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vezpr · 1 month ago

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corporal: ch 1 - punishment

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ HEIAN ERA AU ☽☾ ONGOING SERIES ☽☾ AO3

☽☾𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬:CH1: PUNISHMENT ▪︎ CH2: EXPECTATIONS ▪︎ CH3: DENIAL

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You are such a menace that your father decides to offer your eternal servitude as a gift to the King of Curses.

Sukuna has not accepted such a tribute in years, more often opting to eat the young girls rather than put them to work, which is perfectly acceptable as far as your asshole dad is concerned.

Will the demon make an exception for you?

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, blood and gore, violence, abuse, true form sukuna, eventual smut (not yet),I suck at tags

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: CH: 4.2k TOTAL: 7.7k

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment something to that effect. But please put an age in your bio so i don't have to block you. Thanks for reading. 🖤

As a little girl, you were inseperable from your sister, Emika. You spent countless afternoons giggling and dashing between the trees in the wood surrounding your home. The same wood you are now running through as your life depends on it.

Even as stitches crawl, burning, into your ribs, you picture Emika's smiling face in the dappled sunlight. When you trip over a root and catch the stony soil with your knees and palms, your mind conjures a memory of practicing katas and swordplay with her in secret, of the many times she put you in the dirt, herself, grinning as she tapped her bamboo sword lightly against your throat. "Dead," she'd giggle. She was so strong.

You bound to your feet and run despite your burning lungs and aching legs. As your pursuer knocks you to the ground, restraining you with a strong pair of arms, you recall the time you walked into your favorite clearing and found her kissing one of the servant girls. Later, she had shared her secret with you, only you.

As the guards drag you kicking and screaming back to your family home you recall how vacant her eyes had become when the servant girl was sent away. The way her lips no longer smiled when she was given to a man twice her age, a cruel man who kept her pregnant and did not love her. You would die rather than accept such a fate for yourself. You would be the warrior Emika had dreamt of being.

As calloused hands throw you into the closet used to confine you when you were had misbehaved especially severely, you pictured how Emika had looked at you on her wedding day, a tight smile under eyes shiny with unshed tears. As you scream through split, swollen lips and pound your fists bloody on the heavy wooden door, you pictured her nodding and mouthing a silent goodbye to you.

When you finally slump against the door and succumb to a darkness so complete that closing your eyes makes no difference, you hiss her name into the silence. Damn her. Why didn't she fight it? All that strength, for what?

Twenty now, you are half a dozen years older than she was when she was married. You are known for your wild behavior which has discouraged many requests for your hand, despite your clan being rather powerful. Your life was not pleasant, as a result.

You had been flogged and thrown into the dark more times than you could count. Your mother does not even come to sit on the other side of the door and tearfully beg you to change your ways anymore. You are utterly alone, and you suffer. But at least you have a modicum of freedom. At least this suffering is your choice.

"So you're back, father," you spit, blinking at the light that filters around his still armored silhouette. Fresh from one battle, into another. You do not give him the satisfaction of crying out when he yanks you out of the closet by your filthy hair. After all the pain you have suffered at the hands of this man and his lackeys, you hardly feel it anyway.

"Yes, daughter," he spits the word out like he can't stand the taste of it. "And I will finally be rid of you for good."

"Finally grown the balls to kill me?" You sneer as one of his underlings closes manacles around your wrists. You lean away as the back of his hand flies toward your face, angering him further when his strike fails to land. He does not miss a second time. You grin at him with bloody teeth.

"Worse," he answers. "You are to be given to the shrine." He smiles back at you when your grin falters, your heart skipping a beat. You know exactly what he means. You are to be offered to Ryoumen Sukuna, the king of curses. You have never seen him yourself, but his monstrous appearance and even more monstrous appetites are well known throughout the region.

You can remember looking out of your window one night as a child, seeing the orange tinge to the horizon in the distance, the faint smell of smoke. "It's the King of Curses, raiding," Emika had explained, as she stroked your hair. Goosebumps raised on your skin as she described the four-armed cannibal warlord, a powerful weilder of cursed energy. The strongest force known to the country. "Don't worry, he won't come here," she had soothed. "Father has ways of keeping him placated."

Your dismay is only momentary, however, as you realize the irony of your father presenting you as a gift: dirty, broken and wild as a rabid dog. You laugh softly. "Perhaps he will kill you for your trouble," you sneer.

Your father looks you up and down before averting his eyes and scoffing in disgust. "Vile as you are, I'm sure you taste the same as any other girl, and that's the only use that savage has for such gifts," he responds. "Have her cleaned and dressed" he says over his shoulder, already marching away from you.

It takes two men to hold you down while a servant girl is brought in to wash you. Her soft, dark eyes remind you of Emika. They are filled with fear when she looks at you. You do not give her any trouble, not even when she removes the muzzle from your face to clean it with a warm cloth. You slide your eyes to the gaurd whose fingers you had wounded before he was able to get the thing on your face, glaring at him threateningly.

The woman's hands are gentle, especially around your wounded lips, and the cleansing soothes your broken skin. "Thank you," you murmur to her as she pours warm water over your matted hair, combing it out as she washes it. She says nothing, but looks at you with pity, now. You had preferred the fear.

On the journey to the shrine, you manage to ruin most of her work, throwing yourself repeatedly into the mud. At one point, you even manage to escape, despite being shackled, and forced the guards to chase you through the woods for over an hour. As a result, you are late to court, but your father drags you through the doors, anyway, dripping from an impromptu "bath" he had given you in the river.

Standing on your tip-toes, you peer over the heads of the crowd. Your heart rate picks up a notch when you spot the monster lounging on a throne piled with skulls and bones at the head of the room. His enormous frame is draped over the chair, his cheek resting on his fist, as he looks down on one of his subjects. The squat old man is currently groveling next to a pool of blood at the foot of the steps that lead up to the throne. Presumably, his predecessor had not fared well.

Tattoos adorn the King's forehead and chin, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw, as well. A pair of piercing red eyes are set into each side of his face, although one set sit inside a rough-textured mask of some sort. The halo of soft, pink curls on top of his head looks strikingly out of place. His white kimono edged in dark blue hangs open over his chest, more black ribbons of tattoos frame his exposed pectorals. An additional pair of arms sit relaxed in his lap, the wrists of all four appendages are circled by more tattoos, like bracelets.

Suddenly all four of his eyes snap up and he scans the crowd, until he sets his sights on you. You sink back onto your heels, heart in your throat, hoping, for once, that you have vanished into a sea of men. You are beginning to think that the eye-contact was just your imagination, when a booming voice calls out your father by name, asking him to approach.

"Hold her," your father hisses at his guards, who are, in fact, already holding on tight to your manacled arms. You are grateful for the muzzle, for the first time, hiding your fear behind it. The old man that had been stuttering at the King's feet scurries back into the crowd as your father approaches.

Sukuna glares down at him in silence for several very long and uncomfortable moments before he finally asks, "Brought your brat here, have you?"

"I have, your-"

"Is it true," he cuts your father off, examining a long, black fingernail as he speaks, "that she disarmed one of your generals and managed to wound several men with his katana before she was stopped."

"Regrettably-"

The monster cuts him off again with a low chuckle. "Bring her," he says.

Your legs feel like lead as the guards drag you foward, the crowd parting in front of you, many eyes casting curious looks in your direction. All four of Sukuna's eyes bore into you as you approach. You can't seem to tear your gaze away from his, though it is more out of paralyzing fear than defiance, for once. You wonder if he can sense it. Your fear. It has been a long time since you have been afraid like this, accustomed as you are to pain. The guards stop just a few strides behind your father.

It feels as if all of the air is sucked out of the room as the two of you stare at each other, neither moving. The man seems awfully fond of uncomfortable silences, you think, as he stares at you with the same heavy-lidded, bored expression.

"What is that shit on her face?" He asks without moving a muscle.

"Told you to take that off," your father hisses at the guards over his shoulder, even as one has already opened his mouth to answer Sukuna.

"A muzzle, Master Sukuna," the man on your left bows slightly, releasing your arm as he answers, "she bites."

Sudden inspiration strikes and you stomp hard on the toes of the man on your right, causing him to release your other arm and then you are running. You feel like you take only a half-dozen strides before a strong hand clamps down on your wrist. You spin, intending to smash your captor's nose in with your head, but you draw back when you are met with the muscled expanse of Sukuna's tattooed chest. "Leaving so soon?" He growls. He is enormous, you realize as you life your eyes to his, glittering garnets. He is smiling and you make a note of his long, sharp canines.

Frozen in place and unable to tear your eyes away from his, you don't even see the back of your father's hand flying towards your face. Your head reels back with the impact, a warm gush of blood colors one side of your vision red as his knuckles split the flesh under your eyebrow.

Sukuna flicks his wrist almost imperceptibly and then your father is screaming. A fine spray of blood lands at your feet seconds before his severed hand rolls into your line of vision. Sukuna's eyes never leave yours. You don't move when he removes the muzzle and lets it fall to the ground where it lands just out of reach of the twitching fingers of the severed hand.

"Going to bite me?" He asks, his voice so low only you can hear, he leans in, eclipsing your vision, his breath warm against your ear.

You shake your head. You decided when this man removed your father's hand with a simple gesture that no amount of biting or running would prove effective against him.

"Run if you want," he says, in the same low voice. "But you won't get far. Either they will get you," he says, nodding in your father's direction. "Or I will." He smiles, a cold display of sharp teeth, "and I like hunting."

He releases your wrist and turns to your father who is clutching his gushing arm. "You are aware that I appreciate useful offerings?" He asks.

"Yes, master Sukuna," your father bleats in a broken voice.

"What use do you think I would get out of her," he gestures at you, and you realize what a pathetic mess you must look, streaked with mud and blood and drenched in river water.

"I- well-" your father stammers, face gone pale from blood loss. "Your- your- appetites..."

He scoffs. "Execute your own children..." He says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Uraume!" He calls, addressing a white robed monk, who, you are peripherally aware, had been standing serenely beside the throne throughout the proceedings. "Put her up in the East wing," he commands. "You know the chambers I mean?"

"Yes, Master Sukuna," the monk nods, but you don't miss the arch of her eyebrows above her pale pink eyes. Despite their surprise, Uraume descends the steps and places a hand lightly on your shoulder. You shiver, their touch is intensely cold, but allow them to guide you towards the exit behind the throne.

Before you are out of sight, you turn to look once more at your father. "If you survive the blood loss, I hope you die of infection," you bellow at the top of your lungs.

Sukuna throws his head back and laughs.

Uraume is silent as they guide you down empty corridors to the chambers specified for you. When they slide back the shoji door and you step in, you are surprised to find a sizeable suite with varnished floors, a large futon stacked with pillows, cushioned chairs and, what really draws your attention, a vanity littered with combs and perfumes.

"Who lives here?" You ask, narrowing your eyes at the feminine items.

"You, now," they answer.

"I mean before."

The monk hesitates, but finally answers with a shrug. "Master Sukuna's... concubines... but not for a long time now."

"I will not be anyone's concubine!"

Uraume clicks her tongue. "Master Sukuna does what he likes," they shrug. "But, if it comforts you, he has not shown interest in replacing those he... rid himself of."

"What happened to them?"

"I will bring you a basin so that you can wash up. I'm sure you will find some clothes that will fit you in the wardrobe."

"But-" you begin, but they are gone in a white and pink blur of hair and robe.

All that first night you lie awake on the futon, staring at the shoji doors, half expecting the demon to burst through them and make his motivation for keeping you known. He never comes, although in the wee hours of the morning you hear soft thuds and low growling from the wall at your back. You wonder if the monster's chambers share a wall with yours, and shudder to think what he might be doing to make all that noise.

After a few restless nights, you are eventually able to sleep. Although you are fairly certain that he is the source of the noises you are hearing at night, they almost comfort you at this point, as they mean that he is in his quarters, not thinking of bothering you.

Weeks go by and you barely see him, except in passing, and even then, he only addresses Uraume or other staff, never you, directly. It is as if you are invisible to him. Except for one instance in particular, you saw him entering through the West gate. Evidently, he was back from raiding and pillaging, as he was covered in blood and soot, wearing only a tattered hakama, hanging low on his hips. When he turned and saw you staring, he flashed a manic grin that had you spinning on your heel and hurrying in the opposite direction. You could hear him laughing behind you, and shuddered at the sound.

Most days, Uraume would collect you in the morning and assign you some task or another. Cleaning and food prep, mostly. Apparently, Sukuna enjoyed eating large quantities of a variety of foods, not only human flesh. Thankfully, Uraume was the only one entrusted with preparing fare of that kind. Other than that, you were free to explore the estate and no one seemed to bother you or ask what you were doing.

You often ate in the kitchen with the other servants, and it was from one of these that you learned what happened to Sukuna's former harem.

"Ate 'em, he did," Baba, croaked. She was a bent and wrinkled old woman who appeared to be at least a hundred and fifty years old. Her watery, cataracted eyes gleamed over her sunken cheeks as her toothless mouth sputtered out the story. "Got bored of fucking em, sure enough! Or fed up with them treatin' him too familiar, one! One tried running away but he caught her quick as anything and that's the truth! What a mess that was! Thought I'd never get up all that bl-"

"Baba!" Uraume scolded as they walked out of the back holding Sukana's tray. You tried not to look at the contents, or even think about them, as you poked at your salmon with your chopsticks.

"Well! It's the truth, it is!' The old woman screeches, spittle flying as she throws up her hands. "It is," she insists, leaning towards you and fixing her milky eyes on yours.

Normally, you would smile at the old woman's theatrics, but you find yourself frowning at your food, instead. You recall that first day, how Sukuna had said that he likes useful things. How are you useful to him? You doubt he is even peripherally aware of what little work you do here, and, even if he was, anyone could do it. Why had he specifically put you in a room so close to his own, a lavish one at that, nicer than anything you had ever had at home?

You look up from your plate and down the table at the other servants. The few that are looking at you drop their eyes. Come to think of it, Baba and Uraume are the only ones who talk to you. Everyone else avoids you like the plague. Why is that? You stand suddenly, knocking the table with your hips, causing dishes to clatter. Everyone is looking now. You hurry to clear your place and rush out into the bright daylight, no longer able to tolerate being confined indoors with your thoughts or with all those eyes on you. I have got too comfortable, you think to yourself.

Eventually, as you pace around the estate, you calm, although your eyes seek out the exit gates more than usual. The space is beautiful, with sprawling courtyards filled fruit trees, vegetable gardens, even a koi pond and a little stream that empties into a hot spring on the outskirts. Carrying your sandals, you walk along the edge of the whispering water. You smile to yourself as you watch the clear water rushing over the pebbled streambed.

Might as well enjoy all this while I can, you are thinking to yourself, when you hear movement ahead of you. Although you are somewhat concealed behind a stand of trees, you are only yards away from the hotspring. You hadn't realized that you had waljed so far. Sukuna stands at the edge of it, having just let his kimono slide off of his shoulders. Rooted to the spot, your eyes trace the lines of his tattoos, then the dips of his sculpted abdominals until they reach an odd line just below his navel. A scar, perhaps? You swallow thickly, finding your mouth suddenly dry.

Your eyes are still focused on the odd slit on his belly- you could have sworn you saw it move- when his hands drop to loosen his hakama. As heat crawls unwanted into your cheeks and the tops of your ears, you avert your eyes and turn to go. Your heart was already threatening to hammer it's way out of your rib cage when he calls out, "Come here, girl."

Could be talking to anyone, you reason as you will your limbs to obey you and continue your retreat. A couple of splashes and then you hear him call out your name, louder than before. You are shocked that he even remembers it. Slowly, your movements dreamlike, you turn and make your way toward him. Holding your chin high and hoping you exude a confidence that you do not feel, you move to the edge of the hotspring opposite to where he is now half-submerged in the steaming water. "You called me?" You ask, bowing stiff and shallow.

"Closer," he nods, but doesn't otherwise bother to move. His upper arms are draped along the edge of the hotspring, his lower ones, concealed beneath the water.

Hesitantly, you move closer, but still just out of reach of his splayed fingers. He looks, first, at your bare ankles, then, his spider-eyed gaze lingers along the length of your body until your eyes meet. The silence twists knots in your gut, and, although you do your best not to squirm, you feel as if every drop of blood in your body is rushing to your face. He is smirking. He is young, you realize, looking down at his unlined face. Striking, you are unable to stop yourself from thinking of his tattooed features, his extra eyes.

"Do you need something?" You ask, thinking better of the 'What do you want,' you typically have on queue for unloved authority figures.

"Do you? Or are you content to spy on me from the shadows?"

"I wasn't-" you begin, scowling. "Actually," you change direction, crossing your arms. "I do want something. I want to know why you keep me here... and why in that room?"

His smirk widens until it is almost a smile. A sinister expression, nonetheless.

"Do you want to go home?"

"I-" you sputter. No you don't want to go home, but you don't necessarily want to admit that, either.

"I think what you mean to say is: thank you, Master Sukuna, hm?" He says as your mouth opens and closes like a fish. "Does that answer your question, or would you like me to think more about what to do with you?"

While you spoke he had inched closer to you and now you feel the warm slide of his fingers on the back of your calf. You look down at his extended arm, the tattooed wrist disappearing under the hem of your kimono, as you stomach does a series of somersaults.

When your legs finally decide to obey you you turn and speedwalk stiffly back towards the East wing of the shrine. You expect to be called back or struck down at any moment, but Sukuna only laughs at your retreat.

Thst night, ypu decide you will leave. You manage to gather some food from the kitchen and other supplies without attracting attention. Now all there is to do is wait until you hear the demon thudding around and growling through the wall. Then, you will know that it's safe.

What is he doing in there anyway, you think to yourself as you pace back and forth across the suite, stopping now and then to actually press your ear against the wall. Growling like that... the image of his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his hakama rises, unbidden, to your mind. You shake your head as if that will clear it. "Stop it," you hiss to yourself, absolutely hating the way your stomach twists and flutters at the thought.

Hours pass. It is much later than it usually is when you hear him on the other side of the wall. You press your ear hard against the wall and strain to hear, but the only sound is the pumping of your own heart.

You sigh raggedly.

Maybe he's sleeping.

Maybe he's traveling, doing whatever monsters do.

"Fuck it," you mutter, grabbing the bag full of supplies and slinging it over your shoulder. The shoji door is blessedly quiet as you slide it open. The hallway is dark, empty, silent. You breath a sigh of relief and close your eyes, centering yourself, gathering your courage. Maybe he won't even care that you're gone. Maybe he won't even notice. The thought comforts you and you draw on it for confidence as you take the first step out into the corridor.

"Going somewhere?"

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice. It is a miracle that you don't cry out. You turn slowly, as you would in a nightmare, to see him leaning against the wall bare inches away from your door. You are surprised you didn't hear him breathing, as close as he is.

"For a walk," you answer evenly.

"With luggage?" He asks, nodding at the bag slung over your shoulder. His eyes and teeth glint in the dim light. He's smiling. This is entertaining for him, it seems.

He chuckles when you say nothing and steps toward you. "Go on, then," he says. "I'll give you a generous headstart... Although," he reaches out and plucks the heavy bag off of your shoulder as if it were nothing, "I suggest you travel light."

There is only one response to that.

You run.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #jjk sukuna #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #true form sukuna #sukuna x you #no use of y/n #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x female reader #heian au

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 12.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, body horror, horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, many religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, NSFW, soft/loving smut, fingering, mating press, implied virgin!reader due to time-period standards, pretty vanilla, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon’s skin is bare to the moon, and he can taste your blood on his tongue.

Eyes wide, the man’s lips are loose; jaw slackened at the horror that lays below him as crimson drips down the swell of his Adam’s apple and between the dip of his chest. He can’t move, even as the chill sets into his spine, the hair over his arms and on the back of his neck standing on end.

All he can see is your body.

You don’t move, you don’t smile or send him that stern look of stubbornness—the snow falls to your head, it collects on the side of your face and limp corpse. Your torn clothes show the weeping wounds and jagged remains of flesh.

But none more so than one on your neck. The gaping tear made from his fangs.

Not me, Simon’s fingers twitch at his sides, your body in a pool of red. Not me.

It was him, though, wasn’t it?

He doesn’t remember what happened, cannot recall the memories in his brain—a demon, the Lord of this forest, and a prisoner all in one. You hadn’t killed it, no, there was no way to do that. Silver could only do so much.

But it had done something to you, to make your scent twist and rot. Your soul didn’t smell right.

“I…” Simon’s voice fails him.

His body is broken and bent, his entire side burning with pain, but none of that matters. Brown eyes quiver, and the man goes to lick his lips only to gag at the taste of copper, snapping his eyes away to pant quick breaths into the tree line.

Simon’s hand raises to hover above his stomach, shaking.

“I didn’t bloody do that,” he mutters, the evidence on his chest and stuck in his pores. The forest is silent. “I didn’t do that.” The man says it louder.

You stare forward numbly with a broken neck and a torn-out throat.

Foot twisting him around, he levels his back to you, hands coming up to his head as his jaw clenched so tight his molars scream at him. What had happened? What had gone on? Simon closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders forward.

“No,” he growls. “No, I didn’t fucking do that to you.”

The night continues to keep him in its black hold, the snow absorbs the blood and black liquid. He can smell the rot—the infection under your skin as it brands your corpse.

This forest was like a beacon to every monster in its vicinity. It called them here and made them lose themselves. Under the light of the moon and sun, whenever its branches told him to run and hunt as a beast, Simon Riley had no option but to obey. He would come here on a moment's notice when he felt the change coming over him, to his hut and his glade.

There were few times he could predict it, and no matter how much he wanted to stay with you, that just wasn’t how it worked.

Every monster that was called here was bait for that demon, and no monster had the ability to wield anything that could kill it. No silver. No holy water.

But a mortal could.

Every hunter entering these dark bounds had been hunting the wrong colossus and never had the chance to know it.

Simon bends slightly forward to hold his head tighter, grunting out whimpers as if trying to keep his brain from falling out.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then louder than a scream and longer than the first, “Fuck!” The trees shiver.

Simon harshly pulls at his hair, feeling the strands snap before he slides his hands up and down his face; trying to push off the crimson yet he only succeeds in spreading it. He can’t hear your heart beating anymore, can’t hear the swell of your lungs. Nothing.

Hand lashing out, his knuckles connect with the hard bark of one of the tree’s trunks and he sends it back and forward three more times until his fingers crack and bend. When he’s done, the man doesn’t even notice the tears freezing on his cheeks as his breath puffs out in clouds.

