#and i think i may have wound up back at the first drug i had in there anyway

[redgoldblue]

hiiii, for the random wip ask game: 💖🍖❌

❤️

💖 [Heart] What is your favorite moment in this WIP?

look....... I expected this to be a difficult question to answer and it is possible my answer would change depending on mood bc there's some solid runner-ups. But it's their kiss after Steve is diagnosed in chapter 5. it's short but it's all very soft and sweet and mutual h/c and emotions-thinly-covered-in-banter and also they still haven't realised/acknowledged they're together. I would put a snippet but I want to keep it somewhat a surprise whenever I finally post it

🍖 [Meat] How many fictional people were harmed in the making of this WIP?

I wanna say... two? Steve and an OC. So far. Also Danny if we're including mental/emotional harm. I promise this is essentially a sweet and fluffy fic

❌ [Cross] What would your WIP get cancelled on Twitter for?

problematic: this author thinks cath is just kind of a cool person who can hang out in a mcdanno fic and care about steve

problematic: this author has too much medical description and some of it's poetic-licensed what is this a house md fic

problematic: this author whumps steve and then turns around and spends half their time comforting danny about it bc characters are complex and relationships should be balanced

wip asks!

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 5)

Agatha takes you back to her house after the realization that you may have been responsible for the recent murders

Word count: 5200

Warnings: murder, purposeful thumb dislocation, violence

A/N: this got so long so fast so I had to split this chapter into 2 parts so as of right now I'm planning for 3 more parts

You can’t stop your teeth from chattering as you slide into the passenger seat of Agatha’s car. She followed you back to the motel so you could leave yours there, her headlights shining onto you the entire time, reminding you that she was right behind you.

Her lingering presence is ominous, rather than comforting. You just can’t put your finger on why.  

You’re not cold. The opposite, really. Your body is running hot, perspiration gathering on your forehead, but you’re shaking like a leaf. She turns up the heat, but you immediately reach over and turn it off. 

“I didn’t do it,” you say, but you’re not even sure if you believe it yourself. 

Agatha snorts. “Still think you’re being framed by The Witch and Lady Death?” She asks, and your heart spikes. Rio and her have been talking. Perhaps this whole time. Does she also know her wife drugged you? 

“Maybe,” you try to argue, but you know it’s just false hope at this point. How would they have gotten his blood under your nails? 

But how could you have killed him? You were completely unconscious the whole time. 

The knife from your motel found at the crime scene. Rio washing your clothes and being secretive about what was on them. And now this. 

You know you used to sleep-walk, but is sleep-murder a possibility? 

“Why did you want me to see it first?” You question, now latching onto something else. Agatha is a detective, she should’ve called the rest of the squad as well as you. 

Does she know more than she’s letting on? 

I’m just curious about something is what Rio said as she watched you succumb to sleep. 

What is going on? 

Agatha’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel and you’re momentarily distracted by remembering what they felt like inside you. Her fingers, Rio’s mouth, together? “Just wanted to see how you’d react,” she finally says, and it snaps you out of your fantasy about them. 

“Rio drugged me earlier,” you tell her, watching her face closely for any sign of recognition or confusion. 

She remains neutral. “Oh?” 

You grit your teeth. They are both so good at keeping their cards to their chests. “Neither of you think I’m being framed. You seemed pretty certain that the body from yesterday wasn’t from them, that it was someone new.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Do you think I killed both of them?” 

You’re not capable of that. There’s no possible way you did. But you want to hear what she thinks. 

“I think,” she pauses to choose her words carefully. “I think that I believe you when you say you think you didn’t do it.” 

“I couldn’t have,” you say weakly, needing more than anything for it to be true. 

She glances at you with pity. “We all think we couldn’t. People can surprise you.” The look on her face matches the darkness outside. Is she speaking from experience? 

The drawer opens and your fingers wrap around the handle of one of the knives. 

“I didn’t do it,” you insist. 

You park by the woods and ask the first man you see for help finding your dog who ran into the trees. He’s wearing a flannel and pants, and has the most brilliant blue eyes. 

Agatha reaches over to pat your leg. 

The kitchen knife cuts his legs surprisingly well and he slumps back against the trees, blood rushing from his wounds. You get immense pleasure in watching the cerulean in his eyes fade. But it’s not enough. You want to send a message: a heart on his chest. A nod to the shape drawn on the sticky note from The Witch and Lady Death, and to their calling card. 

A whimper tears its way out of your throat and you clamp a hand over your mouth. Agatha hears it and looks over, raising an eyebrow. “You okay, superstar?” 

Your head is spinning. Are these memories real, or not real? Is your mind playing tricks on you?

The femoral arteries were too quick, too easy. You need something more. It’s only too easy to lure this man into the woods. 

“I don’t know,” you gasp out. You’re hyperventilating now. You were supposed to protect this town, stop the killers, but instead, you became one. 

Plunging the knife into his throat sent a thrill like you’ve never felt before tingling down your spine. You drag it down, grunting with the effort, but the blood pours out and you’re breathless. The red on the white snow is almost angelic. 

What have you done? 

Memories, dreams, images, whatever they are, come rushing into your brain, almost completely overwhelming you. 

You killed them. 

Were you really unconscious, or were you just erasing the memories to protect yourself? 

But you were asleep, at least at first. Did you wake up and decide to go on a murder spree? How does that even happen?

“Pull over,” you demand. Agatha scoffs but you say it again, more sternly. Your entire body feels awful and you know what’s about to come. 

Thankfully she obeys, and the second her car screeches to a halt, you’re throwing open the door and barely making it two steps away before you double-over and retch, puking your guts out. It burns your throat and your lungs ache, but it feels like you’re cleansing your body.

Agatha quickly runs over to you and holds back your hair while you continue to vomit. She rubs gentle circles on your back and then you’re finally able to stand up and breathe normally. 

“Did you know after the first one?” You say, wiping your mouth and turning to face her. 

She shrugs, but there’s an affirmative glint in her eyes. “Figured you were bound to snap eventually. Didn’t realize how drastic it would be until Rio told me about the bloody clothes you had her wash.” 

You’d throw up again if there was anything left in your stomach. She 

But she’s not done yet. 

“And then we got the call about the body with all the blood and I had a hunch. But you not knowing anything gave me a bit of pause,” she admits, swiping her thumb on your lip affectionately. “Thought you were just a really good actor. But then you said you’d been sleeping for the past few hours, so I wondered.”

You cough, still tasting acid. Things still aren’t adding up. She fucked you after thinking you murdered someone? “Why didn’t you turn me in?” Not complaining exactly, but why have they been holding onto this? “Is that why Rio drugged me? She wanted to see if…I’d what? Murder someone else?” 

Agatha tilts her head back and forth, like she’s partly agreeing, and you back up from her, the gears in your brain turning. She gives you a look as if to say Really? and starts advancing towards you. You put your hands out to stop her and flinch, and she freezes. 

“If you’re feeling better, get back in the car,” she orders, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand. She takes one more step and stops an inch away from you, eyebrow raised like she’s anticipating your next move, and you gulp before obeying. “Good girl,” she says in a low voice, closing the door on you, and you hate the way your body betrays you. 

She gets into the driver’s seat and locks the doors and it makes your heart lurch. Why do you feel so unsafe right now? 

The key gets turned in the ignition but the car won’t start. “Fuck,” Agatha swears, turning it again and again. Panic starts to climb and settle into every crack and crevice in your body; what if you have to spend the night with Agatha on the side of the road? 

What if you fall asleep and accidentally kill her? 

Is that something you do now? Can you just never sleep for the rest of your life? 

The engine finally clicks and turns on, just taking a bit longer in the snow. But Agatha is almost out of gas, so she pulls into the next gas station she finds on the way to her house. 

“Have you eaten?” She asks gruffly, something seemingly changed in the air between you. 

The moment she brings up food, your stomach grumbles. You can’t remember the last time you ate. Tony would kill you, if you had heard from him at all. It’s weird he hasn’t called you back yet. Unfortunately, you have been sleeping though. You’re not sure if he would be proud. 

Agatha gets out of the car and slams the door and you quickly scramble out too. “We’ll go get you something to eat after I’m done filling up.” 

“I can just run in now,” you offer, desperately needing a moment to yourself. You can’t breathe next to Agatha right now. 

She scoffs and presses the pump into her car. “You’re a mess, superstar. I can’t risk you confessing to her about what you’ve done, or worse.” 

You bite back a sarcastic comment, still weary of her mood shift, and you tap your foot until the pump stops. She follows you into the station, watching carefully as you pick up a slice of pizza from the hot food area. You snag a drink and walk to the cash register, where a woman is snapping her gum. 

“Hi,” you say politely, putting your stuff down. Agatha’s hot breath is on your neck. “Oh, and can I get these too?” You quickly slap down a container of cinnamon mints. 

She looks you up and down, and winks. “On the house,” she says and Agatha steps even closer to you. The cashier’s eyes flicker to her. “Anything for your mom?” 

Agatha practically growls behind you and yanks your head back by your hair so she’s able to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. You try to pull away in shock, but she holds you there and slides her tongue into your mouth. You can still taste the little flap of skin from where you bit her when she fucked you. 

After she’s sufficiently stolen all the air from your lungs, she stops and grabs your pizza and drink from the counter. “Come, pet,” she says in a low voice that makes you hotly tingle all over and you make brief eye contact with the cashier, who looks severely taken aback. You wonder if you look as flushed as you feel. 

“Sorry about that,” you say sheepishly, face hot, and slap a ten dollar bill on the counter, scampering after Agatha. “What the fuck was that?” You call after her, and she whirls around, face contorted into something scary.

“Get. In. The. Car,” she demands, seething, anger radiating off her in waves and almost knocking you back. 

There’s silence the rest of the way to her house as you eat your pizza. It’s a cute two-story house, hedges trimmed neatly out front, and another car in the driveway. 

Your heart begins to race at the thought of seeing Rio again, at the thought of dealing with them together. 

What are you doing here? Are they going to blackmail you? What could they want from you? 

You trail Agatha to the front door and then into the kitchen, where Rio is trimming a bouquet of flowers in a vase. Yellow, blue, red, and a flash of purple. 

Brows furrowing, you try to get a closer look but Rio steps to the side, unknowingly blocking your view. 

“Hey, Aggie,” she says, her back still to you. The glimpse into domesticity and the nicknames makes you feel a longing pang inside you. 

In the past, girls had been too put off by your line of work, by your fascination with female serial killers, even by the scar on your stomach. You just wanted someone that could accept every part of you. 

Agatha walks over, leaving you standing awkwardly in the entrance, and presses a kiss to Rio’s cheek, murmuring something in her ear. Rio’s body stiffens and she turns around, a wide grin stretching over her face when she sees you. 

“Welcome, doll,” she says and you fight the urge to run away. She motions to a fresh batch of cookies cooling on the stove. “Want one?” 

You don’t budge. “Did you poison them too?” 

Rio’s head tosses back with a laugh and Agatha smirks bemusedly. “Touché,” Rio says, grabs one, and chomps on it. She brushes her hands free on the crumbs once she’s done and holds them up to show you that she didn’t lace them. 

“What am I doing here?” You ask, wanting to cut to the chase. There’s some ulterior motive, one you just don’t know of yet. 

Both of them beckon you to follow them into the living room. They sit on the couch and you sit in the chair facing them. 

“‘What am I doing here?’” Agatha mocks in a deep voice and you roll your eyes. 

Rio takes all of you in, eyes flicking up and down your body several times. “Such a trivial question. Why don’t you ask something better than that?”

You think about it for a moment. What do you really want to know? “Did I kill those men?” 

“Boring. Ask something you don’t already know the answer to,” Rio criticizes and your cheeks burn. 

“Why did I?” It comes out quieter than you intended, your voice breaking. 

The two of them finally look interested. “Why do you think?” Rio asks, ever the therapist. 

“I…don’t know,” you say lamely.

Agatha snorts. “Come on, superstar, we know you’re smarter than that. Use that brilliant brain of yours.”

Knife from the drawer. Slicing through fabric to cut the arteries. Hearing a squelching sound when you plunge it into the chin. 

Blood.

More blood. 

A brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 

You jolt. Fire? “I think…” You trail off, feeling shaken by the new revelation. Is the fire something that happened in the past, or something that’s about to come? 

“Yeah?” Agatha whispers, leaning forward. 

You try to search your head for the answer. “I think I wanted to know what it felt like,” you say slowly, testing the words on your tongue, still not completely sure if they’re right. 

You’re remembering more of the murders, remembering being in a trance-like haze when you woke up, getting into your car, coming back to the room after, stripping naked from the bloodstained clothes and scrubbing your skin in the shower until it stung. And then laying back down. 

Some sort of psychosis? Or just your unconscious mind fulfilling one of your darkest fantasies? 

Rio’s breath hitches. “And? How did it feel?” 

“It felt…powerful,” you say, and you know what the feeling in the woods with Agatha was now. It was the feeling of taking in your own work, seeing what you had done, somehow remembering the feeling even when you didn’t remember doing it. 

Agatha licks her lips, her eyes dark. “Holding their life in your hands, it’s a sensation like no other. That control makes you feel like a god, doesn’t it?” 

The way she phrases it sounds like she knows how it feels. How could she? 

Can you brush it off to her being a detective? Surely she’s had to make a decision like that once in her career, but there’s a nagging in the back of your mind that is sounding alarm bells. 

You cautiously look back and forth between them, between their faces with an indescribable hunger, and things start to come together. 

The Witch and Lady Death. 

Lovers, two brunettes, one thinner and taller, the other shorter and fuller. Just like Rio and Agatha.

Both Agatha and Rio were so convinced that there was a different killer. 

Both Agatha and Rio knew that you killed someone, even before you did, yet neither of them made any effort to get you in trouble. 

If anything, they pushed you to do it again. 

Rio said she wasn’t The Witch, but you hadn’t asked if she was Lady Death. 

Which means…

Agatha is The Witch. Rio is Lady Death. And you’re in their home, with both of them.

It’s ingenious though, really. Being the lead detective on a case trying to catch yourself, able to throw a wrench into any leads that the squad may happen to get. 

That must be why she was so nitpicky with all your theories. She knew all the right details the entire time.

Although, it never really seemed like she was shooting you down, it was almost like she was guiding you. 

Did she want you to catch them?

And Rio, being your therapist to find out more about you, get inside your head and understand how the profiler on their case thinks. 

You’d almost be impressed if you weren’t scared for your life right now. 

The only question is: why? 

Why murder all those people? Why break into your motel room and leave you all that stuff? Why help you in catching them, if that’s truly what they’ve been doing? 

Why not just kill you already? Unless that’s what they’re planning on doing tonight. 

“Can I, uh, use your bathroom?” You ask, praying they can’t hear how fast your heart is beating. 

They’re both regarding you with careful looks. “Second door on the left,” Agatha says, pointing down a hallway. You nervously smile and try to walk normally out of sight. 

Just make it to the bathroom, you chant. Then you can text Tony, text the police chief, text anybody. If you can keep up the pretenses, you might be able to hang on until reinforcements come. 

But as you’re walking by the first room on the left, you see that the door is ajar ever the slightest. 

You shouldn’t. You should go to the bathroom and get help. You absolutely should not open this door. 

It creaks as you push it open and you stop breathing, waiting to hear footsteps or one of them asking if you’re okay. 

Nothing. 

The door is open just wide enough for you to slip in now, and you can’t help the loud gasp that escapes your mouth. 

Purple azaleas are in a vase on the table, along with vials upon vials. Information about every single person in Westview on one wall, red circles highlighting either victims or a list. 

But what’s most startling is the shrine they have for you on the big wall. Pictures of you, case files, every piece of information accessible that concerns you is plastered there. 

They know exactly who you are. They’ve known. 

Fighting the nausea that climbs into your throat, you step closer. There’s something that draws your attention in the bottom left area, a medical record with your name on it from Salem, Massachusetts almost fifteen years ago. You don’t remember ever being in the hospital when you lived there. 

You bend down to see what it says and 

Snow. 

The frozen creek. 

Laughter and red birds when you step on a stick. 

The person whirls around, long dark hair flipping with the momentum, blue eyes cutting through the darkness. 

Fire. Sparks fly and land at your feet, hissing in the snow. 

“Well, well, well,” a voice says behind you and you spin so fast you almost fall over. Agatha and Rio are standing in the doorway, arms crossed. “Guess the secret’s out.”

But you don’t care about that. 

Because the woman from your memory has a name now. 

“It was you,” you accuse, jabbing a finger towards Agatha. The face in the flashes was a bit younger, but you’d know her anywhere now. 

A cold feeling sinks into you when she bares her teeth in a smile. “I see my wife’s techniques have been efficient.” 

Your head starts to pound. “How…?” 

“Why don’t we go back into the living room and we can talk about this?” Rio suggests gently. 

“So you can kill me?” You spit, completely disoriented. How did you know Agatha fifteen years ago? Why didn’t you remember? 

What did she do to you? 

Agatha scoffs. “Really, you think if we wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t be dead already? Honey, we could’ve had your heart the instant you stepped into town.” 

Your hand grabbles at your belt, trying to grab onto the gun that isn’t there. 

Fuck. 

You ran out of your room in such a hurry earlier that you forgot to grab it. 

“So what do you want from me?” You ask, trying to sound even the slightest bit braver than you feel. You fail. 

“We want you to join us,” Rio says, being uncharacteristically straight forward. “We see you and what you’re capable of. We’ve known it. We want you, all of you.” 

You shake your head. “No, absolutely fucking not. You two are crazy. I don’t know how you know me, or what happened in the woods all those years ago, but I would rather die than kill more people with you.” 

They both sigh like they were afraid you’d say that. They start to walk over to you and you feel prey being stalked, being hunted. 

“What are you–” 

Agatha shushes you. “You’re just confused, superstar. But don’t worry. We’ll give you some time to think about it.” 

And then they grab you and drag you kicking and screaming upstairs into their bedroom. 

This is it. This is how you’re going to die. 

“Wait, wait!” You scream as they throw you onto their bed. “I’ll do it.” You can pretend, you can make them think you want it until you can get out. 

Rio bends over and grabs your chin, scanning your teary eyes. “Oh, doll, you’re an FBI profiler and you’re still such a bad liar,” she tuts, roughly pushing your face away. 

Your body goes numb while they stretch your arms out and pull handcuffs – real handcuffs – from the nightstands and cuff you to the bedposts. 

Agatha smirks and waves the key in front of your face and you snap at it with your teeth. She chuckles darkly and puts it on the nightstand, just out of reach. 

“We’ll be back later, pet,” she says. “We have to go teach someone a lesson about taking things that don’t belong to them, and then The Witch and Lady Death are going to strike again.” 

Rio cackles and then picks up the bottom half of her skeleton mask and holds it to her face, widening her eyes at you. You strain against the handcuffs until they sting your wrist but you don’t stop struggling as they walk out of the room and close the door behind them. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You are absolutely reeling. You met Agatha when you were ten years old. Something happened, something with fire? And the medical file from then, is that related? 

It can’t be a coincidence that you’re here now, working on a case in which she’s a killer. 

What happened that made you want to think like a killer? It’s the question that Rio asked when you first met her, that she swore she didn’t but now you think she was just fucking with you. 

You didn’t know the reason, couldn’t remember it at the time, but that was what made you start having these flashes of repressed memories. 

Is Agatha the reason? 

Did you see her kill someone at ten years old, but then your brain blocked it out because it was too traumatic? And then you spent the rest of your life determined to figure out what made her do that? 

It seems to make sense. 

It still doesn’t answer the real question as to what they want with you, and why they went through all this trouble. 

But you’re not going to find anything else tied up in their bed. 

The Basic Field Training Course at Quantico taught you several important things, like how to fire a gun and how to read a person’s posture and how to solve a case. But perhaps the most valuable lesson to you now was learned from a classmate, who taught you how to dislocate your thumb. 

Jimmy Woo had dislocated his thumb twice during lacrosse in high school so he could now do it whenever he wanted. It still hurt obviously, but the damage was less serious, it was easier to dislocate, and it was much easier to pop back in. 

All it took for him to teach you was a six pack of beer. You didn’t know exactly why you were so set on being able to, but you couldn’t be happier now. 

You remember the first time you did it. It had taken four shots of vodka to get your courage up before bending it back on a table. The ligaments had strained, not wanting to give, but through sweat and tears, you had persisted. 

Jimmy immediately took you to the clinic to get it wrapped up and you told them you had done it while throwing a ball with Jimmy. 

You’d only done it a few more times, but it got to the point where you could do it with minimal crying and could relocate it by yourself. 

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you duck your chin down to grab ahold of your sweater between your teeth to have something to bite down before positioning your left thumb against the bedpost. Better to do it with your non-dominant hand, Jimmy always said. 

You can almost hear him encouraging you as tears spill down your cheeks and your whimpers are muffled. 

Pressing harder, a slight sheen of perspiration breaks out on your head. Fuck, you’d forgotten how much it hurts. 

Finally, finally, there’s the desired pop and pain floods up your hand. It almost entirely overwhelms you and 

Snow. 

