#ch 1: leave the dead behind

[deathmightbe]

[id: panel 1: Closeup on Killians snout, blood and tears dripping from it. Its mouth is open. Sfx reads: *gasp* panel 2: Similar to panel 1, its mouth closed in a snarl. Speech bubble reads: killian: Ughh, now what? panel 3: Killian is sitting down, but we only see the lower part of its body. It is facing back to the camera. There is blood spilled around it. Speech bubble reads: killian: Why did I want to kill him again? / end id]

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[shadowglens]

the progression of alma and john’s relationship over their lives is something that is so personal to me actually

[latenightdaydreams]

will there ever be an update to the trucker konig series?

Yes! Thank you all so much for being so patient with me!

Trucker!König x Stranded!Reader Part 5 (fem)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4

Final Part

MDNI🔞

Master List

🚫Massive Triggers for self harm.🚫

>cw: fem/afab, pregnancy, self harm, cptsd, breastmilk

2.6k word count

🚚

Tag list: @vivasab0tage, @teddy2510, @nexthyperfix, @nachofriess, @mariapallett, @prettystrangething, @smolduck126, @vampie-com, @sagedbelladonna

.

.

Now you’re eight months pregnant. The reality that you might have this baby with König weighs heavily on you. His paranoia has gotten so much worse since seeing the flier. He’s blacked out all the windows in the bedroom. Day in and day out, you sit in darkness other than a single lamp. He doesn’t let you leave the top floor of the house anymore, and you spend most of your days in the bedroom. Dark circles have formed under your eyes and your body has grown weaker.

This morning, König comes in and removes your restraints, bringing you to his bathroom. He turns on the shower and pulls your stained night gown over your head.  His hand goes to your breast instantly and squeezes some milk out. A smile crosses his lips as he leans in and latches to you, squeezing your breast while he sucks.

The sweet milk filling his mouth make his moan, his cock getting hard in his pants. “I’m going to have to keep you pregnant. I can’t go without this.” His lips wrap back around your nipple and sucks.

König pulls his head back with a pop, milk still spraying from your nipples. He wipes his face before opening the shower curtains and gesturing you to enter.

“Clean yourself well. The doctors coming and I want him to see how well I keep you.”

Once in the shower you roll your eyes. König times you on how long you can take in here, so you quickly wash your body. He doesn’t allow you time to enjoy it. When you step out, he has to be the one to dry you before picking you back up and bringing you to the bed room. On the bed was a beautiful lavender maternity shirt and a pair of maternity leggings. König puts you down on your feet for you to get dressed.

“You look so beautiful, Maus. Our baby boy will be here sooner than you think.” König’s voice was cheerful. His eyes scanned your pregnant body up and down like a hungry wolf.

Your tired eyes meet his, you give him a weak smile. Once dressed, you look at yourself in the full-length mirror. The person you see staring back at you isn’t someone you recognize. You look as if you’re wasting away, the large parasite inside of you transforming your body into one you don’t recognize. The light in your eyes is gone, leaving behind an empty dead stare. Mirrors have become your enemy.

König walks up behind you and hugs you, his hands caressing your large swollen belly. His touch sends chills up your spine. You just want to be free.

“Remember to smile.” He whispers in your ear.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. König gives you a look, as if you should be on your best behavior, before turning and going downstairs to open the door. You walk over to the bed and lay down. His bed is much nicer than the one he has for you in your room.

“Mom is in here.” König says opening his bedroom door and in came the man with him. König has never told you his name, but to just call him doctor.

“How are you doing, y/n?” The doctor asks as he sets up his equipment on the dresser near the bed.

“I’ve been well.” You smile cheerfully and look at König to make sure you’re doing well.

“Good. Have you been feeling a lot of activity?”

The doctor sits on a chair next to your bed and lifts your shirt. He squeezes out blue gel on your stomach, placing the ultrasound transducer on to your stomach and spreads the gel around.

“Yes. He’s very active.” You watch the doctor's every move.

On the small screen you can see the shape of your baby. Usually, a mother would love to see this, but you can’t bear to look at the screen. König’s blue eyes were gleaming with happiness as the doctor checked the baby; all he does is tell you how long he’s waited to be a dad.

The doctor pulls away and König hands you a towel to wipe your stomach off with. They spoke about the due date approaching and my birth plan. At home, only König and the doctor. You lower your shirt but stay laying in his bed.

With a hand extended, the doctor comes over to say goodbye to you. “I’ll see you again in a few weeks. Hopefully, the baby will be ready to come.”

“Yes! That would be very good.” König interjects and kisses your forehead. “I’m going to walk him out, Maus. I’ll be back.”

