#but it definitely could have turned out worse

[lustlovehart]

No Comfort In Sheets

Pairing: Phainon x Reader (1.9k words)

Summary: Phainons exactly where he wants to be, in your arms, sleeping in a bed like lovers do. Little does he know, he's where you want him to be, vulnerable to your touch, and susceptible to your rage... Except, it's never that easy to get rid of "love".

Warnings: Yandere, Implied Nsfw/Suggestive, Possessive Traits, Obsession, Reader & Phainon were in a relationship (Started good then went sour), Violence (Reader to Phainon), Implied Imprisonment

Your body casts a shadow over Phainon as he sleeps, kneeling at his side on the mattress. His hand keeps a weak hold on your waist, almost as soft as his breathing. Almost.

You cringe at the dark bruises on your neck. You can´t see them, but you can feel them—A harsh reminder of what you did only an hour prior. You can still feel him in your core. In your defense, if you ever tried doing something like that with another man, you're quite sure he'd kill them. Or maybe worse.

Your hand glides over his toned abs, your finger sailing over his chest, until you finally graze his throat. You won't kill him. You can't.

Even if you tried, there would be no use.

Truthfully, you hoped your scandal would allow you to bite his jugular and allow yourself a sweet revenge. Maybe even drink his blood like sweet wine. The more you thought about it, though, you fear he would think it was sexy. You allow your right hand to open your nightstand drawer, a pocket knife held within.

You look at the blade once, before looking back at him... What if... it's too messy? By the time he came to, would he be angry with you...?

You suck a breath in when you feel Phainon's grasp on your weight tighten, pulling you closer to him. He's still asleep, but you're reminded that he's still living when he whispers your name.

... Too much mess. Slowly, you place the weapon back in its place.

You opt for sitting in silence as he softly breathes by your side. You wish he were the obnoxious snoring type. If he was, maybe you could justify strangling his pretty neck with your hands.

...

You turn back to face him, your hands ghosting over his neck. With a deep inhale, you slowly inch your fingers on his skin. The moment your the tips of your hand touch him, you watch him visibly shift at the feeling. Yet he doesn't wake up.

It's a great thing you prepared for this. Chances are, he would've woken up immediately at the feeling if you hadn't conditioned him in his slumber by playing with his neck as he slept with you. Agonizingly steady as you wrap yourself around him.

The moment you finally put pressure, in the blink of an eye, you're flipped over onto the mattress, your back slamming on plush sheets as your wrists are bound. You struggle for a moment in reflex before remembering this is Phainon you're up against. You have no chance.

"Ah, you're awake." His disposition is sunny, as if he didn't know you were trying to strangle him. He definitely knows, but he doesn't let it show. He continues to act as if you two are still lovers who can keep living in peace. "Shall we go out?" he smiles, and the sun hits him in a way artists would muse to be a masterpiece. You don't. You think he looks like a beast.

He's not delusional. He knows you hate him now. He knows, you know, that he knows you hate him. But some of him still wishes to keep the facade of "love". A moment passes and he sighs, releasing your wrists before placing a soft kiss on your wrist. He plops his weight down on you, resting his head on your chest. If you were the naive being you were once before, you're sure you would've fallen for his charms once again.

But you don't. You remain firm in your resolve.

"Let's break up, Phainon." Your other five attempts always allow the expression of hurt to appear on his face. You think he's grown accustomed to such trials though, as he only smiles, placing a kiss on your bare chest.

"We can always go to your favorite. And no, we won't." He addresses your demand like an afterthought. Like it's just a temporary, minor snag in your love life.

A part of you wonders what has him so desperate to keep you by his side. Like a lifeline. He realizes life goes on, right? He can't keep you in this loop forever. Amphoreus is planet with a multitude of people he can move on with. Why you?

He plays with your fingers as he goes over the variety of places you both could eat. It's mundane. You want to try strangling him again.

"Ah, but that place has—"

"Why do you love me, Phainon?" you feel like you should laugh. You finally see that face of shock back on his face after so long. You should feel victorious. But you don't. If anything, you feel a sense of guilt eat at you, and you hate it. You shouldn't feel pity at all.

But maybe it’s part of your past surfacing back up to hold him like your soulmate again.

You quickly shove it down.

"Do I need a reason?" You're gonna go crazy.

"No, you don't. But if you had one I'd like to know."

"Have."

"What?"

"I still love you." If you were still in the blooming feelings of affection, you're sure you would've swooned.

"No, you don't."

"Yes I do. If I didn't we wouldn't together in our bed—"

"Your bed, Phainon. Yours." You think you're finally breaking him down. His hand holds yours tighter, like you're on the verge of disappearing, and in a sense, you are.

You don't say anything, but Phainon grows more perturbed, before eventually, he kisses you. Disturbingly, it's not rough like you would expect after seeing him grow frustrated, but it's soft, loving. It's tender enough to make you wanna cry. And you do. You cry, pounding your fist on his shoulder. If anything, it hurts you more than it hurts him, but you keep hitting him. You keep going until he stops you, worrying over your hand. He acts as if he isn't the one to blame for your state.

"Why...? Why did you have to love me...?!" The awkward shift between you two has you remember you're still bare, still vulnerable. Your face of realization has him roll off, allowing you to take cover under the sheets. You hate how, even when he won't let you leave him, he still treats you like the most loving of lovers. "No... not love. Obsess."

His back is facing you. You're reminded of how built he is, how strong he is, and how he's never purposefully hurt you. Oh, but how he has accidentally. He's never realized, though, because all those scars remain buried in your soul, instead of etched in the surface of your skin.

"I realized... I didn't want anyone else to see what you've shown me."

You don't feel sick anymore, nor do you feel anger. In the moment, you think you feel regret. Apart of you wishes,

That you never fell in love with him.

"What did I show you?"

He doesn't answer. But he turns to face you, his blue eyes staring deep into you, like he's committing to memory every part of you, searing it like a brand. You pull to covers up to shield the rest of your skin. You're about to cover your face too, before his hand gently tugs at the fabric, signaling you to at least let him see that part of you.

"Truthfully," his finger brushes your bottom lip, smiling at the feeling under his thumb, "I don't know either." He's back to eating at your personal space when he leans down. "But I just... Have the feeling it has to be just for me."

He's lying. You've known him for long enough to know when he lies. He knows, he just won't tell you... And you don't know if you're willing to risk him finally going full-on obsessed over you.

No, that's not true. He already is in the throes of true obsession. What else do you have to lose?

"I just acted like a regular lover... I never did anything to warrant this! Any of it! I deserve to be outside with someone else—!"

The bed frame slams against the wall from the way Phainon puts his hand on it. Propping himself above you once again. For a faint moment, his eyes glow gold, flickering every so often, before he inhales and places his forehead on yours. His white hair tickles your sweaty skin.

"Who else is there for you?" You don't know either. But anyone else is better than this heir. "What are you going to leave me for?"

...

You think... This is his attempt at asking you why you want to leave him so much; Why you became so desperate to leave his love, you resorted to killing him for this escape? Is it really so worth it for you?

Can't you see all he wants is to give you every part of him? The only thing you have to do is greedily swallow his love.

"For myself."

...

You can see his blue eyes soften. An exhale you think is supposed to be a poor laugh leaves him. He leans in, soft, slow.

But his kiss is excruciatingly gluttonous. Teeth clank, his tongue invades your mouth as if he’s trying to make you taste all of him, his soul, his entirety. His hand pulls your neck in, his other hand rubbing circles into your hips through the blanket. It’s different. He’s trying to overtake all your senses.

He wants your mind too. That’s what he’s doing.

He doesn’t give you time to breathe, stealing your breath like it’s his oxygen. It gets to the point where you can even feel drool on your faces, a mixture of both your essences. You have to breathe through your nose. But truthfully, you think he’s not giving you a break, not because of you, but himself.

It’s he who doesn’t wish to let this end. You think it’s cruel. Not because of him, but… because you’re giving in to his whims.

Hesitantly, your fingers bury themself in his hair, your free hand removing him from your neck, and interlocking with his own fingers. A few seconds and you’re returning it.

Maybe… It’s because you’re desperate, or maybe you’re into his sick obsession and you just don’t know it, but you’re letting him take you over. You’re allowing him to obsess over you.

Why? Why aren’t you taking this moment of vulnerability and running away from him? You just don’t know. Or maybe you do— Ah.

You don’t care anymore.

You move Phainon’s hands to the sheets, allowing him to slowly pull down the fabric. Watching his eyes, they’re incredibly focused on your body being sluggishly exposed. It’s as if he hasn’t seen the sight hundreds of times, like it’s still beautiful to him.

You feel sorrow, sorrow for yourself.

He kisses the bare skin again, his eyes locking in on yours.

You wish, you still cared. 

You can hear him whisper it like a mantra, like a truth that he desperately wants you to believe. A prayer.

“God, I love you… I love you so much, you have no idea—” he springs up and kisses your lips another time, greedily swallowing you in his mouth, before going back down.

God, you wish you cared.

A/n: Phainon, please come home so I can lick your golden biceps plsplsplspls.

[itzpookiepooh]

Heyi love your writings! I have request feel free to ignore it if you want to .

Can you write the lads boys reaction to the reader having a contagious virus or infection where she can't touch anyone or have any normal encounter?

I fear it’s in my bones to make this funny somehow

CHEESE TOUCH

Rafayel is dripped down in medical gear. I’m talking suit, hair cap, gloves, the works. Coming home from the doctor’s office was insane enough. He made you sit in the backseat while he had a mask on and zoomed home. Now you were in the guest bedroom while he hands you stuff with a grabby stick.

“Just grab it please.” He mumbled sweetly. Honestly you wanted to laugh.

“I’m trying.” You tell him as you laugh which leads you to cough. He flinches at the sound almost dropping the stick holding the bag filled with hydration.

“I’m trying to be supportive but I’m so scared.” He whispered to himself as his hands tremble. You almost lost it because the situation may be serious but this was too good.

“Is the God of the sea scared of me?” You tease with a hoarse voice. He immediately denies what you said.

“I’m scared of you getting worse!” He corrected you as you grab the bag. You thought of something that would make this better.

“I forgot I coughed on the light switch on the way in here.” You joke making him yelp and spray with disinfectant. The door slams shut as he shouts he loves you and to get some rest through the door. You laugh until you cough which makes him pop back into the room to check on you.

He doesn’t let you leave the hospital let’s be realistic. He’s taking the best care of you while protecting himself from the virus too. You thought he was so sweet. You could kiss him if you weren’t so sick. He checked your IV regularly and unbeknownst to you he worked overtime to monitor you.

“How are you feeling today?” Zayne asks checking his clipboard. You groan trying to sit up.

“Sore but doing great.” You raise your thumb up. He shakes his head trying not to laugh at you.

“Not a good enough sign but getting somewhere.” He mumbles writing it down. You chuckle causing you to cough.

“It’ll take more than a measly cold to take me out.” You flex weakly before wincing and dropping them.

“You have a highly contagious virus.” He tells you through his medical gear as he stares at you blankly.

“Same thing.” You counter as he faces you completely.

“It isn’t.” He states firmly before going to get you a new I.V bag.

Sylus locked down the nearly the whole base. You were going to head home and quarantine there but Sylus refused for you to be alone during this time. Especially since you were barely able to stand on your own after the diagnosis. Really before because Sylus had to take you there…you’re very stubborn.

“A kiss would definitely make it better.” You groggily spoke as Sylus pressed a cold cloth to your forehead.

“Maybe so however, everyone else’s immune system is far weaker than mine.” He says softly with his usual smirk. You chuckle weakly before your head falls to the side.

“Tell them to step their game up.” You joke following a cough. He helps you sit up as you continue to cough.

“You seem to have time to joke about such a serious situation even with you being this weak.” He tells you as you shrug tiredly.

“Rest. You need it.” He mumbles laying you back down as your eyes slowly shut.

Xavier didn’t mind being stuck inside with you. So when he found out you were sick he took it upon himself to personally nurse you back to health. He made you tea and did his very best to nurse you back to health.

“I’ll cook you some dinner.” He said softly leaving the room. Your eyes widen in fear as you move too fast for your body.

“Xavier. Xavier!” You try to yell out to him but he couldn’t hear you. You slump half off the bed in defeat.

Xavier was humming throwing things into a big pot. He goes to turn around his eyes wide as you lean against the wall. He rushes over to you trying to hold you up.

“Why are you out of bed?” He panics his eyes big and worried.

“I’m not hungry.” You pant holding onto his forearms. He sighs in relief.

“It’s from a can I’m just adding seasoning.” You sigh in relief your body almost going limp. The only thing keeping you up is your will to live.

Xavier helps you to bed and strictly tells you not to move. The soup wasn’t half bad either.

He’s in and out of the room like a maid and a doctor. He cleans up your snot rags and hydration bottles every hour on the hour. He runs your bath and while you soak he quickly tries to change the sheets. He does all that while making sure you don’t drown.

“Nope. You need to take this or you’ll never get better.” He argues back to you holding a spoon with liquid medicine.

“It tastes disgusting! I don’t want it.” You whine turning away. Caleb huffs and gets up leaving the room.

He waited 2 hours before asking if you were thirsty to which you said yes. He brought you a drink and you chugged almost half before grimacing. You hold it away from you before looking at him.

“Ew Caleb!” You whine making him chuckle. “Told you to drink it.” He shrugs caressing your head.

These are coming out slower and slower 😭

[rottingworship]

Bloodlust

[The Proxies x Reader]

Summary: You, a newly turned vampire, find yourself with a new group of friends. One night, things get dicey, leaving you running. When you are found, you come to the conclusion you are very frustrated. Your new friends are more than willing to help you out.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI! Depictions of murder, blood drinking, biting, praise, vaginal sex, cream pies, oral (male receiving), vaginal fingering, voyeurism, not so healthy relationship dynamics, not beta read (let me know if I missed any!)

Word Count: 7.1k

A/N: They/Them pronouns used for reader, but reader has a vagina. I have a second part of this planned. It will be more rough and definitely not as sweet as this one. I have a lot in mind for Vampire!Reader. The vampires aren't based off any particular media, either. Just a mesh of medias, I guess! this was supposed to be posted in October, but you get it now instead... this was me getting used to writing four characters at once, the next part will be very fun!

Being a vampire is new. Being able to smell everything, hear everything, and see everything is new. Your strength is something you never could have imagined. Sunlight is annoying now, practically burning you. Your body is always cold. You don't have to breathe, but it is something you are still used to doing. And every fucking time you inhale you are greeted with new scents.

Bloodlust though?

That's something you would not wish on your worst enemy. You almost wished you were dead when you woke up from being freshly turned. Or ‘saved’. Your throat was on fire and your entire body burned. Burned for something you did not want, but something you now needed.

Your first kill was horrid. Blood covered you and the victim. You wanted to sob but being a vampire does not let you do such human things.

Now? It's been almost three months since turning, and while you have a dysfunctional but somehow working support system around you, things still suck. Sometimes you wish you had not been spared. You wonder if this is a fate worse than death. But your friends do make it bearable. They keep you fed and do not seem to be judging you when you do happen to get messy. There is only one problem.

They all smell absolutely delicious.

Tim and Brian smell slightly better than your average human. You cannot help but wonder if your brain is playing tricks on you, since you are so close to them. You think that maybe you love them so much they now smell better than most. Toby is a slightly different story. He smells better than anything you can even remember loving as a human. You want to bite him and never let go. Ever. Your brain tells you to attack anytime he enters the room. ‘Latch on and do not release’ is all you seem to hear.

You have yet to have an incident around the men. They are careful with their sharp objects, and you are careful with your sharp teeth. There has been no instance where you have smelled them actively bleeding. Not until Toby decides to get your food by himself.

“Y– You-your eyes are changing.” Toby notices before anyone else. Normally, at least now that you aren't human, your eyes are red. Blood red. When hungry they get darker, until eventually, they are black. “I'll go get-get you some fresh bl-blood.”

He leaves before you can protest. Some time passes, about two hours, and Toby has not returned. He is pretty quick with his outings. You have grown anxious.

“Tim!” You shout as you walk down the hall, “Brian! Toby left and hasn't come back!” Brian's door opens first. Then Tim pokes his head out. You pout at the both of them and wait for them to come out of their rooms.

“Well shit,” Tim starts, “I sure wish we had something better than a bloodhound to find him.”

“Yeah, that'd be fucking insane.” Brian smirks at you.

“Ok, guys, I get it. I can smell him, but-” you fidget slightly, “I don't trust myself.” The mood shifts immediately. They both sigh and step out of their rooms. They meet you in the hall and you let them take the lead. “I can hunt him down. I just need my accountability partners.” You force a smile. You are joking, but only slightly.

“Accountability to not fucking murder Toby?”

“Suck him dry,” Brian laughs, “and not in the way he wants!”

Tim snorts. You blink at them. You stop and cross your arms. “Now is not the time for jokes…”

“I'm really not joking,” Brian shrugs and keeps walking.

You ignore him. A scent like nothing you've ever smelled before hits your nose and you almost moan. You cover your mouth and freeze. Your eyes widen and you look at Tim and Brian. “He's somewhere near.” It's taking all of you to not sprint towards the scent and devour him. “Someone is with him. I can smell more blood, that isn't his.”

Tim mumbles a ‘damn’ under his breath and you begin to take the lead. Toby is obviously hurt somewhere, potentially fighting someone off for you, and you need to find him. And not kill him. As you get closer the smell is taking over everything. A trail of blood appears before you. You stop yourself from figuring out if it is Toby's or whoever else is bleeding with him.

You see it, some man sprawled out, bloody and dying on the fall leaves. You begin to approach the body, hoping that if you feed, the want, no need, to ‘suck Toby dry’ leaves you. You do not get that far. A leaf crunches beside you, and Toby appears. Your head snaps towards him and you inhale sharply, your eyes narrowing. Your fists ball up immediately. He waves at you, says hi, and all you can do is hope you don't pounce. Your eyes scan him, and you see his thigh is slashed.

“Hey,” you hear Tim call your name. Blood is steadily coming from the cut on Toby’s thigh. You see it. Your eyes, dark and full of hunger, do not move from Toby. The need to feed is becoming stronger than the want to keep Toby safe. Toby does not move. It is almost as if he knows he's become the prey. Another crunch of leaves and a hand is grabbing your face. Harshly. “Hey.” Tim sounds much sterner. “Look at me. Focus on me.” Tim’s thumb rests on one cheek while his fingers grip on the other.

“I– I can't.” You want to sob.

“Okay,” Tim nods, “focus on that body.” He points to the twitching body on the ground by your feet.

Without thinking, you drop down on your knees. You grab the body violently; hatchet marks cover them. Your teeth sink into the soft flesh of the neck, and you begin to feed. You let out a low primal growl. Tim, Toby, and Brian, all watching you. Normally, they let you feed in peace. They never had watched you before. And now, here they are, staring at you, the back of your head burning from their stares.

You pull back from the neck and begin to bite and suck down the arm, getting as much ‘food’ as possible. Blood covers you. Your hands, mouth, and throat. By the time you are done you wish to cry. But you cannot. You are stuck, sitting with a bloody, dead body. Your friends are surrounding you. And your bloodlust is still lingering.

You turn towards Toby and watch him closely. Brian seems to have a sort of makeshift tourniquet on Toby’s thigh. The scent is still so strong. Your eyes hit a bloody knife inside the dead man's hand. The one he used to cut Toby.

“Don't-” Brian seems to know what you're looking at; know what you're thinking. You don't listen. Your hand snatches up the knife and you are quick to lick the blood up. Your eyes screw shut and you almost shiver. It is heavenly. It is not enough. Your head snaps towards Toby again and with a speed faster than the others can process, you are on him. He is on the ground faster than he knows it and you are leaning over him.

“Toby–” you growl, teeth gritting together, fangs bared.

“D-do it.”

Tim and Brian are frozen, watching in horror. You are much stronger than the both of them. You are stronger than the three of them put together, there is nothing they can do.

“Go a-ahead.” Toby is smiling under his muzzle. You are straddling him, pressing against his stomach, and your hands holding his shoulders down. You let out an animalistic noise, lowering yourself closer to Toby. His heart is pounding in his chest. He is not afraid though.

Far from it, actually.

It clicks. How he feels clicks in your head, and you are almost sent into a worse frenzy. You let out a strangled groan and leap up from Toby, and tear off deeper into the woods, going the exact opposite direction of your home.

Once your head is finally on straight, and you can think without wanting to murder, you find yourself on the outskirts of the city. Your shirt and pants are slightly ripped up from running through the thickest part of the woods. You, naturally, are unscathed. You cannot bring yourself to go home yet. You cannot hurt Toby. Dried blood covers you. It’s stuck to your skin; you feel it more than ever; painfully aware of how it’s dried and caked onto you in some areas.

You need to stay out of the sight of people, you know this. You don’t think that anyone is going to react normally to you. As you walk beside the almost empty road you look up at the sky. The moon is full; the stars are shining brightly. You sigh. Out of the corner of your eye you see headlights approaching, and they pass you just as quickly as they appeared. You look back at the road ahead of you and wrap your arms around yourself.

You hear tires screeching from behind you and the car that just passed turns back around, heading right for you. You look back at the blinding headlights and realize it is Brian’s car. You scrunch your face. You turn and keep walking. The car comes up beside you, and Brian rolls the window down. He looks over at you, your name rolling off his tongue. You do not look over.

“You aren’t running,” Brian states.

“Thank you for letting me know.” You huff.