Simon silently stifles a ragged inhale and sags forward, unable to turn back and look at you—he can’t bear it after everything he’s been through. Forehead tapping the rough bark, his pain-filled body flaring, the blond clenches his fists like an angry child.

He should have told you in the glade—in the safety of consecrated ground where holy men and women had been buried for time immemorial. He should have explained why it was only you that made him whole.

But Simon was a silent creature; a creature of silent glances and hidden softness that borders on a fear of abandonment. He would never tell you until you happened to figure it out yourself or if it became undeniable.

Oh, you should have stayed away.

His knees threaten to give out, so he lets them go until he can move his body to the side and lean against his tree. Barely breathing, he cares not about the cold. As he did when he was a child, all those years ago yet still shrouded in pain and hate, he loses any and all expression from his face—brown eyes dark as they stare at nothing.

There had been a moment that he’d come back to himself as the Ghost. A brief moment.

Simon wants to hang for the memory he now holds.

Your eyes, blood-burst, looking into his own as his fangs rend your flesh in two. The feeling of your neck snapping under his jaws. Tongue lolling in blood and licking its muzzle; whiskers dripping.

This time Simon gags, but he also hurls up his guts, too.

Bending his aching spine, his forearm keeps him up, bare thighs tensing and nerves quivering as his abdomen bunches. Simon pants staring blankly at the bile in the snow, saliva pooling in his mouth. He still can’t look at you.

With little left for him, the man curls up in the snow and resigns himself to freezing to death, arms loose around his waist and injuries screaming at him.

He’d killed you—is death not the only option left for him as well?

Simon lays there until his eyelids grow heavy, only thinking of you and how you had been. Your kindness, your wit. He enjoyed your loudness, and there was no one to perfectly challenge him but you.

From the first time he’d seen your form, it had only ever been you. He was yours, utterly; wholly. He should have told you to stay away.

“M’sorry, Love” he whispers into the ground, shivering violently, lips blue. His head is turned away as the trees hold their breath. “All my bastard fault—should’ve been me. It…fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes, clenching his jaw. “Should’ve been me.”

He mutters his self-hatred until he falls silent and his chest rattles. Until the forest listens.

Until it answers.

Simon’s eyes snap open to the sound of a world cracking in two and finds your body gone.

—

This place isn’t real.

You sit in a mirror vision of your shop, but nothing is correct. Looking into the corners, shadows slip away with quiet laughter, and the door rings but no one walks through. It’s…repetitive. It never stops, but you can’t seem to leave.

You think it’s been days, weeks, even. Always it feels like there’s something watching you, and the window of your shop shows nothing but black night outside and flickering lamps.

It doesn’t feel right to speak.

If you speak, whatever is standing out in the street will know you’re here.

You shake as you watch it now, silent and swallowing down saliva. Its eyes have been ripped out, and the chains along its wrists drag so loudly you can hear them even through stone and wood; they make you flinch and shiver. For whatever reason, the phantom of the man cannot find you, though he has been looking.

He even knocks on the door.

It was a clanging, dead, thing. With a slam of a gnarled wrist and a raspy cry of your name on his slit tongue. You don’t want to ask how it knows your title, so you only hold your hands to your mouth to stifle your sobs. But for all of this, you still contained self-awareness.

You’re in Hell, or some strange, twisted version of the middle point. Purgatory.

But why? Why here of all places—your soul had been branded, you heard that curse and felt the blackened nectar in your flesh. Had known what Simon had…

You blink quickly, looking away from the twisted man and taking down a shaky inhale.

Whatever this place was, you and this shade were the only ones here. The only once-human ones, anyways. You didn’t exactly want to go out and meet him.

“Please!” It bangs on the door again and your head snaps up in panic, hand whipping to your mouth to hide the sharp gasp. If you ever got out of here, you never wanted to see your home again. This version ruined it. “Please, let me in. I can’t see—it took out my eyes! Please, please I need my eyes.”

Your eyelids close tightly, your heart clenched and beating fast.

All of this terror lets you think about Simon. And so you do, and try to not blame him for what he did even if you know in your heart it’s not his fault.

You remember the first time you met him, and you think that’s perhaps one of the best memories you hold.

“If you expect me to fix this, you’ll need to hand over half of your soul and a blessing from God himself,” you frown at the remains of a pair of tweed pants, blinking with your mouth agape. “I’d ask what happened, but I think that would put me on a list of some kind, Sir.”

Simon stares.

“How much?” You sigh and shake your head.

“Really, there’s very little I can do here short of just offering you a new pair.” Placing the scraps on the table and lightly pushing them forward, the man moves his large hand out to take them from you.

Your fingers touch, and you blink as a slight spark makes you flinch. Simon as well, you remember, had snapped his hand back to him, his eyes slightly widening and his throat holding down a breath.

“Woah,” you mutter, touching your head as you suddenly go lightheaded. “S-sorry about that, I don’t know what—”

“Both.” Simon slides the fabric back to you.

Your senses come back in a slow sweep and you clear your throat. “...Both?”

“Fix the pants and sell me another, yeah?” A quirked brow, but something else swims in that dark gaze, something that fights with itself. “I’ll pay. Money’s no problem.”

“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. The both of you stare at each other.

You’re struck by the thought that this man’s eyes are far more deep than anything you’ve looked into before.

“Of course, if that’s what you want.” He grunts, tipping his head and looking to the side for a moment. He wears that strange covering, too. The one that sits on his nose.

“Good.” Simon backs up a step before pausing. “You have a name, then, Tailor?”

You tilt your head and cross your arms, eyes narrowing carefully. “Just as you do.”

That silk fabric twitches, gaze sparking.

“Simon Riley.” Your smile slowly pulls at your muscles, and for the first time throughout the day, you truly mean it.

You don’t know how time works here, but you also can’t really understand that you’re dead. Of course, the thought of an afterlife crossed your mind in your living hours, but you’d never thought you’d go to one so soon.

But every time you blink, you don’t think you’re meant to be here.

So, again, why? The question was mulled over incessantly after every memory of Simon, and you start to believe he’s the catalyst.

What were you missing?

The man himself had hinted at it, talking about how your scent to him was opium—like a drug. It kept him…him even when a monster.

“Please!” You’ve discovered that all of the windows are bolted and the front door is locked, but it never becomes daytime here. A perpetual night and a pleading soul guarding you. In the long hours where you sneak from one empty room to another, so similar to real life that it makes you sick, you wonder if this place is an exact replica of the city you called home.

If some of the other houses are not so vacant after all; the inhabitants hiding like you are. Purgatory sounds about right.

Chains drag and there are garbling sobs and you stare at the door without the key to open it.

The thing was blind—if you could sneak past it…your eyes looked out the window to Simon’s home across the street. There was a pull to all things that included him. A sanctity. Despite how your life had ended, how you’ll surely still think about it and sob out of pain, you can’t blame him for it.

He didn’t have control.

You begin to think of a plan to break out without making any noise as you close your eyes tightly, hands clenching at your sides.

“Back again, Mr. Riley?” Your bell rings and you glance at the intimidating figure walking through. He takes a deep breath when he enters, nodding in greeting before lumbering to the counter.

“Any trouble?” He had a habit of asking this when he’d been gone on a longer trip of his, always back disheveled and with bags under his bloodshot eyes. As if he gets back and the first thing he wants to do is come see you.

The thought didn’t bother you.

You laugh, “I’m happy to report the only thing that happened was that a pigeon ran into the window.”

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder to blink at the impression of feathers on the front glass.

“Poor Bastard,” he huffs, amusement in his accented tone as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Get any feathers out of it? New pillow if you’re lucky.” He tilts his chin. “If you know how to pluck a bloody corpse, that is.”

“You’re incredibly strange, Mr. Riley,” you laugh, nodding your head at him. “I’ve never heard a man state such things.”

“I wrong?” Simon grunts, but you hear his slight smile in his tone.

You only roll your eyes. “I highly doubt a pigeon would give you enough feathers for a pillow.”

“Well, you’re just not fuckin’ trying hard enough then, yeah?”

“Are you here for a reason, Sir?” You can’t stop smiling, holding back your loud laugh as happiness is plainly stated on your face. “Or are you just here to speak to me about the feather-quantity of the local birds?”

Simon’s eyes are crinkled slightly, and you try very hard to imagine him beaming just as you do, though you know it’s slim.

You want to make him smile; you want to be the reason he does. And you don’t even know why.

Your very soul leaps when you see him from across the street, it tightens and calls out like a reaching hand desperate to grasp into another counterpart. You’d never felt like this about a man before, much less one you barely knew anything about on a personal level.

You liked Simon Riley.

“I was thinking ‘bout a new undershirt. Black.” A hand moves up and a pile of money is placed on your counter. “Anything’ll be good, just need a new one.”

“Of course,” you easily slip into business, not bothering to look at the sum. “Special occasion?” You pause before fake laughing. “A lady to impress, perhaps?”

Your heart sinks more than it should; nearly hurting. Did Mr. Riley have a courtship?

He blinks at you carefully, long lashes caressing his scarred cheeks. You swore his lips under the silk twitched.

“No,” is all he says, blunt and casual, thighs shifting.

You stare, hands touching themselves on the counter as heat burns your cheeks.

“Okay,” you mutter, embarrassed, though you don’t know why. “That should be no trouble at all. I’ll just need your measurements.”

Simon nods once, staring at your hands before he takes off his jacket and places it on the wood. You grabbed your long measuring tape and slipped to the front, asking lightly for him to hold out his arms.

Heart hammering, he does so; great torso flexing and face blank.

You begin with the chest, sliding your hands along his clothed body to flatten out the tape until you can see the mark it rested at. It would be false to say you didn’t lose your breath slightly, being so close and able to freely feel the swell of his muscle. Under your fingers, his pulse was like a hammer, and he was so large you actually had to give him a hug to connect the other side around him.

“S-sorry,” but Simon’s eyes are entirely blown, body tense and slightly shivering as your hands feel him.

“Don’t be,” he breathes, and you feel the push of his lungs to his ribcage; molten heat.

Your lips tingle, and heat seeps into your stomach as you shift your thighs to quell it.

Simon grunts, and his head turns down incredibly fast.

You blink. “Mr. Riley?”

“Nothin’,” his lips flinch, and his brown eyes, more like black now, dart to your lips. “M’fine. Keep going.”

You do so, oblivious to the coil in the man’s gut that mirrors yours, flaring with every gentle poke and prod.

It was when you’d almost given up that there seemed to be something else on your side in this god-forsaken place. You found your knife.

It was in the same drawer where your tape measure should be, just sitting there where all else was absent. You stare and slowly reach for it, sliding your fingers over the hilt and the glint of the blade before picking it up.

But you’d checked this drawer a million times over, what had—

There’s the sound of a fluttering of wings outside of your shop, and you’re unimpressed with yourself at how your mind immediately goes to a helpful pigeon spirit. You hold a hand to your lips to stop yourself from laughing, despite it all.

A spark alights in your heart.

“Thank you,” you whisper to nothing, turning the blade over in your hands and smiling.

Walking slowly, you avoid every creak in the wood—unlooping your belt for the small prong that would come in handy. Placing the blade into the slit of the lock, you insert the prong above it, twisting and waiting to hear a series of clicks; putting your ear next to the wood.

The dragging of chains is far off, the loud wailing distant.

Now or never.

You hold your breath and listen to the sounds of the lock, sweating and grimacing. It’s so very silent outside—you’re so used to the clanging of metal and the clop of hooves that it scares you more than the monster. Like you’re standing out in a field but there’s no wind, no air even. Unnatural nothingness.

So hard at focusing, when the click of the door lets you know it’s open, you don’t notice the heavy breathing on the other side. Standing and taking out your knife, you silently celebrate plucking your belt away just as the handle jiggles.

Only you’re not touching the handle.

Blood leaving your face, you can only skitter to the side as the hinges squeal like a dying animal, the barrier slowly opening as your back flattens against the wall. At first, nothing happened.

The door is open and you stare wide-eyed as no sound enters your ears. Lamp-light seeps in, creating a long glow along the floors.

A ragged breath makes you want to shrivel up, and then the wailing starts.

“Please, please, where are my eyes?” Too close.

You flinch wildly as chains are dragged into the room, the scent of dead wood sticking to your nostrils. Up close, the man’s skin is dripping water—seaweed over his shoulders and hanging off his restraints.

He walks inside and the gaping wounds of his eyes make you nearly gag. “Where did you take them? I want them back, please, let me borrow yours until I find mine again.”

He drags his heavy silver chains far into the shop, stumbling and groaning through sobs. Those things seem to have no end to them, and he bumps and walks into the back room right as you slip outside.

Immediately, you rush out into the street, crossing the cobble and hopping the long metal ahead of you as you re-loop your belt with one hand and grip your knife tightly. Getting to Simon’s house, you grasp the handle of the door and pull.

It jerks with a bang of metal.

Locked.

“Shi…” you trail your curse and bite your lip. Silently, you take a step back to quickly think as the warden still calls hopelessly from your shadowed shop. Where else would you go? The inner city? The town?

Your eyelids blink.

The forest. That had to be it—there had to be answers there, right?

You were beginning to grow more fearful that you would be stuck here forever, in between life and death. A branded soul and yet, you weren’t in Hell. Or, at least, you imagined Hell far more hot than this.

Turning, you slip down the steps and speed walk down the road, not running for fear that your shoes would make too much noise. That was also strange—all of your clothes were mended here, stitched back together as if never cut; wounds healed and nonexistent. You weren’t one to complain.

“Where are you going?” The Warden is on the steps, and he falls down them in a shattering of bone and a slurp of wet skin. “Please, give me my eyes! I can hear you running away—I can smell your souls! Let me have what little is still free! Let me see!”

Souls?

You start sprinting as the great wail of chains lets you know you’re being pursued.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your lips expel, skirts swish, and muscles tense all at once. Like a race, the man’s panting breath is almost felt on your neck, bare feet far faster than he should be. “I don’t have your eyes—I’m sorry, but you’ve really got the wrong person! T-try down the block?!”

You call loudly behind you in hopes that it will get him to give up on you, legs pumping harder as he screams with rage and you curse yourself with every breath. He’s gaining on you, somehow, this blind beast is gaining on you.

There was no way you were making it to the forest.

In a split-second decision, your shoes skid over the street, and, steeling yourself with what little sanity you have left, you turn with your knife at the ready.

Hell, you’d already died once.

But you’d never forget the image of this beast running towards you with a wailing mouth and dragging chains, the things so heavy they wrench back his arms. You falter for a moment, but shake your head and raise the knife in one hand, gritting your teeth despite your unimaginable fear.

Bravery was far too hard at this moment, but there was no more running. You take down a shaky breath and will your arm to stop vibrating with its sweaty palm.

“My eyes!” It screams. “Give me your eyes!”

Seven feet, five, four, three—

A familiar rageful roar takes over, and a black shadow covers the street lamp light from above as if a storm of vengeance. You watch as the gargantuan body flies over you and wastes little time for pleasantries.

The Ghost slams its body into the Warden, and they go down in a flurry of feral snarls and wails. You watch, frozen still with shock, as black claws can be heard tearing through flesh and rending meat, a slick slapping of pig slop as black blood spills to the streets.

In the utter absence of all else, you listen with a quivering body, the fear extending down to your spine. Not of the other thing on its back, wailing and sobbing about its eyes even as its gut is invaded by a large muzzle and ivory fangs, but of that muzzle-owner itself.

You didn’t realize how much of a shock it would be to see Simon again. Like this.

Your eyes stare blankly at how an arm is ripped from its socket, shredded from a shoulder, and tossed to the sidewalk with a rabid jerk; the body of the Warden lifted as the Ghost rises to his back paws and grips tightly. Hands on the lower half, mouth on the top, your jailer is torn in two with nothing more than a tear and a sound of vertebrae popping.

Black splatters over your cheeks, but you make no move to swipe it away.

Simon drops the body to the ground, and it twitches—it speaks as it bounces. Brown eyes dig into its mangled face, ears erect.

“My eyes…M-my…eye—” A large paw pad is pressed into its head, and pressure is leveled. Brought down like an anvil.

The Ghost crushes a skull under his foot and the resounding pop is enough to make you snap out of your frozen terror. He turns to you seconds later, mouth stopping its snarling and going silent all at once.

The beast blinks slowly, ear twitching once.

Averting your gaze, you completely give up in light of this new arrival and clench your eyes shut. Your neck hurts—burns—like it’s being ripped open over and over again, snapping, and the light getting sucked away.

Great feet take lumbering steps forward; you take one back.

“I…I don’t,” you shudder and shake, hand holding your knife. Your mind can’t comprehend him being here—in this void with you, leaping in a great bound to tackle the monster to the ground. No, no, this was another phantom. He was going to kill you again.

Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t his fault.

You back up some more until there’s a soft huff. It’s tiny, small as if coming from a lap dog that Mrs. Ida would own. Your eyes are firmly shut, yet he tries again.

A wet nose is leveled to your forehead, pressing in and tapping you lightly. A chuffing noise echoed in the back of his throat, gruff and low as he breathed you in. You hide a whimper as that nose dips to your neck, imagining the ways he’s going to sink his teeth in and how your bones will—

The Ghost sags into you, and with a flick of his ears, the large head begins to rub into your flesh as he grunts. Your eyes snap open as his gargantuan hands circle your waist, anchoring you to his chest as he leans back on his haunches; small noises bouncing from his breast as he curls his head behind yours. You’re lifted gently as you squeak, hands snapping to dig through fur and, like logs, your feet dangle from under you.

You don’t speak as Simon begins running out of the city, down the black outskirts. Into the midnight shadows the two of you disappear in the direction of the mirrored forest, your body in his grip and the side of his head never failing to lean into yours. You can feel his eyes roving, darting down and around, before always coming back to you regardless of the things he smells here.

Like a candle in the dark, he had already scoured the bounds of this purgatory for you—waiting for that small flicker of something to grasp onto that would let him find your light. And it hadn’t been your scent or the way you’d yelled. It had been the very call of your soul, or, at least, souls.

Because that was what it was.

The reason you were here instead of Hell was because that corruption had only marked your soul. Not realizing that half of it didn’t belong to you.

Simon knew little about how it worked, but sometimes people are only born with a fraction of their soul as theirs—the other pieces snapping into place when a match is met but still not held as theirs. Your other half, the reason you stayed here, was because Simon’s soul had held you up like a rope to an anchor.

That spark in the tailor’s shop; the longing and the insatiable pull to be near you—marked as two pieces of a puzzle sitting right next to each other, the image leaking from one to the other.

A Fated Pair.

The Ghost breaks through the treeline and you curl into him as he covers you with his arms, eyes watching the black trees and the void of space above him. There were no stars here—no moon. You can’t see anything, but he can.

Simon rushes your intertwined souls back to the place he had dragged himself through; a great fissure in the earth that had opened and swallowed your body who knows how long ago. Weeks, months—years, even. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

His instincts brought him through, and his guilt had kept him going; this all-consuming and deathly guilt. He’d never forgive himself, but he can’t leave you here.

Simon finds the fissure as great screams begin to wail out from the city, echoing off the trees and over the air. A scream and a plea. Hundreds, thousands.

He doesn’t bother to stay, because you’re in his arms and his nose breathes in your scent. You grip onto him tightly, shaking with a fear-bathed quiver to your lips, and those large arms hold you ever closer; a large grunt and a rub of his chin.

Simon stands on the very edge of a void, and he jumps.

—

You wake to the large dog curled around you, softly breathing and using his body to shield you from the gentle snowfall. So warm does his blood run, that you don’t even feel the cold on you, only the brush of silk and the hard press of his hands.

Simon’s breath ruffles your hair, his spine shaped in such a way that not a sliver of you is visible to the world beyond your head in his neck, resting on the swell of his softness like a pillow. As if he was a swan, keeping you in a bed of feathers.

Your eyes flutter open, and you take air down to bathe in the scent of earth.

The Ghost shifts, grunting and not letting up on his grip.

You’re in the very same place you died, yet there’s no evidence of that—the blood is gone, the broken trees are surrounded by young ones, and the snow is deeper than it had been before. But your clothes are…

You shift, and the beast lets you go easily, though his eyes don’t leave your face. He stays on the ground as you sit up, looking down at yourself.

While the forest may have moved on, you, it seems, have not.

Your clothes are back to the state they’d been in before—torn and ripped open, long gouging marks and stains that would never come out. You tense at the sight, swallowing saliva down as if wine with a grimace. Like a magnetic link, your eyes slowly turn up to meet Simon’s.

He waits. He watches. That muzzle of his closed and his breath slow. If you told him to get away, there would be no doubt that he would—he would disappear and never come back to you, a memory that fades into a dream and then farther on.

Your fingers twitch as his large claw lifts, a finger pointed and slowly coming up to your face. You try not to balk away as it draws near to your nose, where a tiny snowflake rests. The blackened sickle pauses, Simon’s chest expands, and then he slightly brushes it away with little more than a twitch of his finger.

The knife is only a foot away, sitting bright and glinting in the morning light. You look to the sky to distract from your burning cheeks; your internal war.

Light. Real and glowing above you from a globe set into the heavens.

Gazing at it with wide eyes, your sockets fill with stinging tears, blinking until they slip down your cheeks and you put a hand over your mouth as a small sob wafts out. You bend your spine forward and cry, gasping.

Simon keeps himself away, unknowing if he should reach out or if he would only make it worse. His great body is tight with agony, souls raging with pain. Everything in this form was more instinctual, more in tune, he wanted to comfort you—to make it alright again, but even as a human, when had he ever been good at that?

The Ghost watched, body wound up but still deathly still; ears pointing straight. His hands twitch.

You sob until your lungs hurt and your head feels light, not knowing how to process this in the slightest. When you’re done you numbly stare at the ground below you, trying to rid your mind of death, demons, and wool.

A human hand on the top of your head makes you startle.

Snapping your red eyes up, you meet tight orbs of brown, a face twisted with remorse and a deep inner hatred.

“I…” Simon’s lips utter out, his voice low and pale skin in the snow. “M’sorry, Sweet Girl. I can never fuckin’ give you an apology that matters, eh? But I need to say it—I need you to know.” You stare and feel his fingers caress your scalp. He looks away, breath small. “It’s all my bloody fault, yeah? So don’t you dare think for a second that anythin’ comes back to you.”

The hand threatens to leave you, to slip back down and return to his side, but with a small noise of alarm—one that had Simon’s eyes widened in concern—your body darts forward.

Connecting with him, you make him grunt as his biceps press into your side, shocked as his first reaction is to make sure you don’t fall.

“Get me out of here,” you plead. “Please, Simon, get me out of here.”

There’s no hesitation as he lifts you upward, a bridal hold like the same he had used to lift you above the thorns and mutters into your hair as he quickly walks into the trees.

