#Woken Shadow Burning

[sugurugetos]

@lotrweek 2024 — Day IV: Gifts, Burdens and Choices ↳ ARAGORN II & THORIN II OAKENSHIELD + Prophecy

01. All that is gold does not glitter. Not all those who wander are lost. The old that is strong does not wither. Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken. A light from the shadows shall spring. Renewed shall be blade that was broken. The crownless again shall be king.

02. The Lord of Silver Fountains, the King of Carven Stone. The King beneath the Mountain shall come into his own. And the bells shall ring in gladness at the Mountain King's return. But all shall fail in sadness, and the lake will shine and burn.

[chikaras-garden]

Batboys as things that go bump in the night

So what if he’s not human?

Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne x fem!reader

Contains: Monsterfucking. Dubcon. Unprotected piv sex in Dick’s, Jason’s, and Damian’s. Blood in Bruce’s. Somnophilia and light breeding kink in Dick’s. Knotting in Jason’s. Oral sex (f!receiving) in Tim’s. Degradation in Damian’s.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked. Happy Halloweekend angels!

BRUCE WAYNE 🦇

A loner. A constant shadow over Gotham. A collector of all things macabre. And now, he has his sights set on you. You’re a pretty thing, dressed in all black at a late-autumn gala, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze on you even when your back is turned.

So it’s no surprise that, when you tempt fate by rounding a corner into a deserted hallway, you are not alone.

Stepping out of the shadows, Bruce’s hand clamps around one side of your throat, leaving just one side—the side of your pulse—exposed for his lips. He kisses you there far more than he kisses your lips, nibbling and suckling the soft flesh over your pulse. Your heart beats faster and faster as your knees go weak, but his arm tightens around you.

“I have you, darling,” he husks. His skin is cold against yours, but perhaps that’s because the all-consuming presence of a man like this makes your blood run hot.

His other hand comes up to cup your flushed cheek, thumb dragging along the shape of your face as if he’s trying to memorize you.

“So warm. Such soft skin,” he murmurs, bending his head low and kissing your neck. “Such a beautiful creature.”

Something twists in your stomach when he says that—creature. An instinct tells you to run, but you quickly realize that the look in his eyes has you completely enthralled. He’s watching you with purpose, always keeping your eyes locked as if looking away from you will break the spell he has you under.

“I have to taste you,” he whispers, voice raw with a strain whose source you cannot place. He inhales deeply and lets out a low, feral noise before you feel a twinned shock of pain that makes you gasp: blood rushes to your neck and spills from your broken skin onto his waiting tongue, which greedily laps at the sweet nectar he just stole.

DICK GRAYSON 🦇

You never remember what happened the morning after your nights with your blue-eyed visitor in black, but you can’t stop the way your body aches for the mysterious stranger. At first, you thought he was a dream, but even you know that your unconscious can’t conjure up something as beautiful as him.

He wakes you by laying on top of you, pushing his hot-as-Hell flesh against yours. You didn’t go to sleep naked, but you’re naked now; your clothes are gone, but you’re covered with him, his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, one of his hands painfully squeezing the other, and his red-tipped cock already bullying its way into your slick folds. 

It hurts, but the ache is so dizzying that you can’t bring yourself to care, especially when you’re aware that you won’t remember this by morning anyway. You feel as if you’re being burned alive and made new in just the way he wants you. And that feels good, doesn’t it? Why else would you have woken up with your pussy soaking wet? 

He picks his head up just enough to watch you watch him while his tongue traces the outer edge of your areola and flicks your nipple in slow strokes, teasing it into hardness with just the tip of his tongue. He’s kneeling between your legs, and his free hand slides down to gently stroke your belly—which is when you notice that his fingers, like his cock, are tipped with blood-red skin.

Then comes his dark murmur, ��Let me fill you, pretty thing. Let me give you a little gift to help you remember me.”

Your breath catches and, once again, he latches on—teeth first, this time.

At the same time, he thrusts into you, cock heavy and fire-hot, searing your skin and all but tearing you open while you keen and grasp at him, fingernails scraping down his back. His warmth is inescapable as he thrusts into you with inhuman force.

And you swear that, when he comes, filling you with his infernal seed, you catch a glimpse of a ruby glimmer in his once-blue eyes.

JASON TODD 🦇

Honestly, you handled finding out that your boyfriend is a werewolf remarkably well. But because you’re a human, he has one rule: no knotting. That is, until an October full moon has him more feral than usual, trapped in a rut that he’s powerless to fight against.

Jason has you hiked up against his chest, barely balanced on his thick thighs with your panties shoved aside. One finger is pressed firmly against your clit, the claws that come with his half-transformed state lightly grazing your sensitive skin. He’s already buried inside of you, thrusting so shallowly that he may as well be humping your innermost walls.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder. His skin rages with heat while his muscles tremble, lips mouthing along any inch of your skin that he can reach. Head heavy on your shoulder, he rasps out broken sentences, each cut off by animalistic whimpers and whines. “God, fuck— I can’t— I shouldn’t— You’re—”

You have one hand tangled in his hair, thumbing the soft black-and-white fur that crawls up along his hybrid ears. His cock, impossibly thick already, stretches you even more open than you already were, and you throw your head back to let out a moan of mixed pleasure-pain.

“Fuck,” he whispers, because he feels it too. “Baby, I’m— It’s—”

“Let it,” you gasp, feeling lightheaded with the pain of Jason filling you so completely, cockhead swelling so full that he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to. “Please, please, Jason, I need it.”

All that gets you is another guttural groan from him, a sound as close to a howl as he can make without being fully transformed. Still swelling, his cock is thick, heavy, hot—pulsing inside of you, begging to stay there, to fill you, to mark and mate with you. You can’t imagine what it must look like, but you know that the feeling is divine: this oneness, this wholeness, is something you’ve never felt before. It’s almost enough to dull how much your pussy aches.

“Jason,” you moan, tears filling your eyes.

“I know,” he soothes, trying to stay sturdy and stable for you even though his whole body is trembling. “Fuck, it— Baby, you feel so good. Such a good fucking girl, letting me mate with you. Gonna make you feel amazing, I promise.”

TIM DRAKE 🦇

“Stay still,” Tim teases, clawed fingers clamping down on your hip. “Or no rewards.”

Your back is pressed against the chilly, damp wall of the bat cave, and your clothes are shreds around your feet. You know this is all your fault, that you should have avoided the man who has only made his obsession with you painfully clear. As soon as the half-dragon spotted you—his treasure, his paramour, his little human love—he pounced. 

Half changed with pewter green scales climbing up his skin and pupils narrowed into reptilian slits, Tim wastes no time in turning your clothes into ribbons of fabric in effort to get to you.

And then he drops to his knees, burying his face in between your legs.

The forked tongue laves up and down the folds of your pussy, skirting along the outside of your sopping hole until you’re shuddering, clinging to him. His hand digs in harder, talons piercing the soft skin of your ass, scaly palm forcing your cunt against his mouth until you feel the sting of sharpened teeth against your mound.

Even though his teeth sting your pulsing flesh, even though his licks are too fast to be completely pleasurable, you feel yourself grow slick around his tongue. Your head falls back against the wall and you begin to pant, heart beating so fast that you start to feel faint, teetering on the edge of consciousness.

His forked tongue reaches impossibly deep within you. The fleshy muscle feels wrong but also so good, skin fading from soft pink to greenish-black, its texture rough and bumpy, stimulating you from more directions than you have ever felt at once. 

He licks all the way to your cervix—a thing no mere mortal man could ever do to you—greedily biting, sucking, and growling against your throbbing, abused pussy until finally you come with a pitiful, worn-out scream.

You feel his ice-cold lips pull into a smile as he breathes, “Good human. Now give me another—or three more. Maybe five.”

DAMIAN WAYNE 🦇

You go to the guardian of an ancient library for help but, poor you, the sphinx’s riddles prove too challenging for you. In accordance with the legends, you expect to be smited on the spot, or at least banished, but instead—the sphinx shifts to his human form and decides that you are his.

How lucky it is that Damian decides he likes you enough to keep you captive instead of simply killing you as punishment. How lucky it is that he is clever enough to find a use for your frail human form. How lucky it is that he doesn’t find mating with you as repulsive as he originally thought.

“At least work for it,” he drawls, stifling a yawn while he leans back on the emerald-green settee. His arms are spread, powerful shoulders and biceps making him look even bigger than he already is. No, he never touches you—that would be demeaning—but he does offer you the privilege of riding his cock until you make yourself come.

You close your eyes and drive your hips forward and down, trying to strike the spot inside you that only he can reach. No sooner than your eyes flutter closed, though, he snaps his fingers in front of you.

“Look at me, pet.” His head rests on the back of the chair, lips parted with every breath that makes his chest slowly rise and fall. His face looks warm and you wonder what it might feel like to kiss those plush lips—but you’re also coherent enough to realize that he’s measuring his breaths on purpose.

You’re getting to him. You think. You hope. Maybe if you please him, he’ll let you go. 

He shifts his hips up and you cry out, nearly losing your balance on his powerful thighs, but a warm hand suddenly cups your ass to drag you back into place. He leans forward, stomach flexing, and murmurs in your ear, “Can’t even do this without help, can you? Useless little human.”

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: In which Arthur catches a glimpse of your intimacy, the vision driving him into madness until he finally decides to give in to his urges. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation, nudity, voyeurism (reader not aware he's staring), self-depreciation, and lots of shame from this poor man. Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 2,7k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Lately, Arthur had a problem. An incessant, disturbing, haunting problem.

He couldn’t sleep at night.

This could have been related to the gang’s precarious situation, being hunted down by the Pinkertons and surrounded by enemy gangs, O’Driscolls and Lemoyne raiders everywhere. Or even because of some older wounds, the loss of Eliza and Isaac amongst others, reminded almost every day by the complicated family portrait John painted with Abigail and Jack. Or the hurtful thought of the life he never had with Mary that was always following him since he had seen her again near Valentine. Life doomed from the start by his inherent violence and the mountain of corpses he was responsible for.

Arthur had plenty of reasons not to sleep at night. But this wasn’t because of any of that.

He couldn’t sleep because of you. 

Not that it was your fault. In fact, you didn’t even know about any of that and Lord have mercy, he was praying that you’ll never find out; because he would never be able to look at you in the eyes then.

A few weeks ago, the gang had settled at Clemen’s Point. A rather pretty spot just near the lake, and not so far from town. But it wasn’t exactly the place that was causing him trouble. It was the unexpected view he was having from his tent.

For some unknown, mystical reasons, Miss Grimshaw while deciding the camp’s ajancement had decided to place your tent right next to his. Not so big of a problem at first sight, right?

Except that you were a night owl combined with the suffocating warmth of the place. Making you get to bed naked.

Oh, Arthur knew you do, because every night, every single one, you let a candle lit to read, or write, or God knows what before sleeping. The light casts your shadow against the tent’s canvas. The shadow of your very much nude body.

The first night Arthur had noticed, he had come back exhausted from a job in the middle of the night and laid on his cot without even taking the time to remove his boots or hat. A very usual and typical slice of his life, which lately felt more and more like a terribly used one. As if all these slices were repeating again and again. An accumulation of jobs and missions and robberies and fights; deceiving, lying, stealing, killing. Over and over again, going round and round. At night, he was reduced to a slumbered mind in a spent body, that was definitely becoming old and rusty. Already half asleep, mud and twigs surrounding his tired limbs, his thoughts all tangled up like a ball of wool, he had turned his head to his left, reaching from instinct for his pack of cigarettes on the little table next to his bed. Another slice of bad habits from a bad life.

That’s how his eyes had met with this quite erotic shape displayed on your tent.

Said eyes had grown so big that it had fully woken him up all of a sudden, as quickly as if someone had dumped a bucket of iced water on his shocked face. After half of a second of pure stabbing surprise and incomprehension with his hand hanged in the air, his breath stuck in his throat as if really being punched in the gut, he instantly turned his eyes back to the ceiling of his own tent. Cheeks burning red, heart pounding, as if someone had caught him in the act of doing a terribly shameful thing. Exactly as if he had really seen you naked.

He had feverishly grabbed the cigarette pack without looking at it, gaze refusing to turn again, these two blue diamonds locked on the ceiling of his tent, and had messily pulled one out of it, his shaky fingers fumbling, almost spilling everything on the ground.

He must have looked so damn ridiculous.

The smoke helped him to calm down, its soothing and comforting feeling spreading and burning through his lungs. He had fallen asleep, turned to the other side facing the wagon, trying not to think too much about the peek of your intimacy he had witnessed, telling himself it probably was going to be an isolated incident. 

But of course, of course the Lord had to torment him even in the rare moments of peace he could have enjoyed.

Turns out this was apparently a habit of yours. 

To be honest, he probably deserved to be tormented. But this was years from what he had in mind when it came to the Lord's punishment for his life of crimes.

And Arthur, even though a hardened man in many ways, able to lock lips during torture, kill men with bare hands, and stay emotionally strong in any kind of situation, was still only, after all, a man. A man with needs.

Filthy, disgusting needs.

He had tried to resist. Had tried not to let his eyes slip in your direction like that first night. Sometimes he would allow himself a quick glance, just to check if you were wearing any clothes for once, like a normal person. And maybe the night after would be different? Every evening spent at camp, his pupils would end up brushing the sinful silhouette in just a soft, slight sight, as if not to scare you, as if not to feel too bad about it.

But it was getting harder and harder not to stare. The easy lies about just checking on you or looking at anything else in the same area as your tent to have the chance of winning a glimpse of you would soon not be enough.

Just the mere fact that he knew you were completely bare, only a few meters away from him, singly the thin and superficial fabric of the tent between the both of you, was getting him hard and sweaty, and making his blood boil as a virgin teenage boy would. He could almost physically feel it, like a burning presence in his back when he was sleeping head against the wagon's wall.

The Human mind may be well designed for a lot of things; it forgets an event too hard to carry or can trick you into thinking you're not experiencing any physical pain in extreme situations. But Arthur had learned that it was extremely poorly made when it came to ignoring something. The more he was trying to not think about his unholy urges, the more he ended up being plagued with them. As sure as the seasons always turned in circles, you would come back to his effusive psyche.

And Oh, he was ashamed. Ashamed and revolted by himself. This was absolutely not in his habits, all the contrary. Yes, he was an old miserable bastard who had killed and plundered. But for God's sake, he had never acted obscene towards a lady before.

But the shame wasn't enough for him to stop. On the nights when the guilt was at its lowest —when the tediousness of his days was nibbling at his patience, he had let his eyes wander to your sinful figure, telling himself that maybe if he did, he could just go on with his night and finally rest. Just a quick taste, not too long.

But it only made things worse. It made him dream of you. 

Dream of you stripped, his imagination taking the lead of what the tent’s fabric was preventing him from seeing. Dream of you moaning, taking him so tightly, welcoming him in your warm body and into your arms. Dream of the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, of the sight of your naked body squirming with pleasure. He would now often wake up frustrated and angry, if he had succeeded in sleeping at all, his member hard and throbbing on its own, his heart beating powerfully in his chest as if it had been real. His pants and blanket had even been damped one or two times. 

What was he, a fifteen-year-old boy again? He was so angry and mortified by the physical obsession his body was having with you that he was constantly in a foul and fiery mood;  bitter with everyone, his tension leaking into every movement and every word he spoke. He started missing targets when shooting, getting even more reckless and hot-headed during jobs, jobs often ending up missed or taken care of negligently, yelling at people when they weren’t fast enough, or clever enough, or silent enough, breaking things, breaking rules. The lack of sleep was making his deadly efficiency fade away, replaced by sloppy and messy gestures, stopping enemies from falling dead at his feet like his lethal skills always did, castrating the only thing that was left of his masculinity.

And yet, he couldn’t stop watching you from afar during the time he was at camp, telling himself he knew, or at least had an idea, of what you looked like without these clothes on; feeling a twisted sensation of pride imagining he was the only one who did. On top of that, your sweet personality and beautiful face weren’t helping him at all with his addiction. Filthy old bastard, stop it- he had to mentally slap himself to prevent staring at you for too long, especially staring at your chest that this goddamn dress you had chosen to wear wasn’t covering at all; or your ass these goddamn pants were fitting way too well.

Tonight, Arthur is avoiding going to bed too early. He knows he would just lay in it waiting for you anyway. Instead, he goes for a walk along Flat Iron Lake’s shores, bringing his journal with him. Two entire pages are already dedicated to your shadow. He had no idea a picture exclusively made of black and white flats on a sheet could have such a powerful erotic effect. Or maybe he is a complete degenerate —which, he is sure, is more and more true.

He has to be honest with himself, he could just go to a hotel, or out of camp for a few days to sleep under the stars, and the matter would be settled.

But he doesn’t want to. Because deep down inside, his urges are winning, making him feel like the most foolish and weakest man alive. He enjoys watching you. He enjoys seeing those forbidden plumped curves cast on this canvas. He feels like you're not leaving him any mercy, pitiless, his days dictated by the wait for his taboo rendez-vous, his nights by your sensual apparitions in his dreams.

He is trapped, you have completely tamed him, and irony of it all, have absolutely no idea you are making him feel like this.

This woman is drivin' me insane.

After a few hours on the cold shore's sand, his fingers only capable of creating quick little sketches and scribbles, his feet lead him back to camp. What a surprise. He finds most of the gang's members already asleep, apart from the ones on guard duty and some late campfire enjoyers talking about life, about love, grief, the future, the past. He briefly nods at them without a word and walks to his private space. He already knows what’s waiting for him there, your tent looking like it’s still illuminated, his thoughts and body avid for it.

No, don’t be a fool, Morgan.

He sits down on his cot. Mumbles to himself orders and curses to try and stay reasonable. Takes off his hat, runs a hand through his hair, sticky with sweat and dirt from his busy day, as all the other ones, as always. Scratches his beard and his ears with a sniff, tells himself he needs to take a swim into that lake. That he’s as dirty on the inside as he’s on the outside. Pulls down his suspenders before stretching his shoulders, a pained groan escaping him. A cigarette joins his lips, a match lights it, and he breathes in slowly. He tries to calm down, focusing once again on this homey feeling it brings him. 

But his brows furrows. His lips tighten. He knows he won’t be able to hold on much longer. He needs to sleep properly. Even being the all-mighty Titan he is, he still needs a good night of sleep from time to time to keep the engine of his body turning, and you have kept it from him for days.

He lies to himself promising this is only for his health.

That this is the only way for him to stay focused during the day; the only way to rest properly and be at his best again tomorrow.

That this will be the only time he’ll do that.

His only moment of weakness. 

The still-lit cigarette and his good conscience fall to the ground as he lies on his cot, settled on his left side, his right hand already roaming on his lower belly. 

His eyes drop on the scene he had fantasized about for what seems like years to him at this point.

Lord have mercy…

Your shadow looks so perfect. He takes his sweet time to notice every detail of it, enjoying to the maximum his sinful behavior, now that he had succumbed to it. How you’re laying on your back, reading your book with your legs crossed. The curvaceous shape of your body looks divine to his insatiable gaze. Your hair messily tangled around your head. The silhouette of your chin and throat making him hungrier than any feast he could have attended. Your belly, rising and falling with your chest and breasts, gives the shadow an organic appearance. Your delicate legs, from the base of your thighs to your calves, to your feet, your toes mindlessly curling as you get lost in your story. And of course, the blurry outline of what was between them…

Damn it.

His hand quickly reaches his belt, unbuckles it,  fiddles with his pants, opens them carelessly in an urgent grip. He spits in his palm, lashes out at himself when the desire of it being your wetness instead crosses his mind, and slips it between the buttons of his union suit. It finally wraps around his desperate shaft, gorged with blood, and he wonders if he already had been this hard before.

The moment he feels the pressure of his own fingers around it, he can’t help but sigh deeply through his nose, and has to physically block the groan he was about to let out.

Make no noise, moron.

He bites his lips to stop any other immoral sound from crossing through his mouth. Last thing he needs right now is to get caught. He slowly rubs one languorous time from up to down, then up again, his fingers brushing his swollen head right where he needs to. He instantly knows he won’t last. He had dreamed about this, about you, both during days and nights. His eyes are locked on your tantalizing silhouette, this deiform delicious flesh. Goddess of the night, Queen of his desires.

His hand rubs once again and his muscles tighten. He starts to stroke in a rhythmic pace, his moves are efficient, messy, careless. He masturbates the same way he takes care of himself —quickly, roughly, as if matching his disgust towards his own self. The exact opposite of what he would do to you if he could. This is pure physical relief.

Yes, God, yes…

Your name turns in his mind between blasphemous curses as he pleasures himself, stroking faster and faster, delightful warm sensations spreading through him. Finally. The burning is no longer in his back or mind; it's right there around his erection, flames licking all around it.

He wants to be able to join you there, so badly. He wants to discover the tone of your bare skin in those places you never show to anyone. He wants to whisper sweet things in your ear and you to sigh back, your voice high and softly shaking from pleasure. He wants the lewd intimacy, the shared tension and the electric, exciting touch of two foreign skins discovering each other for the first time. He wants to see your hardening nipples he can only have a glimpse of through the fabric. 

He wants to have you, to take you, consume you, all to himself. He wants you to think about him the same way he is now, wants you to come while thinking of him, only him, your mouth to moan, whimper, scream even, all thanks to him. 

He wants your hand instead of his, around his cock right now, pressing harder, moving faster.

Yes, yes, jus’ a bit more darlin’… -

A movement from you, a real one, makes his pace slow down and his heart stops, afraid you might have by some sort of divine knowledge understood what was happening. But you’re just shifting in your bed, positioning yourself on your belly with your book open against your pillow, and Arthur’s balls spasm; he now has the most perfect view of your ass, its gorgeous, decadent round and plumped contour making his member twitch in his fist.

Ahh, shit… So god damn perfect… 

Pearls of sweat leak from his forehead to his neck. His ears shut close to the outside world, his surroundings completely disappearing. Now, there’s only you and your perfect back beautifully arched ending with your perfect bottom and him, and no one else’s on Earth. His breath is jerky, his entire face completely crimson, his fingers pumping so hard and fast he’s basically fucking his hand —your hand, with those wet and unmistakable noises filling the air.

His breath speeds up as Arthur feels his deliverance coming, blood rushing in his veins. He sees himself behind you grabbing fistfuls of your cheeks, he sees his erection diving deep between them. And it's the last straw. His brows are crunched in an exquisite expression of pure sexual delight, jaws so tensed he’s about to break his teeth, your pleasure-filled voice screaming his name in his head, dragging every sensation out of him. His orgasm hit him with the strength and speed of a thunderstorm, lightning bolts of satisfaction striking every fiber of his body.