“You don’t want to run,” Brian’s words make you stop. He pulls ahead a bit before pulling over on the side of the road. He gets out of the car and approaches you. “Listen,” Brian sighs, “something is going on–”

“No shit!” You snap. If you could, you would be crying right now. Everything is so much; everything is so, so amplified. You do not want to feel the need to eat the people who saved you. But here you are. Even now, you are keeping yourself from inhaling. You know Brian isn’t bleeding, and you are not hungry anymore, but your earlier actions have startled you. “I could have killed Toby! And you wouldn’t have been able to stop me!” You grip yourself tightly, holding your ripped sweater like a lifeline.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Brian comforts you. “You didn’t kill him. Toby really liked that anyway.” He smiles at you. A goofy grin. Your eyes drop to the road, and you instinctively suck in air, and you sigh out in frustration. Brian’s scent floods you. Your eyes look up at him and narrow. “Um,” He wants to take a step back, but he does not, “are you okay?”

Your brows furrow, sadness taking over. “I don’t… I don’t know.” You shake your head. “Brian?” He hums in response, and you continue. “I haven’t told anyone, but the three of you, especially Toby… You all smell different.”

“Like, stinky?” He seems concerned.

“Uh, no.” You laugh nervously. “Opposite, actually.” You rub your arm, comforting yourself. “You and Tim smell a lot better than the normal person, and Toby? He smells absolutely heavenly. That’s why I nearly lost it earlier. He smelled way better than that person he had handpicked for me to feed from. I can smell you guys even when you aren’t bleeding. It’s a lot. But bearable. I didn’t realize how much active bleeding would amplify it.”

“You didn’t realize?” Brian asks. “It’s out, it’s going to smell better. I would assume.”

“I know!” You want to yell. “I didn’t think… I’m just– Ugh!” You throw your hands up and walk past Brian, heading back towards the unknown.

Brian groans, spins around, and grabs you. “Stop.” You do not pull away. “You aren’t running, once again, you don’t want to run. If you did, you’d be gone by now. Look,” Brian stays where he is; behind you, holding your arm. You peek over your shoulder at him. “I know you don’t want to leave-”

“I have nowhere else to go.”

“That’s not the only reason you stay.”

“I don’t know why you came out here. I just tried to fucking kill Toby. He could have died, and so could you.”

“I’m here because we obviously want you around. You’re going through something, and we are not going to just let you leave because of that.”

You deadpan, “I’m also useful to you guys, and The Operator. I know that’s why I’m kept around. I’m surprised he didn’t try to stop me when I left.” You roll your eyes.

“Come on.” Brian maneuvers around you, “I can’t lie, you are useful. But you’re also kind and funny. And really hot.” Brian shrugs. “So,” he motions towards the car, “please get in the car and come back with me.”

You blink at him, baffled. “Hot?” You almost scream. “What the fuck!?” You throw your hands up again. Brian is caught off guard. You let out a loud groan and debate on flipping his car and leaving. You look towards the car and back at Brian.

“What are you thinking…?” Brian is cautious.

“I'm just frustrated!” You do scream this time. Eyes shut tight and fists balled.

Brian takes a moment before speaking. “Sexually?” He asks, completely nonchalant.

“Maybe!” You look at him, huffing. “Maybe…” You speak a little quieter. You throw your head back and whine. “I just need to shower…”

Brian motions towards the car again. “You can do that at home.” Home. You freeze. It is your home. It has been for a few months now. You, in discomfort, make a face at Brian. He groans, “What now?”

“How do you trust me? I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t.” Brian begins to walk towards the car. “Now come on.”

You are stuck. “Really, why do you think I wouldn’t hurt you?”

“Because I trust you, let’s go.” As soon as Brian says this, you shake your head. You need more answers. “I see the way you stare at us; you won’t hurt us.”

You look up at the sky, “Not intentionally-” Your nose burns. You inhale slowly and the feeling of wanting to pounce is returning. You look back at Brian and see him approaching you, a cut across his palm. He’s holding his hand up and out, his palm facing upwards. You are frozen, fighting the urge to destroy him. “Brian,” You whisper, eyes narrowing, “What are you-”

“I’m showing you something.”

“What if I kill you…?” You take a step back and he keeps on walking. He reaches you, his hand going towards you. “Brian, I’m being so fucking serious… I can’t control-”

“You aren’t starving anymore. You won’t hurt me. You can control it. You did earlier with Toby, and I don’t smell as good as him-”

“Brian…” You can’t look away from his cut. “Can I-”

“Go ahead.”

You, realizing how much stronger you are than him, make sure to gently grab his hand. You are thinking everything over a million times before you do it. The world is spinning and standing still at the same time. Brian is right, you are not starving, so you should not want to absolutely murder him. But you have not tested your self control to this level before. Your tongue runs up his palm and you feel Brian shiver. Your eyes shut and your fangs scrape his skin, ever so gently.

You let out a muffled moan as you slowly suck on the wound. Brian’s knees buckle. His hand tenses and you freeze. You do not want to pull away, your instincts are telling you to continue to drain him. But who you used to be is telling you to let him go. Your grip on him tightens as you battle with yourself. Then you hear Brian stifle a groan.

Immediately, you release him. You pull back and look at him with wild, animalistic eyes. You cock your head at him and wipe your mouth. “Sorry, are you alright?”

Brian nods, “More than alright…” He pauses briefly, “That’s not going to turn me, is it?”

You shake your head. “No, it will not. Did that hurt?” You bite the inside of your lip. “Because I've only ever killed people when feeding… And those people are most definitely not enjoying it.” You laugh.

“It, uh,” Brian is thinking, searching for the right words, “it felt good. It stung at first, but when you started to… ‘feed’, it felt amazing.”

You nod at him. “That makes sense. The man that turned me into a vampire, um, he said that” you gather your thoughts, “when one feeds from a human, there is a sort of like… Chemical, maybe? That will react with the human's blood, making them feel good. So, they don’t fight back as much. But it doesn’t turn the person. That is the actual ‘vampire venom’ that does that, but that burns. I know that from experience. The one that makes you feel good though? That wears off, eventually. Especially before death.”

“That would have been good to know before we almost killed your victims for you.” Brian smiles at you. “Can we go back now?”

“Sure, I guess.” You look at the wound again. “Let me fix that first.” You tear the hem of your already ripped sweater, getting just enough of the fabric to bandage his hand. You quickly wrap it up and pat it. “The feeling of pain will come back soon; we need to get home.”

The both of you make it to the car. You sit in the passenger seat, watching the road ahead of you, even if you are not even moving yet. Brian sits down and shifts. You inhale; you smell it again. Arousal. You know it isn’t your own. You are aroused as well though. You lick your lips and Brian’s blood is still on them, you grumble. You need more of him. You refrain. You rub your hands down your thighs; you are becoming antsy. Your brain is having a hard time wrapping around everything that is happening.

A hand is placed on yours. You look over at Brian, he gives you a reassuring smile. You bite the inside of your lip and calm down. You smile back at Brian and relax in the seat. Brian starts the car and as soon as the key is turned over his hand is on your thigh. You look over at him and wish for him to move his hand up. Further up your leg. You briefly think about moving his hand up your thigh, but before you can, Brian speaks up.

“I know that look in your eyes.” His eyes are back on the road; he doesn’t even look back over at you as he squeezes your thigh. “You’re about to do something.” He laughs. “You’re all bloody right now though. How about, after you get home and shower, we can… fix your frustrations.”

“I would like that.” You nod slowly. Getting home cannot come fast enough.

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet. The radio is turned down, so there is no noise. Brian’s hand is stuck to your thigh, squeezing it every once in a while. You have to hold back a moan. You want to latch onto Brian for a much different reason now.

He pulls up to the house and you jump out of the car. You shut the door and rush inside, scurrying to grab your things and jump into the shower. As you turn on the water, you hear Brian come into the house, you hear Tim ask him what happened. You hear Toby’s door open. You hear everything over the rushing water.

You try to not eavesdrop, but it is truly so hard when you can hear them like they are next to you. You hum softly, hoping your noise cancels out their speaking. It does not.

“What happened to your hand?” Tim asks Brian, and then quickly asks where you are.

“They’re showering.” It is all he gives his friend.

“What happened t-to your h-hand?” Toby sounds irritated.

Brian knows must know you can hear them. He says to ask you when you get out. How polite. You wash yourself as quickly as possible, and step out of the shower. You hear them start talking again.

“How did you find them?”

“Bloody, on the side of the road.” Brian starts. “We had a nice talk, and they vented their frustrations to me.” Okay, he knows I can hear him, you think to yourself.

“Wh-what kind of frustrations?” Toby asks. “Sexual?”

How the fuck do they all know? You want to scream. There is no response. You are certain Brian nodded at Toby. You get dressed and walk from the bathroom, take your clothes to the laundry closet, you hear mumbling, low and quiet. You can barely make out what they are saying. They immediately shut up as you walk in. You cross your arms and look at the three all standing around each other. They all turn to you at the same time, eyes boring into you. You want to scream.

“What the fuck did you say?” You look at Brian with confusion. You roll your eyes when there is no answer. “Why are you all three standing there… Conspiring against me?”

“Oh!” Toby smiles at you. With his muzzle off, his grin is frightening, leaving your stomach flipping. “I-I would say it’s the opposite of con-conspiring against you, dear.”

You are stuck. Toby is the first to step towards you. He’s wearing a black tank top and gray sweatpants. His cut has been bandaged completely; you can tell because the scent of his blood is not as strong as it was before. He still smells so good though, you are sure you are going to lose your mind.

“What happened to Brian’s hand?” Tim asks, snapping you out of your trance.

You look at Brian for reassurance. He nods, giving you the okay to share what happened. You look back at Tim. “He was proving a point to me,” You start, “that I can control myself.” Toby loses it. He twitches and his jaw clenches, before relaxing and he finally speaks. “You-you drank fr-from, from him?” He narrows his eyes at you, pointing at Brian.

“Yes.”

“And it was fucking hot!” Brian boasts.

You groan, placing your face in your hands. “Today's been a lot,” You are suddenly rethinking the earlier proposal from Brian. “I'm sure you are all tired–”

“No.” They all speak at once. Then Brian takes over the conversation. “We don't have to do this. But, I want you to know, we are here for you. No matter what you need.”

No matter what you need. There are heavy implications behind that. You can feel them. How he holds himself says it all. Tim and Toby seemingly agree. Toby is biting at the fucking bit to get to you; you can feel it. He is holding himself back extremely well. He shifts and you inhale slowly. They are all so aroused. Your jaw clenches and your eyes shut tight. You need to think.

“I've never done this.” You open your eyes and stare at the three of them. Toby’s head tilts and you notice his hand twitch. He is excited. “Had a threesome. I mean, I haven't done anything since being turned. What if I hurt one of you?”

“You-You won't. If you d-do, we-well we ha-have a wooden ste-steak.”

“You'd put me down? Just like that!?” You almost scream at him. Toby finds it funny.  You roll your eyes and cross your arms. “Really…” You stomp your foot a little bit. “I would not be able to live with myself if I accidently hurt one of you. And also, how are you going to decide who goes first?” You cock a brow at them.

“Me! M-Me! Brian got lu-lucky already, it's m-my turn!” Toby almost launches himself at you.

“Oh! So what am I? Chopped liver?” Tim grunts.

You have never had this much attention. It almost sends you into a spiral. “I promise, you'll all get a turn!” You put your hands up and speak without thinking. This ignites a fire in the men that is worse than whatever was going on before. They look like they are going to go absolutely mad to get to you. Toby immediately reaches for you. Without missing a beat, you are on the other side of the couch, staring at them.

“Ah,” You click your tongue. It clicks how much power you have at this moment. “I want to go over ground rules before we start this.” They all nod eagerly at you. “I need you all to tell me if it's too much. If I'm holding you too tightly or draining too much blood.”

“That it?” Tim crosses his arms at you.

You tap your chin. “I heal really quickly. Bite me, leave hickeys, do whatever. But–” You put a finger up, “Nothing too violent. I'm afraid if you happen to hit me I won't stop draining your blood. And then I'll have to face something I'd rather not even look at.”

“Sounds good enough.” Brian nods.

“Now,” You bite the inside of your lip, “I want to try something, if you're okay with it Toby?” He is the most excited. “I'll need my accountability partners here with me though.” You smile at Tim and Brian. They agree. “I want to taste you, if you're okay with that?” You know his answer. You need it verbalized.

“Y-yes! I tho-thought you wo-would never ask!”

“What am I supposed to do? If you start killing him?” Tim seems curious. More curious than concerned.

“I don't know!” You smile at them, shrugging. “Do you want to do this out here? Or on a bed?”

Toby sits on the couch and excitedly pats his lap. “H-Here. Th-the couch.” You nod. You stalk towards him, the thought of feeding from him is doing something for you. You stop in front of him.

“Toby?” Your eyes move from his eyes to his thigh, back to his eyes. Toby hums in response, slightly agitated you have not sat on his lap yet. “Um,” You purse your lips, “You don’t mind being, uh, naked in front of your friends do you?”

Toby laughs. “No.” His answer is short and sweet.

“Okay,” You nod, “take your pants off.”

Toby obliges. “Th-thought you w-would n-never ask.” He slides his sweats off, and he is not wearing any underwear. You bite your lip, seeing his cock is already hard. You drop to your knees immediately and scoot completely up to him. Toby’s hand instinctively rubs at his cock as you situate yourself, precum dripping from the head.

You grip the couch cushion and look at the bandage on Toby’s thigh. “Mind if I-”

“Please,” Toby whines. “Do so-something. I’m-I’m begg-ing.”

You rip the bandage away and stare at the wound momentarily. It definitely is not as bad as it seemed earlier. Your pupils are dilated, and you look up at Toby, wide eyes watching him, waiting for consent to go wild on his wound. You cannot even muster the will to ask if you can, you lick your lips and as soon as the brunette nods at you, your grip tightens on the couch cushions.

You know if you grab his legs you are going to bruise him. You do not take into consideration he would like that. Your eyes shut and you lick a stripe across the cut. You moan. Loudly, you moan into his thigh. One of the cushions pops under your white-knuckled grip. Foam comes out from between your fingers and Toby whimpers. This sends you into a fucking frenzy.

You let out a low, primal growl. Your eyes shoot open and meet Toby’s. His hand is working on his cock, stroking it. Tim and Brian are standing behind the couch, watching you become feral looking. They are turned on too. You can smell arousal all around the room.

“Bite- Bite me.”

You smile against his skin. You oblige. What sort of person could deny such an airy, whiny request? Not you, that is for sure.

Your eyes stay on Toby’s; you do not look away. Your fangs gently sink into his skin, and you let out a low groan. Fuck. You are not sure if you can let go now. You do not want to. Your tongue laps up the blood, and you begin to suck on the place you just bit. Your eyes shut, a shiver going down your spine, and your hand grabs Toby’s thigh.

Your nails dig into the skin. Toby shifts and you know he cannot feel the pain, but you do not want to cause any harm to him. But, at the same time, you want to drain him dry. He tastes divine.

“Do you feel it?” Brian asks, voice low. “The euphoria?” His hand is on the back of the couch; he is looking right at Toby.

Toby moans, and then softly whines. “Y-Yes.”

While Brian is asking Toby that question. Tim is focused on you. While it is completely sexy what you are doing, he does not want Toby dying. Tim says your name, trying to catch your attention, but you do not immediately pull away. Tim walks from around the couch and his hand hits your shoulder. A possessive growl escapes you. Tim does not falter. He snatches your shoulder back and you release Toby. Ready to latch onto whatever is stopping you. You do not register it as Tim at first. Just some threat stopping you from feeding.

“Hey,” Tim’s voice is low and stern. “You drank enough.”

Red warmth covers your mouth, throat, and chest. Your fangs are bared at Tim and your grip is tight on Toby’s thigh. Tim grabs your face and lowers himself to your level. You are still on your knees.

“You know,” He starts, “I’d kiss you right now, if you weren’t covered in Toby’s blood…”

This snaps you out of it. You pause briefly. Your eyes are back to normal, pupils blown from ecstasy. “You would?” Your face softens.

“Come- Come on!” Toby groans. “Thi-This dick is-isn’t g-gonna suck itself.”

You look back at him and bite the inside of your lip. Tim releases your face and shoos you back to Toby. You crawl back to him, resuming your earlier position.

“I would like to note,” You start, “I have not sucked dick since getting fangs. I’m so sorry if-”

“Don’t be.” Toby swallows hard. “Pl-Please, just- just do s-something.”

You licked over the wound, hoping to stop the bleeding long enough to get Toby off. He can take care of it after you are done with him. You wipe your mouth with your hand, quickly wiping the blood away. One of your hands rests on Toby’s thigh and the other goes towards his cock. Toby twitches as you touch him. He whimpers again as you touch him. You gently pump up and down and place your mouth over the tip. You begin to take him into your mouth, and you quickly realize you do not have a gag reflex anymore.

Your eyes open and look up at Toby. He is watching you closely, not daring to look away. “Keep- Keep looking at m-me.”

His voice is whiny, but he sounds so demanding at the same time. You follow his instructions. You moan as you suck his dick, head bobbing up and down. Your eyes don’t break away from Toby’s. One of your hands goes towards the heat between your legs. You moan again as you touch yourself.

Toby is slowly coming undone. Your pace on Toby picks up as your thumb finds your clit. It is becoming difficult, keeping up with everything. Making sure you do not hurt Toby, bringing yourself pleasure, and making Toby feel good. It is all so much.

“I’m-” Toby’s voice is airy, “-close.”

Toby has been restrained, but as soon as your eyes shut, ecstasy close to washing over you, Toby seems to sense that. His hips begin to buck into you; your hand was not there to restrain that. You gasp, shocked at the sudden movement, and your eyes open back up, wide and full of surprise.

Toby releases into your mouth. You, without thinking, swallow. You pull back from Toby and let out a growl. “Toby! I was close too! Now I’m just aching-”

“That was hot.” Brian interrupts you.

You stand up from Toby and look at Brian. Your eyes narrow and you huff. “Oh it would have been so much hotter if I got to come too!”

“I can fix that,” Tim takes a step closer to you. “Plus, I’m the only one who you haven’t fed from. You aren’t full, are you?”

Your eyes darken and you smile at him, “Of course not, Tim.” You realize just how bloody you are from Toby and pause. “Let me at least clean this blood off.”

Tim nods. As you walk to the bathroom, Tim follows you. You grab a washcloth and wet it. You take your shirt off, and Tim’s eyes wander to your chest. You are wearing nothing under your shirt. Tim does not say a word as he watches you clean up. He only watches. You watch him from the mirror. As your hand rubs the cloth across your skin, his eyes follow. Your movements are slow and meticulous. You smile at him, while looking at the mirror, as his eyes come back up to yours.

As you put the washcloth in the dirty clothes, you look at Tim. “What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s go to my bedroom.” He looks ravenous. You feel the way he looks.

You grab his hand and follow behind him as he leads you to the bedroom. Brian and Toby seem to hear you and begin to make their way to the room as well. You look back and see Toby is wearing his pants again, his wound most likely bandaged… again. Tim does not give you time to think about Toby’s blood. You are pushed against the wall, opposite of the door, and you look at Tim with surprise.

“Can I drink from you?” You give him a soft smile.

“Please,” He groans. You nod, excitedly, and you grab Tim’s shoulders and pull him closer. You begin to kiss at his neck. You kiss down the spot you want to bite. The spot where you can feel his pulse racing. He is not nervous though. He does not feel nervous at all.

 Before you bite him, Tim’s hands are wandering up and down your body. His hands tracing your cold skin, his fingers pinching at your nipples, before finally traveling to your waistband. As he pulls at the waistband of your pants, your teeth sink into his neck. He freezes up momentarily. You smirk against his skin. He feels it.

Tim grips your hip and his hand slides past the waistband, easily finding your pussy. He moans out as you slowly suck on his skin. He does not falter as you continue, his fingers pushing past your folds and into your entrance.

He begins to pump in and out, slowly at first. His thumb finds your clit and it is your turn to freeze up. Tim smiles and lets out a laugh. “How does it feel?” He coos at you. You lap at his neck and pull back. “How does it feel, them watching us?” Tim's head tilts. Your eyes move from Tim and towards Toby and Brian. You let out a whine, and Tim’s thumb grazes over your clit again.

“Feels good-” You look back at Tim. You clench around his fingers and Tim smiles.

“Want me to fuck you in front of them?”

You cannot answer. You only nod. Tim, noticing you are not as messy as you were with your earlier feeding, kisses you. His tongue slips into your mouth and his fingers work on you until you are coming undone. You clench around him again and moan into Tim’s mouth. Your hips buck into his hand and your legs are turning to jelly.

Tim pulls back and removes his hands from your pants. Your eyes open and you give him a confused look. He slides his belt off and you stand there, still slightly disoriented.

“Im going to fuck you, remember?” He says it so nonchalantly. Oh yeah. You nod but still just stand there. “Do you want me to do that with your pants on?” He questions you.

Oh… You are embarrassed now. If heat could rush to your cheeks, you would be on fire. You huff and slide your pants and underwear off. You stand uncomfortably for a moment. Your eyes look back at Toby and Brian. They are watching you, only you. You feel so small under their gaze. And for a moment, you forget how strong you are. You forget you could have the upper hand at any given moment.

“You still okay?” Tim asks.

You nod. “Just getting comfortable.”

“We have all night, sweetheart,” He is standing only in his underwear now.

“And all of tomorrow.” Brian smiles.

“Y-yeah.” Toby speaks up. “You-You can’t g-go out during th-the day.”

He has a point. “I think you three will not last all night and tomorrow with me.”

“That a challenge?” Tim asks, his brow cocking.

You shrug. “You three are humans, and I am not. I have pretty much endless stamina.”