Frozen creek. 

The woman turns toward you and looks surprised to see someone else in the woods with her. 

She waves to you and you’re pulled forward by an invisible string. When you get closer to where she’s partially hidden by shadows, you see she’s not alone. 

A younger woman with pale skin, dark hair, and wide hazel eyes. 

But there’s another woman too. 

The throbbing in your thumb pulls you out of the flashback. 

Rio.

Rio was there, too. You’ve met both Agatha and Rio before.

But you don’t know who the other woman is; you didn’t even get a good look at her. 

Focus on that later, you tell yourself, whining as you gingerly pull your hand out of the cuff. You lean over and snatch the key off the nightstand and quickly unlock the other cuff. It hurts like hell to use your dislocated thumb to turn the key, but you don’t know how else you’d use it. You take another slow, deep breath before popping that thumb back in. 

After moving it around and massaging it to get the blood flowing back in, you scramble off the bed and run downstairs. 

You need to go back to your motel room and get your gun, not even bothering to look and see if they have any, but first you need to go back into their room downstairs and see if there’s any hints about where they might be going. 

It appears that all the photos that have red circles on them are past victims, so you have absolutely no idea where they might be. 

You’re about to leave the room and go back to the motel when you remember the medical file from Massachusetts. It looks like they have pictures of a copy; how would they even get that? 

But you bend down to read it and a searing pain splits through your forehead. It hurts so bad it forces your eyes shut and you’re only able to comprehend a few words and phrases. 

Hypothermia…18 hours in the snow. 

Pneumonia. 

Head-induced trauma caused retrograde/post-traumatic amnesia. 

The pain in your head brings you to your knees as you try to make sense of the record. You remember learning about types of amnesia in your psych classes, and retrograde means you can’t remember things that happened before the accident. 

Is that why there’s a block? Or is it because of something you saw in the woods? 

Nothing is adding up. 

Why didn’t your parents ever tell you about this? Is this the reason you left Salem so quickly? 

The throbbing in your head has leveled down to a dull ache and you’re able to stand up. This is all connected somehow, you just don’t know how. 

What you do know is that you need to find them and stop them. 

You dig around the drawers in the kitchen to find a set of keys to Rio’s car, you’re guessing, and you’re peeling out of their driveway, not even caring about the speed limits. You blow through stop signs and red lights, but it’s late enough that no one else is on the road. 

Throwing the car into park once you get back to the motel, you shoulder open the door to your room and come to a halt. 

It’s the smell that hits you first. 

A sickly sweet honeysuckle scent wafts into your nose and you almost retch. Purple azaleas litter the floor in a path from the front door to the bedroom door, candles lit on both sides like a romantic rendezvous. 

They were already here. How could they have known you’d come back? Are they in the other room? 

Heart pounding, you gulp before reaching for your gun on the table and cautiously stepping toward the bedroom. You close your eyes and say a little prayer that you’re not about to be killed, and you kick it open. 

There’s more azaleas, and enough candles to perform a ritual. Your gaze scans the room, breaths getting shorter and shallower. 

And then you see the bed and your hands clamp over your mouth in order to smother the cry that comes out involuntarily. 

It’s the woman from the gas station, sprawled out like a starfish, completely naked from the waist up. There’s a lace from one of your pairs of shoes wrapped tightly around her neck, face tinted blue. 

Your body violently shakes as you walk over to her and you see her chest. 

The letter “O” is carved around her right breast. The letter “U” around her left. “R” is carved into the right side of her stomach, and “S” into the left. 

OURS. 

We have to go teach someone a lesson about taking things that don’t belong to them. 

Ignoring the heat running through your body, you spot a notecard clenched in her hand and you wrench it out. 

On one side, it says: Sorry, baby. Xoxo. On the other side, there’s an address. 

You know it’s a trap, like this right here was, and like everything else may have been, but what choice do you have? 

Your fingers tighten on your gun and you get back into Rio’s car, punching the location into your phone. 

This ends tonight. 

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Halloween! May your days be spooky and sweet. Mo dao zu shi, please.

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Jiang Cheng can't believe that worked.

"Why is he here?" his father asks, pointing a thumb in Wen Ning's direction.

Wen Ning continues rowing the boat with that wide eyed, trusting expression. It's incredible that he hasn't been killed yet.

"Why are either of you here," his mother snaps, back straight and looming down her nose at them. Being beaten half to death hadn't done much to affect her attitude. "We gave clear instructions."

"You're welcome," Wei Wuxian says, more sarcastic than she'd normally be, but she's also bleeding quite a lot, despite Jiang Cheng's best efforts to put pressure on the wound and the packet of herbs Wen Ning had given her.

Jiang Cheng doesn't have the energy to care about his fiance and mother's sniping. He's already resigned himself to having to tune it out for the rest of his life. "How far are we from Yiling?"

He should know better, having navigated this river his whole life. But he'd been too busy with keeping Wei Wuxian alive to care.

"Not far," Wen Ning says. "Qing-jie is expecting us. Don't worry, Wei Wuxian is going to be fine."

"It's going to close soon enough on it's own," she says, poking Jiang Cheng in the chest. "Some of us have cultivated cores that are efficient like that."

He's not in the mood to be teased.

When he saw he on the floor, surrounded by all that blood, he'd thought she was dead.

"They're going to be after us," his father says. "If not for us, then in revenge. They're going to be pissed they lost Wen Zhuliu."

"Oops," Wei Wuxian says cheerfully.

Wen Zhuliu had been dead, lying far enough away that Jiang Cheng hadn't noticed him at first. Wei Wuxian insists that most of the blood had been his, but he doesn't believe her.

"You're lucky you didn't lose your core," he hisses. "You're lucky you're not dead! What were you thinking?"

"Uh, that he was right there and easy to kill?" She grimaces. "How was I supposed to know he was resistant to the drug? Also, I won, which I feel like we're all glossing over."

"Shut up," he says tiredly.

He's never going to have an obedient wife, but he'd settle for one who wasn't hell bent on giving him a heart attack.

[cbrownjc]

The one thing that I don’t get is if Devil’s Minion happened during the 70s, that means that Armand was basically leaving an heavily injured Louis alone in their house for long periods of time. In the book, Daniel and Armand basically move in together and spend all their time together. The Chase also seems like a full time job. I feel like Armand wouldn’t go do that, as he’s still madly in love with Louis during that time. He’d probably devote all of his time taking care of him. Or do vampires just heal faster, even with significant burns?

Hi!

So see, The Chase is actually why I think it was clever of the show to have Louis attempt what he did when he did, and be so severely injured by it. Because, as I said here, Louis having such extensive burns means there is really only one way for him to truly heal from them quickly and that is if he does the same thing Lestat had to do in the books when he was severely burned in the same way in the books and I feel we will see him be on the show (and probably was doing when Armand contacted him in 2x05 back in 1973) -- and that is to go underground, into the very earth itself, to sleep for a time and heal.

See, that is one reason Louis begged Armand to put him in his coffin at one point after he was hurt. Vampires heal quicker from injuries when they are in their coffins. And they heal even more quickly -- and grow even more strong in their abilities and powers -- if they go into the earth to sleep for a time.

In the books, Lestat went to sleep underground in the earth for 55 years from all the heavy injuries he got -- first when Claudia slit his throat, then when Louis set him on fire, and then, in Paris when Armand threw him off a tower. Lestat went underground, into the earth, to sleep from 1929 to 1984, to heal from all of that.

So I think Louis likely did the same thing for a short time after he and Armand left Daniel at the drug den -- Louis went into the earth to sleep and heal from his wounds.

And when a vampire is in the earth asleep, they are at their most safe from harm. Even during the burning from Akasha, the vampires who were asleep underground were not burned by her, because they couldn't be burned while within the ground. I'm only up to Chapter 15 of Prince Lestat, but that is a word and tactic that is being broadcast by Benji for all vampires to do during the worldwide second burnings -- to go into the earth, underground, if a burning begins where they are to escape it.

So in truth, Louis wouldn't actually need Armand to watch or take care of him once he was in the earth, underground, asleep. Because that's how Daniel actually first met Armand in the books. Armand was just hanging out at Lestat's house for decades, waiting for Lestat to wake up again while Lestat was asleep underground. Armand didn't need to watch or take care of Lestat as he was doing so -- Armand was just there because he had nowhere else to go. So when Daniel stumbled into Lestat's house looking for him, chasing Daniel actually gave him something to do.

And so I think the same will be true wrt the show. Once Louis goes into the earth to sleep and heal, Armand really isn't going to be needed by Louis for however long Louis sleeps underground. Just like in the books when it came to Lestat doing the same thing.

In fact, I can see a parallel with Lestat and Louis now both being underground and asleep at this point in time in the show, both healing from everything they have both gone through, as I honestly expect Lestat to also get severely burned during the events of Paris, just as we saw Louis get burned in 2x05.

So yeah, once Louis is safely underground, Armand will basically be by himself for however long that may last. And I can see his curiosity with that boy Louis called "fascinating" occupying his mind again, and him deciding to check up on that boy out of curiosity. And, as I said here, Daniel remembering the first interview still -- as well as the inspiring words he now had on repeat in his mind -- I think is going to have Daniel first looking for Louis and then, failing to find him again, will have him try to find Lestat.

Because in the books, all Daniel did to find Lestat's Garden District house -- which Lestat was sleeping under at the time -- was to go through property ownership documents in the Hall of Records in New Orleans, and find Lestat's name listed, right there, for a few properties, the Garden District house being one of them. Daniel, of course, would have never been able to actually get to Lestat himself, because Lestat was deeply buried under the earth at that time, but he still found the house easy. And then, when he arrived there, that's when Armand first caught him and locked him in the cage.

One of the things about The Chase I always wondered about before now wrt the show's version of it was what Louis would have been doing during it, as I always thought it was critical that only Armand and Daniel be involved in it. This is the main reason I thought The Chase in the show would only last a year or so, instead of the 4 years it lasts in the books.

But now, with Louis being so severely burned, I think that gives the answer. Just like Lestat, Louis will go into the earth, underground, to sleep and heal. And, just like in the books when Lestat did the same, Armand will be alone and on his own while he waits for Louis to wake up again. Which will probably take some years to happen.

And the only reason I don't think Louis will be asleep for the whole time Devil's Minion happened in the past -- which was 12 years in total -- is because of Louis calling Daniel "our boy." Meaning I think, at some point, Louis was with Armand and Daniel both sometime after Armand and Daniel fell in love and came together while Louis was asleep, and he and Daniel became even closer friends during that time. But who knows? Maybe Louis just calls Daniel "our boy" because of what took place during those 3-4 nights back in 1973 and nothing else, and Louis just sees Daniel as a "testament to their companionship" or whatever, and he really was underground asleep during almost the whole of Armand and Daniel's relationship. That is very possible as well IMO.

At any rate, I do think there might be something to Armand saying that he and Louis have been together "for 70 years" in the bedroom scene in episode 2x01, but then Louis saying they've been together "for 77 years" at the top of episode 2x02. Armand could have just been speaking in general numbers, or . . . maybe there is a 7-year gap when they weren't together. And maybe that gap is talking about the years Louis spent underground asleep and healing -- which it's clear that Louis himself wouldn't remember in the present-day, since he didn't even remember attempting to kill himself in the first place (thanks to Armand's memory reprogramming on him). And, during that 7-year gap, that is when The Chase happened, as well as 3 of the 8 years Armand and Daniel were fully together after confessing being in love with each other as well.

Which, come to think of it . . . if you do the math on that? 1973 + 7 years takes you to the year 1980. And if you look at Daniel's LinkedIn page, his writing credits didn't really start accumulating until 1981. As Daniel said himself, the 1970s are just a blur to him. And this could be why.

So I can imagine Louis waking up around 1980 or so and learning from Armand that he and Daniel are now together. And yes, I think Louis would be okay with it -- because hell, at least Armand wasn't alone while Louis was asleep healing, and Louis himself already has a fondness for Daniel anyway. (All of this happening being something Louis doesn't remember anymore now of course).

But between Daniel's growing career and Alice somehow coming into the picture sometime in the 1980s (because yes, I do think Alice is real, even if I also think a lot of Daniel's memories of her are really memories about Armand), things begin to go sour, with Daniel probably insecure because -- like in the book -- Armand kept refusing to turn Daniel so they can be together forever, and Armand reluctant to turn Daniel for a host of reasons I mentioned in this post, as well as probably not trusting Daniel to not run off and leave him once he is immortal (which is also a fear that Armand had wrt turning Daniel).

Anyway, so yeah, I actually think the reveal of Louis' burns strengthens the argument that Devil's Minion happened in the past because it now gives us an idea of what was going on with Louis not only during the time of The Chase, but also quite possibly the first 3 or so years of Armand and Daniel being a fully in-love couple. And that is that Louis went underground, into the earth, to sleep and heal. Just like Lestat was probably also doing from his own post-Paris wounds and injuries at that same time. Louis and Lestat both were safe underground in the earth -- which is the main way for vampires to heal faster from heavy wounds while being safe while they do so -- and didn't need anyone watching over them or taking care of them.

And so, just like in the book with Lestat when he was underground asleep (because in the books Armand and Louis had already long broken up and gone their separate ways when Armand was just hanging around Lestat's house waiting for him to be fully healed and wake up again), I feel the same thing likely happened on the show with Louis. Louis was asleep underground, in the earth, healing; and Armand was alone and left to his own devices because of that when The Chase between him and Daniel first began.

[indulgentdaydream]

I may request something for our Jason boy, what about a nurse!reader where he saves her and she just goes 'so, do you're the guy who makes my job a living hell'?

If you can't do it, it's fine luv 🩷

of course I can do it!

Meet Cutes

Jason Todd X fem!nurse!Reader || Fluff Word Count: 1,035

Sorry this took a couple days, university is being rough :(

Warnings: blood, death, injuries, medical tool use (needle and sutures, etc.), drug mention, broken glass, stitches

You worked for a small Gotham 24-hour walk-in clinic. You always tried not to think too much about who was coming in and out. Some patients would stumble in, covered in blood and bruises, yet not have a scratch on them. Where did the blood come from? You never asked. You would treat whoever was assigned to you and then be on your merry way.

The clinic was closer to Crime Alley than anyone would have liked, but it settled for good service. Especially once the Red Hood started patrolling. Your very first day at the clinic had you stitching up five bullet wounds on the same patient. Your first patient of the day, at that, who had stumbled in at five in the morning. He was mumbling the whole time, swearing and cussing out Red Hood's entire legacy.

Over the months you had now worked there, bullet wounds were your most common injury. Followed by any kind of broken bone. Most of them babbled about the Red Hood, saying how he gotten them. You never asked any further, hoping to never poke your neck out to far in order to gain any attention.

You stood in the back, cleaning up one of the clinic rooms after having sent another probable criminal on their way with stitches and bandages. A crash rang out from the front, making you swivel your head.

You ran out to the lobby before freezing in your tracks. A robber stood at the prescription counter, gun in hand, pointed at the pharmacist. The shattered glass of the divider lay out on the floor around them, the pharmacist assistant cowering in fear as the robber yelled at her for certain drugs.

There weren't any patients in the waiting area. There were none left in the back. No other employee had been hurt. Only badly scared.

The robber hadn't see you yet. You were close to the reception desk. You inched sideways, trying not to make a sound or any sudden movement. There was a panic button under the desk that you could press, easily alerting the authorities. It was a clinic. They would prioritize you over all other petty Gotham crimes.

It was sad, but true.

The poor pharmacist assistant, Cindy, was slowly sorting out the drugs the robber was asking for, placing them in the bag he had thrown at her. She was trying to drag things out. That much you could tell.

You were behind the desk now, reaching for the button ever so slowly.

The automatic sliding front doors of the clinic opened. The robber changed his aim. Staring down the figure in the doorway.

Red Hood aimed his own gun, his shiny red helmet reflecting the florescent lights overhead.

Both of the shots rang out at the same time. Cindy screamed, dropping the bag of pills onto the floor.

Red Hood's shot landed true. Right between the eyes. The robber's had gone astray, but still managed to shoot through the out side of the Red Hood's leather sleeve, making him flinch back as a result.

You were frozen, hand hanging over the panic button. Did you press it? Or did you let the vigilante do his work?

You were still deciding as Red Hood walked over to Cindy, making sure she was alright. Two other nurses and another pharamacist ran out to help her. You watched as Red Hood stepped back, letting them take over.

He turned around, placing his gun back in his holster as he started to walk back out. He moved his hand to his arm, clamping his hand over it.

He walked past the reception desk.

"Wait," You said.

He paused and turned to look at you.

You nodded to his arm, "Let me stitch you up."

Surprisingly enough, he followed you into the back. He sat down on the cot you told him to. Took off his jacket when you said.

You found it awkward, standing in silence with the Red Hood. You decided to speak up as you started the first stitch, "So... you're the guy who makes my job a living hell?"

He turned his head to look at you, those white eyes of the helmet boring into you. You wished you could see some sort of facial expression of his.

When he spoke, his voice was modulated, "Did I not just save your clinic from a robbery? How is that a living hell?" There was a tone of sarcasm to it.

You smiled a little, "We get a lot of criminals coming in here post-fights. I've gotten pretty good at sewing up gunshot wounds that were your doing." You glance up at the helmet's eyes, "No offence."

"You fix up those assholes?"

"I fix up those human beings," You retaliate, finishing the last stitch. You step away, "I don't know them or their pasts. To me, they're innocent people that just need some healing."

You can see the confusion in his body language, his head turning down to ponder at how quickly you had stitched him up. He stayed quiet.

You turned away from him, gathering some bandages to wrap his arm up, "Though... I will say how most of them will rant to me about how much they hate you. More often than not admitting their own faults as they do."

Something like a chuckle filters through the modulator, "You know what? I hear the same stuff."

You can't help but laugh back. You bandage him up before nodding, "You're all set."

He nods in thanks, slipping his jacket back on. He extends his gloved hand for a shake, "What's your name?"

You give it to him, a little surprised at his firm yet gentle grip, "You may want to leave out the back door. I pressed our panic button before bringing you back here."

Red Hood nods in understanding, before walking out.

This would not be the last you saw of him. Because now he had a personal nurse.

The day after every visit of his, a bill comes in from Wayne Enterprises. You look at your colleague, "This guy is straight up stealing money from the rich to pay for his medical bills."

"As he should."

"Agreed."

[artyandink]

amoralism | six

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: So much sexual tension it’s illegal, Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, description of injuries, gunshot wound, description of gore, blood, use of firearms, a mole in the FBI, office shenanigans, President Shurley, Asmodeus, Lucifer, Azazel, smut (very hardcore smut)

STW: marking, missionary, riding, protected sex, vaginal fingering, oral (f. receiving and implied m.)/face sitting, brief handjob, dom Dean (switch if you squint, also Dean’s an everything man), sub reader, really filthy stuff, light choking, thigh slapping, dirty talking cause FBI Dean’s a slightly rough dom and he’s good at this

A/N - I might have cooked with this chapter, who knows :)

Song Inspo: Crazy in Love (Remix) by Beyoncé (listen to this during the first scene I am not kidding it does wonders for the soul)

SERIES MASTERLIST

authoritarianism

You felt dizzy. You felt intoxicated. You felt amazing.

Dean’s lips moved hot and fast against your own, one hand of his sliding to grab the strands of your hair between his fingers and keep your mouth occupied, the other moving to grab your waist and cage you in his arms, against the rippling, irresistible planes of muscle.

One hand of yours was tracing every dip and curve of his upper back while your other was carding through the wet strands of his hair. His shampoo, conditioner and body wash acting as a drug - a stimulant - for your pressured mind.

A drug that you wouldn’t be arrested for.

You felt that muted haze dissipate and another replacing it. One more heated. Welcome. One that made your head spin and your lips collide with Dean’s over and over again, that is until his lips veered off to burn a trail down your neck.

Your head tipping back to show the artist his canvas.

Open mouthed and reverent, pressing onto your skin like claiming stamps, gripping your hair to tilt you to his liking while his other hand groped and squeezed whatever he could reach. Feeling you up with possessive intent.

To claim you.

Make you his.

His free hand slid to your ass, massaging it, kneading it in his strong fingers. Slapping it, squeezing as if he was also depleting his own stress on top of yours.

"Jesus- fuck-" Was all you could get out under the present circumstance.

Now, you weren't usually turned on by an ass man, but his ministrations had you moaning, leaving red lines on Dean's shoulders with your nails and a truly sinful sound rolling off his tongue.

"Fuck, baby." Dean growled, nipping at your neck until there was a mark that could be covered easily by your blazer and not be a pain. What a gentleman.

Dean's towel hit the floor, and it was like a switch flipped in his brain when he used the grip he had on your ass to help grind you in a dizzying pace against his rapidly hardening cock this time around rather than his thigh.

Both felt like heaven. You were sure you'd be transported there once he was pounding into you.