 Yes! Yesss  —Damnit! 

He comes hard with a low and throaty growl he forgot to —or couldn't repress, silently repeating your name again and again, his lower lip almost cut open from how hard he had bit himself, an enormous vein on his forehead where sweat covers his skin. His thick, hot cum spills messily in an indecently large amount, the aftermath of having held himself back for so long, leaking on his pants and fingers and staining his cot; a dash of white contrasting with the darkness of what he just did.

He’s praying to the Lord and the Devil, any mystical forces known to man, that nobody had heard his final relief sound, especially not you. It was louder than what he would like to admit.

Shit, so damn good…

Using his black bandana, he roughly cleans himself then tosses it somewhere on the floor, his cock finally softening as he shoves it back under his clothes, balls empty. And it feels good. So good a wave of shame and guilt crashes onto him once more. What a pig he was for jerking off while ogling you. What an old bastard he was to mingle you and his filth. But at the same time, he feels like his muscles are thanking him, his restless flesh satisfied, even though he almost hurt himself with how fast he had stroked, lost in his haze.

His bittersweet and contradictory feelings accompanied him as he took a last glance at your tent before drifting off to sleep, his breathing still a bit raspy as if he had run for hours. You had closed your book and taken the candle between your hands to blow on it, the little flame flickering before fading. And then, darkness.

The curtains falling on the stage at the end of this private decadent act.

Eyelids heavy, Arthur knows he will finally sleep tonight.

But he also knows this isn’t the end of his torments at all; the conflicting thoughts paint his mind just as the sun pierces through the dark ebony clouds of a thunderstorm, creating those abruptly dazing shapes and color, pitch black laced with blinding light.

Never in this life or the Other he will forget the form of your naked body, no matter how wicked he feels. Because when it comes to you and only you, Arthur Morgan is, indeed, a very weak man.

tagging : @a-court-of-valkyries and @zae-heeyyy

[novemberheart]

{overview} Kyle wakes up

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, short chapter, ghostsoap

Chapter 28 <- Chapter 29 -> Chapter 30

John had rubbed your back till you fell asleep again.

Not that you stayed asleep. Your eyes fluttered open, raw and sore. You peered over at Kyle. You feel like his anesthesia should've worn off by now. Has anyone even come to check on him?

“Gazza,” you mumbled softly. You pressed your lips against the bruise forming under his cheek. He didn't even twitch. You rubbed your eyes, carefully pulling yourself out of bed. You grabbed your phone, your hand resting against Johnny’s shoulder from where he slept on the floor.

“Yes, Bonnie?” he gasped awake, his hands held onto your thighs. He thought you were upset. You were, but that wasn't why you had woken him.

“I’m going to the bathroom. I want to find a nurse or doctor or something too,” you explained, your fingers straightening the sloppy bits of his mohawk. He yawned, nodding his head in agreement. He placed a kiss against your stomach before moving to get up. His back snapped as he stretched.

“Alright, peaches,” he sighed. “Thank you for waking me,” he added, giving your bottom a slight pat. “We’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder to the alpha who was just starting the sit up himself. Your eyes burned at the light from the hall, Johnny's hand resting above your brow to block it.

“Mac, this is the mens room,” you mumbled. Even through your squinting, you could see that.

“Aye, I have to go too. Don't worry I won’t let anything happen,” he affirmed. You shrugged, glad it was empty. You came out of the stall, trying your hardest not to look over at Johnny as you washed your hands.

A man entered. A big one. You could see his shadow moving behind you and you quickly kept your eyes trained on your hands. He took a few steps towards you and your head snapped over to Johnny wondering why he hadn't said anything.

You saw Simon’s reflection in the mirror. You squealed, not bothering to dry your hands, spinning on your heels. He grunted as you threw yourself at him, his hands gripping your sides as he hoisted you up.

“You lost, pup?” he grunted, letting you lift his mask and kiss at whatever skin you could reach. Johnny chuckled, pushing the two of you out of the way so he could wash his hands.

“That’s new,” you murmured against his jaw. He had a large, angry bruise where his jaw and neck met. You could feel him shiver. He hummed in agreement, pressing a firm kiss against your chin.

“Just a scratch,” he grumbled, nipping at your cheek. “Got a fever, pup,” he tsked, almost disapprovingly. His arm extended out, his hand resting against Johnny’s shoulder pulling the man towards him. Your mouth fell open as theirs collided. It was rough and needy and you forgot how to breathe just watching them. It was short, a string of saliva connecting them as they pulled away. Johnny swiped it away with his tongue. They turned to you, evil smirks on both their lips. They kissed your cheek softly, a mean comparison to how they were just acting. Simon didn't bother to set you down, carrying you back down the hall.

“Makin’ your beta better?” Simon asked, jostling you a bit. Your eyes grew wet suddenly, making him sigh. “S’alright, pup. The doctor says he’ll be fine. You're just here to speed up the process a bit so he doesn't hurt as long,” he soothed. You felt heavier in his arms, the weight of the pack on your shoulders. That wasn't for you to carry. It was his and John’s responsibility.

The room wasn't as dark before, John had turned on a soft lamp he had found somewhere. The machine was beeping faster than before. You tried to wiggle out of Simon's grasp and he let you.

“His heart rate picked up,” John spoke, his hand resting over his face. “I called a nurse. Should be here soon.”

Kyle's fever was back. His skin had lost its warm glow, and it would've looked cold to the touch of it were it not for the sheen of sweat covering his skin. You gained some hope when he started to twitch. It started with his good foot, then his fingers, the muscles on his face quickly following.

He didn't wake up.

Your hand reached out, your fingers tangling with his as you knelt on the bed. You swore you could hear him gasp, his body relaxing almost instantly.

“Kyky?” you questioned softly. You looked behind you at John, whose eyes were wavering back and forth between the two of you.

“Where’s the bloody nurse,” he growled, making his way out of the room.

“Stop holdin’ back,” Simon instructed, nodding his head downwards. You did as you were told, your cheek resting against Kyle’s shoulder. You breathed in his scent, a high whine leaving your throat. You couldn’t stop yourself this time. Your arms wrapping around his chest as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Your legs tangled around his good one as you sobbed quietly against him. “That’s what he needs,” Simon grunted. Simon’s large hand rested against the back of your neck, giving you an encouraging squeeze. “Needs a push to wake up,” Simon continued.

Simon had been in Kyle's shoes before. Granted, at the time you hadn't known him yet, but he remembers what it was like to be trapped inside his body without being able to escape. He could hear everything, smell everything yet he had no way to express it. Kyle was trying. Trying to show that he was there and would be fine. All Kyle needed was a little push from you to gain the energy to come out of it.

It was what had woken Simon up that first day. The smell of you had infiltrated his brain, turning it into mush besides one lingering thought.

Wake up.

“His heart rate is goin’ down,” Johnny breathed a slight tremor in his own body. Simon shushed you gently, you growing restless from not receiving any comfort from Kyle. “Johnny get in next to her,” he commanded, his hand gripping his shoulder. Johnny obeyed, gladly cuddling up behind you. You sniffled harshly, your eyes peering at his over Kyle’s shoulder. He winced, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.

“It's alright,” was all Johnny could manage, his thumb brushing under your eye. Johnny didn't stay there for long, the nurse came back into the room.

“He’s responding?” she asked. You refused to pull your face away.

“When she leaves. Started twitchin’,” Simon explained.

“He was mumblin’ something too. Couldn't make it out though. Sounded a bit like your name though sweetheart,” John added. You gasped your head snapping over to meet his.

“Really?” you begged. John nodded his head, an affirming lift in his cheeks.

“That’s fairly common,” the nurse spoke. “He could tell you were gone and was trying to figure out where you were,” she explained. You tried not to feel any less special, curling your head under his chin. “Everything seems to be back to normal. Next time you plan on leaving let me know,” she sighed, patting the edge of the bed.

You couldn't go back to sleep. You requested Johnny curl up in bed with you. It hadn't helped.

“I need you to wake up,” you whispered. Your fingers danced over Kyle’s cheek, the skin twitching under the feathery touches. “I know you hear me. You'd probably smirk if you could,” you huffed. Despite that, you pressed a kiss against his cheek, which was probably feeling a bit raw with how little your lips had left it. When you pulled away you noticed the soft curve of his lips. “I knew it,” you grumbled with a relieved smile on your face.

His eyes fluttered open.

You wanted to squeal but you kept your mouth shut. You wanted a few moments with him alone.

“I missed you,” you murmured. Another soft smile graced his face. He leaned his forehead closer to yours, urging you to come closer. You rested your head between his and the pillow. “Are you hurt? Do you want me to go get a nurse?” you questioned, already beginning to pull away. He made a noise that sounded a bit like a strangled whine.

“Just you,” he croaked. Your body felt warm as you cuddled back up against him. “Price?” He groaned.

“He’s on the floor sleeping,” you explained softly. You felt his body relax. “Mac is here too,” you spoke, lifting the hand that was splayed across Kyle’s chest. “And Simon is hunting down breakfast somewhere,” you finished. You purred softly, breathing him in. His chest rumbled for a moment before he stopped himself, a small wince on his face.

“You were saying how much you missed me?” Kyle urged, making you roll your eyes.

“Would you like me to keep going?” You hummed. He hummed in agreement, a soothing warmth spreading through his chest.

You babbled on for a few moments. Taking a bit of pride when his heart rate picked up from your words.

“Food,” Simon grunted, entering the room again. His eyes softened when they met Kyle’s. “I’ll go get a nurse,” he murmured, his knuckles brushing over Kyle’s forehead. Your heart warmed at the interaction. As Simon left he patted John awake.

“You alright?” He asked instantly, his hands gripping onto the railing of the bed.

“Never better,” Kyle croaked, making you giggle. John rolled his eyes, his lips resting against Kyle’s hairline.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his jaw clenching. You bit your lip, adjusting yourself slowly so you were facing Johnny in an attempt to give them some privacy.

“Not your fault,” Kyle said slowly, his voice cracking. “Things happen,” he finished with a clear of his throat.

“Just came out of nowhere,” John sighed. “I-I,” he started. He couldn’t find the words. The feeling you get from watching a vehicle in front of you flip three times, knowing one of your greatest loves was in there without so much as a seatbelt was hard to put in words. “We’ll take care of you now,” John promised. “That situation has already been handled.” That sent a shiver up your spine. You knew first hand what John's idea of “handling” was. Yet if it was aimed at someone who deliberately hurt Kyle- you wouldn’t oppose it.

“I trust you,” Kyle groaned softly. You felt lips skim the back of your neck and you turned back over so you were cheek to cheek with Kyle. A happy rumble echoed through him before he cut himself off.

Simon reemerged with a nurse.

Hi everyone! Hope you enjoyed this short chapter! See you in four days for chapter 30!!!! Ahhhh! 🧡

[youryanderedaddy]

Summary: You're a princess locked in a tower and guarded by a big, scary dragon. But is he as scary as it seems? tw: female reader, deceit, manipulation, murder (not reader), stockholm syndrome(?) My ko - fi <3

As the youngest princess, you'd always known you would end up like this. In some far off land with little to your name other than some jewels, stuck in a tower just like your mother had been before she got married to a foreign lord, and finally allowed to re-join society. It was such a cliche it was funny at first, but now you just felt like screaming at the top of your lungs from boredom.

At first you didn't feel the unknown presence. The tall man was lurking in the shadows, as if part of the ancient building. You could smell the herbs in the air around him - the minthy fragrance trailing long after he had retired to his chambers. Then little by little you started to recognise him - in certain shades of sunlight, in the back of mirrors, in the tiny lizards crawling at the corners of the stone walls. But nothing could prepare you for that first morning when you saw him - really saw him.

You had woken up early, startled by noise reminiscent of that a bird makes during flight - but multiplied tenfold. You had looked through the window with a weak, fluttering heart. And then you saw his true form - massive yellow wings covered in what looked like pure gold burning brightly in the sky. Long, hard body made of sun - kissed flakes; so sharp they could be used as arrows. And a thin, curled tail drawing circles around your tower.

One of his empty moonlit eyes turned towards you, and it was all over. He immediately dissapeared into thin air, the only evidence of his existence being miles of thick gray smoke. But you weren't going to let the only living creature around run away so easily.

"I saw you!" You screamed long before you could even begin thinking of proper etiquette. Ladylike behavior be damned, you were dying of loneliness in this stupid tower. "Please..." You begged, voice hoarse and desperate from weeks of forced silence. "Come here." You continued ruefully, playing with your hair, chest riddled with anxiety - after all you hadn't spoken to a human being in so long.

You heard a long, almost pained sigh, which made you turn around. You were greeted by a tall brooding figure. It wore the face of a man, but its long golden hair and broad, muscular shoulders pointed to something a lot less human and a lot more devine. He must have been twice your size - trully intimating in all his shining glory. Even in his human form his skin seemed to glow just like his sharp almond - shaped black orbs, constricted in his yellow pupils.

"I'm always here, Your Highness." You remember his exact words simply because you were taken aback by how soft his voice was - just like fine silk. It wasn't the voice of a dragon, but the voice of an angel. "You just never see me." He added with what you then assumed was a hint of playfulness, but now recognised as annoyance. With that he leaned against the wall, crossing his hands together.

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

Many months passed since that fateful day. You slowly got to know your new companion - or perhaps, guardian. You learnt that many called him Cain after the fallen son* - once a strong soldier of the Lohemian Kingdom, his injuries had made it impossible to keep fighting. That's how your father found him - abandoned by his brothers, lying in a mudded puddle of his own blood. The rest was history.

He didn't speak very much - but he never left your questions unanswered.

"Cain..." You'd call out with practised uncertainty. Even so far removed from your peers, you still couldn't escape the twisted societal ideals of propriety. You could never be too eager to speak to a man - even if he wasn't fully human. "Is that your real name?" You wondered, genuinely curious. You slowly looked away from the book you were holding and towards your friend, the book long forgotten. The dragon was sitting in the other corner of the room. Despite all the time you had spent together so far, he was still hesitant to come near you. There was a certain stiffness in his strong shoulders - as well as his jaw.

"Princess..." The man mumbled softly, your heart aching by the sheer tenderness of the term. Usually you'd pay it no mind as it was your right from birth, your title - but titles didn't matter here. There was no place for status or riches between those four intimate walls that always felt small despite the spacious squares. "Don't you know curiousity got the cat's tongue?" He responded with a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes - even his smiles were serious and stoic.

"You have it all wrong." You huffed, standing up from your comfortable chair just to make a big, dramatic gesture with your hands. "It's curiosity killed the cat." You stated confidently, waving your finger at the dragon. He let out a soundless chuckle and averted his gaze away from you. He still couldn't get over the fact that you weren't afraid of him.

"Whatever my Princess says, goes." Cain teased, eyes narrowing further - now they looked like two pitch black slits. He tuck one disobedient lock of gold behind his pointy ear, making the glass beads of his earring jingle in tone. "Just don't say I didn't warn you." He whispered with slight condescension, toying with the dancing little crystals. "My name is Kaajin, if you must know. I doubt you can spell it. It's in Lohemian." He suddenly stared at you as if in a challenge. "Does this change anything? Anything at all."

You shook your head - of course no. There was little your protector could do to make your feelings change; not when you had been so terribly alone without him. Not when he looked at you as if you were precious - breakable, yet precious.

************************************************************************

The days went by slowly. There was nothing there to help pass the time - just your voice and his voice blending together in the echo of the tower. Again and again and again.

"Entertain me." You asked authoritatively, looking at your friend from down below while you were sitting on the ground. You were bored - so very bored. "I don't remember ever signing up to be your personal jester, my Princess." Cain, no, Kaajin replied succinctly, showing off two pointy fangs - and you couldn't help recalling the story of the Sleeping Beauty and the spindle that sent her into deep, eternal slubmer. You wondered how his teeth would feel against your finger - and your throat. Whether they'd tire you or save you with the kiss of true love.

"Please?" You asked sweetly, just the way he liked - just like you had done that cold winter day in December when you first met face to face. It seemed to work, because soon after that you could feel him move through the room with a tired step - ever so dramatic, closing in on you. "Sure." The dragon breathed in your ear, enjoying the way the flesh quickly reddened with emotion. He reached behind the sensitive shell and slowly waved his fingers just short of your nose. In his hand just milimeters from you was hanging a thin silver chain with a little red rose dangling down. "Here. Have fun." He let it slip past his slender fingers and you swiftly reached to catch it before it could break in thousand pieces.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" You asked, puzzled - still looking at the delicate bracelet and the way it seemed to come alive under direct sunlight. "I am not a child." You suddenly puffed, stuffing it into the pocket of your long skirts. Kaajin only clicked his tongue, gently tugging at your wrist until you took it out of your pocket. "Don't be so ungrateful." His strict yet plush voice took you out of your little outburst, and you finally looked up. His eyes were measuring you up, scanning for any hidden movement - any secret emotion. "I am a dragon, remember? We tend to be awfuly protective of our things."

Your eyes filled with curiosity once again. "You mean your jewels?" He nodded rhytmically, trying to keep his composure at the mention of his old, forgotten customs. "I've read some stories about dragon kings stealing piles of golden coins and locking them away for all eternity. "You chuckled to yourself. "Like they could ever use them." Even after all those years you still found the thought amusing. Humans spent their youth slaving away so they could waste the money gained once they were old and wise. Dragons, on the other hand, were satisfied with holding onto wealth and jewels and all those shiny human things - with little understanding of the subejctive value they held in the human world.

"Yes. It's true indeed. Dragons-" Your guard nodded yet again, now somewhat uneasy. "We take good care of our..." He averted his eyes far away from you. "treasures." He finished stiffly, gaze basically burning the ground. "So you shouldn't take my gift lightly. You should wear it with pride. And perhaps in time you'd find another use for it, too." The man explained, a slight blush spreading across his usually high, cold cheeks.

You smiled gingerly, kissing your fingers around the chain before pressing it to your chest - close to your heart.

"I shall cherish it forever, then." You exclaimed, feeling warm inside. You were uncertain as to why, but your stomach was spinning wildly, as if filled with bubbles. "But you still owe me some fun." You giggled, running to start the old phonograph in the corner of the room. It was your favourite thing in the whole world - which didn't mean a lot up here, but it was enough to make your legs move on their own.

As you danced to Vaarlen's famous spring waltz, the air seemed lighter and the cramped hall just slightly more grandiose. It was easier to breathe. You extended your hand towards your dragon, asking him to join.

"You know I don't dance, princess." He grunted, his mood souring. He never told you why he hated it so much, but the man was never too fond of music. Still, you decided to try again. "Oh, come on. Just this once." He didn't seem convinced. "Let me teach you as a thank you gift. I'm serious." You tapped your chest playfully. The man rolled his eyes, then gently took your hand in his. You almost broke into a giddy giggle - for the first time since your family locked you up in the rotten tower you felt happy.

And he always gave into you.

So you two danced, both lost to the music and your own racing thoughts. Kaajin kept his distance, but his hold was strong onto your wrist - unrelenting, like he never wanted to let go. Your body twisted and turned, perfectly synced to the chords, blind to the pass of time. You only realized it had become evening once your back hit the window - it was dark outside. Yet another day gone. Yet another day lost.

"Kaajin..." You could feel the tears burning at your wet lashes before you could stop yourself. You had promised yourself not to think about it anymore - not today, or ever for that matter, but it was impossible once you were faced with the Creator of All. The Master of everything, of everyone - time. How could you ever pretend otherwise?

"Do you think-" You bit the inside of your cheek, your hands fighting the guilt as you let go of his. "Do you think my father would ever let me go into the outside world?"

The guard gulped dry, taking a step back to give you space.

"I-" He took a deep breath, gaining the courage to look at you. "I don't know. The war is still going. Your kingdom has lost many brave men and women. Even the strongest soldiers are starting to capitulate." He couldn't bear to look at your pretty face all messed up by the pain and sorrow, but it was for the best.

"I understand." You muttered, turning your back to him - curling back into yourself. You felt his arms wrap around you, and you remained quiet - neither fighting it, nor embracing it. "Don't cry, my princess." The man whispered. "No matter what happens, I will always be by your side." He meant it. You knew it by now, and that only made it all the more tragic. "I swear on my life." You believed him, you had no reason not to - he was the only one you had left.

As for your father, he couldn't really give a proper order now, Kaajin thought. After all, dead men tell no tales.

[nhlclover]

WITH OR WITHOUT YOU JACK HUGHES

pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: jack grapples with overwhelming guilt after betraying you, struggling to reconcile his love with the mistake that threatens to destroy your relationship.

warnings: cheating, tears and fighting, jack being a terrible boyfriend!!

wc: 3.51k

notes: very much inspired by ross & rachel's break up scene in friends + based on with or without you by U2

Jack stared into the mirror at his reflection, his bloodshot eyes barely open. The dim bathroom light cast shadows across his face, accentuating every crease, every line etched by guilt and exhaustion. His face was inches away from the mirror, seeing deep into every pore that clutched onto sin. His breath fogged the mirror for a moment — obscuring the image for a brief, blessed second. But when it cleared, he still saw it — his own face, but twisted by shame, unfamiliar. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him, the man who’d betrayed everything that mattered most to him.

Jack ran a hand through his damp hair, slick with cold sweat. His heart pounded a bruise into his chest, the rhythm a constant, relentless reminder of the night before — the nightmare that felt all too real, too close. He had woken up in a panic, the vividness of the dream merging with reality, until there was no telling where one ended and the other began. The taste of regret still lingered on his lips like the cheap vodka from the bar, and no amount of water would wash it away.

He turned on the tap, the water flowing in a persistent stream. He splashed it over his face, droplets racing down his cheeks, but the coolness did little to chase away the heat of shame burning beneath his skin. Jack pressed his fingers to his lips, as though he could scrub the memory from his skin, as though he could erase the mistake if he just tried hard enough. But the water running from the faucet wasn’t enough. His lips would never be raw enough to cleanse the guilt coursing through his veins.

The images of the night replayed in flashes—fragments too sharp, too vivid. The pulsing bass of the club, the crowded, suffocating heat, bodies pressed too close together. He’d been drinking—more than he should’ve—each glass dulling his thoughts, blurring the line between right and wrong until it vanished entirely. And then, in the haze of it all, she appeared. Her movements were slow, deliberate, weaving through the crowd until she stood too close, her presence inescapable.