“That’s a challenge.” Brian smirks.

You look at Tim, “Please, just fuck me.”

“Of course.” He smiles.

Tim is out of his underwear and on you in seconds. You are flush with the wall, and Tim is pressed against you. His hand grabs at your thigh, and you wrap it around his waist. Tim’s cock pushes into you and you groan. He lets out a low moan and you hear his heart rate pick up. Your hands are on his shoulders, and you press your forehead to his. Your arms wrap around his neck and refrain from scratching his back. You are still learning your own strength.

In no time, Tim is pumping in and out of you. Your hips are chasing his every time he pulls away and his hands are gripping you tightly. His bruising grip does not let up, it only becomes tighter as you moan and whine for him.

“Tim,” You cry out, “I’m-”

Tim’s pace quickens but is still not sloppy. His movements are thought out and nowhere near sloppy. The sound of him fucking you fills the room, and for you it is only amplified. You can feel, hear, and smell everything way better than when you were human. It is making you come quicker.

“Where can I-?”

Tim starts, and you do not let him finish. “Inside.” You huff out, “can’t get pregnant.”

That is all the reassurance he seems to need. Everything in you becomes tense. You are starting to see stars. As you come, so does Tim. He releases inside of you. You are nowhere near done though.

“Brian,” You lean your head back against the wall, Tim pulls away, his come is spilling out of you. Brian perks up. “Lay on the bed please. Preferably not clothed.” Brian is quick to undress and get on the bed. He is hard, seems to have been since you drank from him earlier. You bounce back fast and go towards the end of the bed. “Mind if I ride you?”

He shakes his head. “Do whatever you want to me.”

You nod. You get on the bed and crawl up towards Brian, straddling him. You hover above his cock and place one of your hands on his chest. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.”

You nod. You place yourself on his cock and begin to move slowly. You begin to bounce, your pace becoming steady. You are slow at first. Brian grabs your hips with his hands. His grip is about as strong as Tim’s. It is fueling you. You lean forward slightly, one hand still on Brian’s chest, and the other grabbing the headboard.

It is becoming a lot for you. All the sensations are so much. The sound of your skin smacking against his, the feeling of Tim and Toby watching you, and the smell of blood and arousal in the room.

Brian’s hands guide you, almost forcing you to go faster. Figuring that must be what he wants, you pick up the speed. Your nails dig into the wood of the headboard, scratching the polished surface.

“Fuck!” Brian hisses out. “Just like that. You’re so good-” He reassures you.

You lean forward slightly, beginning to see stars again. “Shit!” You cry. “I can’t-” You make sure to not push down on his chest. Instead, you put all of your strength into the hand grabbing the headboard. You hear it snap as Brian comes inside of you. You do not immediately get off of him. Your fingers are digging into the splintered wood as your pace finally slows.

“Fuck,” You pull your hand from the headboard. “I’m so… Damn, I’m sorry.” You lean against Brian as you come back down from your high and you huff.

“You broke my headboard.” Tim sounds unamused.

“And- And the co-couch is fucked too.” Toby mentions, causing you to groan.

Brian’s arms wrap around you, and he laughs. “Come on guys, they’re still learning their own strength.”

“Yeah!” You snap back. “You’re all lucky I didn’t hurt any of you… More than I may have…” Brian’s hand rubs up and down your back. “As much as I would love to sit here, I need to clean up. And you three probably need to take some Motrin or something. Those bites will hurt soon.”

You push yourself up and begin to walk towards the bathroom. As you are leaving the room, Toby starts to speak to Brian and Tim. You ignore it, since he seems to be talking to them, and not you. You tune out what he is talking about and begin to clean yourself up. Again.

As you slide into the hot shower all you can think about is the new relationship forming between the four of you. You sigh and relax in the water. You do not have a care in the world, not even to Toby is talking about just outside in the room across the hall. All that matters is you have three people who seem to accept you. Even if you are some bloodlust ridden creature.

[thesissterhood]

I always had a crush on my older sister's best friend, Megan, and I think she knows. Worse, I never thought we'd both be bridesmaids at my sister's wedding -- and had to wear matching dresses. My sister insisted this would be my wedding gift to her and I couldn't say no. I was mortified.

Seeing her come up the stairs looking so gorgeous, I momentarily forgot that I was dressed the same -- that is, until she jokingly said, "I like your blush. It matches your dress. Or is that not makeup?" and then she winked as if sharing some inside secret.

I suddenly became extremely self-conscious that I too was wearing a dress for the first time, with shaved legs teetering on matching, 4-inch, gold heels.

Momentarily frozen and unable to speak, I could feel the blood rush to my face as she added, "well I can see now that was just blush before. Nice touch. Although, you've now turned much too red and need to scale it back a bit in order to match your pretty pink dress!"

She paused smiling, looking me up and down as if assessing the ensemble of another girl -- all the while relishing my tongue-tied discomfort, amplified by her added scrutiny.

I think Megan noticed my knees getting wobbly, as she quickly strode over and hooked my elbow saying, "Plus, I don't want you passing out and drawing too much attention. That might be embarrassing! Us girls need to stick together, so let's go get you a glass of water. Then we can quickly fix up our makeup in the ladies room before the bride gets here. We have a long day ahead of us and you're going to need your strength!"

Walking into the building she had to hold me up a bit as I definitely felt lightheaded and was still learning to navigate these high heels. Feeling so helpless only reinforced my submissive role next to this beautiful girl that I've been crushing over for as long as I can remember. Yet somehow, she made me feel totally safe even though my emotions were totally exposed. With her piercing eyes and sly smile it seemed she saw right through me and that I couldn't hide anything from her.

That could be a problem though as it just reinforced how keenly aware I was of the heightened sensations across my body due to all these crazy new experiences -- soft fabrics swishing around every time I move and brushing against shaved legs, the feeling of cool air constantly blowing up my skirt, and I can't even bring myself to think about the lingerie I'm wearing. I've been trying to block it out but it keeps coming back whenever I feel the tug of a bra strap or the silky thrill of the matching satin panties every time I sit. It's completely distracting.

When I had agreed to wearing the dress and heels, I thought that was it. Of course, I didn't think about needing to shave my legs until it was too late. But that was it, I wasn't planning to wear lingerie. But when I checked into the room this morning, I found a pretty package on the bed with a note from my sister thanking me again for "my wedding gift" and how important it was for me to be supporting her on her special day. She said this was a little Thank You gift from her since she knew that I would look perfect with the proper padding in my chest and no panty lines showing through the sheer dress. She promised that this would be the last she asked but insisted that I accept the gift graciously by wearing it as she instructed -- and that she would know if I didn't -- but not to worry because it would be our little sibling secret.

Of course the first thing Megan said after she lead me into the ladies room was, "wow, you sure can pass as a girl. We almost look like sisters." I blushed again from the compliment.

She pulled out her lipstick and without asking softly grabbed my chin and started touching up my lips. I was shocked, but didn't know what to do. I loved the attention and certainly enjoyed the sensation as I stared into her eyes. "Your sister was right -- not that I was skeptical, mind you. You do have nice soft features and great legs. Now that we have matching lipstick, we really do look like sisters. I'll bet we even have matching lingerie too -- did your sister gift you a brand new set from Victoria's Secret?" She could tell the answer from my massive embarrassment, saying, "thought so. Don't worry, it'll just be a little secret between us sisters. Now let's go!"

I was imagining her in the same sexy lingerie set and started getting aroused. I don't mind her calling me her sister if that might allow me to see her wearing nothing but lingerie. The feeling of the satin panties rubbing against my growing erection only made it worse, so I tried to focus on not falling in these heels and to quickly think of something else. There's not much room in this dress to a full boner so I'm going to have to work hard to keep this under control. I don't know if I can hold it together though. My head was swimming and something has got to give. Maybe if I can break away and quickly rub one out.

This is going to be a very long day, indeed.

[sa1ntn3k0]

Strawberries, Cherries, and an Angel’s Kiss - part 2 ≽^•⩊•^≼ nsfw!

Stepdad Gojo x Stepdaughter reader (of age)

The Tokyo summer clung to the city like a sticky curse, its heat shimmering off asphalt in visible waves, thick and suffocating. Satoru leaned against the balcony railing of his home, the constant, cool hum of his Infinity a silent, invisible mantle shielding him from the worst of it. Even the breeze here tasted stale, laced with exhaust and the metallic tang of overworked air conditioners. He watched you as he always did, carefully, his sweet baby girl, sprawled like a sun-drunk nymph on the backyard lawn, utterly defenseless against the oppressive heat you’d been whining about for weeks, and so much more.

Your peach-colored cotton dress, light and lacy, clung faintly to your pretty thighs where the dewy grass had dampened it. He could already hear your mother’s inevitable screeching about grass stains later. ‘Ruining everything you touch,’ she’d hiss, a projection born of her own insecurities. Her affection was bipolar, he’d come to realize as time passed, dazzling one moment, distant and critical the next. He’d married her for the fleeting illusion: laughter like Kyoto wind chimes in spring, the curve of her neck beneath cherry blossoms. An infatuation that had crumbled faster than a curse under his gaze. Now, her absence in Okinawa felt like a relief the stifling air couldn’t provide.

You kicked your legs in the air behind you, bare feet waving slightly as the fine sprinkler spray misted the air, catching in your hair like scattered diamonds. The Miffy clips holding back your hair were askew, one dangling precariously near your temple, and Satoru’s fingers twitched with the urge to fix it. His little bunny. A "grown-up" and still clutching childhood trinkets, still blushing when he called you "baby girl" in that teasing lilt. Well, you’re still a kid to him. He’d found your old Hello Kitty Tamagotchi last week, hidden in a drawer beside little silk bras he definitely shouldn’t have noticed, details that lingered, adding to the complexity of your presence in his life.

"Y’know, if you keep squirming like that, you’ll dig a hole all the way to China," he called out, sliding the door open. The wall of heat rushed at him, momentarily harsh before Infinity seamlessly adjusted. You turned your head, those wide, doe-like eyes finding his, cheeks flushed the same delicate rose as your glossed lips. He wondered idly if they’d taste like strawberries, like before. Dangerous thought. He crushed it instantly. And yet… it flickered back. Why must he even try?

"Daddy, stop," you whined, but the adorable scrunch of your bunny nose betrayed your suppressed laughter. You always played annoyed, yet scooted closer instinctively when he flopped down beside you on the grass, uncaring of his expensive black pants. His white shirt was deliberately unbuttoned to his sternum, sleeves shoved high to reveal the powerful, veiny forearms that crushed curses but now rested casually beside you, displaying sharp collarbones and the defined muscle beneath. You pretended not to stare very badly. He pretended not to notice, even worse.

Your book, Life for Sale by Yukio Mishima, his well-loved, dog-eared copy that was usually in the home office, lay abandoned near your elbow. He remembered your winter debates vividly: you, voice trembling with fragile hope, insisting the protagonist, Hanio, just wanted to be useful, carving the words from your own ribs; him countering with sharp cynicism that made you pout for hours. Now, he plucked a blade of grass and tickled your delicate ankle, the thin silver anklet he’d bought you jingling faintly as you pulled away with a huff. "Still rooting for the doomed protagonist, bunny?"

You kicked at him playfully, your heel glancing harmlessly off Infinity. "You wouldn’t get it. You’re too… old."

He grinned, bright and brash, white fangs flashing. "Ouch, kiddo, thirty-five is prime, thank you. Besides-" He yanked off his rectangular sunglasses, revealing eyes as impossibly blue as the summer sky above, glinting with mischief. "-who carried you piggyback through Shibuya Crossing last week? Who stayed up till 3 a.m. watching that fat cat thingy with you?"

"Totoro, Daddy, not fat cat! And only because you cried during the rain scene!" you retorted, your own grin wide.

"Allergies," he lied smoothly, the memory washing over him: your head tucked trustingly under his chin, your breath sweet with strawberries warm against his collarbone, the ridiculous struggle of your tiny Miffy blanket trying to cover his frame while you stubbornly insisted it would work. His stubborn baby. He cleared his throat, the scent of roses and lavender from your hair mingling with his own cedarwood warmth. "Speaking of whimsical adventures… How’s Nikko sound? Waterfalls, misty forests, temperatures that won’t melt your polka-dot underwear." He watched your face, the spark of anticipation he lived for.

You froze, pouting a little. "You peeked?!"

"They were in the dryer, bun-bun. Alongside your other… cutesy ones. But focus!" He outlined the plan: escaping Tokyo's concrete hell for the cool embrace of the mountain forests, just the two of them, leaving at dawn in the Bentley. He watched your pretty eyes widen, those life-filled irises he often compared to the intricate details in Kyoto's temples, filling with pure, radiant joy.

You launched yourself at him before he could finish, a tangle of flailing limbs and excited squeals. Infinity dropped instinctively, a reflex born of absolute trust, and the soft, warm weight of you against his chest punched the air from his lungs. Lavender shampoo. Vanilla-rose lotion. The faint, sweet strawberry of your lip balm. Dangerous, his mind hissed again, a persistent undercurrent. But his arms tightened around your delicate, feminine frame anyway, holding you close, breathing you in. His girl.

Packing was joyful chaos. You pirouetted around your bedroom sanctuary, a haven of pastels, Sanrio heaven, thrifted poetry collections, and plushies, holding up sundresses and shorts sets like a fashion connoisseur. "Too plain?" you huffed over a lace-trimmed ivory blouse, biting your lip.

Satoru, leaning against the doorframe surrounded by giant stuffed bunnies, bit back a hard truth, that you could wear a potato sack and still look like starlight crocheted into a human girl. "Needs more… bunnies," he deadpanned instead, tossing a plush rabbit at your head. You retaliated by sneakily stuffing his sleek black duffel with your Hello Kitty socks, their tiny size later prompting a confused wonder about your petite feet.

Your mother called as he loaded the Bentley's trunk, the sleek black convertible, of course, necessary for feeling the wind. "Don’t spoil her," her voice warned, tinny over the line, Okinawan waves crashing distantly behind her. Satoru stared at your cheerful Hello Kitty and Miffy suitcases, plastered with stickers from the Ghibli Museum trip he took you on instead of attending some society function of hers. "Wouldn’t dream of it," he lied smoothly, the irony thick.

That night, you sprawled across his lap in your pink flannel Hello Kitty pajamas dotted with cartoon cats, babbling about shrines and hiking trails. Your meticulously color-coded itinerary was spread out, but your thoughtful additions warmed him most: "Daddy’s snack breaks!!!" penciled in every two hours. You knew his ravenous appetite too well. His calloused thumb traced idle patterns on the soft skin of your ankle, toying with the tiny bells on your anklet. Their gentle jingle was a hymn of peace in the quiet room. When sleep finally claimed you, cheek smushed adorably against the swell of his bicep, he allowed himself a moment: fingertips brushing a stray strand from your temple so lightly you’d never stir. But you did, mumbling sweet nonsense through your rosebud lips. He dropped the softest of kisses there. Fatherly kisses. Obviously...

Dawn painted the sky in soft pastels as the Bentley’s engine purred to life. You were already slumped in the passenger seat, looking effortlessly lovely in a pretty denim skirt and a baby-blue camisole dotted with tiny berries and trimmed with ivory lace, the delicate fabric showing the collarbones he loved to trace. One earbud was in, the other dangling. Satoru had his mix playing, alternative and indie rock that reminded him of his younger days, days he often thought back to more when he was around you. He noticed you’d taken one earbud out, subtly tuning into his music. A small, shared connection. Cute.

He glanced over. Morning sunlight gilded the baby hairs at your temples, catching the reddish tint on your parted, glossy lips. Something deep within his chest cracked open, a feeling both tender and terrifyingly intense, vast as the sky you two were heading towards.

Just a trip, he told himself firmly, merging the car onto the highway, leaving the sticky city behind.

The open highway stretched before you two, a ribbon of asphalt unwinding beneath the Bentley’s purr. The initial burst of your excitement eventually succumbed to the rhythmic hum and the warm morning sun filtering through the windshield. The drive was long, the three hours lulling you into a drowsy rhythm of mini-naps interspersed with bursts of chatter. But before Satoru was gifted the reprieve of your sleep, he faced the delightful ordeal of a "bored bunny," as he fondly thought. Now, Satoru often dealt with energetic kids, sorcerer trainees were rarely calm, so your fidgeting was no real issue, a familiar background noise to the drive. Until you got a little more… physical than just your usual silly jokes and observations.

Satoru had one large hand resting confidently on the smooth leather of the steering wheel, the other draped loosely over the gear shift. Seizing the proximity, your tiny, cold fingers, tipped with glittering pink polish that caught the climbing sun, began tracing the prominent, ropy veins snaking across the back of his big hand. The contrast was stark: his slightly tanned, powerful skin beneath your delicate, cool touch. He grinned, basking in your silly likings, your endearing quirks. "Tickles, baby girl?" he rumbled, his thumb twitching slightly under your exploration.

Then came the watch. Drawn to the gleam of the expensive platinum timepiece encircling his wrist, how the dial was similar to the blue of his sky-like eyes, you leaned further over the console, your soft shoulder brushing his arm. Your fingers toyed with the cool metal links, the intricate face, forcing him to shift his grip on the wheel slightly for better stability. You were mesmerized by its shine, its undeniable luxury. "Like a little magpie, aren't you?" Satoru teased, his cerulean eyes flicking from the road to your focused expression. "Or maybe a tiny pirate, drawn to the shiniest treasure?" Your cheeks instantly flushed that adorable rose-pink, and you didn't deny it, a small, secretive smile playing on your strawberry-glossed lips as you continued your tactile investigation.

After a while of cruising, your fixation shifted to his thin, rectangular, blue-tinted sunglasses perched on his sharp nose. You sat back finally, seemingly satisfied, and now Satoru felt your second nap was truly overdue. The tiny yawns you tried to stifle, the mumbled, nonsensical blabber escaping your plush lips as your eyelids drooped, the way you nestled deeper into the plush seat, all signs pointed to sleepy bunny. Just as he skipped a track, seeking something mellower, your little foot, clad in its lacy white sock, was suddenly deposited into his lap.

Satoru glanced at you, one white eyebrow arching. Mild annoyance warred with overwhelming amusement at your sheer, unrepentant audacity. So unruly, truly his little bunny. You settled back comfortably, both feet now nestled in the warm hollow of his lap, your sneakers kicked off below. The delicate ivory lace of your socks was a stark, almost comical contrast against the fine black wool of his dress pants. With a sigh that was more fond than exasperated, Satoru shifted his right hand from the gear shift to your feet. His thumb idly rubbed the arch of one foot through the thin sock. A tiny, breathy giggle escaped you. Ah. His eyes, hidden behind the blue lenses, sparkled with mischief. That giggle was an invitation. He dug his fingers in, tickling the sensitive sole with playful precision.

"Daddy!" you squealed, trying to pull your feet back, thrashing weakly. "Stop! No fair!" You countered by thumping your heels lightly against his thighs, a futile protest that only fueled his desire to tease. Your laughter, bright and unrestrained, filled the car, a sweeter sound than any music. The impromptu tickle war lasted until the Bentley’s fuel gauge dipped too close to empty, snapping Satoru back to practicality. "Alright, menace, ceasefire," he chuckled, easing off. "Gas station pit stop. One hour left." He pulled into the next busy service area.

You practically flew out of the car, declaring a dire need for candy as your sneakers laces flopped around. Satoru handed you a generous wad of cash, then tied your laces as you counted each yen. "Get me something good too, bun-bun. No boring stuff." Ten minutes later, you emerged triumphant from the 7/11, clutching two bulging plastic bags full of colourful packages. Back on the road, Satoru munched thoughtfully on a soft, sweet mochi while you nibbled meticulously on Swedish Fish. True to prediction, you succumbed to sleep for the remainder of the ride, your head lolling gently against the headrest. Satoru sighed in quiet relief, not because the silence was golden, but because the warm, wriggling weight of your little feet in his lap, combined with the tickling struggle, had caused a very noticeable, very natural reaction south of his belt. Stimulation, duh, he thought wryly, shifting slightly. To bring things down, he forcibly conjured images of grading tedious mission reports and arguing with Higher-ups. Lifesavers, indeed.

Arriving in Nikko felt like entering another world. The air was instantly cooler, crisper, scented with pine and earth. You practically flew out of the car again, eyes wide with wonder… and then wider still when Satoru pulled up not to some simple lodge, but a luxurious, traditional ryokan-style hot spring hotel sat amidst towering cedars, its wooden outside exuding serene elegance. "Daddy!" you breathed, awestruck.

A minor hiccup occurred at check-in; his reserved room wasn't quite ready. With a charming smile and a subtle flex of his status, Satoru was smoothly "upgraded" to a better suite. You didn't need to know it was exactly the lavish room he’d originally booked. The suite was breathtaking: two huge, inviting beds layered with plush comforters, panoramic shoji screens opening onto a private balcony overlooking a mist-shrouded valley, and best of all, a secluded, steaming hinoki-wood hot spring bath right on your own deck. You looked ready to explode with pure joy.

The day unfolded like a dream. You explored ancient, moss-covered shrines tucked deep within scary forests, stood in awe before loud waterfalls that painted the air with rainbows, and crossed sacred bridges arched over crystal-clear rivers. Your Hello Kitty digital camera clicked constantly, capturing the beauty. Unbeknownst to you, Satoru captured his own moments, candid shots of you: your wide-eyed wonder at a towering cedar, your pink tongue peeking out in concentration as you framed a shot, your radiant smile bathed in dappled forest light. His bunny, immersed in beauty.