“C’mere, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, c’mon now, you’re back. You’re back.” The knife is left far in the past, and there it will stay—far away from the two of you. “Breathe, then.”

You bury your head into his neck, breathing hard and shaking not from the cold but from memories; things you shouldn’t know.

“M’sorry,” Simon says again, voice cracking. “Christ, I’ll never say it enough.”

If you hated him he understood—would welcome that Hell in its own right. Of all the things he’d done, this was the worst sin he could have ever committed. He’d spend the rest of his life thanking whatever power was out there that had broken the earth for him; had led him to you. His tailor.

You sob through a panicked chuckle. “Y-you already have, you brute.”

Simon rubs his face into your hair, holding your quivering souls together and opening his mouth in a shaking exhale as his eyes flutter.

“Breathe,” is all he says, repeating everything like a record and an order as you hone on the stiff tone—getting you to focus.

You follow the pulse in his neck, lips pressing into his flesh as your head tilts.

You’re both back at Simon’s hut as you still try to calm yourself, the man’s face turned into yours and his forehead pressing into your scalp. There’s so little for you to grasp onto besides him—how he feels, the dig of his fingers, and the sound of his breath.

He sets you on the bed and he pauses, kneeling down slowly as his hands come to gently clutch your cheeks.

“Can you look at me, Love?” Simon asks you, voice gruff in its low tone. You shiver, sniffling, before your eyes stutter over his features and land on those burial mound browns. He releases a tiny puff of breath—a flicker of his lip.

“Atta girl, jus’ like that, then.” The man blinks slowly, tilting. Simon looks you over with a heavy expression, one that shows the pain and the weight he carries. “Need to get these off, okay?”

A finger lightly travels to your neck, tapping the remnants of your shirtwaist as a few more tears slip out when you blink, shakily nodding. Simon’s lips tighten.

“Want to do it yourself,” he breathes, “or is it alright if I touch you, Sweetheart?” Your hands are too unstable to do it yourself, he knows that just as well as you do.

So, in a small broken whisper, you simply utter out, “Please.”

Simon nods once and the topic is settled; he knows.

The man’s fingers deftly undo the buttons, one after the other as the light from outside seeps into the small square of a home. He doesn’t comment—doesn’t make a sound—just does what he can to help you and get you sorted out; Simon could hear the rapid set of your heart, feel your pulse like a rampaging storm.

When you’re down to nothing but your flesh, the man grabs the covers from behind you and wraps you in them, his eyes not once flickering downward until you’re entirely swamped by fabric. A hand on your waist squeezes.

By now the brush of his skin atop yours had sucked you in as if lighting had struck with every pass or small press. The glide of his scars and calluses grounded you here.

There were very few beings that would hunt for you through life and death and fewer that stayed that course. Thumbs once more brush away the water on the swell of your face.

“Sleep,” he utters, even if there’s light outside.

You gaze at him, at his stubble and his pale complexion; the wind rustles outside. What would he do? Guard the door most likely, perhaps even think of how to get into town and grab new clothes for the both of you, food, and necessities. Simon’s mind was fighting itself, just as it always had but now there was the largest stain on his consciousness that he could ever remember having.

He was worried if he handled you, you might break under him. You…you already had. Avoidance, even if it killed him inside, was the best course of action.

Your mouth is filled with wool, tongue heavy, but in your heart and whatever feeling you have burning in your chest, you know you can’t let him move away from you. Simon being this close made it…easier. Even if a piece of you was still hesitant about black fur and sharp teeth. He had said it himself, hadn’t he?

Simon wasn’t the Ghost, but at the same time how could they ever be apart from one another?

Yet, your lips are already moving just as he’s about to stand up.

“Stay?” Simon’s lungs take in a silent breath, a moment of long silence as he tries to understand why you would want to be around him at all. His hands twitch, your eyes catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow. “Please, Simon,” you breathe. “I don’t…I can’t be alone again.”

He grunts and is already lifting you.

Simon shifts your body back and lays you nearest to the wall, shuffling his body until he can lie with his spine facing you; his face to the door as he stays unblinking.

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he says, and you turn so you can lightly rest your head into the span of his shoulder blades. Simon’s jaw clenches. “It’s safe here. We’ll figure it out when you’ve got your energy back.”

You want him to explain, but perhaps right now sleep was the best option. For all intents and purposes—you can’t even remember when you last had true sleep. So you stay there, skin to skin, and breath to breath as the sun still shines outside; the wind travels slowly.

As you slip off, Simon has to restrain himself from turning around and pressing you into him—leveling his head above yours and breathing you in like how he wishes he could. But no. Too much.

He’d explain it all when you were better.

So he settles on the fact that all he can do is watch the door with a far-off expression, his body sagging back into you as your heat meets his.

—

You slept for three days, and in that time, Simon had only left once. On day two he went into town where he’d snuck like a thief—and there truly was no better analogy. Wearing only a blanket once more, the man breaks into your closed Tailor’s shop; boards on the windows and a sign out front to set it for sale. Inside, everything was as it had been left. Dust and layers of stale air, but there was never a better place to be for Simon.

It was where he met you, after all.

He takes everything he’s able to carry. A large trunk of clothes, personal belongings, and anything that looks of great importance; clothing himself in a simple undershirt and pants along the way. With that, he goes to his own home and grabs all manner of money. Come morning, people would believe it was a robbery, and that was perfectly fine with him.

Mostly everything belonged to you, anyway. They could have his sparsely furnished home and its cracking foundations. It mattered not. But he knew you needed your work—your passion.

As he grunts and lifts the trunk, a knicker echoes out behind him. Blinking, dark eyes look behind to find a meeting pair—a long horse’s neck leaning out of a stall. They stare at each other before Simon huffs a chuckle and turns to the shadows.

When you finally did open your eyes again, deep in the third night, everything was different.

You blink at the bright roar of the fireplace, the flickering of the candles that push back any darkness—curtains on the windows to hide the blackness of midnight. There are your belongings on the cleaned table; the foot of the bed and, there, on the desk. Measuring tape, fabric scissors, and yards of materials are stacked in the spotless corners.

There’s no doubt that the broken window is fixed for the moment as well.

New sheets sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to get up before he can fit them. Jaw loose, you glance all around as the fabric pools at your waist, bare body glistening in the light as your head moves like a bird back and forth slowly. Dare you say it, the place felt…homely. Warm. Small, yes, but the definition of comfort rarely mattered when speaking on size.

There’s a shuffling sound outside the door and you realize you’re alone.

Face stuck at the door, your sudden tension is somewhat lessened by the small grunts and puffs of a large nose and heavy, clawed, feet. Somewhat.

An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.

Your hand lightly comes up to your throat, pressing very loosely as the sounds continue, spiking your cautious curiosity. You know you shouldn’t be holding this against him, but, you had…died. You had felt your neck snap and your blood coat his fangs.

Somehow, Simon had brought you back from that, but he had been the one to do it in the first place.

No, you think, feet very carefully sitting on the floor. No, not Simon. The Ghost.

Yet again—aren't those the same? It was a constant question.

Your lips are thin as the dagger in your heart digs ever deeper, but it is your dagger, and it is also your heart, too. Yours. Standing, you cover yourself with the thin sheet, hearing it drag behind you as your body takes you to the door with quiet and even steps.

So much the two of you have gone through—it seemed hard to comprehend it in this world of black fire and battling beasts; hell and purgatory. He’d tracked you down…how? As your hand meets the handle, slowly walking feet coming closer from beyond it, you tighten your hold on the fabric near your neck and breathe slowly.

You first see crimson, and then the beady brown eyes of a large dog and a stained muzzle. Breath tight, you stare at the dead bodies of two sheep in the Ghost’s maw, limp bodies hanging from the legs out of puffed cheeks. The both of you halt your courses.

Simon’s eyes slash down your nearly-naked form, and he drops the animals to the ground before his head darts to the side; snow splattered with blood and the imprint of large woolen bodies. He snorts and takes a single step back, seemingly hunching down lower as he sniffs the air in distraction.

His feet pivot, one clawed foot moving away.

“Simon,” you say, breath puffing over the cold air. He waits, head only slightly tilting your way; eyes pointing down. You don’t know why you speak, why you call to him like this.

The silence settles as you struggle to articulate, mouth opening and closing like it was a choice between speech or the metaphorical blade to your throat. You close your mouth and look to the side, the lids of your eyes tightly shut.

Without another word, you’re setting your feet in the drowned snow and walking up to him, fingers shaking before your hand extends from the elbow. It rests above the side of his muzzle, hovering with a tiny quiver as you fight with your own fear.

You can feel Simon’s eyes on you now, watching. Always watching. Forever watching. Eyes like hard earth; like the dirt under your nails.

Simon’s throat grumbles, and before you can make a decision, he helps make one for you.

He softly moves his great lumbering head down and to the side—slotting it under your hand as you gasp, feeling the strands of fur under your grip. Immediately, your eyes snap to meet his, seeing long lashes holding snowflakes. The Ghost’s so large that he has to bend low in order to give you a comfortable resting point for your hand; sitting in between his sharp ears.

You swallow down your nervousness as the seconds draw on, your heart rate slowing until you can properly move closer and feel the waves of fur beneath your fingertips. Playing with them, you card your digits in gentle strokes, hearing the low purr that rattles your bones as a great weight is leveled into your torso.

A tiny giggle emanates from your chest, and the beast responds by only pushing himself deeper into your stomach.

“Easy,” you mutter, eyes light as a smile forms on your lips.

The chill seeps in gradually as you both stand there, a werewolf and a barely-clothed tailor. Before long you’re shivering even as you feel content next to Simon and to steal some of his furnace-like heat.

You pull back and the wolf momentarily tilts to find you, only to open his eyes when he can’t feel your sturdy body. He blinks, before slowly standing back up to his full height.

The light from the hut seeps out to cover you, and you take comfort in that—if the door shuts on its own, you’d be left in a darkness you know you’ll fear for many, many years. With its illumination, you speak freely.

“I don’t know how you did it, Simon,” his right ear twitches. “But…but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I should, I know I should, but for the life of me, whenever you’re near I can’t think straight. Please, when you’re back to,” you huff a tiny laugh, “whenever you’re back to walking in a man’s skin, explain it to me. Explain why I can’t think of anyone else but you.”

Avoiding the sheep, you step back into the hut and close the door as those dead eyes follow loyally, the wolf not breathing beyond a thin line of condensation wafting into the air.

You only make it five steps back to bed before the wooden barrier is opened loudly, hitting off the back wall and shutting closed on its own. Turning back quickly, startled, you’re met with a fast panting chest and a human hand that swipes blood away from his lips. Bare skin is close to yours, and your eyes widen at the instantaneous blown feeling of your pupils.

Simon’s face is above yours.

“Because you own half of my fuckin’ soul,” he breathes into your scalp, accent rich and heavy with implication. “Just as I own half of yours.”

Literal or a metaphor, you care not.

You both stay there, hearts pumping and skin tingling as the air increases in temperature—the sheet around you held in a tight fist suddenly seems almost suffocating. Your arms itch to drop it. Drop it now and let him see you; let him feel you like no other has. Where did these thoughts come from? Or…had they always been there?

The man hasn’t moved, and you know he won’t do anything unless you ask it of him, but you can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of blood and musk. Quick death and dragging claw.

If he was fire, it would be a blessing to be burned.

“Simon,” you say, voice tight. He grunts like a damn dog, hands at his sides twitching as his bare chest shines. So many scars. You want to trace them, to feel them writhe. “You’re no good for me.”

“I know,” he growls.

You press your lips to his and breathe him down as the sheet falls from your shoulders, all-encompassing hands finding the swell of your hips and sliding behind them; gripping tightly. Your own dig at his waist, finding the bulk of his abs and the deep tapper of his v-line before you gasp at his hand kneading the flesh of your arse.

At the motion, Simon takes the opportunity to smirk before letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You release a small noise from the back of your throat, and he groans—one hand coming up to grip the base of your skull and maneuvering your head farther upward. He pulls back and presses into you, your face growing hot as he finds your neck and starts leaving deep open-mouthed kisses as his chest vibrates.

Lips swollen and sensitive, you whimper as he bites down at every other interval; arms around his waist and nails running up and down his spine. Simon shivers, hips lightly bucking as you press on the small of his back.

“Fuckin’ hell, Love,” he nuzzles under your ear, pupils wide and blackened, feral-like. “The things you do to me, yeah? Drivin’ me up a damn wall whenever I caught a whiff of what I did to you.”

Your stomach is rolling in tight knots of desire, lungs heaving as his hands squeeze and travel. At your core, you can already feel the slippery effect on your folds—a stain of sin that leaks out with nothing to hold it hostage inside of you. Face tightening as Simon groans long, he leaves hickey after hickey, as if unable to not mark your neck and under-ear.

The feeling of teeth there doesn’t even startle you, no, not now.

You ache with need, legs threatening to close in on themselves before Simon loops a hand in your inner thigh and keeps them open. The world around you blurs as your body tingles with a yearning that almost hurts.

“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” his lips come back to yours and you let him ravish you with long, deep kisses as his hand moves up. You balk forward and shiver as you feel the deep press of his growing lust for you against your stomach. “Don’t wanna know how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.”

Your eyes flutter, and you gasp out through the joining of your hungry mouths, “Show me, Simon. Show it to me.”

His teeth bite slowly into your bottom lip, easing you into this game of wolf and sheep as his half-closed eyes open and dig into you. Simon’s fingers flex but don’t move, the other still at the base of your neck; your own have been leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back for a while, absentmindedly pulsing along with the heated blood in your veins.

There are still the remnants of sheep’s blood on his cheek—slashed up the side of his face and over his deep-set eyebrow, but you find you don’t care at all.

With how his fingers tap so close yet so far to that sensitive bundle and the dripping mess of your insides, nothing matters.

“My Girl wants that?” Simon hums, and as easily as if he were picking up a shirt from your shop, he lets his thick fingers push you open as you suck in a quick breath and sag into him. Into his neck you sigh, hitched airways making it seem tight. Instinctually you open your legs wider, whining at the press of calluses and scars in your clutch and sliding up your sensitive walls.

Simon stops and waits mid-way past his first knuckle with two fingers, groaning as you tighten and flex around him at the foreign sensation. His thumb at the back of your head moves up and down, his own thighs hard with eagerness and a stain in his abdomen from the lack of attention—but he cares little about his own leaking head, content only when able to give you pleasure in the purest form.

Your stomach as well as his are wet from his weeping tip, the chill of it making you both shiver and try to mash your bodies ever closer as the sheet below you two is tangled at your feet. The fireplace crackles.

“Simon,” you keen, and he answers with a bite of your shoulder before rubbing his head into your neck. Like opium, he’d said. If only he could tell you your scent now was convincing enough to make him lay on a bed of burning coals if only he could smell it for three more seconds.

Arousal. Lust. Animalistic desperation that Simon’s eager to bring you to the brink of—face sick with pleasure and eyes blown with numb satisfaction. Open and bare to him.

“Attagirl, that’s it,” he slides his digits deeper as your hips buck, making him grit his teeth to hold back a grunt as his dick is jostled. “So wet for me, fuckin’ perfect. Let me help, yeah?”

“Fuck, Simon,” he buries his fingers at the base, wasting no time in crooking them back toward him and pulling his wrist down. You moan loudly, stretching and being played like an instrument. Simon’s fingers repeat the motion until you’re a mess of rutting thighs and shaky legs.

The man takes down every moan and whimper—every sigh and jerk with a growing sense of pride. His dick is begging for friction, and the little bit he gets is from your stomach rubbing against it with every slippery sound of his fingers entering and exiting your core.

Simon’s mouth is open with a tight pant for breath, mirroring yours before the pad of his palm rubs against your bundle. You arch into him, whining and pleading instantly with a burning face, half convinced something had overtaken your body to make you act in such a way.

The man moves his fingers faster, making sure to maneuver his limb in such a way as to get your clit harder and harder with every pass, leaving you limp in his arms. Simon anchors you to him with a hand on the back of your shoulder blades, grip hard and knuckles white.

As your face screws up and a fire burns in your core, nails leave long scratches down the back of his torso as if he was a wooden trunk to tie a horse to—a rock in a storm.

“Simon,” you sigh out, head stuck under his chin. “S-so good, keep going.”

He opens his mouth as he rubs his chin on the top of your scalp, mixing your scents together potently.

“Look at me,” Simon utters, in his desperation to bring you to the edge, his accent is as deep as you’d ever heard it. “Look at me, Love. Wanna see your eyes watchin’ me as you fall apart. I’ll make it good, promise.”

“K…” You gasp as everything keeps building up and up, teeth clenching together and legs fighting to close around his hand—Simon bullies you open through the overstimulation; the flood of your senses. “Know you will!”

“So good to me, Sweetheart,” he grumbles, taking you by the side of your cheek and leaning back slightly so he can still let you rest on him but also watch.

Your eyes flutter with every rapid intrusion from Simon’s digits, tight and textured walls giving in to him as he pushes and prods, searching for something as his brows crease and his abdomen bunches. The man’s biceps flex and strain, feet wide open and lips parted as he locks onto your gaze.

“Fuck, what a bloody sight to see. Yeah, you enjoying that, then?” He mutters, and only when he pushes those teasing words out does he find a point inside of you that leaves your mouth opening and your toes curling; that he truly loses his breath.

Holding your head forward, Simon’s jaw slackens as your face contorted with pain-like expressions of confused pleasure, sweat glistening your forehead and your lips swollen—neck nothing more than raised skin from all of the man’s biting.

You strangle down such an instinctive and leg-shaking moan that Simon nearly forgets that he’s not even truly inside of you yet; balls tightening with building excitement and his length begging to be squeezed, used for nothing but that same expression on your face.

“Christ,” he breathes, teeth grinding and feeling you fight to keep his fingers in. Slick drips down his wrist, tapping the floor in a clear stain that could bring him to his knees.

You can’t even speak, spine curling with such raw electric sparks. If Simon isn’t careful, your legs will entirely fail you.

“Sim-” Your voice is high, mixed with panic as you let him hit that same point again and again like a hunter. “Simon!” You chant, fighting to meet his eyes as your vision blurs.

Everything was too hot, the scrape of his calluses on your flesh like a knife raking through your insides with pleasurable stabs.

“Jus’ like that, Love,” he breathes, not blinking. “C’mon know you feel it. Squeezin’ my fingers just right. Look at that pretty little face.”

You’re building and building, standing on the precipice of a large chasm. There’s nothing to stop you from going over the edge—and you don’t want anything too.

Your body tenses gradually, knees wobbling and your abdomen pulling into itself. A sharp claw seems to play with the string of your impending release, fiddling with it and taking it into its fingertip; rubbing it back and forth in a slow game.

Your breath comes out in short gasps, moans getting higher and more cut, Simon’s eyes are transfixed, panting like a dog, and, in an instant right before you break, moves his fingers at a break-neck pace.

Your sharp cry is caught on his lips, sucking it down as your orgasm floods his hand, leaving it a sticky mess that he continues finger-fuck you through with firm strokes. He’s whispering praises on your lips, keeping you up as his hand snaps to your waist when your legs buckle. Your walls move like a noose, letting the man fantasize how it would feel to have you speared open in his lap as you writhe and take him down in the low light.

All of these thoughts, this sight, make him harder by the second.

Simon keeps moving his fingers, drawing your explosive release out until you plead quietly for him to stop from overstimulation. The sensation makes your abused clit cause your spine to arch with every touch of his wet palm. He obliged, the sound of slick slapping halting, but his fingers didn’t leave your spasming cunt as your limp head fell to his shoulder.

Your chest heaves, aftershocks leaving your mind blank to all else but the press of skin and sweat. The air reeks of sex and hot breath.

Simon’s head clacks yours, fingers flexing as you whimper and dig your hands into his sides. He chuckles and slowly pulls out, taking long strings of cum with him as they string his fingers together and dribble to the floor from your slit. He holds you up, uncomfortably shifting his feet when your body jostles his raging erection—making him hold back a tight gasp.

“Good?” The man asks, gruff and casually. Your open mouth lays a firm kiss on his burning flesh as he side-eyes you waiting for a response.

“Yeah,” your voice is far off. Simon chuckles lowly.

In an easy sweep of his arms, you’re picked up and carried to the bed; set down to the plushness that’s down one sheet. You lay on your back, gazing up at the man as he stares down at you in turn.

Neither of you speaks until Simon has to rip his eyes away, clearing his throat. Your eyes travel down before widening at the violent red of the man’s length—the thing twitching and dripping pre-cum down to the base in an obvious plea for stimulation. Yet Simon makes no move to do anything.

“You should get some more rest—”

“Let me help,” you whisper, eyes widely innocent as they meet the browns that snap your way, those orbs slightly widening. “I own half your soul…right?”

Simon watches you, jaw loose.

“It looks painful,” you ease out, pointedly moving your gaze downward with unabashed boldness.

“Is,” he utters. If he was being honest, he was worried that he had been coming on too strong—that this part of the night might be going a bit far. You were a lady, after all, and he respected you as such. He needed confirmation.

“Then let me help, Simon.” Your eyes blink at him, hand coming up to trace the bulk of his thigh muscles. His breath goes shallow, self-control fraying fast. Just a little more. You lick your lips. “I want to feel you take me like no one else has. I want you to stay in this bed with me until the fire goes out and the light outside peels through the curtains. Can you do that for me?”

Your wet core pulses again, wanting—waiting for something more. Something only Simon could give you.

The man’s chest rattles. “Yes,” he relays, words low.

After a moment of eye contact, the man places his knee on the bed, shifting so that he has himself in between your legs; hands coming up beside your head. Your lungs are heavy, fingers coming up to rub over his blood-stained cheek as his nose brushes yours. Simon’s stubble itches you, but you still sigh constantly as he kisses you once more.

This was slower than the previous—less desperate though you don’t know how as you could feel the strain of his length prodding like a hot iron in your inner thigh. It made you slightly nervous, the size and the action itself, but you didn’t doubt who you wanted to be the one above you.

Simon kisses the side of your lips, nipping at the skin as he grunts out, “You sure?”

Brown eyes never waver as they stare you down. Any ounce of hesitation would be found immediately and the action would be over; Simon paraded around as a cold and heartless beast, but never had there been a man more considerate of your own safety. He didn’t want to hurt you.

You drag your fingers through his hair and he shudders, one grip sliding to your legs as the drag of barely-there claws makes your breath hitch. Your lips mutter, quietly, “Yes.”

“Gotta make me believe it, Sweetheart,” Simon kisses over all of the marks he left, slowly dragging the warm press of his mouth and side-eyeing you.