Jack had felt the distance growing between you two for weeks, the silent weight of unspoken words, the tension that wrapped around every interaction. You were always there in his mind, lingering at the edge of every thought, every decision, but still, he hadn’t stopped it. He didn’t push her away. Her laughter was sweet, her touch light, her voice a soft hum that lulled him into forgetting. One moment she was a stranger across the room, and the next, they were slipping into the backseat of a cab, her lips against his neck, her fingers laced with his as though it had been inevitable.

He gripped the edge of the sink now, knuckles white, the memory clawing at his insides. Why had he done it? What possessed him to throw away everything that mattered for a fleeting moment of nothingness? He didn’t even remember her name. He couldn’t recall her face, not really. But he remembered your face, the softness of your eyes, the way you laughed at his stupid jokes, how you knew him better than anyone. ou, who had stood by him through every hardship, every late night, every moment he hadn’t deserved you. You were everything. And still, he’d let himself betray you.

Why? Why, why why?

He didn’t know. The question burned through him, hollowing him out until there was nothing left but shame and confusion. The bathroom was suffocating now, the air too thick, the sound of the running water too loud. He felt like his chest was on the verge of caving in.

The sound of footsteps pulled him from his spiraling thoughts, soft, almost hesitant. He didn’t need to look up to know it was you. You stood in the doorway, your figure a silhouette against the dim light from the hallway, your hair mussed from sleep, and your expression caught between concern and exhaustion.

“Jack?” Your voice was a whisper, tender, filled with the kind of care that twisted the knife deeper in his chest. You stepped closer, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Are you okay?”

He swallowed thickly, forcing a smile that felt like shards of glass in his throat. “Yeah… I’m fine. Just go back to bed.” His voice came out strained, unnatural. He turned back to the sink, hoping you wouldn’t hear the tremor in his words.

You weren’t convinced. He could feel it in the way you approached him, the warmth of your hand resting softly on his arm. “You don’t seem fine.”

Your touch burned, seared through the guilt like fire on his skin. He nodded too quickly, too desperately. “I am. I’m fine. Really.”

You hesitated, your frown deepening, but you didn’t press. Instead, you took his hand, your fingers slipping between his, leading him back to the bed. Jack let you, his body moving mechanically, but his mind was a storm — raging, relentless. He slid under the covers beside you, his skin ice against the warmth of your body. You fell asleep easily, your breathing slow and peaceful, unaware of the war inside him.

Jack lay awake, staring at the ceiling, drowning in the guilt that refused to let him breathe. He wanted to be close to you, to hold you tighter, to never let go. But his touch felt poisoned now. You didn’t know, couldn’t know. How could you sleep so peacefully next to a man who had betrayed you? He closed his eyes, but sleep never came.

Days passed, each one a marathon of guilt. He couldn’t look at you without feeling the weight of his secret dragging him under. The air between you two was thick, heavy with the tension of what was unspoken. You noticed. How could you not? You asked him, more than once, what was wrong. But Jack lied, every time, his answers mechanical, shallow. He wasn’t fine. He was drowning.

You couldn't take it anymore. The tension between you two had become unbearable, festering into something you could no longer ignore. You had tried everything — patience, gentle conversations, offering him space to open up — but it was like he was slipping further and further away with every attempt. Jack wasn’t there anymore, at least not in the way you needed him to be.

Jack was simply the shell of the man you’d once fell in love with. Nothing loveable about him was showing. His humour was gone, his loving touch something you’d scornfully missed. It continued on in painful waves, the tension between you two growing like an invisible wall, thickening with every passing moment of silence.

You stood in the doorway one night, arms tightly crossed over your chest, the weight of exhaustion bearing down on your shoulders. Your eyes, rimmed with fatigue, fixed on Jack, who barely registered your presence. Slouched on the couch, he scrolled through his phone, the harsh light from the screen casting deep shadows on his face, his expression as vacant as his gaze. It was as if the world around him had faded into static.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Your voice cracked, more out of frustration than sadness, though both emotions swirled inside you. Jack’s eyes flicked up, his movements slow, almost reluctant. His gaze, hollow and tired, swept over you like a stranger’s. You felt your chest tighten at the emptiness there. “You’ve been distant, barely even talking to me for days, and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Your words struck him like a blow, his shoulders tensing, but still, he didn’t speak. His fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles paling with the effort to hold onto something—anything—that wasn’t this conversation.

You took a step forward, your frustration gaining momentum. The distance between you felt vast, more than just the few feet separating the two of you physically. It felt as though Jack was slipping further and further away with each passing second.

“I feel like I don’t even exist to you anymore! Like I’m just… here. You’re not even trying, and it feels like I’m the only one fighting to keep this relationship going!” Your voice rose as the words spilled out, emotions you’d kept bottled up for too long finally finding release. “I get that things have been hard lately, but I can’t do this alone, Jack. I won’t. We can work through this together… whatever it is I’m willing, but I need you to put in some fucking effort too.”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as if he were bracing himself for the impact of your words. Slowly, he set his phone down on the coffee table, sitting up straighter but averting his eyes from your gaze.

“Say something!” you demanded, your voice trembling. “Please, Jack. I need to understand. Do you even still want this? Do you even want me anymore?”

His head snapped up at that, eyes wide, his face a mixture of fear and anguish. “Of course, I want you!” he said, his voice rough, as if the words had been clawing at his throat. “It's not that. It’s never been that.”

“Then what is it?” you pressed, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Because right now, it feels like you’ve already checked out of this relationship, and I don’t know why. I feel like I’m losing you, Jack.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his face pale, lips pressed together in a thin line as though every word he wanted to say had turned to ash in his mouth. Then something inside him shattered. The weight of whatever he had been carrying finally bore down on him, and his whole frame seemed to sag. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, burying his head in his hands.

“I screwed up,” he whispered, his voice so low you could barely hear it.

Your heart stuttered, the dread settling in your stomach like a lead weight. “What do you mean?” you asked cautiously, moving closer until you were standing directly in front of him. Your hands reached out, trembling, as you touched his forearm gently, desperate to connect with him. His hand dropped from his face, slipping into yours with a kind of resignation.

Jack raised his head slowly, and when he looked at you, his eyes were red-rimmed, glistening with unshed tears. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he really saw you, and the weight of his guilt pressed down on him. He looked hollow, as though the burden of his secret had already broken him long before this moment.

“That night when I didn’t come home,” he started, his voice shaky, cracking around the edges. “I said I was at Petey’s, but I… I went to a club. I was drunk. Way too drunk. And there was this girl.” He swallowed hard, his hands gripping yours tighter as if he feared letting go would mean losing you completely. “I don’t know why I did it, but I didn’t stop it. I slept with her.”

The world seemed to stop around you, the air leaving your lungs in a rush. You felt like someone had punched you in the gut, the room spinning as his confession hung in the air between you. For a moment, you could only hear the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The words felt distant, foreign, as if they didn’t belong in your story—your story with Jack. How could they? How could this be the same man you had shared your life with? The man who had held you through late-night talks and whispered promises of forever? Your hand fell limp in his, slipping away, your fingers curling into a fist until your nails bit into your skin. You felt the sting, but it was muted, drowned out by the growing numbness that spread from your heart outwards, freezing you to the core.

“You—” Your voice faltered, barely a whisper. “You slept with someone else?”

He nodded, the movement slow and heavy as if even that small acknowledgment cost him more than he could bear. His eyes squeezed shut, and you saw the way his body caved in, the weight of his guilt making him look smaller, almost childlike in his vulnerability.

“I was drunk,” he repeated weakly, as if the words could somehow absolve him, could undo the act. “I didn't mean to. I— I didn't even know what was happening until it was already done, and I swear it didn't mean anything. And—and I regret it more than anything in my life.” He finally looked at you, eyes pleading for some kind of understanding, but you just stared at him, frozen in shock.

The room was too quiet now, the ticking of the clock on the wall loud and intrusive, marking the seconds since your world had come crashing down. You couldn’t find anger—it would’ve been easier if you could—but instead, there was only a hollow ache, a sadness that settled deep in your bones, far too deep to be soothed by words.

Tears blurred your vision, slipping down your cheeks before you even realized they had begun to fall. Jack saw them and flinched, his face twisting in anguish. He reached for you, but his hands fell away at the last second, as if he already knew you wouldn’t want his touch—not now. Not after this.

“Please, say something,” he begged, his voice cracking under the pressure. “Please… yell at me, scream, do something. I deserve it, I know I do. Just—just talk to me. I can’t stand this.”

But you couldn’t. There were no words strong enough to capture the hurt that spread through your chest, the weight that pressed against your ribs, making it hard to breathe. The man you loved, the man who had promised to be yours, had betrayed you in the worst way, and now he was asking for absolution. But forgiveness wasn’t something you could give—not yet, maybe not ever. You stared at the coffee table, at the space where your knees almost brushed his, but you couldn't bring yourself to even acknowledge his presence.

You finally forced the words out, a broken whisper that barely filled the space between you. “Why? Why would you do that to us? After everything…”

“I don’t know,” Jack said desperately, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “I really don’t. I was stupid, and I wasn’t thinking straight. I was drunk, and I— I lost myself. But I love you. You know I do, right? Please… you have to believe me. It was a mistake, the biggest one I've ever made, but it doesn't change how I feel about you.”

“How can you even say that? How can you say you love me when you had sex with another woman?” you asked, your voice still barely audible to Jack.

His face crumpled as though your words had struck him physically, a visible blow to the heart. "Because it’s the truth. I love you more than anything, and I regret it every second. I’ll do anything to make this right—just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it."

But there was nothing he could do. The damage had been done. You stared at him, at the boy who had once been your everything, but now… now he was a stranger. You shook your head slowly, your eyes glassy and distant. “I don’t think I can do this, Jack.”

The words came out softly, but they hit him like a freight train. His face paled, panic rising in his eyes as he leaned forward grasping for your hand, but you pulled it away. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. We can fix this. I’ll do anything, just tell me what you need.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, you didn’t recognize the man sitting in front of you. This wasn’t the Jack you fell in love with, the man who had always made you feel safe and loved. The man sitting across from you was someone who had shattered your trust, and no matter how much you wished it wasn’t true, you couldn’t see him the same way anymore.

“I need you to go,” you said softly, your voice breaking on the last word. Your heart broke all over again as the words tumbled from your lips, but you knew they had to be said.

Jack froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. “What? No— no, please. Don’t do this. Don’t push me away. We can work through it. We have to.”

The anguish in his voice sent a fresh wave of panic crashing over you. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let him pull you into his arms and promise you that things could go back to the way they were before. But the damage was done, and no amount of empty promises could mend what had been broken.

Your lips trembled as you shook your head, the tears that had been gathering finally spilling over, tracing hot paths down your cheeks. “I need time, Jack. I need space to think about everything. I don’t know if I can ever look at you the same way again, and I can’t do this right now. I just… I need you to go.”

He looked at you, stricken, as though his world was crumbling around him. “Please, baby, don’t do this,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You said ten minutes ago that we could work through anything.”

You swallowed hard, fighting the sob that threatened to break free. “That was before I knew how you betrayed me. How you betrayed us.”

You forced yourself to stand, your legs trembling beneath you as you turned away from him. You needed space — anything to dull the ache in your chest. Jack stood too, but he kept his distance, as if afraid that any wrong move might push you further away. His voice was barely a whisper now, fragile, as though even he knew it wouldn’t be enough to reach you.

“There’s… there’s gotta be a way we can work past this,” Jack said. You turned to look at him, your eyes bloodshot, the grief etched into every inch of your face. Jack felt his heart crack in two at the sight of you, your once-bright spirit now shadowed by the weight of betrayal. “I mean, I can’t imagine my life without you. Y-you’re such a good person, and I know I don’t deserve you but… I can’t not have you in my life, y/n. I need you— I need us.”

Both your faces now had matching streaks, your tears unchecked and relentless as they soaked your shirts. He reached out for you once more, and this time, you didn’t pull away. He cautiously placed his hand on your arm, then slid it to your waist, his touch trembling with uncertainty. Slowly, he sank to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around your waist as if holding on for dear life, pressing his face into your stomach.

Your body shook with sobs, the pain too much to contain. “I can’t,” you choked out through your tears. “I don’t know how I can be with you without seeing you as the man who broke my heart. I just… I just can’t stop picturing you with someone else, Jack. It’s changed everything.”

You stepped out of his grasp, the connection severed, leaving Jack kneeling there, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Slowly, he stood, his movements sluggish, weighed down by the overwhelming guilt and grief. He could see it in your eyes—the decision had already been made. The door to your heart had closed, and no matter how much he wanted to tear it down and beg for another chance, he knew he was on the outside now. He had lost you.

Jack stepped around you, pausing at the doorway, turning to look at you one last time. His face was etched with regret, his voice a broken whisper. “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes filled with the sorrow of a man who knew he had thrown away the best thing he ever had. “I’m so sorry.”

The soft click of the door echoed in the apartment, a final punctuation to the end of what once had been everything. The silence that followed felt oppressive, heavy with all the words left unspoken, all the promises that had been broken.

You moved numbly to the couch, collapsing onto the cushions as if your body could no longer hold the weight of your grief. Your arms wrapped around your knees, hugging yourself tightly, as if the pressure could keep the jagged pieces of your heart from spilling out. But no matter how tightly you held on, the pain seeped through the cracks, a constant, relentless ache that wouldn’t be ignored.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Streetlamps & Stories

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You have a nightmare; Simon is there to comfort you.

A/N: Ngl this is completely self-indulgent and written in about five minutes. Not long either. No warnings, just some good ol' fluff!

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

His hands stay at your back, keeping you to his chest as you take deep breaths, shaking a bit. Simon’s shoulders are to the headboard of the bed, slumping against it with no care about how it would begin aching with the length of his endeavor. If that was all that had to come out of this, then he welcomed that ache; that burn of muscle. The man stares at the top of your head and finds your situation far more pressing. 

Throat humming, Simon speaks softly in that graveled tone of his—you feel it reverberate in your bones long after he stops speaking. 

“Breathe,” his fingers drag along your spine, moving in a delicate pattern as he listens to you pause and fill your lungs with a deep breath, feeling your pulse through your skin. Not once does he keep his hands off of you—giving you a place to ground yourself; a way to focus on him, his touch. To see you draw comfort from it was better than any gift he could ever receive. 

“Good girl,” Simon mutters, dark eyes half-closed as he makes sure you’re not going to delve into a panic. His thumb runs each knob of your bone.

It was still night out—deep night. A kind of night that had everyone inside, even the less-than-savory folks; a small pattering of rain to the window was only the beginning, mist shrouding the streets and the sidewalks. The streetlights, the only source of illumination, created shadows along the ruffled sheets, where minutes earlier feet had kicked in a panicked stupor. 

Above all, Simon was a light sleeper.

You could whisper his name at any moment when his eyes were closed, and they’d snap back with a sharp utterance of a question. Tap him briefly on the shoulder or grab his arm? The man was already moving to reach for you, eyes roving the room. Was it healthy? Perhaps not, but it was the state Simon would be in until his death. A kind of hypervigilance that only grew when you were beside him in the very place he slept. 

While your form just as easily put him to bed, your fingers running through his hair creating a spell of their own, it was far from difficult to say you were an enabler of his habit. 

Simon just didn’t want you anywhere near danger, and when he was vulnerable, even his inner conscious knew to look for you. But unlike his nightly terrors, something different had happened tonight. 

Your soft voice hadn’t woken him, telling him to stop holding you so tightly and to let you stumble off to the bathroom—neither had your heavenly touch. 

Your whimpers had.

It was the most scared that Simon could remember being, as his body flinched awake; already alert and reaching in the dark. He’d heard the tiny mutters; the shuddering breaths as if trying to breathe properly. At first, his mind had gone to the worst things—an intruder, an unseen threat coming to get payback. But no, after jerking up and placing a hand to your side, curling over you as he scanned the room with blinking eyes…there was nothing. Nothing in the darkness, nothing to be spied on or seen hiding in the corners waiting to strike. Just cricket chirps and the settling of the house. The small patter of rain.

The man had been confused, admittingly, until you started shaking under the covers, and your sounds of distress got louder. 

Simon’s eyes had locked on your face, watching, and he’d understood in a millisecond.

Nightmare.

Hand setting itself to your shoulder, he had shaken you awake until your started eyes could lock with his—blinking quickly and lungs heaving. They were wide and unfocused, darting back and forth. 

Without a word, the man had taken you into his arms, shifting, until he could drag your body to his chest and hold you there in the relative blackness of night. Back to the headboard.

He’d not stopped watching you, even now.

“Sorry,” you stuttered out, voice hoarse. Your nose sniffles a bit, fingers still quivering.

“Don’t be,” Simon mutters, his cheek moving to rest on the top of your head. Around you, his arms tighten, a grunt stuck in his chest. “Not your fault.”

You take more deep breaths, trying to push back that sting in the very base of your eyes. A hand comes up, fingers capturing the underside of your chin to tilt it upward. It was like he knew what would come after, even if the times you’d seen him cry after his own nightmares were able to be counted on your fingers. He’d always said he’d had the same ones over and over again, and while they still scared him, they weren’t worth his tears anymore.

But that didn’t apply to you.

Brown eyes stay locked with yours, slowly shifting around the build of your face as the minutes move on. He blinks slowly, those lashes of his caressing his scarred cheeks.

You only let the tears dribble out when his lips carefully press themselves into your forehead. 

A thin sob hitches your chest, a tiny fight with your conscious, but Simon’s lips don’t move, and his hand travels to grasp the back of your head, thumb running back and forth across your scalp. 

He hums in the back of his throat, saying into your skin, “It’s alright. I’m ‘ere.” 

Your arms snake out, wrapping his waist and curling into him like an animal, wanting nothing more than to feel his skin and how his scars live under your touch. To hear his constant heartbeat, and to soak in the warmth of his flesh from an interrupted sleep. 

Simon’s soft voice grumbles out after a moment of your muffled sob. The sound made his heart clench in on itself. He was supposed to be the one with the nightmares, not you. “You want to talk about it, Love?”

Immediately, your head shakes, pushing deeper into his neck, pushing out a quick refusal. 

“Just hold me,” you whisper, tears wetting Simon’s skin, dripping down his chest. He doesn’t even think about commenting on it. 

He nods firmly, as if given an important order of the direst need, his head moving up and his arms pulling you ever closer, sheets around his legs. Grunting, he shifts you, an arm going under your knees and the other curling your shoulders. Simon won’t say he isn’t concerned, because he is. You’d always do that to him, especially when you’re crying.

He hates it when you cry.

You having a nightmare was rare, especially one that resulted in waking up to tears. Yet, he’d hold you just as you held him through his, knowing it worked when you whispered things into his ears until that was all he could focus on. Your touch, your…goodness. He didn't have the correct words that he felt truly expressed how much he wanted you to calm down, so Simon tried another route.

Your route.

“I tell you about my time in Finland?”

Stories.

Your thin voice moves out, lips at his pulse, as the long streaks of the streetlamps outside make dancing shadows over your bodies. 

“Yes.” A pause and Simon’s eyes stare at nothing as he hears you speak—feels the tight hold of your arms. “But tell me again.”

So, he does. 

He doesn’t tell you, of course, but if you asked, he’d talk until his tongue went black.

[lurochar]

Little Abomination

That... thing was separate yet still a part of him. It was how Alastor even became aware of your existence to begin with. You were his. You just didn't know it yet. Alastor x Reader (sorta) + Catlastor

Warnings? - You call Catlastor ‘Little Red’. Reader sorta has a backstory.

–-------

“Settle down now.”

His shadow chittered with excitement and restlessness as it fluttered from building to building, moving along ahead of him like an enthusiastic child who possessed no manners whatsoever.

Well, he supposed his shadow was just mirroring what he truly felt deep down that he certainly could not display publicly, so he could let it slide for now.

After all, he had been watching for seven years and now that he was back, he could finally come and claim what was rightfully his.

You, that is.

Not that you even knew it yet.

Well, how could you? You had only just recently woken up in Hell shortly after he disappeared, probably only hearing of the ‘Radio Demon’ through rumours and gossip, if you even bothered to pay attention at all.

You had more important things to worry about than missing Overlords, such as surviving the brutal environment of Hell with your small and frankly pathetic build.

Yet survive you did.

Sure, you didn't have the rich and opulent lifestyles that Overlords such as himself could easily obtain through power or wealth.

In fact, you had absolutely nothing but the clothes on your back and even those were stolen with a skill that was practiced far too much.

He did believe you probably had done so often enough in your mortal life that you had no choice but to do so.

And in the seven years he had been watching you, stealing was the only crime you committed.

If that was the reason you were sent down to the burning pits of fiery Hell to suffer for your ‘sins’, well, clearly Heaven was nothing but a fucking joke.

No matter, he would get what he wanted and if Heaven made a blunder, it was his gain.

Of course, there was the pesky obstacle standing in his way, the reason he even knew of your existence to begin with.

Your little bodyguard.

That cat(?) creature-like thing that had become your companion and grew an affection for you simply because you showed the little abomination kindness again and again, over the wellbeing of your own health as you fed it the last scraps of your stolen food.

You foolish girl.

Did you really think that creature could not fend for itself? That it could not rip the limbs off whichever Sinner that it designated for dinner?

Who knows how many the little beast had already devoured for your protection? How many times you may have been killed if not for that cat stalking after you and pouncing on your would-be attackers before they could even hope to reach you? 

How your protector dragged those fools away out of your sight into the shadows, never allowing you to see just how gruesome Hell truly was?

You were a pretty little thing and many would be eager to snatch you up and ground your soul down until your light was snuffed out.

No, but him – he saw you for the pretty little gem you were, a pure indulgence that should not have been sent to the depths of Hell for such lowly crimes.

As for your little beastly companion, Alastor was not too sure what it was, but if he had to theorize, he would guess it was simply the remnants of flesh, fur, bone, and even bits of his antlers that he lost during his uprising and toppling of the previous Overlords during his first few years in Hell.

He supposed it just took years and years for the pieces of himself to slowly form into something (he would not say that creature resembled himself in any shape or form, it was a hideous little thing).

Despite it somehow growing its own consciousness, Alastor could still look through its eyes and it was then your fate was locked and sealed.

You were his.

Even that beast, separate yet still a part of him, already knew that and he did expect that you would come willingly now.

Wouldn't you?

–

You sighed.

“It's not much, I know.” You leaned back against the wall of the warehouse that served as your current ‘home’, “But it's better than yesterday! That bakery is on to me, I think. I'll have to move on to something else.”

The cat stared at you, its chilling grin not creeping you out in the least (not anymore anyway). Its unblinking eyes didn't move away from you even as you placed two pieces of bread in front of it.

