelling now is because he hip-checked something else during the fight.

“You’re such an idiot,” Chuuya whispers, thumb rubbing gentle circles along the edges of the bruise before leaning in to place a soft kiss. He straightens, meeting Dazai’s eyes and watching the growing red on his – unfortunately – pretty face.

“But I’m Chuuya’s idiot,” Dazai sing-songs, a genuine smile accompanying it. 

Chuuya tries to ignore his own burning cheeks, instead ducking and tugging on Dazai’s arm to follow him further into the house. “C’mon.”

Dazai doesn’t budge. Snaking an arm back around Chuuya’s shoulders, Dazai tugs him in, fingers dancing across his shoulder. Dazai pokes into the muscle on top. “Ah-ah, not until you tell me about this.”

Chuuya doesn’t even know how the brunet noticed earlier.

“Pulled it at the gym this morning,” the redhead grumbles, rolling his eyes.

Dazai tries to pull him in further, throwing his other arm around Chuuya as he says, “Aw, my poor slug! How will the mafia function without him?!”

“Bastard,” Chuuya scoffs, shoving away from him. He can feel a smile on his face that he can’t seem to force down as he changes clothes.

He leaves Dazai to change and goes to the kitchen for only two things, then moves to the living room. There, he finds Dazai patiently waiting on the couch, blankets ready and remote in hand as he scrolls for something for them to watch.

Chuuya sits next to him, relaxing as gentle fingers find his shoulder and begin to massage. Beside him, he presses a towel-wrapped ice pack to Dazai’s covered hip as Dazai throws one of the blankets around them.

In this bubble of warmth and safety, they don’t need words. They only need each other.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Good wife

Part 2 of Princess

Sihtric x reader

Authors note: initially intended as a Part 2 of Princess, but can also be read as a stand alone fic. This is my attempt for a happy ending for my little princess and I think I managed pretty good 😉

And before you start asking, I know I am not following the poll 🙈. I was carried away by the impression that Part 2 of Princess will win anyway and continued writing even before the poll was over. The modern!Sihtric smut request will follow next week, I promise 😅

My biggest and warmest thanks to awesome @arcielee for agreeing to beta read this fic and for all your comments and suggestions! You are incredibly talented writer! The way you play with words and conjure incredibly vivid descriptions make me awe each time anew.

Warnings: 18+, angst (you probably have noticed by now, I simply can't without it🤨), forced marriage, abuse, domestic violence, smut, revenge, blood

Summary: you return to Winchester for your father's King Alfred's funeral just to discover that Sihtric hasn't kept his promise.

Word Count: 4,966

Princess

It's early morning, and the sun is poised to rise above the horizon as you move silently through the corridors of the still-sleeping palace. Your dress glides over the worn steps with a light hush being the only sound disturbing the peacefulness of the new day rising. Upon reaching the garden, you effortlessly locate your favourite secluded spot – a stone pew  in the far corner, partially concealed by an ivy-covered wall and a sprawling bird cherry flower bush. You recall how it bloomed exceptionally early in spring, its inimitably sweet fragrance making you almost dizzy. It’s a scent of your happier days, and you inhale deeply, hoping to infuse every cell of your being with its essence. 

You settle down, embracing the calmness of the moment. A few birds are singing a praise to the sun, its golden fingers slowly stretching to brush the world awake. A gentle breeze frolics in the branches of the trees, adding to the calm beauty of the morning. You're aware that this tranquillity is illusory, yet you cling to it, you need this moment of calmness and silence to gather your thoughts.

The King is dead. Your father, King Alfred, is dead. You still haven’t had a chance to grasp the whole gravity of it. Wessex now stands vulnerable as never before with Cnut and his army preparing to invade, Aethelred of Mercia dreaming about restoring Mercia’s glory and your husband Ethelwold secretly seeking to sever ties with Wessex and secure his claim to East Anglian throne. Politics. You hate politics. Nevertheless, you are not blind and you are definitely not obtuse; the shifts in power and allegiances are impossible to ignore. 

You feel anger slowly unfurling within you, making your cheeks blush. Your fingers impulsively shred into small pieces the flower you had just plucked. You can't change anything and your helplessness suffocates you. You're nobody, a mere toy bestowed upon your husband to secure an alliance. This is exactly how he treats you – as a doll that gets retrieved from its box to showcase during special events, to be mistreated and locked away thereafter. There is nothing even close to love or mutual respect in your marriage. You’re his property, and he delights in ascertaining himself of it, evidenced by the concealed bruises and scratches beneath your dress’s long sleeves and high collar. Coward as he is, he's avoided striking your face – possibly fearing that would cause scrutiny from others, perhaps even your father. You catch yourself thinking that this might change now, that your father is dead. Although you are not sure he would have interfered anyway.