You glare down at him and feel his smirk on your skin, how he hooks his hand under your knee and lightly lifts the limb. Your muscles flex at the sudden spread of your legs, your hand in his hair grasping tighter. Simon sighs low as your body shifts, shivering at the slick heat he restrains himself from rutting against.

Face burning at your bare excitement, the man’s eyes glaze over.

“I’m sure, Simon.”

“Don’t wanna make you feel like you have to—”

“Simon,” you interrupt his comment, and the blond huffs, the air sliding over your heated skin.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” You smile softly and drag his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. “Let me try…” Simon mutters on your lips, and soon both of his hands are pushing up your knees as you widely blink at the openness of your core before your legs are folded up.

You whine at the stretch, the embarrassment of having your dripping folds on full display. This was foreign to you.

Simon hums, looking down and groaning. He taps his forehead to yours as you breathe deeply, letting him take control.

“Okay?” He asks, and your heart skips a beat.

“Are you going to keep stalling,” you breathe, looking into his gaze teasingly. “Or are you going to show me how you can’t function without me beside you?”

There’s a stretch as he lines himself up, hips moving back and abdomen sliding over yours—your lungs stutter as his eyes glint at you; lips flicking in a smirk.

“You going to keep me here?” You breathe, voice breathy as Simon’s length begins to steadily press forward, your face twists as you take him down, lines forming on your forehead. “Make me,” his hands keep your legs up beside you, open as they tighten. His lids narrow in concentration at the tight vice of your walls, having to slowly bully his way into you inch by inch. “Make me tailor your clothes a-and spin your wool?”

The sounds from your joining bodies are vulgar. A slide and a coating of flesh with natural assistance as Simon’s jaw clenches, not able to help the jump of his pelvis as you moan and arch your back as he moves even farther into your clutch.

You both writhe as he bottoms out, bodies shaking at the intensity of the moment and the sparks under your flesh.

“Ah,” Simon strangles a whine, eyes tight shut as yours follow. Quick kisses are placed on your lips. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?”

The great stretch of your insides leaves you sighing, tiny waves of pain pushed back by pleasurable pulsing and the scrape of veins. His head lays in the hold of your womb, slick leaking out from the ring of your core.

“We,” your hips jerk, and Simon’s hands on your knees tighten until you know there’ll be bruises come morning. “We’re beyond temptation.”

Simon chuckles—his eyes dark and glimmering in the firelight. “Smart girl.”

He lets you adjust there for a moment, even if his dick is pleading with him to move and drive your back into the mattress; to see your face crease in rapture. But that wasn’t what his head wanted, no, he wanted this done right.

When you look at him and your thighs stop shaking, he carefully grinds himself into you, letting your bundle of nerves meet the wirehair of his happy trail and give himself the slightest feeling of relief. You bite your lip, one hand on Simon’s cheek and the other still in his hair.

The angle of your legs makes you feel him that much deeper, even as he simply grinds himself inside of you and doesn’t move much beyond that.

“Feels good, y’know that?” Simon mutters as your mouth takes down a slow breath, eyes stuck on each other as the man fully begins to remove himself and softly flinch his length back into you; exiting just enough before letting him re-enter. “Tight; warm.” He shudders, gritting his teeth. “C-can smell you like this—how much you want it. Always have.”

You whine at the words, tightening around him as he begins gently fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin and tight walls joining the crackle of wood. The scents on the air are a perfect mix of addictive pheromones—so potent even you can smell it as you try to meet every dig of his hips.

Simon’s face goes to your neck, nuzzling into it as his eyes go tight.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out a groan into your ear, mouth open.

The heat returns easily to you, the burning in your gut. Simon’s pelvis hits you, stimulating your clit every time in the perfect way, as if he’d glanced at your body once and immediately memorized what made you tick. His sweat drips and pools with your own, slick leaking out to the mattress and making you feel dirty in the best way as your cut-off sighs hit the ceiling. It's hot in here; nearly too hot to focus on the slide of skin and dig of your nails into his hair. It’s telling how fast you seem to hit that peak again, at the constant scrape of his veins and the push of your walls as if trying to force him in.

Your back arches into him, and Simon cants his hips faster, biting on your chin and pulling at your lips as his eyes watch with eagerness. His abdomen bunches at the sheer pleasure he feels making you feel like this, chest heaving and large build all but swallowing you below him.

“Simon,” you breathe, kissing him on his lips eagerly, growing desperate.

“Let me take care of you,” the man grunts hard, getting harder to focus, “trust me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, clenching your jaw as he brushes a spot so deep inside of you that your eyes go blurry for a moment. Your lips move without your brain understanding the slurred words. “Yes, I trust you. I…I…oh, fuck.”

He sighs and bites a whimper down as your walls flex, gripping him tighter and tighter.

“Knew I’d find you,” Simon pushes your legs harder into the mattress, form slightly shaking. You moan high into his mouth, eyes fluttering and knot growing tighter. “Knew I’d make it right, eh? Death can’t keep you away from me, not now. I’ll find you.”

You gasp, itching cord snapping and release spilling out around the plug of his dick as he continues on as you jerk and rut out of order; eyebrows pulled in. It isn’t long after that Simon follows you, shoving his lips on yours as his mouth parts with a tight cry. Inside of you the spill of his seed fills your womb and he fucks through it, hands releasing your legs to rub up and down your sides.

Your core floods as he stays there, resting and stationary above you, his weight heavy but not crushing. The both of you stare at one another and breathe down the heated air; all of the scents and the desire there—the unspoken bond that extends life and death.

Simon grunts and forces out, breathless, staring through blown pupils.

“I’ll always find you.”

In the morning there’s a pile of wool sitting in a cloth sack against the wall, and the sound of chopping wood outside. The curtains are drawn to the bright rays of the morning sun as they meet your softly smiling face, visage half-covered by the newly fitted sheets.

1K notes · View notes

edenesth · 11 months ago

Text

The Way to His Heart [11]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.7k

Trigger Warnings: gore, implied mutilation

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 10 | Fic Masterlist | Part 12

Hearing the cessation of all the screams, one of the royal guards gathered the courage to enter the chamber and check on Seonghwa, "Sir, are you done?"

Upon entering, he had yet to witness the state in which the former minister was left. The general stood before his victim, actively wiping all the blood off his hands with a towel prepared beforehand, "It's done. Has my assistant arrived to pick me up?"

"Yes, sir. Assistant Choi is waiting with your carriage by the entrance. If I remember correctly, he mentioned Lady Park helped prepare dinner today." A smile instantly graced your husband's face at the mere mention of you.

"Thank you, soldier. Bring in the rest and clean up the mess," He instructed, finally stepping away from the seat in the middle of the room, revealing the sight of your father slumped in the chair, both of his arms missing, blood gushing out from his shoulders, "Get him to a physician before banishing him. No need to treat him extensively; heal him just enough to keep him alive."

Freezing, the guard nodded quickly, "Y-yes, sir! We will not let you down!" His round eyes fixated on the two mutilated limbs on the ground in the middle of the puddle of crimson liquid.

The general was truly not someone to be underestimated, that was evident to the royal guards who filed in later on to clean up the bloody mess. They now understood why Seonghwa was so feared among those who had worked with him or witnessed his cold-blooded nature firsthand.

However, rather than instilling pure terror, your husband garnered more respect from them. He had gone to great lengths just to avenge his beloved wife. This demonstrated that the man still possessed a heart after all and that his affection for Lady Park was undeniable. He has proven that he could love just as fiercely as he hated.

Not a single member of the palace staff harboured even a hint of pity for the former Minister of Military Affairs as they dealt with his mangled body according to instructions. Any citizen with access to news was aware of all the cruel acts the old man had committed against his own daughter and first wife. It was safe to say that witnessing him in this state brought ample satisfaction not only to the general but to others as well.

"Sir, there's a bit of blood here."

The assistant extended his handkerchief, ensuring his master was free from any signs of bloodshed as they returned home. The last thing they all needed was for you to catch on to any of the events that occurred today; you should only focus on happiness and never spare another thought for your so-called family from now onwards.

"Thank you, Jongho," The general responded, taking the piece of fabric to remove the small bloodstain on his neck, "Keep me posted on where they banished that clown afterwards. It would be nice to check in on him once in a while, for entertainment purposes."

"Yes, sir."

Upon entering the estate, he was surprised not to find you waiting for him by the entrance, as was your usual routine when he returned from work. Only the head maid and a few servants stood there, ready to greet him, "Welcome home, master. We hope you had a good day at work." They said with a deep bow.

Seonghwa frowned, "Where's the mistress?" The elderly woman replied, "Mistress is currently at the main hall having a chat with Royal Secretary Choi while they were awaiting your return."

That immediately had the general rushing towards the hall. He didn't like the thought of you alone with... yet another handsome man. He had finally grown accustomed to having Yunho around the estate whenever he was at work, only because the two of you rarely interacted; he knew that thanks to daily reports from Eunsook. Now, jealousy was flooding his veins again.

What if you found San more attractive?

"Yes, I fully understand your concern. My sister faces similar issues," The royal secretary's voice carried from outside the hall, and then your softer response followed, "Thank you so much for your help, San. It means a lot to me."

They're already on a first-name basis?

"Help? With what?" He queried, abruptly pulling you and the secretary from your conversation. Both of you looked up at him, and you blinked and stammered nervously, quickly rising from your seat, "Oh, Seonghwa! You're home! It's nothing, we were just having a casual conversation while waiting for you."

Sensing your unease, San chuckled and concurred, "Yes, it was nothing important. It's good that you're back; I've come to deliver the minutes of today's assembly to you, as per His Majesty's orders."

"Please don't let me interrupt; I'll be waiting for you at the dining hall," You remarked to your husband, offering a nod of gratitude to the secretary, "It was nice talking to you, Royal Secretary Choi," The man respectfully bowed his head, "And you, Lady Park."

The general watched the interaction between you two with unmistakable envy, causing San to suppress a snicker into his fist, "Without further ado, general, let's proceed so that you can join your wife for dinner as soon as possible," Seonghwa nodded, feigning nonchalance, "Of course."

As the secretary continued to share the main details discussed during the assembly, he noticed the general's slight distraction. Wrapping up the debrief, he decided to ease your husband's thoughts by divulging the nature of your earlier conversation.

"Listen, before you came back, Lady Park and I were just talking about her concerns regarding being a better wife. Given that my elder sister, who is married, shares similar worries, I was merely offering some insights that might be helpful. So, don't stress over it too much, okay? I assure you, you're the only one on her mind."

Learning that you were only seeking to improve yourself for him, Seonghwa's heart melted immediately. Regret washed over him for entertaining the notion that you might find his colleague more appealing, and a slight embarrassment crept in, "I, uhh... it's not like I was worried about that or anything... but thank you, San. If that's all for today, Jongho will escort you out."

The secretary held back his knowing smile as they bid each other farewell before the general made his way to the dining hall. His heart pounded with excitement at the thought of being with you again.

Dinner went by as usual, though this time, you were brimming with enthusiasm as you shared how you spent the day learning to prepare his favourite dishes from the kitchen staff. You even mentioned the surprising discovery that you might have developed a love for cooking. He ate more than usual, savouring the fact that the meal was made just for him, and found it difficult to take his eyes off of you throughout the night.

He had once considered happiness to be a frivolous notion, something only fools wished for. He never anticipated being the one to experience it. Now that he had, your husband was determined not to lose this newfound feeling.

With your family matters now resolved, the only thing remaining was to give you the grand wedding you truly deserved. From then on, the plan was to enjoy a lifetime of this happiness together. Watching you munching away with joy, he couldn't resist reaching over to affectionately wipe the corner of your lips. At that moment, he realised that this was all he needed.

After the meal, he walked you back to the House of Lotus, hand in hand as usual. Upon reaching the entrance, you smiled up at him, "Have a good night, Seonghwa."

However, before you could turn and leave, he swiftly cupped your face, "Wait, before you go..." Your heart quickened as he leaned in, whispering, "Just one kiss, my love."

Almost instinctively, your eyes fluttered closed as soon as his lips met yours in a tender kiss. The warmth spread through your insides as he wrapped his arms around your frame, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss by angling his head.

Feeling the sensation of his lips pressing against yours, again and again, you finally understood why couples enjoyed kissing. It was hard to put into words, but being so close to him felt pleasant, and your husband had a unique way of making you feel beautiful with his touches, even when you doubted it yourself. There was an almost addictive quality to it, making you feel like the luckiest woman in the world to be desired by the great General Park.

Perhaps I've found it... my happiness.

After breaking the kiss for a breath, he leaned his forehead against yours, a smile adorning his face as he looked down at you lovingly. In silence, the two of you remained in each other's arms, basking in the moment, reluctant to part.

Unfortunately, the moment was cut short as your assigned group of servants approached, "Oh, pardon us for the intrusion, master and mistress! We came to assist in preparing the mistress for bed. May we proceed, master? Or, if you wish to stay with the mistress, we could also make arrangements for both of you for the night in the House of Lotus."

His heart raced as he witnessed the faint blush on your cheeks in response to the maid's suggestion. Chuckling, he gently shook his head and placed a kiss on your forehead, "No, the mistress needs her rest. Perhaps another time. Go on ahead then; she will join you soon."

"Yes, master, as you wish."

The servants entered your quarters to prepare your bath while you exchanged your goodnight. Caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, he couldn't resist leaning in for a final, lingering kiss on your soft lips, "Goodnight, my love. I'll see you tomorrow."

As you made your way to your room, he felt a swell of affection watching you turn for one last wave before disappearing inside. He missed you already, and as much as he would have loved to hold you close all night, he knew that waiting until your proper wedding night to share the same bed was the right decision. For now, this was more than enough. After all, he had the rest of his life to spend with you.

"Thank goodness the ointment has been remarkably effective. I don't think you need to harbour any insecurities about your appearance anymore. Lady Park, you look beautiful." said Physician Jung as he arrived to assess the condition of your skin. Having you apply the medicine he prepared for some time, he recognised that his work here would soon be done.

Eunsook couldn't contain the grin on her face at the slight pink dusting your cheeks from the doctor's compliment, suddenly relieved that her master was not around. Lord knows how unamused he would have been to hear any of that or see your reaction.

"Yes, thank you, Yunho. She's always been ravishing with or without your ointment. I think your job here is done; it's my turn to enhance this beauty. Head over to the general's study for your pay if that's all," The doctor couldn't resist rolling his eyes at the dressmaker's dramatic entrance, "It's nice to see you too, Hongjoong."

With a dismissive wave, he shrugged off the sarcastic greeting from his tall friend, saying, "I'll catch up with you soon; I have work to do." Left with no other choice, Yunho offered one final bow to you before leaving your room with a maid escorting him out.

Closing the distance between you, the dressmaker swiftly retrieved the new hanbok he had made specifically for the special occasion today, declaring, "Now, who is ready to outshine all the princesses in the palace? It's you, Lady Park!"

"Outshine the princesses? I d-don't think that's a good idea—"

He interrupted you before you could finish your protest, "Nonsense! I promised General Park to make you the most beautiful woman in all of Joseon." With a small giggle, you sighed in defeat and allowed him to work his magic with the assistance of the head maid as they coordinated your appearance for your visit to the palace.

Today marked the day you and Seonghwa were meeting the King and Queen to discuss the details of your wedding ceremony in-depth, as well as allowing the royal couple to finally meet you after having heard so much about you. Even without having seen you, they already adored you from the stories your husband had shared. Not to mention, their hearts ached, especially after learning about your nightmarish childhood.

Seated at the vanity table, you gazed at your reflection in amazement as Eunsook worked on your hair and makeup, with Hongjoong providing expert advice and guidance. Just as the elderly woman was about to conceal the remaining faint scars on your face as she had always done, the dressmaker intervened, "No, wait. Leave the one on her forehead as it is; I have an idea."

With his extensive knowledge of fashion and beauty, he had always been intrigued by the Chinese makeup style, which incorporated temporary tattoos. Specifically, he was drawn to the idea of a small flower design painted onto women's foreheads.

Rather than covering your marks, he opted to transform them into an accessory that would improve your overall looks. With this distinctive look, you were bound to capture attention from all directions, not that your beauty didn't already achieve that. Now, you would stand out wherever you went, even within the palace grounds where princesses and royal concubines were always impeccably dressed.

Waiting by the entrance, Seonghwa turned when he recognised the sound of your dainty footsteps approaching. He didn't miss his assistant's awestruck expression, taking in your appearance from behind him, "Finally, Hongjoong's taken way too long..."

As you stepped into full view, his words trailed off, and his gaze fixed on you with a mix of astonishment and sheer admiration. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn't find the words to express what he felt. You had always been beautiful in his eyes, but his friend had truly outdone himself this time.

The most significant difference that caught the general's attention was the little red flower on your forehead, right between your eyes. That delicate design elegantly covered one of the scars you bore from your past. It was a stroke of genius from the dressmaker, turning a mark of pain into a unique and striking accessory that enhanced your natural beauty.

Your husband approached you, his eyes never leaving yours. Finally finding his voice, he whispered, "You look breathtaking, my love," before gently reaching up to trace the edge of the flower on your forehead, his touch soft and filled with so much love, "Hongjoong, you've done wonders."

The dressmaker grinned proudly and nodded in agreement, "I know, I always do."

Throughout the journey to the palace, the general found it hard to divert his gaze from you, just as you were captivated by the passing scenery outside. The roads to the palace differed from the usual routes leading to town, explaining your intrigue. As he admired your beautiful face, an unexpected desire surged within him to take you back home and shield you from others' eyes. A sudden uncertainty about wanting anyone else to see you overcame him. A selfish impulse urged him to keep you all to himself.

Before he could entertain the impulsive idea of turning the carriage around, Jongho had already announced their arrival. This time, Eunsook didn't bother to stand by and assist you down, instead waiting expectantly as the general smoothly helped you in one swift movement, determined to keep you close.

Having been here more than enough, Seonghwa knew this place might appear beautiful on the inside but could be very dangerous at the same time. People here might seem nice but rarely could be trusted, particularly the women. Well aware of this, he hesitated to let you wander off alone, despite your status as his wife. You were easily recognisable as Lady Park from a distance, anyone would have to be insane to dare mess with you.

Even so, he had no intention of leaving your side for even a moment. Palace servants passing by bowed deeply at both of you, and you did your best to maintain the poise of a noblewoman as practised with the head maid. The last thing you wanted was to make your husband look bad in here.

As you both approached the hall for the meeting with His and Her Majesty, the royal secretary rushed out to intercept the two of you. Almost as if your husband had jinxed it, San exclaimed, "There you are, General Park! We have a bit of a situation right now. Your immediate presence is required at an emergency meeting."

"But my wife—"

Finally realising you were present, the secretary bowed, "Oh, right, Lady Park! We're all aware you're here to discuss your wedding arrangements, but this really cannot wait. Even His Majesty is currently in this meeting expecting you. Would it be alright if we have your wife waiting by the cherry blossom garden? We'll have the servants prepare her some refreshments."

As much as Seonghwa detested the sudden change of plans, he acknowledged that he was left with no choice upon sensing the urgency in San's demeanour. With a nod of defeat, he agreed, "Okay, fine. Eunsook, please stay by the mistress' side at all times."

She nodded with a bow, "Of course, master."

Turning to you with a regretful frown etched on his brows, he said, "I'm sorry for having to leave you alone, my love. I'll come back to you as quickly as I can, I promise."

You shook your head with an understanding smile, "Don't worry about me, Seonghwa. I'll be fine. Your work is more important. Now hurry and go. Don't make His Majesty wait." Sighing lightly, he pecked you on the head before rushing off with the royal secretary.

"Lady Park, please come with us. We will guide you to the cherry blossom garden."

A team of palace maids appeared before you, showing you as much respect as they would towards royalty. Your status and reputation were well-known nationwide; you were favoured not only by your husband but also by the King and Queen themselves. No one would dare to disrespect you for fear of dire consequences.

Their dedication was evident in the top-tier hospitality as they led you to the enchanting garden, unlike anything you had ever seen. After thanking them politely, they prepared a seat for you in one of the pavilions within the vast garden, serving a tray of tea and some sophisticated-looking snacks.

Boredom eventually set in, and you glanced at one of the palace maids standing ready by the pavilion for any orders you might have for her, "Excuse me, would it be okay for me to take a walk around the garden?"

"Oh, certainly, Lady Park! Feel free to explore the garden as you please. Would you like any of us to accompany you?" Smiling and glancing at Eunsook, you declined, "No, thank you. We'll manage on our own. We won't be gone too long; you have my word."

"Thank you, Lady Park. Your assurance is appreciated; we'll await your return here." They bowed deeply as you and the head maid began your leisurely stroll.

As you wandered through the picturesque garden, marvelling at the vibrant colours of the flowers, you inadvertently caught the eye of a stranger who happened to be nearby. Your beauty, accentuated by the mark on your forehead, captivated the attention of this mysterious figure. What intrigued him even more was the unmistakable childlike innocence reflected in your eyes.

From a distance, he observed you with awe. The way you carried yourself, the genuine delight on your face as you admired the flowers and scenery—it all conveyed a sense of authenticity. Unlike anyone he had encountered, you seemed untouched by pretentiousness or spoiled airs.

Driven by an unexplainable urge to get closer, the stranger slowly made his way towards you, navigating through the enchanting garden. His curiosity was piqued, and he couldn't resist the desire to learn more about the intriguing woman who had captured his attention.

Unaware of the approaching figure as you immersed yourself in the beauty of the flowers, a clearing of the throat behind you signalled his presence. Eunsook, recognising the newcomer, widened her eyes and began to bow, but he gestured for her to remain silent with a finger against his lips and a subtle shake of his head.

Interrupting the tranquillity, the unexpected deep voice spoke, "It's beautiful, isn't it? Do you know what cherry blossoms symbolise?"

Startled, you turned to find a handsome man dressed elegantly, smiling down at you. After a moment of surprise, you nodded, "I do. I've read that they symbolise purity and beauty."

The man acknowledged, "That's right, much like you, my lady."

Concern flickered in the head maid's eyes, realising that the stranger might be unaware of your identity and possibly attempting to make a romantic gesture. Before matters could escalate, she decided to intervene, "Allow me to express our deepest respect, Your Highness. This is Lady Park, the esteemed wife of General Park. Mistress, may I present to you Prince Yeosang."

« Preview of Part 12 »

Seonghwa's eyes widened as they approached the War and Strategy Department building, where soldiers were marching about hastily, "Wait a minute, don't tell me—"

The royal secretary had no time to explain as he pulled the general into the meeting room where all military officials were seated and awaiting anxiously. The King, positioned in the middle of the room, sighed deeply upon noticing your husband's arrival.