“C'mon, Little Red, don't let it go to waste!” You begged. You knew it wasn't exactly fond of food like baked goods and it usually took a good while for your companion to relent to your pleas, but it eventually would gobble down whatever you managed to scrounge for that day.

Something like meat was a luxury you definitely couldn't afford.

“See, it's not so bad?” You let out a forced laugh when your furry friend swallowed the two pieces of bread after unhinging its jaw in a manner that used to disturb you, “Yeah, I know it’s plain. I woulda went for the doughnuts, but that baker was eyeing me pretty hard.”

The cat’s tail wagged and it let out that strange staticky purr as it bumped its head against your leg and you let out a huff of amusement, feeling its odd protrusions poking you. You scratched behind its ear and you felt the critter literally vibrate under your hand.

It was a bizarre creature, but it proved it was the only one you could trust during your time in Hell thus far.

You had come across the little fellow only a month after you woke up in Hell and despite your shock and despair at your fate and the cat’s initial indifference to your presence, your stubborn insistence in giving it the meagre amount of food you stole, and were sometimes beat bloody for, had won it over in the end.

(If you only knew it had stalked you the entire time, intrigued by your absurd reasoning. It had thoroughly enjoyed consuming those who did lay their hands on you).

Its grin widened at the memory.

“Maybe I should try getting a job again?” You muttered out loud, sighing as you let out a breath, “Try to save up money, get an apartment.” It was a pleasant thought, but that required you to actually retain said job.

Your mortal life hadn’t been so great, with a drug-addicted mother and an absent father, it didn’t take much for both of you to end up on the streets and your mother dying of an overdose not long after.

It had been under the directive of your mother at first, stealing had become a second nature to you. Anything for her drugs when she was alive, but after she died, it had turned to necessities only. 

Food, clothes, money.

It was never a good idea to steal money though.

You had chosen the wrong person to steal a bit of cash from and got a bullet in the head for it, only to wake up in Hell for simply being born in shitty circumstances and having to do what you did to survive.

It sucked.

You had sorta lucked out where you spawned in Hell however, in a territory owned by an Overlord known as the ‘Radio Demon’. 

He had apparently cleaned up the area, turned it into a civil area compared to other territories owned by other Overlords, and the denizens of his territory behaved (whether out of fear or respect, probably both) like a polite society.

Even though the Radio Demon had not been seen or heard from for years now, the citizens of his territory still acted cordially (again, out of fear and respect) since no one wanted their soul to be ripped apart over a live broadcast whenever he decided to return.

Or angering Rosie, the Overlord who was supposedly looking after the Radio Demon’s territory in his absence.

Due to your past life, you retained bad habits and the few jobs you tried to uphold, your sticky fingers had gotten the better of you and you were fired for stealing, even though it was mostly just food.

You really didn’t want to find out if you could starve to death in Hell.

A paw lightly smacked your face and you jumped, startled out of your thoughts and you looked down to find your cat friend sitting in your lap, its grin as wide as usual, “Heh, just lost in my head, Little Red,” you patted its head, “wondering what kind of job I could even do?”

The cat’s ears twitched.

Your body stiffened unwittingly.

Static hummed in the air, growing louder by the second and you began to shake uncontrollably, feeling your heart pound against your chest as you struggled to your feet. “W-what’s that noise?” You barely noticed as the cat tumbled off your lap while you looked wildly around the warehouse.

A shadow streaking across the ground caught your eye.

“Fuck, what is that?” You tried to keep your eyes on the quick moving shadow, but it was just so fast and your panic was not helping nor was the dim light, “W-where did it go?”

You almost screamed when you felt cold hands grab your shoulders and a strange chittering sound and you blindly threw your arm out, hoping to at least hit whatever grabbed you.

Yeah, you were pathetically weak, but you still had claws and fangs like the majority of Sinners, so you would put up something of a fight.

You hit nothing as you stumbled, looking behind you to see nothing either before those same cold hands skimmed up your sides. You shrieked when you were literally lifted off the ground from under your arms and you found yourself looking at a shadowy figure with glowing eyes and a grin that eerily reminded you of your little cat companion.

You were speechless as the shadow seemed to chirp at you, shaking you with what seemed to be excitement(?), but before you could react to this alarming situation, you felt something wrap around your midsection and the shadow was literally ripped away from you and thrown across the warehouse. 

Shadows had mass?

You were placed on your feet and you looked down to see what was wrapped around you–was that a fucking tentacle?!– before you shakily glanced back up when the appendage released you.

What in Satan’s name?!

“Little Red?” You weakly asked, staring at your little cat friend, which now looked like an Eldritch Horror monster, complete with a drooling jaw at least half the size of its body and whipping tentacles sprouting from its back.

The shadow recovered with no damage and growled back, but stayed the distance as the two beings glared each other down.

What the fuck was going on!?

“Now now, didn’t I already tell you to settle down?”

You were trembling again at the sound of a voice – one that sounded like an old-timey radio host – “No.” Your eyes widened as you took a step back, “No.”

“Oh, but I’m afraid it is, my dear,” the tall figure arose from a void of black through the ground, “I’m quite honoured you know of me despite my disappearance for seven years.”

“I-I mean, who doesn’t?” You swallowed thickly, “a-are you here to kill me?” Would there even be a point putting up a fight against the Radio Demon? It might just piss him off more, “I’m sorry for stealing! I’ll… I’ll find a way to pay you back somehow!”

“Oh, dear me! You believe I care about a misdeed as petty as theft? Especially when it’s concerning your very survival? No no, Darling – I’m here for something far more important.” Alastor’s chilling smile widened when you looked at him with uncertain surprise.

“W-what does that mean?” You asked, flinching under his unwavering red gaze, “You have much more important things you could be doing, r-right?”

Alastor took a step forward, stopping when a tentacle slammed down in front of him only inches away. “I couldn’t expect any less,” he eyed the drooling cat, amused with its warning to stay back, “You are a part of me, after all.”

“I’m sorry, what!?”

“In a sense, I suppose you could call this… thing a familiar that split off from me. And it chose you, my dear, because it was drawn to your soul,” Alastor’s proceeding smile almost split his face, “Now tell me, why do you think I am here?”

“No, no. Nope, nope!” You shook your head, clutching your chest protectively, “I’m not giving you my soul. Y-you’re just going to have to kill me!”

There was a yowl and snarl and the Eldritch cat and Alastor’s shadow were suddenly encased in some sort of black barrier glowing with green symbols with a slam of his cane and you would have fallen to the ground in surprise when Alastor appeared abruptly in front of you, only avoiding it when he gripped one side of your face and forced you to look at him.

“It would be a waste to take your soul. No, I want you complete and whole, my dear girl. In either case, the result would be the same. One is simply instant gratification. I am a patient man, I have no need to use force for my desired outcome.” He released you and you took several steps back, certainly glad to see the manic glee in his red eyes fade ever so slightly, “I have come here with an offer. No deals.”

“What’s… that?” You asked hesitantly, unsure if he was trying to trick you.

“Princess Morningstar has just announced a ridiculous plan, a hotel to redeem Sinners, in hopes they will be allowed into Heaven.” Alastor chuckled darkly at the utterly laughable idea, but he had plans and he needed the princess for them to come to fruition. “Even if it is a foolish endeavor that is bound for failure, surely staying at a hotel is better than this?”

You eyed him warily.

“My offer is that you simply come with me to this hotel. Why, I even heard what you said earlier, that you wanted a job?” Alastor’s grin was sleek when you looked at him sharply, “I’m sure the staff there will be quite lacking. Perhaps you can pay back what you stole?” It was a simple jest, but it seemed you took it seriously.

“Y-yes, maybe I can do it this time! Especially if this hotel wants to redeem us!” You said excitedly to yourself, not noticing the dark look in Alastor’s eyes at the idea of you ever being ‘redeemed’, “I’ll go as long as Little Red can too.”

“‘Little Red’?” Alastor repeated as his brow rose, glancing over to the barrier he had conjured to contain the two while he simply talked to you. There had been no need for a fight after all, “Ah, that… thing.” He slammed his cane against the ground and the barrier dissolved at once. “I am sure Princess Morningstar will allow it.”

He didn’t care for the creature himself, but it was your companion and he knew you would never leave it behind. Besides, the little abomination could act as your bodyguard when Alastor himself was out and about as he couldn’t stay near you 24/7.

“You okay, Little Red?” You approached the cat, noticing that it was back to its more normal form and its tail wagged when you picked it up gingerly, “I didn’t know you could do something like that! Tell a girl next time!” You giggled when it gave that staticky purr.

You heard the sound of a chitter and looked up to see the shadow practically leaping towards you and you flinched, closing your eyes and waited to be toppled to the ground. The cat vibrated in your arms in anger, hissing as its pupils turned into radio dials.

“Enough.”

The shadow immediately stopped, letting out a whimper as its ears dropped, giving you one last look before it disappeared behind Alastor.

“Well then, are you ready?” Alastor smirked, watching as you simply grabbed the cat, your only ‘possession’, and nodded, “Let us hope this was the break you were looking for, my dear.”

You were his.

And you seemed partially aware of it now.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗟𝗬𝗡

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where a storm is happening and Y/N is afraid of thunder, making her seek comfort in her best friend's brother arms, Matt.

WARNING: Thunderstorm.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Nick's room was a welcoming haven for Y/N. The walls decorated with frames and posters and the rustic wooden furniture provided a feeling of security and comfort. She had spent countless nights there, in his soft, cozy bed, surrounded by the familiarity of her best friend.

However, that night, the tranquil atmosphere was abruptly interrupted by the distant roar of thunder. Y/N curled up under the sheets, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She has always been afraid of storms, ever since she was a child. The thunderous sound of thunder and the flashes of lightning in the black sky left her petrified with fear.

With each thunderclap, she could feel the anxiety building up inside her, squeezing her heart like an iron fist. Her body shook involuntarily, and she struggled to control her rapid breathing. The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her, leaving her unable to move, as if she were trapped in an endless nightmare.

Y/N knew she needed to calm down. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the frightening sound echoing through the top floor window. The girl took a deep breath, trying to find some inner peace, but fear continued to envelop her like a relentless shadow.

Deciding to seek comfort, Y/N reached out into the darkness, searching the comforting warmth of the boy beside her. She tried to shake him gently, whispering his name in an urgent tone. However, Nick remained motionless and sunk into a deep sleep, only a light mumble escaping his throat.

Frustration and despair began to build within her. She couldn't face this storm alone. The girl tried to curl up against his back, but her body exposed to the room had no effect in calming her down, Nick remaining oblivious to her silent call, lost in distant dreams.

Y/N bit her bottom lip, fighting back the tears of frustration that threatened to spill over. She felt so small and powerless in the face of the force of nature outside. The sound of thunder seemed to grow louder, echoing in her mind like a relentless reminder of her vulnerability.

With a resigned sigh, Y/N got up from the bed, determined to get help. She knew exactly where to go.

Sneaking out the white door and down the stairs, careful not to make any loud sound, Y/N arrived at Matt's bedroom door, knocking softly on the wooden surface. She waited for a moment, her heart beating nervously in her chest as her right leg bounced incessantly in anxiety until she finally heard a sleepy murmur coming from inside the room.

The door slowly opened, revealing Matt's silhouette on the threshold. His eyes were downcast and sleepy, his brow furrowed in confusion and anger at being woken up, but his expression immediately brightened upon seeing Y/N standing there.

"Y/N, hey, what are you doing here? Are you okay?" Matt asked, his voice soft and concerned as his eyes took in the way her body was shaking.

Y/N swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape. She moved slightly closer to Matt, her arms crossed tightly against her chest, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed.

"I... I can't sleep with this storm, Matt. I'm so scared, and Nick won't wake up." The girl confessed in a shaky whisper, her chest burning with embarrassment for waking him up with something so... trivial. "I'm sorry for-"

Without hesitation, Matt wrapped Y/N in a comforting hug, interrupting her sentence while pulling her closer and holding her firmly against his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders with just the right amount of strength. He could feel the tremors that ran through her body, almost sensing the palpable fear that consumed her insides.

"It's okay, sweet girl. I'm here now." Matt whispered, gently stroking the girl's hair with his right hand. His presence was like a balm to Y/N's grief-stricken soul, slowly dispelling the shadows of her fear. "Come on."

The boy took a few steps back, eventually pulling her along before slowly closing the door. He kept his left arm firmly around her shoulders as he straightened his posture, beginning his slow steps towards his unmade bed.

With his free hand, the brunette pulled the duvet down before gently guiding Y/N to the mattress, helping her lie down on the side he didn't sleep on. He adjusted the strands of her loose hair so that they were not on her face, watching her eyes blink slowly in sleep, her eyelashes trembling with each thunderclap.

Matt quickly walked over to his own side of the bed, laying down on the still warm surface, right where he was previously lying, before pulling the duvet up, tucking it tightly around Y/N's body so that not a piece of her skin covered by thin pajamas would be exposed to the freezing air.

He laid down on his side and rested his head on his pillow, extending his left arm - which was against the mattress - and, with his free hand, gently pulled Y/N, encouraging her to get closer. The girl quickly got the message, pressing her cold body against Matt's warm one and laying her head on his outstretched bicep, her legs shrinking and her knees pressing against the boy's abdomen, a sigh of relief escaping her nose almost instantly.

Matt encircled her torso with his right arm, bringing her closer - if that was possible - and lowering his face, sealing Y/N's forehead with his lips tenderly, conveying a sense of safety and protection that she so desperately craved. The brunette caressed the warm skin of her face with the tip of his nose gently, whispering small words of affection and reassurance, muffling the sound of thunder against Y/N's ears while his hands caressed the back of her shoulders.

As the night progressed, Y/N gradually felt calmer and more serene in Matt's arms. The sound of thunder still echoed in the distance, but now she was no longer alone.

"Thank you, Matty." Her voice, now sleepy and low, came out of her mouth in a whisper, her eyes gradually closing as the sound of slow breathing and rhythmic heartbeats that echoed from the his larger body acted as a natural tranquilizer for her.

"Anything for you, petal."

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[thatgiraffefromtlou]

The Aurora Project

(part 1)

paring: ellie williams x fem!reader(ish?)

summary: as a result of a malfunction, you and ellie awaken from cryosleep aboard a spaceship with no memory. will you find evidence that you’re more than just shipmates? something to give reason to your nagging familiarity to the stranger you wake up next to?

warnings: eventual explicit language, potential for smut in later chapters (depending), close description of the start of a panic attack? maybe? idk that’s what mine feels like. uh cringy teasing idk- lmk if there’s more this is pretty tame-

A/N: ellie loves space, we love ellie, why now combine the two? i’m really gonna try my best to finish this one. because it’s not in the tlou universe i don’t have to match naughtydogs pacing in the games (like i do with my other DYHMN) and can make up my own so it won’t be such a long story! still long and definitely slow burn tho!

work count: 2.6K

– Chapter one –

The hiss of escaping air pierced the silence, a sharp and startling sound that jolted you from your dreamless slumber. Your eyes snapped open, your vision blurry and unfocused, struggling to adjust to the dim light that surrounded you. The metallic taste of cryosleep lingered on your tongue, a bitter reminder of your long suspension. You gasped, drawing in your first conscious breath in what felt like an eternity, the cool air burning your lungs as if you'd forgotten how to breathe.

Disoriented, you fumbled with the release mechanism of your pod, your fingers clumsy and uncooperative. The smooth, cold surface of the controls felt alien under your touch. As the glass canopy finally slid open with a soft whoosh, the chill of the ship's recycled air kissed your skin, causing goosebumps to ripple across your body in its wake. The sensation was both uncomfortable and oddly invigorating, a stark contrast to the numbness of your suspended state.

Your muscles protested vehemently as you pushed yourself up with a groan, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Every fiber of your being ached, as if you'd run a marathon in your sleep. "Where... where am I?" you mumbled to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and dry from disuse. The words felt strange in your mouth, your tongue thick and unresponsive.

The low emergency lights cast an eerie red glow across the vast expanse of the cryobay, creating long, ominous shadows that danced along the walls as they flashed. Your gaze, still adjusting to consciousness, slowly scanned the room, taking in the surreal scene before you. Lines of pods, seemingly endless in number, filled the space, each containing a silent, motionless figure. The dim white light emanating from within the pods created a strange, almost ethereal contrast to the blinking of the red emergency lights, giving the entire bay an otherworldly atmosphere.

As your mind gradually cleared, you slowly started to realize the gravity of your situation. You'd woken from your cryosleep, but why? A small panic began to creep through your chest, its icy tallons wrapping around your heart. Your head swam, an almost floaty feeling overtaking you as you grappled with your new reality. The disconnect between your last conscious memory and your current situation was jarring, leaving you feeling untethered and lost.

You forced yourself to take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart and clear the fog from your mind. With great effort, you struggled to slide out of your pod, every muscle in your body aching and pleading you to stop. The simple act of movement felt like an insurmountable task, your limbs heavy and uncooperative. You had no idea how long it had been since you'd last used your muscles, but from the way they felt - weak, stiff, and painfully sore - and the way your throat was begging for water, parched and raw, you'd say it had been a pretty significant amount of time. Months? Years? The uncertainty only added to your growing anxiety.

With trembling legs, you finally managed to get on your feet, immediately reaching out to hold onto the edge of your pod for support. The cool metal under your fingers provided only a small measure of comfort. "Hello?" you called out, your voice cracking, barely louder than before. Your heart raced, pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. The sound of your own voice echoing in the vast, silent chamber only intensified your feeling of isolation.

There was no response to your call; all you were met with was the low, persistent hum of the machines around you, the sound of your own panicked breathing, loud in the oppressive silence, and the whoosh of your heart beat in your ears. The lack of any human presence or activity only heightened your sense of unease. Slowly, carefully, you turned your head, your gaze falling upon the pod next to yours. To your surprise and relief, its occupant was stirring, showing signs of life amidst the previous stillness.

A woman with dark auburn hair struggled with the release mechanism of her pod, mirroring your own recent experience. Her movements were just as sluggish and uncoordinated as yours had been. You turned your body, every movement still an effort, and slowly walked around to stand at the foot of her pod. Your progress was painfully slow, each step deliberate as you used the edges of the pods for support, your legs still unsteady beneath you.

As you watched, the glass canopy of her pod slid open with a soft hiss, a type of misty fog slowly spilling out, curling and dissipating in the air. The woman inside sat up, her movements jerky and uncertain. As she looked around, her expression mirrored the confusion you felt, a mix of disorientation and growing alarm evident in her features.

"Are you alright?" you asked, your voice still rough but gaining strength. The woman turned at the sound, your words seeming to bring her down from her disoriented state. Her green eyes, bright and alert despite the lingering effects of cryosleep, met yours. As your gazes locked, a flicker of recognition flooded your brain, quick and elusive. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, quickly replaced by uncertainty and a nagging sense that you should know this person, even though you couldn't place how or why.

"I... I think so," the woman replied, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her voice was as dry and raspy as yours had been, another testament to the long period of disuse. She cleared her throat, the sound harsh in the quiet of the cryobay, before she spoke again. "I'm Dr. Williams. At least, that's what my pod says." She motioned to the foot of her pod, where a nameplate was clearly visible. Her eyes, however, held a mix of confusion and frustration as she continued, "But I can't... I can't remember anything else." She shook her head in defeat, her dark hair falling around her face, adding to her disheveled appearance.

The admission sent a chill down your spine. It wasn't just you, then. The realization that you weren't alone in your confusion was both comforting and alarming.

Your breath caught in your throat as the implications of her words sank in. "I'm…" you began, then paused, suddenly unsure. You looked over to your nameplate at the foot of your pod, reading the name etched there. You gave the woman your name, but your tone was questioning, uncertain, as if you were trying the sound of it for the first time. Your eyes found hers again as you spoke, searching for any sign of recognition or familiarity. "But I don't remember much either," you admitted, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

There was a heavy pause as you both looked around the cryo bank, taking in the rows upon rows of occupied pods, the blinking lights, and the humming silence. A deeper sense of panic began to fill your chest, more intense than before. The enormity of the situation was starting to sink in - you were awake, with no memory, on what appeared to be a massive ship, with potentially hundreds or thousands of others still in cryosleep. "Are we the only ones… awake…?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly might make the situation more real, more terrifying.

The woman looked back at you, her expression a mixture of hesitation and uncertainty. "I'm not sure... I think so..." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. There was a prolonged pause as you both continued to search the room with your eyes, desperately seeking any clue that might shed light on your situation. "But why...?" she finally asked, voicing the question that had been echoing in your own mind. Why? And not just why, but how? How did you end up here, in this unfamiliar place, with gaps in your memory?

You strain to recall your last clear memory, the one that stood out the most was only a fleeting image. A brief flash of signing a document. The paper, you remembered, was meant to secure you the very pod from which you had just awakened. But the reasons behind your signature and your intended destination remained frustratingly elusive. Along with most of your past experiences, these crucial details seemed to have vanished from your mind.

It was as if your brain had undergone a selective wipe, retaining only the information necessary for basic survival. Perhaps even the lessons your experiences had taught you remained, but the experiences themselves had faded away like morning mist. You couldn't help but wonder: Was this a common side effect of cryo sleep? Had the people who placed you in this state warned you about potential memory loss? If so, those warnings were now lost to you as well. How long would this amnesia last? Would your memories ever fully return?

These questions swirled in your mind, each one giving birth to a dozen more, creating a dizzying spiral of uncertainty and confusion. You felt yourself being pulled deeper into this mental whirlpool, losing touch with your immediate surroundings.

Suddenly, the woman called out your name, her voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts like a knife. Your head snapped back to face her, the motion so quick it left you slightly disoriented. As your eyes met hers, you experienced a flooding sensation of familiarity again, a feeling that dissipated as quickly as it had come. The constant ebb and flow of recognition was both frustrating and deeply unsettling. In an attempt to regain your composure, you shook your head, as if trying to physically dislodge the confusion. "Sorry, yeah... I don't know..." you managed to stammer out, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears.

For what felt like an eternity, the two of you stood there, locked in a mutual gaze. Neither of you seemed capable of finding the right words to break the heavy silence that had settled between you. The atmosphere was thick with tension, your nerves on edge as you both continued to search each other's faces for any sign of recognition or understanding. Finally, the woman spoke, her voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "Help me out of this thing?" she asked, gesturing to her cryo pod.

You nodded silently, moving to assist her. However, as you reached out, you quickly realized that you weren't in much better shape yourself. Your muscles, still sluggish from the prolonged period of inactivity, protested against even this simple movement. Despite your best efforts, you found yourself offering little more than moral support as she struggled to extricate herself from the pod.