Led by a silly sense of duty to your land and your father, you’ve endured five years of this arranged marriage with a man that revolted you in every aspect, bearing mistreatment and humiliation. And what had it brought? Nothing. Your brother is weak and dependent on the support of his ealdorman. Will he manage to assert himself as the king? You haven't seen him all those five years. He has changed a lot, grown up and matured, but will it be enough? At least he had braved to disobey your mother, aligning with Lord Uhtred. His words and the way he spoke justice, keeping up the pardon your father had given Uhtred on his deathbed, ignited a flicker of hope in you. First hesitant and insecure, he had managed to seize control over the gathered crowd, including the ealdormen, and even the queen, whose authority seemed to prevail from the very beginning. Your brother steps into daunting shoes, but his first step was promising, you rethink the events of the previous day.

Your heart quickens its pace, and a wave of embarrassment begins to rise from your neck, tinting your cheeks with an even more intense shade of red than the preceding anger as the memory you try to suppress emerges. 

He was there. You had seen him. Keeping himself in the shadows, leaning against an aged wagon with his hand resting on the shoulders of a young girl with plain features and dark hair, Sihtric watched in anticipation the scene transpiring before the palace entrance. Five years have passed since you appeared at his doorstep, head over heels in love with the handsome warrior, hoping for his feelings to mirror yours. 

The memory of that night when you willingly gave yourself to him remained untarnished; you have never regretted it. His tender, hesitant confession of love, the gentleness of his touch, the tenderness with which he had made love to you that night, and his eagerness and care to please and satisfy you, aware that it was to be your sole night together, were imprinted in your mind forever. You clung to these sweet memories with all your strength, them becoming your refuge, your shield against the day after and all the other days that followed, when your half-drunk newlywed husband flung you onto the bed, barking at you to disrobe. Undoing his breeches and letting them half down, he flipped you over to your belly, pulled you up to your knees, spread your legs, and placed his hard, dripping cock at your entrance.

“I will teach you now to be a good wife, princess. I am your husband, and you are to obey me. Do you understand? You are mine and only mine. Don’t you ever forget that,” he hissed, leaning closer to your ear, grabbing your hips with both hands and without any warning, forced himself into you in one single motion until the very end of his rigid length. 

You screamed out in pain, tears welling up in your eyes, to which he just started relentlessly thrusting into you, his groans of satisfaction echoing in your mind. Too drunk and consumed by chasing his own pleasure, he didn’t even notice you clutching a tiny pouch in your hand, blood reddening your fingers and your dress, as you squeezed it and hastily wiped your fingers against your thighs, faking the loss of your virginity. 

A chill crawls up your spine as these memories flood back. Why did you remember this? Wasn’t it torturous enough to witness Sihtric holding that young and pretty woman in his hands? He had promised to wait for you, a promise you never demanded, knowing how impossible and foolish it was. Yet, Sihtric’s earnest tone and self-assuredness as he made that promise, made you believe him. The notion that someone out there truly loved you, cared for you, recalled you and eagerly waited for you had become the light that guided you through your existence. It made the days bearable and warmed you when your husband's cruelty and neglect threatened to extinguish your will to live. 

Now the fragile and ridiculous illusion you had clung to for all these years lay shattered into thousand shards. You shouldn’t have come to Winchester. If only you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, you could have still preserved that naive dream. When Edward pronounced his verdict and the crowd erupted in cheers as he embraced Uhtred, you glimpsed the satisfied smile on Sihtric's lips. He playfully ruffled the girl's hair, and she nestled closer to him, her eyes gleaming with admiration. Unable to bear the sight, you turned abruptly, a heavy weight settling in your chest like a ballast stone, threatening to suffocate you. In that fleeting last moment, your eyes locked with Sihtric’s, surprise flickering across his face, followed by a glimmer of recognition before you managed to flee back into the palace. Your fairy tale had ended abruptly, leaving you with nothing more than bittersweet memories of that single night, when you felt genuinely loved, cherished, and valued. 