König left you alone in the room. You just lie there relaxing. It feels nice to be in a comfortable bed, no restraints. No restraints…

Thoughts flood your mind when you decide that this is the exact moment you’ve been waiting for. You’re too weak to get up and run away, but you still have one option for escape. Planting your feet firmly on the ground, you pull your body up from the bed. The room is peaceful. The walls were a deep blue with the bright sun coming in through the windows.

You walk up to the window and open in, breathing in the fresh air you’ve been missing the past few months. The sun hits your skin, closing your eyes and letting the breeze blow over your face. Tears forming in your eyes as you open them. Thoughts of the family you left back home flood your mind, you’ll never see them again.

Without closing the window, you walk away and leave his room. Your steps are quiet, making sure König can’t hear you. You walk to the top of the staircase, looking to the left you can see into the nursery. A stuffed wolf is sitting on the rocking chair. Your gaze lingers on it before you close your eyes and let yourself fall forward.

König hears a loud crashing sound. Panic consumes his body as he turns and runs from the kitchen. At the bottom of the staircase, he sees you, face down and blood surrounding your body. Tears form in König’s eye as he kneels in front of you and touches your pulse. You’re still alive.

“You have to take her to the hospital.” The doctor said, König knew he was right.

You wake up, bright lights consume your vision. The sound of machines beeping and a hand on your arm fully wakes you up. The cold hand causes you to jump, looking over to see a woman wearing green scrubs. Her brown hair in a ponytail with a neutral look on her face.

“How are you feeling sweetie?” She was fluent in your native language. “I’m nurse Lena. I’ve been taking care of you.”

“My head hurts…” Your voice sounds strained.

“Yeah, it sounds like you had quite the fall.”

“She did, she scared me so much. I’m thankful that she and my boy are okay.” König’s voice cuts in as you feel his hand on your knee.

The look on your face alerts the nurse. Instantly, your eyes widen and your bottom lip begins to tremble. Your heart rate begins to speed and the monitors pick it up. Lena looks from you to König.

“Good thing your husband was there to find you in time.”

You look straight ahead and don’t say anything. Lena studies your face, the way you seem to dissociate. She sees the bruises on your wrist and ankles, bite marks on your neck and arms. She covers you with a blanket and hands you the remote to call for a nurse or turn the lights on and off before leaving you alone with König.

Once alone you can feel the tension in the room change drastically. König’s eyes bore into you, anger bubbling to the surface.

“What the fuck was that about?!” He snaps.

You look over to him and freeze, the anger in his eye is worse than when you ran away. There is nothing you can say that would make this any better. You know once you get back into his hands, you’re going to be in trouble.

“You could have killed my fucking son!” His voice booms louder than he meant for it to. It took everything in him to not strike you right now.

Tears begin to burn your eyes as you frown. “I’m sorry.”

König walks closer to you and puts his finger in your face. “You’re going to fucking regret this. I’ll make sure you can’t ever get up and walk again.” His voice is a terrifying, low growl.

Before he can continue, Lena walks back in. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave for this test. Only doctors and nurses can be in the room to remain sterile.”

König looked suspicious of her words, but bent down to kiss your cheek, whispering in your ear, “Don’t say a word.”

“I love you Liebling.” He squeezes your hand once more before walking away.

His heart is in his stomach as he leaves. Once through the doors, he sees hospital security waiting. Calmy, giving them kind smiles as he keeps walking past them. König isn’t stupid. He is aware of what is about to happen.

Without a second, though, König keeps walking. He gets to the elevator and presses for the garage. Looking at him, you wouldn’t guess he was panicking on the inside. It felt as if everything was crashing around him. His perfect wife, his son, his online audience, all gone. He has to start over again.

Once in the garage, he rushes to his car, dropping his cell phone on the ground and stomping it before getting into the car and speeding out. Tears swell in his eyes as he realizes he will never see his son.

“FUCK!” He shouts and punches the passenger's headrest out of anger.

In the room, Lena sits with you and looks into your eyes. “Are you safe?”

A wide frown appears across your face as tears stream from your eyes. You shake your head no.

“Is that man really your husband?”

“No.” Your voice shakes as you try to hold back sobs.

“Do you need help?”

“Please, yes. Please.” You grab your hair, pulling at it, as you sob. A huge mix of emotions overwhelms you as you realize you did it. You’re really safe.

Lena hugs you and tries to soothe you by rubbing your back. You wrap your arms around her, clinging to her for dear life. As much as she tries, there is no holding back the immense amount of sympathy she feels for you and cries with you.

“You’re safe now. I promise.” Lena’s voice cracks.