As she finally managed to step out, her hand inadvertently brushed against yours. The brief contact sent an unexpected jolt through your body, an inexplicable warmth spreading from the point of contact and radiating through your chest. Instinctively, your eyes snapped up to meet hers, half-expecting to see a face you'd known your entire life. Instead, you were met with the same mix of confusion and intrigue that you felt mirrored in your own expression. The familiarity of the sensation contrasted sharply with the stranger's face before you, adding another layer to the frustration of your situation.

"We need to figure out what's going on," the woman declared after a moment, her voice carrying a forced confidence that barely masked her underlying uncertainty. You found yourself nodding in agreement once more, still reeling from the unexpected warmth that her simple touch had evoked. It was as if your body remembered something your mind had forgotten, a connection that transcended your current state of confusion.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you took a step back and began to survey your surroundings more thoroughly. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of an exit. The woman seemed to have the same idea, her gaze darting from one corner of the room to another. Without exchanging words, you both began to move away from your pods, heading in the same direction down a long corridor lined with other cryo units. You could only hope that this path would lead you to some answers, or at the very least, a way out of this situation.

As you walked side by side, a thought suddenly surfaced in your mind. "Dr. Williams?" you ventured, turning to look at the woman. She responded with a soft hum, indicating that she was listening. You hesitated for a moment, your eyes dropping to your feet before meeting hers again. "What's your first name? If you can remember, I mean. Might be easier than Dr. Williams..." You trailed off, feeling somewhat awkward about the question.

To your surprise, she let out a soft chuckle. The sound was strangely familiar, sending a small rush of heat to your cheeks. Why was everything about this woman so familiar, so intimately known to you, yet simultaneously foreign? Like smelling something outside in the wind and feeling the emotions attached to that smell, only to not be able to put your finger on what and why. The feeling was tantalizingly close, hovering just at the edge of recognition, like a word on the tip of your tongue. And only sometimes were you blessed with the epiphany of what that smell was, days or even weeks later, that would strike without warning, bringing with it a flood of understanding and the satisfying click of pieces falling into place. "Ellie," she replied, a smile playing on her lips as she watched for your reaction. Your brow furrowed slightly as you processed this information. "You remember that, or was it on the pod?" you asked, unable to keep a hint of teasing disbelief from your voice. After all, you had awakened first, yet she seemed to be recovering her memories more quickly.

Ellie's smile widened, taking on a slightly sheepish quality. "It was on the pod," she admitted, "but it feels right now that I've said it out loud." You nodded, understanding the sentiment. "Ellie..." you repeated, testing the name on your tongue. It yet again felt familiar, comfortable, as if you had said it countless times before.

As the two of you continued your search for an exit from the bay, you couldn't shake the persistent feeling that there was more to your relationship than simply being shipmates or colleagues. The ease of your interactions, the inexplicable warmth you felt in her presence, and the nagging sense of familiarity – it all pointed to a deeper connection. These sensations were too intense, too immediate to be explained by a chance meeting between strangers.

Your eyes drifted to the viewports lining the corridor, taking in the vast expanse of space beyond. The cosmos stretched out infinitely, a silent witness to the mysteries of your past and the uncertainties of your future. As you gazed at the star-studded blackness, you couldn't help but wonder what other secrets it held. What events had led you to this moment? What purpose had brought you to this ship, drifting through the endless void? And most intriguingly, what role did Ellie play in your forgotten past?

The questions multiplied with each step you took, but answers remained frustratingly out of reach. You glanced at Ellie, noticing that she too seemed lost in thought, her brow furrowed in concentration. Perhaps together, you could unravel the enigma of your shared circumstances. For now, all you could do was press forward, hoping that somewhere in this vast ship, you would find the key to unlocking your memories and understanding her true purpose in your life.

chapter 2

A/N: lmk if so if u wanna be in the tag list!

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Thinking about Astarion having to deal with his reclaimed mortality once the initial euphoria of it is wearing off: 

When he’s startled from sleep, woken by his own racing heartbeat. 

Him jumping at the movement in the corner of his eye, only to find it’s just his own reflection staring right back at him, puzzled, before he watches his cheeks redden with embarrassment. 

The sun slowly losing its appeal as time goes on because Astarion keeps getting nasty sunburns after days spent outside, trying to make up for centuries confined to darkness. Whenever he comes home with itching skin and drenched in sweat, he finds himself almost missing hiding in the shadows. 

The odd sensation of feeling more and less at the same time: while some of his senses are now dulled to better suit mortality, others feel heightened to the point of sensory overload—a gust of wind feels like fire licking at his skin and he gets so very anxious whenever he loses Tav in the crowd, unable to distinguish them by the once divine scent of their blood any longer. 

Since he has a reliant supply of his own blood pumping through his veins now, he’s feeling aroused so much easier and more often than not at quite inconvenient times. He enjoyed having sex with Tav before, but now that he’s mortal again, he finds that he’s having to overthink intimacy once again—where his desires used to be driven by burning hunger, lust now feels like a pleasant, more natural bodily reaction. Having to seriously consider contraceptive measures, should his partner be able to get pregnant, is also a rather novel experience for him.  

Bathing still feels as good as before, at least. But where he spent hours in the bathroom out of pointless vanity then, Astarion now has to wash himself because his body would stink of sweat and, well, life otherwise. It will be years before he openly excuses himself for having to use the bathroom whenever nature calls.

And food—food would be the hardest to adjust to. It takes a lot of trial and error to find something that pleases his virgin taste buds (although he swears there’re some odd pieces of memories flashing in front of his eyes whenever he's snacking on wild strawberries or awfully sweet citron tarts). He ends up acquiring a taste for raw cookie dough, shredded cheese and sardines, eating little else for the next two years or so. To everyone's astonishment, he's gotten food poisoning only once or twice.

Astarion is no stranger to pain or injury, but he’s appalled by how long it takes to recover from the most minor cuts and bruises. It’s a well-kept secret between him and Tav that his first common cold had him convinced he was dying for a fortnight straight. 

Crying is much easier now, too.

Ironically, it’s mortality that forces Astarion to strive for more permanent, detail-oriented plans for the future. Now that life is finite, he wants to use the time he has wisely. He might keep travelling the realms until he breathes his last, or settle down, eventually. He might learn a new profession or accumulate some wealth in less honest ways. Maybe, one day, he wants to have a family, heirs to whatever he decides to make his own. 

Once Astarion has come to terms with being a mortal elf again, he realises living is not just about a beating heart. Living is about having endless possibilities but limited time. Choices and decisions that lead to only one thing: death. 

Now that Astarion is living again, he finally understands that death is just another part of the journey.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,218 Pairing: Negan Smith x Fem!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, after the war, Negan is imprisoned Warnings: language, Negan's mouth, violence, injury, fear and anxiety, frightening scenarios, Soft!Negan, Protective!Negan Summary: Negan has to figure out how to defend you when he's locked in his cell. A/N: This is the second to last chapter of this series!

Dante only laughed and walked over to the chair, scooping up your ring of keys off the seat. “Were you trying for these?” he asked, jingling them at Negan.

Negan stared back, a heavy shadow falling over his face. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I was.”

The silver of the keys glinted in Dante’s hand. Negan’s heart was pounding.

“Close, but not quite,” Dante said, pocketing them. His attention returned to you on the ground. Negan drifted along the bars to stand beside you as the doctor advanced. He crouched down and gently touched your face in a final attempt to wake you, but you didn’t stir. His eyes, narrowed and intense, landed on Dante again. If he could have burned a hole in that fucker’s face with his eyes, he would have been dead twenty times over. But Dante didn’t seem to notice.

The doctor stood over you completely still for a long moment. His expression and the feeling in the room, almost pulsing with tension, was unnerving. At length, he bent down and took hold of your ankles, dragging you away from Negan’s cell. Negan’s stomach churned as your head slipped off the blanket he’d tucked underneath it. The fabric was stained a deep, dark crimson. There was a bloody smear left on the floor where the wound from hitting the cell bars dragged along the cold concrete as Dante moved you.

“Hey—” Negan barked, gripping onto the bars with white knuckles. “What the fuck is going on?”

Dante straightened up and stared down at you before rubbing a hand over his mouth as if he was contemplating what to do. Then he looked up at Negan and smiled. He bent over you again and this time he rolled you onto your back. Your head lolled to the side like a rag doll and Negan’s stomach twisted again.

Dante stood over you, staring down again in a way that had Negan’s skin crawling. “It’s almost a shame,” he said, sighing as he bent over you again. “She’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

Negan felt his entire body, every fiber of himself revolting as Dante suddenly latched his hands around your neck violently and began to compress them, squeezing. He was shaking with the effort. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing?!” Negan roared. In just a few seconds, which felt excruciatingly long, Negan saw you begin to stir and he realized that you’d woken up. Your brain, suddenly aware that you weren’t pulling in any oxygen, had kicked you into survival mode, probably dumping adrenaline and all kinds of chemicals into your bloodstream to wake you up. “Hey!” Negan yelled again, a vain attempt to distract Dante.

You came to and began to struggle beneath his grip. Your boots slid against the concrete frantically and kicked as you writhed around, trying to get any purchase on the floor to get up, to reposition yourself to fight. But he was over you and had control. You clawed at his hands and arms, trying to pry him off your neck. Your eyes were wide and panicked and your face was turning red and then purple. You reached up in an attempt to scratch his face, to get his eyes, to do anything but Dante pulled back, avoiding your groping fingers. He lifted you slightly off the ground and then slammed you down onto the concrete, jarring you. The back of your head hit the floor hard. He did it again and again as you tried to fight. Your attempts got weaker and weaker, and all the while Negan was yelling, trying to distract Dante, trying to get him to let go. He was completely helpless, powerless to do anything, watching you die right in front of him, out of reach.

A few more moments and you were struggling to stay conscious again. Your face went from red to purple. Negan watched in horror, helpless, as you went limp again with Dante’s hands still around your neck. He looked around for something to use to throw but his scant cell had nothing that could even remotely be used as a weapon. Finally, his eyes landed on the tennis ball beside his boot. He stuck his arm through the bars and threw it as hard as he could at the side of Dante’s head. It struck him and bounced off. “Hey! Dr. Kevorkian!” Negan roared. To his surprise, Dante turned and looked at him slowly, and his hands lifted off you, still shaking slightly from the strain of throttling and fighting you.

You, however, stayed completely still, unconscious on the floor. The marks on your neck, raw and crimson and somehow looking almost bruised already, glared up at Negan. His heart felt like it was about to explode in his chest. Blind panic was threatening to overwhelm him. He had to get a hold of himself. He had to, if he hoped to save you. He drew in a deep breath and forced his mind to quiet. Think. Think. How the fuck could he deal with this fucker when he was locked up?

Dante straightened up, out of breath from the effort of you fighting him, and he stared right at Negan.

“You mind telling me what in the ever-loving holy fucking hell is happening right now?” Negan asked, forcing his voice to not betray his true fear and panic.

Dante wiped a dot of saliva from the corner of his mouth and stared down at you again beneath him for a moment, his chest heaving. Then, he looked back at Negan.

“I’m gonna kill this bitch. Slowly,” he breathed. “And then I’m gonna kill you. And I’m gonna tell everyone you did it, and I had to put you down,” he said, smiling. “Oh, sure, everyone will be real sad to lose Y/N here. She is a member of the council after all… but who the fuck is going to be care that you’re dead? I’ll say I tried to stop you but I was too late. And if people weren’t already divided over Michonne keeping you alive, how do you think they’re going to feel after this?” He laughed again. “No one will trust Michonne’s judgement anymore. Daryl will be broken to lose one of his closest family members. The council will dissolve. It’ll be a real shame what happens to Alexandria after that… And I’ll be here still, chipping away at it, helping it along.”

Calm. He had to stay calm. Negan gathered himself and then smirked at Dante through the bars. “That’s your plan?” he asked, throwing in a low chuckle as he stretched his tall frame out, leaning with his forearm against the bars just over his head, trying hard to look carefree. “I mean—you can try to kill me. That’s the first flaw in your grand scheme. I didn’t end up in here for playing fucking nice. I used to bash people’s heads in with a bat but that doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself without sweet little Lucille perched on my shoulder,” Negan said lazily. “Now, your second problem—” he started, watching carefully for Dante’s reaction. He smiled when he saw a flash of curiosity on Dante’s face. “—is that you have not known these fuckers anywhere near as long as I have. If you think you’re going to murder me and Y/N’s fine ass here, plant your little seeds of doubt, and water them with just a sprinkling of grief and come strolling home to a garden bursting with blooms of anger and division… I’ve got some bad fucking news for you, friend. That is not enough to get these people to tear this place apart from the inside out. Trust me, I’ve tried! Exhibit A: my goddamn current situation! When shit gets hard, these fuckers circle the goddamn wagons and somehow come back swinging. They are like a bad case of herpes. As soon as you think they’re gone, poof! They’re back! Trust me, it is fucking annoying, thing but they are resilient as fuck! It’s gonna take a little more than one bad inmate to tear this place down.”

Dante actually seemed to be listening intently. Negan felt some smug satisfaction that when he needed to switch it on, he could still switch it on… He hazarded a glance back at you lying on the floor behind Dante. You were unmoving, but breathing. He could see your chest rising and falling shallowly.

“So, let me guess. You’re going to tell me not to murder Y/N,” Dante said suddenly, suspicious.

Negan pulled a face and shrugged. “No, no, by all means, murder Y/N! Hell, I’ll fuckin’ help you! You think I’ve got any kind of warm and fuzzy feelings toward anyone here? They destroyed my fucking home, my community. I was king of my castle and having a grand old time. They’ve kept me locked up like an animal in here for six fucking years. And Y/N here is my most recent jailor. I can’t take a piss without asking her permission… Besides, you have to kill her now anyway because she woke up and saw you choking the life out of her... But I think the next part of the plan needs some adjustment.”

Dante glanced back at you, making sure you weren’t coming around again. He knew you were still alive. He was a doctor after all. It took time to strangle someone. As much as six minutes sometimes… and he knew you had begun to breathe again as soon as he lifted his hands. But he wanted to kill you slow. He liked the power, the fear, the control of it. He wanted you to suffer. He felt all of you, every one of you with your bloated egos deserved it.

Negan whistled a low two-toned note to get Dante’s attention again. “You still with me, doc?” he asked, smiling. Dante met his eyes again, so Negan went on. “I can help you. I think we can help each other. We kill Y/N here, and I help you make her disappear. A missing member of the council is a mighty fine distraction, don’t you think? I mean, hell—they’ll be sending search parties out to all ends of the earth looking for her. Spreading themselves thin… Meanwhile, on the home front, two determined assholes chipping away at Alexandria from the inside is better than one,” he smiled. “I’ve got plenty of reasons to want to see this place fall, and if that’s your goal then I’m fuckin’ in.”

“Why do I need you at all? I could kill her and make her disappear myself,” he retorted.

Negan shrugged and nodded. “Sure. If you think you can carry her corpse outta here and conceal it all on your own without anyone noticing something is amiss. Carrying a dead body isn’t exactly easy peasy lemon squeezy, especially when you’re on the clock. It sure as shit would be easier and faster with two people. We can probably get this shit done before the rest of Alexandria even wakes up. But,” he held his hands up and shrugged, “your call. If you’d rather fight her and then risk someone walking in while you fight me—because I promise you, I will not go down easily—that’s your choice. But I think there’s a way for this whole thing to work out the best for the both of us and I’m happy to get onboard.”

Dante stared at him. Negan could almost see the working of his mind. He hoped that his expression wasn’t giving away the sheer panic he was barely suppressing. If Dante didn’t buy in… you were dead and he was powerless to stop it.

But to his relief, the next moment. Dante reached into the pocket of his white coat and Negan heard the keys metallic tinkling as he closed a hand around them.

Negan grinned and clicked his tongue. “I knew you were smart,” he said, leaning on the bars again.

Dante approached and began fitting each key into the lock until he found the right one. It turned with a heavy scraping and thud as the bolt retracted. Dante stepped back and Negan grinned as he pushed the cell door open to sweet, sweet freedom.

Dante was standing over you again, his eyes focused on your face. The ring of keys was still clutched in his hand. Negan came to stand slightly behind him to the side and also looked down at your sprawled form. “Are you doing the job or am I?” Negan asked, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip.

Dante glanced sideways at him and stored the keys in his pocket again. “She’s mine,” he said.

Negan affected a low laugh. “Try not to enjoy it too much,” he said. Dante seemed to like that little comment, even while inside Negan felt sick, sick with rage, sick with the words he had to say, sick with how pale you looked lying still on the floor...

Dante bent over you and wrapped his hands around your throat again, squeezing, his hands shaking with effort. You came to again within seconds and started to fight, but your efforts were weak and you looked like you were trying to move through molasses. You managed to dig a fingernail into Dante’s wrist and thick blood drops dripped down onto you, staining your shirt.

Enraged, Dante drew back a hand and backhanded you across the face, still holding you down hard by your neck with the other, crushing you into the floor so you couldn’t escape him.

Those moments felt like an eternity passing as Negan waited until Dante was distracted enough for him to intervene. His eyes fell on the metal tray that had fallen off the chair to the floor and he hurriedly seized it, pulled it back and bashed Dante across the back of the head with it. The doctor let go of you and fell to the side on his hands and knees. “Breakfast is served, shitdick,” Negan growled. He tossed the tray down and it rang out on the concrete. He seized Dante by his white coat with two hands and hurled him to the side farther away from you, propelling his head into the cinderblock wall. Miraculously, he was still conscious when he fell to the ground. Negan hurriedly wound up and kicked him hard in the ribs. Dante gasped and curled over on his side from the force of Negan’s boot ramming into his ribs and stomach.

Negan’s eyes were dark with rage as he leaned over Dante again and gripped the front of his shirt, dragging him to his feet and shoving him back against the wall so hard his head slammed into it again and all the air left his lungs in a forced sound. “You’re a real fucking piece of shit, you know that? Can’t even take someone on in a fair fight without drugging them first,” he growled. “I fucking hate cowards. And I hate little shitdick cowards who hurt women for no goddamned good reason even more. Your teeny tiny itsy bitsy little balls are showing… Me on the other hand, my giant nut sack is made of Kevlar and I am not afraid of a man-on-man cage match. Shitty for you, because this one, you have fucking lost.” With that, he drew back a fist and punched Dante across the face and he kept hitting him, over and over, until the man went limp. Negan let go and his body crumpled like a wet towel.

Negan stood over him for a brief moment to make sure he was truly knocked out and then he rushed to your side, hitting his knees hard on the concrete at he fell to the ground beside you frantically. He cupped your face, noticing that you now had a split lip and red mark from Dante hitting you across the face. “Y/N? Come on. Open your eyes, doll. Come on, look at me!” Negan lifted you slightly, supporting your head and neck and gently shaking you, pulling you against him. He felt a warm, wet spot soaking his sleeve where the back of your head was resting against his arm. “Shit… You’ve got to wake up, darlin’!” He stroked the back of his fingers lightly over your cheek. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re okay…”

He stroked your hair gently, running his fingers through the silky strands, searching your face for any sign that you were rousing, but he saw none. The marks on your neck were terrifyingly dark. He could see that your skin was dotted with broken blood vessels. “Okay. Okay…” he breathed, looking around frantically. “Alright. I’m gonna get you some help,” he murmured to you. He set you down gently, cushioning your head again with the wool blanket. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead and he felt completely shaky, unsure if it was still from pure rage or the come down of adrenaline.

He stood and returned to Dante where he was slumped on the floor against the bottom of the wall. He rifled through the pockets of his white coat until he found the keys and then dragged him by his ankles into the jail cell, leaving him carelessly lying on the cold concrete.

“Enjoy your new home, shitstain,” Negan muttered as he locked the cell door, pocketing the keys. He rushed back to you and lifted you as carefully as he could. “Alright, darlin’. Just you and me now. Come on. You’re gonna be fine…” he breathed. He managed to get the outside door open with you in his arms and burst out into the sunshine.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Negan sat slumped in the folding chair beside you, absently running a hand over the stubble on his face. His eyes flickered back to you in the bed over and over again as anxiety ran through him like poison. You were going to wake up and be fine, he kept telling himself, but the wait was excruciating.

The marks on your neck glared back at him. Siddiq had stitched the split in your lower lip and your head wounds with the most delicate stitches he could, but the sight of them still made Negan’s blood boil.

Suddenly, you began to stir just a little on the pillow and Negan snapped upright, leaning forward and waiting to see your eyes open. You fought with your heavy eyelids but finally you blinked awake. It took a moment before you got your bearings and noticed him beside you.

“Negan,” you said softly. Your voice sounded gritty and thin, as if you had a bad sore throat.

Negan smiled at you, all the way up to the corners of his eyes, a soft one. “Hey, doll,” he said, clasping his hands between his bent knees as he sat forward on the edge of his seat.

You pulled in a few deep breaths and swallowed with some effort. Your throat felt raw and your head was pounding, but you were alive. “I thought I was dead,” you mused aloud. The smile on Negan’s face faded and he reached out and grabbed your hand gently, pressing it between his. You looked down at the contact as electricity seemed to crackle over your skin from his touch. It distracted you from the pain throbbing through your face and skull for a moment.

“Close. Too fucking close. But not on my watch, darlin’,” he said seriously.

“Dante—he—I went to get my hand checked and he—he dosed me with something—”

“I know,” he interrupted you. “But you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Daryl’s dealing with him right now, otherwise he’d be here too. He’s been driving me fucking nuts pacing the room and scowling,” Negan joked.

“What happened to—” Your voice cracked and Negan stopped you.

“Shh,” he soothed you. “If it hurts, don’t talk, doll,” he said, his brow knit.

You paused, your eyes flickering between his bright hazel ones. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you retorted immediately, breaking into the tiniest touch of a smile, but quickly stopping as it tugged at your stitches.

Negan rubbed your hand between his, his thumb gliding softly over the silky skin on the back of your hand. He chuckled. “There she is,” he said. He smoothed some stray strands of hair away from your face. “You’re alright,” he said.

“Negan,” you said again, and he let the sound of his name leaving your lips again wash over him. It dredged up an upwelling of emotion and he blinked at the glassiness overtaking his vision. “What—what happened? How’d you—?”

“Ahh, don’t worry about that. Just rest. Everything is alright,” he said.

Your eyes flickered over his face and he sighed because he knew you weren’t going to let it go. He pressed your hand between his again. “You don’t remember anything?” Some part of him seized up with fear that perhaps you had heard the kind of things he’d had to say to get Dante to trust him. But you shook your head. That was a relief… the words had tasted bitter and nauseating as he’d spoken them, and the last thing he wanted was for you to have heard them, perhaps internalized them.