Returning to the hotel as dusk painted the sky in pretty hues, you both showered quickly, shedding the day's dust. Then came the main event: the private onsen. The hot, mineral-rich water was heavenly, melting away any lingering fatigue. True to form, you didn't allow a single minute of zen calm. You splashed playfully, tried to sink his expensive sunglasses (he caught them with Infinity just in time), and recounted the day's adventures with breathless enthusiasm. Satoru didn't mind. He loved it, loved your boundless energy, the way you kept him engaged, your unusual blend of brattiness, sweetness, and that underlying shyness that surfaced when you caught him watching you too intently. An odd, utterly captivating little thing.

Dinner was really luxurious, and delivered right to your room, delicate seasonal dishes artfully arranged. Wrapped in the hotel's plush cotton robes, you settled on the floor cushions before the huge TV, which was inexplicably showing a prestigious golf tournament. Satoru had you dying of giggles, providing silly commentary on the players' swings and choices. "Look at that grip, bunny! Kinda like he's got a stick up his ass... Weak knees, grandpa!" You imitated his exaggerated critiques, swinging an imaginary club with such seriousness he nearly choked on his green tea. Watching you, tears of laughter in your pretty eyes, he wondered, not for the first time, if you were his stepdaughter, or his biological child who looked nothing like him. 

The moment was pierced by the unwelcome chime of his phone. Your mother. Satoru’s easy smile faded as he answered, steeling himself. Her voice, sharp and full with complaints about Okinawa's humidity or her mother's nagging, filled the serene space. You overheard, your own smile vanishing, replaced by a familiar pout of disappointment. Without a word, you slipped out onto the cool balcony, seeking escape. Satoru cut the call short with practiced politeness, which was once genuine ("Yeah, hon. Of course. Enjoy the beach. I love you too.") and followed you out. He found you shivering slightly in the night air, staring at the star-dusted valley. Wordlessly, he draped an arm around your shoulders and gently steered you back inside. "C'mon, bunny. Midnight. Big day tomorrow. Time for Miffy PJs and bed."

You started to fuss, a little whine about not wanting to move your clothes off the other bed. Satoru saw right through it. "Uh-huh. Clothes are the problem," he deadpanned, already pulling your soft Miffy pajamas from your suitcase. "Get changed. You're bunking with me tonight." The fussing subsided into a relieved, if sleepy, compliance.

Once changed, you curled up beside him on the large bed, immediately latching onto his arm like he might vanish, your cheek pressed against his bicep. He, in turn, leaned into you, the warmth of your smaller body a comforting feeling. The day's adventures quickly pulled you under, your breathing deepening into the soft rhythm of sleep. Satoru followed soon after, lulled by your presence.

The calm shattered hours later. Satoru awoke with a sharp gasp, drenched in cold sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The nightmare, the usual nightmare, had sunk its claws deep tonight. Not just the phantom sensation of cold steel slicing through his neck, but the brutal memory of the blade plunging into his young legs, the shock, the helpless rage at sixteen facing that Fushiguro bastards' amoral brutality. Usually, he shook it off, a grim aftertaste. Tonight, it felt visceral, leaving him panting, disoriented, staring blindly into the dark, luxurious room.

He felt the shift beside him before he saw your wide eyes glinting in the sliver of moonlight. "Daddy?" Your voice was thick with sleep but instantly alert with concern. "You okay?" Shame flooded him. Shit. Waking you up at 3 AM because of his own demons. "Yeah, bunny," he rasped, trying to steady his breathing. "Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep." But you didn't. Instead, you pushed yourself up and wrapped your arms around him in a tight, warm hug, your face buried against his chest. Just like he did for you when you were scared or sad. His heart clenched, a painful, melting warmth spreading through him. He gave in, sinking back onto the bed, pulling you close instead of escaping to the cool balcony. You mumbled soothing nonsense against his skin, something about "thinking nice thoughts" and "bunnies beating up bad dreams." He almost laughed, a choked sound. Was he the baby now?

But as he started to relax, the familiar urge took over. He tilted his head down, pressing soft, paternal kisses to your temple, your cheek, the crown of your head. A little way of saying thank you for the comfort. Reassurance. Affection. Safe. Then, almost without conscious thought, his lips found yours. It wasn't the first time he'd brushed a chaste kiss against those plush rosebud lips, a quick peck goodnight, a comforting gesture, maybe educational like that one time... But this… this was different. The sleepy, yielding softness of your mouth under his, the faint taste of strawberries and apricots lingering from the sweet fruits you’d devoured like a greedy squirrel during dinner… it ignited something fierce. A tiny whimper vibrated against his lips, and it was like gasoline on a flame. His tongue, so very greedy, swept past your lips, deepening the kiss into something hungry, possessive.

What could he possibly excuse this as? The frantic question screamed in his mind. Nothing. There was no excuse. This wasn't paternal. This was desire, raw and undeniable. You were shy, hesitant at first, but then you responded, melting into him. Your little hands fisted in the soft cotton of his shirt, your toes curling, bunching the fluffy duvet beneath you. Satoru felt the familiar, insistent tightening in his groin again, a relentless pulse. Almost desperately, he slid the hand not cradling the nape of your neck down, pressing the heel of his palm hard against the straining fabric of his sweats, trying to ease the ache, to maintain some semblance of control.

It was only when you pulled away slightly, gasping for breath, that reality crashed back. Your cheeks were flushed crimson, your doe eyes wide and glazed, like a startled fawn caught in headlights after raiding a liquor cabinet. Your rosebud lips were swollen, glistening, a deeper red from the intensity of his kiss. The sight was devastatingly beautiful and utterly damning. He hauled you back against him, burying his face in your lavender-scented hair, his voice rough. "Sleep, baby girl. Sleep is best now."

You were beyond agreement, murmuring a drowsy, incoherent "Uh-huh...daddy..." before your body went limp against his, sleep reclaiming you instantly, as if the kiss was habit. Satoru held you, your Miffy pajamas askew from the embrace, the neckline gaping slightly to reveal the soft, tempting swell of your pert chest. So sweet, so trusting. God, I want to die, he thought, the guilt a crushing weight mixed with the lingering heat of desire. He closed his impossibly blue eyes, the image of your kiss-swollen lips seared onto his eyelids. He wondered, with a terrifying clarity, if he was more in love with you, asleep in his arms smelling of lavender and innocence, or the woman whose finger bore the fat diamond rock he’d placed there.

He already knew the answer. It slammed into him with the force of Hollow Purple.

Holy hell.

That was something to think about. A curse he couldn't exorcise, a reality he couldn't use Infinity to shield himself from. The mountain air outside felt suddenly frigid, even as he held your warm, sleeping form.

End.

Can you tell Satoru's losing his mind? I hope so, hehe. I love this dynamic so much, it's very unhealthy lol. So much has been going on, so writing is becoming hard to do, but I enjoy every bit when I can. Little reminder: do not read if this isn't your thing. I have a warning posted very clearly at the top of every nsfw post, including what this content is about and the relationship. Thank you for reading, as always :)

[hearts4sammonroe]

“Pregnancy Era”

pairing: stephen glass x pregnant!reader

contains: fluff, signs of pregnancy, mentions of morning sickness but no details, mentions of sexual activity (detail), cutie!stephen!

a/n: @devotedlypaleluminary ‘s idea <333 enjoy!

divider credit: @enchanthings-a

☆ The pregnancy wasn’t exactly planned, yet when all those pregnancy tests you took came back positive, Stephen Glass was the happiest man alive. Happy tears, jumping up and down, holding you, spinning you around, glasses falling off. He may have bad tendencies, but he knew in that moment he wouldn’t never leave you or this baby.

☆ The first pregnancy symptoms/first trimester was hell. But Stephen was there for you through everything. When you got tired, he was scratching your back until you fell asleep, no matter what time of day. When you were struggling with morning sickness, he was holding your hair back, getting you a damp wash cloth, soothing you. When your breasts started hurting, he’d gently massage them for you, making sure he wasn’t hurting you and that he was making you feel better. When you got your first craving, he ran to the grocery to get it.

☆ The mood swings were terrible. If your drink spilt, you started crying. If the laundry was dirty, you were screaming at him. You honestly scared him at first, but after he did his research, he realized it was normal and he knew what to do. But he sometimes made it worse with his constant questions… you’re still grateful for him no matter what! He just definitely asked a lot of “are you mad at me” ‘s in a day.

☆ The second trimester was definitely an adventure, but you both had prepared for it. When your belly started growing, he would admire it, grinning ear to ear. With the belly growth, you got stretch marks — if you ever got insecure about it, he was kissing them and telling you how beautiful you look with them.

When the baby moved for the first time, he probably cried more happy tears than you, immediately kissing your belly and laughing excitedly. “Oh, my God, that’s our baby in there! A whole person that we made!”

☆ Whenever you were just chilling on the couch or in bed, Stephen had his headphones on your belly, insisting that the baby comes out of the womb with good music taste. You guys knew the gender now and were thrilled, but you hadn’t picked a name yet.

“She’s gonna have my music taste for sure. Feel that? She loooooves it.” Stephen nods matter-of-factly while you just shake your head and laugh.

His white boy music started playing… Sweet Caroline… and baby went crazy with her kicks. That’s how you guys got set on her name.

☆ By the third trimester, your belly was huge and heavy. You couldn’t see your feet. But anytime Stephen got the chance, he was holding your belly to help. Especially at bedtime since it was so hard to sleep. He’s doing anything to help — hold your belly, rub your back to relieve some pain, trace your arm.

☆ At this point, he’s too afraid of penetrative sex because he’s scared he’ll hurt you or the baby. You were usually exhausted, but still down for getting some action. He only ate you out, but it was still amazing. But he was afraid Caroline would somehow know.

He’s already leaning down and kissing your thighs until he stops. “What if she knows?” He asks, pointing to your belly. “Knows what?” You sigh. “That we’re getting freaky!” “Baby, she’s not gonna know. Please get to it.” It took a little more reassuring until he was eagerly eating you out again.

Every time he ate you out, he came in his pants. Tongue circling your clit, fingers plunging in and out, glasses fogged. He’d get so turned on by your reactions that he was cumming in his pants before you could even offer to help him out.

☆ He’s at every doctor’s apportionment, every ultrasound, you name it. He’s nervous as hell but he’s still smiling at you and holding your hand.

☆ You guys went to the hospital for Caroline’s birth on her scheduled due date. Once you got there, you were definitely dilated and ready. Stephen was panicking, but he told you he wasn’t, holding your hand and doing whatever you asked. But you knew he was panicking by the way his legs were shaking, his shirt was drenched in sweat, and he was breathing as heavy as you were.

☆ When you guys were still at the hospital for a few days after Caroline was born, he didn’t get any sleep. If you were awake and holding the baby, he was admiring and smiling widely at his beautiful girls. When you and Caroline were asleep, he was lying in bed with you while Caroline’s little crib was beside the bed. Just looking back and forth, probably trying not to cry more happy tears.

taglist: @anakinstwinklebunny @haydenismyman @anisangeldust @cassielunaaa @madsluvsdilfs @mvst4far @divineani @alealuvshayden @prettiestmini @darthrenswiftie @devotedlypaleluminary @amiratheangel @inlovewithallmusic

[sugardollcurse]

ringo x reader hcs (or one-shot, ur choice >:) 💛💛💛)

reader insists on cooking and baking for ringo to show affection. she cannot cook to safe her LIFE. she's probably started a few fires. but she feels like almost useless or broken in a way if she CANT make food for him.. so she tries anyway..

𝑘𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑛’𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖’𝑚 𝑖𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 | ringo starr x fem! reader

𐙚 summary ; you're trying to feed him. he’s just trying not to die.

𐙚 note ; turnin this into a one-shot bc i ache to write more for him soon… i got ringo on the brain. bit short but i'm super proud of this ugh I LOVE HIM SO MUCH I LOVE WRITING FOR HIM RINGGOOO

You set the oven to 450°F even though the recipe said 350°F, because last time it wasn’t hot enough and everything came out “undercooked.” That’s what Ringo had said, though with his mouth full and eyes watering, he’d called it “tender” before insisting he loved the texture of half-baked beans.

This time it was gonna be different. You were gonna nail it. You were gonna prove, definitively, that you could cook for the man you loved like a normal functioning adult. Maybe even make something edible. Something that didn’t come with an apology note or require a fire extinguisher.

You turned on the stovetop.

Two burners. Three pans. Nothing in them yet. A brave start...

The smoke alarm shrieked ten minutes later.

Ringo came loping in, pajama pants slung low and a t-shirt with a picture of a cat on it. His hair was everywhere, fluffy with sleep. He blinked through the haze like he was trying to determine whether this was a dream, or a legitimate emergency.

“Is somethin’ meant to be on fire, love?”

You didn’t look up from the pot you were stirring. Furiously. Like stirring harder would unburn the onions.

“Everything’s under control,” you said, jaw tight, eyes bloodshot from the onion smoke. “Totally fine.”

He coughed, flapped a dishtowel at the alarm. “It’s okay if y’need help-”

“I don’t!” Your voice cracked. “I just- I’m trying! I wanna do this for you!”

The alarm finally gave up. Ringo blinked the ringing out of his ears and stared at the warzone you were calling dinner prep: egg shells in a measuring cup, sauce splattered up the walls, something violently blackened in the oven window. He tried to identify it. Failed.

“Sweetheart…”

You dropped the spoon. The clatter echoed like a gunshot.

“I don’t know why I’m so bad at this." you said in a tiny voice, not looking at him. "It’s supposed to be easy. I see it on TV. Girls make cookies and soup and cute little things and it’s like, like a love language, yeah? But I can’t! And I hate it! I hate feeling like I’m stupid just ‘cause I can’t make a fuckin’ lasagna.”

The silence that followed was thick and burnt-sugar scented. You braced yourself for him to laugh or tell you to calm down or worse, offer to call for takeout again.

Instead, Ringo walked over and hugged you from behind. Wrapped his long arms around your waist and pressed his cheek against your shoulder, breathing in the smell of slightly singed garlic and that shampoo you like.

“You’re not stupid,” he said, voice low and serious. “You’re just a bit shite at cookin’.”

You laughed. You didn’t want to, but you did. A wet, embarrassed, hiccuping laugh.

He swayed you a little, side to side. Kissed the back of your neck.

“I love that you try. I love that you wanna feed me even if the food's a bit... lethal. But y’don’t have to prove anything. You love me with how y’look at me in the morning. How you tuck your feet under mine on the couch. How you save the last biscuit even though you clearly wanted it that one time.”

“I didn’t want it,” you murmured.

“You did.”

You sniffled, tilting your head back against his chest.

“…so what you’re saying is, I’m off dinner duty.”

“Well, now hang on,” he said, grinning against your hair. “You do make a mean frozen pizza. And that cake y’burnt last month had character.”

“Shut up.”

He kissed your temple, then your cheek, then turned off the stove like it was a bomb about to go off.

“Let’s order something in,” he said. “But you can plate it up and pretend you made it.”

“I love you.”

“You love a lie,” he teased, leading you gently out of the kitchen.

The fire alarm started again just as he closed the door behind you.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels, @wisepainterprince

[mortuarywriting]

editing my going off because I saw OP was worried that this was Chaos's fault beforehand-

No. It wasn't. The Afterword of False Gods says as much:

I finished the third book of The Horus Heresy, and yeah, I get the logic behind the purges.

Cut out the loyal ones before they cause problems. Neat. Clean. Efficient.

But what really gets me—what hurts—is that Horus didn’t even try.

He never reached out to the Emperor. Never sent a message. Never asked why.

He just decided he was the new regent and everyone else could either kneel or burn.

And in that moment, he became exactly what he hated.

Just like the Emperor—expecting blind obedience, giving no explanation, no space for doubt, no room for grief.

He didn’t want to be questioned. He didn’t want to be understood.

He didn’t want people like Loken to choose him.

He wanted submission.

And that’s what breaks me.

Because Loken might have listened. He might have understood, if Horus had trusted him enough to speak first.

But instead, Horus silenced him. Silenced all of them.

It was fear wearing the mask of leadership.

And it looked an awful lot like the thing Horus swore he’d never become.

Sorry this is not my first language

[cup1drul3z]

★ — All That's Left Between Us

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6 : ꜱʜɪᴛ ʜɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀɴ

ꜰᴀʀᴍʜᴀɴᴅ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 9.6ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : Southern sevika, childhood bestfriends, Ex's to lovers, homophobia mentioned, internal hatred, cowboy sevika, farm owners daughter reader, size difference, breeding kink, fingering, dry humping

A/N : back 2 back chapters baby

Summary : Camp life brings you and Sevika closer, the tension finally breaking in a heated moment behind closed doors. But out in the woods, something feels off—like you're being watched. Between stolen touches and lingering unease, summer is starting to feel a lot more dangerous than expected.

Knock knock knock.

The sound came like a hammer to your skull—way too early, way too loud, and definitely not welcome.

You groaned softly, rolling toward Sevika, who was still half-wrapped around you like a human furnace. Her hand lazily slid down your thigh and then flopped uselessly against the mattress.

Another knock. Then a pause.

“Y/N?” Jinx’s voice drifted through the door—low, hesitant, not her usual chipper chaos. “I, uh… I need your help—”

Sevika groaned, long and guttural, and dragged a pillow over her face. “If that little gremlin wakes me up one more time, I’m teaching her what ‘camp quiet hours’ actually mean.”

But your eyes blinked open fully now. Because that tone? That wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t mischievous.

It was… nervous.

You sat up, rubbing your eyes and stumbling to the door in just a tank top and your shorts. You cracked it open, squinting at the already-too-bright morning sun.

Jinx stood there, hair frazzled worse than usual, camp shirt on backward, and her hands black with something that looked suspiciously like charred marshmallow—or maybe soot.

You blinked. “What did you do?”

“I—” Jinx looked over her shoulder, then back at you, eyes wide. “I fucked up breakfast.”

You opened the door fully, stepping out. “Like… how bad?”

Jinx didn’t even try to explain. She just turned and started speed-walking toward the mess hall.

“I just—I wanted to help! The other counselors were still asleep and Carol’s doing inventory, so I figured I could just, y’know, toast some stuff and reheat the eggs and maybe try the pancake batter—”

“Try?” you echoed. “Jinx, what happened?”

She stopped halfway down the path and turned to you, wild-eyed.

“There was a small fire. It’s out. Kinda. Mostly. But I broke the coffee machine and the pancake mix exploded and there’s glass in the oatmeal, maybe? I don't know, man!”

Sevika emerged from the cabin behind you, one boot half on and shirtless, rubbing at her face. “Why are we awake?” she muttered, voice thick with sleep.

Jinx threw her hands up. “Because I may have caused a localized camp crisis before 7 a.m.!”

You glanced at Sevika, who blinked at you once—expression deadpan.

“Your problem,” she muttered, and turned around, heading straight back to bed.

You sighed, looked down at your bare legs and messy tank top, and followed Jinx toward the chaos, muttering, “This is why we don’t let you near appliances…”

The closer you got, the stronger the smell hit you—burnt sugar, rubber, and eggs. A deadly combo.

Smoke trailed faintly out of the mess hall windows. One of the stoves was hissing. Something brown bubbled on the counter in a mug labeled “Camp Queen” and you were pretty sure it used to be cocoa.

Jinx pointed like a war criminal surveying the battlefield. “See?! I tried.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Go open a window. And maybe… find Carol.”

“Oh, she knows,” Jinx called as she ran off. “She screamed something about OSHA violations and left to get her clipboard!”

You looked around the room—scorched, sticky, barely salvageable—and sighed again.

Then you picked up a towel and started cleaning.

You stared down at the mess like it had personally wronged you.

The oatmeal was a lost cause—soggy, grey, and glittering faintly with shards of shattered measuring cup. The eggs were salvageable, if you squinted and added enough cheese. But the pancakes? They were still batter in a cracked bowl on the edge of the counter, looking sad and slightly runny.

You rolled your shoulders back, tugged your hair into a quick bun with the elastic around your wrist, and muttered, “Alright. Let’s fix this.”

You grabbed a clean pan, wiped it out with a dry towel, and cranked the heat. The pancake mix was too watery, so you added more flour—then remembered your bio mom’s trick.

You opened the spice rack, smiling at the dusty old tin of cinnamon and a half-used bottle of vanilla tucked behind a jar of paprika.

“Okay, okay…” you murmured, dumping a bit of cinnamon in, a little more vanilla, and—on impulse—a dash of nutmeg. The scent hit fast: warm, familiar, like Sunday mornings before your mom got sick, back when everything still smelled like syrup and laughter.

You ladled the new batter onto the hot skillet and held your breath.

The sizzle was promising.

Two minutes later, the pancake flipped perfectly—golden, fluffy, and smelling way better than anything deserved to smell at 7:15 a.m. in a smoke-scented mess hall.

Jinx returned just in time to see you plating a stack. “Ohhh shit,” she said, eyes wide. “That looks good.”

You smirked. “Here.”

You handed her a fork and she stabbed into the stack like a feral animal. One bite in, she stopped chewing, mouth full, face slowly turning red.

“Okay, wow. That’s—” she coughed once. “That’s got kick.”

You blinked. “It’s just cinnamon—”

“And nutmeg,” she wheezed, “and maybe the entire spice rack?! The kids are gonna think it’s like a cinnamon challenge!”

You stared at her. “It’s good, though, right?”

Jinx took another bite, chewed, and gave you a very shaky thumbs-up. “It’s... fire. Like literally. Like I might combust.”

You were about to argue when the worst thing possible happened.

The cowbell.

It clanged out front—Carol’s signature wake-up-call-and-breakfast-summons. Seconds later, the sound of pounding sneakers filled the path. The doors flung open and a tide of half-dressed, bed-headed children swarmed in like a plague.