However much the friction of your sleep shorts appealed to his dick, Dean needed you out of those skimpy excuses for pyjamas. He took the hem of the sleep shorts and yanked them down until they pooled at your feet, biting his lip as he fisted the hem of your shirt and whipped it off.

Oh. Oh.

On you was the goddamn sexiest black lace lingerie he'd ever seen. Sweet Jesus. The bra was just the right amount of sheer and framed you beautifully, while the panties- good Lord, if Dean started describing how perfect it was he wouldn't be able to stop. Oh, hail Mary and fuckin’ Joseph.

Didn't help that he could see how soaked you were even from his position in front of you. The small grind he did as a test also confirmed it, his teeth now worrying his bottom lip as he now no longer thought with his brain. His cock was sitting in the driver's seat, thank you very much.

And he was gonna have you hitch a ride.

"Fuck." He cursed softly in comparison to the rough movements the moment before that had your nails grazing his scalp and bare upper back.

Dean gazed down at you, licking his lips. His stare lit your cells on fire while his body language paired with the way he held you - hard and so damn possessive - enough to convince you that you were a five star, five course meal that he was about to devour.

He'd be damned if he left any crumbs.

“You’ve ruined this sexy little number, baby.” Dean murmured, the backs of his fingers trailing down your side, down, down, down until he gripped your thigh with a sure hand. A smirk tugging at his pouty, kiss-swollen lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll ruin your pretty pussy to match the set.”

You’d let out a gasp had it not been for Dean hitching your leg over his bare hip, supporting you with his other hand on your lower back and lifting you effortlessly, carrying you with a smooth motion over to the conveniently placed bed and almost slammed you down, and before you knew it, his lips were back on your neck. It was different than before. Less reverent, less worshipping, more feral.

As if the very feel of you had Dean’s pure instinct taking over.

Pure instinct had you arching into the hard ridges of his muscle, baring your neck shamelessly, your mouth falling open as the hand previously on your lower back rushed to keep himself upright by planting it firmly into the mattress beside your head. Dean’s other hand used the purchase on your thigh to grind down hard and heavy, his breaths coming the same against your jugular as he bit at it, sucking but not enough to leave a mark.

He did vow in his head that he’d only leave it where you could cover it. Couldn’t have the office asking questions.

“Dean…” You whined out in a voice that you could barely discern was yours, your hand in his hair until you felt him take that hand off, fabric sliding off your shoulders and skimpy lace being discarded carelessly off to some odd corner in the room. You couldn’t expect Dean to care where that thing went.

Dean took his thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it while he came back up to watch you, you in your glory. Forget God, he’d worship only you from now on cause damn, were you a goddess.

You.

He let his thumb go with a slick pop, trying to hold onto the last thread of his restraint as he took you in. You, flushed, panting, your eyes slightly hazy from the intense sparks of heat he’d sent through you with a few hot brushes of his lips. His own defined chest heaving just as his eyes locked on your tits, and- mhm.

That thread was cut fast.

His thumb made contact with one hardened nipple, making your jaw go slack again and your hands fly to him again, letting out a moan that would make a hooker blush. Rolling it over and over and over as he buried his face in between your tits so he could kiss the valley between them, the underside and-

“Oh, shit!” You cried out when Dean’s hot mouth closed around your nipple, that damn talented tongue swirling around it before he sucked masterfully, flicking the other in a way that had your hips attempting to lift to make contact with his again, and he answered for you. Grinding down so you could feel every damn inch of what you did to him. What he’d been enduring five years ago and even now.

You were Dean’s drug. And when you weren’t there, he had withdrawal symptoms. Serious withdrawal symptoms.

He sucked, nibbled and licked, sucked, nibbled and licked until you were a moaning mess on the bed from the way his hand tweaked your other nipple and how his cock felt against your clothed pussy.

God, Dean could do this all day. Give him a chance and he would.

You never noticed when his hand left your other nipple, never noticed when your soaked panties left your body and were tossed aside, never noticed until you felt him dragging his fingers over your cunt and to your clit, the sharp but needy sound from you making him grin devilishly into your skin.

Dean popped up, licking his lips and then chuckling. “Got so much pressure built up, dontcha, sweetheart? Want someone to release it for you, dontcha?” He heard a needy whine and plea for him to ‘not stop’, which had him clicking his tongue.

“Oh, baby.” He purred, rubbing his thumb on your clit. The calloused pad having shocks of pure, welcomed electricity through the tips of your fingers to your brain and down back to your cunt. “That little session we had in my office ain’t enough for you, is it? Needy little thing.”

No thoughts. Pussy in charge.

It was definitely in charge when he thrusted two thick fingers into you, demanding and possessive and- fuck, that’s good. Your hips bucked into the touch, another moan leaving your mouth that really had you questioning if you knew your own voice; it sounded so shameless and needy and wanting.

It sounded good. It felt even better.

You didn’t care that Dean was your colleague, the one rule you’d had for five years smashed with a sledgehammer because no, you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when his fingers were pumping in and out of you, working you, making your back arch and hips rocking to meet his ministrations. Yep, you knew he could play you like a fine tuned violin and god, was he doing that.

He crooked his fingers just right, an “oh, fuck!” leaving your mouth and moans in quick succession as his tongue laved at the nipple his mouth had neglected, which did not help you to think straight. It had you clenching around his fingers, the pads of them hitting your g-spot deliciously instead.

Adding another finger and doing it again.

“Shit, sweetheart.” Dean growled against your skin, licking over your nipple as well. Looks like he was a tits man as well, with how eagerly he was worshipping them. “Squeezin’ my fingers so tight. This pussy’s so tight- you sure it can fit my cock? Shit- fuck.” He groaned as you clamped down on him again at the syncing of his fingers against your g-spot and his thumb rubbing at your clit. You were about to drive him insane.

“Dean,” You took a moment to breathe, your head falling back as you tried to get your bearings. You failed, but ah, well, another day. “Mmh, s’close. Gonna come. M’gonna come.”

“That right, baby?” Dean chuckled, sucking a mark in the valley of your tits. Hey, you had absolutely no problem with that. “Gonna come for me? Come so pretty for me?” He bit his lip and then licked them at the sight of you nodding and writhing on the bed, your hips meeting the movements while he made a mess of you with his mouth on your tits and his fingers buried knuckle deep inside you. His mouth moving to hover by your ear, teeth teasing your earlobe. “Go on. Wanna hear my name when you do it. When you release all that tension that’s had you bitchin’ all this time. Just needed me, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

The words, so dirty and filthy. His breath, hot and searing. Teeth skilled and precise.

It was like Dean had been rehearsing for this moment. Got the perfect cadence of his gravelly voice just for you. The perfect rhythm of his fingers just for you. Just for you, so they would have you coming - eyes rolling back, jaw slack, hips stuttering and thighs twitching, sweat beading at your temple as your foot propped on the bed and curled the best they could into the grey satin sheets - just like you were right now.

Oh, dear.

Oh, Lord.

Oh, fuck-

You could barely fathom after your first orgasm of the night what would happen next, but you found out right when Dean got further down the bed and pulled his fingers out of you, getting a taste of you and moaning at it. You were ambrosia in human goddamn form.

Before you could adjust, he licked a long stripe up your soaking cunt, lapping and getting all of you on his tongue, the sweet flavour flooding his taste buds and dimming everything in the room but you. You. You-

My god, this wasn’t enough.

Within seconds, Dean manoeuvred you both so he was flat on his back, head pushed back against the pillows, nestling your thighs on either side of his head. You looked down at him from your position, hand flying to grip the headboard just as he grinned up at you from beneath you, your pussy right there for him to devour. Where he felt like he belonged.

Dean looked like sex. Hell, he probably was sex.

Without a word, Dean rubbed up and down your thighs, feeling the softness in his palms before he seized your hips, pulling you flush against his face and beginning to- oh, God, shit, fuck, hail Jesus and Mary and Joseph, and all of Nazareth.

Fuck.

“Dean- oh, Dean- Dean!” Your brain was short circuiting. Your eyes were rolling back. Hand gripping the headboard so tight your knuckles went white. Your other hand finding your hair and gripping it tight as your mouth fell open and let out a string of expletives adorned with his goddamn name.

Dean was devouring you. Lapping at your pussy, sucking, drinking you dry like you were his first meal in so long. His tongue sliding over your cunt before pushing in once, twice, thrice before slipping out and repeating the rapid strokes. And then a harsh suck on your clit, just to get you to your limit that much faster. To get you to whine, moan, whimper - anything - his name.

That’s what his shit-eating grin was for as he got his lips and chin messy eating the living daylights out of you.

He groaned out something about you tasting like heaven, but you didn’t hear, instead focused on chasing your orgasm while your hips mindlessly ground against his face. He slapped your thigh in response, but when you stilled obediently - thinking he wanted you to stop - no, he took your hips in an almost bruising grip and did the work for you. Rolling your hips down to meet every suck and lap of his until you were shaking again, falling over the edge again to the rhythm and play of his tongue sliding over your pussy.

Once he’d gotten that second fill of you, he hitched himself up so he sat with his back to the plush velvet headboard, so you could see him after he’d wrecked you for the second time around- going on a third, at this rate.

His lips were glistening and his chin the same state, pupils blown wide as he panted and grinned at you like the pure goddamn sex he was.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart.” Dean muttered before he cupped your jaw and drew you into a searing kiss, so that you could taste yourself on his tongue. Taste yourself while he gave you the most sloppy, filthy, sinful, perfect kiss of your life.

Don’t tell him you said that.

With a bite of his lip, a checking out of your body and a quick slap to your ass, he took a hold of you and rolled you over, pinning one hand above your head by entwining your fingers with his own and keeping them there.

"Ready, sweetheart?" Dean smirked, spreading your legs and in turn spreading you open. He caught sight of your dripping cunt, and he felt a swell of pride that he made you feel that good. That he forewent his own pleasure (he only realised how much his cock ached for you round about now, he was that focused on you) to take care of you.

He was about to smirk out another sentence, but then he was cut off by a groan, caused by your hand on his cock, rubbing your thumb over his slit and spreading the pre-come before using it to pump your hand up and down. Dean could have spent forever with you jacking him off, but he stopped you, panting.

“Sorry, baby, but if you continue like that, m’gonna embarrass myself.” He chuckled, tearing a condom packet with his teeth and rolling the rubber on. “Need to be inside you. You ready?” When he didn’t get a response, he slapped your thigh- which got a squeak from you. “Words, sweetheart. I need words.”

You nodded, frantically, panting. “Yes, yes, I’m ready, please, I’m ready-” You let out a broken moan when Dean thrusted roughly unto you and god, the pace was bruising but felt… so. Damn. Good.

Dean’s thrusts were rough, but deep. Purposeful. As if every move was calculated. He had gripped the velvet headboard in his free hand until he went the extra mile, changing the angle by hitching your leg over his hip, his eyes rolling back when your heel pressed against his lower back and had him magnifying the feeling of you wrapped around him so deliciously tenfold.

“So fuckin’ tight, baby.” He groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as his hips snapped forward, the bed creaking under the force. His teeth nipped at the skin, the hand holding your thigh securing your leg over your hip before placing his hand on your throat; not squeezing, just letting you know that it was there.

And by the way you moaned and your head fell back, you enjoyed it. Damn, Dean never knew you were freaky.

He loved it.

With a few rough snaps, he felt himself suddenly fall over the edge, spilling into the condom with a low, guttural moan. Even so, he sloppily thrust into you a few more times to have you going down with him, your lips meeting in a filthy, desperate kiss.

Now, you’d have thought three mind blowing orgasms would be enough for you, but it didn’t seem close to enough once Dean rolled you both over, seizing your hips and making you ride him. At first, it was him lifting you to the head of his dick and lowering you until you sheathed him completely but then it was all you, you, you.

“Dean,” Was all you could say as you set a steady rhythm, your nails raking down his chest and leaving red trails and crescent marks. Those had him chuckling and nodding in approval.

“That’s right, good girl. Mark me up.” Dean grunted softly, gripping your hips tighter, the vein in his neck popping for an extremely good reason as his head fell back against the pillows. “Ride my cock, baby. Look so good, bouncin’ like that. Fuck, never stop. Could see you like this all day. Shit, sweetheart.”

You took gasping breaths, trying to reduce the embarrassing amount of moans leaving your mouth, your pussy clenching tight around Dean and letting him know you were close. His hands slid to your ass, kneading and rolling the softness in his hands, propping himself up to suck and lick at your nipples, which got you there that much faster. Didn’t help when his thumb found your clit.

Rubbing. Flicking. Ruining you.

Damn, he knew exactly what he was doing. Because now your eyes could only see stars and you were coming on his cock, him following you about five thrusts later with a loud and choked moan. You could have almost collapsed forward had it not been for Dean holding you up, and the next thing you knew, you were both breathlessly chuckling.

“Well, that’s a way to, uh, let out the stress.” You breathed, biting your lip and running a hand through your sweaty hair. “Carajo.”

“Damn straight.” Dean laughed, pulling you off his cock gently and laying you down next to him. “I’ll give it to you, sweetheart, you are one damn good fuck.”

“We just…” Fuck. “We just fucked.”

“Yeah, we did. Objections?”

“Dean, this is what I’ve been avoiding. Sure, we torched the Code of Conduct by making out in your office but now I’m pretty sure it’s disintegrated.” You sighed, the growing throb in your pussy from being pounded into by Dean Winchester beginning to take over. Yep, you’d be walking funny. “It's not a mistake, I participated with sound mind, body and soul, but I just...”

Dean understood. "You're confused."

"Yeah." You nodded, biting your lip. "And with everything that's going on, I'm not even sure that getting in a relationship - let alone with you - is a wise option. I'd just be a shitty girlfriend."

"Sweetheart, I don't want you downplaying yourself like that again, you hear me?" Dean said sternly, his jaw set, looking the picture of perfection and porn with his skin shiny from the water and sex induced sweat, the remnants of bliss clinging to his gorgeous features, cheeks still carrying a slightly rosy tinge. Not to mention how his lips and chin still shone with the sweetness he'd tasted eagerly on his tongue the moment before. "I'm not gonna judge you for wanting to take it slow. Especially when we got crime Lords out there."

Beat.

"But if you need some assistance in satisfying that gorgeous pussy, then I'm one text away."

Shit. You needed a round two stat.

The White House. What a place for pretentious politicians.

“Mr President, you have a meeting with the Russian Ambassador at four, and the British Ambassador at six.” Chuck Shurley’s assistant, Becky Rosen, read off a tablet while President Shurley himself was looking at himself in the mirror to check if he was wearing the right suit for his next press conference.

“So many ambassadors.” Chuck muttered under his breath as he took off his blazer to exchange a tie for another one. “Look, Becky, can you be a dear and move my six o’clock to three tomorrow? My days’s too swamped and you know the Russians, they’re probably going to take up most of my time.”

Becky nodded eagerly, tapping on her keyboard. “I can do that, sir, let me put in a phone call.” Then there was chatter on her earpiece, and she let out a small “oh!” of surprise. “You have a visitor, Mr President.”

“And who’s that, Becky?” Chuck turned around with two ties each in his hand. He took a look at the four and put two back in the drawer, examining the other two.

“Your sister, sir. Amara.”

That piqued Chuck’s interest. “Yes, I know who my sister is. Send her in, and you leave.”

Becky nodded, already beginning to leave. “Of course, sir.”

The door shut behind her, and while Chuck was busy trying to figure out which tie worked best with his slacks, the door opened and closed, in coming Chuck’s sister.

Amara Shurley. Sister of the President and the First Lady since Chuck had no game.

Her black dress swished and her heels thudded against the soft carpet as she looked out upon the massive crowd and array of cameras waiting for Chuck’s statement on the recent leak of there being a crime lord called Asmodeus out wreaking havoc in America. “What will you say to them?”

“Anything.” He turned around with a soft sigh. “Those people out there just want reassurance. They’re willing to believe any lie, even if it’s on some cue cards that they can’t see on my podium.”

Amara frowned slowly, fiddling with her hands. “So, what was that policeman? Nick Santiago? Was what you said strictly for reassurance?”

“Of course not.” Chuck scoffed, shaking his head as he examined the ties. “I wouldn’t be in this office had it not been for that police sergeant. I wrote that bit of speech myself. I have to give myself some credit for that. I could be a writer if I hadn’t become President.” Chuck laughed slightly, then turned to Amara, holding up the ties that had made the cut. One navy, diagonally striped red and another that was plain navy. “Which one? Can’t choose.”

“Plain.” Amara replied simply and almost curtly, pacing. “You need to play this smart. Some criminals are out for your blood and there will come a time where your security detail isn’t as good as you think they’ll be. My advice is to tell everyone the truth.”

Chuck spun around, vigorously doing the tie in barely restrained shock. “The truth?!” He burst out, shaking his head and pointing out of the window to the masses of people, oblivious people. “Those people will go insane if I tell them the truth. That there’s a high profile crime syndicate out to kill me and possibly a large section of the population with their large-scale attacks. I’ve been briefed by the Major Crimes unit’s director at the FBI. There are dangerous individuals out there who haven’t been properly identified. If I tell all that to the public, America descends into chaos and I lose my position as the President.”

“So… you’ll lie.”

“Politicians lie, Amara.” Chuck snapped, putting his suit jacket on and beginning the last finishing touches to his hair. “I’m a politician. I lie. It’s how people like me get by in this train wreck of a country!”

“And I’m one of the only civilians that aren’t left in the dark.” Amara muttered, dejected. “Fine, Chuck. But know that if this goes downhill, I warned you.” Amara turned on her high heel, leaving the room promptly.

Chuck rubbed his forehead, smoothing out the creases, but he didn’t have time to worry over an argument with his sister. He put on his cuff links, checked that every strand of his hair was perfectly set, then stepped out of his room and met his bodyguards.

“Carlson.” He muttered to one of the guards, who nodded back.

“Mr President.” Carlson replied curtly, looking forward with an earpiece attached to a wire that disappeared down the front of his suit jacket.

Time to lie again.

“Alright, every agent involved has to be on the clock and alert, y’hear?” Director Singer informed all of us. We’d gotten word from our contacts undercover in crime rings that the syndicate dubbed ‘Hell’ was going to make their move on the British consulate. Tonight, at a meeting in the British Embassy. It was Agent Lafitte, Agent Garrison (who had been taken off suspension) and S. Winchester’s job to secure the perimeter.

As for Dean and I, we’d been assigned a full sweep of the building with some MI6 agents on the case to protect the British consulate: Agent Mick Davies and Agent Arthur Ketch. Neither you nor Dean looked forward to be meeting with the Brits, but hey, it was your job.

“You two,” Director Singer gestured between the two of you, “everything needs to go smoothly with these MI6 agents. I don’t want any reports to come back from their supervisor. Winchester, I’m lookin’ at you.” He pointedly stared at Dean, who returned the glare with a deceivingly innocent expression. “They’ll meet you in T minus five minutes.”

Beat.

“What’s everyone waiting for? Go, go, go!”

Everyone split off, and you and Dean were left alone, and he shot you a sideways smile. “So… Sam knows.”

“Yep.” You nodded, sighing. “Andréa knows as well.”

“Damn.” Dean whistled lowly, folding his arms and giving you a sideways look. At least it wasn’t the usual searing looks that had your mind going places. It was more muted, probably from the previous day’s intense release(s) of the day before.

You didn’t know whether to call it a mistake or the best damn night of your life. You had to admit, relinquishing control, letting Dean put you under him and hearing him talk dirty with that deep voice into your ear was heaven and hell on earth. But when he rolled you over and set you above him, you felt almost powerful.

So you didn’t know what to think. All you knew is that you and Dean Winchester in the same room was a recipe for disaster. Because it always ended in hardcore sex.

Or even hardcore making out. Anything with the term hardcore would do.

“You the FBI associates?” Two men walked up to the two of you. One short, and frankly dressed in the least stylish suit you’d seen. He gave you the impression of an extremely off brand Patrick Dempsey. He put his hand out to Dean with a polite smile, eyes scanning the both of you. “Mick Davies, MI6.”

“Dean Winchester, FBI.” Dean replied, shaking Mick’s hand, and with the small flinch in Mick’s expression, Dean had pulled out the ‘hell of a grip’ move due to the inflation in testosterone.

Davies’ associate, however, was taller, and he looked like he permanently had a bad smell under his nose. That is, until he saw you. That was when he put on a rather ‘pretentious dick’ smile and extended his hand to you. “Arthur Ketch.” His eyes had a glint in them that you didn’t trust. “MI6.”

“Nice to meet you.” You said curtly, then cleared your throat. “Our work is to protect the Consulate. Our agents are securing a perimeter as we speak. We need airtight security, and airtight security detail. That means no distractions, and all eyes on any suspicious figures in the room.”

Dean had a feeling the ‘no distractions’ bit was very aimed at him. Knowing you, it probably was.

“We have it covered, darling.” Ketch flashed you what he thought must have been a charming smile but instead looked constipated. “You hang tight.”

“I’m not ‘hanging tight’.” You responded with a hint of frost to your words. Who were you kidding? That frost was as strong as a tequila shot. “I’m doing my job. Do yours as well.” You walked off, adjusting the straps of your FBI vest, going to Director Singer to check if the perimeter was secure.