The door opens and security walks inside. They heard the sobs through the door. Lena turns her head to face them and nods to confirm her suspicions. They quickly talk on the radio to raise the alarm to not let the tall man with scars on his face leave. A guard stands at your door as others search for him.

“A social worker and police will come to talk to you, okay?” Lena pulls back and wipes her tears away.

“I don’t want this baby.”

Her eyes drop to your stomach and she nods. “We can set up an adoption plan for after birth.”

Hours pass when cops along with the social worker come walking into the room. Their faces are serious. One cop with hazel eyes and brown hair sits in front of you. He looks at you, looking at all the bite marks and bruises on your body. In his hand is a manila folder filled with paperwork. Finally, he speaks.

“I’m Officer Hauser. I’m here to ask you a few things to better help you. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

He pulls out a photo from the folder and it’s of König’s truck. Your heart sinks as you just look at the photo. Your heart rate is picking up. The social worker walks over to you and offers you her hand to hold for support.

“Do you recognize this truck?”

“Y-yes.”

Officer Hauser nods and pulls out another photo of König, but in a military uniform.

“Is this the man that was here with you?”

“Yes.” You can feel the woman’s hand squeeze yours.

“You’re doing great.” She whispers to you.

“We believe you were one of multiple victims of an ex KorTac Colonel named Alexander J. König.” Officer Hauser speaks up. “He was said to have been KIA, but it appears that is false.”

“Did- did you arrest him?” The look in your eyes is so hopeful.

The officer clears his throat and looks from you to the social worker. He is trying to think of a way to say this.

“We haven’t been able to locate him. He’s disappeared. Every country has eyes out looking for him. We will find him. I promise.”

When you heard that every country was looking for him, you felt confident that he would be caught soon. Days passed, weeks, months; still no word on where König is. Labor and delivery went smoothly. Lena the nurse came in on her day off to support you through the labor and passing the child over to the social worker. You did what is best for you both.

It’s now been ten years since the whole ordeal with König. You’ve been in therapy, went back to school, met the love of your life, and settled down. It feels like a whole different life now. That person that was held captive is gone. You’re truly healing deep down inside.

Today is a warm day with a cooling breeze. You sit outside and close your eyes, taking in deep breaths. For a moment, you were your younger self standing by the window and taking what you thought would be your last breath of fresh air. A wave of anxiety crushes you and you begin to breath heavily. Thoughts of the son you gave up, he would be ten this year.

Just as your thoughts begin to spiral, you jump, feeling a hand on your shoulder. You look up to see your partner, Sam. They look down at you with a worried look in their eyes. One of their hands comes up and caresses the side of your face.

“Are you okay babe?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Sam crouches down in front of you, grabbing your hand to hold. “Talk to me.”

“I just…I had almost, like, a flash back…to—” Your voice trembles.

“You don’t have to say it, I know.” Their thumb caresses your hand. “You’re here with me. You’re safe. Remember that.”

“I got a letter in the mail today.” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

“Yeah? What was it?” Sam tilts their head.

“They found König.” Your eyes meet theirs. Sam's mouth drops open from surprise.

“How do you feel?”

“It feels like I can finally relax. Well, it did. I have to go back and testify. I have to see him again.”

“Oh, y/n.” Sam grabs you and holds you in a tight hug. “You’ve got this. I’ll be with you every part of the way.”

“Thank you.”

Six months later, you sit in front of a courtroom. Your eyes meet his familiar pale blue eyes. König scowls, looking at you with immense rage. You look back, showing no fear. He is nothing but a pathetic broken man who will die alone. Everything he did to you did not break you. You’re still here- thriving, all despite König.

[boiohboii]

The people's sweethearts

Ch II

(Verstappen!reader x tom holland x zendaya)

Soulmate au

YN Verstappen had been through hell, by her own father, for something she didn't even ask for. She grew up learning that she should hate what was given to her, after all it was the reason her father was always angry with her. So what should she do when the one thing she learned to hate is the one thing that brings her love, safe and comfort that not even her older brother can compare.

WARNING: not proof read, Jos Verstappen (worsned like 10 times for this fic) poly relationship, derogatory terms by father, abusive father. If I missed anything else please let me know

Masterlist

ch.I

Faceclaim: kiki hertz

Tom prided himself in never exposing his soulmark, he let a lot of things out that shouldn't be and his soulmark not being one of those is such an achievement. Mostly because from a very young age, when he started acting, his mother would make sure he covered it up with makeup so that no one, not even those behind the scenes would see it.

"So, you're invited to watch cars drive in circles?"