"You're here, General Park. Is your wife also in the palace?" His Majesty asked, rubbing his head to alleviate an oncoming headache.

Seonghwa nodded in confirmation and inquired, "Yes, she is. She's waiting by the cherry blossom garden as we speak. Now, tell me. What is it? What has happened?"

With regret in his eyes, the King grimaced, "I'm so sorry, my boy. It seems your wedding will have to wait. Relations with the neighbouring nation, Ruhon, have not been very good lately. I fear war is inevitable this time, and... we need you."

Just wanted to make it clear that Ruhon is a fictional country. I've thought about it and decided it's probably best not to use real places for fear of offending anyone.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

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kittyscupcakeandbunny · 25 days ago

Text

My BFF is a Vampire

18+

BLOODY EYES 🩸

Characters: ot7 x reader

Warnings: This story contains nsfw content (descriptive blood, gore, etc.) as well as sexual content. Mentions may include violence, self harm, attempt to suicide, consumption of alcohol and blood, male and male sexual content, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, blood play, death, description of injuries, themes of major horror/psychological horror and also explores obsessive behaviors and codependency. Many characters are morally gray. The story will contain aspects of the show Vampire Diaries and the BTS Wings era.

>If you are sensitive to any of these themes please do not proceed with the story.<

Genre: supernatural, fantasy, vampire, reversed harem, best friends to lovers.

🩸My Master List🩸

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨 • 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 >

Chapter One🩸

The night felt cooler then usual. That for Spring Villa was uncanny but nothing about this town was near close to normal, I felt breathless. Running through the woods with nothing but the full moon above me to light up the path between the tall trees, the cold air burned inside my lungs.

I couldn’t stop even if I wanted too, my feet seems to move on their own. I should hide, I knew that. His presence became more obvious as the sound of his footsteps behind me became louder and clearer.

Every breath I took.

Closer.

Every step away.

Closer.

Until I couldn’t breath anymore, falling miserable on the cold wet path of the night. I could hear him laughing behind me, his deep breathy chuckled bitterly echoed around me.

I needed to get up.

But I couldn’t. My body wasn’t mine, I couldn’t move even if I begged myself to.

Vision getting blurred the more I tried to breath but no air was coming to my lungs, until the horrified feeling of a cold hand closed around my neck turned me around.

I couldn’t see his face even when he was so close to me, all I could see was his red eyes staring at me as he took my last breath.

The loud beeping noise of my alarm woke me up abruptly, I was breathless completely covered in cold sweat once again. I looked over the small vintage silver clock over my nightstand, glad it was still early in the morning and I had more then enough time to get ready to work at the Spring Grill.

A sight left my lips once I was finally able to catch my breath, once again I had the same dream. By this time I should’ve become used to them, It has been years since I started having weird nightmares, every damn night. It became unbearable and at some point I had to go to the hospital once after waking up screaming, I don’t remember anything from that night just that the nightmares continued since then. I used to take pills to help me sleep and at first they helped but as time passed they simply stopped working and I was too tired to ask for more, because of my reputation the doctors could’ve locked me at the mental facility and feeling helpless I just stopped taking them, I gave up on trying to stop the nightmares. They won’t go away no matter what I do. What’s the point fighting?

The day had just started and I felt restless.

Tired from knowing exactly what would happen after I opened the door of my room and went downstairs, knowing exactly how my day is going to start and how is going to end. Every day is the same for me. I wished I could say something about it but there is nothing especial about my life in this town.

I was known for being the weird girl, psycho girl down the street with an alcoholic mother who every neighbor hates now.

I used to be someone just like everyone, I had dreams like every other girl in high school did and I wanted more from life than anyone else did. I was alive.

For years I tried so hard not to let my parents actions get the best of me but now I feel like I can’t bearly breathe, my mother drank all her emotions away with alcohol till the bottles are empty just like herself.

I’m no better then her. Hiding away my scars with a jacket so no one knows it. Not that they would care anyway.

Once I’m pleased with my appearance after getting ready, making sure to hide the dark circles under my eyes with make up. I hold on tight to the door before opening in a breath, immediately holding my breath as I walk down the corridor to the stairs. A sight of relief washes over me as I notices she’s still asleep in the couch as I walk over the door as quietly as possible.

Mom was passed out again and thankfully on the right time for me to leave unnoticed by her.

Another sight of relief leaves my lips as I could finally breath in the cold air of Spring Villa, it was not always that I could leave home without any trouble caused by my mother. I was always grateful when I could.

And for just this once I could actually smile. Even though I knew everything would crash down when I get home later at night. For now I let myself breath for once.

Making my way through the empty streets till I get to the Grill, it won’t be a long walk anyway. Spring Villa was not known for being a big city, you could walk pretty much all around here and you could never be late. Every place here was placed right next to it, especially the neighborhood that’s why you can’t keep secrets in his town. People are so noisy here.

The center of the city was much more busy today, more tourist must have come since Halloween is in two months now. The perfect time to spread the old reports about the city’s history of a serial killer. People are so empty it makes me sad for them, but in all honesty sadness is all you can find in this city.

Once I finally get to my destination I open the wooden doors to the Spring Grill immediately being embraced by its warm interior, making my way to the staff room quickly changing into the Grill apron marking my shift as I leave the staff room. Today I’ll be serving tables in the morning and later I’ll serve at the bar.

No one minds my presence here so I just embrace my own thoughts and begin my work.

For the entire day I’ve been working, I wished it lasted longer. Contradicting I know. Even though I was tired like hell and my feet hurt just as bad; Even though I could already feel sweat running down the back of my neck and my arms felt like jelly from holding heavy trays with food and drinks for hours, the thought of heaving to go back home was never a pleasant one for me.

My shift was almost done and I moved as slow as possible with no desire to go home I was still behind the bar in case any costumers come for a few drinks, it was night already yet the Grill was just as agitated as it was in the afternoon. People didn’t care for their safety anymore, they would stay up all night drinking at Spring Villa even though our little city was known for a serial killer case, all they wanted was something to gossip about anyway and here, it was the serial killer case still unsolved after years.

Quickly to my distraction a costumer just made his way to the bar, he sat on the barstool asking for a bottle of beer. I made my way to get it for him filling a cup with ice and putting in front of him as well as the opened bottle, he thanked me without looking my way throwing a few dollar bill over the bar to pay.

I simply took it. I wasn’t used to kindness in this place, no one here seemed to know what it meant anyway.

The sound of the ring above the door signs for more costumers and I immediately looked up to see who it might be, noticing the familiar faces as he also noticed me from further away.

My best friend.

He was the only one who knew who I was and still chose me to be his friend, Jungkook wasn’t like the people from Spring Villa. He had an energy around him that even from afar you could tell he was special. He wasn’t even from here. He shined wherever he was and always became the life of the party, his smiled was a punch in the stomach of everyone one from this city, a face that was a constant reminder of how different and full of life he was. The truth was no one knows we’re he comes from or any of his friends, not even me. I never bother to ask him too. I always assumed he could tell me whenever he felt ready for it and apart from that, there was nothing we didn’t know about each other.

I only knew a few of his guy friends, with Jungkook there were seven of them and they all lived together with the oldest of the group in his house. I never asked him what his friends did for a living or what they’d were here for as it wasn’t Jungkooks place to say anyway and we both hated gossip. I knew he wasn’t like the other people who only came here for the serial killer case and that was enough for me to not ask questions. I was closer with him and his friend Jimin, who’d usually hang around with us the most, the others were much busier and didn’t stick around us much so I haven’t meet them yet and bearly knew them.

Seeing him together with his friend Jimin and the white haired Hoseok was something for the eyes to see, from any distance you could tell they were not from this small city.

From the way they all dressed so sophisticated and the way they walk, talk, even breath to every detail on them you could tell they where perfect. No one here was at their level, people tended to do everything to keep it to themselves so it doesn’t call for unnecessary attention to themselves. I still remember when they first came here, everybody talked about them for three months and so many rumors began to rise about them. The boys kept things to themselves and only talked to a few people from town, so gossip about them were all over the town as soon as they stepped foot in here. It wasn’t like any other tourist who came to town, they came to stay and that made the rumors about them grow even more especially since they all looked anything from normal.

Hoseok was well know because of his white hair and the signature sunglasses he wore all the time, some said he was blind and some said he had devil eyes. People said all sorts of things about them for their looks and I honestly thought the people in this town were just being mean at this point, these people never seemed to have something to do and were always on someone else’s business. The few things I heard about Jimin was; how he was always out with a red haired man at night, always at the company of a woman or a men and by far he was the most popular with people.

Jungkook was the rumored bad boy, always up to something bad and some people spreed that he was in a gang, that he was a criminal and today we just laugh at that. I couldn’t even begin to imagine him as such rumors portrayed him.

I didn’t care much about it, after a few weeks talking with Jungkook he told me the oldest of his friends Jin was the son of one of the founders of Spring Villa and that’s way they came here, they were staying at his late fathers house the mansion on the other side of the city.

I was surprised no one know anything about the founders of Spring Villa - since gossip was their priority around. But people only talked about what they wanted and what they wanted to hear, even when it wasn’t true.

I watched as Jungkook parted ways with his friends who took one of the tables on a corner and make his way to the bar were I was, a smirk playing around his lips as he did so. He looked incredibly handsome tonight, like usual. He wore a black outfit, never a fan of colors as he would always tell me, a leather jacket over the long sleeve shirt and loosen jeans ripped on the knees.

I replied with a smile of my own, watching as he sat on the bar stool in front of me.

“when is your shift ending tonight?” he asked, as soon as he took the bar stool in front of me. A playful look glimmered in his eyes, by his tone I knew he would ask me to join later.

“in an hour, why?” I said, cleaning over the bar in front of us to place a glass with ice for him, turning around to get him his usual whiskey.

“perfect, we’ll have enough time to get a few drinks before going to the bonfire that’s happening by the lake” at his words I turned around quickly looking at him dumbfounded.

“we? who said I was going?” I teased.

“I did” he said as if it was nothing, pushing his glass towards me to fill it, scoffing playfully I did so.

He looked up at me with biggest puppy eyes ever, leaning his head slightly to the side. I chuckled knowingly.

“oh no, I know this look…” I tell him as I filling another glass of whiskey for him. “…and it won’t work. Jungkook you know I hate parties.”

“Yeah but… this is different” he says, almond eyes shining through his long lashes as he stared at me with a sly smile.

“really how?”

“I’ll be there” he said drink all of the liquid in his hand in one gulp. “my friends too, so come please?”

I looked over the table his friends were sat at, they were looking over us too. No wonder, Jungkook must’ve told everyone one he knew I was going already. Not that many people would care if I showed up or not, he was the only one who does care.

If this was the only way to not go home tonight, might as well just grab the chance. For once I could walk out of my sad blue and gray routine.

“ok I’ll go with you” I finally tell him, filling his glass one more time.

“I knew you would” his eyes seemed to light up above his smirk in that moment, making my heart skip a beat. It was a different kind of look, one I have never seen before.

I would be the biggest lier if I ever say I didn’t had a crush on him, Jungkook was one of the most handsome men on Spring Villa ever since he step foot here. All woman and men lined up in front of him for a chance to be with him, he was definitely a catch.

Anyone could tell he was hot just by looking, he had his own special charm to make people fall in love with him instantly. Not only did he had a beautiful body that you could definitely tell was all toned even under all the dark loosen clothes he wore but, he had his way with everybody and all it took was one look and a charming smile from him and you would fall on his knees, he didn’t go by anyone unnoticed. People here either loved him or hated him, no in between. I knew from the moment I first saw him that nothing could ever happen between us, that’s why we have such strong friendship.

I couldn’t help but let my eyes wonder from every now and then, every time I would notice him looking away I let myself get a glimpse of his beautiful body and his beautiful face.

But he was much more then that to me, he was my best friend. One of the only ones I had and I wouldn’t let anything mess that up, even my own feelings. I would push anything aside to keep him by my side, even if is my heart.

He deserves more. More then I could ever be.

“oh right…” he suddenly said “you like girls right?”

“what!?” I exclaimed, flushed at his sudden question.

“what, what?” he lifted his eyebrows up surprised “you never said anything about boyfriends and I never saw you with a guy, I’m starting to wonder….”

“no…” i like you, you idiot. Is what I want to say, but I can’t and I shouldn’t. Never. “Don’t just assume that kind of thing…”

“well then what do you like, I need to know so I can set you up with someone for the bonfire” he said.

“I like boys, and you don’t need to set me up with anyone.”

“ok.”

“besides is not like anyone is interested in me or what so ever” I began to angrily clean the bar top.

“ok, sorry for pushing kitty” he said, stoping me from cleaning with his hand over mine.

I immediately looked up at him, heart beat skipping a beat as I gulped down. His eyes scanned my face, i tried my best not to show how the nickname affected me focusing on the light in his eyes as they seemed to shine different tonight almost making them look brighter like whiskey mixed with wine. I was completely lost in him again, too much to notice his cold hand over mine as his smile brought my attention to his lips. Wet and pink.

“you’ll take our table for the rest of your shift right?” he asked softly.

“of course, who else can put up with you guys?” I tell him.

He only chuckled nodding towards me, he got up from his seat and gave me one last smile before turning around to go back to the table with his friends. I wished i could tell that smile went past me and didn’t effect me as much as he always did, he was my only friend why did such feelings had to rise from my chest every time i was with him?

Once again i shut that door in my heart to stop them from rising again.

For some reason the past hour felt like an eternity, i carried on serving Jungkooks table for the rest of my shift as they order as much they could drink for the time being before it was time to go to the bonfire, Jungkook was with two of his friends tonight and it always amazed me how much they drink and don’t even looked halfway drunk. I knew they were seven although it has difficult to see all of them together at the same time, i only knew their names through Jungkook and a few things about them as he would tell me sometimes. How they all meet one by one as the years passed through trips around the world.

He mentioned how he first meet Hoseok when he went to a contemporary dance concert at a music festival and at the same week he meet Taehyung who were there to play violin at the festival, he said they all clicked with each other immediately and a few months later they run into Jimin in a party as well as Yoongi as they already knew each other. It seemed Yoongi already knew Jin the oldest and Jin knew Namjoon from birth as they grew up together away from Spring Villa.

I haven’t meet the older friends yet, they all seemed to be occupied with something as Jungkook would always tell me. He admire his friends very much from how he always speaks so passionately of them to me from time to time. So far i only knew Jimin since he and Jungkook were always together as well as Hoseok who sometimes tags along with the two, although they were very closed to each other i never saw them with the other three.

One look at the clock and a sight of relief left my lips as i notice my shift was about to end, making my way towards the staff room to change and hit the end of my shift, I quickly take my things from my locker before walking out of the staff room. I wished i knew he would invite me out for the bonfire, I would have put a bit more of an effort into how i looked before going out.

Whilst making my way towards their table I tried to fix my hair the best I could, untying the messy bun i did earlier to work and letting my hair fall messily down my back. I watched as the three of them seemed to be heaving a fun conversation before Jungkook turned towards my direction a smirk on his lips as he looked me up and down rising his eyebrows playfully.

“are you guys ready to go?” i said, once i finally stood in front of them catching their stares.

“yes boss” said Jimin, while getting up from his seat being fallowed by the two others.

“are we walking there?” i asked Jungkook taking his side while we made or way out of the Grill.

“yeah, is not that far from here” he took a cigarette from his pocket lightening it up while we walked down the cold streets of Sping Villa.

The smoke filling the humid air around us, it hadn’t rain in a few days here which was honestly a miracle. That was unusual in a city that rained more than anything, at times like this i really wondered if the reason why the serial killer just wasn’t caugh because the rain cleaned his traces.

How lucky and convenient for someone to attack this small town, I couldn’t help but think about it from time to time. Even though i would always brush this thoughts away from my mind now letting Jungkook and his friends voice fill my head as we make our way to the bonfire on the west side of town. Although it was away from the town it didn’t took too long for us to get there, a bonfire in Spring Villa was rare due to the heavy rains that were present every day here. People must been excited about it, something i was unfamiliar with. All senses of joy for me were short lived, I didn’t have a choice but to give up on them. Not because i wanted but, because they were stolen from me each time.

I looked up at the sky watching as the full moon shined above me, the sky never looked so clear before. Full of stars to replace the clouds and cover us and more light.

It felt warmer to be under the moon for once, I couldn’t remember the last time i saw her.

“you okay?” Jimin whispered over my ear, one arm closing around my neck as he showed me a smile.

“yeah” i replied his smile.

Out of all of them - or at least, the ones i knew - Jimin was the most touchy person, Jungkook could get clingy sometimes but usually only when he needed something in return. Even though he was a men after all, i never once felt uncomfortable close to him. He always had a soft energy around him that just brings you into him each time, it took some time before we got close enough to be like this though with each other. The first time we meet he couldn’t even look at me without shying away, it was cute.

I circle my arm around his waist and we make our way together.

“oh… i see why don’t have to set you up with anyone…” Jungkook said, playfully beside me eyeing us together.

“hey, his my friend too” i glare at him playfully.

“see? she’s mine too” Jimin taunts beside me, pulling me from the shoulders as he closed around me a deep chuckle filling the air from his chest.

I chuckled with him too distracted by his smile and hands around me to notice we were the only ones laughing, too absorbed by his eyes over mine to look anywhere else.

Everything just felt like slow motion whenever i was with them, i could bearly see through it all. And i loved every little second of it - anything to stay out of home.

I didn’t liked parties much, I never understood what was so special about them. Maybe if you have friends it is more enjoyable to be partying, since for a long time people didn’t wanted to be close to me I just shut myself down from everything I could.

Until Jungkook showed up I had no one by my side, now with him and his friends I can actually enjoy a bit of fun.

Just like I predicted it didn’t took us much longer to arrive at the bonfire, I watched around us all the young people laugh over the loud music with red cups in hands. Some danced, some just sat around the big bonfire drinking and just talking while some were courageous enough to be swimming at the lake.

Jungkook guided us to a big fallen tree in a corner closer to the lake to sit there, him and Jimin left quickly to get us some drinks and Jungkook came without Jimin saying his getting something stronger.

I took one beer from him as Hoseok did the same, sitting between the too boys.

“oh god I hate this…” immediately regretted taking a sip of the cheap drink.

“what? The party?” Hoseok asked beside me.

“no… this disgusting liquid” I turned to the white haired boy putting the bottle down.

“oh, not everyone does” he chuckled. “what do you like drinking?”

“sweet!” Jimins loud voice interrupted before I could answer.

He sat in front of us all giggly with which I assumed was a stolen bottle of strawberry Smirnoff.

“she likes the strong and sweet drinks”Jimin answered for me.

“you’re right, thanks Jimin.”

He gives me a wink fallowed by a small nod opening the bottle for me to have a sip, we all drank a few times together and I remember mentioning that I hated beer and preferred sweeter drinks and wine, I didn’t know he would remember as we usually were completely nocked out drunk.

“want some?” I offer to Hoseok.

“oh yes…” he took the bottle from my hand, cold fingers brushing over mine.

A chill went down my body for a second and a hugged myself, watching as he drank a good amount lips slightly wet from the drink.

He handed me back the bottle, the fire shining on the dark glasses on his face.

“isn’t it too dark for you?” i playful ask.

“a little…” he smiled, taking it off.

I tried to hide my surprise when I saw his eyes for the first time, the fire reflected in them wildly almost like a reflection on a mirror. His eyes were of a blue so clear to a white shade I could swear o saw galaxies in them, I can’t understand why he would want to hide them he looked even more beautiful without the glasses.

I don’t question him anymore deciding to enjoy the time with them by drinking some more, I let time completely go forgotten for now watching the fire burn in front of me.

At some point i knew i was completely drunk already, the bottle in my hand wasn’t the same from before and my body felt lighter. Everything that was coming out of Jimins mouth seemed to be the most funny joke I’ve ever heard, he kept me entertained for the most time taken me to dance a few times even.

But I couldn’t keep up with his energetic self, body tired from working a whole shift at the Grill.

Then again he would pull me out to dance again this time taking the white haired boy with us, the three of us drunk as hell dancing together with the people around the bonfire.

The hot heat warmed my body and for once I felt the happiest for once, nothing matter in the world anymore and all my problems had evaporated completely from my mind.

When Hoseoks cold hands took mine into his to dance bringing my body closer to his, I let him. Giggling like an idiot with my cheeks hotter then the fire burning beside us, when he brushed my hair back exposing my skin I simply let him.

I could feel his drunken giggles over my face as he spin me around, hands holding my waist but it wasn’t his anymore. Looking up I’m meet with Jimins sweet eyes and smile.

Every cell in my body was being pulled towards him, as if I was in a dream a state I could no longer control my body and only watch what was happening.

Watching as my body leaned forward into his, the only moment I felt like my body belonged to me when I felt the shivers running down my skin as he brushed the hair away from my shoulder, eyes staring down at my lips the more he leaned into me.

Just then before he could move another centimeter closer, Jimin was pulled away from me as well as the dreamy state I was in.

All together I felt my senses come back, the sound of loud music and people’s talking around us, the smell of fire burning. Jungkook stood in front of me anger clearly reflected on his features as he stared silently at Jimin who looked at him with the same intensity.

I watched the two of them confused, feeling a gentle pull at my arm from behind me I turned quickly looking up and Hoseok.

He muttered a “let’s go” and I fallowed him wherever he was going, turning back a few times to check on the two males we just left.

We stood closer to a truck filled with all sorts of drinks, Hoseok grabbed a few water bottles from it and we stood close to a big old tree. I could see all the bonfire from here as well as Jungkook and Jimin leaving together into the dark entrance of trees.

After drink half of the water I looked up at Hoseok who still looked where the two boys just went.

“what happened?” I asked him, feeling completely lost. “was it something I did?”

“no y/n…” he turned to me, clearly trying his best to hide what he truly felt in that moment “you didn’t do anything it’s just… they have something’s going on right now, it’s a bit complicated.”

“oh… oh” the realization hits me like a brick.

From the time I’ve been friends with Jungkook I knew that both, men and woman were always there for him trying to get with him. I just never saw him with someone before and now everything made sense to me, he had something with Jimin.

That thought made things more complex to me, I just couldn’t understand why he never mentioned to me before. We were friends.

After some time had passed I realized that maybe that was because of me, Jungkook must’ve seen all of that and now they are fighting.

I couldn’t bear that, I never knew that could happen and before I even know I was already making my way into the dark trees without Hoseok noticing.

If they fight because of me I have to clear things out, beyond that I felt terribly bad for Jungkook.