One thing. Can one thing in your life go right?

“Harvelle, what do you mean by ‘the files are scattered’?” You hissed into your phone, trying to watch the room but also dealing with a problem back at the office.

‘That’s the literal term.’ Jo almost winced as she seemed to be collecting all the files. ‘Somebody broke into the office and searched through.’

“Ok.” You took a breath so you wouldn’t spontaneously combust and fantasise about Dean taking care of you again. “Right. Here’s what you need to do. Sort the files, get Tran to help, and run all the collected files and its contents through our database. If anyone’s taken anything, we know it’s a class one priority. You report to me, tell me what’s missing. Any evidence that’s been tampered with, report to me. Got it?”

‘Yeah.’

“Now, I have a Consulate to watch. Bye.”

‘Bye.’ Harvelle squeaked, and cut the call. You sighed, rubbing your forehead. Nope. Nothing could go right.

Dean walked through the halls, radio up to his mouth as he gave orders and updates on the situation. He passed a large group of people, and as he did, a very discreet movement with made. Using a sharpened pocketknife, with one clean flick of the knife, they cut the side of Dean’s bulletproof vest. If, by chance, he made one wrong move, he was exposed.

While Consulate Sutherland of Britain was shaking hands with the mayor of Washington, Vince Gray, you were approached by a lady asking for the bathroom. She seemed innocent enough, then you saw it. White suit, slicked back salt and pepper hair, raising a pistol.

Asmodeus.

The lady was a distraction.

You quickly cuffed her and handed her over to Agent Lafitte, running, but you didn’t think you’d get there fast enough. “GET DOWN!”

Dean saw your sprinting, and he got there before you, diving to tackle the Consulate and mayor down, but his cut vest ripped, and the bullet that was fired with a deafening bang struck him in the side.

Your steps faltered for a moment, especially as you saw the supposed ‘distraction’ raise a small-duty detonator. You snapped the fastenings on the metal table, flipping it. You heard her make the cry “For Azazel!” before a much smaller blast than the one at the President’s speech ripped through the building, pushing you back and replacing all sense of sound with high, white noise in your ear.

It was deafening, blocking out all sound, but your eyes were in full working order. Asmodeus raised his gun again, and that prompted you to quickly flip the table in front of you just as the bullets flew, making dents in the metal from your side. Reaching for your handgun, you cocked it and flipped the safety, Dean saying something that you couldn’t make out through the ringing in your ears, instead popping up from behind the table to fire a shot before ducking back down.

“Sweetheart.” You could make out from under the ringing, alone with Dean’s hand clutching his side, compressing the blood flow.

You couldn’t hear a thing, looking blank even as you kept shooting at irregular intervals, only able to remain up for a short amount of time which sent your aim off kilter a bit. Didn’t help that Asmodeus was surprisingly agile for a man that seemed to be older.

You fired a quick and precise shot, having regained your bearings a bit, hitting the gun from a diagonal and sending it skidding, which forced Asmodeus to run. You could have run after him. However, as you’d recovered, you nodded to Dean. “Yeah?”

“The mole.” Dean panted, holding his hand to his side. “Probably compromised our position. You need to go get ‘em, sweetheart.” He grunted, unable to move much. You were torn between staying and leaving, but he chuckled. “I can see the cogs. Go. Now.”

Your job’s duty was right there, with the rapidly retreating figure of Asmodeus. But it was also with protecting your colleague, so you took off your jacket, gesturing for Sam to move in on Asmodeus and begin chase, while Benny, Cas, Meg and Ruby headed to secure a tighter perimeter.

Rolling up your sleeves, you took a look at Dean, gently removing his hands and checking for his signs of consciousness. “You’re gonna have to keep talking, ok?” You paused, and then chuckled. “As if you had any trouble with that before.”

The comment got a laugh and a shake of Dean’s head, huffing. “Smartass.” He coughed slightly. “I’ll fuck that attitude out of you when m’healed up.”

“Trust me, counting on it.” You grinned. Even if you weren’t sure if that would happen again. You pressed your hand firmly over the wound, quickly calling for medical backup and checking it over. “No major arteries. But this needs to be checked out, Dean. I’m not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are.” Dean insisted, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re better kickin’ ass instead of checkin’ on me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Double sure?”

“Double yes.”

“Dean.”

“I’m not hearing this.” He lightly shoved your shoulder. “Go on, get.”

“Classy.” You sighed, replacing the clip of your gun and cocking the barrel. But you conceded, sighing. “Fine. Fine. I’m going.”

“Good girl.” Dean murmured, cradling your jaw. “Give ‘em hell, darlin’.” You nodded, then ran after Asmodeus, leaving Dean alone as he saw paramedics pull up outside.

“Son of a bitch.” He grunted, looking at the scarlet on his fingers.

In the meantime, you sprinted down where you thought Asmodeus went, but found nothing. Nothing except a dragged trail of red, which you followed.

The streaks of red on the stone floor ended at feet. Which were obviously connected to legs and then hips and a torso and a... neck. Oh, God.

The guy you'd found was deader than dead. His throat was slit deep and almost surgically, blood dripping steadily into a puddle on the ground.

And over the cleverly painted mural, above the poor dead civilian, were words painted in blood. Hasty and hurried words.

I WARNED YOU.

NEXT UP:

"My baby." Your mom whispered, sitting beside you in your hospital bed, smoothing back your hair. "God, look at you."

You rolled your eyes, prepared for the worst. After all, nothing more or less could be expected of your traditional mother other than and personal comments to your appearance.

"Spit it out." You groaned. "I look like hell." You felt like you'd combust. You'd do it. Fragile chine be damned.

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[rowretro]

꧁ＤＲＵＧＳ ＆ ＭＯＮＥＹ꧂

✧warnings: Yandere themes, toxic themes, drugs, drug addict reader, abuse

♤synopsis: Nishimura Riki. One of the most well feared mafia sons, is filthy rich, He was never really interested in dating, hating the idea of putting all his trust, love, blood sweat and tears into one person. Then he laid his eyes on you, a broken, barely appreciated, drug addict. (Riki's "I love you 3000" cover was playing in my head non stop while writing this- I need him in my life frfr)

✧♤✧♤✧♤𝕯𝕽𝖀𝕲𝕾 & 𝕸𝕺𝕹𝕰𝖄♤✧♤✧♤✧

Get up, get ready, clean up, go to school, get high and arrive at her apartment late as fuck. That was Y/ns daily routine. She's high 90% of the time, filling the massive hole her parents stabbed in her heart, with weed, Whiskey and pills. She had nothing to lose. Her parents always hated her, the reason never clear. So she moved out at 16, and got her own small apartment, a very decent one. Now she's yet to turn 18 in a few weeks, yet she's making bad decisions back and forth

She had fallen in love many times, but she always ended up getting hurt, or being a burden. So she'd turn to her fellow, Jack Daniels and Marijuana for some company. No one ever visited her... so she was beyond surprised when she heard her doorbell ring. High out of her mind, she answered it, not thinking of the potential dangers that may be lurking behind the door.

"Fuck- you got a first aid kit?" He asked, shutting the door and barricading it. Y/n pouted as she started to think "Clearly you're high. I'll go find it myself." He said, as he walked through the clean, plain hallways. Of course he found a brand new, unused first aid kit, however, what he didn't find was any photos of your family or at least parents. No sign of a boyfriend, or anyone else who might live there.

The strong stench of Cannabis filling his nostrils as he groaned. The male treated his own wounds that were barely painful to him. He walked into the living room only to find the girl lying on the ground, high out of her mind. Y/n had fallen asleep on the cold, marble floor despite being so high and having a fever, but she was used to it and she was too lazy to move.

Riki however, found it cute. He found her cute. God she's too cute, so short, so clueless, and so stupid. He really wanted to know what you were like when you were sober, but when examining all the munchies you had randomly scattered in the kitchen, he realized that may be a challenge. So he decided to stay until you wake up.

Never would he have ever found himself cleaning up a girl's home, picking up a girl's underwear and putting it in the laundry basket, carrying a girl to her bed and tucking her in. But I'll tell you one thing. He fucking loved it. He loves taking care of this girl, he only just practically met her but... he really wants her. He's a mafia he can have whatever the fuck he wants.

That's how Y/n found herself in a massive, luxurious mansion. Guards here and there, all her artwork in a big room with all the art supplies an artist could dream for. A perfect yet psychotic man who seems to be on a murder rampage on the daily. It has been 1 month since the male kidnapped her saying that he's in love with her and will even marry her. However the place was missing something she lived her whole life on...

"I CAN'T FUCKING DO IT FUCK SAKE RIKI! GIVE ME MY WEED FOR FUCKSAKE!" She screamed, crying and kicking her bedsheets, yanking at her hair as she screamed. The male slapped her painfully hard, pulling her to himself "FUCKING PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER Y/N!" he yelled as the girl just cried in his embrace "Y-you don't understand ki... it's hard! it hurts, I need them I really do- I'm fucking weak I can't- sobriety is so fucking overrated! please- im begging you please!" She cried as the male just hugged her closely.

With drawl is extremely hard, and for a teenager to have to go through something like that, without her parents to support her is extremely hard. But someone really loves her, a man who'd kill for her and is even willing to die for her. So she will put through it. Fighting with every last bit of energy she has. Riki would keep an eye on her when she does have alcohol, making sure she stays within a limit. He let her buy a vape, just to help her lay off of the drugs.

He knew that all this was all worth it. because when the struggle is over, Y/n will realize that he truly loves her, and no matter what crazy shit he does, she will always run into his arms, and yearn for his touch. "I love you Ki... I'm glad you kidnapped me you know?... I've never been love like this before..." She admitted, her head pressed against his chest, as her body was shielded by his loving arms.

Y/n melted in his embrace, closing her eyes with a smile when she felt his perfect, plush lips on her forehead. Those lips, the only drug she's addicted to and will never let herself get over. "I love you too my darling..." he said with a smile, cradling her in his arms, his head rested against hers, theirs eyes closed as they sat before the fireplace, comforted by the relaxing sounds of their heartbeats.

✧♤✧♤✧♤𝕯𝕽𝖀𝕲𝕾 & 𝕸𝕺𝕹𝕰𝖄♤✧♤✧♤✧

[rebelliousstories]

Old Wound

Relationship: Cooper Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Death, Brief Strong Language

Word Count: 1,167

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: She was supposed to be dead. He held her while she died in his arms. How is she here?

“You ever think about what’s gonna happen when we’re dead, cowpoke?” She asked.

It was a cool night, probably winter now if Cooper was remembering right. It had been so long since he felt a proper winter that he was not sure after all these years. He turned his head to the woman that was resting on his chest as they huddled around a fire to keep away the chill.

“You on drugs or somethin’?” Cooper’s serious tone made the woman burst out with laughter. She pushed herself up so that she was level with his face to look into his beautiful ocean blue eyes.

“No but, you’ve survived centuries. I may get a few decades if I’m lucky. I was just wondering if you’ve ever thought about what’ll happen when we die.” Her repeated question did not even make The Ghoul miss a beat.

“We’re gonna become food for someone or somethin’ else. That’s what’s gonna happen.” He stated, trying to get the woman to lay back down.

“I meant the afterlife, baby. Like do you think that there’s the pearly gates, or just nothingness?” She laid back down and let the man run his ungloved hand over her head, and through her hair.

“I hope there’s an afterlife, but if there is anything these last couple centuries have taught me is that God is cruel. So whatever is waiting for us, we take it as it comes.” Howard pressed a kiss in the wake of his hand and felt the woman relax into him. That answer seemed to pacify her as they settled in for the night and went to bed.

If only he could ask her what was waiting for them on the other side of death’s embrace. It had only been a couple weeks and the sting was still fresh, but you know cowpokes. They take it as it comes. Cooper had been traveling alone this entire time with a chip on his shoulder, and saddened eyes.

Walking into Filly, there was a vacancy in his pouch where his chems would be. The thought alone made him want to shoot something. She always got his chems for him because they would give the pretty girl a discount, but the ghoul behind her would get nothing. He had not needed to get his own since she began traveling with him a couple of years ago.

A sign on the door pointed him to where he needed to go. His spurs clinked against the wooden floors as he went inside the little apothecary. There was a bell that he ringed, and soon a man stepped out from behind a curtain.

“Sixty chems.” The Ghoul left no room for small talk, and set the necessary caps on the counter between them. Without a word, the man disappeared and retrieved the items for the mutant. Each man pocketed their own items and said nothing as they turned to go back to what they were doing before.

As soon as Cooper stepped out, gasps and shouts were heard through the downtown area. At first he thought it was him; ghouls were not exactly welcomed in many parts, especially him. But it was not. A woman in distressed clothing was walking around and looking for someone or something with desperation in her eyes. Looking at her from underneath the lip of his hat, The Ghoul thought that her clothing was remarkably familiar.

“Get lost, Ghoul. You ain’t welcome round here.” One of the shopkeepers shouted at the woman, who was clearly very lost. She said nothing as she kept looking around and did not even respond to the man. However she did respond when someone threw something at her. Trying to protect herself, she reached for something on her hip, only for that object to not be there. It was not until she turned around the Cooper felt his breath catch and his heart stop.

It was her. His little spitfire girl was right in front of him. There was no way though. She had bled out in his arms. She died in his arms. He felt the last breath leave her body, and her pulse stop. And yet, here she was. Standing in front of him as if nothing had happened. The sound of a gun cocking caught his attention, as well as the end of a barrel trained on the woman. In an instant, Howard shot the assailant first before he had time to harm the woman. She did not flinch, but rather calmly looked to where he stood and gasped out his name in a hushed whisper.

Cooper marched right up to her, and observed. Not a hair was different from the last time he had seen her. He did not even allow for another moment to pass as he grabbed her arm and began to drag her from the market. Once they were in a quiet part, he let go and could not hold his tongue.

“Who the hell are you? Why are you wearin’ her clothes?” Cooper demanded, holding his gun out to point at the woman.

“What- what are you talking about. Coop, it’s me. This isn’t funny.” She pleaded, feeling afraid as this was the first time in years that she had been at the end of his gun.

“Prove it,” he breathed, “what did you tell me you hoped was waiting for us in death?”

“I never told you.” She whispered. “But you told me that no matter what, we cowpokes take it as it comes, so it didn’t matter. Please Coop. Just put the gun down.”

With a deep breath in and out, he did as she asked. Cooper rushed forward and took in another deep breath, this time with the scent of her. But there was something off about her scent. It smelt much more… ghoulish. Pulling away, he saw her same eyes staring back at him. Those same eyes that he begged to open just one more time a few weeks ago.

“How?” Cooper asked, running his hands everywhere he could.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I am, or what happened that I came back. All I know is that one minute I’m in your arms, and the next I’m picking myself up off the ground and all alone.” She repeated the process of running her hands everywhere she could as her lover was doing to her.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I think you’re a little like me. Who the hell knows with all the radiation bullshit.” He whispered, chuckling lightly at the face she pulled when he proposed his theory.

“I guess there are worse things to be. I’m just glad I found you again.” Cooper was brought into a tight embrace, as she buried her face into his chest and breathed in his scent.

“Me too, darlin’. Me too.” He whispered back, pressing kisses to her hair as he was glad to just hold her in his arms again.

[persevereforahappyending]

Luck Runs Out |Part 9|

Pairing: Mabel x Reader

Summary: When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 2.9k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Epilogue

Every inch of your body ached, if a part of you wasn’t bleeding it was bruised. Your boss was kind enough not to leave any broken bones. Though you knew that wasn’t for your benefit, you couldn’t exactly go get him his drugs if you had broken bones or were bleeding out. You even had the honor of him beating the crap out of you himself, usually he had one of his lackeys do the beating, he preferred not to get his hands dirty, but it seemed you were special.

You stood there giving Mabel what was surely a bloody smile, leaning against the doorframe to support your weight. Just because he didn’t break any of your bones didn’t mean he made it easy for you to walk. He didn’t even provide you a ride, he made you walk all the way to her apartment. You dragged yourself up the steps to her apartment and just slumped against the door, barely having the energy to even knock on the door. On the bright side the pain from your gunshot wound wasn’t as prominent now, you barely remembered it was there, except for when you moved your arm.

Mabel just stood in the doorway, tear filled eyes and hands covering her mouth. She was acting like she’d seen a ghost; you didn’t think you looked that bad, but you hadn’t had time to check yourself in a mirror yet. Before you knew it Mabel flung herself at you, causing you to groan as you stumbled back, you tried grabbing the doorframe so the both of you didn’t tumble to the floor. For such a little person the girl really packed a punch, but you couldn’t complain, her embrace felt amazing through all the pain.

“I’m mad at you,” she mumbled into your shirt.

“I know,” you mumbled, relaxing into the hug. You wrapped your good arm around her, tugging her closer.

“How are you here?” She pulled back just enough to look up at you. “What happened?”

You sighed, knowing you’d have to explain yourself and everything that happened. “May I come in first?” You asked, tilting your head with a small smile. You weren’t sure if you were capable of having this conversation while standing, it felt like your legs were going to give out any second.

As an answer Mabel tugged you into the apartment by your hoodie, her hoodie. You rested your good arm around her as you left the doorframe, placing most of your weight on her. Mabel was a lot stronger than she looked, she only stumbled when she tried to maneuver you around the furniture. You let out a groan as she tried to help guide you onto her bed. Charlie shot up from the couch, looking around, his eyes going wide when they landed on you.

“Holy shit,” Charlie yelled, jumping to his feet, and nearly tripping over the coffee table as he ran across the room. “How are you alive? How are you here? What happened?”

You opened your mouth to answer these questions when Mabel rested a hand against your cheek. Your eyes drifted from Charlie down to her, as she stared at your face, gently running a thumb over one of your bruises. She slowly pulled down your hood, turning your face in her hands to get a good look at the extent of your injuries. Your mouth hung partially open, unable to answer Charlie as you got lost in Mabel’s warm brown eyes, you couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at you with so much care and worry, the last time someone treated you so gently.

“Guess I’ll check on you later,” Charlie mumbled, clearly reading the room. “Call if you need anything.” You heard him shuffling until finally you heard the door close behind him.

Mabel let go of your chin before making her way to the bathroom. You stayed on the bed, watching as disappeared and your eyes didn’t leave the doorway until she came back out. She carried a small white container, sitting down next to you again. You looked down, following her hands to see her pulling out cotton balls and other materials to help clean up your wounds.

The two of you sat in complete silence as Mabel got to work. She got up, getting a wet washcloth before gently wiping away the dried blood on your face. You watched her scrunched up brow as she focused on wiping away the blood under your nose and off your busted lip. You couldn’t get a read on her, she was taking care of you which was a good sign, but you knew she was already mad and what you still had to tell her was only going to make her more furious. She still looked so cute, all focused and angry.

You flinched, letting out a hiss, and trying to wince away as she rubbed the washcloth near the cut above your eye. She just gripped you by the chin again, gently, yet forcefully, making your head stay in place until she was done. When all your cuts were cleaned, she used her finger to dab ointment on them, making sure they wouldn’t get infected.

“You’re probably going to have a black eye,” Mabel said. She turned your head from side to side, getting a look at her work. “Probably two.”

“Hardly the least of my worries,” you rasped out, letting out a humorless chuckle.

“Shirt off,” she ordered, ignoring your morbid sense of humor. Your eyes widened and you leaned just a little bit further away from her. She only rolled her eyes, wiping her hands with the rag before getting up to toss it into the sink, grabbing the rest of the trash on her way.

“Stop being a baby,” she said, coming back to stand in front of you. You looked up at her as she stared down at you, her arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised. “I’ve already seen you without a shirt, remember?” You nodded, blushing as you remembered, of course she’d seen you without a shirt before, she helped you when you got shot and then had been helping you clean the wound. “Shirt off, now.”

You moved quickly, slipping off the hoodie first. You tried to pull your shirt off in one swift motion but groaned as your injured shoulder moved, it was still too early to be moving with a gunshot wound that was only about a week old now. Mabel stepped closer, helping pull the shirt off your head as you kept your injured arm stable. Mabel quickly stepped back, her eyes scanning over your body. You turned away, looking anywhere but her, you knew she was assessing your other injuries, but you couldn’t help but be self-conscious.

“Lie back,” she said softly.

Without a word you did as she asked, laying down on her bed, using your good arm to prop your head up so you could watch her work. You couldn’t see all the injuries because of the angle you were at, but your ribs were pretty much all black and blue, red patches here and there. They might not have broken your bones, but you wouldn’t have been surprised if you ended up with bruised or fractured ribs. Seeing what little you could see you weren’t surprised that you nearly collapsed on your way to Mabel’s apartment and that you could barely stand without someone or something supporting you.

“I’m going to get ice,” she mumbled.

The next thing you knew she was gone, grabbing ice from the freezer. She came back with a bag filled with ice, wrapped in a cloth. She moved to place the ice on your ribs when she stopped to look at you, the ice hovering over your injuries. You gave her a small nod, closing your eyes as you anticipated the brief pressure of something touching your injuries. You sucked in a breath at feeling the ice placed on you before quickly relaxing.

