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random-thot-generator · 1 year ago

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Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 7

(Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

SEVEN: Can't Let Go

SIMON GHOST RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

Summary: A week has passed since the argument in the alley, and Reader's hurt has been replaced with a seething anger that leads her to make a spur-of-the-moment decision out of spite. However, her poor choices lead to a potentially dangerous situation.

(PLEASE MIND THE TAGS. This chapter could be triggering for some readers.)

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bad Coping Mechanisms, Allusions to sex, Threat of dub/non-con sexual situation, Brief Violence - Reader's a scrapper, Threat of violence though not acted upon... yet, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Ngl, this was a bitch to write. I had no less than three other alternative versions of this chapter, before choosing this one, but thankfully had some help along the way. Massive props to @glitterypirateduck for the much-needed advice and input. I ended up leaving the badger out, babe, but I hope you like the chapter, regardless. 😉👍)

[Image via TENOR]

Word Count: 5020

Chapter 7

...I ain't tryna find fate, it's too late to save face I can't get away, maybe there's no mistakes

You break me, then I break my rules Last time was the last time too It's fucked up, I know, but I'm still

Outside of the party, smokin' in the car with you Seven Nation Army, fightin' at the bar with you Tell you that I'm sorry, tell me what I gotta do 'Cause I can't let go...

—Post Malone, 'Chemical'

The walk to work is nice.

Blue skies and tattered clouds arch overhead, the remnants of puddles from an early morning shower reflecting the first sun you've seen in days. The world smells fresh and green and new, the signs of spring brightening your mood. It makes you feel light, the first time in a week you've felt like lifting your head to look around.

The first time since your fight with Riley.

You push the thought away. You're not going there today. Not again. You worked through the worst of the hurt and disappointment, and now you've settled into a comfortable, quiet fury that you keep wrapped around you like a warm blanket when the chill of loneliness creeps into your bed at night. You don't miss him, you don't want him, and you sure as hell don't need him. He's just one more bitter lesson you've had to learn the hard way. You won't make the same mistake, again.

Well... not again, anyway.

A car beeps its horn behind you, and you glance back to see Jerry Finch, the lorry driver who delivers the kegs to the pub, waving at you from a black sports car. You give a half-hearted smile and wave back, your steps slowing when he steers his car to the curb.

His window rolls down, rap music thumping before he turns it down. Leaning on his arm in the open window, Jerry tips his chin down to look over his aviator sunglasses at you, a smooth half-smile on his lips. "How ya doin', Dee? Headin' to work?"

You nod, stepping closer to his car, trying to ignore the way he looks you up and down before meeting your gaze. He gives you an appreciative smile and ticks his eyebrows up, ever the flirt. You sniff in amusement and squint against the sun to see him better. "Morning, Jer." You nod at his car. "No lorry today. This your day off?"

He gives you a charming, almost boyish smile and nods. "Yeah. Had some business here in the village, though." He glances down towards the pub, then slants his gaze back to you, thumbing at his bottom lip. "I can give ya a lift, if ya like. Goin' that way, anyhow."

You hesitate but then nod in acceptance. It's just an acquaintance from work offering you a ride, nothing wrong with that. He smiles and motions for you to get in, once more letting his eyes wander over your figure while you settle yourself into the passenger seat and put on your seatbelt.

"Thank you," you murmur, glancing up at him, then away. Jerry's never been one to hide his interest, taking every opportunity to flirt with you when given half a chance. Of course, it makes you feel good to have a handsome man flirt with you, but it also makes you a little leery, too. You try to be nice, but you don't want to encourage him, something that Fiona fusses about every chance she gets.

"Bloody hell, Dee, give the bloke a chance. He's got a good job, he's good lookin', fit as fuck, an' he's gaggin' t'get with ya. What can it hurt?"

Rationally, you know Fi is right, but you can't help yourself. There's just something about him. You can't put your finger on it but being near him just feels... off. You clear your throat and look out the window, your eyes catching on a dark gray Gladiator parked in front of the Tea Room.