Walking into this tress at night made me feel uncomfortable, it was a clear reminder of my nightmares and I felt the fear growing inside of my chest the deeper I went through that darkness.

I could still hear the loud music and talking of people from here but as I carry on walking I heard loud hustles from the other side, I didn’t felt the need to rush there until I heard Jungkooks voice.

My feet moved on it’s on I was rushing through the bushes, fallowing his voice as I felt some bushes hit me all over until I stomp into the unexpected scene.

My breath got stuck in my throat but everything looked so clear that my whole body went cold.

Jungkook was pressed on the tree as someone held him by the neck, a painful expression reflected on his features as the men who held him there was glued to his neck.

It wasn’t until said men leaned back from him and I realized it was Jimin, exposing all the blood on his face it finally came to me what was happening. Jungkook fell to the ground hand over his neck, a painful groan leaving his lips .

All I could do was watch, feeling my body cold as ice completely frozen at the spot as jimins face covered in blood turned towards me. A gasp leaving my lips as his eyes burned over mine, red eyes like crimson blood.

I immediately turned to leave finally finding the will to move my frozen body but, all to my surprise he was right there in front of me with a bloody smirk on his lips.

No.

My vision began to blur into darkness, my own body completely giving up on standing and I felt weak in my senses.

No.

All I could see was his red eyes before I fall into the darkness of my mind.

I could feel my lungs burning as i breathed in and out the cold air, i was running between the trees again the darkness of my surroundings where swallowing me the deeper i ran into it.

Every cell in my body burned getting more restless as I desperately rushed through the woods, completely exhausted and out of breath my vision blurred and i felt my body give up on me falling miserably into the wet grass.

Turning around breathless a shadow presence like the dark night sky made his way slowly towards my body on the ground, i wanted to get up, run again my body wouldn’t listen to me.

I felt my body completely froze at the sight the closer he got to me, the moon light slowly illuminated more of his presence each step he took.

The more clear i saw him the more anxious i felt, just then as he stood completely above me i realized i knew who he was. I could no longer breathe as his red crimson eyes stared into mine with complete darkness, for the first time in years i see the face of my nightmares.

He falls to his knees in front of me, blood dripping from his mouth as a smile i never saw on him grows on his lips. I felt at loss at the sight of Jungkook, still not believing in it but there he was ready to take me as one of his victims.

I woke up in a rush cold sweat dripping from my forehead, my chest was hurting instantly feeling as if I had rubbed a marathon my body ache in pain and my head was foggy as if I was under water for a moment until I wasn’t and high pitched sound echoed through my head.

Once it faded away I was able to breath normally, looking around to see I was in my room. I couldn’t make out how i felt in that moment, everything still felt like a dream.

But that couldn’t be.

The memories of last night were a blur in my head, I couldn’t place my thoughts together weakly trying and the more i did the more my head hurt tears forming in my eyes i felt so helpless. Not being able to control my own my mind anymore no matter how much i tried to, all of a sudden everything became to much to understand then with the sound of rain hitting my window i could finally feel my mind emptying and i was back to myself, as if i was high on a dream I remembered one by one of last night events.

I was at the bonfire with Jungkook and his friends when he and Jimin went in the woods, how unease I felt at the knew informations about his relation with him in that moment deciding to fallow them in the woods only to be meet with the sight of Jungkook body falling on the ground with blood covering his neck as a Jimin stood there in a way I never could imagine.

The red eyes I could swear I’ve seen it before, the same one in my nightmares.

The same ones i dreamed were Jungkook, and the blood dancing on their lips.

All i could think was how much had i lost my mind to project such nightmare on Jungkook and Jimin, him out of every person i knew. The thought made me sick and i wish i could understand why that was happening to me, worried i might have actually gone insane.

By the moment I had collected my thoughts my head was spinning and I quickly got up, rushing to the bathroom to take my meds and throw some water on my face.

Everything that happened last night was a complete mess, what was supposed to be a fun night between friends was flipped insanely into another nightmare of mine.

All i could think now was Jungkook, what could have happen after i blank out last night. I stil couldn’t understand how i got back home, what could have happen to my friend and who did that to him.

My hands were shaking as I searched for my phone it was still so early in the morning, the sun has bearly appear although you couldn’t really tell as the dark gray skies covered Spring Villa in rain, after finding it I quickly called Jungkook to make sue he was okay but every time it went straight to voicemail.

Growing worried each time i spear no more time to leave my room running down the stairs without a single thou in my mind as I exit the house.

Not him.

I kept repeating that in my head.

I felt desperate, not even sure what I should do in that moment I just hoped in my bike and made my way to the only place i knew someone would be able to tell me what in the hell happened to Jungkook, his oldest friend mansion on the west of Spring Villa.

I have no idea where he could be right now and if someone knew what happened that night it has to be Hoseok and I hoped I could find them at their house, i didnt know who else to turn to right now and it only made my feel more helpless. My friend could be in danger and all i could do was find someone else to do something about it.

Tears were forming under my eyes the cold weather as usual was enough to make me shake under it, rushing through the empty streets a light rain began falling as if on quote Spring Villa was back to its grey days.

I passed a few police cars and an ambulance closer to were the bonfire happened last night, I couldn’t help the immediate stop watching as they closed half the road with yellow tape. Just then a the sky roared in anger, a light thunder shined above us as if to say something.

A few people who watched closely to were I had stopped were gossiping about what I thought would never happen again in this shitty town, but under all of their usual comments and half ass words of comfort to the people around there was one that felt like a punch in my stomach blurring anything else they were saying was the phrase;

“They found a body of a young man on the woods”

With a racing heart I rushed past them, repeating in my mind prayers - please not him.

After a long while I spotted the old mansion on the west hill, my legs were hurting from biking around so fast. My body cold from the rain, I couldn’t think about anything else besides him. The possibility that someone so close to me turned out to be the monster in my dreams.

It never one occurred to me to go their house before, it was never something I felt comfortable with and Jungkook never invited me over. I never questioned it I wasn’t the type to push someone about their lives, we build our friendship over our trust with each other . I knew who he was and he knew about me, we had that and it was enough.

But now after last night I felt desperate, he hasn’t returned my calls and even though it was so early I had to make sure he was fine. Especially when the serial killer was back.

I quickly made my way towards the entrance nocking on the heavy wooden door, I waited before moving once again impatiently I felt my self grow even more worried.

Before I could nock a third time the door was open revealing a tall men with red hair and amber eyes, I stood there staring into his eyes fist still mid air In front of me embarrassing.

“yes?” he blurted, voice deep almost like a growl as he looked me up and down no expression on his face.

It didn’t go unnoticed by me how he clearly was inspecting my presence there with judging eyes, then I realized he was still in his sleeping clothes feeling my embarrassment grow even more for waking him up so early with my sudden presence but i had a reason for coming here and despite everything else I held up the courage to speak up.

“is Jungkook here?” i questioned, trying my best not to let any of my insecurities shine through. Still feeling the awkwardness

“who’s asking?” he then asked, a bored look on his features. The awkwardness was stone cold.

I almost groaned out at his words, something bad must’ve happened to Jungkook and he was playing around as if everything was completely fine. My body was begging to grow hot with anger.

“I’m y/n, his friend…” i rushed the words, feeling more impatient at his calmness. “is he here? Is he okay?”

Before he could say anything the door opened fully and to my relief it was Hoseok, just like the men with red hair he too was still in his sleeping clothes confused as he walked to me.

“y/n? what are you doing here so early?” he mumble, voice deeper then usual and a bit hoarse.

“I’m sorry it’s just…. about last night when I saw Jungkook… he-“ I couldn’t even mutter the words without feeling a hole swallow me from my chest.

“hey it’s okay, Tae go back I’ll take care of her” he spoke to the red haired man, making his way closer to me holding my shoulders carefully.

The red haired men looked at me before giving Hoseok a nod turning on his heels to go back inside, the door was shut closed leaving me out alone with Hoseok who seemed a bit more worried this time.

“Hoseok what in the world happened last night?”

“I’ll tell you come here” he pulled me towards the side but i stood there growing anxious, I can’t wait any longer for an explanation. He looked into my eyes as if realizing exactly what i meant. “you blackout in the woods last night.”

“yeah I know that but Jungkook…” I interrupt, nothing about me was important to me.

“he took you home” he blurted

“he did? But…”

“listen y/n, we were having fun last night then you black out in the woods and Jungkook was searching for you everywhere” he carry on explaining, and I couldn’t believe it or i just didnt know what to believe in anymore. “when we found you he immediately brought you back home.”

“but I saw…”

“what?”

Was it all in my head then?

He had no reason to lie to me about such thing, still it didnt felt right what he was saying. I knew what I saw last ight, despite all the alcohol and my meds i knew i saw Jungkook being attacked by something or someone.

But if Jungkook was fine as Hoseok said then, all of this was just another illusion. What I saw last night wasn’t real. I was falling into that miserable trap in my head, I couldn’t help but feel completely lost as darkness fell upon my back.

I’ve been acting out of my mind this whole time without a care in the world, trespassing boundaries by coming here like a crazy woman asking for Jungkook to some of his friends when he was safe and sound.

“I’m so sorry Hoseok I just…. I heard about a body found in the woods” I tell him “he didn’t answer my calls so I was worried something happened to him.”

I decided to tell him what made me worried enough to come all the way here, leaving out the fact that i was mentally unstable and had a nightmare with his friend so real i thought he was dead.

He gave me an apologetic smile.

“is okay… you were just worried about him” he replied.

I watched as he looked at me with those eyes, the same ones everyone else did when they got a glimpse into my turbulent mind. I hated that more then anything and the fact he was now staring into my eyes with the same look mad me realize he might as well just be like everybody else, and I felt a crack in my heart.

“can you tell him to call me then, please I need to talk to him” I mumbled, looking down unable to meet his eyes.

“of course y/n…” he gave me a small hug “you should rest now is still pretty early in the morning, I’ll make sure he calls you as soon as I see him.”

“yes, im sorry Hoseok for showing up like this…” looking everywhere but his face, a need to run awa creeping into my mind.

“is okay, I understand where you’re coming from y/n” he answered softly.

I didnt spear another look at his direction as i turned on my heels to leave. That was my walk of shame back home and I didn’t know if i would ever be able to look into his face again without feeling completely embarrassed. I almost let it slip my worst nightmare, most people from Spring Villa already knew about my past and i didnt wanted to more people to find out about it. It burned almost, how much that part of me contributed to my own down fall but there was nothing i could do about it. I had tried everything I could and nothing ever seems to work. My mind has been playing games over me for so long, I should’ve known it was all in my head before packing and going to their home.

I was worried for what I saw and all of it wasn’t even real, just a coincidence.

I sighted looking at my own self in front of my small bathroom mirror, tired eyes and messy hair all over the place. I took a good look at my self feeling more pathetic the more i looked, i was tired. Physically and mentally.

It honestly took me so long to leave the bathroom, to get out of my head. This illusions ive been heaving ever since my brother left the world, this nightmares i thought were gone but now were back stronger then ever took everything i had.

I sat down in bed, the small container with meds in my hand. The rain continued to pour down outside, the darkness slowly rising more above in the skies just like my heart it was almost unbearable to tolerate all of this conscious, taking the meds in one gulp i waited for the effects to start and so on slowly my body began to drift into the deep sleep.

For once, let me sleep without a single dream in mind. No more nightmares.

But the pills stopped working a long time ago.

I walked a dark path of a long corridor, my stpes were muffled by a red carpet that fallowed the floors of the corridor.

I wasnt tired.

I wasnt running.

No one was coming to get me, my heart beat calmly on my chest and nothing happened.

I could see some lighter further ahead on the left and fallowed till im inside a big room, the enormous fireplace illuminated the room and from the fire i could make out two couches on each side and a small tea table between them.

My attention was focused on a painting above the fireplace which i could tell was the “The fall of rabel angels” from Pieter Bruegel the Elder.

The sudden deep chuckle behind me makes me turn around quickly, fear rising up my chest but i see nothing. Taking steps slowly closer to the fireplace until I feel myself collide with someone, turning on my heels im meet with amber eyes and a re haired men.

The fire burned brighter behind him and in an abrupt movement he takes me by the neck, turning my self aaround so my back is against his body he holding my chin forcing me to look into his amber eyes as i watch them slowly fade into red crimson.

“don’t worry, this wont hurt…”

Was all he mumbles into my face before showing his fangs, an almost demonic face staring into mine i could feel my whole body panicking colder then ever felt.

I could still hear his deep laugh as i lost consciousness, eyes feeling so heavy being forced to open as my body shakes in his arms. I was abruptly woken up cold sweat sliding down my neck making me feel even more uncomfortable, the loud noise of my phone ringing waking me up fully.

I took it not looking who’s the caller.

“hello?” my voice was still muffled and raspy, throat dry.

“y/n? Are you okay?” jungkooks rushed voice said on the other side.

I felt my whole body immediately wake up at the sound of his voice. He was okay.

I didnt know what to say in that moment it felt unreal but i was so relieved to finally hear his voice, everything seemed to fall back to its place in that moment.

“I’m fine, i was so worried about you….” i tell him honestly “I’m so sorry i even went to your house.”

He chuckled and i cold almost picture his teasingly smiling.

“i know that…. I’m flattered you care that much for me” he said.

“how could i not? You are my best friend.”

“I know. Sorry I made you worry that much, i wont do that again kitten.”

I looked at the clock on my nightstand as it marked half past nine, stomach rumbles in hunger. An entire day has gone already and invent had single bite of food.

“oh my was that an alien?” he said, a deep laughter coming from the other side of the line.

“you heard that?” I exclaimed embarrassed, cheeks hitting up.

“hard not to, have you not feed the family of aliens in your stomach?” he playfully says, I could definitely picture the grin he had on his face as he said that.

“i will right now…” i groaned.

“yes do that, ill see you tomorrow at the grill?”

“yeah… text me the time” i tell him.

“will do boss, bye.”

“bye, Jungkook.”

With that i hung up the call, feeling the smile grow on my face.

For as much as my nightmares and illusions bring the bitterness of me i could always count on Jungkook to change that, he was always able to filter out all of that darkness from my heart.

Hearing my stomach roar in hunger again i’d decide to finally commit to feeding it, feeling completely refreshed now knowing my best friend was fine and safe i made my way downstairs to get some food.

The sight i saw as I went downstairs was almost enough to make me regret it completely my decision and alsmot go back to my room, watching as my mother sat in the couch with one of her boyfriends drinking beer as they’re watched a football match smoke do cigarettes filling the small tv room.

I felt like throwing up but I wouldn’t let this be the end of my day, taking my purse i took the back door and decided to go have dinner at the one place i knew would be opened this late. The Grill.

The light rain hasn’t stopped since it started today, deep in my heart I knew the air in Srping Villa had changed again. A feeling I was hoping I would never felt again ever since this small town was turned upside down, but all was gone.

My thoughts were in pieces and for at least the end of this night I just wanted to forget everything and enjoy a meal.

That was my only concern the moment I sat down in on of the tables close to the bar at the Grill, French fries in front of me and a cup with coffee. The only thing they would serve at this late night but o was grateful for it.

I was quietly eating my fries listening to the low voices around me, there were only a few people at the Grill tonight. Certainly the accident that happened last night did shaken some sense into people’s minds for once, a reminder that this place was not only a tourist attraction but it had its stories.

I dared to look up once I was almost finished eating my food, inmost chocking upon the scene a few tables away from mine on the corner.

There was the red haired men I meet earlier at Jungkooks house and Jimin, they seemed to be in a fun chat with two girls sitting between the two of them.

I could see how Jimin would push aside the hair of the girl beside him, clearly expressing flirtatious acts towards her.

It would take a genius to understand what was happening there, knowing it isn’t made me feel any better too.

As they got up and walked to the exit I tired my best to hide my presence, not waning to make anything more difficult.

Watching as Jiminclosed one arm around the girls neck, as they left the Grill.

I still remember Hoseoks words at the bonfire last night, that couldn’t be my minds doing. I knew he told me Jimin and Jungkook had something going on together and that was what made me even more uneasy.

If they do then why would Jimin be going out with that girl?

Why would he do such thing to Jungkook?

I immediately scensored myself, it’s none of my business I shouldn’t be even thinking about such things.

But as his friend also, I should at least make sure I’m no just jumping to wrong conclusions. I could be just misunderstanding what was happening.

Not daring much to overthink it I got up making my way to the exit, I was afraid I might’ve lose them by now but they were still close by. Walking a few feet behind them making sure to keep a good distance I fallowed as they walked around the night streets, so far nothing had happened.

Once I saw them take another turned I stoped - this is wrong, I shouldn’t be fallowing them like this.

With a sight I turned back to leave but ended up crashing with someone else.

“I’m so sorry….”

I mumbled turning around before harshly being pulled back.

“Hey!” I stare angrily at the girl who pulled me back.

The girls says nothing at first, she had grin on her face as she looks at me up and down. She didn’t look like someone from around here and I sure never saw here in town before, the girl was taller then as she wore heels, a dress glued to her body and a jacket over it.

“Watch your tone little girl… you’re no match for me” the girl says, taking a step closer to me till she’s nearly a centimeter away.

The more I stared at her the more I stared to feel a dimly tingling sensation over my body, it was making me feel colder and uncomfortable. I could feel my brain screaming and gut in unison for me to run, that something didn’t felt right. But I was paralyzed in that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to speak or move.

“Well since your here… let’s make this the best of it, hum?” The girl pulled me by the wrist.

I try to pull away from her grip but I was suddenly struck by a painful feeling as she bite into my wrist, a loud groan comes out of my mouth as I feel her sharp teeth rip through my skin.

Her eyes where completely black as she stared at me, I try to fight her, to pull her back but it was impossible she was so much stronger.

In that moment all I could hear was my own heart pounding in my chest, my entire body was shivering and my legs were shaking. The pain burned through my entire arm.

It was so fast that I could nearly process the moment the girl was ripped off my arm, I fall to my knees breathing quickly as I look up to the red haired men I saw this morning holding her against the wall by the neck.

I looked the red hair in panic, but I couldn’t tell who he was anymore. A chill spreads down my spine as his eyes were no longer the amber color I knew but red just like blood, in a second he bit into the girls neck and I watched in horror as blood splattered across the air, the girl groan out in pain and I looked away as the sounds of flesh being ripped off continued. No, this can’t be real - i begged.

It’s just another illusion of my mind, I’m sure I’m heaving another dream.

I could feel my whole body shake with my have breathing, heart racing faster by the seconds I was completely losing myself into panic.

Holding tighter to my burning arm, blood wetting the surface of my shirt and everything around it. The smell of it was getting stronger, something I knew but wasn’t used to it.

It wasn’t until I felt a grip into my shoulder that was able to move again.

“no!” i exclaimed, fearing it was red hair now ready to end me aswell but i felt myself slowly calming as im meet with Jimins worried expression.

“it’s okay y/n….” he murmured. “it’s me y/n.”

He helped me get back up on my feet, hands holding my shoulders he looked into my eyes.

“i’m so sorry for this” he said.

My eyes looked behind him were the red hair men stood, blood dripping down his lips as he smirked.

I didn’t know what to say, my mind was blank in that moment I didn’t know what was real.

“oh no… you’re…”Jimin said between pauses looking down at my arm “hurt…”

He sounded much lower and I notice the change in his eyes the moment he looked at me bloody arm, how hos brown eyes faded into red crimson pointy fangs showing.

“what happened here?!”

I blinked a couple times before looking up at the worried face of my best friend.

“Jungkook?” I called breathless.

Upon Jungkooks voice I felt myself wake up fully, and with that came the realization of the situation.

I pushed Jimin away rushing towards Jungkook and almost falling over my own feet, feeling my body getting colder and vision blurring.

He quickly catches me and I let myself be immersed into his warmth.

Leaning away I searched for his eyes.

“what is happening kook?” I asked.

He sighted looking at the two men behind me.

“opsie…” even without looking I could tell that wa the red haired men, his mocking deep voice.

“I’ll explain everything y/n I just need to make sure you’re…” he stopped, looking down between us to my arm.

I stared in panic as his eyes faded into bloody red eyes.

They were all the same.

“you’re hurt…” he said.

I feared I had lost myself completely in my insanity but this felt too real to be another illusion form my mind, too painful to be unreal.

The same as I saw in all my nightmares.

“Jungkook…. What are you?”

…..

Notes: this is it for the first part of the story, taglist? Comment if you want to be tagged! I love you guys hope you like this one, until the next one! 🫶☺️

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brattyfics · 3 months ago

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Summary: Set against the eerie backdrop of the Florida swamps in the 1980s, this supernatural tale follows Adla Bennett, a woman navigating life after the loss of her father. When she discovers a wounded creature resembling a wolf on her porch, she takes it in for the night, only to find out the creature is a shapeshifter named Terry Richmond. He asks Adla for her help in locating his missing cousin, Mike, intertwining their fates in a way she never expected.

A/N: Divider by firefly-graphics. This is the beginning of my Swampbound story for Scary Terry Night (October 30) featuring Werewolf!Terry Richmond with my fave @uzumaki-rebellion! If you haven’t already, check out her Tattoos and Bloodsucker Blues preview. I struggled to choose an excerpt, so I’m sharing the entire first part. This story features supernatural elements and some mild gore, so please keep that in mind. Happy Reading!

Adla had spent all of her life in Florida, yet the strange things that washed ashore after storms still startled her. Destruction was to be expected—broken tree limbs, uprooted plants, even splintered pieces of homes carried away by the wind.

Tangled in seaweed, turtle hatchlings, along with frogs and crabs scurried frantically, struggling to reclaim their place in the chaos. Sometimes she'd find the occasional oddity: a tattered shirt, a weathered cloth bag, knotted fishing line.

But she'd never come across anything like this—a mangled, bloody deer carcass strewn across the tall grass, torn flesh and fur mingling with pieces of shredded cloth.

Her instincts screamed at her to back, but curiosity got the better of her.

She knelt down, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Something violent had happened here. She scanned the scene, trying to make sense of it.

A gator? No, they usually dragged their prey back into the water.

Maybe a hawk? But even with its sharp talons, a bird of prey wouldn’t make this kind of mess.

Possibly a bobcat? They prowled the swamps, their hunting disturbed by storms, always opportunistic.

But no, the tracks didn’t match.

These footprints were too big—far too big. The prints were wolf-like but larger, deeper, as though the creature was far heavier than any wolf she'd ever heard of.

Four prints ran parallel, perfectly spaced in the mud, until they faded into something stranger—two flatter, elongated impressions.

Like feet.

Human feet.

The footprints appeared far too big to be her own, and there shouldn’t have been anyone else wandering around the property.