“How’s that?” She whispered.

“Better,” you rasped out, looking down at her. “Thank you.”

“This seems to be our thing.” She gave you a sad smile as she shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. “You getting injured and me patching you up.”

“It’ll be over soon.”

Mabel looked down at her hands. It was hard to see from your position, but it looked like her hands were bunched up into fists. “What happened?” She mumbled. It was barely above a whisper, if it weren’t just the two of you in the room you surely would have missed it.

“I cleaned up my mess,” you whispered back.

“What did you do?” Her voice cracked. When she turned to look at you, you could see the unshed tears already formed in her eyes, even through the dark.

“I made a deal.”

“These kind of people don’t make deals. Not without a price.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You, Charlie, the others, you’ll all be safe after this.” You were trying to keep your tone neutral, not that it mattered since you felt your own eyes start to well up.

“But at the cost of your life?” She shot to her feet, looking down as a few tears escaped, which she quickly wiped away.

“It was the only way.” Mabel crossed her arms, unable to look at you anymore. “This is my mess and if I didn’t do something they would have killed Charlie and the others.”

“This isn’t fair,” her voice broke as she looked at you again, her tears flowing freely now.

“I know,” you admitted. “I’m sorry.”

Mabel didn’t say anything else, she stormed off to the bathroom. You didn’t see her again until she came back to throw out the melted ice. She was going to bring you more, but it was getting late, and you decided it wasn’t worth it. You wanted to get a few hours of sleep on your last night alive. Mabel sat at the edge of the bed; you could just make out her profile in the dark.

“What kind of deal did you make?” She whispered, not bothering to turn to look at you.

“I told them I would take them to their drugs,” you whispered back, your eyes never leaving her. “With the condition that they let the others go.”

“What makes you think they won’t turn around and kill them?” She looked in your direction, you knew she was staring right at you, but you couldn’t see her facial expression through the dark.

“They might,” you admitted.

“So why even make the deal?”

“It saved them for now.” Your eyes darted around trying to find hers through the dark. “I tried to convince my boss that his drugs would be gone forever if it weren’t for them. That they saved me and now he had the chance at getting the shipment back.”

You could just barely make out movement. It seemed like Mabel was nodding her head. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” you sighed, the fact that this was probably your last night alive plagued your mind. “I told them I needed to do something first. They almost didn’t agree but said they’d kill everyone if I didn’t return to the docks tomorrow on time.”

“What did you have to do?”

“Say goodbye,” you whispered. You could swear you heard a sniffle, but you couldn’t be sure. “I felt like I owed you that much.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

You wanted to deny that, but you knew Mabel wouldn’t hear any of it. The truth was you owed her so much more than just a goodbye, a goodbye was literally the very least you could do. You didn’t think Mabel realized how much she did for you, besides just quite literally saving your life.

“Just rest,” she whispered. She hesitantly reached out, resting her hand on your knee, giving it a comforting rub.

You did as asked, snuggling further into her bed. You were going to ask if she wanted you to move to the couch, but she was already slipping into bed beside you. You froze, in that moment you were wide awake, you didn’t question her though. The only time you had technically shared a bed with her was when you were comforting her the day before. You weren’t sure if that really counted, she was crying, you were holding her, and eventually she passed out in your arms, you just continued to hold her until you decided to sneak out.

You didn’t intend to say anything, if she was okay with sharing a bed again then you were to. You enjoyed her presence and if this was your last night on earth then there was nothing you wanted more than to be next to her until the last second. You relaxed again, shifting your aching body until the softness of the mattress overtook the pain.

You glanced at Mabel, seeing her turned away from you. You stared back up at the ceiling, closing your eyes to finally try and get some sleep. Not even a minute later you felt the bed shift, the sound of Mabel silently wiggling closer filled the quiet apartment. Without opening your eyes, you too shifted a little closer to her, though you were a little less subtle considering your entire body seemed to hurt with every movement still. You and Mabel weren’t touching but you could feel her warmth.

The alarm on your phone went off, you groaned, refusing to open your eyes as you smacked around trying to shut off the alarm. When you finally hit the alarm, you let out a long sigh, you knew when you opened your eyes you’d have to get up, you’d have to make your way to the dock, then in a few hours you’d probably be dead. You turned your head, as you opened your eyes, through your still sleepy vision you caught sight of Mabel.

You blinked away the sleep, Mabel becoming clearer as the seconds passed. At some point in the night, she had rolled over and was now facing you. The both of you had also seemed to move closer to each other, that you were now touching. Mabel had managed to have her head resting on your good shoulder and somehow during the night your good arm ended up wrapped around her.

You hated to disturb the peace, but you knew you had to get moving, you couldn’t be late. You gently rubbed up and down Mabel’s arm. “Hey,” you whispered, your voice raspy from sleep. Mabel only hummed in response. “It’s time for me to go.”

Mabel slowly opened her eyes, looking down and back up at you as if realizing she was in a different position than when she went to sleep. Mabel didn’t pull away though she just let out a sigh, a pout appearing on her lips. Mabel laid her head back down on your shoulder, somehow ending up even closer to you. You sighed, continuing to run your hand up and down her arm, you could probably get away with a few more minutes of peace.

After a few minutes you reluctantly got up. Mabel got up as well when she saw you struggling to slip your shirt back on. She grabbed one side of the shirt and guided your arm into the correct hole. You smiled, silently thanking her for her help. You looked around, your eyes landing on the copy of The Odyssey Mabel had gotten you.

You picked it up before turning to Mabel. You gripped the book tight as you held it out to her. “Take care of this for me, yeah?” you asked. Mabel nodded, taking the book from you.

The two of you stood by the front door. Mabel reached up, cupping your face, turning your head slightly from side to side. “How do I look?” you asked, smiling awkwardly at her. It didn’t really matter how you looked; you were going to be dead soon anyway.

“Still cute if you ask me,” Mabel whispered. Your smile turned brighter at her words, if it was your last day on earth then you were happy, Mabel thought you were cute, considering when you first laid eyes on her you thought she was a goddess.

Your hand rested on the doorknob as you stared into Mabel’s dark brown eyes. Your eyes flicked down to her lips, hers doing the same. You both leaned in, but instead of going all the way you stopped yourself, resting your forehead against hers. You felt your nose brush against hers, you reached up, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. Mabel didn’t move, she didn’t try to complete the kiss, she just stayed there, her hand resting on your hip as her fingers played with the fabric of your shirt.

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t kiss her. It didn’t feel right to have your first kiss with her only to leave and go get yourself killed. “Thank you,” you whispered one last time.

You pulled away, giving her one last look, seeing a tear escape from one of her eyes. You didn’t realize your own eyes had begun to fill with tears until your vision started to blur. You quickly blinked them away, not taking your eyes off her as you turned the doorknob and stepped out into the hall. You sniffled, shaking your head as you made your way out of the comfort of Mabel’s apartment and into the early morning darkness, walking to your guaranteed demise.

[wraithchic]

Hii! Can i request rosa diaz x fem doctor reader wherein they are dating and one day reader suddenly sees rosa in the hospital (confined due to an injury during a chase) and the rest is up to u!!

Heyy. Thanks for being my first request!

Anyways, I'm not used to established relationships so this might be kind of weird but I hope you enjoy it.

EHR=Electronic Health Record

Healing Touch

Ship: Rosa Díaz x doctor!reader

Wordcount: 538

Working in the ER is not an easy job; it’s a whirlwind of long shifts, high pressure, and barely any breaks. The relentless pace can be exhausting, and the emotional toll can sometimes be overwhelming. Yet, despite the challenges, it fulfills me in ways I could never have imagined. Each day, I am reminded of why I chose this path.

Being a doctor was my lifelong dream. From a young age, I knew I wanted to dedicate my life to helping others. The journey to get here was long and arduous, filled with years of rigorous study, sleepless nights, and countless sacrifices. But every moment was worth it. Being an emergency pediatrician is all I ever wanted.

Now I’m standing in the middle of the ER on a Friday night. Fridays are always the busiest nights. The rooms are filled with victims of road accidents, drunks, sick kids and junkies trying to get some prescription drugs.

I hear my name being paged, in the busy shifts I usually help with older patients, even if that’s not my specialty. Alex, one of the nurses, filled me in in the situation: a group of police officers ambushed a drug deal and they were met with a barrage of gunfire. Chaos erupted, and several officers were injured.

My heart starts to beat faster and I suddenly feel nauseous. My girlfriend, Rosa, didn’t answer my last two calls and now it makes sense, she may be injured. So, I check the EHR, there I find her: Rosa Díaz | Room 765 |Bullet Wound

A tear threatens to fall from my eyes as I struggle to keep my emotions in check. The feeling of powerlessness weighs heavily on my shoulders, but I know I need to remain professional. I force myself to focus on my duties, pacing around the rooms, checking on each patient, and tending to their needs with as much care and attention as I can muster. The busywork helps to distract me, but the knot in my stomach only tightens as I approach Room 765.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. This is the room I've been dreading, the one that holds the person who means the most to me. Summoning all my courage, I finally open the door and step inside.

There I find her, she had bandages around her torso, she lifts herself from the stretcher and winces from the pain. I walk faster to be by her side.

- “Are you okay? I mean, how do you feel?” – I brush her cheek lightly with the back of my hand.

- “Yeah, yeah. I just have one extra hole on my body.” – She chuckles but I don’t find it particularly humorous.

- “Glad to see the wound is purely physical, then.” – I smile.

-” Well Ms. Doctor, know that you mention it. I there’s a light pain on my lips, and I think a kiss would make me feel better.” – I smile wider and inch closer to her face.

- “Oh, Officer Díaz, that would be highly unprofessional and unethical on my part bec…” – That’s as far as I got on my ironically professional speech before Rosa graved my neck and connected our lips.

[mj-iza-writer]

Warning: swear words used.

The team burst through Caretaker's office carrying something wrapped in blankets.

"Geesh, I don't need a heartattack you know", Caretaker held his chest, "what is that?"

"Not a what, a who", Leader laid the blob down carefully.

Caretaker jumped up quickly, "wh-who did we lose?"

"I don't know, it's not a teammate, but I couldn't leave them there. I didn't know if we could help them, but at least they won't die alone", Leader sighed, "th... they're in bad shape, I'm afraid."

The team and Caretaker started peeling away the blankets. The farther in they were, the more blood gushed out from whoever was in the cocoon.

Caretaker frowned when they finally found the victim.

Leader watched, "I'm sorry Caretaker, I feel like I bring the hardest projects to you."

Caretaker breathed a heavy sigh, "it's okay, um, I will try my best. I'll let you know what happens within an hour or so. Please give me some space to work."

When the team left, Caretaker peeled away a piece of tattered clothing from the person's ribs.

"You son of a bitch", Caretaker sighed, "I had a feeling this was your handiwork", he gently rubbed his finger along an old scar carved into their skin.

Leader came by a bit later to see how it was going.

"Hey Caretaker", Leader whispered as they closed the door, "how is it going? I know I'm early, I've been nervously pacing for the last forty-five minutes though. "

"They're still alive if that's what you're wondering", Caretaker sighed, "they're a fighter, I'll be monitoring them through the night, if they make it to morning I think they have a good chance of recovery."

Leader watched as Caretaker gently sponged away dried blood from the victims body.

"You are always so gentle, no matter what you are doing. You can see the care you put into your work", Leader sighed, "that's why I brought them. I figured you could either save them or give them comfort before they passed."

The victim whimpered a little at the last words Leader said.

"Please don't talk about them dying, it's a scary subject", Caretaker gently rested the person's arm on the table, then carefully moved to another part to begin cleaning, "you know of some of my history, and I had to heal my own wounds. When you know the pain first hand, you work hard to ensure you don't cause anymore."

Leader nodded, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be saying such negative things. We need to think positively", Leader gave a gentle smile.

"I'm giving them pain medication and something to help them rest", Caretaker pulled out some viles, "if you could wait for a bit, we need to talk."

"Yes of course", Leader sat down, "hand me that sponge. I'll start cleaning them up over here."

Leader stroked the sponge along the victims skin, they tried as hard as possible to be gentle.

The victim squirmed a little when Leader pressed a little to firmly.

"I'm so sorry", Leader quickly lifted their hands away.

Caretaker reached his hand over.

Leader started to give them the sponge back.

Caretaker gently grabbed Leader's wrist, "the idea is to gently remove the looser grime and blood", he guided Leader's hand down and showed how much pressure to add, "we may have to do several sponge baths before they start looking clean, and wait for them to be strong enough to do a full bath. This first sponge bath just helps feel better. You can also use this time to inspect the body better."

Leader nodded as Caretaker guided their hand along the victims body.

"Do we have a name yet", Leader took the sponge and eyed the victim, who seemed to be taking to the drugs nicely.

"They whispered it, I believe it's Whumpee", Caretaker took the dirty water to replace it, "I need to talk to you though. We have a problem."

Leader watched as Caretaker revealed the carved scar on Whumpee.

"Is that?" Leader whispered and quickly looked around.

Caretaker lifted their shirt to reveal they had the same scar etched into their rib.

"It's their calling card", Caretaker sighed and lowered his and Whumpee's shirt, "I knew right when I saw Whumpee that this was their handiwork. That asshole is back."

Leader frowned and looked at Whumpee, "I know you don't like talking about your past, and I respect that."

Caretaker nodded.

"What do we do now?", Leader frowned.

"We first help this one. This is a fresh victim. They only strike once a month. They've probably had this one for a week or two and had their fun, then left them. They will begin hunting for the next one soon. Who knows how many victims there have been before Whumpee."

Leader nodded.

"They are easier to hunt when they're hunting. They go into hiding with their prey", Caretaker explained.

"First", Whumpee mumbled quietly.

"What was that Whumpee?", Caretaker got down near them to hear.

"I... was.... the fir...st.... mmm...victim", Whumpee groaned weakly.

Leader nodded, "we've fought them before. We know what to do now. Caretaker, we will start looking for them. Please update me and let me know how Whumpee is doing in the morning. We are heading out now, we don't want to chance them starting early and taking someone else."

Leader exchanged a few more plans with Caretaker. They gently rubbed Whumpee's arm, then started to leave.

"Please be careful", Caretaker called after them, "all of you."

"Wh..at... if.... th-they... don't make it?", Whumpee gave a concerned look.

"We can't think like that", Caretaker frowned, "you and I both know what they have done to us. Leader and the team have faced them before they know what to do to stop them."

Whumpee weakly nodded.

"Let's get you cleaned up a little more, then we can have you take a nap", Caretaker sighed, "this will be a long night for everyone."

The next morning Caretaker called Leader.

"This is Leader, go ahead", they almost seemed out of breath.

"It's Caretaker... what's going on?"

"We found them... we have been fighting most of the morning", Leader answered, "how is Whumpee?"

"This isn't a good time.... I'll call back", Caretaker frowned, "I need you to be paying attention. That asshole is slippery."

"No its fine, we are almost done. How is Whumpee, you'll give me a boost of energy", Leader replied.

"It was a long night, but Whumpee made it. I think they will be just fine", Caretaker smiled, "please be careful, and kill them this time."

"Trust me, I plan on it", Leader chuckled.

Caretaker turned to Whumpee after they hung up.

"They are fighting them right now.. they seem to be winning", Caretaker smiled.

"Tha-thank... goodness", Whumpee whispered, "I... hope.... they're.... safe."

"Me too", Caretaker reached for a towel, "let's get a little more off of you while we wait."

Whumpee nodded.

After a few minutes Whumpee fell asleep again.

Leader came into the room hours later with the team.

"They're dead", Leader announced, "I made sure of it this time."

Caretaker looked over the team.

"Whoever has injuries line up", Caretaker watched as several lined up.

Leader went and sat on a chair next to Whumpee.

"I'll wait until they are taken care of, I just need some bandages and maybe some stitches", Leader smiled as they saw Whumpee looking at them.

"Tha-thankyou... for... saving... me, and... anyone... else...they could... have gotten", Whumpee whispered with tears in their eyes.

"You're welcome, I'm happy we found you, and brought you here. This is your family and home now.... at least if you want it to be."

Whumpee nodded again, "thankyou."

Caretaker glanced up at Leader and Whumpee while they worked on one of the teammates.

"Thank goodness", Caretaker mumbled under their breath, 'this is a better outcome than what I was dreading', they thought to themself.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @sunglasses-in-the-bentley

[heyyypuddin]

Withering Petal (Armando x OC) Bad Boys Chapter 8

⚠️Trigger Warning ⚠️

This chapter does contain mentions of violence and strong language as well as horrendous crimes. Please heed if you’re sensitive to mentions of those.

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

Chapter 8 

The next few days fly by like a breeze, nothing exciting happening. Amora’s been working on another big art project for a different client, so she’s been keeping to her office, and Armando has been basically living in her home gym. 

Every time she goes to see what the fugitive is up to, she finds him in there working away. Sometimes she goes sneaking peeks whenever he’s shirtless or making rather loud grunts, thinking she was being sneaky, but unbeknownst to her, he sees her every time. 

The week flew into the next, and Amora was in the room with Armando checking over his wounds. 

““You’re healing pretty well, which is great to see they were looking real nasty when you first came,” she inspected his shoulder, moving over to his side before backing up to change out the bandages. 

He hummed in response, comfortable in the silence they usually have while being in each other's presence. He fixed his position as she started putting on the bandages, scanning over her. He noticed she changed her nails to a light pink with clear textured designs, her toes matching the color. 

‘How cute’ he thought; he always found it so cute how she kept up with herself. It reminded him of his mother; she never liked going anywhere underdressed; she even found it disrespectful when women would come near her not dressed well.

He closed his eyes, feeling an ache from the thought of his mother. It made him want to run away. Even with everything she's done, he missed her. She was the only physical parental figure he had growing up, and even then, he barely got to see her. Another ache hit him, and he looked for a way to avoid the uprooting emotions. 

“Why is Victor looking for you? You mentioned it a couple times but never explained it.” came the question. It’s been bothering him for a while, but he never spoke on it, and it helped take the spotlight of his memories stabbing at him.

Amora's hands stilled on the second wound she was working on and she let out a sigh. Finishing what she was doing, she sat next to him. Looking at him with sad eyes, part of him felt bad for brining that look to her face, but he knew he wanted answers. 

“After my parents' murder, he took me with his cartel. "He-he” she stuttered, taking a few shaky breaths before continuing. 

“I was under his control for 12 years before escaping 4 years ago.”

“mierda” 

“Yeah, tough, right?” she breathed out in an empty chuckle. 

”Obviously people know that he’s a drug lord and was a mercenary, but most people don’t know that he was also involved in human trafficking.” 

This really caught Armando’s attention, his eyes enraged at the assumptions going through his head.

“Are you saying that you were….?” he trailed off, not really wanting to say the words. He may have killed people and dealt drugs, but he never put women in harm's way. In fact, in the Aretas Cartel, all the men respected the women highly, especially when Isabel Aretas was the leader; they had no choice, and if they thought differently... well, his mother would show them why they called her “La Bruja.”

Amora shook her head quickly

“So... he did it differently. Victor Ortiz is a very possessive man; he would make deals with these men and would trade the women, but before the other party could get too far, he would have them killed and bring the girls back. He always made it seem like it wasn’t from his group so that he could keep getting deals.” 

She took a deep breath in, glancing at Armando, seeing him fully locked in. She breathed out, feeling her hands begin to shake, clasping them tighter. Seeing her shake, Armando reached out, covering her hands with his.

""Listen, if you don’t want to continue, you don’t have o." She shook her head in reassurance. 

“Thank you, I’m okay; it’s just—I'm okay. Uhm, so, for me, I was favored by Victor ever since I was little. I’m not too sure why, but wherever he went, he made sure I was there by his side. He traded me a few times but mainly only did them as punishment; he would do it with the vilest men. Thankfully, before they could really touch me and do horrendous things, he would ‘‘Save me,” she scoffed at the thought.

“I won’t lie, I had it better than most women there. I tried to use my advantage by helping women escape, but often we were caught, and he would either trade them or kill the women in front of me. Sometimes he would." Her voice hitched, taking a higher pitch, trying to get the words out but was choking up. 

“S-sometimes he would--I'm sorry.” 

“No, its okay." She felt Armando’s hands caressing her, trying to bring comfort, but she knew she didn’t deserve it, not from all the horrendous things she did. 

Taking a deep breath, she rushed the words out.

“Sometimes he would even force me to pull the trigger or choose who would die,”

she choked out, her eyes turning red from the tears streaming out of her eyes, remembering times when victors' hands were gripping hers painfully around the gun, her trying to struggle out of his grip aiming at different women, some she got close to, but it was futile.

“Eventually I gave up on trying to help, and I only focused on myself. I tried three times, and after the fourth time, I finally escaped and found myself in Miami City. Sometimes I felt like he allowed me to escape; it felt almost easy, and I was right.”

She softly pulled her hands away from Armando, wiping the tears away from her face.