“Not really. Just—I remember—waking up with his hands around my neck,” you said vaguely. “I remember trying to fight him off but it was like I was swimming through quicksand and then… like being dragged under dark water...” The hoarseness in your voice had Negan’s chest aching.

He nodded. “Yeah… I—got him to unlock my cell. Took some convincing… I had to say some fucked up shit to make it happen. Acted like we were allies,” he explained. “And then when I had the chance—I beat the fuck out of him,” he growled. You watched his face darken with the memory and you gulped.

Negan met your eyes and watched as tears began to fill them. He gently clasped your face with one hand, running his fingers through your hair with the other. “Hey—doll—you’re okay. You’re okay,” he said softly. He shook his head. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, but it’s all over.”

You sniffled and could feel your bottom lip quivering as you tried not to allow yourself to cry harder. You could only speak in a whisper this time, emotion constraining your voice. “Thank you,” you managed, your eyes flickering between Negan’s, looking golden and maybe even a little glassy too as he leaned over you and stroked your hair.

“You don’t have a thing to thank me for, darlin’,” Negan said emphatically. “I’m just glad I was there to take care of—”

There was the sudden sound of someone clearing their throat near the doorway and you looked over to see Daryl standing there. Negan fell back from you and sank down into his chair again, his fingers drifting away, grieving the growing space as it enlarged and left him feeling a little hollow.

You sniffled and smiled at Daryl as his face grew less stern, seeing you awake. He came straight to your bedside and sank down on the edge. He grabbed your hand in his and gave it a friendly squeeze, his blue eyes traveling over you, hitching on your injuries.

“Negan,” he drawled, not taking his eyes off you. “Wait outside a minute,” he said.

Negan got up without arguing and headed to the door, but he stopped at the threshold and looked back at you in the bed one more time before he stepped into the hallway.

Daryl sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “How ya feelin’?”

You gulped and shrugged a little. “Okay. Sore. Tired. My head is pounding.”

Daryl nodded. His eyes were continually drawn to the marks on your throat, red and raw but quickly darkening into bruises.

“Negan said you were with—with him,” you said.

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I was. He’s locked up. Negan beat the shit out of him. I think his jaw is broken. Probably some ribs too. Fucker’s face and eyes are all swelled up. Looks like he got into it with a goddamn bee hive.”

You nodded and pulled in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Good,” you whispered.

“Look, if ya need some time, just lemme know. But I wanted to ask ya some questions,” Daryl said. “Ya need anything? Water? Ya warm enough?”

“No, I’m good. Ask me. It’s okay.”

Daryl nodded. “What do you remember about that morning? Negan said Dante drugged ya.”

You nodded. “He must have, because I felt completely fine before I went into the clinic. I went to get my hand checked out; from that gash I got on the run? Siddiq wasn’t there so Dante looked at it and then he gave me two pills. He said they were painkillers and would help with the swelling around the cut and the pain I was having. He was pretty insistent about me taking them. Then, I went to the pantry and prepared some food to take to Negan. I brought it down and then we were talking at his cell door and everything just started to go… strange and cloudy. And then I must have passed out?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. Negan said ya just sunk into unconsciousness right in front of him. Ya hit yer head on the cell bars on the way down. And then it wasn’t long before Dante came walking in.”

A struck look hit you. “Right. He asked me what my plans for the day were. I told him I had to bring Negan breakfast, so he would have known I was there.”

“Yeah, or he coulda followed ya anyway. It was pretty early. Hardly anybody was up yet. Woulda been easy for him to keep his distance and watch ya. Fuckin’ creep…” he growled.

“Did—did you ask him why he attacked me?”

Daryl sighed heavily and nodded, his eyes flickering between yours. “Yeah. But he ain’t talkin’. He told Negan some things though.” Daryl considered you for a moment before he went on. “Ya sure yer ready to hear all this?”

“Please,” you asked softly, and Daryl relented.

“Negan said after you were unconscious and Dante came in, he started attacking you. You came to and started fighting back but eventually—uhh…” Daryl was having a hard time recounting it because of the swell of emotions rising in him. He wanted to march back to the cell and end Dante with his bare hands every time he looked at your injuries. He drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then went on. “You passed out again. Negan somehow got his attention and he let go of you. Negan said he talked his way out of the cell. Guess I dun disbelieve that. Fucker always could fuckin’ talk. Gettin’ him to shut up is the problem.”

You let out a small laugh and smiled at that, and Daryl’s worry eased a little. “True,” you agreed.

“Then, he waited for an opportunity and—it was over. After he got Dante into the cell and locked up, he came runnin’ out on the street yellin’ for help with you in his arms.” Daryl hung his head for a moment and had to steel himself as he remembered the scene. “Fuck, for a second I thought ya were—we all thought—”

You squeezed Daryl’s hand and he looked back up at you and his expression relaxed. “What did he tell Negan about why?”

Daryl shook his head. “He said, basically, he wants Alexandria destroyed. He picked you because yer on the council. It coulda been any of us. But why he wants Alexandria gone? Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. It ain’t happenin’.”

There was a thick pause as you turned over this information in your mind and you finally sighed and looked back up at Daryl. “Negan saved my life,” you said.

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. He did. For once, ‘m glad Negan was around. And I never thought I’d say that.”

You nodded and gave Daryl a weary smile. “I noticed you didn’t have him handcuffed or anything,” you said with some surprise.

“He ain’t goin’ anywhere. He’s refused to leave ya for a second. Bit annoyin’ actually… when I was tryin’ to question him. But there’s a guard at the door to the clinic. Ain’t nobody gettin’ in, and Negan ain’t gettin’ out.”

“What’s going to happen to Dante now?” you asked, a flush of anxiety washing over you like a dunk into hot water.

“Dun worry about that. Just rest. We’ll sort everything out when yer on yer feet, alrigh’? Ya sure ya dun need anything?” Daryl could see that you were fading toward sleep again. You shook your head. “Alright. If ya need somethin’, just holler, okay? I’m gonna be just down the hall talkin’ to Siddiq and Michonne.” You agreed and Daryl whistled. “Hey! Negan!” Negan appeared in the doorway looking anxious, but Daryl only tilted his head back toward the empty chair at your side and stood up. “Yer back on duty,” he drawled. He fixed a long stare on Negan as he made his way around your bed and sunk down in the chair again, but there was no tension in it for once. In fact, Daryl was almost looking at him with something like respect. Almost. Daryl took his leave.

Negan laced his fingers together and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His eyes were searching your face and you stared back at him through bright eyes with heavy lids. “What’s the verdict?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“Am I still on Daryl’s shit list?” he joked, cocking an eyebrow up.

You laughed a little. “I think you will always be on Daryl’s shit list, Negan.”

He reached for your hand, his eyes still smiling at the corners. “Am I on your shit list, Y/N?” he asked softly, closing your hand in his so gently you thought you were imagining it at first, but you looked down at the contact between the two of you and saw your skin against his. It felt surprisingly right, easy.

Your voice was raw and strained, but your answer brought a wider smile to Negan’s face. “No.”

“Thank fuckin’ God,” he said, and then he did something you didn’t expect and he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the gentle curve of the back of your fingers. “Sleep now, doll. I’ll be right here.”

You shut your eyes and drifted off.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 13

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; Canonical character death; Vomiting; Sexual themes.

A/N: It hasn’t taken me this long to write a chapter for this since I started it. And once again, I’m disappointed in the quality. I hope it’s received well enough. :/ And try not to maim me over the ending. I’m hoping it will inspire me to be a bit faster with updates. 😅

It had taken you a while to calm down. Hours later, you were under the sheets and lying with your back toward the door. People came and went, offering food and medication and water. You accepted all with silence, only for the sake of your baby. The little one needed the food and water and you needed the medication to help you keep it down. Carol informed you that she and Lori had taken care of Daryl. Had they murdered him? 

The sun had set and cloaked your room in shadow by the time you opened your eyes again. You didn't even remember falling asleep. What had woken you? Hands rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you sat up. There was a curious light outside the window. It was as if you had been denied the audio from a feature film but suddenly pressed the button to unmute. 

Screams, gunfire, cars, motorcycle. What the hell is happening?! Your fingers brushed the top of your boots when the bedroom door swung open. Lori appeared wild, frightened to a degree you had never witnessed in her before.

“Carl!? Y/N, have you seen Carl?!” 

“No, I’m sorry. Lori, what—” But she was gone. Now the panic was setting in, your chest tightening for the second time that day. Where was Daryl? What was going on? 

“Patricia! Beth! Y/N! We have to go!” Carol’s voice was an unfamiliar tone, the quiet woman infused with a tension and fear in the call of each name. You stepped into your boots and jogged down the stairs just as Patricia and Beth stepped out onto the porch. Carol was reaching for you before you even noticed her. 

“What’s happening?!” You were breathless with worry and confusion.  

“The farm isn’t safe. We have to go!” The woman urged, her hand wrapping around your wrist. Beth was crying, Lori was panicked. The sight that greeted you was overwhelming. Walkers everywhere. The barn burning. Gunshots from cars circling the herd. 

“Carol.” You whimpered. You had no weapon, watching Lori bolt with a bag. “Do we have any guns?” 

“No time to find one! Go!” 

The four of you sprinted off the porch, the herd closing in, forcing you in different directions. You weren’t sure how you ended up so far into the field, running blindly in the dark, the only light coming from the unsteady flames devouring the barn. You didn’t stop running, the dead closing in from all sides. 

You nearly stumbled into the desperate clutches of a woman, teeth snapping at you before she could get a good hold. You pushed her, stumbling backward into the chest of a man, his rotting mouth snapped by your head, nearly taking your ear. You couldn’t help but scream. You’d never make it to the forest. There, you could easily utilize the safety nature provided. However, the amount of dead that blocked your path made it impossible. 

With the fence at your back, the road just beyond it, you glanced over your shoulder. You could hop the structure easily but more dead waited on the other side. Your mind was still scrambling for a resolution when you heard the familiar rumble and crunch of gravel beneath rubber. 

Daryl was there, calling your name. You cleared the fence and ran to him, legs burning and breaths unreliable. 

“C’mon! I ain’t got all day!” He was standing over the front edge of the seat so you could easily mount the bike behind him. Once both of you were seated, you wrapped your arms around his middle and buried your face into his back. 

“Go! Go!” Your shout was muffled against the leather vest but he heard you and soon you were moving, the wind carrying the smell of blood and smoke. You burrowed further against him, taking in his scent instead. Leather and pine, his natural musk, a hint of tobacco. You focused on it while he dodged walkers, the snarling growls and moans too close as you felt him slow and start to weave. 

“Not so tight.” His warm hand patted yours and disappeared just as quickly. 

“Daryl.” You whimpered. You pulled your hands back to rest on his sides, lightly curling your fingers into his vest. Any noise aside from the motorcycle began to fade as the wind picked up. You were going faster. Still, you didn’t let go, didn’t look up. You’d barely made it out. If Daryl hadn’t been there—

He was slowing again, to a crawl and eventually, a stop. When he cut the engine and began to move away, you could feel him taking your breath along behind him. You were clumsy bringing your leg over the seat, nearly toppling face first onto the gravel road. 

“Why—Daryl, why are we stopping?! We can’t be here! It’s not safe, Daryl!” You knew you looked like a wild animal, eyes wide and frantic, your hands protectively curled around your middle. “Daryl—Daryl, we—”

“Easy.” How long had he been standing that close? Your gaze focused on him, but you still couldn’t seem to catch your breath. 

Red. 

“Daddy!”

“I love you, Peanut.”

“Hey, we’re good.” His palms were warm against your face, blue eyes swimming with concern. He was trying to bring you out of the darkness you had wandered into, scared and vulnerable. “Gotta breathe, Y/N. C’mon, girl.” You hadn’t realized your own hands were grasping at his shoulders until he was releasing your face to gently pry them off. “Doin’ better. Can’t stay here long but ya can’t ride like this.” He lowered your hands to your lap and placed his palm back against your cheek. 

You ducked your head and swallowed back the bile inching up your throat, realization striking you like a freight train. “Oh god, I left the meds! All of Hershel’s supplies! Daryl, the baby—”

“Ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to either’a ya. Ya hear me?” The conviction in those eyes, the determination. He meant it. You hiccupped and nodded, the deep breath you finally willed yourself to take stuttering. “Are ya hurt? Bit?” You shook your head with more enthusiasm than necessary. “Need to getcha somewhere safe, try an’ find the others.”

He was still standing close to you and watched as you wiped your face, looking away when you tried to meet his eyes. You allowed your arms to fall back toward your lap, your right one hitting his foreman on the way down. His palm was on your belly. You hadn’t noticed he’d placed it there when he had moved your hands. Bringing attention to it was likely to embarrass or upset him. A repeat of the events from earlier was not something you could handle. 

“What if we’re the only ones?” You asked when his hand moved to run through his hair. He jutted his chin forward, wordlessly requesting you move so he could again straddle the bike. There was no hesitation, he stood with his boots on the ground to let you seat yourself behind him. 

“We ain’t.” 

“But if we are?” 

He didn’t look at you, but was still for a moment. You watched his fingers flex around the handlebars. 

“Then s’just the three’a us.”

You were careful to not squeeze too tightly this time when you wrapped your arms around his stomach. 

You gave a weak smile to Carl as you climbed off the bike. To your absolute shock, after the embrace with his mother and father, he hurried over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Hey, kid. Glad you’re okay.” You plucked his hat off, ruffled his hair, and sat the giant thing back down. He beamed up at you and then continued on his journey of relieved greetings. You spotted Daryl watching you and shrugged. Sometimes you thought Carl didn’t even realize you were around. There were few words spoken between you and the kid, even though you did talk quite a bit with Lori. 

You’d slept so much the day before but you found yourself exhausted, feeling slightly nauseous. You’d told Daryl about the medication. Had he mentioned it during the discussion of where to go next? Leaning against the bike, you watched him rationalize with the others on a plan.  

He seemed calmer around everyone, not so eager to gain distance. He glanced back at you now and again, looking away when he realized you were still watching him. You couldn’t seem to find it within you to be embarrassed. Maybe you could blame exhaustion or pregnancy. 

“Y/N?”

“Huh?” You stood up straight only to find everyone looking at you now. Did Daryl just smirk at you? “Sorry, what’s going on?”

“We just wanted to get your opinion.” Carol smiled, small and tired, but knowing. Everyone probably saw you gawking at your baby daddy. 

“Whatever Daryl says is fine by me.” The implications of your statement were lost on you until the second the last syllable crossed over your lips. Even the archer had the decency to look surprised. Now you were embarrassed. An oil stain on the pavement became ever so interesting when you needed to look away. Your gaze remained there for the rest of the conversation. 

Daryl offered to find Andrea but was quickly shot down by Rick, saving you the trouble. Once T-Dog suggested east, Daryl agreed that main roads should be avoided. He walked by you to grab the crossbow from the back of the bike and quickly took down a walker before strapping the weapon back in place. 

“Watch out.” The hunter carefully nudged you aside and climbed onto the bike. 

“Want me to ride with some of them?” You pulled your flannel tighter and hugged yourself against the chill. You were definitely not dressed for the weather. 

“Nah, you’re with me.” He replied from around his thumbnail. He was eyeing your attire, knowing for certain you weren’t dressed for how cold the nights would get. You knew it too. He said he wouldn’t let anything happen to you or the baby. That meant finding medication and clothing. “Don’t care what we’re doin’ or where we are, if we’re both there, you’re with me ‘less I say otherwise. Understood?”

“Okay.” You acquiesced with a nod and climbed on, grateful for the natural heat of the archer’s body. You would have sighed if it wouldn’t just raise other questions. When the bike began moving, you continued to keep your hold loose but buried your face again, not only shielding your skin from the cold air but also effectively hiding the small smile you wore. 

Daryl pulled the bike off at Rick’s signal, asking if he was out of gas. Your hold on him remained until he patted your interlocked fingers and waved for you to climb off. You tried to keep your teeth from chattering while everyone talked—argued, really—about staying or going. 

Rick had killed Shane. The deputy hadn’t been very forthcoming with the details but your lack of interest regarding the man’s death told you exactly where you stood. You were never a fan.

“Look, I don’t care who goes today or tomorrow, but m’goin’ cause Y/N needs that medicine.” 

“I can go with you.” You offered, following Daryl toward the selected camp area. When he stopped, you nearly collided with his back. He turned without looking at you, not at first. When he did, his expression was stern. The hand he brought up to grasp your chin was quite the opposite. 

“Remember what I said? You’re with me ‘less I say otherwise.” You nodded. “This one’s otherwise. Need ya to stay here tomorrow. You’re gonna be sick by then, I reckon. Distracted. Need ya safe.”

You kept your gaze locked with his. “Okay.” You conceded easily, almost smiling at the naked relief in his eyes. “Would—would you get me a jacket? Maybe some—some maternity clothes?”

The archer scrunched his nose, releasing his hold on you. “Tell Maggie ‘bout the clothes. I’ll find ya the meds an’ a jacket.” He turned away, but you called his name before he could make it far. You weren’t sure he’d accept the contact after yesterday’s fiasco, but you placed your arms around his neck, your face tucked against his shoulder. 

“Thank you.” He hummed and nodded in response, quick to end the embrace and disappear past the treeline. He was likely gathering firewood. He wouldn’t be hunting. He was too adamant about you staying with him to go far. 

The archer was shaken by the events of the previous night, whether or not he cared to admit it. Maybe not the walkers or the loss of the farm; maybe not even the deaths. He was worried for you and his baby. It shone clear in the way he looked at you, the way he wanted to keep you close. The unwanted but familiar insecurities came creeping in, compounding on top of your already unsettled stomach. Was he just looking out for the baby?

“Maggie?” Your voice came out quiet and unsteady but you still managed to snag her attention. “Daryl said you’re going tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” She stepped away from Glenn with a lingering touch on his arm, making sure he knew she was still there. “Don’t worry. I know what medications you need and we’ll find them. We’ll find something.”

You nodded without meeting her eyes. “Thank you but he told me to ask you about clothes. These,” you pulled at your t-shirt beneath the flannel, “won’t be warm enough. And I’ll get—bigger.” You made an awkward gesture around your abdomen with both hands. 

“You’re glowing, you know.” The look on your face must have been reason enough for her to giggle and place a hand on your bicep, squeezing ever so gently. “Pregnancy suits you. Don’t worry. I’ll find you some clothes. Shoes too, cause your feet are gonna swell. You’ll thank me later.”

“My feet?” You squeaked, looking down at your boots. “Thumper, be nice to mommy’s feet. I need those.”

You weren’t feeling well at all by the time the sun began to dip below the horizon. The night air was cold, even with your proximity to the fire Daryl continued to feed. Your stomach was a rolling mess of knots. You managed some water but even that threatened to make a reappearance. 

Daryl hadn’t hunted. He wouldn’t leave you behind, especially when you started feeling unwell. The group had not been happy, offering to sit with you and to not let you out of their sight. It wasn’t good enough for him. He knew anything he managed to bring back would be of no benefit to you. 

When you tried to send him off, he pinned you with the same look he’d given you at the farm before he had turned away and yelled for you to leave. You raised your hands in defeat and walked away.  

Now, a few hours later, you were glad he hadn’t left. Even with all the people around you, there was a suffocating tension around that campsite. Had you been left under their guard, you likely would have ended up in the middle of the venomous arguments and snarky jabs. You just didn’t have the energy. 

You were a silent spectator during Daryl’s conversation with Carol, his defense of Rick. The man in question came around the wall that sheltered the group, tense words once again shared. You couldn’t take part, couldn’t even begin to grasp what was being shared, crawling to a spot at the perimeter to empty the liquid contents of your stomach. The heaving was painful and left you gasping and spitting with a hand clutching the shirt over your belly, as if protecting the life inside you from your own body’s revolt. 

“Y’alright?” Daryl drawled from somewhere beside you. You nodded slowly, even if it was the furthest thing from the truth. The added stress seemed to have taken its toll. You somehow made it upright to your knees, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. One look at the archer’s face made it evident that he wasn’t buying it. “Let’s getcha settled for the night.” It wasn’t a question in need of answering. It wasn’t even a suggestion. 

“I’m not sure I can walk that far.” The longing for the warmth of the fire was substantial but not enough for you to even try to send the signals for your legs to cooperate. 

“Didn’t ask ya to.” Had you felt a little more human, you might have wallowed in the indignation of him gathering you up to relieve you of the bothersome, albeit short, walk to the fireside. You were deposited slightly closer than when you’d taken a seat on your own. The warmth was intense and welcome but still not enough to battle the cold that had taken root within your bones. 

“Thanks.” You muttered through a deep sigh. The group was now sitting in relative silence, all but Carl still awake. Your own eyes were heavy within moments. You chose to submit to it and laid over on your side. The ground was freezing but what could you do? It hardly mattered anyway, as your eyes closed and you drifted off almost immediately. 

You awoke with a deep breath that morphed into a yawn. It appeared everyone was asleep with the exception of Glenn and Maggie up on the wall. It was pleasantly warm, just the slightest bit of cold seeping in here and there. Maybe you could just coax your mind back into slumber. Stretching a leg to seek out a more comfortable position, you realized something was keeping you from moving. 

“Be still, woman. Jesus.” 

You froze, briefly holding your breath. Daryl was lying beside you with his back pressed against yours, acting as your own personal space heater. There was a part of you—a rather large part that you’d like to punch in the throat—that wanted to roll over and curl into the man. He was warm. You already knew he ran hot, you’d been pressed against him in more pleasurable ways than this. 

Violently beating down the urge to spoon with the archer, you cleared your throat, knowing your voice would be rough from sleep and vomiting. “Thank you.”

“Ain’t nothin’. You were cold, saw ya shiverin’.” He shifted slightly. “Gotta take watch soon. Ya gonna be alright?” 

You nodded with a quiet mhm already missing his warmth though he had yet to move. You would be fine, of course. Nauseous with a headache the size of Montana but not dying. That qualified as alright, right? 

You let your eyes close, too exhausted to sleep any longer but the feeling of warmth and safety was enough for you to at least relax. All too soon, the cold air struck against your back, coaxing a quiet whine from your throat. Rolling to your back, your bottom lip jutted out into the most exaggerated pout you could possibly achieve. 

Daryl looked down as he strapped his crossbow onto his back. He snorted. Mission accomplished. 

Almost. 