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, leaving a glistening trace behind them. All you can do is to hide your face in your hands, permitting yourself to cry out all the pent-up despair that accumulated over five years of abuse and humiliation. Your magical wand, capable of summoning light and dispelling darkness is gone, leaving you drowning into a bleak, frigid expanse of misery and hopelessness. 

The sun had already risen when sudden voices startle you from your melancholy. The palace has awakened to a new busy day, and you can clearly distinguish the voices of your mother and sister calling your name.

Of course, the feasting this evening! There will be a war council summoned by Edward to discuss how to deal with Cnut and his army, followed by a feast. Not that you anticipated it, but you obviously did not have much choice as your husband was invited to both and expected you to accompany him. Still taunted by the lingering thoughts and memories, you reluctantly rise from the pew  and head towards the palace, hastily wiping away your tears before anyone can see them.

---------------------------------

 It is quite late already when you finally manage to bring up enough composure to get dressed. You had complained about a heavy headache to your husband, hoping he would agree to leave you alone in the chambers.

“Don’t be foolish and dress yourself,” is the response you get as he leaves for the council, which is supposed to start earlier.

You slow down as you reach the staircase, pausing to survey the hall beneath you. You see your mother and sister engaged in a lively conversation, sitting at the high end of the long table. Strangely you find your husband discussing something with Aethelred  – your sister’s  spouse – whom you know he can’t bear and despises deeply for being Alfred’s puppy – as he loves to call him.

Vultures start circling a carrion, Edward needs to be cautious in choosing whom to trust. I must speak with him later, you think to yourself.

And then your gaze lands on him. Your fingers clutch the railing with a desperate grip as you steady yourself, feeling your legs tremble, threatening to buckle beneath you. 

At the far end of the hall, alongside Lord Uhtred, stands Sihtric. His hands envelop an ale mug, his gaze fixed downwards, hovering between the table and the floor, concern and seriousness in his expression. Your breathing fastens as you strive to regain your composure; your knuckles whiten as you continue to clutch the railing. And as much as you try, you can’t force yourself to look away. He is still so handsome. Everything about him makes your heart pound faster and your breath twitch – his tall and robust frame with his black, curly hair braided on the top, but falling to his shoulders in the back. His strong jawline, the scars tracing his forehead and right cheek, his muscular arms covered by the long sleeves of his leather jerking decorated with gold and silver armbands. 

You can still recall these strong arms holding you tightly against his chest, his fingers tenderly raking through your hair. The memory is so vivid in your mind that you almost moan in longing. A captivating mixture of confidence, calmness, and strength emanates from him with the same intensity as when you first met. There is not enough strength within you to descend to the hall and confront him in a dignified manner, there is only one escape for you – to turn back and run to your chambers. Even if it means enduring your disappointed husband’s wrath later, you prefer it a thousand times to the possibility that you would need to speak with Sihtric, now that you are aware he is no longer yours. With the last remnants of your willpower, you force yourself to let go of the railing and want to turn away, your eyes casting one final lingering glance at your former lover as Sihtric lifts his eyes, his gaze meeting yours.

You are frozen, trapped by an invisible spider web that is restraining all your movements, paralysed by the intensive gaze of his big, expressive eyes that are scanning you from head to heels. There is something in his eyes, a lingering mix of confusion, sadness, and some hint of anxiety. Why is he looking so at you? He must be happy; you remember the gleam of happiness he directed to the girl in his arms.

“My dear wife, I am so glad to see you’re feeling better and could join us,” you hear the voice of your husband and in this very moment his ever so repelling voice sounds like a salvation to you. He beams at you, arms stretched as though you were the love of his life, like he has been desperately waiting for. Slowly, you manage to shift your gaze toward him forcing a smile to appear on your lips. Descending the stairs, you extend your arms toward him until you’re by his side and he clasps your hands, lifting your palms to his lips for a kiss.

“What a perfect couple,” you smirk inwardly. You have never understood this masquerade. Why all this pretence to be the loving and caring husband, only to let all his fury on you behind the closed doors?

You can still feel Sihtric’s gaze on you, his eyes drilling into your back as he observes your happy reunion with your husband. You spend the whole evening meticulously avoiding Sihtric. You notice him trying to approach you several times, but you anticipate his every move by hurriedly engaging in conversations with your mother or tugging your sister’s arm, leading her to follow you into another part of the hall away from Sihtric. You accept all invitations to dance, fully aware this will earn you additional scorn from your husband later.