“After being away from him for a year, I tried to live a normal life; I felt it was long enough, and I was finally free. I met this guy, and he was so sweet, seeming so protective and genuine. We dated for about a year and a half, but it turns out he was working with Victor. He promised him two million in return for me,” she spitted out, feeling herself become angry over the hurt and betrayal on the day she found out. 

~~~~~~~~~Flashback~~~~~~

Amora came bouncing in the apartment with a happy smile on her face after coming back from a self-care day of getting a message, her hair and nails done. She couldn't wait to show Jay her new hairstyle. She decided for the first time to get knotless braids in a honey blonde color. 

“Baaaaaaabe, I’m hoooome." She called out, putting her purse on the couch, taking off her sandals, and walking through the apartment going to the bedroom. 

She found the man she was looking for, lying on the bed in nothing but black basketball shorts, her eyes scanning over his tall, dark brown body, and up to his face, his sharp jaw clenched shut, one hand twisting his curls and the other holding up his phone, texting, looking too serious. 

She got an idea in her mind and quickly jumped on the bed, crawling over his legs, straggling him, and snatched his phone, putting it up above his head, giving a teasing smile. 

“Notice anythi—.”

A yelp ripped from her throat at being pushed roughly off his lap and onto the floor, immediately snatching the phone back out of her hand.

“What the fuck you think you doing, Amora?” she cowered into the floor out of shock and fear at his outburst. She tried to play it off by laughing even though she was petrified by that reaction. He's never had a reaction like that with her, ever.

"Geez, what got you so serious? I was only trying to show you my hair,” she told him, getting off of the floor and going to the far opposite edge of the bed, trying to create as much distance from the raging man as possible. 

She watched him tower over her, glaring with seething black eyes, his pierced nose gleaming from his flaring nostrils. She felt as if she was in a ring with a raging bull charging right at her wanting blood. 

“Don't do that shit again,” he threatened harshly before storming out of the room, slamming the door. She flinched at the sound and blinked at the door, eyes wide, breathing quickly, trying to hold back the tears pricking at her eyes. 

Her breathing got quicker and choppier as she started hyperventilating at that familiar, dreadful feeling from when she was trapped. She stayed at the same spot, not following him, afraid of what might happen if she did. 

A couple of days past, Amora kept her distance from him, thinking he was going to apologize for his behavior, but he never did.

Eventually she rolled it off, thinking maybe he was just having a really bad day and she made it worse; ‘it was childish of me’, she thought, and decided to apologize to him for her actions, thinking it was going to get better. 

Except it didn't; in the blink of an eye, he changed. He was getting ruder, to her being more evasive. Yelling and cussing at her, sometimes she thought he was even going to hit her.

“Maybe he found someone else,” she thought, and the thought of that crushed her. ”Did I do something wrong? How could I fix it?” Some of the thoughts were going through her, but she continued on pretending she wasn’t going in pain. 

It wasn’t until one night that he fell asleep while they were watching a movie that she got a chance to see what was going on. 

He left his phone unlocked. 

Looking quickly at the phone and back to Jay, she whispered his name, seeing if he would wake up. 

“Jay, hey Jay." She even poked him, but he didn’t stir. So, she lightly reached out, picking up his phone, trying to be as still as possible, and when it reached her, she looked at him and saw he was still sleeping. 

She gave a sigh of relief and went to open up his messages, feeling that relief being ripped and replaced with a fear so tight it was like time froze. 

Victor Ortiz

Her shaking thumb hovered over the name before tapping on it to show the recent messages. 

Sunday around 8 p.m., you'll have her—Jay. 

Will you have my money? - Jay 

Are you questioning me? - Victor

No sir- Jay

Everything felt slow, her vision going blurry. She was going to throw up. She dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom, throwing up everything she ate that day. After a last hurl, she slid back on the wall, shaking. Everything felt cold but hot. Feeling pain in her throat, making it harder for her to breathe, she ended up lying on the floor, curling into a fetal position, when her breath finally rushed out of her, but streams of tears took its place. 

She sat there for maybe 4 hours before getting up, legs shaking but a determined look on her face with a plan of getting out before she came face with that devil. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Flash back end~~~~~~~~~

Coming back out of her memories, Amora felt herself start to shatter, one crack at a time, until it all came bursting out like a dam.

She felt herself getting picked up and freaked out.

“It’s okay, Amor. I got you. I’m not going to do anything.”

When Armando's warm voice was brushing over her ear, she felt herself get placed in a warm lap, feeling strong arms wrap around her, his head nuzzling in the crook of her neck. 

She allowed herself to remain still in comfort, unsure of what to do, but the more he rubbed her back, the more she relaxed, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. Squeezing her eyes shut and practically slapping the tears off her face, she sucked her teeth, wanting to control herself so that she could finish her story. For the first time she could freely speak on it to someone. 

“I was so dumb and naive, I ignored every single sign there was, thinking the best of him in hopes of living that fairytale life... but I should've known better. That doesn't happen for someone like me,” she whispered out, hardly hearing her own voice zoning out again until she felt Armando's head shake bringing her back.

"Uhm, so that night I set up a plan and I drugged his drink.” Feeling Armando look at her in surprise, she quickly brought up her hands, shaking them, denying any accusations he could've been thinking.

”I only drugged it enough for him to fall into a deep sleep; I didn't kill him or anything!“ 

“Maybe you should've." He couldn't help quip, wiping away some of the tears falling down her round cheeks, and went back to rubbing her back.

A quick giggle slipped out of her lips at that and she whispered a quick thank you for his attempt at lightening the mood before continuing.

“I didn’t know where to go, so I just drove as far as I could. I found this abandoned house and found out who owned it, asking them if it was for sale. It was an old couple, and they just gave it to me. I took that as a good sign and blessing and immediately started to try to make money to make it livable, and this is living where I've been living for the past three years.”

“Where you've been hiding,” he corrected. She looked at him, slowly nodding her head.

“I try not to go out often, but I do when it’s necessary or when I need a little bit of normalcy. But when I do, I go disguised as Desirae and not Amora. It’s a small town, so I take extra measures, especially when it's for my fighting classes that I take every three months.”

He looked at her deeply, going over the events he had with her. Connecting dots in his head It explains a lot about her paranoia, especially when they first met, all the concealed weapons she had around, the fighting skills she practices, her alarm system, even her dog. She's just surviving, waiting for something to happen to her. That's the saddest thing he could think—such a waste for a woman like her to be hiding away from the world. Letting her become a shell, not fighting back, only letting fear whisk her away in life 

"Yep, so that's the story of Amora Johnson,” she muttered sarcastically. She knew it was very pathetic, seeing the look on the man's face. He was a man who was none of what she was. 

On days they both had nothing to do, she listened to the stories he told her of his past; he was a brave man, relentless, and didn't let anything get in his way when he was doing something. She admired him; she thought it was attractive, but she envied him, wishing she could be like that.

“Why didn't you do anything when you escaped, like go to the cops and report him?”” he asked her, curious of why she didn't take more action, why she just chose... to run and not fight back?

“I did... I went to the police station and saw familiar faces that worked at the station that would also be at the cartel, so I left before anyone noticed me not wanting to get caught, and I told Jay—my ex—but he lied obviously about helping me, so yeah. I didn't have friends either, one of the things that I allowed Jay to limit me from; he told me it wouldn't be safe that I couldn't trust anyone,” an empty, cold chuckle fell out of her lips.

“I was a damn fool,” she hissed, looking out eyes unfocused and glazed over.

It was silent between them again, Amora lost in her thoughts and Armando not having anything to say. For a bit, she sat in his lap with him still caressing her back until she snapped out of her daze and slowly got out of his lap.

Very quickly she missed the warmth and comfort of him, but knew she needed to head to her empty bed where nothing but nightmares waited for her, but she didn’t want to be weak in front of him anymore.

“Thank you... for consoling me,” she expressed weakly to him, head looking down, her hair covering her face. 

“Amora...” he spoke, but his words got caught; he didn't know what he wanted to say or if he meant anything, but he did feel for her; he knew that. 

“Yes ?’ She looked at him hopeful but scared of his reaction; it was the first time he called her by her real name, and she was fearful of whatever was going to come out of his mouth. 

“Thank you,” he spoke. A quizzical look crossed her face at the random gratitude. He gave a low chuckle at the adorable expression.

“Thank you for allowing me into your space and for trusting me with your story. I know we started off on the wrong foot, but you still gave me a chance and have gone out of your way for me. I just wanted to make sure you knew I appreciated it." His smooth voice was flying to Amora's ears like music. 

Amora's voice hitched at the appreciation. Emotions bursting inside of her but kept her self-calm.

“Just...don't make me regret it... or I'll have to kick your ass,” she tried joking with him, but she meant her word on not wanting to regret anything. She doesn't think she can handle another betrayal. 

“You won't,” came the serious answer. Their eyes were holding each other until Amora looked away, hiding the small smile on her face. 

“Good night,” she whispered to him before slowly walking out the door, giving him one small glance over her shoulder and shooting him a smile before she softly closed the door. 

His eyes followed every moment of her, until she was gone. He huffed out a deep breath, plopping back on the bed, reflecting back on the woman and all he learned tonight. 

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

Authors note: Hey puddin! So this chapter went a bit darker, and it will probably be the last time that it does, so expect the next chapter to have fluff.

Also I see other people create links to their previous chapters to be easier to navigate, would you appreciate if I do the same, I’m new ish to Tumblr but I can figure out if it helps.

Anyways I hope you enjoyed it! 💕💕

[kittenfangirl20]

Addict au

Adam felt his entire body shudder as he inhaled the long line of coke. He couldn’t believe how damn good it was. It was some kind of new type of coke on the market. 

It was said to be so good the high would start immediately. To Adam’s pleasure they didn’t lie. Of course it would.

 One of the main elements used to make it and have that effect came from the fallen angel himself. 

His blood.

It might not be as strong as it would be if he were still holy but it produced a kick. 

Val: Well how is it?

Adam glanced up to the man who helped produce the drug.

Adam: It’s good, really good.

Val: See what I tell you? Is it not the best thing that’s ever entered your anatomy? Besides sex that is.

Adam: It is now, don't forget our deal!

Val: You wound me little lamb, do you not have any trust for your own business partner.

Adam: We are NOT business partners. The deal is that I give you my blood and you give me the stuff for free. 

Val: Exactly business partners

Adam scoffed and looked back down at the table with the tray of stuff.

Adam: What are you gonna call it anyway? 

The man smirked, placing a hand on his hip.

Val: Angel’s blood has a nice ring to it. Don’t ya thing? 

Adam merely rolled his eyes and packed up the stuff into his bag and prepared to head out. 

Val: I’ll see you soon then?

Adam: Yeah…soon.

Without another word he marched right out of the overlords office and out of his building. As Adam trudged his way through the filthy streets of Hell fellow addicts lined up along the sidewalk, in the alley, and some in the middle of the fucking road he couldn’t help but chuckle.

Not that long ago Adam would have been disgusted with their behavior. Would have said that extermination was a kindness. They no longer suffer through their addictions if permanently dead.

But that was before Adam died during the extermination, woke up fallen, and began walking a mile in the sinners shoes. He wouldn’t say that sinners were all just poor unfortunate souls that only needed saving. Oh dear Lord no.

He simply had an understanding of them. 

Maybe they were lost and so was he.

He never thought he’d stoop so low that he’d sell his own blood for a bag of dough. Yet here he was. That’s just what happens when you finally get your hands on something that’s never been available to you. 

Soon you want more.

As ironic as it may be, it consumes you. The more you put into your body, the more you feel like you need. To help you relieve any pain in your life, even temporarily. Like it did for Adam.

Here in Hell, his life was nothing but pain. Well, his entire existence has been painful. But at least up on Earth and in Heaven he had people who cared and supported him.

Down here he had no one but himself. At one point during his first days down here he’d considered going to the hotel. Since she did claim redemption was possible for anyone who seemed it.

But that was before Adam got his hands on his first bottle. Then soon moved on to more hardcore stuff. And all his thoughts kept circling back to the truth whenever he thought about the hotel.

They’d never accept him. 

Lucifer would never accept him.

Or worse they did and then what? He didn’t know but he didn’t want to find out. He stopped when he realized he made it to his rundown abandoned apartment complex. 

He merely sighed and went in getting ready to hit himself up again. 

Adam lay on the pitiful excuse for a bed after he took more drugs. It helped at least numb the pain and keep him mind off of the self loathing. But that wasn’t possible because tonight when he turned on the TV he saw a commercial for the Hazbin Hotel which included Lucifer in it. Seeing that made Adam start to cry.

Adam: Why couldn’t you just love me the way I love you.

But it wasn’t meant to be because he chose Lilith over him. Thinking of Lilith made Adam cry even more. Just thinking of the first woman always made Adam sad and fearful. Especially now that Lilith got to relax on the beaches of Heaven while Adam had to sell his blood for money and drugs. Adam cried himself to sleep. In the morning Adam woke up and stumbled out of bed to go and buy some groceries. He didn’t realize that he was spotted by Angel Dust who ran back to the hotel and went to both Charlie and Lucifer.

Angel: Look, I don’t know if we should be concerned or not. But I saw Adam at a local grocery store. He lost quite a bit of weight and he doesn’t look good. I think he is having a rough time in Hell.

Charlie: Dad, we need to help Adam. I know he attacked the hotel, but no one deserves to suffer like that.

Lucifer: I will go and talk to him, I just don’t know if he will listen to me.

The truth was that Lucifer had wanted to help Adam and apologize for everything.

@talesfromawannabewriter

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Confession 🌸💕

Steve's attack in the Upside Down cements how you feel about him but you think he still loves Nancy.

You don't realise he's in love with someone else.... You.

❤️🌸 18+ Minors DNI, very fluffy, slightly angsty one shot.

If you enjoyed this leave a like or reblog ❤️ I don't give anyone permission to copy, repost or reuse my work 💕

❤️

The bites were bad that was the first thing you noticed as Steve collapses against the cave he was beside.

You rush over to him immediately, the wound around his neck is severe and it makes your anxiety around this whole situation even worse.

Would he be okay? How far could he go before he needed to go to the doctor?

The wounds on his side need bandaged quick and you rip off a piece of your shift to use it as a makeshift bandage.

"This will hurt for a minute okay but we need to bandage this up" he nods and adjusts himself so you can wrap the shirt around him, he winces, hands running through his hair as a pained moan escapes him.

He's covered in dirt and blood and grime, you shouldn't find him attractive like this but you do... God, you had been smitten with Steve since last year.

Ever since you became friends with Robin, ever since all the shit that happened on July 4th.

The experience bonded you, Robin and Steve, being part of the Scoop Troop team, facing the Russians, Steve getting beat up, the drugs they fed all three of you, sharing secrets it connected you.

Steve got his mojo back and started dating, charming girls, being himself and along the way you got to know him better, you helped each other deal with the trauma from July 4th and the days surrounding it.

Sometimes you would have movie nights with Robin and you would wake up nestled into Steve.

"You looked so comfy I didn't have the heart to move you"

The truth was you could happily stay there forever.

That kick started all the butterflies in your belly, heart racing, feelings for him.

Now here you were with him in The Upside Down, along with Eddie, Nancy and Robin because Steve had been dragged into the gate that led to it. Watergate.

You didn't hesitate as you jumped in after him, your heart was pounding, fear mixing with the need to protect Steve and you ended up here along with the others, beating the shit out of those demobats who attacked Steve.

You smile as he's all patched up.

"There, all better" his gaze is soft as he stares down at you.

"Is he okay?" Nancy comes up to you both and you nod.

"All fixed up" you give Steve a small smile and move away, not wanting to see the way Steve looks at Nancy, you know he's still in love with her.

Nearly losing Steve has made you realise that you're head over heels in love with him but it was hopeless because he wouldn't want you, not if he could have Nancy.

Even if he did feel the same you would be a second choice and you didn't want to be that.

"Hey?" Steve's hand connects with yours, his thumb circling around your palm.

"Yes?" you try to ignore the way your heart speeds up at just his very touch.

"Thank you, sweetheart" you shrug like it's no big deal but then pause for a second.

Fuck it, you may die in this hellhole world so if you did you would rather go out with no regrets.

Ever so gently you kiss his cheek, hand rested on his chest.

"I'd do anything for you Steve" his breath hitches and you move away, not looking at the others.

"Let's find some way out of this shithole yeah?"

🌸💕

A week had passed everything was back to well not normal but a now monster free town...

An earthquake had rocked the town after Vecna's defeat and The Upside Down's destruction.

Clean up, restoration and recovery was happening and you were helping Stev go through things in your house that could have donated to help those in need.

Eddie was in hospital after a vicious demobat attack, he nearly died but thankfully managed to pull through, his name had been cleared by a miraculously returning Jim Hopper of any involvement with the murders of Chrissy, Jordan, Freddie.

Max was okay, her leg and arm had been broken during Vecna putting her under his curse a second time but she was healing.

Hawkins would heal too in time.

Steve's hand on your shoulder breaks you out of your thoughts and you continue folding up clothes.

"You okay?" he asks concerned and you nod.

"Just glad this is all finally over" he grins and hoists up one of the boxes to put in his car.

"Shit, tell me about it. Will be nice to not having to worry about facing monsters, worry about losing people I love" he looks up at you and your stomach sinks a little.

He must be talking about Nancy.

"Yeah...you know Jonathan and Nancy broke up?" he surprises you when he tells you he already knows.

"We talked, we talked a lot actually" oh, you figured they would at some point you just didn't realise it would be so soon.

"I'm happy for you Steve, you and Nance are back together right? I know you love her. I'm happy for you" turning away you will the tears not to come, curse yourself for not saying sooner.

Not like it would make a difference if he didn't feel the same way.

"We aren't back together honey" okay, this does shock you and you turn back to Steve confused.

"I thought...you still love her?" he walks over to you, his gaze intent on yours.

"For a long time I did but not anymore and I told her that. Truth is? I'm in love with someone else"

Someone else? "Who? One of the girls you dated recently?" he shakes his head.

"No, that was just sex, me losing myself in that because I couldn't have what I really wanted, who I wanted because I wasn't sure how she felt" he smiles, gaze tender as he looks at you.

"Can you not think of who it is hmm? I'll give you a hint? She's brave, beautiful, kind and so hilarious. She makes me laugh like no one else has, I've fallen in love with her like I have with nobody else and she's standing in front of me right now"

He loves me, tears pool in your eyes and he wipes them away softly.

"Little birdies have told me you obviously feel the same and I'm clearly a dingus who needs to be told everything"

Dustin and Robin, this makes you giggle and he gently kisses your forehead then looks into your eyes.

"I'm just wondering if they are right? Usually are. Being both geniuses and all" to answer his question you kiss him and he's kissing you back, hands running up your back, tangling in your hair.

Briefly you pull away.

"It's always been you Steve, I love you too" you kiss again and he whispers those three little words over and over again.

I love you.

[mikavlcs]

False Meridian

Pairing: Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x reader

Summary: Another Ghostface appears out of the blue and Tara will do whatever it takes to eliminate them before they get the chance to hurt you.

Warnings: graphic violence & gore (!!!), bad decisions, bad writing, the usual shit honestly, this fic also follows scream logic (stab wounds are akin to paper cuts)

Word count: 8.2k

Notes: this was requested by a few people. read the warnings pls. i hate this.

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

It had been two months since your father’s death and things were very slowly but surely improving.

You integrated into life with the Carpenter sisters well. So well that Tara honestly thought you were always meant to have a place here. Even during those first few days when you were drowning in guilt and grief, you walked the halls of her house like you belonged there, and Tara loved it.

Unsurprisingly, through the impending days and weeks, your mother never came to check on you even once and, in turn, you never asked to see her. Tara couldn’t help but think it was for the better.

Now, she and Sam were your family, and everyone involved seemed more than happy with the arrangement.

Tara could do without having Sam there, personally, but she still had her uses and you loved her for some reason. Well, not for some reason, you’d mentioned how you always wanted an older sibling a few times, but why you adored having Sam in that position was still a mystery to her.

Sam had abandoned her when she needed her most, and her being back now, five years later didn’t change that, no matter how apologetic she tried to seem.

But Tara buried those thoughts whenever they came forth. Sam, for all of her many faults, was helping you and she wouldn’t begrudge you a connection with her sister because of her own hang-ups.

Plus, there were more pressing issues at hand to worry about anyway.

Returning to school after the bruises had healed enough to be believably covered by makeup and strategic wardrobe choices was tense for both of you.

Tara knew her friends could be nosy, and the last thing either of you wanted to talk about was what happened that night.

And the questions started immediately when you sat down at the group’s picnic table before first period. The boys were practically talking over one another, but they calmed when they noticed the way you shrunk into yourself.

Mindy specifically, being the only socially conscious one, was determined to give you space about the issue, whacking Chad and Wes when they crudely tried to question you and reminding you that they would be happy to listen whenever you were ready to talk.

For that, Tara was thankful, and she made sure Mindy knew that.

Over the days, weeks, and months, you established a new normal bit by bit. Your usual liveliness began seeping back in as the blood on your hands faded with time. Dinners and family nights were riddled with your laughter, and you started going to more and more group hangouts.