Riley.

You can see him standing inside through the tall Georgian windows, chatting with Margie, the owner. She's handing him a bag and a to-go cup that you know will be filled with English breakfast tea brewed strong, with a splash of milk and two sugars, the way he likes. Your heart squeezes in your chest as you watch him exit the building and get in his truck.

Riley's been avoiding the pub when you're on shift. Fiona says he's been showing up in the evening, sitting in his usual spot while nursing his Dewar's. She also doesn't fail to mention Tessa Harker has been chatting him up quite a bit lately, too. It hurts to hear it, but you only give a tight smile and mutter, "Good for him," much to your friend's irritation.

Fiona and Ollie have both noticed the way you and Riley have been avoiding each other, but apparently Riley has kept mum about the argument, as have you. You had wondered if he would spread word about your other job at the Grind out of spite, but no one has mentioned it so far, and for that you're relieved, but you're still wary of what he might do with the information.

"So, what time ya gettin' off work?"

The question draws your attention back to the big man sitting beside you. Did he notice you staring, you wonder. "Um, I get off work at five."

"Then what?" he persists, and you know where this is going.

You shrug, keeping your eyes focused straight ahead. "Then back home, I suppose."

"Come out with me, instead," he suggests, shooting another one of his charming smiles your way. "There's a nice Italian bistro in Blackheath. I deliver to 'em. Nice place, good food."

"Oh, um, well..."

He chuckles and reaches over to pat your knee. "No rush, sweetheart. Got all day t'think it over, yeah?"

Again, the feeling that something is off with him comes to the fore of your brain, but you smile, regardless. "Yeah, sure. I'll... think about it," you reply, knowing your mind is already made up. You just have to think of a nice way to let him down. Again.

Jerry gives your knee another pat, which turns into a sly caress that has you flinching away. He huffs a laugh at your reaction, giving you a playful 'just-kidding' grin, before he lifts his hand and places it back on the wheel. He has big, beefy hands, thick fingers with blunt tips, a working man's hands. You usually find that attractive, have often admired Riley's large hands and long, supple fingers, but for some reason, the sight of Jerry's ham fists curled around the steering wheel makes you feel uncomfortable.

The car comes to a stop in front of the pub, and you're quick to unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door. "Thanks for the ride, Jer," you say, one foot already resting on the pavement.

"Think nothin' of it, love. Glad t'give you a ride anytime," he murmurs, suggestion heavy in his tone. He flashes another smile at you, winking again. He does that a lot, and you find it annoying. "I'll stop by later, see if ya want to go out for dinner, yeah?"

"Y-Yeah, sure. Okay."

You get out of his car and sketch a little wave as he pulls away, then turn to head inside the pub, only to come up short. Riley's standing right in front of the entrance, arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes fixed on Jerry's car, which is now rounding the green.

"Friend o' yers?"

It's the first words he's said to you since last Sunday in the alley, and the way he says it instantly gets your hackles up. You square off with him, casting a disparaging look over him. The proper thing would have been to offer you an apology, but you know better than to expect anything like that from him. Instead, he leads with a question that sounds both accusatory and insulting, all at the same time.

Typical.

"Shouldn't you already know? That's what you're good at, isn't it? Keeping tabs on me?" you snap, glaring at him.

You make a point to bump his shoulder as you pass by him and enter the pub. He's on your heels in an instant, following you through the door, obviously irritated by your response. You ignore him as you round the bar, pulling the strap of your bag over your head before placing it on top of the bar to take out your phone and a paperback.

"Wot? Ya got nothin' else t'say, doll? Tha's not like ya."

Your eyes snap up to glare at him. "Thought we said all that needed to be said last Sunday," you hissed at him, trying to keep your voice down, knowing Ollie would be back in his office.

Simon plants both hands on the bar and leans in, his dark eyes scathing as they pin you to the spot. "I wasn't finished talkin'. It was you that fuckin' ran off," he growls in return, but manages to keep his voice to a low rumble.