“Oh no,” you breathed, eyes wide. “It’s too late.”

Counselors were dragging in behind them—Vi looked like she hadn’t slept, her hoodie halfway on, Sevika had reappeared in a clean tank top and a suspiciously smug look, and Carol stormed through the kitchen doors like a drill sergeant ready for war.

“WHO SET OFF THE SMOKE DETECTOR?” she barked.

“Long story,” you and Jinx both said at the same time.

But then—salvation.

A kid took a bite of the pancake and cheered.

“IT TASTES LIKE CHRISTMAS.”

Another chimed in: “I LOVE IT! IT’S SPICY PANCAKES!”

Carol blinked, took one of the plates, tasted a bite herself, paused—and then narrowed her eyes at you.

“You cooked these?”

You nodded slowly.

“…Do it again tomorrow.”

You exhaled, tension draining from your shoulders. Jinx collapsed next to the counter like she’d just survived a natural disaster.

Across the room, Sevika leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a slow, crooked grin.

You smirked back.

The sun had climbed high and hot, turning the archery field into a sweatbox of trampled grass and sunscreen fumes. You stood just past the caution line, squinting into the midday haze, your camp t-shirt clinging slightly to your back and your tan shorts already dusted with dry dirt. Your hair was frizzing out at the edges, heat turning every curl into its own rebellion.

You crossed your arms and glanced sideways. “Are we sure this is safe?”

Sevika stood a few feet away, arms folded, sunglasses low on her nose. She looked absurdly cool for someone standing in front of a weapons rack. “They’re shooting blunt arrows at foam targets from twenty feet away,” she muttered. “Pretty sure the biggest threat here is sunburn.”

“Or a rogue seven-year-old deciding they’re the target,” you replied, eyes trailing a camper who just released an arrow with their eyes closed.

The arrow flew comically wide, landing in the grass with a pitiful thump.

Sevika winced. “Okay, yeah. That one’s banned from Hunger Games night.”

You snorted and leaned against the post with a sigh. “Didn’t you say you used to be good at this?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I am good at this.”

You tilted your head, biting back a grin. “Wanna prove it?”

Sevika’s sunglasses slid down further on her nose. “Are you challenging me?”

“Unless you’re scared to lose in front of thirty children.”

A gasp rang out from behind you.

“OOOOHHHHHHH,” one of the kids screamed. “MISS Y/N’S STARTING BEEF.”

Another ran off to the other counselors yelling, “SEVIKA VS. Y/N! BOW SHOWDOWN!”

You groaned, already regretting your choices. But Sevika? She was thriving. She turned to grab one of the bows, flexing her arm just enough to make sure you noticed.

“Don’t embarrass yourself,” she said, passing you one.

You rolled your eyes. “I grew up around hunters, thank you very much.”

“Right,” she muttered, not hiding her smirk. “And I’m sure they trained you between riding ponies and picking peaches.”

“Oh, you’re done for.”

What followed was pure camp chaos.

A full crowd of kids had gathered behind the line, shouting over each other and waving half-melted candy bars as betting collateral. Jinx ran up with a notebook she’d stolen from someone’s cabin, shouting, “Odds are two-to-one in favor of Big Vika, but I’m giving bonus points for style!”

“That’s illegal!” Vi yelled from across the field.

“No rules, only vibes!” Jinx howled.

Carol walked by, paused, surveyed the situation, then muttered, “If nobody dies, I’m pretending I didn’t see this,” and kept walking.

You nocked your arrow, lips pressed together in concentration. Sevika watched you with that crooked grin, her stance relaxed, her fingers adjusting the grip like it was muscle memory. The air buzzed—not just with noise but energy.

“Loser cleans all the dinner dishes tonight,” you said, raising your bow.

“Loser sleeps on the floor,” Sevika countered, raising hers to match.

“Excuse me?!”

“Too late,” she smirked. “You already agreed.”

You both let your arrows fly.

Two dull thunks.

Yours landed just outside the red ring.

Hers? Dead center.

The kids exploded.

Screaming. Cheering. Someone threw a handful of Skittles into the air like confetti. Jinx was spinning in a circle like she’d just witnessed a historical sports moment. “OH MY GOD SHE ROBIN HOODED YOUR ASS.”

You turned to Sevika, jaw dropped. “Okay. Best of three.”

“Oh, now you wanna fight.”

“You’re going down.”

And for the rest of the hour, the kids were in heaven. You and Sevika alternated between competitive bickering and flirtatious sabotage—Sevika bumped your hip once during a shot and you nearly nailed the announcer tent. You flicked her ponytail while she was mid-draw and her arrow veered left.

Nobody remembered who actually won.

But by the time you walked back toward the cabins, hand brushing hers, sweaty and breathless and grinning so hard your cheeks hurt, it didn’t really matter.

The lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, water rippling soft and slow while the younger campers shrieked and splashed in the shallows. Their laughter echoed across the dock like music—chaotic and sweet. You sat at the edge, bare feet dangling over the water, your chin resting on your knees as the breeze played with your curls.

Behind you, Sevika dropped down with a grunt, knees spread wide, forearms resting lazily across them. Her camp shirt clung to her back from the heat, and she rolled a blade of grass between her fingers like she was trying not to stare at you for too long.

But she was staring.

You felt it—every time her eyes traced your profile, lingered a little too long on your lips. The air between you buzzed with a new kind of tension. Not the fiery, rough kind from last night. This was quieter. Slower. Like the calm just before a summer storm.

“I think you actually let me win that last round,” you murmured.

Sevika scoffed, but it was half-hearted. “You needed the confidence boost.”

You glanced at her sideways. “You’re just mad I called you ‘Robin Hood with a god complex’ in front of thirty children.”

“You should be scared of arrows now.”

You bumped her shoulder with yours. “You love me.”

It slipped out before you could stop it.

The silence after wasn’t awkward—it was thick. Full. You didn’t even breathe until you felt her hand shift behind you, fingers brushing your back gently as she leaned in closer.

Her voice was low. “Maybe I do.”

Your heart kicked in your chest.

You turned, facing her now, close enough to see the freckles just under her left eye. Her lips parted, her gaze dropped to your mouth, and your own breath caught.

This was it.

That slow, heavy gravity pulling you forward like the kiss would be inevitable.

And then—

“Counselors!” Carol’s voice came like a thunderclap from behind, full of clipped professionalism and absolutely zero regard for your moment.

You jumped. Sevika groaned, already leaning back with a hand over her face like she’d been hit with a brick.

Carol marched up the dock with a clipboard clutched to her chest like a holy relic. “Just a heads up,” she said briskly. “We’re getting a small wave of older campers this afternoon. They had their reservation at Camp Brookpine canceled due to mold in the cabins, and since we have space, they’re being transferred here. Middle school to early high school range.”

You blinked. “That’s… a big age gap.”

Carol didn’t even pause. “Yes, which is why we’re only assigning three counselors to supervise them. Since they’re older, they won’t require full handholding like the younger groups.”

You knew what was coming before she even said it.

“Sevika, Jinx, and Caitlyn—you’ll be heading up that group.”

“What?” Sevika sat up straighter. “Whos Caitlyn?”

Carol looked mildly annoyed. “She’s trained in self-defense, CPR, and conflict mediation. The teens are gonna adore her.”

“I think they’re more likely to plot a mutiny,” Jinx muttered from behind Carol, holding a dripping pool noodle like a club.

Carol sighed. “Just… show them around, make them feel included. They’ll be arriving within the hour.”

Then she turned and walked off with the efficiency of someone who didn’t care about the romantic tension she just destroyed.

You exhaled, shoulders slumping. “Well… so much for kissing you.”

Sevika stood and brushed her hands off on her shorts. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

She leaned down, smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Middle schoolers don’t stay up late,” she murmured. “But I do.”

And then she walked away—boots heavy on the dock, already yelling at Jinx to stop hitting things with a foam noodle.

You were still smiling when the wind picked up, rustling through the trees like a warning.

Far off in the forest, something cracked.

But you didn’t hear it.

Not yet.

The bus hissed as it came to a full stop, its engine sputtering out like it, too, was dreading what came next.

The older campers filed out in clumps, dragging duffel bags, skateboards, and tangled earbuds behind them like a storm of hormones and dry shampoo. A few wore smug expressions like they already hated it here. Some rolled their eyes, some yawned dramatically, and at least one boy said, “This place smells like grass and sadness.”

“Lovely,” Sevika muttered under her breath.

You stood near the counselor’s cabin with Caitlyn beside you, clipboard in hand, her hair braided neatly down her back, expression unreadably calm. Sevika loomed to your left, sunglasses on and arms folded, looking every bit the “camp enforcer” the kids would absolutely make up rumors about before dinner.

One girl with long braids and glitter under her eyes smiled wide when she spotted you. “Oh my god, you’re so pretty. Are you like… a real counselor?”

You blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

Another girl with big sunglasses and a too-small tank top giggled. “You don’t look like the rest of these nature nerds.”

You smiled politely, cheeks warming as they swarmed closer, clearly deciding you were the safe adult to befriend. One offered you a jelly bracelet. Another asked what your skincare routine was. A third leaned over and whispered, “Does she—” she motioned toward Sevika, “—bite?”

Sevika, still wearing her sunglasses and a bored expression, didn’t even turn.

But the moment her head tilted just slightly in the girl’s direction—

She squeaked and scrambled away, muttering, “Yup, definitely bites.”

“She's not that scary,” you said with a laugh, glancing up at Sevika.

She didn’t smile—but the twitch at the corner of her mouth gave her away.

Meanwhile, Caitlyn was surrounded by three girls asking her how to get a body like hers and if she was “actually British or just faking it for the aesthetic.” Caitlyn answered all of them with deadpan charm, never once losing control of the clipboard.

Further down the path, Jinx had somehow already taught two boys how to start a water balloon war, and was currently using a rolled-up schedule sheet as a fake megaphone.

“Team Chaos, report to me if you don’t want to do any actual work!”

Carol caught wind of that in less than two seconds and dragged Jinx off for a “talk.”

You watched it all with your hands on your hips, shoulders already a little tense. The younger kids had been wild—but this? This was a new breed. Half of them looked like they’d grown up on TikTok and spite. And the way they looked at Sevika—like she was either going to murder them or teach them how to kill—was a little funny.

One of the boys passed you and muttered to his friend, “She looks like a final boss.”

Sevika heard that. She definitely heard that.

She leaned over to you and said, deadpan, “Should I start sharpening a stick just to mess with them?”

You snorted. “Please don’t traumatize the high schoolers on day one.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “Day two.”

You shook your head, laughing as the crowd began to thin, kids being directed toward their new bunks by Caitlyn and a few junior counselors.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that the camp had just… shifted.

Older kids brought older problems.

And somewhere out in those woods, the story Jinx told—the one you’d tried to forget—still lingered like smoke you couldn’t quite clear from the air.

The crickets had finally replaced the children’s screaming, and the campfire was burned down to soft orange embers. You were sprawled across a log, your hair still damp from a quick rinse, cheeks flushed from s’mores and smoky heat. Around you, the other counselors lazed in varying degrees of exhaustion—Caitlyn flipping through her clipboard even now, Jinx playing with the last burnt marshmallow, and Sevika leaning against a tree trunk with one long leg stretched out, a soda can balanced on her knee.

“Alright,” Jinx suddenly declared, standing with a dramatic stretch, arms up and spine cracking. “Who’s down for a night swim?”

You blinked, glancing around. “Is that allowed?”

Jinx grinned. “Camp’s asleep. Carol’s asleep. The lake’s wide awake.”

And before anyone could argue, she peeled off her camp t-shirt, revealing a cotton-candy pink and blue striped swimsuit with one strap falling off her shoulder like it was made to be dramatic. She let out a loud, “WOOO!” and took off running barefoot toward the lake, sand kicking up behind her.

There was a beat of silence.

Then water splashed violently in the distance.

“…Well, shit,” Vi muttered, already tugging her own shirt off and calling back, “You better not drown before I get there!”

You laughed as Caitlyn shook her head, muttering, “Unbelievable,” but still stood and started walking toward her cabin with what you were pretty sure was a small smirk.

More followed—some counselors stripping down to their underwear, some ducking off to change, the quiet turning electric with the thrill of something forbidden.

You were already wearing your bikini beneath your shorts and shirt—had been all day. So you slipped your shirt off, dropped your shorts to the side, and brushed your hair back from your face, padding barefoot after the others toward the lake.

Behind you, Sevika stood slowly, her voice a low grumble: “Y’all are lucky I brought swim shit.”

You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see her heading for the cabin. A few minutes later, she emerged again—low-slung black swim shorts hugging her hips, and a tight black sports bra that clung to her chest in a way that made your throat go a little dry. Her tattooed arms were lit in silver-blue moonlight, hair tied back, jaw flexing as she caught your stare.

“Eyes up, sweetheart,” she teased, brushing past you.

You didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed.

By the time you reached the dock, the lake was alive with laughter—splashing, shouting, someone trying to push Jinx off a floatie and being promptly dragged under with her. The water glowed like ink and diamonds under the moon, warm and smooth like silk against your skin as you dove in.

You surfaced with a gasp, brushing water from your eyes—and Sevika was already next to you, floating lazily on her back, her voice rumbling through the quiet like a low drum.

“This counts as my shower, by the way.”

You snorted. “Noted.”

She cracked an eye open. “You still scared of the lake after that story?”

You paused, just slightly. “...A little.”

“Then stick close,” she said simply, and drifted a little closer, her fingers brushing yours beneath the water.

And for a few minutes, the world was perfect. Cool lake, warm hearts, distant laughter.

None of you noticed the figure standing just beyond the tree line.

Watching.

Waiting.

The water was warm around your waist, your hair slicked back as you laughed, wiping lake droplets from your lashes. The moon glimmered high above, casting silver across the rippling lake. Somewhere to your left, someone was humming an off-key version of a pop song while Vi and Caitlyn argued about if swimming at night counted as “reckless endangerment.”

Then Jinx’s voice cut through the chaos like a flare.

“CHICKEN FIGHT!”

Everyone froze.

You blinked. “Like… now?”

“NOW!” she yelled, already clambering up onto the broad shoulders of a guy with tight curls and an exasperated grin—clearly Ekko, her longtime partner in crime. “Get a team, coward!”

You turned, eyes landing on Sevika just as she raised an eyebrow at you.

“I know you’re not looking at me like I’m about to let you climb on my shoulders.”

You grinned wide. “Why not?”

“I could drown.”

“You’re literally the strongest person in this lake.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if I go down, I’m dragging you with me.”

You giggled and paddled over. She sank a little deeper, bracing her hands on your hips. “Up,” she muttered.

You braced one hand on her shoulder, one on her head, and hoisted yourself up. With a small splash and a breathy laugh, you settled onto her shoulders, thighs locked around her neck, her strong hands gripping your calves for balance.

“Comfortable?” she asked, dry as ever.

“Oh, so comfortable.” You leaned forward just slightly, brushing damp fingers through her hair. “How’s your view?”

Her grip tightened on your thighs. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Jinx was already howling across the water. “C’mon, cupcake! You better bring the heat!”

“You’re going down!” you shouted back, breathless from laughter.

Jinx raised her fists dramatically. “Let the Battle of the Century BEGIN!”

Ekko waded closer, grumbling under his breath, “I’m too old for this shit—”

And chaos erupted.

The waves slapped against your stomach as you reached forward, fingers locked with Jinx’s, the both of you laughing, shrieking, trying to knock each other off your human mounts. Sevika was a rock under you—solid, unbothered, smirking with every wave you swayed through. Ekko, meanwhile, cursed every five seconds as Jinx flailed and tried to pull your hair.

“FOUL PLAY!” you yelled.

“NO RULES!” Jinx screamed, trying to yank your arm while giggling so hard she nearly fell off.

It lasted maybe two glorious, chaotic minutes before Jinx miscalculated a grab and overreached. You saw it in her eyes just before it happened—the slow-motion panic.

“NOPE—no—”

Splash.

She and Ekko went under in a dramatic heap, water spraying like a mini tsunami.

You sat victorious atop Sevika’s shoulders, chest heaving, arms raised. The crowd of counselors watching from the shore erupted in cheers, clapping and laughing and screaming things like “CHAMPION!” and “SHE DESTROYED YOU, JINX!”

Sevika shifted beneath you, reaching up to grab your waist and slowly pull you down. As you slid off her shoulders and into the water in front of her, your chest pressed against hers, her hands naturally resting at your hips.

“Good work, sniper,” she murmured, smirking down at you, your bodies half-submerged, water beading on her neck.

You bit your lip, grinning. “You liked that?”

She leaned in just enough for her breath to brush your lips. “I like you on my shoulders.”

Your cheeks flushed, heart hammering as her fingers tapped gently against your hip.

You were about to kiss her again—right there in the water—when Jinx popped up between you with a mouthful of lake water.

“Next round!” she choked out. “I’m getting revenge!”

Ekko coughed behind her. “We need a break.”

You and Sevika dissolved into laughter, forehead to her shoulder as the summer night stretched on—wet, wild, and full of heat.

But just beyond the dock, behind a curtain of trees, something moved in the dark.

And it was watching.

The two of you left the lake after most of the others had either wandered off toward their cabins or stayed behind to float under the stars. Your bikini clung damp to your skin, the camp shirt you tugged on over it sticking in places as you walked barefoot down the gravel path. The laughter had faded behind you. The night was quieter now.

Too quiet.

Sevika’s steps were solid beside yours, boots crunching softly as she carried both your towels slung over her shoulder. She hadn’t bothered changing out of her swim shorts or sports bra, water still glinting off her collarbones in the moonlight. She looked calm. Relaxed, even. But the way her eyes kept flicking toward the trees said something else.

You noticed it too.

The air felt... heavier than before. The breeze was gone. The crickets had quieted.

“Hey,” you murmured, bumping your elbow into hers. “You alright?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“Something’s off,” she said, low.

Your stomach tightened.

You turned your head, scanning the dark between the trees lining the path back to the cabins. The moonlight didn’t quite reach beyond the trunks. Just black between branches. Deeper than it should’ve been.

Like the forest was holding its breath.

“I think that story Jinx told is still messing with me,” you tried to joke, your voice barely above a whisper. “The one about the guy who killed his lover and lives in the woods, hunting down couples?”

Sevika’s jaw flexed.

You both paused at the edge of the clearing where the woods broke into a thin trail leading toward your cabin. The air here felt colder—cooler against your skin, like stepping into a shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Then—

Crack.

You froze.

A branch. Somewhere behind you. Not the soft snap of something falling from a tree—no, this was footsteps. Deliberate.

You whipped around, eyes wide, scanning the dark.

Nothing.

Sevika’s arm was suddenly in front of you, pushing you gently behind her. She said nothing, but her posture shifted—tense, alert. One hand resting against your hip, the other slightly curled at her side like she was waiting for something to lunge.

“Probably a deer,” she muttered. “Or raccoon. Might’ve followed the food trail back from the mess hall.”

But even she didn’t sound convinced.

You swallowed, voice tight. “Do raccoons break branches like that?”

She didn’t answer.

Another beat of silence. Still nothing.

She exhaled through her nose. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t argue.

You stuck close to her as you walked the last stretch, her hand resting on the small of your back, eyes never leaving the treeline. Your heart thudded hard against your ribs the entire time, ears straining for another sound.

But nothing came.

By the time your cabin creaked into view, the breeze had picked up again. The crickets returned. The forest breathed again.

Like nothing had happened.

But as you climbed the porch steps and Sevika pushed open the cabin door, you couldn’t shake it.

The sound. The stillness. The feeling of something watching.

And the faintest impression… that it wasn’t done yet.

You stood at the edge of the grassy field, sunlight beating down on your tied-back camp shirt as a swarm of kids buzzed around like bees high on sugar. The boxes of Color War shirts were stacked and sorted—bright reds and blues folded in neat piles, ready for that evening’s chaos.

“Blue if your birthday’s in the first half of the year,” you called out, holding up a navy tee. “Red if you’re born in the second half. Don’t lie just to match your best friend—Carol will find out and cry.”

Groans, laughter, and a couple dramatic fake sobs echoed around you as the line snaked forward.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” you said, handing a red shirt to a sullen eighth-grader who only grunted in response.

You bent over the box again, digging for a smaller size when—

“Careful,” a low voice murmured near your ear. “You keep bending like that, I’m gonna start charging admission.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you straightened. “Do you flirt with everyone during team prep?”

“Only the hot ones.”

Sevika stepped up behind you without warning, close enough that your back nearly brushed her chest. Her hands slid casually onto your hips—warm, strong, confident—just enough pressure to make your breath catch.

“Sevika,” you warned softly, glancing around to make sure none of the kids were watching.

“Relax,” she murmured, nose brushing just behind your ear. “They’re too busy eating dirt.”

You giggled despite yourself, your voice catching with the hint of a breathy squeak. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” she said, squeezing your waist once before stepping back. “Now hurry up and feed those gremlins or we’ll have a riot.”

You turned with a flushed smile and gave her a playful glare, swatting her thigh with a folded blue tee before tossing it to a camper. “Go terrorize your own team, Red.”

Sevika grinned and started to back away toward the red team’s section, but not before giving you a once-over that lingered just a second too long.

“You’re wearing that for me, huh?” she called over her shoulder, motioning to your tied-up shirt and jean shorts.

“Shut up and get your lunch,” you laughed, cheeks burning.

With the last few shirts handed out and the chaos momentarily settled, you brushed your hands on your shorts and made a beeline for the mess hall, ignoring the way your skin still tingled where her hands had been.