You seemed freer now, without the shackles your parents placed on you, and the sight made Tara overjoyed.

So things settled once more and a peace of sorts came to rest over her.

Sure, there were the daily annoyances like boys at school who stared at you in the halls, Wes’ insistent crush, and Sam’s overprotectiveness, but none of that mattered because you were there to soothe her every time.

And now that you lived with her, she had unlimited access to you—her favorite drug, her unending addiction. It was utter bliss.

But of course, peace, however relative it may be, never lasted for Tara.

It happened on a normal night, which only made it that much worse in Tara's mind.

You all had finished eating dinner together twenty minutes ago. Sam, as usual, left for her night shift just as you and Tara began washing dishes, walking out the door chuckling at Tara’s grumblings about getting out of chores while you waved.

Per the routine that you both had been cultivating, you washed, and she dried. You’d gotten to the point where you were both automatic, not needing to look to know where the other was and what they were doing.

When you blindly handed her a dish, she was already waiting for it with an open palm. You worked in tandem efficiently, like a well-oiled machine.

The only thing that actively broke the set-in-stone routine was the ringing of the landline on the kitchen counter.

It was an odd occurrence. The number connected to it was long forgotten by Tara, so it sat silently on the counter most days, completely invisible save for the few times it got knocked over while cooking.

So the sudden sharp ringing startled you both. Tara flinched, her movement nearly imperceptible, but you literally jumped. The only thing that kept you from dropping the dish you were scrubbing was the steadying hand Tara placed on your forearm.

You shot her a bewildered glance, which she returned, but ultimately you ignored it and went on with your shared task.

But then it rang again, and again, and again.

Both of you tried to continue ignoring the sound, but it persisted for minutes on end, unrelenting.

You dried your hands off roughly with the towel by the sink. “I’m just gonna answer it.”

Tara nodded mutely, her eyes following you as you answered the phone.

She continued to dry off the last few dishes, sending you small glances as she set them on the counter. You were leaning against the island, exchanging tense small talk with what Tara assumed to be a particularly insistent telemarketer and she could tell by your tone of voice that the conversation would be over very soon.

Just as she was about to put the dishes away, you gasped, and the phone clattered loudly onto the island counter. Tara was by your side instantly.

“What happened?” she asked urgently.

You didn’t answer, too busy pressing yourself against the sink to try and put as much distance between yourself and the landline as possible.

She carefully took one of your hands and cradled it between hers, hoping to calm you enough to talk and it worked.

“He—he asked what my favorite scary movie was.”

Oh, she thought, her previous tension abating a bit.

Stupid calls like this had been happening ever since her initial killing spree. Immature teens and twenty-somethings loved pretending to be her so they could scare a stranger and get a cheap laugh. Tara adored the Stab movies, but the hardcore fans could be such disruptive assholes.

She sighed, stroking her thumb softly over your knuckles. “It’s okay, baby. It’s just a prank call. People have been getting them for months now.”

You shook your head vehemently. Only now did Tara feel the slight shaking of your hand in hers.

“No, Tara,” you whispered, fear staining every syllable. “He knew my name.”

Tara froze. Immediately, she picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear.

“Who the hell is this?”

A sardonic laugh chimed from the speaker, and even from that single noise, Tara recognized the use of the voice changer.

“I’m just somebody who knows your little family secret, Tara.”

Her heart stuttered but she didn’t miss a beat. Thinking quickly, she decided to try and bait him.

“And just who are you? A loser who needs to hide behind someone else’s identity to mess with some girls? Don’t be a coward, show yourself.”

A clumsy attempt, but the only thing she came up with on the spot. Unfortunately, he didn’t bite.

“Oh, now where would the fun in that be? One of the best parts of the Stab movies is the mystery. Revealing the killer’s identity in the opening scene would be disappointing. As a fellow fan, wouldn’t you agree, Tara?”

The way he said her name, like a taunt rather than a title, made her skin prickle. Her irritation was rising steadily, but she couldn’t lose control. Not in front of you.

Narrowing her eyes, she walked to the other side of the kitchen and dropped her voice to the most menacing whisper she could muster.

“Is that what you think this is? The opening kill scene? Because I think you have it painfully backwards.”

“And what makes you think that? I could kick down your front door and dismember you both right now. Who knows, maybe I’m already inside.”

An empty threat, she knew, but still opened her security system app, silently thanking her intuition when she all but forced Sam to install one after you moved in. As expected, it was green. No doors or windows had been opened.

With that reassurance in mind, she set her phone down and turned her back to you.

“Believe me when I tell you that if you step foot inside of this house, I won’t just kill you, I will brutalize you. I will maim you so badly that your family won’t even be able to identify your body.”

The threat did little to deter the stranger. If anything, it seemed to excite him.

“Oh? And how can you be so sure?”

Tara chuckled. “Call it personal experience.”

“Well, luckily for both of us, we’re diverging from the formula. This isn’t a kill scene; this is a warning. A message, if you would.”

Confusion swelled in her. She asked, “A message for who?”

A laugh from the other end. Then, “You, Tara. And your dear sister. And your… ‘friend,’ of course.”

Her teeth grit harshly at the mention of you, but she needed to uncover a motive of some kind if she wanted to identify this person, so she tried another tactic.

“You’re a Stab fan, but you’re changing the iconic opening sequence?” she asked. “Why? Isn’t changing the franchise formula sacrilegious? I mean, they tried that with Stab 7, and look where that got them.”

“Ah, but this is my movie, Tara. And altering the structure serves a purpose. It destabilizes audience expectations and builds tension for the impending bloodbath in the future.”

“And when exactly will this bloodbath be?”

“I’ll be back for the seminal third act soon when both family members are present to witness it. In the meantime, I’ll keep your secret safe.”

Tara went to respond but the line went dead.

You watched her intently as she turned back around, glancing between her and the phone. Cautiously, you asked, “Did he hang up?”

She nodded, placing the phone back on the receiver roughly. She hadn’t managed to ascertain a solid motive, but there were pieces. Bits of a breadcrumb trail for her to try and follow.

He mentioned that this was his movie, could that be his motive? Was this just the work of a fanatical fan that wanted a movie made from their actions?

But at the same time, this sounded far too personal to just be some random fanboy. Why target her specifically? And what exactly was he talking about when he said he knew her secre—

A sharp knock on the window resounded through the kitchen.

Both you and Tara jumped. There was a moment of stillness, both you and Tara seemingly frozen in time, but she forced her legs to move. Slowly, she crept toward the window, ignoring your frantic whispers, and pulled the curtain aside.

Standing right on the other side was someone in a Ghostface mask and a black robe. 

When he knew he had her attention, he tilted his head to the side and raised his hand, proudly showing off the knife within it.

Tara’s eyes widened. Her fingers curled instinctively, muscles tensing in preparation for a fight. But he simply waved, waggling his fingers around the hilt, then turned and walked away.

She wanted to chase him down, tear off that mask, and use that knife of his to tear out his insides. But she couldn’t leave you here alone, vulnerable to an attack from a possible accomplice. After all, there were usually two killers in the Stab movies.

So she stood with her feet planted before the window and watched as he disappeared into the night.

Behind her, she heard you speaking urgently with someone and her answer as to who it was came not even ten minutes later when her sister’s car screeched into the driveway.

There were only seconds between Sam haphazardly parking and her crashing through the door. Before she knew it, Tara was being pulled into a group hug, but her eyes remained on the window.

Distantly, she heard you recounting the events of the past half hour or so, and Sam’s repeated attempts to calm you finally pulled her from her stupor. She reached, put a consoling hand on your back and cherished the way your muscles relaxed under her touch.

A combination of Sam’s ushering and Tara’s reassurances got you to finally go upstairs and as soon as you were out of view, it became apparent that Sam was going to attempt to get Tara to follow suit.

“Hey, I know you’re probably shaken about what happened, but you need to rest,” Sam urged her kindly, but the words went largely unheard.

The only part Tara registered was the error in her statement. Because shaken wasn’t quite how she felt.

Her smoldering anger was present, burning her veins with its intensity, but more than anything she felt…dishonored. Aggrieved, even, that someone would dare don the mask and robe that she adorned months before and attempt to terrorize her in her own home. Not to mention the extended threat to you as well.

So, no, Tara was not shaken in the slightest. If anything, she was rooted more firmly in her ways than she had been in a while.

Sam approached and rubbed her shoulder gently. This time Tara looked over at her, which made the taller girl smile.

“Go get some sleep, Tar. I’ll stay up and keep watch.”

The use of the old nickname made Tara’s hand twitch. She wanted to protest, she didn’t trust her sister to bear that responsibility alone, but you were upstairs waiting for her. You needed her so she forced a nod and trudged up the steps.

As expected, you were in bed waiting for her. She climbed into bed next to you and pulled you into her, cradling your head to her chest. Neither of you spoke a word, just laid with each other in the silent reassurance that the other person was alright.

And even when your breaths eventually evened out, her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling above.

-

Tara didn’t sleep.

Her eyelids never even drooped. There was too much adrenaline, too much to think about, too many opportunities for someone to sneak in and hurt you for her to even think about sleep.

So instead, she cycled through all of the possibilities of who the imposter Ghostface could be and who their target was.

Her first instinct was to say they were after her, but that couldn’t be true. No one knew that she was behind the murders earlier that year. No one.

There were no witnesses, no clues left at the crime scenes, and no reason for anyone to suspect her.

Next would be you. But she couldn’t think of a single person who would want to hurt you. You had no enemies, at least none that she was aware of. It could theoretically be someone who knew about your father, but no one in their right mind would be seeking retribution for that waste of oxygen, so she wrote that off as well.

Lastly, there was Sam.

Sam was the biggest unknown factor for Tara. She knew next to nothing about her sister’s whereabouts in the past 5 years, besides the vague knowledge about her residing in Modesto for most of that time.

But faux Ghostface’s words kept replaying in her head.

“I’m just somebody who knows your little family secret, Tara.”

In the meantime, I’ll keep your secret safe.”

Tara thought that those comments were directed toward her, that someone had figured out what she had done. But what if they were about someone else? After all, she wasn’t the only one in the family with a dark secret.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

She was hesitant to leave you alone, even when she knew you were safe, but this was a conversation she had to have with Sam alone. So she carefully untangled herself from you and laid you against the pillow before heading downstairs.

Her sister was lying on the couch with her eyes glued to the tv, looking every bit as tired as Tara felt. She sat up as Tara entered. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Tara muttered, sitting down where Sam’s legs had previously resided. She gave her sister a serious look. “I need to talk to you.”

Sam’s brows furrowed at her tone, but she nodded. “Okay.”

“I need you to be honest with me, Sam. Please.”

Another nod. “I will.”

Tara took a deep breath. “Is there anyone from your past that you think would want to hurt you?”

“You think Ghostface was here for me?” Sam asked.

“I’m thinking it could be a possibility, yes.”

“Okay, um,” Sam bit her lip, thinking. “I don’t think so. I haven’t been involved in anything…bad for years now. What makes you think he might’ve been targeting me specifically?”

“He mentioned a family secret. Twice,” Tara explained, watching her sister’s reaction closely. “I’m not trying to accuse you, I promise, but is there anyone that you told about your parentage besides me? Anyone?”

After thinking for another moment, Sam paled. She looked away for a minute then, straightening up, she said, “I have to tell you something…”

“What?” Tara asked, trying to decipher her sister’s behavior.

“There’s…this guy that I’ve been talking to online. His name is Richie,” Sam said, voice unsteady.

Tara’s stomach dropped.

“Sam…”

“It was just casual at first, I swear. I wasn’t intending on getting too close, but I was struggling, and he offered to listen,” Sam whispered. Tears were welling in her eyes as the full realization hit her, but Tara didn’t care. She couldn’t, not with what she was hearing.

“Did you tell him?” she asked, heartbeat kicking up.

There was a beat of agonizing silence. Then, “Yes.”

Tara stood abruptly, fists clenched. Sam stood with her, hands hovering around Tara’s shoulders, but the smaller girl took a step back. Her mind raced. She was trying to simultaneously work out what was happening while actively refraining from strangling her sister.

A question rose to the forefront of her mind.

“How did he know where you lived?”

Sam looked away, shame radiating off of her. “…My birthday’s coming up. He said he wanted to send me something—"

Tara spun on her heels and stormed into the kitchen. Her sister was hot on her heels, the stuttered beginnings of an apology on her lips, but Tara couldn’t hear it over the blood roaring in her ears.

“Tara—"

“I can’t believe you,” she growled. “You risked not just your own life, but the lives of everyone in this house, and for what? A man that was just trying to use you? Jesus Christ, Sam. That’s pathetic, even for you.”

That nearly made, a few tears overflowed and spilled down her cheeks, but she kept herself together long enough to get out one more coherent sentence.

“I’m sorry, Tara. I never meant for something like this to happen, I swear.”

Shaking her head violently, Tara looked away.

She didn’t want to accept it. She wanted to go even further, to stick her finger in the wound and dig even deeper. Twist the knife even further and watch Sam squirm under the pressure. But she held herself back.

There was an unpredictable man in a Ghostface costume specifically targeting them. She needed all hands on deck. This wasn’t just about her feelings, even if entirely justified. You were here now, and your safety took precedence over her personal vendettas.

So she forced her tense muscles to go slack, wiped the fury from her features, and turned to pull Sam into her arms.

She disregarded the way her sister’s pathetic cries made set her nerves alight and whispered out meaningless we’ll be okay’s until the emotion passed.

Through it all, Tara tried to ignore how badly her palms itched.

-

Time passed in an odd, infrequent manner.

It was no longer a steady, unending stream of hours, days, and weeks. It trickled by in short, uneven bursts as if it was leaking from a broken faucet. Some days were long, the eight hours spent in school feeling like an eternity, while others seemed to last for minutes.

But eventually, the days added up until three entire weeks went by in paranoid quiet.

No sign of a lurking killer. No calls on the landline. Not a single glimpse of a white mask.

It was tormenting. Every day that passed without incident made her tenser, feeding her paranoia steadily until it was impossible for Tara to get a single good night of sleep.

Sam appeared to be suffering the same fate as her, but Tara didn’t care. She had offered the illusion of forgiveness in the moment, but they were on far from good terms.

They still saw each other every day since they lived in the same house, but apart from greetings and small pleasantries, Tara was trying her best to avoid interacting with her sister. The lingering anger and bitterness were still simmering beneath the surface, and she didn’t want to risk unleashing that in your presence, so she took to avoidance.

Sam noticed and tried to bridge the gap, mostly at dinner with incentivizing questions and comments, but her attempts were brazenly ignored by Tara, leaving you to awkwardly pull on the conversation threads in her place.

Of course, because of that, you picked up on the tension between the sisters. It was hard to miss, honestly.

Tara thought you would confront her about it, but you must’ve learned that head-on confrontation accomplished little when she was set in her ways about something because, suddenly, there were far more “family movie nights” than there were previously.

She participated half-heartedly, mostly for your sake but also because there was strength in numbers, and being together was safer than staying apart.

Tonight was one such night. It was 10 pm on a Friday, and you were practically buzzing with excitement beside her. For movie night tonight, you weren’t even watching a movie but instead finishing some Netflix show that you and Sam had gotten hooked on.

So you were snuggled into Tara’s side on the couch, pulling the show up on the tv while Sam made the popcorn (Tara’s personal favorite part of these nights, besides you).

“Ah, shit,” came Sam’s voice from the kitchen, and you both looked over to see what was going on. Sam closed the cabinet, a frown pulling the edges of her lips downward. “We’re out of popcorn.”

Your excitement tempered some, a disappointed sigh leaving your lips. You went to say something, but Sam straightened up, her frown disappearing.

“I can run to the store real quick and get some.”

Whether she was trying to dote on you to build rapport with Tara again or she just genuinely wanted to do it for you was unclear, but Tara didn’t like the idea of her going alone.

“Sam, maybe that’s not a good idea,” she reasoned. At her side, you nodded in agreement.

“Yeah,” you said, “it could wait till tomorrow.”

“There’s a convenience store a block or two away. It’s barely a trip.”

When neither of you responded, Sam pursed her lips, looking around briefly before grabbing her phone from the kitchen island and opening it. She spent a moment fiddling with it then came to kneel in front of you.

“Here,” she gestured to your phone, “accept the call, and I’ll stay on the line until I’m back.”

You hit answer, still hesitant. Tara said nothing, unease building in her gut steadily. It had been three whole weeks without a peep from Richie. And sure, the possibility of him losing his nerve and giving up was technically feasible, but was that really a risk worth taking?

“Are you sure you don’t want me or Tara to come with you?” you asked, worry tinging your tone.

Before Tara could say no, Sam shook her head. “No, you two stay here. I like knowing that you guys are safe with the security system in place. This should take no more than fifteen minutes and I’ll stay on the phone with you both the entire time, okay?”

Tara narrowed her eyes, flicking them over to you to see your response. For a moment you just sat there, looking worriedly at her sister, but you nodded slowly.

“If you hang up, I’m finishing the show without you,” you threatened with a small smile.

Sam laughed, patted your arm, and stood. Both you and Tara watched as she pulled her shoes and bomber jacket on. Tara was tempted to call her back but by the time the urge hit, Sam was shutting the door.

Throughout her journey to and inside the store, Sam kept her promise and didn’t hang up, keeping a steady flow of conversation with you even as she was being rung up by the clerk.

Tara stayed quietly by your side the whole time, trying to ease the pit in her stomach, but it didn’t go away. The dread persisted still as Sam announced that she was pulling into the driveway.

The muffled sound of a car door closing outside had you rushing over to the door. Tara smiled at your excitement, stepping up behind you as you pulled it open.

Outside, Sam was standing in the driveway, victoriously waving the popcorn in the air. “I got the last box!”

She started walking up to the open door when suddenly, a streak of black flashed across the yard, and before Tara could properly register it, her sister was being tackled to the ground. The sharp crack that accompanied her head hitting the ground barely resonated before Tara was slamming the door shut and twisting all the locks back in place.

You ran toward the door, but Tara grabbed you. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Sam’s out there, Tara. We have to help her.” You started toward the door again, but Tara wasn’t budging.

This is all her fault, she wanted to say but didn’t. Instead, she said, “We can’t. It’s not safe, but we’ll go back for her, okay? I promise.”

“Don’t be so sure about that, Tara.”

Tara inhaled sharply at the sound of the voice, while you dropped your phone with a gasp. But then the implications hit her just a second later and made her stomach drop to her feet.

The call was still connected. Sam’s phone was still unlocked, meaning Richie had full access to the security system app.

Seconds after Tara’s revelation, her phone dinged, and the voice notification automatically played.

Security System Disabled

A horrified gasp from her right told her that you heard it too. She tried to reenable it, but it was immediately disabled again, the green turning back to red while the mechanical voice taunted her.

Security System Disabled

There was no time. He was going to make his way in here, there was no stopping it.

Her greatest concern was making sure that you were as far away from him as possible when that happened. She grabbed your shoulders, caught your eye.

“Listen, take one of the kitchen knives and go lock yourself in my room. Hide in the closet and call 911. Tell them to bring police and paramedics, okay?”

You immediately shook your head and protested, “What? No, I am not leaving you alone with a serial killer, Tara.”

“Yes, you will. You need to.”

“Tara—"

“Please,” she begged, her voice strangled. She tightened her hold on your shoulders, thumbs digging into your soft skin. “Please, I can take care of myself. But I need to know that you’re safe. I can’t focus if you’re in danger. So please, just do as I say right now, ok?”

Reluctant, you nodded and pressed your lips to hers in a quick but firm kiss. After parting you held her gaze for another moment before running up the stairs toward the bedrooms.

Tara watched you go and once she knew you were safe, she ran into the kitchen and scoured through the cabinets until she found the large, cast-iron skillet she used for stir-fries. She tried to peer out the window, but with the curtains tightly drawn, there was no telling what was happening outside.

Tara paused, a strategy forming. She could use the lack of visibility to her advantage.

Quickly, she moved the knife block to the opposite end of the island then began to cut the lights in both the living room and the kitchen one by one.

She saved the kitchen for last, keeping her eyes on the door as she flicked the switch down and crouched behind the island near the knives to wait.

Minutes passed in eerie silence, then finally, she heard the tell-tale jingle of keys in the front door lock. The knob twisted and the door creaked as it was pushed open, soft and slow. The sound only put Tara even more on edge.

Light footsteps could just barely be heard even in the silence, and Tara’s ears perked. The sounds stopped momentarily, then started in her direction. Quiet footfalls neared at a glacial pace, giving Tara ample time to steady her grip and prepare herself.

Once the footsteps were practically next to her, she swung with all her strength to the left. She connected with the nearest leg, and the force of the blow sent shockwaves up her arms.

The pained shout that arose was distorted by the voice changer inside the mask, but the clatter of the knife he was holding falling to the floor was clear as day.

Tara stood and, as soon as she located the knife, kicked it away. She took another swing, but he seemed to hear this one coming because he jerked back, so she struck the hard counter instead. The physical shock of it made her drop the pan in surprise.

He stumbled to his feet, clearly favoring his left leg. Desperate, he swung wildly a few times. Tara backed away but in a stroke of luck, the last one connected with her cheek.