Your brows shoot up in mock surprise. "Oh! How terribly rude of me. I suppose I should have stood there until you were finished insulting me." Your eyes narrowed as you sneered at him. "Fuck you for that, by the way."

He's wearing his black surgical mask today, so his angry scowl is more evident than usual. He shoves off the bar in a fit of temper, hand coming up to jab a finger at you. "Like I told ya last Sunday, me an' you need t'talk, an' this time yer goin' t'bloody listen to wha—"

Your snort cuts him off. "We have nothing left to discuss. You made your opinion of me quite clear. But hey! At least I know where I stand with you now. Don't worry, though. I'll keep my distance. Wouldn't want to embarrass you by being seen associating with a slag, right?"

"Dammit t'hell, Dee! I never fuckin' called ya that. I never thought that. Would ya just bloody lis—"

"Riley, lad!"

You both turn to see Ollie heading your way, a pleased smile on his face. Shooting Riley one last venomous glare, you turn your back on him and make for the swinging door leading into the kitchen, his frustrated growl giving you a sense of grim satisfaction as you slip through the door. Fuck him. You hope he stays pissed off for the rest of the day.

You can hear the two men talking as you go back to hang up your jacket, eyes wandering over the unused kitchen as you pass through. What you wouldn't give for a kitchen this size, and here this one sits, unused and abandoned. You had mentioned a time or two that adding a small menu would bring in more business, but since the last cook quit, Ollie hasn't been too keen to fire up the kitchen again. It's a pity, really.

"Dee, love."

You glance over your shoulder to see Ollie standing at the service window. "What'cha need, Ol?"

Mind makin' me an' Riley a cuppa an' bringin' 'em to the office?"

You frown, wondering what happened to the tea you had seen Riley with before. You shrug it off and nod. "Sure thing, Ol. Be right out with 'em."

"Thanks, love," he says, rapping his knuckles before disappearing from sight.

You rinse out the electric kettle and fill it with water, then plug it in and switch it on before grabbing three mugs and the tea tin. You consider making Riley's tea wrong, just for spite, but that would be petty, even for you, or as Riley would call it, bratty. You sniff. He's a fuckin' brat. A bratty arsehole.

You scoop instant coffee into your own mug then add the tea bags to the other two cups, before going to the fridge to take out the milk. It's become routine for you to make both men's tea, your hands going through the motions while your thoughts wander back to Jerry and his dinner invitation.

Your first instinct is to turn him down, as you have all his other invitations, but the memory of how pissed Riley looked as he watched the other man drive away gives you pause. He always did eye Jerry with open suspicion, his instant dislike of the other man never something he tried to hide. He's never said why he doesn't like Jerry, but it didn't change the fact that it would probably piss Riley off to learn you were going out to dinner with him.

Maybe you are petty after all, because now your mind has changed. You are going on a dinner date this evening after work.

Setting your mug of coffee in the window to retrieve later, you take the other two mugs with you out of the kitchen. Rounding the bar, you head towards the narrow hallway that leads to the bathrooms and Ollie's office, walking slower to not spill any of their tea. You can hear their voices through the door as you stop to announce your presence. It's Riley who opens the door for you, not bothering to move out of your way as you slide past him with an irritated expression.

"Move, ya big lump," you grumble lowly, which gets a soft sniff of amusement from him. Arsehole.

"Ah, thanks, love," Ollie says, reaching out to take his mug. You set Riley's on the edge of his desk near the old club chair where he always sits. "Mind closin' the door on yer way out?" Ollie asks.

You give a nod, turning around to see that Riley is still standing in your way. You go to step around him, and he steps in your way again. You blow out an aggravated breath and raise your eyes to his, the urge to shove him again making your hands twitch. When he quirks a brow up at you, you grit your teeth and glare at him. Then an idea sparks in your brain. You look back over your shoulder at your boss.