At some point you see Lord Uhtred rising from his seat and striding toward your brother. There is a short conversation between them; Uhtred bows his head respectfully and nods toward Sihtric to follow him. They both leave the hall, and a sigh of relief escapes you. This is finally over. Absentmindedly you wave away the young ealdorman advancing you with a request to dance and head out of the hall, casting a stealthy glance at your husband. He is drunk beyond imaginable. Sitting in his place of the most honoured guests next to your mother, he struggles to keep his eyes open. With his ale mug still in his hand, his face droops onto the plate before him. A knowing smile graces your lips. His love for ale has actually made the last years more bearable, as he was often too drunk in the evenings to force himself upon you or to be able to hurt you. You head to the garden, to the very same place you sneaked out this morning; this will always remain your happy place, even if this morning turned out more sorrowful than you had anticipated.

You lower yourself on the stone pew and breathe in the sweet, intoxicating smell of the flowers, your gaze marvelling at the intricate maze of ivy covering the back wall. Lost in your thoughts you almost jump at the sound of an all-too- familiar voice.

“Good evening, my lady,” Sihtric greets you, obstructing the only way out between the wall and the bird cherry flower bush. “I am sorry if I scared you,” he quickly adds, noticing your wide eyes and face losing its colour.

“Good evening, Sihtric,” you manage to mumble, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

The silence between you both hangs heavy in the air as nobody dares to speak, your gazes scanning each other with an awkward intensity. You rise from the pew and make a step toward Sihtric trying to side-track him. His hand reaches out, gets hold of yours and lets go of you instantly as if burned.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Your marriage seems to be very happy, my lady. I’m very glad to see it,” he murmurs, stepping closer, obliterating your attempt to escape. His breath is heavy and itching as his gaze locks with yours, an inexplicably sad and painful look in his eyes. His hand rises as if wanting to cup your jaw but lowers again, not daring to touch you, his uncertainty palpable. He is so close that you can feel his breath vibrating on your skin. His proximity suffocates you, his scent mingling with the aroma of the flowers, making your head spin with dizziness. In the moon's faint glow, his handsome face appears almost timeless, surreal. You are drawn to it, incapable of averting your eyes. His enigmatic, mismatched eyes scan your features full of awe and a hint of something that could be sweet longing, although you know it is not. 

You want to touch him, to caress his cheeks and let your fingers tangle in his dark hair, but instead you gather all your inner strength and utter, “Yes, indeed, as happy as yours I presume. Are you married to that lovely girl?”

“Married? Which girl?” Sihtric's genuine surprise momentarily throws you off, but in the next instant you discard your silly hopefulness. You can’t ignore what you saw. What does he want from you anyway?

“Sihtric, please, there is no need for pretence. Spare me the courtesy. I saw you yesterday before the palace. I don’t blame you. I understand. It’s been five long years. I never truly expected you to keep that promise,” your words tumble out in such a rush, you are surprised of yourself, “I just… I…” you can’t finish your saying, your voice breaking, tears welling up in your eyes. 

This is more than you can endure and with your face in your hands, you storm past him, pushing completely thunderstruck Sihtric aside. It’s unbearable. Your feelings for him are unaltered. You run. You thought you knew the garden as your own pocket, but in the weird moonlight everything looks different. You turn left and then right as you hope to be heading to the palace entrance just to find yourself facing the wall again. Tears roll down your cheeks obscuring your vision and making it even more difficult to navigate through the narrow passages as you feel yourself colliding with a muscular frame, strong arms enveloping your waist, pulling you against a broad chest. You can’t see anything, but the scent of the body you are pressed tightly against is so familiar that you have no doubts who is holding you.

“Let go of me!” you struggle against the firm embrace, “What do you want from me?” you shout, desperation evident in your voice as you can’t control yourself anymore.

“Please, calm down, my little princess. My love, just let me explain,” Sihtric’s voice is just a gentle flurry against the tempest of your ever-growing anger, but something in his tone makes you hold your breath, leading to a short pause in your frantic struggle against his embrace.

“What is there to explain? That you got tired of waiting? That you’re just a man …? That there is no hope anyway… I know, I understand… It was never meant to be…” your sobs become uncontrollable at this point, and you resume your futile attempts to break free from Sihtric’s hold, which gets only tighter in return.