“Can I go with you?” You sat up, scratching your lower belly. Damn, it had itched lately. Maybe you should ask for some lotion too. You could see the exact moment when automatic refusal died on his lips, his eyes flitting down to where your fingers grazed lightly over your abdomen. 

“Well, c’mon then.” Daryl needlessly adjusted the strap of the weapon, running his thumb over his bottom lip while he waited. The beaming smile you gave him spread across your face before you even gave it permission. You didn’t even ask before grabbing his arm to pull yourself up. He huffed but you caught the one corner of his mouth lifting before he looked away. 

“Lead the way, my good man.” You waved your arm forward and stepped aside so you could fall in behind him. He was shaking his head with a huff of air through his nose that really could have been a laugh. 

“Your good man, huh?”

You stumbled within the first three steps, his words catching you off guard. His large hand easily caught your upper arm, keeping you on your feet. You scowled in the face of his smirk. “I never liked you.” You jested with a light punch to his shoulder. 

Smirk still in place, he nodded toward your belly. “Ya liked me well ‘nough at one point.” You had no comeback, your mouth opening and closing like a fish. He gently squeezed your arm before letting go, walking away like he hadn’t just taken the upper hand and used it to drop the mic. 

Face scrunched, you fought back a smile before the battle was no longer necessary. Your eyes traveled from his shoulders, down his back, lingering on his ass before continuing the journey to his boots and back up again. Images of your first few encounters slammed into the forefront of your mind. You gasped quietly, the memories so vivid that you could almost feel him deep inside of you. Remembering how he grunted and panted, his large hands exploring every inch of you. 

“Gonna check the perimeter. You two good for now?” Daryl called up to the couple on the wall, snapping you out of your reverie. You paused behind him while the exchange took place, rubbing your thighs together to at least try and stifle the throbbing ache in your core. 

What the fuck,Y/N?! Get a grip! You followed on autopilot when he set off again, your mind racing. You were suddenly hot, nearly sweating; your mouth went dry. That damned throb at the apex of your thighs just would not relent. How could you go from sick and sleepy to depraved and horny? Oh, yeah. Pregnancy. 

“Stop lollygaggin’ an’ keep up.” Daryl snapped, thankfully not looking back at you. You could feel your skin heating, knew he’d find it flushed. A sense of shame attempted to overwhelm your sudden desire. You were ogling the archer like a piece of meat dangled over a lions’ den. “What’re ya starin’ at?” He asked absentmindedly, removing his crossbow to carry it at his side. 

“Nothing.” You replied a little too quickly, your voice low and breathy. That got his attention. He came to an abrupt halt and turned to eye you suspiciously. 

“Ya okay?”

You took a step back in tandem with his step forward, nodding vigorously even as your chest heaved. His head was tilted, eyes narrowed, looking as if he was solving a particularly complicated mathematical equation. 

“Ya sure?”

“Mhm!” Too enthusiastic, not very convincing. “I think,” you were nearly fucking panting as your back pressed against an inconveniently placed tree, “I’ll just head back.” You rolled against the bark to face the trail toward camp and your chest promptly collided with his arm when he blocked your exit. 

“Nuh-uh.” Daryl ducked his head, trying to catch your eye. “S’wrong with ya?” You didn’t answer; couldn’t really, what with trying to calm the lust flowing through your veins like molten lava. The taste of blood filled your mouth, the sting of your teeth piercing your lip was a welcome distraction. “Y/N.”

Stop talking. Stop looking at me. Where was this coming from? You had appreciated his handsome features and physical attributes plenty of times without the burning need to feel him pounding into you. Your eyes snapped toward him when the same hand that had met the tree to block you came to rest against your forehead. 

“You’re warm. Fever?”

“No.” Your voice trembled even more so than your body. You pushed his hand away as gently as you could manage, trying again to walk away. “I need to go back.” Fingers wrapped around your wrist. 

“Nah, not alone. I’ll ta—”

Your mouth was on his so fast that he staggered back. You heard his crossbow hit the ground, felt his muscles tense. He didn’t react for a moment that seemed to last forever but when he did, it wasn’t what you were hoping for, what your body was craving. You whined heatedly, attempting to pull him back to you by tugging his vest. 

“Th’fuck, woman?” Daryl didn’t sound angry. Far from it. He sounded confused. And unfortunately for you, the ache between your legs had chased away any semblance of dignity you might have once had. “You’re sick, exhausted. What the hell?”

“I need—” You whined, rubbing your thighs together while your hands pulled at his clothes. He wasn’t trying to stop you. He wasn’t doing much of anything actually. Just studying you with that stoic expression while you were about to all but beg him to fuck you senseless. “Daryl, I need—”

“Tell me whatcha need.” His tone was soft, like he was genuinely trying to understand.  

“You.” Your eyes were shining, wide and wet. “I don’t know—it just—I was fine and then—”

“S’hormones.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture delicate. You wanted to kiss him and slap him at the same time. 

“Damn you and your book.” You growled. You weren’t really sure what you were expected to do now, what you expected him to do. You were friends. It wasn’t like he’d just acquiesce and fuck you sideways. When he walked away, you thought you might curl up on the ground and cry. Since when did desire become borderline painful?

A deep breath did little to aid you. Maybe you could slink off into a corner at camp and take care of things yourself. It would be awkward and you could get cau—

“C’mere.” 

You blinked at him while still trying to get your breaths under control. His crossbow was leaning against a different tree now. He was standing in front of it, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip again. You approached hesitantly, hands wringing the front of your shirt. 

“Daryl?”

Once you were within reach, he grabbed the edge of your flannel and pulled you forward, spinning you just before your body met his. Your back against his chest, you could feel him breathing on your neck, a fresh wave of arousal seeping from your core. You were sure your pajama pants were soaked at this point. 

“Daryl, are you—”

He shushed you against your ear, allowing the lightest brush of his skin over yours. “See that?” He wrapped one strong arm around you with his palm resting on your belly, the other hand lifting to point low to the ground behind where you had previously stood. “Perimeter line. Cans an’ shit to make noise.” His stubbled cheek rubbed against your neck. “One behind us too. Anythin’ or anyone comes through, we’ll hear ‘em.”

“Okay?” You shivered when you heard him inhale against your hair, taking in your scent. You nearly came from the thought of him enjoying the way you smelled. Then again, even with your sensitive senses, you found his scent calming. 

The hand over your stomach pressed just the slightest bit harder while his other hand slid up your side to cover your breast. The ache when he squeezed brought a moan out of you so quickly that he flinched behind you before chuckling. No longer wearing a bra until you could one that fit, he could feel your nipple harden, immediately shifting his hand so he could pinch the sensitive bud between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Ya sure s’me ya want takin’ care’a this for ya?” On the surface, he seemed ready and confident, already having knowledge of your body. His voice though, it was the most fragile, tiniest uncertainty filtering through. 

“Please.” You whined, feeling the evidence of his desire now pressing against your ass. 

“Say it then.” Daryl nipped at your pulse and soothed the skin with his lips and tongue. “Tell me ya want me.” 

You wanted him to keep talking, whispering against your skin in that gravelly rasp that was making your pussy clench and ache. Then again, you wanted him to shut the fuck up and get on with it already before you spontaneously combusted. 

“I want you. I need you, please.” Your body was so alive with need that you’d beg on your hands and knees if he asked. You groaned when he chuckled again, this time right against your ear. It wasn’t very long ago that you were shivering in front of a fire. Now you shivered while your skin burned for a completely different reason. Funny how that worked. 

“S’bout damn time.”

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 143 }

arise.

jinwoo sung x shadow!fem.reader

warnings: unedited; dark themes like stalking, obsession, and m*rder; read with caution.

“arise.”

there was a voice pulling you out of the dark depths, dragging your soul back to the surface as you let out a soft gasp in response.

you felt the wisps of shadows surrounding your form, covering your body in complete and total darkness. your eyes were blank, and you felt a strange… emptiness deep inside of you.

your eyes were suddenly drawn to a handsome young man standing in front of you. he was bathed in complete darkness, seeming to meld with the darkness itself as he was dressed in a black trench coat. his eyes were glowing a startling purple hue, and you found yourself becoming mesmerized by the mere sight of him.

as your eyes take him in, you were dimly aware of the translucent screen that somewhat hinders your vision. you take a moment to read what the screen says.

[ shadow extraction has been completed. would you like to give her a name? ]

a new name? even your own thoughts sounded fuzzy, like there was static settled within your head

"no, she shall forever remain..." the young man then says a series of syllables, one that fills you with nostalgia as you finally realized that it was probably your name that he had spoken out loud.

"..." you open your mouth and softly call out to him.

"who are you...?” your own voice takes on a softer quality, and you felt as though you had somehow become one with the night itself.

a pained expression fills the young man when he brings you closer to him.

"my name is jinwoo... and you don't have to worry about a single thing. just... just stay by my side from now on."

despite how empty you once felt after being reborn, there was a strange warmth felt spreading across your chest, making you smile as you fell into his embrace.

this was going to be a strange, new life for you, with you being resurrected as sung jinwoo's shadow soldier.

{ ... }

happiness was felt coursing through your veins the moment you decided to meet with your boyfriend.

he was the best man for you, and you loved him so much-

you could not picture a life without him.

as you looked through your chat logs with him, you burned each and every loving word into your memories. you were simply exploring the city, making your way toward the plaza- the planned meeting place of your boyfriend.

suddenly, as you were walking, you felt the hairs stick up from the back of your neck.

huff huff huff…

heavy pants were heard coming from behind you, and you glance back to see a tall man dressed in a hoodie. desire was seen flooding his gaze, and you could feel your heart clenching with fear in response.

you were ready to run, lips already open wide in a gape as a scream was ready to escape from them-

only to feel your screams die against your throat when you felt a comforting embrace around you.

"hey babe, i saw you and decided to meet you anyways."

you smile and look back up at him, only to scream when the entirety of his features was covered in static.

{ ... }

you woke up with a start, feeling the puddle of shadows surrounding you as you slept on the floor next to jinwoo's bed. your shadowy form looked back up at him, and you were happy to see that he was still sleeping soundly.

"is something the matter, my comrade?"

beru was looking down at you, keeping watch over your king while lazily gazing at you.

"you look like you have just woken up from a nightmare. our king will be upset if you are troubled, my dear."

you end up curling up against the floor, feeling your hair hiding your features.

"i think i'm starting to remember something..." your voice was soft, and you felt your heart pounding with anticipation.

"hm, is that so? and just what do you recall?"

you close your eyes and begin to explain, "i think... i was in love... i had a lover who i cherished deeply."

"but, there was someone else, someone tall, someone who was always watching me-"

"that is enough, thy comrade of mine." beru ends up stopping you from explaining any further. "our king still sleeps, and if he knows how much of a turmoil you are in, then he will cease to rest."

you shiver in response, giving the former ant king a nod. you had been a part of jinwoo's shadow army for a few months now, yet you had never once faced combat or joined him in any of his raids. so when igris and beru told you that you were special to their king-

you couldn't help but believe them.

"rest, go back to sleep and keep our king company when the morning comes. i assure you that nothing will make him happier."

you nod and gently fall back within the pool of darkness, sinking into it. with your thoughts now in a limbo, you felt the exhaustion coursing through you. you close your eyes then, feeling like you were falling asleep within the gentle depths of the ocean as darkness surrounded you. basking in such a tranquil feeling, you closed your eyes and began to dream once more.

{ ... }

your stalker had been following you for close to a year now.

it was scary how he was always there, waiting for his next move.

it happened when you began working at the hunter's association within the city of seoul, being known as an a-rank healer as you were placed on missions against high leveled gates.

you were a highly efficient healer, yet you caught the attention of two men who became infatuated with you.

one man became your kind and loving boyfriend,

while the other man became your stalker.

their presence were constantly revolving around you, with one bringing you immense joy-

while the other gave you hell.

you had to suffer through your stalker's constant harassment, yet was too kind to try and alert your boyfriend to the mounting problems.

after all, you figured you could deal with it.

from unhinged love letters sent to your mailbox-

to the constant calls made to your cellphone-

and the thousands upon thousands of texts-

it was enough to make you incredibly anxious.

yet there was little you could do about it.

because when your stalker sent you the same message through a letter, text, and a phone call, his deep voice whispering in your ear

"no one is going to believe you, my precious heart. if you say a word to anyone about my obsession with you, then i'll make sure to have your precious little boyfriend killed with a bullet to his chest."

you knew that you were trapped.

not wanting to endanger the man that you loved, you kept quiet and continued to suffer in silence.

{ ... }

your memories were getting stronger now, with you recalling bits and pieces of your life when you were still alive and well.

you knew that you had a boyfriend that you loved dearly-

and you also knew that you had a stalker that followed your every move, casting a dark shadow within your life.

but what was perhaps most frustrating was how you could never figure out what their faces looked like, or even what their names were.

each time you try to remember a specific detail about their features, your hazy mind would seem to block out their faces from the confines of your mind.

and it was frustrating, to say the least.

however, as you began dwelling on your memories, you couldn't help but have a sneaking suspicion that jinwoo was at the center of it all.

from hearing the discussion amongst the other shadow soldiers, you knew that jinwoo had the ability to call forth the souls of the monsters he had slain.

"arise."

you remember it vividly now, hearing that same, singular line as you were brought back from your death. you felt no pain when he extracted your soul from what you assumed was your decaying body.

which brought you to one conclusion that made the most sense to you:

did jinwoo kill you out of spite and brought you back so that you could stay with him?

was he your stalker?

and did he do this so that you were given no choice but to stay with him forever?

the mere thought of it all was enough to make your stomach churn.

as these thoughts continued to swirl within the depths of your mind, and the more you thought about it, the more it made sense to you.

why else did his other soldiers like beru and igris try to prevent you from remembering certain details of your memories?

why did they constantly change the subject and tell you 'not to worry about it' each time you unlocked a new memory.

it had to be jinwoo-

he had to be your stalker.

so you spent several days ignoring him, not even responding or coming out of his shadow even when he called out your name. instead, you kept quiet and lay in wait while in his shadow, searching for the perfect moment to strike-

waiting for him to be at his most vulnerable.

with his shadow seen lengthening against the hardwood floors of his room, you appear out of it, eyes glowing a deep shade of purple, further displaying your anger for the man who was currently sleeping.

you allow your nails to lengthen in response to your anger, turning into claws as you hovered over jinwoo's body, hands wrapped around his neck as your nails dug into his skin.

he awakens with a start, but does nothing to stop you. his own eyes glowed as well, however, his expression remains calm. as if sensing the scent of his blood, igris, beru, and tusk all surround you, their weapons pointed at your shadowy figure, ready to decapitate you if you dared to hurt their king.

"return." jinwoo's voice was calm and steady, eyes flashing with anger as he hones in his gaze on his three most loyal fighters.

"my king, she has an intent to harm you, we cannot-"

"then i'll die by her hands, RETURN. NOW."

jinwoo's angry voice echoes throughout the room, and all three of his soldiers went back into his shadow without wasting another second. his words make you hesitate, eyes filled with confusion for a brief moment before you went back to choking him.

your nails were felt digging into the base of his throat, "be honest with me, did you kill me?"

he closes his eyes, not even moving an inch when your nails drew even more blood from his neck.

"no." was his simple answer.

you were filled with a red hot vexation, squeezing his neck ever so slightly in response. "bullshit... it was you who brought me back... you were the one that had slain me, so why are you pretending that it wasn't you?"

"why would i ever wish to kill the woman i love?"

his question makes you falter, but you hung on to your determination.

"you don't love me, what you hold is an obsession over me. that's why you killed me; so that i could always remain by your side."

a look of pain crosses jinwoo's features when he lifts up a hand to gently frame at your face.

"it's true... i always wanted you to remain by my side, but while you were still alive and well."

a sudden wave of nausea hits you, making you feel a sharp pain against your head as you let go of jinwoo's neck, feeling something shattering from deep inside of you as your heart began to pulse.

"sarang, hey... i was so eager to see you again that i decided to meet you."

and there it was, your memories were filled with such clarity now, as you could see jinwoo smiling down at you. he was donned in his usual black turtleneck and dress pants, and seeing his handsome smile was enough to make your heart ache in response, momentarily forgetting about the fear he had given you.

but your relief was short lived when you came face to face with the hooded man, your stalker looking at you with jealousy and hatred shining within his black eyes.

"if i can't have you, no one can."

baek jun, the name of your stalker-

and the man that killed you...

{ ... }

you were walking back from the grocery store, buying ingredients to make jinwoo's favorite dinner consisting of kimchi stew and bulgogi beef with rice.

jinwoo had sent you a series of texts, asking you to be careful and to come home soon without 'dawdling around the city.'

but you simply brushed off his concern, feeling safe and sound the moment jinwoo had placed the strongest of his shadow soldiers within your shadow.

however, such protection didn't make you immune to a bullet.

you were dimly aware of what sounded like fireworks when a sudden impact was felt at the back of your head. no pain was felt as you immediately lost your life, your brain bleeding in response to the bullet that was still lodged into your skull, your blood seeming to mix in with the shadows as the same hooded man pocketed his gun.

"fucking whore... leading me around the nose like that... looking down at me for bein' a b-class hunter. that's what you get for not choosin' me."

but you were unable to respond, your lifeless body laid completely still as your eyes remained empty and unseeing. your killer had already left the moment jinwoo appears next to you, using his shadow exchange ability, immediately warping to where you were.

"no, fuck don't do this to me, NO!"

jinwoo's screams of anguish echoes throughout the night as he held your lifeless body closer to him. sobs wracked through his chest, and it felt like his whole world was ending the moment your blood seeped into the fabric of his clothes.

his whole body was shaking when he lays you back down on the ground, whispering i love you, i love you, i love you over and over again.

he loses his senses for a few moments until finally calming down, eyes no longer shedding tears as they glowed a vibrant purple once more.

jinwoo stands back to his full height, placing a hand over your lifeless body before speaking a single word, one that would change your destiny forever.

"arise."

{ ... }

"i remember everything."

you could feel painful gasps escape from your parted lips, but no tears could come out. you were in so much pain-

but more so than your own pain was jinwoo's.

he holds your shadowy form closer to him, with tears streaming down his face as he presses a kiss against your parted lips.

"i'm pathetic, i know, unable to let you go as i turned you into a shadow soldier- so that i will always have you with me."

you nod and continue to cling to him, shaking when you ask him, "and... what happened to that bastard, jun?"

you feel jinwoo press a kiss against your forehead. "i left him for you to handle... as a gift for when you remembered."

your eyes were felt widening in response, yet you were given little time to react when jinwoo hangs on to you, surrounding you with shadows as he used his abilities once more, warping you to an unknown location...

{ ... }

baek jun was a selfish man who believed that he had suffered long enough when he was a mere kid.

his dad was an abusive fucker, always drinking while beating up his mom. he hated how weak he was, sustaining new bruises and black eyes each time he tried to protect his mom.

so when he realized he had gained a newfound strength with regenerative abilities the moment these gates appeared all around south korea-

he took advantage of it and killed his deadbeat dad.

his mom was so grateful to him, and when realized how he could make money off of his abilities, he took that chance and joined the hunter’s association. as he rose up the ranks while working as a hunter, he found that it was easy for him to rake in some easy cash with each raid.

he figured he could keep working as a hunter all while messing around with some of the females he worked with, getting drunk with them while taking advantage of their drunken state-

but that all changed the moment this pretty little a-rank healer arrived.

and damn, was she a sight for sore eyes.

he had never seen a lovelier woman before, becoming mesmerized by her beauty.

but what perhaps made his obsession grow for her was when she healed him during one of their raids.

the healer had joined his team, and when he sustained a nasty burn from one of those fire breathing beasts, she had came to him with a sweet smile on her face, telling him how everything was going to be okay while the warmth of her healing aura surrounds him.

so it wasn't his fault that he became obsessed with her-

it was her fault for flirting with him to begin with. she was the one who flashed him that sexy smile, pressing her breast up against his arm all while smiling sweetly at him-

(damn, he was getting hard all over again at the thought).

how else did she think he was going to react when she began dating that s-rank fucker? the asshole already had everything that jun didn't have-

good looks-

money-

power.

and now, he had taken his woman, too.

he saw nothing wrong with killing a whore like her. if she wanted to fuck around, then so be it.

jun would gladly teach her a lesson-

and if he could do it all over again, then he would.

feeling happy now that the source of his pain and obsession was gone, jun spends the whole night bar hopping, using the entirety of his earnings on bitter alcohol that was powerful enough to make his head spin and forget.

feeling tired of all the shitty whisky and soju, jun drunkenly enters a convenience store, stealing a whole case of ice cold beer while cracking each can open and gulping down the liquid with a content sigh, burping before moving on to the next can.

in his drunken stupor, he recognizes a pretty woman standing right in front of him. his black eyes look up at her, and he swore that he felt his heart jump out of his chest in complete and utter fear.

the mere sight of her was enough to make him believe that perhaps ghosts do exist.

she smiled sweetly at him, giggling as he watches her nails lengthen to sharp claws-

his screams were cut short when she slashes through his vocal chords, filling him with pain as his eyes were suddenly basked in a darkness while his body was ripped to shreds-

baek jun never stood a chance against jinwoo's shadow lover.

{ ... }

jinwoo was simply at his desk, reading the news when he felt your shadowy arms wrapping around his neck.

"thank you, my liege."

he chuckles and moves his lips so that he could press a kiss against your cheek. "don't mention it, and please, call me jinwoo, like you've always done."

you could feel the embarrassment paint your features as you press your lips against his cheek.

"i know but... the fact that you held back your own anger, giving me the chance to rip that bastard to shreds- it... it makes me happy."

he simply hums in response, bringing you into his arms while tossing the newspaper in the bin, where the headlines read:

CORRUPT HUNTER FOUND DEAD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CITY.

as jinwoo carried your wispy form back to his bed, he held on tightly to you, promising to be with you forever as he keeps you by his side.

and despite how your future had been altered drastically due to both jun and jinwoo's actions, you found yourself not regretting it...

because now, you knew that you would forever remain by his side... no matter what...

{ epilogue }

jinwoo had defeated the last of the monarchs, but was somewhat saved when the rulers intervened.

they commended him on his powers and sheer tenacity, happy to have witnessed such a victorious occasion when jinwoo stops their praise.

"i don't know if this could be called showing your appreciation, but i do have a request."

"i will do everything within my powers to aid you." the ruler states while standing before jinwoo.

"just once more... could i use the cup of reincarnation just once more?" jinwoo's eyes were glowing purple as he sat before the ruler, the wind blowing through his hair as a soft expression paints his features.

the ruler seems to consider his words for a moment.

"did you just ask whether you could use the 'cup of reincarnation' to turn back time?"