"Say, Ol. Ya mind if I cut out a little early this evening? I've got a dinner date with Jerry the lorry driver."

Ollie nearly chokes on his tea before he manages to get his cup set down on his desk. His sharp eyes dart between you and Riley, an odd expression on his face as he tries to make sense of what's going on. He finally clears his throat and gives a curt nod. "Yeah. Sure, love. No problem."

You give him a sweet smile that turns spiteful when you turn your head back to the man in front of you. "Thanks, Ol," you reply, meeting Riley's furious glare. "Excuse me. Need to get back to work."

You can see his hands balling into fists, and it sends a thrill of sadistic glee through you. You'd rather die than look away from him right now, a smirk appearing when he has to hold his tongue and step aside for you. By the time you reach the hallway and close the door behind you, you're damn near giddy. The smirk on your face grows to a full-on wicked grin by the time you reach the bar again.

Satisfied with the good, hard poke you've just given the proverbial bear, you begin your prep work, humming a catchy pop song under your breath.

You manage to avoid any more close interactions with Riley, though he hangs around the bar your entire shift, giving you a baleful glare every time you draw near. You make it a point to ignore him, chatting with the other customers, talking and laughing like you weren't bothered at all by his brooding presence. You see him visibly stiffen when Jerry comes swaggering in, his signature charming smile already in place.

Before he can speak, you step to the bar and offer him a sweet smile. "Hi, Jer. Ollie said I can leave early, so we can go whenever you like."

Jerry can't hide the surprise on his face, but he swiftly recovers as he leans an elbow on the bar to bring his eyes level with yours. "Good. Been thinkin' 'bout it all day," he murmurs, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

You stiffen, discomfited by the look in his eye, but try to hide it by ducking to grab your bag from beneath the bar. When you raise up again, a pleasant smile is plastered on your face. "I just need to grab my jacket and tell Ollie I'm leaving, then we can go."

"'Course, sweetheart," Jer replies, watching you as you round the bar and head for the hallway. He catches Riley staring at him and lifts his brows, giving him a smug little smirk, which you honestly think is stupid of him. Despite Jerry's size, you have no doubt Riley would mop the fucking floor with him. You roll your eyes. Men and their stupid bloody posturing.

The sooner you get this over with, the better. This game is quickly losing its appeal.

Jerry offers to take you home to change if you want, but you decline, honestly not comfortable with the idea of bringing him up to your flat. He seems a little perturbed when you turn down his offer but then shrugs and drives to Blackheath, instead.

As he said, the little bistro is nice, the food delicious. The conversation is lackluster, though, but you weren't really expecting much. Beyond talking about himself, Jerry doesn't seem to hold much interest in other topics. Big surprise.

Once you're back in the car, he drapes his arm over your seat and leans in, a sexy smirk on his face. "So, where to next, sweetheart? Your place or mine?"

Your brows shoot up in mild surprise. "I thought this was just dinner," you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. "Moving a little fast, don't you think?"

He tips his chin down, giving you a knowing look. "C'mon, Dee. We're both adults here. I've seen how you an' that other barmaid check me out. Not that I'm complainin'." He gives you one of his smarmy winks, and you fight the urge to wrinkle your nose in disdain.

You sniff and give your head a small shake. The audacity of this bloke. Did he honestly think you were just going to drop your knickers because he bought you dinner? "Yeah, I think I'd rather go home by myself. I have work in the morning."

Jerry draws back, blinking. "Are you serious?" When you roll your eyes, he scoffs and tilts his nose up, as if he can't believe you are turning him down. "Whatever. Your loss, sweetheart," he mutters with a slight sneer and starts the car.

The drive back to Banfield is tense and awkward, but you honestly prefer the silence. When Jer finally speaks up, you startle out of your thoughts. "Mind if I take a shortcut?" he asks, his tone off-hand.

You shrug. "Fine with me." If it gets you home quicker, you're all for it.