The mess hall smelled like grilled cheese and suspiciously runny mac and cheese, which was apparently enough to distract even the most feral campers. You slid into a seat at the end of one of the counselor tables, your tray clattering down with a sigh. Your shirt still clung to the sweat at your back, and your ponytail was doing more flopping than holding anything up.

Caitlyn sat across from you with her own tray, looking far too composed for someone wrangling children all morning. Her posture was perfect, her camp shirt somehow unwrinkled, and her expression—mild, curious—told you she was mid-observation.

“Color War shirts look good,” she said casually, poking at her steamed carrots with a fork.

“Thanks,” you replied, taking a sip from your water bottle. “Didn’t think I’d be organizing middle school battlefield aesthetics this summer, but here we are.”

“You seem… in high spirits,” she added, raising an eyebrow. “Despite the heat. And the drama. And the older kids who keep trying to vape in the bathroom.”

You squinted at her. “Is there a point coming, or are we circling?”

She gave a small smile, tilting her head. “Just noticing how close you and Sevika have gotten.”

Your fork paused halfway to your mouth.

“…We’ve been close.”

“Mm. Sure. But the kind of close where she stands behind you like she’s ready to rip out the throat of anyone who looks too long? That’s new.”

You blinked, then laughed nervously. “Wow. You always this subtle?”

Caitlyn shrugged. “Just curious. She doesn’t open up to many people. Especially not here.” She popped a grape in her mouth, then added, almost too casually, “You like her?”

The question hit harder than you expected.

You looked down at your tray, poking the corner of your grilled cheese.

“…Yeah,” you said softly. “I do.”

She didn’t press.

Caitlyn just nodded once, then nudged her tray forward. “Eat up. Color War starts in three hours, and you’re gonna need energy to fend off whatever chaos Jinx unleashes.”

You smiled—half-grateful, half-nervous.

Because even with all the teasing and flirtation, this thing with Sevika… it wasn’t just a summer thing.

Not for you.

And if Caitlyn had already noticed—others would too.

After lunch, most of the campers were off in clusters—some playing kickball, others hiking toward the lake, a few just lounging in the shade trying to survive the afternoon heat. You were refilling water bottles at the spigot behind the mess hall, the old hose sputtering and squeaking every time you twisted the nozzle too fast.

That’s when you noticed her.

One of the new girls from the older group, maybe thirteen or fourteen. Pale, with long brown hair braided down her back, and a sweatshirt tied around her waist even in this heat. She wasn’t with the others. Just standing at the treeline beyond the arts and crafts shed, half-shaded by pine boughs, arms hanging loose at her sides.

Staring.

Not at you—but past you.

You turned slowly, followed her line of sight.

There was nothing. Just the mess hall. A couple counselors. Jinx chasing someone with a pool noodle.

Still… something about the way she was looking made your skin prickle.

You capped the water bottle and made your way over, soft footsteps crunching on the dirt path.

“Hey there,” you said gently, keeping your tone light. “You alright? Not feeling sick or anything, are you?”

She blinked slowly, as if only just realizing you were talking to her. Her eyes flicked to yours—unreadable. Dark.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly.

You hesitated. “You sure? Everyone’s down by the lake, if you wanted to cool off. It’s hot as hell today.”

Another blink. A pause. Then—

“I wasn’t watching you.”

You frowned. “I didn’t say you were.”

The girl’s lips pressed into a thin line. She looked down at her sneakers, one toe digging into the dirt like she was waiting for something. Or someone.

“I saw someone in the woods last night,” she said suddenly.

Your breath caught.

“What?”

She looked back up. “When we got here. After lights out. I woke up and looked out the window. Someone was out there. Tall. Not moving. Just… standing.”

You swallowed.

“Did you tell anyone?”

She shook her head. “Didn’t want to sound crazy.”

Your chest tightened.

“Well,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice calm, “if you ever see anything weird again, come find me. Or Sevika. Or Carol, even. It’s our job to keep you safe.”

The girl didn’t smile. Just nodded once. Then turned and walked off toward the cabins like it was nothing.

But the weight in your chest lingered.

You stared into the treeline for a long second.

That strange silence from the other night echoed in your memory.

And behind your ribs, something cold flickered.

The late afternoon sun draped long shadows across the field, striping the grass in gold and green. You stood just outside the supply shed, clipboard in hand, checking off the last of the Color War stations as a slow breeze lifted your hair and cooled the sweat at your temple. But your fingers still fidgeted—thumb brushing nervously along the silver charm at your neck. That girl’s words echoed in your head no matter how many times you told yourself she was probably just overtired. Or making it up. Or—

“You’re overthinking again,” Sevika’s voice drawled from behind you.

You turned to see her approaching, red team bandana tied around her bicep like some war general fresh out of a camp magazine. Her wide-leg pants were tucked slightly into her boots, the assigned camp shirt cut at the sleeves. She was holding two baskets filled with colored face paint, little squirt bottles of water, red and blue flags, and glow sticks for when the sun went down.

“I’m not overthinking,” you said, even though your voice cracked slightly.

She raised a brow and handed you a basket. “Right. That’s why you’ve been checking the same clipboard box for the last two minutes.”

You blinked, looked down, and realized she was right. You hadn’t moved your pen at all.

With a sigh, you finally scratched a check mark next to “Capture the Flag Prep – South Field.”

Sevika stepped beside you, eyes scanning the list. “Everything’s ready?”

“Just about. We’ve got flag stations marked. Face paint for team identity. Water bottles. First-aid kits. Rope lines for the ‘prison’ zone.” You paused. “Still waiting on Jinx to finish the obstacle course… which, I’ve been told, involves tarps and vegetable oil.”

Sevika grimaced. “Why is she like this.”

“She thrives on chaos.”

You both started walking toward the clearing where the kids would be gathering soon. The camp was buzzing with movement now. You could hear the thud of basketballs on pavement, the distant splash of someone being shoved into the lake, and Carol yelling about sunscreen from somewhere near the staff cabins. Everything looked… normal. Almost perfect.

So why did it still feel wrong?

You glanced at the edge of the woods.

Sevika followed your gaze, then nudged you gently with her elbow. “You wanna tell me what’s going on, or keep pretending I can’t see it all over your face?”

You hesitated, lips parting—then closing again. You wanted to tell her. About the girl. The story. The sound in the woods. But something about speaking it out loud made it feel too real. Like if you said it, you’d summon it.

“I just didn’t sleep well,” you said softly.

She watched you for a second longer, then nodded—like she didn’t believe you but wouldn’t press.

“Alright. But if you fall asleep during war prep, I’m painting a dick on your cheek in red.”

You snorted. “If I fall asleep, you have permission to.”

By the time you reached the main field, the campers were assembling into their teams. Blue bandanas tied around foreheads, red ones waving like war banners. Counselors shouted team names, fake chants rang through the trees, and Jinx was holding a megaphone she definitely wasn’t supposed to have.

“WELCOME TO COLOR WARRRRRRRRRRR!” she shouted in a monster voice that made half the kids scream and the rest laugh.

Vi snatched the megaphone out of her hands mid-sentence and tossed it into the grass.

“Seriously, Jinx.”

You couldn’t help but smile. You raised your basket and started walking between teams, passing out face paint and glow sticks, showing the kids how to stripe their cheeks and wrap the glow sticks around their wrists like bracelets.

A blue team girl tugged your hand and asked, “Are we allowed to smear paint on our legs, too?”

“As long as you don’t ruin your shorts, go wild,” you said.

Across the field, Sevika was crouched in the grass helping a boy tie a red bandana around his ankle like a battle charm. When she stood, the kid saluted her and sprinted back toward his teammates like he’d just had a moment with a god.

You caught Sevika’s eye and smiled. She didn’t smile back—but she winked.

That made your stomach flip harder than you wanted to admit.

As you stepped closer to the red team to finish handing out their gear, one of the older girls from your cabin sidled up beside you. Her cheeks were already streaked in red paint, and her eyes sparkled with adrenaline.

“This is gonna be so fun,” she said, almost breathless. “Everyone’s freaking out about the woods. It’s perfect.”

You froze, glancing down at her. “What do you mean… freaking out?”

She grinned. “There’s rumors. That someone saw a shadow last night near the boys’ cabins. Tall, like—super tall. Didn’t move. Just stood there. Like one of those old ghost stories.”

Your heart dropped.

But before you could say anything, a whistle blew. Carol stood in the middle of the field with her clipboard, yelling over the buzz.

“Teams to the starting line! First event in fifteen!”

Sevika appeared at your side, hip brushing yours.

“You okay?” she murmured again.

This time, you didn’t lie.

“…Something’s not right.”

Her jaw flexed. She nodded slowly. “Then stay close tonight. Don’t go into the woods. Not even for a second.”

You looked up at her.

“I mean it,” she said.

And the weight of it settled over your chest like armor—heavy, necessary, and too late to shrug off.

Because tonight, the woods weren’t just background.

They were watching.

The sun dipped lower behind the treeline, smearing amber and bruised orange across the sky. The colors stretched wide over Camp Pinewillow, golden light slanting across the grass as the air turned thick with warmth and sweat and something else—something quieter. Sharper.

The games had begun with harmless chaos: tug-of-war on the south lawn, sponge relay races near the mess hall, dodgeball with soft foam balls that Vi kept launching too hard. Kids shrieked and cheered, flushed with excitement and sugar from the buckets of lemonade Jinx had swiped from the kitchen fridge. You'd gotten smacked in the back of the knee with a rogue dodgeball and nearly collapsed, but Sevika was too busy heckling from the sidelines to show mercy.

Still, it was fun. For a while.

Then the light started to shift.

You were on the edge of the field helping one of the younger kids re-tie her glow stick bracelet when it hit you: the crickets had gone quiet. No birds. No rustling leaves. Just the distant hum of voices and Carol’s whistle slicing through the air like it was working too hard to be heard.

You glanced toward the woods.

Nothing moved.

Sevika must’ve caught the tension in your shoulders, because she was suddenly behind you, a firm hand on the small of your back.

“You alright?”

You nodded quickly. “Just… thought I saw something.”

She looked too. Her brows furrowed, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she kept her hand there—steady, grounding, protective.

It helped. A little.

You regrouped with the rest of the counselors as the final challenge was being set up. Capture the Flag. The classic.

Red team’s flag would be hidden in the woods past the rope line. Blue team’s was behind the volleyball courts. Rules were simple. Stay in bounds. No tackling. Capture the other team’s flag and bring it back to your base to win.

Simple.

Except nothing about the forest looked simple anymore.

You swallowed as the campers lined up at their starting points. The older kids were buzzing with nerves, their jokes too loud, their movements jittery. One of the boys was holding a glow stick like it was a sword, spinning it between his fingers like he was trying to keep himself distracted.

You stood near the edge of the field, clipboard in hand, as Jinx gave the starting countdown through cupped hands.

“Three! Two! One!”

A shrill whistle pierced the air and the kids scattered in every direction like ants kicked out of their hill.

You watched them vanish between trees and over hills, their bandanas flapping behind them like flags of war. A few stayed close to the sidelines. Some shot off into the brush with flashlights bobbing like fireflies. You lost track of them quickly.

But it wasn’t the kids who unsettled you.

It was the way the woods swallowed them so easily.

Like they were expected.

Sevika was nearby, her arms crossed as she scanned the edge of the trees. Every so often, she tilted her head like she was listening for something. Her jaw was locked tight, and her entire body held that still, predator-like calm you were starting to recognize—like she was waiting.

You edged toward her. “They’re okay, right? I mean, we’ve done headcounts and paired the older kids with younger ones…”

Sevika nodded. “They’re fine. It’s just a game.”

But even she didn’t sound convinced.

A loud whoop cut through the air as a kid emerged from the trees holding a red flag high above his head, his teammates shrieking in triumph. A flurry of footsteps followed as the rest of the blue team charged back toward their side, and the game shifted toward celebration.

Your shoulders eased.

But then you saw her.

The girl from earlier.

The quiet one.

She wasn’t celebrating. She was standing just inside the tree line, a few feet deeper than anyone else, half-hidden by shadows.

And she wasn’t looking at the flag.

She was looking deeper into the woods.

Frozen.

Still.

Like she was listening.

You started toward her—but before you could get close, one of the counselors called your name. You turned, just for a second.

When you looked back, the girl was gone.

The wind shifted.

And for a moment, it smelled like something old.

Something wet.

Something buried.

It had gotten dark. Too dark.

Color War was still technically going—teams were scattered in the woods and the fields, still chasing flags, still yelling—but the thrill of the game had shifted into something restless. The air felt different now. Heavy, like it was pressing down on the trees. And the trees... the trees didn’t feel like trees anymore.

You stood on the path leading away from the rope line, squinting through the dark, your breath puffing out too fast.

“Logan? Maya? Zeke?” you called, turning in a slow circle. “Guys, you’re not supposed to go this far!”

Nothing.

No answer.

Just distant whooping from the field. Then silence.

Your fingers reached instinctively toward your hip—but the walkie-talkie wasn’t clipped to your belt.

Your stomach dropped.

“Shit,” you whispered, patting your sides in case you’d missed it. It was gone. You must’ve dropped it somewhere near the rope line—but now, even the direction you came from didn’t look right. The trail was gone. Swallowed.

You pulled out your flashlight, hands trembling slightly, and clicked it on.

A narrow cone of light flickered weakly onto the brush. It didn’t reach far. You could see dust floating in the beam. Little white motes that looked too much like ash.

The light sputtered.

You hit the side of it. “Come on. Come on—”

It blinked once.

Twice.

Then died.

Everything went black.

Your chest rose sharply. The breath caught in your throat like a knife point.

You turned quickly, trying to remember which way the main field was—but the dark looked the same in every direction. No campfires. No lanterns. Just trees. Just—

Crunch.

Your blood froze.

The sound came from behind you. Footsteps.

Slow.

Deliberate.

You spun around, heart thudding, squinting hard to see anything.

Then—

Something moved.

A shape. Tall. Just between the trees. Standing like it was waiting.

And in its hand—

An axe.

Your scream tore through the trees, raw and wild and full of panic. You didn’t wait. You didn’t think.

You ran.

Branches whipped at your arms and face, tearing at your shirt as your feet scrambled over dirt and rocks. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to get away.

Behind you, the forest shifted. A crack of twigs. A whisper of leaves moving. A shadow dragging behind your own.

Your lungs burned.

Your legs screamed.

And still, you kept running.

Because you knew—

Whatever it was—

It wasn’t part of the game.

The game had run long.

Too long.

The humid summer night had sunk fully into the camp now, casting everything in a deep indigo that swallowed the tree line. The faint glow of flashlights bobbed here and there across the field as the last few groups straggled back toward the mess hall, most of them muddy, breathless, and loud from the adrenaline of the game.

Vi stood near the fire pit with a whistle tucked in her fingers, shouting over the chaos. “Alright! Bring it in! Color War part two tomorrow night! If you’re not back in ten minutes, your team forfeits flag points!”

Groans and laughter followed her call.

Sevika was further out near the edge of the woods, ushering a few campers through the rope line. She glanced at her watch—almost 10 p.m. Too late. Carol would lose it if the game dragged any longer. She tapped her walkie-talkie. Static. Just a little. But she could still hear Vi through the general chatter.

She looked back toward the trail, expecting you to come out of it any second.

But it wasn’t you.

It was your group.

Logan, Zeke, Maya, and Dani jogged up with flushed cheeks and dirt-streaked shins, breathless and grinning.

Sevika’s brows pulled together, stomach tightening.

“Hey,” she called, stepping forward, eyes scanning behind them. “Where’s—”

She didn’t finish.

Because Maya was already stammering.

“She was—uh—there was this thing, it was just a prank, I swear. Some of the older boys from red team, they said they wanted to scare her—just, like, a joke! They said they’d hide the flag and spook her a little, we didn’t think—she said she was gonna go after them and then—then we couldn’t find her—”

Vi was suddenly beside them, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you couldn’t find her?”

“I thought she was still with us!” Logan added quickly. “She had a flashlight and everything!”

“She’s got her walkie, right?” Vi asked, already reaching for hers.

Sevika’s jaw clenched. “She did.”

Before anyone could say another word, a sound shattered the night.

A scream.

Your scream.

Raw. Panicked. Blood-curdling. Ripping through the trees from somewhere deep in the woods.

The field went still.

Campers froze mid-step. Counselors stopped mid-word.

Sevika was already moving.

She didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t hesitate. Her boots hit the path with heavy, determined thuds, pushing past the stunned group as Vi called for a flashlight.

But Sevika didn’t need one.

She could hear it in her bones.

You were in trouble.

And nothing—nothing—was going to stop her from getting to you.

Your lungs burned.

Branches tore at your arms. Roots caught your ankles. You didn’t care—you kept running, breath ragged in your throat, the shadows clawing closer with every frantic step. You didn’t know where the path was anymore. You didn’t even know where you were. Just trees. Just dark. Just the impossible thud of footsteps behind you.

Then—open space.

The woods broke.

You nearly skidded off a low drop before catching yourself—your feet hit mud and the smell of algae and lakewater hit your nose like a wall. The lake.

You didn’t think.

You just ran straight in.

The cold hit your skin instantly, cutting through the heat of your panic as you dove under. You kicked hard, arms slapping water as you swam toward the opposite side—your flashlight lost, your breath choked. You didn’t even know if you were being followed anymore.

But you weren’t taking chances.

The far shore was close now—so close. You could see the slope where the counselors swam sometimes, the tree roots that dipped into the shallows like fingers.

You broke through the surface, gasping, clawing through the last few feet of water and scrambling onto the bank. Your fingers dug into moss and wet leaves, pulling your soaked body upward.

But then—

Pain.

Sharp. Piercing. Sudden.

You didn’t even scream right away. It was like your body forgot how.

Then you collapsed—hard—onto your side, your wet shirt clinging to your back as you looked down in disbelief.

Your leg.

Your knee.

There was an arrow in it.

An arrow.

You screamed.

This time it ripped out of you like it had claws.

Your hands trembled violently as you reached toward the shaft sticking out of your skin, the blood seeping around the wound mixing with lake water. You couldn’t even think—just pure panic, pure agony.

Then—

Footsteps.

Crunching leaves.

You dragged yourself back, palms scraping the dirt.

And the figure emerged from the trees.

Tall. Holding an axe.

But it wasn’t some faceless killer.

It was Ran.

She stepped forward, her face lit only by the pale moonlight. And behind her—three boys. Older campers. One of them holding a bow. Another laughing like it was a game. The third with wild eyes and shaking hands.

“Jesus Christ,” Ran barked, voice sharp and furious. “What the fuck did you do?!”

“She was running!” the boy with the bow shouted, defensive. “I didn’t mean to hit her like that! It was just supposed to scare her—”

“Scare her, not shoot her!” Ran snapped, rounding on him.

You stared up at them, the pain turning your breath into hiccupped sobs. Your leg was on fire. You were covered in mud, your hands shaking as you curled into yourself.

“Please,” you choked, voice barely a whisper. “Please, don’t—don’t hurt me—”

Ran turned back, and for a moment, her face looked almost horrified. “Shit,” she muttered, kneeling beside you, hands hovering near your shoulders. “Shit, shit, shit—I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t think you’d run like that—"

You flinched when she reached toward the arrow. She stopped, eyes widening.

“Hey, hey—no one’s gonna hurt you, okay?” she said too quickly. Her tone was frantic now. “We were just messing around. It was a prank. It wasn’t—it wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

You tried to speak. Tried to move. But the pain was too much, and your voice just cracked into another sob.

The boys stood behind her, awkward, scared now too. Like they hadn’t realized this was real until blood was involved. One of them stepped backward. Another muttered something about going to get help.

“Shut up,” Ran hissed. “Don’t move. No one leaves until we figure out what the fuck to do.”

“We should take her back—” one of the boys started.

“No,” Ran snapped, eyes wild. “You think we can explain this? An arrow? We’ll get kicked out—fuck, we’ll get arrested! Just give me a second—”

“Please,” you gasped again, voice wet with tears. “Please—just let me go. Please.”

Ran looked down at you.

And for a split second—just one—something flashed in her eyes that wasn’t panic.

It was guilt.

And fear.

But not for you.

For herself.

“Okay,” Ran muttered, more to herself than to you, her palms hovering just above your knee. “It’s barbed, so if I just—if I turn it a little, I can maybe—”

“No!” you cried out, writhing as her fingers grazed the arrow shaft. Pain rocketed through your entire leg, blinding and sharp, worse than anything you'd ever felt. “Stop—stop please, I can’t—!”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and helpless. Your entire body shook like it was trying to run even though you were pinned to the earth by pain.

“Jesus, just hold still—”

She reached again.

You screamed.

And that's when Sevika arrived.

You didn’t see her first—but the boys did.

Their laughter cut off like a wire had snapped. One of them’s grin fell clean off his face. The bow clattered to the ground with a dull thud.

Sevika stood on the edge of the treeline like a storm breaking open. Her boots crushed through the underbrush, jaw tight, eyes locked dead ahead—on you. On the blood down your leg. On the arrow. On Ran’s hand.

Everything about her face changed.

“Get your hands off her.”

Her voice was low. Deadly. Rage threaded through every word like heat through iron.

Ran froze. Her hand jerked back from the arrow like it burned. “Sevika—listen, I swear—I didn’t mean for this to—”

But Sevika wasn’t listening.

She dropped to her knees beside you like the world had narrowed to just you and the arrow and the blood between you both. Her large hand cupped your cheek so gently it hurt. Her other hovered over your thigh, as if afraid even looking at it would make it worse.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” she whispered, voice cracking at the edges. “I’ve got you.”

“Hurts—” you sobbed, clutching the grass, your body half-curled. “It hurts so bad—”

“I know,” she breathed. “I know, baby. Don’t move, okay? We’re gonna get help.”