Pain exploded where his fist connected, echoing through her jaw. The familiar, addictively metallic taste of blood coated her tongue and teeth. The pain only served to ground her, focusing the smoldering fire of her rage solely on the man in front of her.

Breath heaving, he went for another blind punch, but she sidestepped and delivered a solid kick to what she hoped was his left knee. And if the groan was anything to go by, then she hit her mark.

He fell again, clutching his knee, and Tara circled him. She stood on his right shin, hooked her arms around his throat, and leaned against the counter behind her, pulling back as hard as she physically could.

Richie coughed violently. Flailing arms tried to pry her off, but she stood firm, eyes drifting to the knife holster on the island. She leaned down by his ear.

“You know, with all that talk about secrets, you really should’ve been more careful with your own.”

She squeezed her arms together tighter and braced her hands firmly on her upper forearms. The urgency in Richie’s movements increased, but he achieved nothing all the same.

“Because I know your secret too, Richie,” Tara growled, lips coiling into a malignant crimson smile.

He froze at the sound of his name and Tara took the opportunity to rip the mask off of his face.

Now that his mask of bravery was off, she was overcome with the need to turn the lights back on. Because she wanted to see it. She wanted to watch his weaselly face contort in pain, she wanted to watch those last bits of life drain from his eyes.

Violent desire coursing through her, her grip loosened, one hand reaching back to flick the light switch on. But that was all he needed.

A moment of hubris was enough to ruin the victory she had very nearly secured.

The instant the lights were on, Richie, with all his body weight behind him, lurched right, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Because of her position, she was unable to get her arms beneath her in time, and her head hit the tile hard. She blinked against the white flash of pain, but by the time she got her bearings, Richie was already retrieving his knife.

Watching him struggle to his feet, Tara changed tactics. She backed into the living room to put some space between them so she could possibly get another weapon. But before she could assess the room, Richie rushed her with a loud cry.

He clumsily wrestled her to the ground in a mess of thrashing limbs. Because of his size, he gained the upper hand quickly and straddled her. Tara fought against him, lashing out violently with her hands, and her nails managed to catch on the side of his face.

Gasping, she dug them deeper into his skin and, with all her strength, pulled.

A yell of agony tore its way out of his throat, and Tara could feel his skin peel beneath her fingers and get stuck under her nails. But he didn’t let up. His fingers found their way around her throat and squeezed.

He had her pinned down. His fingers had a death grip around her throat and her vision was beginning to go dark around the edges.

She thought she saw a flash of something behind Richie, but she paid it no mind, keeping all of her focus and strength on punching and kicking and squirming. He pressed down on her trachea even harder, and Tara choked.

But then, Richie screamed and all at once his hands released her throat, and she could breathe again.

He careened to the side and only then did Tara notice the knife sticking from his left side. She looked back up and saw you with wide, terrified eyes. Despite the danger, she took a moment to appreciate the circumstance before her.

You had picked up his knife and stabbed him with it. She would have smiled if her throat wasn’t on fire.

Another ragged cough tore its way from Tara’s throat and that brought your attention from her attacker to her. Your eyes softened and you started toward her. But Richie wasn’t down just yet.

He wrenched the knife from his side with a grunt. With rage in his eyes, he turned to you, staggering unsteadily back to his feet with the knife tight in his grip.

“You fucking bitch!” he roared.

You froze and, without any other option, fled into the kitchen with Richie stumbling closely behind. Just as your fingers brushed the hilt of one of the knives in the block, he snagged the neckline of your shirt and yanked you back.

“Oh no you don’t.”

Richie pinned you against him, one arm steadily anchored around your ribcage and the other, the one with the bloodied knife, rising above his head. Tara tried to stand, but equilibrium was shockingly hard to regain at that moment.

She was just getting to her knees when he plunged the knife into your stomach. The pained scream that you let out would haunt Tara for the rest of her life.

Richie smirked, wide and unruly. “Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

The only response you gave was a whimper. He grabbed you by the neck and slammed your head down onto the kitchen counter. Hard. A loud crack echoed off the walls and you fell in a heap on the floor, unconscious.

Words like rage, fury, and anger were far too soft to describe the feeling that overtook her when your body hit the ground.

The emotion that overcame her was rough and discordant, and primitive. It bled over her vision, tainting it dark crimson, and pushed her to her feet with a newfound balance and sick certainty.

At full speed, Tara ran and latched onto him, using all of her body weight to throw him back onto the living room carpet.

Richie tried to stand again, but Tara tackled him back down and straddled him. But Tara punched him once, hard, then again and again and again until his head lolled and his grip slackened, leaving the knife to fall onto the carpet beside him.

Seeing him lying under her, bruised and defeated, didn’t satisfy Tara, nor did the ache in her knuckles. Not after he hurt you so badly. She needed him to bleed. She needed him to suffer.

He needed to pay.

Steady fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife at her side. As she raised it above her head, she found a certain poeticism in it—the fact that Richie was going to meet his end at the hands of the true Ghostface, with his own weapon.

With a deep breath, she allowed the savage tidal wave of emotion to wash over her, and she saw more than felt the way she slammed the knife down. Time became a blur of movement. Red clouded her vision, but she could feel everything—the hard hilt of the knife, the give of the flesh beneath it, the satisfying crunch of bone.

The image of you being stabbed playing over and over and over, fueling the raging wildfire within her.

By the time she returned to herself, there was an all-encompassing silence; the only sounds impeding it were her labored breaths.

The knife in her hand was slick with blood. A fierce ache ran from her forearms to her shoulders. Tara looked down at her victim and her brows furrowed.

What remained of Richie’s head was a mess of jutting bone fragments, scattered clumps of blood-soaked hair, and chunks of torn flesh. Amongst the soup of blood, bone, and brains, there was an eyeball rolled off to the right. Distantly, she wondered where the other one was.

Looking further down, Tara noticed the amount of blood on the ground. The carpet was drenched in red, and given how saturated it looked, she wouldn’t be surprised if it soaked all the way through to the hardwood beneath it.

Tara exhaled sharply through her nose. That carpet would definitely have to be replaced.

Her eyes moved off the ground and toward the kitchen, where your limp form entered her vision. Immediately, she dropped the knife and ran to you, dropping to her knees beside you.

She scrambled to press her fingers to your neck, and thankfully, she found a pulse. It was weaker than she would’ve liked, but it was steady. You were holding on for her, and that meant everything to Tara.

Turning her attention back to your wound, she assessed the damage. The blade was still lodged firmly inside your stomach, and she hadn’t enough medical knowledge to know whether it pierced anything important based just off its positioning alone, but she knew not to take the knife out.

So she pressed her hands down around it as hard as she could. You let out a pained breath in your unconscious state but showed no signs of rousing. She wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

All that mattered was making sure that you stayed with her until the paramedics arrived. She knew you listened to her earlier, so authorities should be on their way with medical help in tow.

But she would be lying if she said her composure didn’t begin to slip with each passing second of silence.

What got her most was the blood. Tara was accustomed to gore and had long passed the point where anything like that bothered her, much less the sight of just blood, but this was your blood, and it was everywhere.

On her hands, slipping between her fingers, pooling beneath you, staining her pants, on your face, drying just beneath your nostrils.

All Tara could see was red, red, red, and not because of her anger, but because of her inability to protect you when it mattered.

The door opened, slamming harshly against the wall, and Tara jumped, instinctively putting herself between you and whoever was approaching.

She glanced back and saw her sister standing in the doorway, leaning against it slightly as she clutched her stomach. Their eyes met and Sam visibly relaxed. “Tara—"

Her gaze wandered left, and Sam stopped short by the door; eyes glued on the mess of human flesh laying limp on the carpet. Cursing silently, Tara squeezed her eyes shut.

She rushed to find any sort of justification, but it was hard when her world was falling apart before her eyes and beneath her hands.

“He—he hurt—” Tara broke off into a sob, the blood on her hands burning nearly as much as her throat.

Sam tore her eyes away from Richie’s remains and looked back over to her younger sister. Her eyes widened and Tara assumed that she finally noticed your worrying state. Tara kept her hands firmly pressed to your wound as she watched Sam, trying to figure out what her next move would be.

Finally, she said, “It’s okay,” sounding more like she was trying to reassure herself than Tara. She nodded to herself, repeated it, “It’s okay.”

Slowly, she moved from her place by the door and approached the body, looking like she was fighting the urge to be sick the closer she edged to it.

“What are you—” Tara started, eyes wide, but Sam interrupted.

“Listen, when the police come, you’re going to tell them that I did this.”

Tara blinked, lost. “W-What?”

Sam, with a pale grimace, reached down to the mass of flesh and began doing a mixture of spreading and splattering the warm, leaking blood on her shirt, face, and arms. Then she came to kneel on the other side of you, giving you a long mournful look before she spoke to Tara.

“When they ask you what happened, you tell them that he was trying to hurt you and I did…that to him because of it. Okay?”

Nothing was making sense. She wouldn’t take the fall for Sam if it were the other way around, so the fact that Sam was so willing to do it for her was…it was rousing feelings she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Why?” Tara asked, bewildered.

“Having this on your record, even if it was self-defense, will haunt you for the rest of your life. You have a bright future, Tara, and I’m protecting that.”

Traces of the affection she once felt for her sister flared up and to her surprise, Tara felt more tears well up in her eyes and spill over. Real tears accompanying the achingly real tightness in her chest. “Sam—”

Sam just shook her head. “You know how Sheriff Hicks feels about me; she’ll be more than happy to put this on my record. You’re going to be ok. Both of you will. I promise.”

Gently, she leaned her forehead against Tara’s and kept it pressed there until sirens blared in the distance. When Sam stood and went over to kneel by Richie, Tara blinked away her tears and pressed her hands down harder on your wound.

Police burst through the door, and everything blurred for Tara. The world became a cacophony of lights and sounds and movement, and she only snapped back to reality when paramedics started trying to take you away from her.

In her mind, she knew she should let them take you. That you were much safer in the hands of professionals that could properly tend to you, but the logical part of her brain was quickly overshadowed the moment someone tried to pull her away.

Because she needed to be next to you. She needed to feel your pulse, see the rise and fall of your chest with her own eyes to make sure that you were still alive.

So she fought every hold on her, twisted violently against the increasing number of hands clutching onto her, trying to separate her from you. And she nearly succeeded. She was so close, so close to making it back to your side.

A prick in her neck was the last thing she felt before the world faded to nothing, the last remnants of your name dying on her tongue.

-

A monotonous beeping in your ear was the first thing that you registered.

The second was how weird you felt. You felt heavy and weightless at the same time. You cracked your eyes open and instantly closed them against the blinding brightness you were met with. Briefly, you wondered if you died, but something told you that the afterlife didn’t smell like antiseptics.

Once more, you opened your eyes, going slower so your eyes could properly adjust, and finally took in your surroundings. You were in a hospital room and a glance to your left told you that the annoying beeping you heard was a heart monitor.

Awareness slowly crept back into your dazed mind. The moments came back one by one, flashing against the back of your eyelids as you blinked.

Ghostface attacking Sam. You going upstairs and calling 911. Running down and helping Tara.

Tara.

With a gasp, you jolted up. Your wound gave a powerful throb in response, cutting straight through the pain meds but you ignored it.

The last thing you remembered was the man—Richie? —thrusting a knife into you, then your face met the hard marble of the kitchen counter and that was it.

Was Tara ok? Did Sam make it? Was Ghostface caught and apprehended?

Those questions fueled you to sit up but you only made it halfway before strong hands were on your shoulders, pushing you back down.

“No, don’t move.”

Recognition sparked instantly. You knew that voice. Tara.

The need to know that she was alright nearly made you frantic as you looked at her, and took in her state.

She had a fading bruise on her cheek, and there was some much harsher, nearly black bruising around her neck, but otherwise, she looked fine, if a bit tired. You let out a sigh of relief.

You tried to lift your hand to her neck, but you only made it about halfway before Tara caught it and brought it to her lips to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“Looks worse than it,” she said with a small grin, but you could hear the strain. It reminded you of the ache in your throat after what your father did, the bruises he left behind.

You looked away, decided to focus on the other questions plaguing your mind.

“What happened to the man? Is Sam okay?”

Tara’s eyes flashed with something, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “Richie’s dead.”

“The police killed him?”

She looked away then and played with your fingers. “No, Sam did.”

“Sam?” you asked in disbelief. That didn’t seem quite right, but you couldn’t pinpoint why.

You looked at Tara, saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she was worrying her lip between her teeth, the tension in her brow, and you decided to believe her.

It had been a long, hard night for everyone, and you heard whisperings of something deeper going on with Sam, so maybe she was capable of that. After all, weren’t you?

And either way, it was self-defense. He attacked first, unprovoked. The world was probably better without him, as much as the thought put a bitter taste in your mouth.

Plus, Tara would never lie to you.

“Is she alright?” You decided on after minutes of processing.

Tara nodded. “Yeah, she’s stable. She’s in the room across the hall. The sheriff kicked me out to take her statement.”

“Can you tell her I said hi? And thanks for making sure Richie couldn’t hurt anyone else.”

That made Tara freeze. Just for a moment before she seemed to catch herself, but you saw it nonetheless. “Yeah, of course.”

Under any other circumstances, you’d have half a mind to ask Tara about her odd behavior or at least store it away for later contemplation, but as it stood, the pain medication was already sweeping the incident away.

Silence lapsed and you both just enjoyed one another’s presence, basking in the knowledge that the other was safe and sound.

The tempting call of sleep tugged at you. You tried to stay in the moment, but you were drifting. You could tell and so could Tara, who coaxed your attention to her with a gentle stroke of her thumb across your knuckles.

“Get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” you slurred, eyes already drifting closed.

You could practically hear the smile in her voice when she said, “Of course.”

She lulled you to sleep with the promise and a final, tight squeeze of your hand, and you drifted off into a drug-induced slumber with thoughts of your gentle, loving girlfriend at the forefront of your mind.

[midnights-song]

A Fight Not Yet Won

Ghost x Reader x Soap

A/N: MDNI!!!!!!

Warning: This may contain potentially triggering depictions of wounds, course language, mention of potentially traumatic themes, read at your own risk!

Some days, it was easy being in the medical field, small injuries, minor sickness, things that could be treated and sent home with a thorough treatment plan. Other days, it was an absolute hell, never-ending traumas, domestic cases, multiple codes, those days that felt like you were actively fighting an opposing force determined to make you lose all hope. How you wanted to on those days, wondering why you had even bothered to work in this field after you had to call time of death on a toddler that drowned due to parental neglect. This job had sucked the life out of you, wrung you out and left you to rot.

That is, until you met your boys. 

You met Simon first, not through a harsh twist of fate as one might think, but rather through an old friend from work that had suggested getting together at the local bar for drinks. You were hesitant, not much for drinking but had decided what the hell, a night out couldn’t hurt.

Truly, it didn’t hurt, you had a fantastic time, laughing it up while you shared an appetizer after a few drinks. You had noticed a tall, burly man in the corner of the bar, lowering a surgical mask to take a few sips of a beer that he had grasped in his left hand. You tried not to stare, sneaking glances his way as two rowdy men approached him. Soon after, a third man approached, his calm demeanor leveling out the other two from earlier. The four of them all had beers, yet as the night went on, the drinks got stronger and conversation louder. 

Bringing your attention back to your friend, you focused on catching up, whispering the juiciest gossip you could give them without it being a violation of someone’s privacy. Drinks began getting stronger for the two of you as well, slow cautious sips became almost gulps as the warm fuzzy feeling took over. Your friend kept glancing over your shoulder at something, seemingly concerned but unsure of what to do. Once you noticed, you took a look back yourself and noticed the curly haired blonde making his way to you.

You thought he was big in the corner, but he was even bigger up close. At least twice the size of your original estimate. And his eyes, ohh his eyes, soft caramel underneath the dim lighting of the bar met yours and all at once you became aware of two things; one, you were properly buzzed, and two, he held a slip of a torn napkin in his hand towards you. 

 “The name’s Simon,” He began, you took the napkin from him almost hesitantly, glancing between it and him, “I saw you from over there, I’m not very good at this but I would like to get to know you better.”

You caught movement out of the corner of your eye, looking towards it you noticed that all three of the men with him were looking at him in shock. You were still holding the napkin, glancing between him and it as you made your decision. You introduced yourself softly, quietly even. You became stone cold sober as you wrote your information out for him, aware that this could very well be one of the worst decisions of your life, but you shook it off with a smile. After all, you only live once, right?

Then came Johnny, sweet, stubborn, Johnny. After meeting Simon at the bar, you two began to have weekly meetups. You learned he was in the military, he learned you were in the medical field, simple conversations got deeper as more time went on. Before you knew it, weekly turned into every few days, turned into almost every single day. There was very little you two didn’t know about each other.

One day, you stopped in to visit Simon without giving him a heads up. Walking up to his door, you could hear muffled speech, two deep accented voices almost battling as they rose together passionately. It had seemed like a disagreement, one that you were about to get drug into whether you intended to or not as the door flew open. 

Bright blue eyes locked in on you, the dark haired man with a mohawk focused on your appearance, eyes dragging downwards until they reached the ground your shoes rested on.

“Ah'm in.” He muttered back towards Simon, reaching a hand out to you.

“Ah'm John, call me Johnny.” He cooed, his accent sending shivers down your spine. A grin overtook his features, dimples showing through a light dusting of scruff. He ran a hand through his unruly hair before moving to the side and gesturing you in.

Once you walked in, the rest was history. One drink led to another, those drinks led to clothes thrown all over in desperation as the three of you made way to the bedroom. The rest was history, you became attached at the hips, that was until it was time for their next deployment.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, the main focus being to collect the intel and get out of dodge before the enemy discovered their presence among them. Simon and Johnny both kept reassuring you that it would be alright, they’ve done this hundreds of times before and they would be home before you knew it. You couldn’t shake the feeling of dread you had, small whispers of doubt creeping along your mind.

You had picked up a civilian contract in a military hospital after several conversations with your boys, deciding that it would be a good opportunity for you to be closer just in case the unthinkable happened. 

By god, did it.  

It was your run of the mill Tuesday, you began your shift by getting into the morning huddle, getting reports from the staff member before you. After you got the information you needed, you had just sat down to open your charts to verify information when you got an overhead alert.

“CODE BLUE, ETA 5 MINUTES, TRAUMA TEAM STANDBY, BAY 5”

A shiver went up your spine, a sense of doom overtaking you as the alert repeated a few times. It wasn’t your team called, but it was unusual to get a hotshot straight in like this.  

“Let me go!” The screams reached your ears before the trauma crew had even gotten the stretcher in the doorway, “Fucking let me go! I need to see him!” 

You didn’t even think twice, Simon's screams would be forever etched into your brain, but the sight that you came upon made you fall to your knees and wail. You could see the laryngoscope being forced into Johnny’s mouth, intubation following as they desperately worked to regain a pulse. CPR ongoing, meds being slammed, clothing being cut away quickly, bagging in progress, you could hear commands being thrown around but you couldn’t focus on anything said as the blood stains burned into your retinas. You couldn’t peel your eyes away from the laceration exposing his skull, grayish bone exposed to air as blood congealed around the rough edges of the wound. 

Simon’s eyes whipped over once he heard you, tears racing down his face through his broken mask as he began fighting even harder against Gaz’s hold. He needed to get to you, God he needed to touch you. Pure fear controlled him, pupils dilating as he broke free from Gaz. His own IV dangling from his arm, halfway removed from his struggle as his blood began dripping onto both of you.

 “Oh, god! I couldn’t-I didn’t!” His voice was breaking, cracking under the shock of everything. He couldn’t save him, the most he could do was watch as his lover was shot in the head by their enemy. It was only by pure chance they were already near exfil, Johnny was kept alive just long enough to get on the flight and be shoved over to medical. Simon forced his way onto the flight, trying to swat away the nurses that flocked to him to treat his injuries.

He watched as Johnny flatlined several times, only to be brought back and to die again and again, the vicious cycle never ending.  He tried to cover your face, your own screams melding with his as his eyes refused to leave Johnny’s prone form being surrounded. 

“We got a pulse!” A declaration that might’ve well have been directly from the mouth of a god Simon didn’t believe in, had him curling into you and sobbing. 

A single, glistening tear ran down Johnny’s cheek, a fight not yet won.  

A/N: Whoo! What a way to get back into it! I haven't written in years, so please be kind! This lovely little number was inspired by the wonderful @mindie-arts, namely this specific piece! An absolute treasure, I'm telling you! This was also written quickly so I apologize for any errors in structure or grammar/spelling!

Also, yes, they are out of character, I did that for the sake of the situation! I think it worked well :)

Wordcount: 1.4k