“Please, listen to me. The girl you saw, it’s Uhtred’s daughter, Stiorra. She was terrified that Uhtred would be expelled again, forced to be an outlaw once more with no home, no hope and no man to follow him. I love her as my own child. I held her to assure that whatever happens I will never leave Uhtred. We are bound, we are brothers. And we were both just happy and relieved when Edward acknowledged Alfred’s pardon. That’s all. Since that night five years ago, there has never been another in my life. My little princess, my love, do you hear me? I love only you. Nothing will ever change that,” Sihtric’s voice remains a mere whisper against your ear as you let every word slowly sink into your consciousness. Can it be true? You want to believe him, you feel each and every cell in your body screaming in longing for his touch, telling you to cease your needless struggle and melt into his embrace if only for this one single short moment. It’s only your common sense that tries to object, whispering in the background that it does not matter. It will not change anything. You are bound to another forever. You can never be his. Why torture yourself and him? It’s time to let go. For his sake and for your own. You can’t live in a dream all your life. 

Sihtric’s embrace does not loosen, and your struggle gradually loses its intensity as you surrender to the burning need coursing through you. You let your body absorb the warmth, memorising this embrace for the future. One of his arms drifts from your waist to your hair, as his gentle caresses soothe you.

“Every single day and night, I’ve dreamed of holding you again,” Sihtric murmurs, his lips brushing your hair as your face rests on his chest, your tears soaking his fine leather armour.

“My silly little princess, I thought myself the happiest man alive when I saw you yesterday. But you wouldn’t even look at me. I thought you regretted our past, that you wanted nothing more to do with me. I simply couldn’t accept it just like that, I needed to hear it from you. Can’t you see what you do to me? I practically begged Uhtred to take me with him to that damned council,” Sihtric continues, his words lullabying all your fears and concerns. There is nothing else in this world for you, just the sweet sound of his voice, and you don’t care what the morning will bring. Tonight you want to be with him, you want to feel loved again, you want to be his.

 “Can you just take me away from here? Please, Sihtric,” you lift your head, and your pleading gaze meets Sihtric’s eyes.

“Princess, believe me, I don’t want to let go of you. But your husband is probably searching for you. Allow me to guide you to the entrance,” you hear his words, yet you sense desire consuming him, his arms refusing to let go, wrapping even tighter around you and pulling you closer. He can’t bear to let go of you, the same as you can’t let go of him.

“My husband is drunk and sleeps, his ugly face buried in the leftovers on his own plate,” you hiss with deep disgust in your voice, and Sihtric stiffens in astonishment as you grasp his hand and start pulling him towards the other end of the garden.

“Come with me. I’ll show you how I got out of the palace last time,” your voice is suddenly resolute and confident. Something has changed deep inside you. You have always silently let your life be predetermined by others, and have accepted your fate without questioning it. Except for that one single night, when for the first time you seized control and made a decision you never regretted. And now, you want to feel it again – the power to be able to choose, to make your own decisions. Good or bad, time will tell, but these will be your choices and you will atone for them. You are so sick of just watching life go by, of not partaking. It might have been easier to submit, blaming others for your suffering, but you can’t do it anymore. And with that thought, a surge of newfound power courses through you. 

You find the small concealed side door, trembling fingers gripping the handle; a squeak, and it yields. Your first step into the night feels like stepping into a new life, a fresh destiny. Sihtric follows you, his hand holding yours in a steady and tight grip, and you smile at him as you look back into his mismatched eyes. Once outside the palace walls, Sihtric leads you through the narrow town streets to the same tavern he stayed in previously. You climb the steps to his chamber, the doors close behind you and his hands and lips are upon you. His kisses, initially tender and soft, soon grow feverish and urgent. Desperate fingers rend at clothing, eager to get rid of layers that separate your heated bodies. 

As soon as the last piece of clothing has fallen to the ground, Sihtric grabs your thighs, pulling you up, and you follow his movement, wrapping your legs around his waist and letting him effortlessly carry you over to the bed. He sits down with you straddling him. 

Your lips trail down his jaw to his neck, so greedy, so hungry. Your fingers tangle in his braided hair, pulling hard on them as you allow yourself to immerse in the arousal, building up in your lower stomach and quickly taking you over. You lean back and your hips start moving against Sihtric’s body rubbing your clit against him, your pussy aching in anticipation. Holding you with one arm around your waist, Sihtric’s hand reaches down, and you feel his fingers rubbing at your clit, parting your folds, and sliding inside your soaked pussy.