A chill ran down her back even though the sun was shining. The mangrove seemed way too quiet, like the world was holding its breath. The usual racket of gulls and cicadas had vanished—like even they knew the storm had left more than just broken branches behind. One of the first lessons her father had drilled into her as a girl was to never run; not from a person nor an animal.

Running makes you prey.

Adla pulled her hunting knife from her waistband, steadying her wrist as her eyes swept over the wide, open space around her. She was ready to defend herself if it came down to it, but there was nothing– no one hiding in the brush, no animal stalking her. Just thick humidity, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and decaying leaves.

She figured it was time to head back.

With caution, she began her trek home, her footsteps muffled by the spongy ground, all while keeping a watchful eye on her surroundings. This land held secrets—some of which she had come to accept, and others she feared.

The old myths— of beastly protectors with vengeful spirits, born of the swamp’s dark magic during the era of slavery— often lingered like shadows in the back of her mind, but today, the possibility felt much closer. The swamp was alive; gnarled roots of mangroves twisted out of the water like skeletal fingers and casted dark shadows on the surface of the water.

Adla focused on the worn path ahead, until the low rumble of an engine made her pause.

She wasn’t expecting anybody—she never did. As a child, she had hated the isolation of living out here, but now? It kept the outside world at arm’s length, just as she wanted.

She hurried up the muddy incline, her boots kicking loose clumps of wet earth. At the porch of the old Cracker house, she leaned against the weathered wood, squinting down the overgrown path. A boxy, faded green Jeep Cherokee from the late '70s bounced along the uneven track, its tires struggling for traction in the soft ground. With an exasperated breath, she lowered the knife to her side.

It was none other than Jesse Hampton. She should’ve known.

The vehicle pulled to a stop, and Jesse stepped out, scanning the trees before his eyes settled on her. His mahogany skin glistened under the humid late-afternoon sun, and his damp t-shirt clung to his chest. His cap sat low, shadowing his normally neat hair, now curling wildly in the moisture. A few days' stubble covered his jaw—unusual for him but understandable after the chaos of the storm.

Even so, he was as handsome as ever.

"Adla," he called, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "You shouldn't be out here alone." His gaze darted behind her, as if sensing unseen dangers lurking in the shadows. "I get that it feels peaceful, but it's still dangerous."

The last thing she wanted was to give him more reason to worry or lecture her, so she swallowed the uneasiness she’d just felt moments before.

"You sound like my father, Jesse." She rolled her eyes, dismissing his caution. But Jesse's expression tightened, a hint of something unspoken hovering between them. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Adla, just... promise me you'll watch yourself. You've got a light in you that attracts attention, and sometimes that attention ain't the kind you want."

The weight of his words hung in the space between them. She could feel the worry lacing his words and caught an uncharacteristic flicker of fear in his eyes that was hard to overlook. “Quit that. I’m fine,” she shot back, the nagging feeling returning to her chest. She hated when he used that tone– like he knew something she didn't.

She couldn’t understand the source of Jesse's recent worries. They had grown up playing in the wild jungle that was her backyard, always safe. The worst they ever faced was a snake that sent them running to her father for protection. Wild boars and gators lurked about, but they didn't bother anyone who didn’t bother them.

“Live and let live” had always served her well.

“What you doing out here?” she asked, crossing her arms tightly.

“Do I gotta have a reason now?” Jesse countered, flashing a charming smile. She wrinkled her nose, picking up on the mischief in his tone. “You always have a reason when you show up at my place unannounced. So, what’s the story this time?”

Jesse owned a bustling convenience store in town, but most of his income came from various side hustles. He was the go-to guy for anything anyone needed, always finding a way to get things done, no matter the cost.

“Just checking in on you, that’s all. Wanted to see how you were holding up after the storm. But if I’m not welcome…” He paused, a mock-serious expression crossing his face. “I can turn right back around.”

Adla scoffed, turning her back on him as she ascended the steps of the screened-in porch. “You say that every time, but you always end up following me inside.” He fell into step behind her, his boots thudding against the weathered floorboards. “You don’t even bother asking if you can come in anymore,” she teased, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“After all the times I’ve been here, why would I bother? Especially when you’ve welcomed me in plenty of times.” He leaned against the doorframe with an easy grace, arms crossed and a playful glint in his eye. “Sometimes at night, if I’m not mistaken.”

Adla shook her head as she headed to the kitchen. “Come on, Jess, that ain’t the same, and you know it.”

She opened the fridge and retrieved a pitcher of cold water, then grabbed one of the glass cups from the cupboard. After she poured, she handed it over to him, her hands wrinkled from long hours spent clearing debris in the yard. When he took the cup, their fingers brushed against each other, stirring the subtle tension that always rested just below the surface between them.

“Now, why you gotta put it like that?” Jesse asked, a pouty frown appearing on his face as he took a sip.

“'Cause I need you to get this,” Adla paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t like folks showing up here without a heads-up, and that goes for you too.” She hoped her sweet smile softened the message. Before anything, he was her closest friend, and she never wanted to hurt him.

He grinned, leaning casually against the counter beside her. She considered asking if he’d been snooping around her property without her knowing— Jesse was sneaky like that— but figured it’d raise too many questions if he said no.

He set his glass down, inching closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought I was special, though.”

She arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Now, where’d you get an idea like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He tugged a curl loose from her messy ponytail, the spiral bouncing back like a rubber band. “I figured if I did that thing you like enough times, it might earn me a few privileges around here.”

She fought a smile. “What kind of privileges are we talking about?”

“The kind that lets me show up whenever I feel like it.” He leaned in, his intentions clear as he tried to kiss her, wanting more than just a friendly chat. Adla pressed her palm against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Jesse was undeniably handsome, and she enjoyed having him around, but she wasn’t about to let anyone—no matter how charming—think they had a claim on her. She was in charge of her life, and she liked it that way. Getting serious with Jesse, no matter how often he hinted at it, simply wasn’t part of her plans. Especially knowing other women were enjoying that thing she liked too.

“No, sir,” she replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she shook her head, trying to lighten the mood. “You thought wrong. But since you’re already here, you might as well lend me a hand with something.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned in, steadily pressing closer, an eyebrow raised as his interest deepened. “And what would that be?”

“You can come help me set these traps and see what else washed up after the storm,” she said, avoiding his lips to steal a drink from his cup. She hoped to score some fat crabs and a few fish to stock the freezer for the next few days. Her generator had held up well during the storm, keeping the food fresh, but it was always smart to restock. Hurricane season wasn’t over yet and she felt a bit uneasy about heading back into the woods by herself.

“Aww, man,” Jesse groaned dramatically. “I should’ve known that coming over here meant I was gonna have to work. You’re a real slave driver, girl, you know that?”

They spent the next couple of hours working side by side, enjoying a comfortable rhythm of silence mixed with casual conversation.

First, they checked her garden for storm damage while Jesse caught her up on the latest town gossip—apparently, Mrs. Flowers had been caught with Mr. Jenkins in Mr. Flowers' house. The mustard greens were ruined, uprooted and twisted by the wind, so she pulled them up. Thankfully, the okra and sweet potatoes had weathered the storm just fine; she just hoped the excess moisture wouldn’t lead to any rot.

Next, they moved on to setting her fishing nets and traps, but instead stumbled upon another surprise.

Like the mangled bird she'd spotted earlier, several fish heads littered the bank where she usually set her traps, alongside crab skeletons missing their claws and backs, stripped bare. This wasn’t the typical gator damage—no, this was something far worse, disturbingly messy and strange for the area’s usual predators.

She scanned the ground for any more footprints but saw nothing. No paw prints or torn cloth either.

“What in the world?” Adla muttered, staring at the destruction. “What you think did this? A gator?”

Jesse leaned down, his brow furrowed. “A gator wouldn’t leave pieces like this.”

“Something else did this,” She finished his sentence. Adla’s skin prickled and suddenly, hiding her unsettling feelings from earlier felt foolish. She described the strange prints and the shredded bird she’d found to Jesse as he listened intently. He ran his hands over her shoulders, trying to soothe her.

“You shouldn’t stay out here alone tonight, Addy. Why don’t you spend the night at my place?”

Adla couldn’t shake the feeling of unease about what the darkness might bring, but she couldn’t take Jesse up on his offer, even if his grandmother’s old house was just a few miles up the road.

The old woman had adored her, having been the one to deliver her. Still, it just didn’t feel right to spend the night in another woman’s house, even if that woman was no longer alive.

Plus, sneaking around with Jesse where others could see was out of the question.

She wasn’t about to give anyone a reason to stir up drama or question her independence. Lord knows she couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the next Mrs. Flowers, her good name dragged through the mud to anyone willing to listen.

“No one—and nothing—is gonna run me out of my house,” she replied, her stubbornness rising to the surface. This place was her sanctuary, the fruit of her labor and her ancestors' struggles. They’d fought hard for what they had, and she felt a fierce pride in maintaining the one thing that truly belonged to her.

Out here in the swamps, peace was something you earned, not given. She would defend her home if it came to that.

“You don’t even know who or what it is, and you want to stay out here alone? That doesn’t make a lick of sense, baby doll,” Jesse insisted, his persistence typical but unusually intense.

“I’m not your ‘baby doll,’” she shot back, irritation rising. He seemed to be making a habit of testing her clearly established boundaries more recently.

“I already told you—I’m staying here. You should head out before it gets dark.”

“Come on, don’t be like that—” Jesse began, his voice smooth like molasses. He might’ve been charming, but today, she wasn’t about to let those sweet words sway her.

“Go,” she pressed, stepping forward to cut him off. “I’ll handle the cleanup and make sure everything’s locked up tight, but I want you to leave—now, please.”

Jesse held her gaze for a long moment, recognizing that determined look in her eye. He knew better than to push too far when she was set on something. “Alright, I’ll go,” he finally relented. “But I need you to promise me you won’t leave the house tonight. Whatever you do, don’t cross that threshold, okay?”

Her face contorted at his strange choice of words.

“Why would I be outside? I’m not foolish enough to wander around out here at night. What’s got you so riled up today, anyway?” She reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer.

“Just trust me on this,” he urged, his tone serious as he finally locked eyes with her. She’d never seen him look so grim before—what was he hiding?

“You’ll be safe if you stay inside tonight.” He repeated carefully.

Last she checked, danger didn’t give a damn about doors, but it was clear he wasn’t leaving until he knew she’d listen to his advice.

“Alright,” she said, dragging the word out as her confusion showed. “I’ll stay inside tonight. Not like I was planning on wandering around anyway.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead and lingering there as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I’ll call you tonight, and you better answer. If you don’t, I’ll be back out here, with or without your blessing.”

As he turned to leave, Adla couldn’t help but smile after him. Jesse could be a handful, but beneath that cool exterior, she knew he cared for her as fiercely as she did for him.

In the wilderness of the swamps, that bond meant everything.

He lingered in her driveway while she hurried to gather the crab shells, tossing them into her compost bin—no sense letting them go to waste. He didn’t start his engine and pull away until she was safely inside with the door closed, waving his goodbye from the street as she watched him from the window.

After locking up, she sank into a well-deserved bubble bath, a simple yet sweet reward for a day’s hard work. The clawfoot tub, older than she was but still in impeccable shape, had become a beloved fixture in her home.

The bathroom, filled with the soothing scents of incense and candles, wrapped around her like a comforting hug. After her father’s passing, her top priority had been to breathe life back into the old house and make it feel like home again.

Every now and then, she spotted reminders of her past, like the doorframe where her father had marked her height on the first day of school every year or the cast-iron pans he used to whip up their dinners each night. But mostly, she had truly claimed the space as her own—weathered yet undeniably new in some ways– hers.

Her short time in the city had been a far cry from the peace she now enjoyed in the country. Balancing multiple jobs just to get by, she constantly dealt with nosy neighbors prying into her life, questioning why a young woman like her was living on her own. The men she met often couldn’t take “no” for an answer, turning her daily life into a constant struggle against unwanted advances.

Worse yet, she had attracted the attention of a stalker—someone she’d never even seen who kept slipping threatening handwritten notes under her apartment door, claiming they knew who she was and had been watching her. It was both terrifying and emotionally draining, but she hadn’t tucked her tail and run home until her father died.

Whenever thoughts of him lingered too long, the guilt of not being there when it mattered most consumed her, so she kept herself busy.

Her part-time job at the new bed-and-breakfast in town helped her pay the bills and left her enough time to create. On weekends, she sold her art—pieces made from found objects collected in the woods—at the flea market a couple of towns over. Any spare moment was spent bringing something to life, whether sculpting or tending to her flowers. She loved working on the coastal hibiscus that grew in her yard, their bright blooms a small splash of beauty against the swampy backdrop. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but the peace she found in it was worth far more than anything else.

“When You're Young and in Love” by The Marvelettes played softly on the record player. It had been one of her mother’s cherished favorites, or so her father often reminisced. To Adla, the song captured the slow, simple peace she felt only at home. While she couldn’t completely understand the carefree idea of being swept away by a fleeting romance, it still forged a bond with the mother she never got the chance to know.

Her father had only a handful of pictures, but from those, she could see the resemblance. She had inherited her father’s height and perhaps his temperament, but everything else came from her mother—her rich skin tone, flat nose, and wide, expressive eyes. Those features made her feel close to a woman whose memory was etched in her heart but absent from her life.

With a soft sigh, Adla rose from the now-cool bathwater, wrapping a towel snugly around her waist. Taking a moment for herself, she slathered on a generous layer of cocoa butter lotion, the rich, nutty scent enveloping her like a comforting embrace from home. Her earlier worries faded into the background. Satisfied, she slipped into an oversized cotton nightgown, covered in bright floral patterns that mirrored the blooms in her garden.

She went through her nighttime routine, carefully checking that everything was turned off and every door was locked tight. As she switched off the last light in her cozy home, the old wooden floors creaked softly beneath her feet—a comforting sound that added to the charm of the place.

Just as she was about to settle into bed, faint sounds echoed from outside—rhythmic, insistent scraping and thumping carried to her ears by the wind. Strange noises weren’t uncommon out in the boonies, but something about this one sent a shiver down her spine, drawing her into the hallway.

Adla glanced toward the door, a strange compulsion tugging at her, urging her to step outside despite Jesse's warnings. It felt as if something—or someone—was calling her, and the pull was too strong to ignore. She hesitated, biting her lip, fighting the overwhelming temptation.

Something clattered loose as she unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open. Through the screen, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Adla squinted, trying to make sense of the dimness outside. There, bathed in the cold glow of the moonlight, lay a massive creature. Its shadow loomed so large that it seemed to stretch across the entire porch.

A knot twisted in her stomach. What in the world? This wasn’t no bobcat. This creature was more like a coyote, but much larger. It resembled a wolf, though she knew they didn’t roam these parts of Florida. Its amber eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark of the night, locking onto her with an intensity that sent chills racing down her spine. Jesse’s warnings echoed in the back of her mind. What if this creature was more than it seemed?

I know this fool ain’t lookin’ at me like I’m dinner.

Adla squared her shoulders, drawing on every ounce of strength she had. “You don’t belong here,” she called out, her voice steady and commanding. “Now, git!”

The wolf let out a low growl, a deep rumble that reverberated through the still night air, commanding her silence. It took a slow step forward, large paws thudding against the wooden floor, and she noticed it was limping.

A deep gash ran from its back down to one of its hind legs, blood dripping from the wound and staining the old wood beneath it. The sight of its injury stirred something deep within her—a mix of concern and fascination that left her momentarily spellbound. It was odd but something kept her feet rooted in place, drawn to the creature and its imposing presence for reasons she couldn’t quite understand.

“Don’t you come any closer,” she warned, her heart racing as she reached for the shotgun she kept above the door, her gaze fixed on the beast. Adla tightened her grip on the cold metal, the weight of the gun both comforting and alarming as she aimed it at the creature through the screen.

The wolf paused right in front of her, as if held back by something she couldn’t see or understand. She glanced down at the door’s threshold, recalling Jesse’s cryptic words.

This was her moment—a choice between life or death. But Adla found herself frozen, her finger hovering over the trigger, unable to pull it.

The large, beautiful creature let out a mournful whine before collapsing in a heap on her porch, nearly at her feet, its strength finally giving out as if it had resigned itself to whatever fate awaited it.

Despite its pain, something flickered in its amber gaze—a silent plea, asking not to be seen as a threat. The creature’s body shook, not with aggression, but with a desperate need to protect itself rather than harm her. The sight of that defeated animal struck a chord deep within her, stirring up memories of her own struggles not so long ago—exhausted by the burdens of life, yet somehow still pushing forward.

A lesson her father had once shared echoed in her mind: “Listen, baby girl, we only take what we need from this world, and we don’t kick folks when they’re already down. Respect the creatures out here, just like you respect yourself. Life's tough enough without us makin’ it harder on each other.” She could almost hear his voice, the warmth of his wisdom wrapping around her like a protective blanket.

Adla let out a deep sigh, lowering the shotgun. She hoped the wolf had enough sense to slip off her porch and find its way back through that little doggy door, the one that had been shredded and left with a gaping hole. Sure, it was already intruding on her space, but it showed no signs of being able to bust down her doors with its weakened strength.

The blood staining the porch was already beginning to dry, and she knew she’d have to scrub it down in the morning. If the wolf didn’t make it through the night and died on her porch, she could always call Animal Control to handle it— it wouldn’t cost her a dime to let the creature have one more night of life.

That thought offered a flicker of comfort as she triple-checked that both the screen door and the sturdy wooden door were locked tight for the night.

Adla placed the shotgun within arm’s reach and settled into bed, her mind lingering on the wolf outside. She couldn’t shake the strange pull she felt. Yet, there was a quiet resolve in her heart—she would let the creature be.

Maybe it wasn’t just a wolf. Maybe it was something more—a mirror reflecting her own struggles and wounds, a sign sent from her father to teach her something. The night was thick with uncertainty, but she felt no fear, only calm curiosity. She’d done all she could for now.

As sleep tugged at her, she hoped that the wolf, with its heavy wounds and haunted eyes, would make it through the night. Tomorrow, she’d face whatever came next, but for now, she surrendered to the stillness, trusting that both she and the wolf would both survive until morning.

I’m open to any feedback, especially since this is my first time finishing and publishing something of this length. Does this preview raise engaging questions that make you want to know more, or is something unclear or missing? Did it draw you in or did it drag on? Please let me know your thoughts. Any insight would be invaluable to me as I continue to develop the story. (Send an anonymous ask if necessary).

#rebel ridge #terry Richmond #terry richmond x oc #Terry Richmond x black oc #rebel ridge fanfiction

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 1 year ago

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Right on the Wrong Side of It All

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Savior Era

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, canonical character death, blood, injuries

Summary: Negan doesn’t take Daryl. In the aftermath of the lineup, you’re trying to keep it together while Daryl is falling apart.

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

It wasn’t that you didn’t care about the others. You were all in the same predicament. You were all scared. You were all angry. Now, you would all have to grieve. There was still the prospect that the casualties were not yet culminated.

The certifiable leader of the Saviors was currently tormenting Rick using Carl. While that in itself was enough to sour your stomach, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from your archer.

Daryl had been dragged out of the back of a van, a dingy blanket wrapped around his bloody shoulders. With several friends between the two of you, you couldn’t make out the wound clearly. What you could see was the pallor that was growing more profound; the way his eyes fluttered and struggled to remain open.

His condition only worsened after his outburst.

Negan was taunting Rosita with a bat lathered in Abraham’s blood and brain matter. Daryl launched himself at the man and landed a solid punch. Your cries rang louder than anyone’s when the archer was taken down and his own crossbow was aimed at his head.

“Please, not him.” You pleaded, bowing your head when Negan approached you. His lip was still curled in distaste at Daryl’s actions but he seemed willing to entertain your demands.

“Well, well, well. Someone knows how to behave.” You waited for the bat to meet your chin but the leather-clad maniac curled a finger there instead, guiding you to look at him. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“My—my name is Y/N.” You managed to stammer out between sobs.

“Is that right? Now, Y/N, mind tellin’ me why a pretty little creature like you would speak up for mangy macho man over there?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing out more tears, while he stroked a gloved finger down your jaw. You could hear Daryl’s struggles renew with threatening shouts becoming muffled when his face was pressed further into the dirt. You opened your eyes and fixed the man in front of you with the most supplicated gaze you could manage. “He’s my husband. Please, god, please don’t hurt him.”

“God? Well, sugar, I’ve been called a few things but never god.” The way he laughed made you cringe but you kept your watery eyes engaged. He continued to smile at you, a sly leer that made your stomach flip. “Dwight.” He called over his shoulder. “Get him back in line.”

“But—”

“Now, I know you weren’t about to question me.” Negan’s smile finally faltered. He patted your cheek and stood, twirling that damn bat with a flourish that was meant to sling around your friend’s blood.

You were able to drag your gaze away from it to watch Daryl be roughly deposited back in his former spot, panting and grunting with a pained grimace. You willed his eyes to find yours, and he obliged, but he looked down at his knees when you slowly shook your head.

“Now I already told you people—first one’s free, then—what’d I say?” Negan leaned back to add a certain brashness to the words. “I said I would shut that shit down. No exceptions.” There was a foreboding heaviness that settled in the air. You found yourself breathing harder, digging your fingers into the dirt. “Now, I don’t know what kinda lying assholes you’ve been dealing with but I’m a man of my word.” He smiled at Daryl, resulting in you baring your teeth like some feral beast ready to rip the man’s throat out to protect your mate. “First impressions are important. I need you to know me. So…back to it.”

You screamed when the bat came down on Glenn’s head.

Negan and his cronies had departed a while ago, but everyone was still sitting where they had been left. The air was pregnant with a cacophony of sobs while the birds continued to sing as nature awoke to a new day. Maggie was the first to move, Rick pleading with her to sit; to continue the journey to Hilltop. To Alexandria. Anywhere but where you were.

You began to stir from your own torpor, instinctively seeking out Daryl. He was sitting on his hip, one leg outstretched while he leaned onto his good hand. He was staring vacantly at the ground as he swayed on the spot.

“Daryl.” You whispered. Your voice didn’t want to cooperate but it made no difference. You were already crawling toward him. You didn’t dare trust your legs. “Daryl.” You tried again once you reached him. Your arms instantly encircled his neck of their own accord, holding him close. The feel of his warm breath hitting your neck in shallow puffs of air made your tears begin anew. He was still alive. They could have taken him from you but he was still alive. “Can you look at me?”

His head turned slowly, bleary eyes finding yours. You touched his cheek, finding it cold; his skin clammy. He said something so quietly that you didn’t catch it.