Behind her, the other counselors were arriving. Vi first, breathless and wild-eyed, followed by Caitlyn, Jinx, and Carol with a first-aid kit half-clutched in one hand and her radio pressed to her mouth.

“What the fuck is going on?” Vi barked, taking one look at the scene before her voice dropped. “Oh—oh no…”

Caitlyn stepped in quickly, kneeling beside Sevika and you. “Is that—an arrow? Is it barbed?”

Sevika didn’t answer.

She was still looking at the boys.

At Ran.

And then she stood.

Her whole body radiated fury.

“You shot her?”

Ran stood slowly, hands up, voice panicking now. “No—it was a prank, okay? I told them not to shoot, it wasn’t supposed to—she ran, and—"

“She’s bleeding!” Sevika snarled, stepping toward her. “You hunted her down like it was a goddamn game—”

Vi caught her arm before it could escalate. “Vik. Not here. Not in front of her.”

Ran paled visibly, shrinking back. The boys said nothing. One was crying now—actual tears. The other two looked like they wanted to melt into the forest.

Carol, still on her walkie, was muttering for emergency services. “...yes, arrow injury, female camper—counselor, yes—barbed, she’s conscious, bleeding, we need EMTs out to Pinewillow now—”

“Sweetheart,” Sevika said, kneeling again beside you, her fury momentarily caged by the shaking in your hands. “Hey. Look at me.”

You blinked up at her, vision blurred.

“I’m here.”

You nodded weakly.

“Good girl,” she murmured, her thumb stroking along your cheek. “Stay awake. Don’t close your eyes. You’re okay. I swear, you’re okay.”

But her eyes—her eyes never left Ran after that.

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[swtnerry]

Like Bonnie and Clyde

Summary: You and Drew were cast in Sofia Coppola's upcoming "Bonnie and Clyde" remake. Despite a rocky start, you'll be working together for a long time.

Pairing: Drew Starkey x actress reader.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V; (soon)

Part I

The morning air was crisp as you strode toward the casting studio, sunglasses shielding your expression, cap pulled low over your face. You weren’t nervous, just focused. All you had to do was walk in, give them everything, and walk out. Simple.

Or it should have been.

Just as you neared the entrance, someone bumped into you, hard. It was less of a normal collision and more like walking straight into a human tower. The impact threw you slightly off balance, forcing you to step back, your hand instinctively reaching for the doorframe to steady yourself.

And then, to make matters worse, a hot splash of coffee hit your boots.You gasped, looking down at the dark stain now creeping along the leather. “Are you kidding me?”

“Oh—damn, sorry,” the guy stammered, glancing between his dripping cup and your ruined boots. His brown jacket was splattered too, but he seemed more concerned about your reaction than his own mess. His tinted glasses and cap hid most of his face, but his posture was open, genuinely apologetic.

“Here, I’ve got napkins—” He reached into his pocket. You glanced at him, unimpressed. “What, you carry two-ply for emergencies?”

His brows lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected the attitude. “It’s just a napkin,” he pointed out, holding it out to you.

You snatched it, wiping at the stain with sharp, irritated movements. “Maybe try watching where you’re going next time. Kind of hard to miss someone "your size".”

His jaw tightened slightly. “Pretty sure you walked into me.” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You were the one holding coffee. So, technically, that makes it your fault.”

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Because I definitely planned to spill half my drink just to inconvenience you.” You rolled your eyes, brushing past him toward the entrance, ignoring the way he exhaled sharply behind you.

Inside, the casting director smiled brightly. “Perfect timing! Let’s start chemistry reads. Your co-star should be—oh, here he is.”

You turned.

And there stood the human tower. He pushed his sunglasses to his cap, realization dawning as he looked at you properly.

“No way.” You sighed, lips pressing into a thin line as the full weight of the moment hit you.

This was Drew. Your co-star. You shook your head. “Fantastic.”

Drew exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face before giving you a flat look. “Yeah. Fantastic.”

The confirmation call had come late last night, your first real moment of certainty that the role was yours. Excitement flickered for a second, quickly followed by something else: curiosity. If you were about to spend months working alongside someone, you might as well know what you were dealing with.

So, naturally, you pulled up his projects. You started with Queer, and then you switched to a few episodes of Outer Banks. He was good. Versatile, effortless on screen.

But after this morning’s disaster? You weren’t about to admit that. Not until he learned how to properly apologize for your ruined boots.

Now, standing in the hallway after your brief introduction, all you could focus on was keeping your expression neutral. Professional. Unbothered.

The casting director had sent you both out while they finalized the scenes you would perform, choosing the moments that would determine if your chemistry translated beyond just words.

So there you were.

Standing in silence next to the guy who had drenched your favorite Prada boots in coffee. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, lips pressed together in sharp annoyance. You weren’t going to acknowledge him, not until he proved he had some basic reflexes.

Drew, meanwhile, seemed to be carefully weighing his options. His foot tapped against the tile once, then stilled. His hands slid into his pockets, and he let out a slow breath, like he was preparing for battle.

He needed this audition to go well. Which meant he needed you to cooperate. And judging by the way he exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face, he knew that might not be easy.

A couple of minutes passed before a young woman, likely the assistant, stepped into the hallway and motioned for you and Drew to follow.

She handed you both a script, explaining, “You’ll have ten minutes to prep before the read.”

You glanced at the page. A quiet motel room. The night was deep, the kind that carried exhaustion and something heavier. Bonnie sat at the edge of the bed, peeling off her coat, boots kicked aside, while Clyde lingered near the dresser, rolling a coin between his fingers.

Bonnie: *You keep staring.*

Clyde: *(Shrugs, smirks.) It’s entertaining.*

Bonnie: *(Laughs softly.) What? Watching me sit?*

Clyde: *Watching you.*

Bonnie: *(Pauses, meets his eyes.) That’s dangerous.*

Clyde: *(Steps forward.) Everything about you is.*

The ten minutes flew by. And when you stepped in front of the camera, everything transformed.

Where there had been silence in the hallway, there was now something charged.

Drew shifted effortlessly, leaning into Clyde’s presence with a quiet intensity, the way his gaze lingered on you carrying something unspoken, something deeper.

And you, no longer the girl still irritated about her coffee-stained boots, became Bonnie.

The exchange was careful, deliberate, an unraveling. You let the softness of her laugh stretch, the way her eyes flicked to Clyde’s with slow curiosity.

Drew took it in, held it, something in his stance subtly changing when you met his gaze, like for a second, it wasn’t just the scene.

When it ended, the director exhaled, eyes sharp with approval.

“That,” he said, pressing his hands together, “was fantastic.” He nodded to the assistant. “Send the video to Sofia. I’ll tell her to expect it.”

Drew glanced at you, his smirk softer this time, something thoughtful behind it.

The director smiled. “I’m expecting good news for you two. And if all goes well, I’ll see you both in Louisiana for the first shoot.”

As you left the room, the tension lingered, but something else did too.

You glanced at him, lips curving into a teasing smile. “Thank God you chose acting and not being a waiter or something like that.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Fair point.” Then, with a nod, you softened, just enough. “You did great. Really.” Drew held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary. “You were amazing too.” You exhaled, slipping back into your usual cool confidence. “See you,” you said, walking off.

And just as you turned, you swore you could feel his gaze lingering.

Part II (soon)

[ivyheaven]

There was something in his words, a bit of a harshness that she didn't want to get hung up on, but it did sting. No matter how much she tried to not think of. Eventually, she swallowed thickly and finally nodded in response. "Right, I guess you're not." It didn't matter much anyway, listening was not her strong suit. She would stick around, look after him, even if he said otherwise.

But, there was a feeling of whiplash there. Their kids? It must be the loopy feeling of pain making him say these things. Though, she had to admit that the thought made her heart beat a little faster. She hadn't ever considered kids, didn't want to bring someone into the world and realize she's more alike to her mother. Still, she played along. "You have a very interesting definition of cool, but I'm intrigued. I'll be curious to sit for that story too."

When she heard the girls' voices, Laurel was quick to stand up from the chair and step back, allowing them to go to their brother. Emma snuggled closer to him, nodding softly when he asked her to be careful. "Don't bullshit me," Inez's frown deepened with his vague answers. "It's important if it landed you here." But, she sighed, relenting. His request to go home was the most important. "I'll check in with the front desk once you're in the clear." Isaac and her had already talked about how to make it work, ways to make it easier without having to pay so much. It wasn't lost on her that it would've been much easier if their family hadn't been so heartless. "Isa didn't come. He wanted to, but couldn't - he did ask me to keep him updated though." She rolled her eyes at the comment, he knew how to hit back but didn't. This sounded worse by the second. When the nurse came in and commented on the amount of people in the room, she noticed the way his baby sister gripped his hand. Laurel could tell she was the odd one out.

Emma was reluctant to move away from her brother, but she climbed down from the bed. Inez addressed the nurse to confirm she was the sister. With Eli being wheeled away, she felt even more out of place - her one connection to this group of people was away. It felt even more awkward, but then, Emma smiled at her and Laurel felt a bit more at ease.

"I'll be right there, thank you." Inez felt her phone vibrate and when she saw it was her brother, she reached to answer - feeling a bit bad for not introducing herself to the girl standing here. Isa had been impatient to reach his sisters, they hadn't called him yet. He estimated the times before finally just calling, hoping they answered. When she finally answered, he was quick to ask how their brother was doing and how everything was going. "How bad is it? Did he tell you what even happened?"

Laurel turned her attention to Emma, an attempt to do her best to not eavesdrop. "Really? He must have superpowers to never, ever get sick."

"Lau, I'm not a baby. I can be left alone. I'm not your responsibility. Shit just happens." He probably said that a little too rough not meaning to. But growing up Eli didn't need to be babied. It was why he and Isa butt heads a lot during that first year. Being alone for most of his childhood, he learned to adapt to what he was capable of without needing help.

'This is gonna be a cool story in the future we tell our kids." Did he want kids? No. Could he see having some with Laurel? Yes. The thought bringing a smile to his face. "It's gonna be okay." He sure was of it. "Keeping awake is hard." Hearing x rays he kept a groan in. Had he mentioned he hated this place? He was sure he had. Distractions kept pouring in as he heard everything and that damn beep that would haunt him. Things moved too fast and yet he heard a familiar voice. He cringed when she asked and was surprised to see Emma. Of course she came.

He opened his arm for Emma to get in the nook of his arm and felt his heart relieved he got to see her. He whispered a soft be careful to her since his sides still hurt. Groaning he sighed as he shook his head. "No one it's not important." If he didn't tell Laurel who he wasn't gonna tell inez in front of everyone. Let alone he knew isa would come down here and retaliate on his behalf. "I just want to go home." He had meant that as where his siblings were. "I'm currently a John Doe. Could you please do your magic thing? Since," he technically belonged to nowhere and no one. The insurance alone will cost him an arm and a leg. "I have some saved up from my job." If their family hadn't outcast eli then he'd have been on a family insurance plan.

Emma played with his face and eli kissed her fingertips. It seemed now she was calm seeing him. "Isa come with?" He wanted to gauge how bad isa was right now. "No, I have x rays to get to. Our RA said I may have bruised ribs. By the way, I know how to hit back just didn't get a chance to." Eli wasn't a violent person, hitting was never his go to but if a first punch was thrown he was gonna finish it. The nurse came in and had remarked too many people were in the room. Emma gripped his hand not wanting to let go.

"We'll need to wheel him into x rays. Who's the sister?" The nurse asked as she got him ready. Eli muttered a soft be back to Emma as he looked at inez. A be nice was thrown as he looked at Laurel. Emma reached for inez and stared at Laurel. She was focused on the way her face looked. She was pretty and she liked her. Given the smile she threw in her direction.

Eric came back in and knocked on the door. "Front desk needs signatures. I think they said familial or parent." Emma heard parent and shook her head. They didn't have them. She wondered if isa needed to come too. She poked inez's sides when she felt the phone vibrate. "Isa!" A much happier camper now that she saw her brother and had just sat by his side. Emma giggled and sighed. "He doesn't get sick." Alluding to the fact that this was a first time.

[multiheadcanons]

ODD CROSSOVERS

scout: i feel like scout would’ve ate in an ed edd and eddy episode. scout can be made to look odder, and is already very dumb. he can totally be a fill in for kevin, if not a more aggressive jock bully that is only utilized as a one-time episodic enemy. maybe he learns to respect eddy’s schemes, and he ends the episode bullying kevin or something and eddy gets what could be considered a marginal win before the universe resets. but frankly i think scout is a character that can morph and form his way into literally any au. he’s the every man, in that sense.

soldier: soldier would inadvertently find himself on america’s funniest home videos… multiple times. you could truly only hope he is at least getting paid for the multiple videos that would feature him. soldier is simply too goofy. he would absolutely not survive being a man in the modern era. and wherever he goes, he is causing a ruckus and being a danger to society. he would become one of the most consistent men to record and get a flare up. it’s not a matter of if he’s going to blow up, it’s when.

pyro: i want pyro on an episode of sesame street as a guest, stat. i want them to interact with elmo and big bird and be so excited as the episode takes a turn for the worse. i want the actors to start getting concerned as pyro starts asking odder questions. what do you do when you’re told the thing you love is bad? what do you do when you’ve been fighting in a war for the past… god knows, now… and you’re getting tired of the killing but the money is good? oh, yeah, let’s learn about some colors! i want the police on the phone with producers while pyro is having the time of their life interacting with the puppets. and the actors just keep them occupied, keeping their voices chipper and hiding the cracks. it’d be a cool creepypasta, anyway!

demo: how do we get demo on a ghost hunting show. whatever that show kristen stewart is allegedly producing that’s a ghost hunting show but with queer people, let’s get tavish on that immediately. the man himself is haunted. it would make for phenomenal television. and i feel like he would just know, he would turn to the camera and say “this is just a very old building. it got exorcised in 1897.” and then when they do the research he’s right, but then he asks if they want to see some real action. it almost becomes the schtick. and it’s a hotly debated topic whether it’s well done effects or if these are real events happening and being documented.

heavy: i definitely see heavy as a guy who is like… a reality show juggernaut. even if you think you haven’t, if you have any cable channel on at any time between 6-10PM he’s either an active participant in one of the shows or they’re playing reruns of him. he’s a mammoth of a man, and his quiet nature can be played as sweet, and normally is. he makes better narratives when he is not portrayed as a villain, because that’s what people want. but he is one of the best “underdogs” on reality tv that he’s normally a frontrunner for the win.

engineer: i think engineer would also kick ass on big brother. i think he’s sweet enough that he could absolutely use his texan charms to get a good posse forming, and he might even have a shot at winning if he plays his cards right! and i firmly believe he could. i think most people wouldn’t even understand the 5D chess this man is playing with them until it was entirely too late. it would almost piss everyone off. but they can’t deny he played the game, and he played it well. it just depends on how many people got screwed over to get him there as to whether or not he’ll win. if he’s nice enough, it’s a clean sweep. but the nastier he gets the more he turns the other houseguests against him.

medic: i see the episode in my mind so clearly. it’s a bobs burgers halloween special. the doctor comes into town, filling in for the school nurse. and he’s… odd. of course, the belcher children are not afraid of the odd and peculiar. so they go to check it out. while tina and gene are more hesitant about the doctor, if not finding out the man is an absolute fraud and criminal, louise is infatuated with him, and maybe finding herself as an accomplice, and every day the news is on and talking about him as louise begins to put the pieces together. after the movie, i’m not even sure what the crime would be. they’re obviously okay for murder being a topic. maybe just a widespread scam. it is a belcher kids-centric episode, of being around people who may not have your best interests in mind. though, i am a firm believer that the doctor would be louise belcher’s number one fan. i can see the interaction between the doctor and bob (before the doctor skips town) of him telling bob that louise would make “a phenomenal criminal one day.”. bob responds to not tell her that.

sniper: can we please get this man and miss pauling on naked and afraid. they would put the royalty free vlog music over it. he’s skipping through the woods, he’s singing to the birds, he is snow white with his cock and balls out. turning to the camera when while he’s getting drenched and saying “another beautiful day!” it’s come spend a month with mick while the camera pans to miss pauling and she is Exhausted. she’s exhausted, her toenails have rotted off, she has a makeshift wrist brace, she’s got three bruised ribs, her hair is so matted it might be better to just shave it, and she really misses her gun. and sniper would not let her quit. she doesn’t even know how they got put on the same episode. she thought this was supposed to be two strangers. sniper tells her to keep her trap shut. he makes her a shirt and some shorts out of leaves and moss, though.

spy: i wouldn’t wish this on the devil himself. that’s why im giving it to spy. put this man on the eric andre show as a guest. the team doesn’t tell him what it’s about, he doesn’t know. so he walks onto a set that is kept blazing hot, between a man who he swears is speaking nonsense, and on the other side of him is another man who is saying equally baffling things and for a moment he wonders if he forgot how to speak english. maybe this wasn’t the smartest time to smoke those cigarettes he buys off of the blu sniper, because now he just can’t think. and it’s so hot in there. it would be the only episode of eric andre i ever watch.

[kuri-karin]

i have things to say abt the hidden inventory leaks….

it’s so heartbreaking to see them happy and it seems crazy to think that… they were just kids- they were teenagers they took silly photos and watched movies and had sleepovers and studied and pulled all nighters together like teenagers do. they had so much life ahead of them and they were failed by the jujutsu society system. it drove suguru to a psychotic break, it drove their group apart, it took their lives later on. looking at the leaks is painful because they were so. happy. the amount of horrors that were ahead of them they never deserved. they didn’t deserve any of this. they were fucking kids… it’s something i can’t get past because i look at them and i don’t see the joy i see the pain that is to come. this is an anime and maybe im thinking too deep about this (i definitely am) but fuck all THIS IS DEEP TO ME.

this is a headcanon of mine that honestly- i think is canon. suguru is the type to hold in his feelings and when he’s in a dark place he keeps it to himself he bottles everything up and he acts like he’s fine. he struggles and it’s so clear that he’s struggling but he won’t tell you he is. he’s going to push everything down until it coagulates into a red giant and explodes to a supernova, and it did. satoru is the type to fear saying the wrong thing, he sees someone is struggling and he wants to be there for them so badly but he’s so scared he’s going to say the wrong thing and offend them or upset them further he just doesn’t say anything at all. he’s loves so deeply and cares so much he’s afraid others don’t and so he just- doesn’t. He could see suguru was struggling he could see how much pain he was in and he was so scared he was going to make it worse to in his mind he thought “well if i don’t say anything, i can’t make it worse” he wanted to say something he wanted to be there he wanted to show his best friend how much he cared but he just couldn’t. satoru never asks, suguru never tells. they walked parallel to each other and never crossed. they saw each other they had each other, but i think at this point they started going in completely opposite directions, and their paths would never cross again. fate wouldn’t let it happen, they missed the chance to merge and now it’s never going to happen. they were destined to have each other but never to keep each other. their story was doomed from the start. i like to think that if satoru just asked… if he got the courage to ask, and if suguru answered, if he got the courage to answer, then maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. it’s something i like to think is true, but the odds were always against them.

by attending jujutsu high, they unknowingly set foot onto a path that would lead them to their doom. there is never going to be a happy ending, the cycle is going to continue.

anyways those are my thoughts that came up with the screenshots from the hidden inventory movie :p

[metalmonki]

9-1-Scream

Buddie x Reader

2.4k word count

Summary When the new firefighter in the house Eddie Diaz becomes best friends with your boyfriend Evan Buckley you can't help but notice a change in him. A bad change. Late nights and hushed conversations are just the beginning of this thrill ride.

Slow Burn/Eddie - Buck Murder Scream AU

Next Chapter

The day started off like any other at the 118. The smell of coffee lingered in the air, Chim was already cracking jokes in the kitchen, and Buck and I were outside in the bay, sleeves rolled up and hands soaked in suds as we scrubbed down the firetruck.

“Bet I’ll finish my side before you do,” Buck said, smirking as he elbowed the bucket closer to his end.

I raised a brow. “Yeah? And I bet you’ll still leave streaks on the windshield like last time.”

He feigned offense. “That was condensation. Totally different.”

I was just about to throw a sponge at him when the bay doors creaked open. We both looked up, and that’s when I saw him—tall, sharp features, dark hair, confident stride. He had that look like he belonged here, but was still scoping out the terrain.

He stopped a few steps in, eyes flicking between me and Buck.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m looking for Captain Nash?”

Buck beat me to it. “Office is down the hall to your left. Door should be open.”

“Thanks,” the guy said, then added, “I’m Eddie. Eddie Diaz.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, offering a quick smile.

He gave a polite nod and disappeared into the hallway. As soon as he was out of earshot, Buck leaned in.

“New guy?”

“Looks like it.”

“He’s got that military posture. You think he’s Army?”

“Guess we’ll find out when Bobby tells us who he is. Could just be visiting.”

Spoiler: he wasn’t.

Later that afternoon, Bobby called us all into the dinning area. He walked in with Eddie at his side, and I had to admit—now that I was getting a better look, he definitely had that clean-cut, ex-military vibe. But not in a stiff way. More like... dependable.

“This is Eddie Diaz,” Bobby said, his hand resting on Eddie’s shoulder. “He’s joining us here at the 118. Transferred in from El Paso. Former Army, couple years as a firefighter down there, and now he’s here.”

Eddie nodded once. Confident but quiet.

Bobby turned to me and Buck. “I’m assigning him to you two for now. Help him get settled, show him how we do things here. And Buck—try not to scare him off.”

“No promises,” Buck said, already grinning.