Yet when he veers off the main road onto a country lane, you frown. You aren't familiar with this particular backroad, but from the direction you're going it doesn't look like you're heading towards home.

"Are you sure this goes to Banfield?"

Jer slants a condescending look at you, a shitty little smirk pulling up a corner of his mouth. "I drive for a livin', sweetheart. Ya really think I'm goin' t'get lost on the way to bloody Banfield?"

Your eyes roll up, but you hold your tongue, yet after another five minutes with nothing even closely resembling civilization in sight, you can't keep quiet. "We should be in Banfield by now. It's just a ten-minute drive from Blackheath. Are you sure you took the right road?" You glance around at the dark, unfamiliar landscape. "I don't even know where the hell we are right now."

"I took the scenic route," Jer drawls, waving a hand. He then drops it on your knee and gives it a squeeze. "Chill out, sweetheart. We'll get there. Eventually."

Apprehension creeps up your spine like the drag of an icy finger. You don't like this. This man, who you really know nothing about, you now realize, is driving you out to the middle of nowhere. "Maybe you should turn around."

Jerry glances over at you again, and this time the look in his eye makes the small hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Maybe you should try to relax." His hand slides up your leg to grip your thigh. "I'd be happy t'pull over an' help ya with that, sweetheart."

And there it is. The reason for getting you out here alone. You aren't even really surprised, always knowing in the back of your mind that there was something off with him, though you chose to ignore it this time, just to spite Riley.

Hindsight really is a bitch sometimes.

"Jer, I told you I wanted to go home," you murmur, trying to keep your voice low and even.

He huffs, a smug expression on his face. "C'mon, Dee. Stop playin' hard t'get. It's jus' me an' you now. Your boyfriend doesn't have t'know. I can keep my mouth shut. It'll be our little secret, yeah?"

"My boyfriend?" you blurt out, confused.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, right. Sorry. Your friend," he sneers and then scoffs. "Don't act like ya don't know who I'm talkin' 'bout. That scarred up freak with the mask who's always up yer arse."

"What the fuck did you just say?" you choke out, fury strangling your voice. You're ready to claw out his eyes for what he said about Riley.

Jerry waves a dismissive hand at you. "Enough with the games, Dee. I know ya only went out with me t'make him jealous, an' I'm fine with that, really, but don't ya think I deserve some sort of... ya know, compensation for playin' along?"

Rage consumes you, hot and prickling beneath your skin. "Take me home. Now!"

The cold, flat look in his eye chills you to the bone. "Not 'til I get what ya owe me, sweetheart. Don't look so offended. I doubt this is the first time you've paid up for somethin' by lyin' on your back."

The hard slap you deliver to his smug face has him swerving across the narrow road before he slams on the brakes, sluing the car around in the loose gravel. You only manage to free your seatbelt before he grabs you.

"Are ya fuckin' crazy, ya bitch?" he yells in your face, shaking you hard as he shoves you back against your door. "Ya could'a killed us!"

You jab your thumb in his eye for his trouble. He bellows in pain, releasing you to clutch at his face, freeing you to reach behind your back to paw at the latch. The door flies open under your weight and dumps you out backwards onto the gravel. When his hand seizes your ankle in a crushing grip, you frantically kick out with your other foot. Though you're unable to see from your position on the ground, you revel in a brief moment of satisfaction when you feel it make solid contact with his head, and he yells in pain again. Yanking your legs free of the car, you scramble to your feet, snatching your bag from the ground as you sprint for the woods.

Too terrified to look back, you run headlong into the tree line. You stumble through the undergrowth, feeling the spindly branches and thorns tear at your clothes and snag in your hair as it rakes bloody scratches into your exposed skin. You trip over tree roots and stub your toes on stones hidden beneath the moldering ground cover of dead leaves. All the while, Jerry is bellowing like an enraged bull as he thrashes through the foliage somewhere behind you, shouting threats and curses at you the whole time.