"that's right." jinwoo answers without a hint of hesitation.

"even if you were to turn back time using god's gadget, the consciousness of the higher beings will still remain. you'd still do it even though the deceased monarchs would come back to life with their memories from this life intact?"

"that's right. and once you turn back time, i want you to not send anyone to earth. i will take care of the monarchs and their armies by myself in the dimensional gap."

the ruler shakes their head in response. "you're willingly taking on the entire war all by yourself. what's your reasoning for doing this? we've used the cup of reincarnation many times, but this is the best result we've gotten yet."

jinwoo stabs his dagger down into the ground with his head bowed, thinking about those he had lost-

thinking about you.

"i lost too many people in this battle." a tiny smile decorates his features when he looks back up at the ruler. "and i want to bring them back."

the ruler takes flight while looking down at jinwoo, "the durability of the cup of reincarnation has almost been exhausted. if you are to fail this time, you won't be able to turn back time again."

they try to reason with him, "if you stop now, you could be remembered as the hero who stopped the invasion of the monarchs, and forever be remembered by the people. however... no one will remember the fight you are getting into now. if you are to lose, the fragments will be waiting for you, and even if you are to win, no one will be there to congratulate you. and you still wish to turn back time?"

jinwoo takes a moment to consider the ruler's words before smiling and standing back to his full height, his shadow lengthening from beneath the radiance of the ruler's light.

"i will go back in time."

"... so you want to save not just a portion of the world, but the entire world, with your own hands. your will to carry on everything by yourself... reminds me of ashborn, your predecessor."

the ruler stands proudly before jinwoo. "i understand. i wish you the best of luck."

"wait." jinwoo then hesitates for a moment, taking a second to look back at his shadow, all while swearing that he could see your own kind eyes looking back at him.

"what would happen to the shadow soldiers which didn't exist in the past?" jinwoo asks while keeping an eye on the hundreds of eyes that peek back at him from his shadow.

"the beings which overlap with the past would perish. and the beings which do not, will remain."

the ruler's words bring a great comfort to jinwoo when he smiles, giving them a nod before stating with confidence, "got it. i'm ready now."

“may your courage save your world.”

and with those final words, the world was suddenly bathed in a bright, blinding light...

{ ... }

you are 14 again, and you had just woken up late.

your hair was a mess as you wolfed down the breakfast sandwich your mother had made for you. your school uniform was wrinkled, along with some of the buttons of your blouse a bit mismatched due to your hurried state-

but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"i'm late i'm late i'm late!"

you were mentally berating yourself, but... something about your dream had kept you in a deep sleep for much longer than usual. despite not remembering it at all, you knew that you felt comforted by it.

which was why you didn't hear your mother calling out your name when she tried to wake you up, making you sleep in for an extra 30 minutes-

and now, you were in a panic.

as you made a sharp right turn, your face immediately ran into a chest, causing you to gasp as you fell back.

"ouch!" you rub at the tip of your nose, eyes slightly watering as you looked up to see a familiar boy looking down at you.

he calls out your name, grey eyes shining with amusement as he offered a hand for you to take.

it was that strange boy that transferred to your school recently due to his parents and little sister moving to this part of the city. and despite not knowing him too well, he had this strange desire to be your best friend.

"jinwoo..." you softly call out his name and take his hand, allowing him to help you back up to your feet. "w-what are you doing out here? i thought you were in class?"

he hums and ends up interlocking his fingertips together with yours. "i had a hunch that you would be late, so i waited right here for you."

"geez, okay, weirdo." you pout at him, fighting back the urge to call him out on all these weird 'hunches' he had ever since he first met you. you were about to say something when you realized that jinwoo was walking in the opposite direction of where your school was.

"uhm, where are you going? our school is that way, unless your brain was so filled with games that you forgot?"

jinwoo begins to laugh, the sound sending another wave of nostalgia to course through you when he pulls your form even closer to him. "i know, but i figured since we're both already so late, why not skip?"

you gasp, already feeling the protest fall from your lips when he inches closer to you, eyes now glowing a strange, purple hue.

"come on, i just want to spend some time with you. if it makes you feel better, i'll take all the blame."

your eyes were shining with happiness now, "really? you'd risk getting grounded for me?"

he rolls his eyes, but suddenly, his gaze takes on a more solemn shade of grey, no longer glowing at you. "you have no idea the lengths i would go through for you."

you were caught off guard by the severity of his words, trembling slightly when he smiles at you once more.

"let's get some ice cream! my treat!"

and with his promises of ice cream, you immediately forget about the strange feelings of nostalgia and the seriousness of his words, laughing with him as he takes you on a fun little adventure-

just as a small example of how far he would go to make you happy as he swore to better protect you in this life.

a.n. - so i heard aleks le say jinwoo's iconic arise phrase and had to write a story for it. i am strangely proud of this fic, writing a total of 4.5k words 🥹 this is currently unedited because i'm too eager to post this, but please, i hope you all enjoy this.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again - Part Eight

Summary: It’s been nearly four days since Y/n had collapsed, and she still hadn’t woken. Azriel won’t leave her side, he can’t, no matter how worried his family is.

Warnings: none really, kind of a shorter chapter

Series Masterlist

Another day had passed, Azriel refused to leave her room, he sat in the chair by her bedside and would not move no matter how much his family pestered him. Rhys had forced him to at least put some clothes on, but other than that, he’d stayed right at her bedside and spoke to her, feeling the pulse in her wrist flutter each time, feeling that evidence that she was still there. He read to her out of one of the books on her night stand, obvious gifts from Nesta. He struggled through some chapters, face warm, others he skipped entirely.

“Dinner is served,” Mor struts into the room, a tray balanced in her hands, “I can watch over her while you eat and take a damned bath.”

He frowns up at her, “I don’t-“

“Yes you do,” she sniffs pointedly, “You’ve been bed ridden for two days and haven’t bathed once since you woke. She won’t go anywhere, I promise.”

Azriel looks at the female in question, her lips were slightly turned down at the edges, like she could hear them and wasn’t happy to have him leave, “Fine.”

As soon as the word is out of him mouth, he hears running water in the attached bathroom, it seems the house was sick of him stinking up the place. He sighs, carefully standing up from the chair, shaking his head when Mor moved into casual reach incase he fell.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

“I don’t doubt that,” she sighs, rolling her eyes at him, “at least take the time to wash your hair.”

Azriel doesn’t respond as he closes the door behind him, sighing through his nose as he rest against it. There was this strange anxiety in him, even though Y/n was just on the other side of the wall. Watched over by one of his closest friends. The female he’d spent centuries believing he was in love with, and the female he, he didn’t know what it was he felt for. There was this feeling in him, this feeling of desperation when she’d been in danger, before that when she was about to leave him, when he’d seen her cry beneath the stars. Not love, gods he’d known her less than a week, but there was something, something there. A string of shadow connecting them together, one he refused to let go of. Whatever it was, he wonders if the swirling eddies of the cauldron, or the mysterious force of the Wyrd, that brought her here, right to him.

With Quinlann, it had been the blades, Gwydion and Truth Teller, calling to each other from across the stars. When she’d opened the portal between realms, they found each other. But with Y/n, there wasn’t a reason, there was no mysterious object, no intent. Simply a portal that had torn her from her home and thrown her into his path. He’d spent the last day pondering about it, about why exactly she was brought here, brought to him, and he’d come up with nothing but blanks.

Azriel forces himself to focus on the bath before him, to get in and out as quickly as possible so he could get back to her. The water was lukewarm, like the house knew he wasn’t ready to feel the heat. His bandages had been changed early in the day by Madja, the burn on his chest had been the worst of the damage, the imprint of Y/n’s shoulders burned into him from holding her to him. It would heal, there may be the faintest scar, a darker, rougher patch of skin. He found that he didn’t mind it, that he’d be left with that permanent memory of her, even when she finally found her way home.

He scrubs methodically, using the same lavender scented bar of soap on his hair and his body, not bothering with the bottles of soaps lining the edge of the bath. He submerges his entire body, wings included to rinse off, and he’s up and drying off quickly.

The house provides him with a comfortable set of black sleep clothes, loose fitting shirt to not irritate the burns. He dresses without thought, quickly buttoning the shirt around his wings as he moves towards the door.

“Record time,” Mor says as he walks into the room, “I’m surprised you bothered with a towel, instead of shaking out like a dog.”

He rolls his eyes, taking his seat beside Y/n. She hadn’t moved at all, he hadn’t expected her to, her lips would sometimes twitch in her sleep, but that was the only movement he’d seen.

“She’s not going to disappear,” Mor says gently, “You can rest for a while.”

Azriel knew that, knew that if he crossed the hall and collapsed into bed like his body begged him to do, she was would be right here where he left her. But he couldn’t do it, not until she was awake and he could see those eyes, see that insufferable smile, hear her soft accent. He was a desperate fool.

“I’m fine,” he says, “thank you for the food.”

Mor frowns, “I’m worried about you.”

“I know-“

“No I don’t think you do,” she snaps, arms crossed over her chest, “I don’t know what happened between you two, I don’t want to know, but I can’t stand to see you fall apart over a female you hardly even know.”

“Nothing happened between us.” It’s the truth but somehow it feels like a lie on his tongue, “I don’t expect you to understand it, I don’t even understand it.”

“I’ve had lovers in the past, hell I pined after you for centuries.” Azriel doesn’t miss the way she flinches, he’d never actually said the words aloud, “but this is different, she’s just different. She’s not my lover, I don’t love her, I just- I don’t- When I saw her there, trapped in that spell, it felt like someone was carving my heart from my chest with a dull knife, hacking through skin and bones and ripping the thing out.”

He shudders, looking down at Y/n, whatever this was, gods he didn’t know, he didn’t want to know, he just wanted her to wake up.

Azriel feels a slight pressure on his shoulder, Mor’s hand resting there in gentle reassurance, “She’ll wake up.”

“I hope so.”

Azriel wasn’t sure what exactly woke him up, the pain in his back from being slumped over in his chair, his shadows frantically swirling around him, or the hand that gently twines through his hair. His half asleep brain decides the feeling is very very nice and he almost goes right back to sleep.

“Are you alive over there, shadowsinger? It’d be a shame if you weren’t.”

That soft swirling accent washes over him like the warm surf of the summer court. It has him launching up out of his chair, eyes wide and staring at the female who sits up in the spot she’d laid for the past three almost four days. Her face was washed in silvery moonlight from the window, hair a tangled mess on her head, her eyes wide and warm with the fire in her blood, gods she was beautiful.

He’s surging forward before he can even think that it might be a bad idea. Her face is warm, soft between his scarred hands, and her lips feel like heaven as he crashes his mouth to hers.

Her hands grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer and he could die right then and there. Their lips move in tandem, tongues and teeth clashing in desperation. He can feel her sharp canines, the way they drag on his lower lip, she could tear him to pieces with them and, Mother above, he would let her.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.” He pulls back just enough to growl against her, “Don’t you dare, princess.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me, shadowsinger,” she grins against his lips, that insufferable little smile, “it’ll ruin your whole dark brooding warrior image.”

“Shut up.”

She barely has the time to laugh before his lips cover hers again. Azriel’s shadows writhe around them, pulling her closer and closer till she’s practically sitting in his lap. His hands grip her waist, so hard that he’s sure she’ll have bruises in the shape of them. Her hands are tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands in a way that has Azriel purring. Everywhere she touched left him burning, burning with desire for more, more, more.

He’s moving, lips trailing across her jaw and down the side of her throat, he can feel her heart racing, maybe that was his own. Her head falls back, giving his better access to her throat. She lets out a breathless sigh when his teeth graze that sensitive spot, and Azriel wants to hear that noise again and again and again.

“Az,” she gasps, fingers digging into his shoulders like she’s trying to ground herself, “I, gods, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but hold on.”

It takes more effort than it should to pull away, to look into her eyes without begging her to let him keep going, “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine, this is amazing,” she sighs, “more than that. I just- I need a minute.”

Azriel sees that look in her eyes, that broken heart behind a wall of ice, “Whatever you need, princess.”

Her head falls, hiding, “I failed, Az. I- I did everything the books said, and I fucked it up.”

His heart squeezes in his chest, and he can’t help but to tug her into his arms. She collapses into him, face buried in the silk of his shirt and she cries. Those silent heavy tears, so Azriel holds her tight as she cries and cries and cries.

Y/n feels warm, safe, there’s a comforting weight across her waist, a hard wall behind her.

Her eyes open, blinking at the bright sunlight streaming through her window. It must be late morning, it had been the middle of the night when she’d woke, finding her hand clasped in Azriel’s, the male himself asleep in the most uncomfortable position possible.

When she’d seen him there, moonlight dancing over his features, she thought he was the most beautiful male she’d ever seen. It felt like her hand moved on its own, raking through those black strands of hair, the slight curl to them tickling her palm.

She’d felt him stirr, felt the way he’d pushed into her hand like a cat seeking attention. It was incredibly cute, which is something she was sure had never been used to describe the spy master.

When he’d realized she was awake, when he’d looked into her eyes, she’d seen the utter desperation behind his whiskey eyes. And when his lips had fallen onto hers, she felt it too. He kissed like a man starved, like she was his last meal and he was going to savor every bite of her. He kissed her like she meant something, like she was worth worshipping. Gods she wanted him to do just that, to take her for all she was worth, to ravish her until she was screaming. But then his teeth had caressed the side of her neck, her pulse racing beneath, and she felt herself slipping, felt the memories slam into her, of the matching scars her parents wore proudly on their necks, of the burning words in her throat, of the spell that had taken control of her and had tried to swallow her whole.

She felt everything crashing into her all at once, and when Azriel had looked at her, nothing but understanding in his eyes, she broke. She must have cried herself to sleep, to be waking up near noon.

Y/n froze as the wall behind her shifted, a body, she realized, that weight across her waist, an arm. Azriel.

She glances over her shoulder, finding the sleeping male. He held her close, face tucked into her shoulder. He made no noise, just soft breathing, lips slightly parted. They were laying beneath the knitted blanket that was usually folded by the foot of the bed, like he hadn’t wanted to wake her to get her beneath the covers.

Y/n shifts, gently trying to lift his arm so that she could escape to the bathroom, but the second she tried, his arm tightens and she’s pulled back against his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Gods spare her, his voice was deep and rasping in her ear. Her eyes look back over her shoulder and she’s met by those hazel eyes, still heavy with sleep. His gaze feels like a brand, like he was taking in all of her, like he was planning to claim her in every way possible.

“The bathroom preferably,” she says, throwing in as much snarky energy as possible to hopefully hide the way her face was heating.

He sighs, “I suppose that’s fine.”

“You suppose?” She scoffs, pushing the heavy arm still wrapped around her waist, “Let go of me you overgrown bat.”

He holds tighter for just a second, “You wound me, princess.”

“You’ll get over it.” She slips out from beneath his hold, “Keep your wandering shadows to yourself, I’m going to bathe, I smell like death.”

Azriel looks at her with predatory focus, resting on his elbows so he can look her up and down, “Hm, I hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” she rolls her eyes, “Keep them out, I’ll be back.”

Azriel settles back into the pillows, eyes watching each step she takes into the room beyond. She can still feel his gaze when she shuts the door behind her, heavy and burning.

The bath is already filled with steaming water, clothes and towels laid out for her. She thanks the house quietly, slipping out of her tattered clothes and into that hot water.

Her head tilts back, a quiet moan slipping past her lips at the feeling, her body sore from whatever had taken control during the spell, and then even more from laying in bed for the past several days. She takes her time, washing every spot of herself to rid that scent of smoke. Her hair takes longer, tangled and brittle, she uses half the bottle of the sweet smelling soap.

All of her movements are precise, methodical, to keep her brain and hands busy. Because if she stops for to long, her mind is ripped back to that room, to the yawning portal of darkness, that presence on the other side beckoning, whispering, playing with her. What ever it was, ancient and cold, dark and cruel, she felt it reaching for her. And at the same time she’d felt another pull, one from behind, one begging her to stay, to let go of the gods damned book. A string, a lifeline, a way back. She’d cling to that, and let it pull her out.

But still, on the other side of that portal she heard a whisper, a voice young and old, pay the price, gods killer’s kin, pay the price.

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@inloveallthetime , @microwaveallthedemons , @nayaniasworld , @thecraziestcrayon , @fightmedraco , @blackgirlmagicforever , @nikt-wazny-y , @fangirlloza010 , @thisiskaylin , @wolfgirl624 , @khaleesihavilliard , @fluffy-bnny , @mariahoedt , @durgenyx , @glitterypirateduck , @byyalady , @amberlynn98 , @ferrarisbitch , @a-cup-of-nightshade , @breella , @hnnybee0 , @superspideyparker , @that-one-little-soybean , @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife , @websterss , @sassybluebird , @fakesocialmediaa

[perpetualfox]

Rough Night - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN!Reader [Light NSFW]

Warnings: Manhandling

Wordcount: 1231

So my laptop died last week (hence the sudden and unexpected break from writing). I used this as an excuse to relearn how to type on a new keyboard.

→The creak of your bedroom door swinging open was what woke you in the end.

→You hadn’t heard the key turning in the lock, or the soft click the front door had made as it was pressed shut again. You’d slept on, blissfully unaware of the faint metallic rattling that echoed in the entryway as the lock was checked, rechecked, and checked again—a borderline-ritualistic habit that long pre-dated you; a pro-programmed quirk you’d learned to bend a little piece of your life around.

→The heavy thump of a full duffle bag against tiled floor did not disturb you. Not even the muted whisper of thickly treaded boots prowling through the carpeted halls had roused you. You hadn’t heard him coming. Of course you hadn’t—you never did unless he wanted you to.

→How many nights had you woken to find a looming presence at the edge of your bed, a calloused hand brushing the ridge of your cheekbone? How many times had you gone to bed alone, and blinked awake in the morning sunshine breathless and sweating beneath the molten press of his body—shocked to find him back in the country, let alone curled up in your bed?

→You only heard him coming when he wanted you to.

→He could have opened the door silently and slid beneath the covers, curling his scarred body around yours without ever waking you, as he had done a hundred times before. But he hadn’t. You only heard him coming when he wanted you to. He’d let the door creak, and now you were awake…or at least trying to be.

→A sleep-roughened sound pushed its way up through your dry throat as you rolled over to face the door. The light in the hallway was out, but in the dim glow of the streetlamp that filtered in through your curtains, you could just make out the vague shape of a man in the doorway—a hulking shadow filling out the space, silent and unmoving.

→It would have been frightening had it not been so intimately familiar: the slope of his shoulders where you so often rested your head; the thick trunk of his waist around which you could just barely lock your legs; the manner in which he carried himself—a coil tightly wound, ready and able in equal measure to take a life or bend you over the nearest flat surface at the drop of a hat.

→You would have known him anywhere.

→A sleepy smile slid across your face, “Hey, you.”

→Floating in that pleasant expanse between the waking world and your dreaming, you awaited the response he always gave: a gruff, but affectionate, ‘Hey, yourself,’ but it didn’t come. The shape in the hall remained silent and still—almost frighteningly so. There was something nearly inhuman about the way he loomed—in that moment almost more a spectre than a man.

→Your smile dropped and you sat up, kicking back the covers and rubbing your eyes in a desperate bid to drag yourself further into a conscious state.

→Something was wrong.

→“S-Simon? What is it—did something happen?”

→A terrible, all-encompassing stillness settled over the room. Your heart drummed against your ribcage as you awaited his answer, the pounding echoing loud in your ears. It came in the form of a nod, quick and curt—a soldier’s response. The movement was barely perceptible in the darkness, yet it made your stomach drop all the same. You threw back the covers, trying to disentangle your legs from the sheets, desperate to go to him, to make right whatever wrong as done. But before you had the chance, the figure in the doorway exploded into motion: he surged into the room, kicking at the door with his heel as he passed, slamming it shut with a heavy BANG.

→You could feel the burning weight of his eyes on you as he came, a deadly shadow sliding across the floor, soundless even in his big boots. And he was fast. Before you could so much as flinch, he was upon you. The mattress dipped, groaning beneath him as his weight settled upon it.

→He grabbed for you; strong hands still clothed in his rough gloves—the skeleton fingers so white in the darkness—clamped hard around your waist. He gripped you so tightly, your flesh stinging as it puckered beneath the tips of his fingers.

→“What’s wro—hah!” A strangled cry tore free from your throat as his already bruising grip tightened further, the corded muscles in his arms flexing as he forced you onto your stomach, tossing you down as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

→“Uh-uh. Don’t wanna talk about that.”

→His hands slid down to your thighs, the rough texture of the rubber grip-pads on his palms chafing a burning trail against your soft flesh. He forced your thighs apart, spreading them wide in order to slot himself between them. Your spine bowed inward, and your hip joints ached with the sudden stretch. A low growl filled your ears, a buzzy sort of sound that for a moment you could not place. But as the man leaned down, pinning you against the mattress with the weight of his chest, you realized he was laughing—you could feel it.

→“Don’t struggle.” His voice was a whisper, hissed out on the barest exhalation of breath, low and dangerous, “It’ll only delay the inevitable.”

→You swallowed hard, “And…that is?”

→“Getting what I want.”

→His hips pressed forward, and at once it was obvious just what that meant. You could feel the thick length of his cock as it fetched up between your legs. The hard press of it against your inner thigh alone was nearly enough to make you dizzy. The heat of his body radiated into you even through his cargos and the thin cotton of your sleep shorts. He pressed forward, grinding against you with short, quick strokes of his hips, tearing a ragged gasp from your throat. Your mind still felt sluggish, hazy and slow with the kiss of sleep, “O-Oh!”

→“Oh.” His voice rumbled through you, a heady vibration that rattled your ribs.

→You pushed back against him, your blood humming in your veins with the promise of what he was going to do to you, “S-Simon…” Your voice sounded strange to your own ears, breathy and tight in a way you might have found embarrassing had you been more in control of your faculties.

→The rough edge of his mask caressed your cheek as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. You hadn’t realized he was still wearing it, “Mmm, Simon’s not here right now, Lovie.”

→His hand snaked up to grip your throat as he rutted himself against you. A rare desperation had him in its grip, his restrained and stoic demeanour peeling up around the edges, curling back to make way for a very different creature indeed. His hips pressed forward, unerring and relentless, rocking your body up toward the headboard inch by inch. It was as though he thought he could push himself inside of you like this; that if he pushed hard enough, he could burry himself to the hilt and fuck you through your clothes.

→When he spoke, his voice was rough, a growl that sat just at the edge of your hearing, “Guess you’ll have to settle for me.”