“Gods, how wet you are,” he grunts against your skin, his already hard and leaking cock is the wordless confirmation that he burns with the same overwhelming desire as you. His lips travel around your breasts, covering them with wet open-mouthed kisses and sucking at your hard nipples.

“I need you. Now,” you moan, and your hand takes hold of his throbbing length, placing it at your wet entrance. A loud groan of relief and satisfaction escapes you both as you lower yourself on Sihtric’s cock, taking him in completely, to the very end of his shaft, instantly starting to move against it. 

His hands land on your buttocks, helping you to push yourself deeper against his pelvis, but allowing you to determine the pace of your movements, which grow faster with each thrust. A loud moan vibrates deep in Sihtric’s throat as your pussy clench around him and your thrusts get frenzied, almost hysterical, your climax building up unstoppably fast and intense.

“Oh my god, Sihtric! I am close … I …” your head snaps back and your nails dig into Sihtric’s flesh as you come with a loud scream, your body twitching and your walls spasming around his cock. 

His hands grab your waist and start moving you up and down, not letting you stop, his hips pushing up against you deeper, faster, just a few more thrusts and he follows you with a heavy moan, his breath panting. Your shivering body collapses against his and he wraps his arms around you, steadying, holding, caressing you. You remain in each other’s embrace, savouring the sweet aftermath of your peaks, before he gently lowers you on the bed next to him. His fingers trace the contours of your figure, and suddenly his eyes widen in astonishment as he notices the bruises of varying colour on your skin – some fading, faint, and pale, while others in intense shades of blue and violet.

“Gods, what is this?” he breathes, his voice quivering, “Who did this to you?” His hands cup your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze. There is no need for an answer; a pained growl escapes his lips as he pulls you into his embrace, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmurs, almost inaudibly, “I should never have let you go. I’ll kill that wretched bastard with my bare hands. Let them hang me for it, but you’re not going back to him.”

“I am not leaving this time,” you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair. “But that bastard is mine. Promise me.”

Sihtric lifts his head, gazing into your eyes, disbelief plainly written on his face, but the certainty in your gaze is unwavering.

“Whatever you wish, my little princess. As long as you are finally mine,” Sihtric whispers, a broad smile gracing his lips as he wonders silently what he's done to earn the favour of the gods, to have his wildest dream come true.

--------------------------------------

“Are you sure about this?” Sihtric cups your face with both hands, his eyes questioning yours.

“More than anything else,” you reply.

“He’s all yours, my love. Do you want me to stay?”

“No, this is between him and me,” you respond, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. Sihtric nods, steps aside, and heads toward the door, opening you the view on a man’s frame sprawled on the bed, his hands and legs tightly tied to the grid, a gag obstructing his mouth and muffling all sounds and attempts to scream. He looks at you with eyes widened in fear, struggling against the ropes with all his strength. His head starts shaking vehemently as he sees you drawing a dagger and walking slowly toward him. You lift your dress and climb the bed, straddling him.

“I will teach you now to be a good husband, my dear,” you murmur into his ear.

—----------------------------------------------- 

With a heavy breath, you shut the door behind you. Your eyes are wide, your hands smeared with blood, clutching bloodied dagger against your chest. Sihtric waits outside, and as you stagger towards him, your legs wobbly, he catches you in his arms. He doesn't utter a word, merely enfolding your trembling shoulders and pulling you close in a firm embrace.

 “Is he dead?” he finally inquires.

“He lives, but he’ll never be able to hurt anybody, the way he hurt me,” you reply with a quiver in your voice. “I must speak with my brother,” you add, wiping your hands on your dress.

“I am here with you. No matter what comes, we’ll face it together,” Sihtric leans in to kiss you and squeezes your hand encouragingly.

Princess

[mariettebonneville]

─𝟎𝟔 【𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬】 𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐢 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐢

In the chaotic aftermath of a fierce battle, the vibrant strands of Mitsuri’s pink hair fluttered like petals in the wind, her breathing heavy as she stood over the defeated demon.

Her sword, still gleaming with the remnants of her Love Breathing technique, slowly reverted to its sheath as she closed her eyes to calm her racing heart.

But victory's quiet was short-lived. In a moment of unsettling calm, two shoji doors appeared beneath her, before opening and giving her no time to comprehend the situation.

Mitsuri's eyes widened just before the world blurred as she fell—the next thing she knew, the smell of iron and blood was replaced by the pungent scent of exhaust and the distant hum of city life.