When you inevitably fall flat on your face, you skid across the forest floor to hitch up at the base of a huge oak. You have just enough time to crawl behind its massive trunk before Jerry comes crashing through. When you hear him approach, you clap your hand over your nose and mouth to muffle the sound of your gasping breaths, terrified he will hear you. Your eyes go wide when you see him pass by your hiding spot close enough that you could reach out and touch him, if you wanted. Scared beyond reason, you press your back against the rough bark of the oak and pray he doesn't see you when he pans the flashlight on his cell phone around.

A strangled noise issues from his throat before he growls out a frustrated, "Fuuuck!" You can see him pacing back and forth as he rakes his hands through his hair. If you didn't know any better, you would think he was panicking. "Crazy fuckin' bitch," you hear him seethe under his heaving breath, growling again. "Fine, ya stupid cunt!" he shouts at the dark woods, throwing his arms up in the air. "Find yer own way home, then!" He then turns around and stomps back the way he came, still uttering curses.

You don't dare move, not even when the sound of his heavy footfalls fades away. You don't dare move, not even when the only thing you can hear is the wind rattling the tree branches overhead. You don't dare move, not until you at last hear the distant sound of a car motor rev to life, the sound gradually diminishing until you can't hear it any longer. It is only then that you are brave enough to slowly stand up on your shaking legs, only to lean once more on the trunk for support as a sob finally tears free from your chest.

You remain that way for several minutes, trying desperately to regain your composure, even as your brain keeps circling around the notion that Jerry's departure is some sort of ruse to lure you back out into the open. It's the idea of spending a cold night alone in the woods that finally has you lifting your head to take in your surroundings and evaluate your situation.

At first glance, it seems pretty dire. You have no idea where you are, you're too scared to venture back onto road for fear of Jerry lying in wait somewhere, and it's pitch dark out tonight, not even the wan light of the moon visible in the overcast sky to help guide you through the woods.

Your only real option is to call for help.

Reaching into your bag, you take out your phone, cursing under your breath when you drop it due to your trembling hands. The glow of the screen is a small comfort as you unlock your phone and open your contacts list. You stare at the emergency number, finger hovering.

If you call the police, there will have to be a report filed, and then there will be an inquiry to investigate your claims. You already know it will be your word against Jerry's. His solicitors will no doubt drag your name through the mud to discredit you, and he will probably still get off with nothing more than a light slap on the wrist, if he even gets that, because he actually didn't do anything to you, at least not physically. Hell, you had done more damage to him than he had to you. He could claim you attacked him, and he wouldn't even be lying.

You look back down at your phone, one name standing out like a beacon in the dark. When you see that name, you think of home, of safety, the two things you want most right now. You select it and hit the call button, holding the phone up to your ear and praying there will be an answer. Your breath catches in your throat when you hear the line connect.

"Whad'ya want, Dee?" a gravelly, annoyed voice growls into your ear, and a sob escapes your throat, you are so relieved to hear him.

"Ruh... Riley? P-Please, Ri... please. I n-need you..."

No one in the White Dog knew what to think when the usually quiet giant that sat at the end of the bar suddenly erupted out of his seat, the bar chair toppling over. "Doll! What's wrong? Where are ya?" he barks into his phone.

He apparently doesn't like what he hears.

"He fuckin' did what?! " he growls, a look of pure murderous rage igniting in his dark eyes. As he listens to you, however, his rage is tempered by his troubled concern. "Are ya hurt, love? I swear t'God if he―" His hand clenches into a trembling fist, even though his voice is now a low rumble. "Please don't cry, love. I know, I know, but I'll find ya. Ya know I will. I'm on my way right now. Just... keep yer phone on for me, yeah?"

He's already making for the entrance as he says this, the murderous look returning as he mutters, "I'll kill that bastard," before he barges through the door. He hits it with such force, it slams into the outside wall hard enough to shatter the frosted safety glass. He doesn't even acknowledge it as he runs to his truck and tears off down the street with a bark of tires the next instant, leaving a silent pub full of stunned onlookers in his wake.