Chim yelled from the back, “Hey, I’m the one people need warning about!”

“You’re everyone’s initiation,” I muttered under my breath.

As the room cleared out, Eddie came over to where Buck and I were standing. He looked more relaxed now, like maybe the first-day nerves had faded a bit.

“So,” he said, “looks like I’m with you guys.”

Buck stuck out a hand. “Welcome to the circus.”

Eddie chuckled, shaking his hand. “Been through worse.”

I offered my hand next. “We’ll see if you’re saying that after a shift with Buck.”

Eddie took my hand, his grip firm but not too tight. “Duly noted.”

And just like that, Eddie Diaz was part of our team.

t didn’t take long for Eddie to start settling in. The guy was quiet at first, observing more than talking, but when he did chime in, it was with a sharp wit that caught you off guard. He held his own with Chim’s jokes and didn’t flinch when Hen tossed him a mop with zero context during kitchen duty.

By late afternoon, the three of us were sitting on the tailgate of the firetruck, killing time between drills. Buck was sipping coffee like it was the lifeblood keeping him upright, I was leaning against his shoulder with a bottle of water, and Eddie was watching us both with an amused expression.

“So,” he said casually, “how long have you two been together?”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “How’d you know we were a thing?”

Eddie gave a small smirk. “You’re literally leaning into each other like it’s a rom-com poster.”

I laughed. “Busted.”

Buck reached over and dropped a quick kiss on the top of my head, grinning like a smug idiot. “Yeah, we’ve been together a while. Kind of snuck up on us.”

“Well,” Eddie said, “that saves me from putting my foot in my mouth.”

Buck gave him a faux serious look. “Would’ve had to wrestle you in the parking lot.”

I elbowed him. “Oh my god.”

“What?” he said, shrugging. “I don’t share well.”

Eddie chuckled. “Duly noted. Hands off the taken firefighter. Got it.”

“You’re catching on fast,” I said. “That’s a good sign.”

Before anyone could respond, the station alarm kicked on, shrill and urgent.

“Engine 118, Ladder 118,” Bobby’s voice came over the comms, “possible structure fire—commercial building, smoke reported on-site. Units responding code three.”

Instantly, we were all moving. I grabbed my gear, heart already shifting into high gear. Buck was right beside me, tugging on his jacket, his expression laser-focused.

Eddie moved with practiced ease, falling into step with us like he’d been with the 118 for years instead of hours.

“You ready?” Buck asked him as we loaded into the truck.

Eddie nodded once. “Always.”

I slid into the seat across from him, watching as he buckled in. He looked calm. Focused. A good kind of quiet.

Buck looked over at me, then back at Eddie with a lopsided grin. “Fair warning: if you save my girlfriend in a dramatic blaze, I will be jealous.”

I snorted. “I can save myself, thanks.”

Eddie smirked. “I’ll make sure not to interfere with her heroic moment.”

Buck bumped his shoulder against mine. “That’s all I ask.”

The sirens wailed as we took off down the street, the city blurring past us in streaks of sun and shadow. First call with a new guy was always a little tense—you never knew how someone would handle the pressure.

But glancing at Eddie, I didn’t see nerves. I saw someone who was ready.

And something told me—this was only the beginning.

The moment we arrived on scene, we were hit with thick black smoke curling out from the top floor of the office building. Civilians were already being ushered out by LAPD officers, and the smell of burning insulation clung to the air like a warning.

“Office building, third floor—reports of people still inside,” Bobby said as we stepped off the truck. “Buck, Y/N, Eddie—you’re with me on interior. Let’s move.”

We grabbed our gear, masks secure, oxygen on. The three of us moved as one, Buck in the lead, Eddie falling in behind me. As we climbed the stairs into the smoke-filled third floor, the heat hit us like a wall.

“Room-by-room sweep,” Bobby ordered through the radio. “Clear fast but don’t cut corners.”

“Copy that,” Buck replied, voice clear and steady in my earpiece.

The hallway was chaos. Smoke reduced visibility to a few feet, alarms were still screeching, and the sprinklers hadn’t kicked in yet. Buck kicked open one of the office doors while I checked another. Eddie handled the far side.

“Fire’s concentrated in the west wing,” I called over comms. “This side’s still clear.”

We moved as quickly as we could, checking each office. I found a woman in a corner suite, frozen behind a desk with tears streaking down her soot-covered face.

“It’s okay,” I said, crouching low beside her. “I’m with the fire department—we’re getting you out of here.”

She nodded shakily, and I helped her up, guiding her toward the exit.

Eddie appeared in the hallway, supporting another man—a middle-aged guy wheezing into his sleeve, clothes half-singed. He nodded at me, and we moved in tandem, navigating back toward the stairwell. Buck took the rear, constantly checking over his shoulder.

The smoke was getting worse. I heard glass shattering somewhere behind us, followed by the low groan of the structure under pressure.

“We need to move,” Bobby’s voice warned. “Backdraft risk is rising. Get out, now.”

We didn’t argue. By the time we burst out into fresh air, medics were already waiting. We handed our civilians off, pulled off our masks, and took a moment to breathe—lungs burning, adrenaline buzzing.

That’s when Athena pulled up.

She exited her cruiser with the calm precision that only came from years on the force, removing her sunglasses and heading straight for Bobby.

“We’ve got him,” she said. “He didn’t even run. Just stood there and watched the smoke roll in.”

“Who?” Bobby asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

“The arsonist,” Athena said. “It wasn’t some random accident. His girlfriend worked in that building—broke up with him last week. He thought she was sleeping with her boss, decided if he couldn’t have her, no one would.”

My stomach turned at that. I looked back at the building, at the people we’d just pulled out. She could’ve been one of the bodies we didn’t reach in time.

“She’s okay?” I asked.

Athena nodded. “Shaken. But alive. Her boss, too.”

Buck exhaled. “Guy really lit a whole office building because of a breakup?”

“Some people take rejection like a death sentence,” Athena said grimly, glancing back at her car. “He confessed to everything. Said he brought lighter fluid in his bag and doused the break room before lighting a match.”

“Jesus,” Eddie muttered under his breath.

Athena turned to him. “You’re the new guy.”

“Yeah. Diaz.”

“Welcome to L.A.” She gave him a nod before heading back toward her cruiser. “You’ll get used to it.”

After showers and some well-earned pizza, the station was winding down. I was curled up on the couch in the common room, exhausted but content, watching Buck change out of his turnout gear.

Eddie emerged from the locker room with his duffel over one shoulder. “Alright, I think that’s everything. You sure you don’t mind?”

Buck gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “Not at all. I’ll follow you over, help you get your bed frame inside, maybe even assemble a sad bookshelf.”

Eddie smirked. “You offering to build my IKEA furniture now?”

“You’d be surprised what I’ll do for a guy who ran through smoke with me today.”

I raised an eyebrow at them. “Should I be jealous?”

Buck grinned as he crossed over to me, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, babe. He’s charming, but he’s not you.”

I smiled and tugged at his belt loop to pull him in for a quick kiss. “You sure you’re not just doing this to avoid folding laundry here?”

“Don’t expose me like that.”

I laughed. “Go. Help him out. But if you come back smelling like cardboard and frustration, I’m not letting you near the bed.”

“Noted.”

He grabbed his keys and turned to Eddie. “Alright, Diaz. Let’s get you officially moved in.”

Eddie gave me a small nod. “Night, Y/N.”

“Night, Eddie. Welcome to the madness.”

As they disappeared out the front doors, I leaned back into the couch cushions, the ache of the day starting to settle in my bones. Something told me this was just the beginning—with Eddie, with the calls, with whatever strange rhythm the universe had planned for all of us.

And honestly?

I was ready for it.

…

Two months passed in a blur.

At first, I hadn’t thought much of it—Buck helping Eddie settle in, showing him around the city, introducing him to the weird rhythm of L.A. firefighting. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being occasional. He was always with Eddie.

Late nights. Last-minute plans. Excuses.

“I’m just helping him out,” Buck would say with that same reassuring smile. “He’s new. Doesn’t know many people yet.”

And I believed him. I wanted to believe him.

But he started coming home later and later. Sometimes, I’d wake up and he’d be sliding into bed just before sunrise, smelling like street air and secrets. He always had an explanation—a broken sink at Eddie’s new place, beers after shift, helping Eddie with his kid.

And his phone? He never used to keep it face-down.

Still… it was Buck. He loved me. He said everything was fine.

So I told myself to trust him.

The kitchen was alive with the low murmur of conversation, the clink of forks against plates, and the comforting aroma of coffee and scrambled eggs. Bobby had the news playing in the background, volume just loud enough to hear over the chatter.

“…this morning, officials are continuing to investigate the death of Olivia Parks, the Brentwood woman accused of poisoning her husband over several months. Parks was released on bail yesterday afternoon and was found dead in her apartment late last night. Authorities have not released a cause of death…”

I froze, toast halfway to my mouth.

“I know her,” I said before I even thought it. “We were on that call two days ago. Her husband was unconscious. It was his daughter who called 9-1-1.”

“Yeah,” Hen added, frowning as she looked up at the screen. “Athena was with us. She arrested her on the spot.”

“She looked like a yoga teacher, not a killer,” Chimney said, squinting at the TV. “That’s, what… the seventh? Eighth person from one of our recent calls who’s ended up dead?”

That made the room go still for half a second. Bobby raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

Chim shrugged, casually picking at the edge of his muffin. “Just saying. It’s weird, right? That guy who torched the office building—stabbed two weeks after. That guy who OD’d during that domestic call—girlfriend confessed to killing him killed a week later. That college kid who survived that electrical fire they started? Hit by a car three days after discharge. I’m telling you, it’s like we’ve been cursed.”

There was a pause, then Hen smirked. “Don’t go getting superstitious on us, Chim.”

He held up his hands. “I’m not. Just pointing it out.”

But I wasn’t laughing.

Something about the way he said it hit wrong. Like puzzle pieces I hadn’t realized were sitting right in front of me were suddenly sliding into place.

The pattern. The deaths. The way Buck had changed.

The late nights.

The whispered phone calls.

The way he and Eddie sometimes looked at each other like they were holding some silent agreement between them.

I looked across the kitchen. Buck was sitting next to Eddie, the two of them talking low and fast, something close to a grin playing at Buck’s lips.

And for just a second—just one terrible second—I thought:

What if it’s them?

But then I shook my head. No. That was ridiculous.

I knew Buck.

I loved Buck.

He wouldn’t keep something like that from me.

Would he?

“Hey,” Buck called across the table, catching my eye. “You good?”

I forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He smiled gently, like he bought it. Like he always did.

And I told myself to let it go.

Just another weird coincidence. That’s all it was.

[wildehacked]

wip snippet

I was tagged yesterday by @glorious-spoon! honestly I'm just excited because I FINALLY dug Buck and Shannon out of the literal pit they've been stuck in for the last six months! have a little bit of Buck and Shannon climbing out of the pit: *

They only got about three steps past that when Shannon banged her knee into something. They stopped and felt around, and realized it was a set of stairs, with a railing and everything.  

“Okay,” Buck said, sounding weary but triumphant. “Okay, that’s great news. Up is good. Up means maybe someone can hear us aboveground. Now we just, uh. Climb.”  She went up first, Buck right behind her. For the first time they had to let go of each other, to hang onto the railing instead. It felt worse, sort of strangely lonely, climbing the stair by herself. She found herself hyperfocusing on the sound of Buck’s breathing, his footsteps on the concrete. “This is like, uh, that one Greek myth,” she said. 

“Myth?”

She cast her mind back to freshman year English class, and then to her high school best friend Xiomara, who'd been really into Nick Cave. “The one about the dead girl,” she said, concentrating. “Her, um, her husband goes down to hell to get her, and he’s allowed to take her back to the surface, walking up a huge long staircase, but he’s not allowed to look back to make sure she’s behind him.”

“That doesn’t seem so hard,” Buck said. 

“Yeah,” Shannon said. Her calves were burning with exhaustion, and she could really go for a bottle of water about now. “But he fucks it up anyway.” 

“How?” 

“Well,” she said. “He looks back.” 

“Why couldn’t he just ask her if she was there?” 

“I don’t know, he just doesn’t,” she said. “He definitely doesn’t save her.” 

“Depressing.” 

“I didn’t write the myth.” “Hey,” Buck said, sounding suddenly serious. “Shannon. Look back.” 

“Ha ha,” she said. “No, for real.” And she could hear that he’d stopped climbing, so she stopped too, and looked back.  “What,” she said. 

“I can see you,” Buck said, and Shannon realized she could see him too, a faint silhouette in the dark. She could hear him smiling. “There’s light up ahead!” 

“There’s light,” Shannon repeated, struck dumb, and she reached down to Buck’s silhouette and hugged him again, brief and hard, before they both turned back to the stair. 

The stair took them up to a second level, and this one had clear shafts of light descending from the surface. There was a bigger, more centralized staircase across the stone hall that led up to an iron grille. She took her first good look at Buck, and he looked like a fucking zombie out of the Walking Dead or something, clothes in shreds, dried maroon blood smeared all down his face, his whole body covered in dirt. She realized her own hands were covered in Buck’s flaking blood, so she must not look much better. 

“Come on,” Buck said, giving her the huge sunshine grin she’d seen him give Chris and Eddie a hundred times before, zombie-to-Captain-America in an instant, and pulled her over to the big staircase. A weird thing happened in her chest, a fast hot internal itch. “Let’s go get our boy.” 

“Yeah,” Shannon said helplessly. “Let’s go.”  no-pressure tagging @runawaymarbles, @semperama, @try-set-me-on-fire, @brawlite, @effervescentwolf, and anyone else who wants to play

[cbrownjc]

Hi! Love all you have to say abt dm & theories for the show. I was wondering, do you think its possible for armand to turn daniel seemingly out of spite, but actually of genuine love? And for that to still be accurate to the heart of their book relationship?

I like the theory of marius being the one who wiped daniel’s memories and therefore being harder to recover than when armand did it. if 2x05 is the reason daniel is doing the interview like rj hinted at, it feels like an introduction of just how much daniel’s own gaps of recollection really plague him. Especially with the end of 2x05, daniel saying he fucked up his daughters and two marriages but kept up his career, he’s realizing the amount his life has been influenced by altered/erased memories.

Daniel’s feelings towards sex & personal relationships are either shallow or regrettable (sex as entirely transactional, stealing playboy magazines to sell, “save it for rent boy”, “my side of the social contract”, “i could be on my knees”, fucking the girl w a bag on her head, alice being pregnant and daniel not gaf, daughters no longer speaking to him etc) After revealing Armand’s true role in the trial, I could see it trigger a spiral in Daniel’s selfhood- maybe not right in that moment but eventually, how much of himself has been manipulated? How much of him has been defined by time he cant recall? He didn’t accept louis’ s1 offer to be turned bc that was before he realized the magnitude of his unknowing, and now he Needs to know. And the more he reflects the more holes he finds.

Armand knows daniel’s Parkinson's is getting worse and is now watching him die tortured by all his own inconsistencies, and in reviewing his life he’s coming face to face with how intimacy was always little more than transaction- his career of interviewing itself being example. He’s watching daniel lose function believing he never had meaningful connection, meaningful sex, and never truly loved or was loved. Because he can’t remember having it with armand.

Quite the opposite of an easeful death. If armand meets with him I’d imagine daniel would be quite angry and aggressive, setting the tone for a layered scene. I dont think show armand could stand letting daniel die suffering emotionally and physically, and daniel isnt going to accept “rest” with the truth of his past unknown. So if armand turns him before daniel has his memories, it could very well be so daniel has the capacity to remember how loved he is. I honestly can’t see how their turning could happen accurate to their show characters without love as the main drive

Thanks for reading :>

Hello,

So first of all, I want to apologize for taking so long to answer this ask. It has basically been almost a year since you sent it, so you might not even care for the answer I have to give at this point. But I always wanted to answer it, but my personal life was just taking up too much time and energy for most of the second half of last year (mostly dealing with a surgery I was having).

And I will say, all the time that has passed before answering this has given me more time to reflect on the answer to the question you asked.

And the answer is that no, it absolutely is possible that the show could have had Armand turn Daniel out of spite. But if the show did really have Armand do so for that reason, then they have not only gutted Devil's Minion, but they would have also seriously gutted Armand's character. And will have gutted it all in a way that there would be absolutely no recovery from. None whatsoever.

However, I don't think the show has actually done that. And that the "spite" thing is a total misdirect. And I don't think my thinking so is just wishful/hopeful/copium thinking.

So first, let's look at the definition of the word "spite":

To deliberately hurt, annoy, or offend (someone).

If Armand really turned Daniel out of spite, then who was he trying to hurt by doing so? (Or annoy, or offend?) The quick, easy answer is, of course, Daniel himself.

And, ignoring what we know from the books, the context for why Armand would want to hurt Daniel is all right there, over the course of Season 1 and 2. We know he never wanted the second interview to happen. We saw what Armand did to Daniel after the first interview back in 1973.

And we saw Daniel destroy the whole house of cards that Armand and Louis' relationship was built on. How did Daniel put it? "77 years based on a seismic lie!"

And then, of course, we know very well that Daniel rejected Louis' offer to become a vampire in the present day, back in Season 1. Something Daniel asked, almost begged for back in 1973, Daniel appears to not want at all in any way anymore.

And, again, ignoring the books for now, Armand is presented as being a big manipulator by the final episode of Season 2. One of the highest order, having orchestrated Claudia's death and (from Daniel's presentation of it) also trying to set up Louis to die with her. And then erasing both Louis and Daniel's memories after the first interview in 1973.

All of these are things that give great context as to why Armand -- as we see him up to the end of Season 2 on the show -- would see turning Daniel as a spiteful thing to do. Why turning Daniel would be a hurtful thing to do to Daniel, and why Armand would have a reason to want to hurt him.

However, this is where knowledge of the books comes into play. Because while Armand did give us a bit of insight into how he feels about turning someone into a vampire on the show -- that it disgusts him, the very idea of it does, and that he's never done it ever before because of that (which all lines up with his character in the book) -- there is even more, specific insight he gives in the books about his thoughts on turning someone into a vampire:

"I would not do that to those whom I find to be despicable, whom I would see burning in hell as a matter of course."

Hating someone, wanting to hurt someone he hates, would never be a reason for Armand to turn them. Not if the show, in any way, plans to stay true to Armand's character.

We must remember that it was Louis who declared that Armand had turned Daniel out of spite. Daniel didn't agree or disagree with that comment from Louis about it, and, of course, we've heard nothing of Armand's POV on the subject.

The passage I screenshot and quoted from above comes from the Devil's Minion chapter, from right after Armand lets Daniel out of the cage he locked him in for 3-4 days, after Daniel came stumbling into Lestat's Garden District house. Right before Armand and Daniel's cat-and-mouse chase is set to begin. Something that we have yet to see on the show, but I feel 99% sure did happen in the past between the two of them, given all the context clues the show has sprinkled through its first two seasons.

Clues that, if you had no idea that The Chase was even a thing (let alone their romance that came from it), you could easily miss.

However, the idea of Armand turning Daniel out of spite works as a very good, very believable misdirect if all you know about Armand's character comes from the TV show.

And yeah, you could have Armand turn Daniel out of spite, and then have them fall in love later. But to do so would be to change Armand's character in a pretty 180-degree way from what he is in the book.

It also changes the whole heart of Armand and Daniel's relationship into something that is the antithesis of what it was. Which was a reverse of the vampire-falls-in-love-with-a-human trope. Yes, the vampire learns more about the human world via the relationship, but in the case of Devil's Minion, the human in question -- Daniel -- lost his humanity over the course of the relationship. Therefore, making either his death or turning, by the end, inevitable.

Armand turning Daniel before any of that happens? Armand turning Daniel out of a desire to hurt him? Armand turning Daniel in order to hurt him, not loving him in any way, but maybe falling in love with him later, afterward? No. That is an entirely different story with two entirely different characters.

I'm actually in a place now, almost a year later, where I'm okay if Daniel doesn't remember a past relationship with Armand at the moment. I'll think it's weird and off-book if Daniel really doesn't remember a past relationship after having been turned, since -- in the books -- Jesse Reeves very much remembered everything her mind had been clouded over with by her Aunt Maharet, wrt vampires after she was turned. And Maharet is not just a Child of the Millennium, but a part of The First Brood, even older than Marius.

So the fact that Marius might be the one who altered Daniel's memories (and yes, I do still think that Marius is the one who did it) really shouldn't have much bearing on whether Daniel remembers anything of a past relationship with Armand after he's turned, going by the books. He should remember it. If he doesn't, then I'll be slightly worried that a past relationship actually didn't happen (which I've already laid out what the problem with that would be) unless Armand himself fully clarifies otherwise later on that yes, one did (and we finally get flashbacks to it).

So, yes, this basically all boils down to whether the show is going to stay true to the heart of the characters, particularly Armand's character, when it comes to the very idea of him turning someone out of "spite."

And, at the moment, I do think they are, and the whole "spite" thing was strictly Louis' -- and Louis' alone -- read on the whole situation, based on very little that I think Louis actually knows about it all. (I don't think Louis knows anything about Armand and Daniel having had a relationship together in the past, nor do I think Daniel was turned in Dubai and then was just left there for Louis to find him after Armand did it.)

And that, most of all, it is all a misdirect being played for the sake of the general audience who only know of Armand what has been shown, framed, and presented on the TV show up to this point.

And by the end of Season 2, with everything that has happened and been revealed up to that point, the show presenting the idea that Armand would do something like that out of spite is not only believable, but possible.

But, in the end, I very much think it will be revealed not to be true at all.

Again, I'm so sorry it took so long for me to answer this. 😊