Mitsuri's feet stumbled upon the hard concrete as she found herself in the midst of Tokyo's roaring streets, the tall figures of skyscrapers casting elongated shadows over her.

Neon lights assaulted her senses, strange metal carriages thundered by, and the sea of people moved with an unfamiliar rhythm. Her heart raced, and her grip tightened around her sword's hilt.

Her heart raced for different reasons now—confusion, fear, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly lost. Instinctively, she reached for her sword, grasping its handle for the comfort of familiarity.

That's when she saw them—figures that others seemed not to see, twisted and vile, roaming amongst the crowd.

Demons?

But how could the other people ignore them and how were they able to overcome the sun weakness? She wanted to pull out her sword and fight through her exhaustion but with hundreds of unsuspecting civilians wandering the streets, she couldn't take the risk.

Unknowingly to Mitsuri, those creatures were not demons but mere Curses and her being devoid of any curse energy, Mitsuri should've been as oblivious as the rest of the crowd.

In her bewildered state, Mitsuri began darting through the mass of people, trying to put distance between herself and the phantoms only she seemed aware of.

That's when fate intervened.

Her shoulder slammed against a figure in a sharp set of dark clothes with gravity-defying silver hair—an unmistakable presence she had never encountered before.

It was on these bewildering streets that her path collided with Satoru Gojo, the most powerful Jujutsu sorcerer of his time.

Unbeknownst to her, it was an unusual day for Gojo as well; a day when someone ran past him, unaffected by the infinity that separated him from the rest of the world, a technique unavailable to the physical realm.

Gojo Satoru stood where she had just rushed past, surprised that for once, his Infinity hadn't stopped someone in their tracks.

Curiosity piqued, Gojo turned to look at the woman with the bright eyes and hair the color of spring blossoms. The threads of destiny began to intertwine as he watched her retreat into the crowd, an irresistible enigma that had bypassed his impenetrable barrier. But how?

He followed silently, blending with shadows and light as only Gojo could, his sky-blue eyes never losing sight of the pink-haired enigma.

Finally, in a quieter alley, he stepped out before her, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to her vigilance. "Running from something?" Gojo's voice was smooth, a smirk playing at his lips.

Mitsuri, poised to react, noticed no malice in this man, yet the power he emanated struck her down to her core. Speaking softly, Mitsuri said, “I’m... I’m just lost.”

Confusion, usually an alien sentiment to Gojo, seemed to visit him quite frequently since her arrival. That a being without curse energy could perceive Curses and, more importantly, evade his Infinity, was a paradox that delighted him.

"Then let me be your guide. Where were you heading" he said, extending a hand with a gesture that blurred the line between a gesture of aid and the beginning of a claim.

She saw steadiness in his hand, the promise of answers. And in that moment, two fighters from separate worlds decided to trust in the unseen chords that had drawn them together.

[all-thestories-aretrue]

Soooooo I wrote this incredibly self-indulgent thing about Miles. I have many feelings about how he keeps himself so tightly in control. It's gotta go somewhere.

Disclaimer it's quite dark, so mind the trigger warning and keep yourself safe <3

TW: self-harm, not what I would consider graphic descriptions, but it is the central theme and way more than a mention

The lock clicks. He slips his suit jacket off. Loosens then removes his tie. Untucked, buttons undone. It’s all laid out on the bed. Step by step. Shoes set to the side and trousers swapped for silken pajama pants.

The bathroom door closes behind him. The second lock between him and the world. The shower comes on. Towel laid out on the counter.

His drawer, second down on the left. He pulls out the small black bag. Gold zipper. Supple leather. Inside, his collection. Three packs of new razor blades. An open pack of blades; used ones tucked into the back. A single hypodermic needle. A crafting knife. Two unopened band aids.

The rest of the drawer’s contents is ignored, antiseptic and suture kits, butterfly closures and rolls of gauze, in favor of practiced hands sliding the tin of blades from the bag and the blade from the tin.

He sits on the toilet, lid down. Elbow straight. Fist clenched. The first slice with a small inhale. Bright and sharp and stinging. Familiar and comforting. Line after line as red blooms from the wounds. The ecstasy second only to the Kiss. Rivulets follow gravity down. Strategically placed tissues catch the mess.

Stained crimson, they fall into the waste basket. He flexes his wrist, testing the pull of the broken skin, blots the last of the blood away. Blade inspected and stowed; everything returned to it’s place. Pajamas folded on top of the toilet, he steps into the shower.