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Taglist: @stillinracooncity @cumikering @cutiecusp @deadbranch @ghostlythots @thetiredtoad0-0 @glitterypirateduck @gothgirl6-6-6 @sofasoap @cathnoneofyourbusiness @shuttlelauncher81 @luminousbeings-crudematter @crunchlite @delilah-grimes @bobochacha

#simon ghost riley x fem reader #simon riley x fem reader #cod ghost x fem reader #ghost x fem reader #simon ghost riley x frenemy fem reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader #Frenemies/Tenderness AU #Love Thy Frenemy

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lycorsa · 3 years ago

Text

The Hunter | Mercy | *Revised*

Pairing: Mercy x Reader

Notes: This is a rewrite of something I wrote in 2019. I see requests in my inbox and brain apparently goes silent. Anyhow, I wanted to bring back witch Mercy and might start posting some other fandoms because OW is kinda dry for me rn, ngl. Lemme just get my gold border and die pls and ty. Also I've kind of made use of a flashback so the bold will kinda tell you where the hell you are, ya know

I swear all I write is angst. Every fic on my ao3 has either angst or hurt/no comfort tagged. We're doing great 👁👄👁👍

And uhh word count of like 1.3k but I'm on mobile so no read more option for us apparently. Tumblr just likes to bully me

Breathe. The air that fills your lungs is cruel in every way; sinister even. It's heavy against your chest and leaves something cold that you opt to ignore.

Relax. You push the air out in calculated breaths as to not draw attention to yourself. Hold. Your lungs burn against the practiced technique, but you don't dare move.

Aim. Target in sight, their back turned unsuspecting–none the wiser. You could end this now. Her terrifying reign could end with a single bolt. Just pull the release and it would be over. Get your payment and leave.

Finger on the release, your body stills. Through the fog, your eyes only see her. Not her creations lurking in the shadows nor the tethers ready to bind you should you act. You see the way her hair shown under the moonlight untucked from her hat. How her whole body relaxs under the same light–unaware.

Gods be damned, why couldn't you just do it.

The answer was simple, truly. Try as you might, you were charmed by the witch.

***

Some time prior...

"Away with you, witch." Your words are noncommittal, slurred even. Body heaving with every step, the moon is your only guide as heavy boots trudge through the forest floor. You stumble against branches and bramble but don't dare fall.

For if you fall, you're sure you'll never will yourself to stand again.

She is the figure at the edge of your vision. The one who watches in silence, seething with vague interest. First, you figure her for a madwoman from the nearby village. Alone in the middle of the night with no tools against the evil beings of the forest.

Then the realization hits.

"I am simply observing, Hunter," the words are like honey. Rolling off the tongue in waves as she approaches. You're in no right mind to fight. Not after your little dance with death earlier that night, "There's no harm in observing those who trample my lands, is there?"

You swallow. There's no point in answering. Not when a woman who could kill you with the snap of a finger stands before you.

"Quiet one, aren't you, Hunter?" She purrs, one hand moving to assess the damage done to your neck, little care as she tilts your head to the side with some force. Her thumb grazes over the bloodied mark left by the vampire countess.

You wince, the action beyond yourself, earning a smile from the woman. And so she does it again and again, pleased as you writhe and squirm under her grip, "I quite like the silent ones."

As if on command, a shadowy cask of armor made its presence known. The blue flames ignited by the fog only seem to drive further until you're sure you see eyes. They flicker from you to the woman in conceded admission before grabbing you roughly by your armpits, tearing you away from the witch.

"Now, Fareeha. That's no way to treat our newest guest." She whispers something under her breath and your world is plunged into darkness.

***

When you come to, you can't be sure of the day. Hell, you're not even sure you're alive until you hear your heart thrumming loudly in your ears. It's mind-numbing. The rapid pace can't be healthy. For a moment, you fear it will stop entirely until a new worry works itself into your mind.