“What?”

“S’my fault.” He repeated, a tremble to his tone.

“It’s not.” You brushed his sweaty locks out of his face. He looked terrible. Pale with dark circles around his eyes; his lips colorless. His shirt was sticky with blood. “We need to get you to Hilltop. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He didn’t fight you when you began to peel the fabric away from the wound. “It went clean through but it had to be close range. It made a mess.” The wound had clotted, thankfully, but he wasn’t out of the woods. He had already lost too much. There was the possibility of infection. “Rick, we need to go. Maggie and Daryl need medical attention.”

“I’m trying, Y/N.” The former sheriff was exasperated and rightfully so.

Daryl rested his head against your shoulder, trembling with the effort to hold back his tears. Your arms encircled him while you stroked his hair and whispered reassurances. “Just take it easy. I’ve got you.” You looked up as Rick kneeled beside you, his eyes bloodshot and face still wet. “Maggie?”

“Sasha’s gonna take care of her. Keep her safe.” He rested a hand on Daryl’s knee and squeezed. The archer didn’t stir. “How’s he doin’?”

“We’re all in some form of shock right now but he’s in medical shock. We need to get him to Hilltop. Bastards let him sit and bleed.” You hissed, rubbing circles on Daryl’s back.

“You told Negan Daryl was your husband.”

You shrugged. “He might as well be. I just wanted to give him something. Play the sympathy card.” You glanced over at Maggie, feeling your heart contract. “It worked.” You felt horrible about it, you couldn’t help it. Still, your partner was alive and breathing in your arms. Your relief outweighed your guilt.

“Let me get Aaron. We’ll get him loaded up.”

You felt Daryl growing heavier and heavier. “Hurry. Please hurry.” You pleaded, holding your archer tighter. Rick nodded and pushed himself up, calling for Aaron. “I’ve got you, Daryl. I’ve got you. Hang on for me. Okay? I need you to hold on.”

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zombiigrll · 7 months ago

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Okay, okay, okay. This came to me in a dream, and I think you'd perfectly write this: Prison era. Carl just lost Lori. Y/n comforts Carl with a doll they've carried the whole time and have been known to never let it go but they give it to Carl. <3 please, I am begging on my hands and knees.

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YOUR DOLL? ⋆｡°✩ carl grimes x reader .ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 1.3K ꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ hurt to comfort, spoilers for the walking dead 3x4, blood/gore-y mentions, death mentions, cursing, arguing, then some fluff :3 .ᐟ SUMMARY .ᐟ ⭑ carl became distant after his mother had died, leaving you, his childhood best-friend, in the dust. but he knew he couldn't get rid of you that easily. ꩜ .ᐟ A/N .ᐟ ⭑ thank you SO MUCH for the request!! this is such a cute idea<3 hope i portrayed it like how you imagined :3 (also i hope you guys like the tiny twdg reference hehe)

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walkers had broke into the prison. you were separated from everyone, carl, lori, rick, everyone. you were terrified. sure, you knew how to fight, but you never liked to fight. you always thought too much about it. how the knives felt jabbing through the skulls of walkers who were once humans, how every time you killed another you felt more and more deranged...

but you knew you needed to do it. you didn't want to die, so you had to. the only thing there to comfort you was your doll, clementine. you had her ever since you were born, and you carried her everywhere with you. you were lucky enough to still have her given the current circumstances of the world. you made sure that alongside your knife, you held her tightly in your hand. you backed yourself up into a cell and slammed it shut so the walkers chasing steadily behind you couldn't get in.

you began hyperventilating, looking at the walkers hands grabbing at you from the other side. your eyes began filling up with tears as you squeezed clementine closer to you, leaning your back up against the back wall. you didn't want to die like this, but you stupidly trapped yourself here. you didn't know if those bars could hold that amount of walkers, but you went in there anyways.

tears began flowing out of your eyes as you loudly sobbed, practically screaming to get someone, anyone's, attention. ...and it worked.

"y/n?! oh, shit-" a familiar voice yelled through the prison block, followed by gunshots.

"...glenn?" you sniffled, your eyes widening as you looked around at the sudden openings through the cell bars from the walkers averting their bodies towards the shots.

you quickly bolted up with your knife again to stab the walkers that were still in arms reach in an attempt to help glenn. eventually, he got the rest.

he ran up to the cell and opened it, noticing your bloodied appearance. "are you okay? are you bit?"

"i'm fine, wh..where's carl?" you stuttered, out of breath.

"..i'm not sure. come on." he placed his hand on your shoulder and began walking you out and into the courtyard.

...

as the two of you stepped into the yard, you both noticed carl and maggie walking out, blood on both of their hands. and a baby in maggies.

tears were rolling down both of their faces, except carl had little to no emotion on his.

"carl..?" you called out, stepping closer to him. and all you got in return was a saddened look. "where.. where's lori?"

this caught ricks attention more as he began putting the pieces together. the blood, the baby.. the tears.

your face quickly softened at the realization. you brought a hand up to your face, unsure what to do besides sob.

lori was like a mother figure for you, always helping you while your parents were out working. she's the reason you were still living in the first place.

everyone was crying. glenn was holding maggie, rick was a wreck, no one knew what to do. then rick left. running back to where maggie and carl walked away to find lori.

carl wiped the tears off of his face, which resulted in blood from his hand spreading onto his cheeks. he started walking back to the cell blocks, which caused you to snap back to reality. you put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to stop him, but he shrugged it off. you stayed standing there, looking at your hand he pushed away then back up at him. you frowned, but you understood. you were like this when you processed you'd never see your mom or dad again.

...

weeks passed. things were fixed.. sort of. carl was still a wreck. he hated talking to anyone. he barely took care of himself. he'd sit in his room, reading, sleeping, or just.. breathing.

he wouldn't talk to you, and as much as you knew it wasn't personal, it still hurt. he should know that out of everyone here, you understood.

but today, you had enough. you weren't going to let him suffer in silence any further.

you walked up to his cell and knocked on the side of the wall to get his attention, which caused him to flinch and look up at you.

"..go away." he murmured.

"carl, i don't want you to go through this by yourself. i want to help." you crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe, your doll hanging over your pocket.

"i don't need you to help me. i'm not going through anything, i'm fine." he snapped back angrily.

"you're not fine. people who are fine don't sit in their room all day staring blankly at the ceiling." you retort before softening your tone. "..i'm here for you."

this broke him slightly. he sighs and covers his face with his hands before falling back on his bed.

you walk up and sit next to him silently, giving him some time before you speak again. "i know how it feels. well, kind of.. i just want to help you."

"what happened to you that day?" he changes the subject, his hands still covering his face.

"..what?"

"what happened to you when the walkers broke into the prison?" he repeats.

"why are you asking me that?" you raise an eyebrow at him.

"just answer me." his tone turns slightly more demanding. "you were covered in blood."

"oh." you sighed. "a ton of the walkers were chasing me. i killed a couple and their blood splattered on me. i had to run into a cell and lock myself in."

"so you almost got bit?" his voice turned more upset and concerned.

"well, yeah. but i didn't."

he shakes his head and sits back up to look at you. "i should've been there to help you. and even when i saw you covered in blood, i didn't care to ask if you were bit."

"that's okay. i don't mind. you... lost your mom. you weren't thinking straight. i didn't take any offense to it." you reassure him with a smile, which he simply just looks away at.

"i don't understand. why would you want to help me after that?" he asks, his voice slightly cracking.

"because.. i love you?" you chuckle, and he quickly turns his head back to face you again.

"...what?"

"when i realized i was never going to see my parents again, i reacted the same way you did. and you were still there for me. i yelled at you, i pushed you away, you didn't care. you were there for me." you smile, looking down at your hands in your lap. "i love you, carl."

he stares at you, mouth agape, dumbfounded by your words. "like.. how?"

you laughed. "in every way possible." a flush of pink covered both of your faces. as carl processed your words, you took your doll out of your pocket and handed it to him. "here."

"huh?" he grabs clementine and looks at her confused. "...your doll?"

you nod with a bright smile. "mhm. she's gotten me through rough times. maybe.. she can help you, too."

his confused look turns more sweet as he chuckles, holding the doll close. ".. thank you."

"of course." you pull him in for a hug, squeezing him tightly, to which he returns.

"...i love you, too, by the way." he mumbles into your neck.

you chuckle in response, kissing the top of his head. he breaks from the hug and looks at you, his eyes wide.

"did you just kiss me?" his eyebrows raise.

"maybe." you reply in a sing-song tone, a smirk on your lips.

his face turns bright red, to the point where he could pass as a tomato. he averts his eyes before putting his hand up to your cheek, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

as he pulls away, he looks at you softly. his facial expression looked as if nothing else mattered. he was happy, although you couldn't fully tell at first glace. he looked at you like you were a goddess, and he was the luckiest boy in the world. and he finally felt at peace in your soft, comforting arms.

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#🌙 — maxines fics #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #twd #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead oneshot #the walking dead x reader #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes oneshot #hurt to comfort

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pyrondeeznutz · 1 year ago

Text

Ticci Toby Headcanons

PT.01

Toby Rogers past, upbringing, pre-proxy headcanons. See proxy era headcanons here ⬇️

CW: Slight mentions of animal abuse, domestic violence, psychosis, bullying, car crash, gore

<NOTE> Im a psychology nerd so I tried to make it as realistic as possible. This is my first time doing anything like this but I have a lot of thoughts about Tobys character. Its not proofread so ignore any typos or grammatical errors. Also… its very long… I have… so many thoughts…

BIOGRAPHY .

PATIENT NAME: Tobias (Toby) Erin Rogers

BIRTHDATE: April 28th, 1994

AGE: Currently 19 years old

HC/EC: Brown hair, brown eyes

ETHNICITY: White American

BIRTHPLACE: Denver, Colorado

FAMILY: Connie Rogers (mother), Dan Rogers (Father), Lyra Rogers (sister)

DIAGNOSIS: Congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis (CIPA), Tourettes Syndrome, Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), Bipolar Disorder (Type 1, psychotic)

THE GURNEY .

Toby was in and out of hospitals from a very young age due to his wide range of physical and mental health concerns

His earliest memory was when, at age 4, he hit his head after falling onto cement and didn’t cry, scream, or even really acknowledge that he was hurt

After seeing the bloody mess her young child was in, Connie ran Toby to the hospital where tests were ran to determine what caused his lack of pain response

Finally at age 8, Toby was diagnosed with CIPA. This condition not only prevented his brain from generating a pain response but also responses to extreme temperatures (frostbite, heat burn, etc)

Due to these dangerous health issues, and his neurotic mother, Toby was put in homeschooling from a very early age. Connie was too protective of her son to allow him to go out on his own at his age

His earliest memories revolved around roaming hospital halls, his parents fighting over medical bills, being talked to by social workers and doctors, having tests done, minor surgeries, etc.

DEAR OLD DAD .

Dan Rogers was a difficult man. He never admitted he was wrong, he spent his evenings drinking on the couch, and always had something to complain about. The best words to describe this man was angry, bitter, and reckless

He wasn’t a father by any means. To Toby, the man was more of a nuisance than anything. An alcoholic manchild who stood in his way

The boy never got along with Dan. His father would see him as a burden, bringer of unnecessary medical costs. He severely emotionally and physically neglected his children from their birth. Dan never wanted to be a father.

Due to the costs of Tobys medical problems, Dan would continuously attempt to “prove he was faking” his CIPA, and yell at the boy for his strange twitches due to Tourettes. On one occasion, Dan put his sons hand in a pot of boiling water to try and elicit a pain response that never came.

As Toby got older and more independent from his mother, he would often mouth off to his father, talk back, or straight up ignore him. There was never a moment of peace between those two

Being the money maker in the house, Dan was usually very overworked and stressed. He turned to alcohol to relieve this, and his bad temper got worse when he drank. Often to the point his outbursts would lead to physical violence against his family

It was like walking in a minefield for Toby and his family. And since the supposed “man of the house” was a drunken mean old man, Toby took it upon himself to protect his family from his fathers wrath.

He would purposely act up to direct Dans fist towards him. The boy couldn’t feel it anyways, and being hit, pushed, grabbed, was better than having his sister or mother be hit or yelled at.

The young boy spent his childhood in a rage, he was powerless against his father.

MOTHER DEAREST .

Unlike her husband, Connie was a quiet woman who cared deeply for her children

She was well-mannered, motherly, and kept to herself. And while she was a good woman, she had her fair share of flaws

You would catch her dead before you ever caught her losing control over her emotions. Connie grew up quick and that stuck with her. From a young age she took care of her manchild of a husband

She couldn’t afford to lose herself to silly things like emotions. She had a family to care for, a house to clean, meals to cook. Her priorities lied on appearance over her health

This was one of the many reasons she couldn’t leave her husband despite the years of abuse

Despite all the violence, berating, assault. This life was her own and it was just another thing she had to live with

Toby loved his mother, he really did. He knew she did the best given the circumstances. Connie kept her children fed, clothed and housed. Thats all he could really ask for

But he despised from the depths of his soul how she could just sit by and let the abuse happen. How she never left Dan. How she never cared enough to leave despite not knowing what lied in store for them beyond that house

To her, Dan was a safety net. He provided money, insurance, he paid the bills, put food on the table. Connie quit her job in order to homeschool her son. There was no choice

To Toby, his mother was a coward who never stuck up for herself. And god forbid he ever turn into that

So Toby fought the battles his mother couldn’t. He said the words his mother didn’t dare to speak. He took the beatings and his mother did nothing but ask her husband to stop

SOUL SISTER .

In the chaos of that household, Lyra was something of fresh air for Toby

While the two did fight as any siblings do, they had a mutual care and understanding for each other

Lyra would keep a makeshift first aid kit under her bed for whenever Toby got into minor accidents or if their father went too far some nights

Like her little brother, Lyra had a lot of anger in her. She would always try to stop Dan from going too far and she was good at talking Toby and their father down from ripping each others throats out

She would channel this anger and frustration into sports like boxing, soccer, rugby. It was easier to express her feelings through physical means than ever talking about it. The girl was a perfect mix of her parents

When he was younger, Toby had a very bad and hostile relationship with Lyra. He was young and didn’t have any clue how to handle his emotions and would often threaten or physically hurt his sister

But as he grew up, and they bonded over the related abuse, and they would be there for each other, Toby developed tender care for his older sister. If she got a boyfriend, he would be ready to attack at any sign of disrespect. If she brought over friends, he would stay in his room not to embarrass her.

Just as he was with his mother, he was very protective over Lyra. She did so much for him, and he wanted to keep her safe. It was a tangled, messy relationship but they made it work despite her attitude and his anger

CONDUCT .

Toby grew up completely isolated from other kids, families, etc. The most socialization he got was going to family events or being dragged to the grocery store with his mother.

All he knew growing up was violence. And so when he was around other people, he would project everything he learnt from his father onto other kids

From a very early age he was made to feel small and insignificant in his own home by the people that were supposed to take care of him. And so whenever something challenged him out of the house, he would do whatever he needed to do to put them below him

Sometimes Toby would project this violence onto small animals, occasionally moving onto bigger animals such as cats. The feeling of killing something smaller than himself with his own hands gave him a sense of power and control he never had

Due to his untreated ADHD, the boy would often be loud, hyperactive and intrusive. He would have temper tantrums and outbursts as well, and his mother never knew how to handle it

He was a problem child from birth. Not only causing problems for himself, but for everyone around him

Toby would talk back, curse, say strange and vulgar things, refuse to apologize or admit he was wrong, and would run away from home occasionally.

But despite these behavioural issues, Toby always refused to touch alcohol. Despite all the anger, dread and frustration he felt he swore he’d never become the kind of man his father was

BULLY .

Around 12 years old, Toby’s parents decided it would be best for him to get properly socialized and placed him in a public school

He was now old enough to recognize that bleeding is bad and how to check for injuries despite his CIPA, which allowed Connie to calm down tremendously when it came to her anxiety surrounding her boys health and safety

Despite his mothers insistence that he would love public school, he’d make so many friends there, and that everything would be fine, Toby knew damn well he wouldn’t do well there. He was already bullied by his own father, imagine how other kids would react. He’s seen the movies.

And of course Toby was right. Due to his Tourettes, his tics would often confuse, scare and gross other kids out. They would either straight up treat him like a diseases rat or ruthlessly bully him

The boy was called every name in the book, from “twitchy freak” to “ticci Toby”

Alongside the ostracism and harassment from his peers, his tics and behavioural issues would cause him issues with his teachers. They would often scold him for being a disturbance in class

Making and keeping friends was near impossible for the boy. Talking to a “creepy loser” like him was practically social suicide. He was weird, strange, and given his history of fighting the other kids he was probably dangerous too. No kid wanted to be around that.

On occasion, the other boys would get physical with him and he would always hit back, leading him to get in more trouble with the school staff

Toby would be beat down at school and go home to have it done to him all again by his father

Eventually the school year came to an end and Toby was put back in homeschooling

Even though the torment in middle school came to an end, that didn’t mean the bullying stopped. He was now a known freak and the perfect target for kids who were a bit too much like him. They would harass him online until they got bored, and god forbid he saw any of them in public

It made the angry, powerless boy feel even worse in his own world. There wasn’t a night that went by where he didn’t think of going off and getting his revenge. Make them pay for ever fucking with him.

THE CRASH .

When Toby turned 17, he had finally got himself medicated for his recently diagnosed Bipolar Disorder which caused manic / depressive episodes

He was put on antipsychotics and stimulant medication for his ADHD

While he was being treated, his sister got a job and so did his mother. Outside of all the familiar instability and violence his father caused, life was good

Toby was going to be 18 soon and his sister promised that when he became a legal adult, she would take him to move out with her

He didn’t have any friends, he didn’t really have any plans for his life, but he had a life ahead of him regardless and that was enough

The boy was working through pain too great to imagine, he was carrying 17 years of fear and dread, he was so young holding on to so much

But he had a way out. He was going to get a job and move out with his dear older sister and maybe even go to college. He was going to overcome this

That was his views at least up until the crash

Lyra was driving Toby back home from a doctors appointment when it happened

His tics were acting up, it was rather distracting

He was so caught up in his own little world and trying to get through the frustrating twitches that he didn’t even have a second to process what happened

The next thing Toby knew, the car was swerving right into a lamppost and the air bags were deployed

And the next thing Toby saw was his sisters mangled, bloody body. The force of the steering wheel crushing her bones and shards of glass piercing her skin. The physical trauma near shattered her ribs

And the next thing Toby heard was the pained groans and wheezing from his dying sister

Thats the last thing he remembered before he woke up in a hospital bed with his broken arm being patched up. The doctors wouldn’t even let him see his sister who was under surgery in the emergency room

He didn’t get to be there by her side when she died

He didn’t get a goodbye

And while he was surrounded by family, his aunt Lori was even there to support his mother, Tobys father was nowhere to be seen

Dan was too drunk to drive, and too lazy to call a cab. He didn’t care about Toby and he didn’t care that his daughter just died. One less burden.

In one afternoon Tobys entire life slipped through the cracks of his hands

HIM .

The grief was sickening. It was heavier than the weight of the world. The silence that flooded his once loud house from his sister blaring her Beatles albums was deafening

These were the kinds of things that only happened in movies. People didn’t really lose their family members, and these things didn’t happen to people like him

It wasn’t fair

The one good thing in his miserable life, the moment things were finally getting better. There was no hope anymore, Toby was hopeless

He thought of ending his life every night as he stared at the ceiling, not getting a wink of sleep. But he couldn’t do that to his mom. She never showed it, but it showed clearly from the weight in her steps, the tired look in her eyes. He knew she was carrying a burden too great to bear

He couldn’t take away both of her children

So he would lie there night after night hoping to wake up from the gutwrenching dream just to hear her laugh, sing, blast her shitty music. He never really liked The Beatles, but she did. But she did.

It was all too much for him. From the moment Toby stepped out of the hospital he hadn’t felt real. The boy was living two steps away from reality like there was a sheet of plastic in between him and the world

Days would go by where he would forget to take his medication, or where he would simply just sleep the entire day away

On the days he was awake, Toby would feel like he was going insane. He wouldn’t feel real, he would see things out of the corner of his eye

Sometimes he’d swear he saw something outside his window at night

A strange creature standing under the streetlights

And it only got worse from here. Toby would almost always refuse to leave the house, he stopped sleeping, he felt like something was watching him

The boy would spend hours staring outside his bedroom window. The forest in his backyard had eyes and they were watching him

A wave of sickness overtook Toby. He would wake up with bloody noses sometime and no medicine would get rid of his strange cough. Sometimes he would sleepwalk and end up waking up on the edge of the forest behind his house, cold and alone in the dark of the night

It all added up. It was too much. The anger, the fear, the paranoia. The little voice in the back of his head telling him to just do it. Get revenge. Make him pay.

ABLAZE .

The years and years of abuse. Everything his father had done. He wasn’t there. He was never there.

Why should a man like that deserve to live? 17 fucking years of making Toby feel small and insignificant

Not today. And not anymore. The world was in the boys hands now, and so was a knife. And that night was the night Toby Rogers killed his own father.

No words could describe the feeling of adrenaline and rage that overtook the boy that night. There was no other option, this was the way it was always going to happen

Everything Toby has ever been through has led up to this. It was his own divine prophecy

And God showed no mercy that night

23 stab wounds drilled into his fathers chest, his face bloody, beaten and unrecognizable. Toby smashed his tiny bruised fists ruthlessly into his fathers now deceased body.

The only thing that stopped him was the scream of his mother. It was something primal, something deep from the pain in her gut.

Toby ran into the garage and grabbed two axes that belonged to his father, one old one new. Alongside that he grabbed gasoline and matches. He was going to do what he knew best. He was going to destroy everything.

And so the boy ran down the street of his neighborhood pouring the gasoline along his way and dousing the rest over the trees as he stood at the edge of the forest

Striking a match, the dry grass and trees caught on fire and immediately exploded into flames. The heat and blaze engulfed the boy and soon it began catching onto the rest of the forest

This was the end, he thought. Strangely enough, even though his heart was beating in his throat and his body was shaking, he felt calm. He had no regrets and he was fine with this being his ending.

His mind went blank, everything felt like a static screen, he could feel himself getting dizzy and there was a loud ringing in his ears

The last thing he saw was a tall, faceless creature in the midst of the smoke and fire as he collapsed to the ground.

And that was the death of Tobias Erin Rogers.

#creepypasta #ticci toby #creepypasta ticci toby #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby fanart #toby rogers #ticci toby creepypasta #creepypasta writing #ticci toby fanfiction #writing #original writing #ticci toby headcanon #pyrocrpz

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