Wildly, you grasp at your neck and the all too familiar sensation of bandages wrapped firmly around the wound. Alive. You're alive and someone cared enough about your wellbeing to at least bandage the wound.

Immediately, you scan the room for any signs of life. It's a wide room, a communal room even. Shelves stocked with ancient books dot the room between them, various oddities–ingredients, plants, and clutter–lay between.

"Awake now, Hunter?"

Your head swivels to meet the voice. That same voice. Her damned voice. The witch.

Opposite her previous attire, she dawns a light cloak that leaves little to imagination. You don't dare break eye contact with her: you'll never hear the end of it if you do, you're sure.

"Hunter," she descends much faster than you can make sense of, one hand prodding the bandage, while the other drags across your jawline. Her face hovers inches away from you and you don't dare move. The witch's charm is intoxicating.

She says something that you can't quite make out. You only nod. The gesture could've gone unnoticed had she not been paying attention. Spoiler: she was. The witch catches your disinterest, hand moving from your wound to the curve below your lips.

"Hunter, you're not all there now," she states observantly, a hint of humor to her voice as she tilts your head upward to meet hers, "The Countess has a rather warm effect on those she feeds on."

Warm?

"She shall be most delighted when I inform her of the longevity of these effects, I'm sure."

"As for now..." The witch retracts her hands and eyes something–someone with confirmation, "you'll rest and when you wake again, we'll consider our options moving forward."

"Sleep well, Hunter."

***

Present-day...

Everything–every little noise–rings louder than the last in your ears. Every breath is thunder against the silence. You're sure it bellows throughout the forest where every soul; living and dead listens.

Pull the release, get it over with. The words cross your mind more times than you care to count. But you can't do it.

You won't do it.

Not to her.

The village inhabitants were out of their minds to believe you of all people could do this. That you would turn on her. Or perhaps that was why they did. Sever the weakest link. Kill two birds with one stone.

"Angela," the words tumble from your mouth before you can stop yourself. No going back now. You lower the crossbow to your side until you carefully lay it against the cobbled ground, "I... They're going to..."

Speaking is lost on you when you meet knowing eyes with guilt, "I can't keep this ruse up much longer."

It was far easier to say that than the alternative. Admit your failure. That Angela would die for your misgivings.

"You haven't failed me before, Hunter," she muses. There's no sign of fear on her expression. She should be angry, livid with you. She should do anything but smile now.

Oh, her perfect smile.

"You have a beautiful soul," there's no malice to her words, "One worth keeping."

A joke, you realize. She's joking now of all times.

"Angela, this isn't a joking matter," you say sternly. It's not a tone you take often. Only when unsavory individuals encroach on the forest, "They want to kill you."

"The townspeople?" She doesn't wait for a response, approaching you until she's only a stone's throw away, "Yes. I know. They have for years. Cowards, all of them."

"Gods, they wanted me to kill you but I couldn't." Chanting in the distance raises numerous alarms in your head. You can see the wavering glow of torches through the treetline, "They'll finish the job if I don't."

"And will you do it?" Angela closed the remaining distance with a few steps until the two of you were only separated by height, "Will you finish the job?"

You're thankful that suit of armor is out of sight. It'd probably just about fall apart if it heard you talking about killing the witch.

"No."

There's a churning inside your chest and you can't help but loath it, "You need to leave. With Fareeha and never come back."

You read her face for any betrayal of emotion. Nothing. She breathes, drinking in the moment for all she can, "This was my home once. Wooded as it can be, it was a home. And those monsters wish nothing more than to drive me away from it."

"And it's your home too. Even when I'm away it will always be your home."

Angela takes your hands into her own and lifts them to her lips. There's a silent recognition in her eyes–a sad one. You can see it in the way she's unable to meet your eyes, "We'll meet again, Hunter. In life and in death, you serve me."

Then she was gone. And with her, she took your soul.

#mercy x reader #angela ziegler x reader

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