Meeting Zendaya had been a dream, they both felt the need to be closer to each other whenever possible even before they discovered their identical soulmarks. Both of them working and hanging around each other made it so much difficult to conceal their newfound relationship and eventually the whole world knew that both of them were soulmates, and not just that, everyone was now aware that Tom Holland and Zendaya Coleman were fated to have a third lover, a third soul with them to keep them sane from all the chaos their lives bring in the form of fans and crazy paparazzi.

"How can you say that?" Tom looked back at his girlfriend as he poured himself some tea "you literally met Lewis Hamilton not that long ago!"

Tom was painfully aware of the fact that Zendaya isn't that interested in either of the sports he enjoys: formula 1 and golf.

"Oh yeah, at a fashion show," Zendaya recalls as she moves over to hug tom from behind, resting her chin on his head. "He was nice."

"Do you think we'll meet our darling soon?" Zendaya asked, making Tom leave his drink to hold her hand in reassurance.

"I think so," turning around he let go of one of zendaya's hands to let his palm rest on her cheek "I know that I met you when I kept thinking about my soulmate, so I have a feeling that we'll meet darling soon."

The couple had taken to calling their third soulmate Darling, a nickname that they both agreed to reserve for their missing soul.

"Yeah, I feel so too."

Liked by maxverstappen1, F1wags&faves, verstappentruther and 683,519 others

Kellypiquet: a weekend with her was truly missed.

maxverstappen1: ♥️♥️

username: God, yn verstappen is so pretty

username: I wanna be her soulmate so bad

username: LOOK AT HER CHEEKS! I WANNA BITE THEM!

With his work schedule Tom wasn't able to attend much f1 races, but when he could he did, and most of them were the infamous English track, Silverstone.

But here in Monaco, the races were something else, Tom can feel how the people in this country were raised watching these cars from their homes, cheering for their favorite driver and the preparations for the race throughout the entire country are just mind blowing (he promised himself that he would bring Zendaya here for a vacation, this place is amazing).

"Is something wrong?" The voice of Christian Horner stopped Tom dead in his tracks, the team principle of the red bull formula 1 team making him feel like a little child caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

"Oh, um, yeah, yes-" clearing his throat Tom couldn't help still looking around, wanting to see the reason of the all too familiar tugging his heart "just looking around, the race is very different from Silverstone, the atmosphere is just so..."

And there it was, the reason his heart is pulling, the person he hoped he would meet as soon as he felt their presence in this specific garage, his darling; their darling.

"Well, Monaco is the heart of motorsport, especially formula 1, you can't live here without being a fan really."

Christian wasn't an idiot, he had eyes and his observational skills were too good. It wouldn't be the first time he witnessed a celebrity looking at yn verstappen, the girl hooking everyone in with her innocent face and charming smile. It would, however, be the first time he saw someone loose their breath over her and he knew what that meant, he knew that expression; he had went through it when he met his wife, he saw it on Max when he met Kelly and now he is going to see it on yn.

He thought he met an angel when he saw Zendaya, he thought that the feeling he would get when meeting their darling wouldn't be as strong, as intense, but seeing her there, standing next to Adrian Newey with a notebook and a pen in her hands, discussing something that seemed so important, made him unaware of anything else. She was all he could see, hear and feel. She was who they had been missing, and god did she make him want to scream at the top of his lungs.

He felt his chest swell up with emotions as he quickly reached for his phone, calling the one person he knew would calm him down.

"Hey baby, how's the race going?"

"Z, she's here," Tom rushed out as he maneuvered between the never ending sea of people to a quite place- well as quite as it can get in Monaco during a formula 1 race.

"What? Who's here?"

"Darling! She's here!"

"Darling is a she?"

Gathering her thoughts Zendaya left the lounge area of her hotel suite, dismissing the makeup artists and stylists with a smile and wave of her hand before entering the bedroom within the suite.

"Okay, okay, calm down baby," Zendaya spoke as she ran her hand through her hair "how about you go talk to her, yeah?"

"I can't, oh my god, what if she doesn't even feel the same pull- it's a stupid way to describe it but you know that's how I felt when I met you and it's the same but so much worse cause you're not here with me and I can't do this-"

"Honey, calm down, it's okay, let's take it step by step, did you check her wrist?" Being met with silence worried the tall girl, she knew how it might come off to him when she was basically asking him to check actual evidence and not take his feelings too seriously "I know your feelings, I get that, I felt the same with you, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

"Yeah, yeah," shuffling was heard before Tom apologies for, what zendaya assumed, pumping into someone "no, yeah, you're right, stay with me on the line, I'm going to try and see. She's wearing a sleeveless dress so that will make it easier."

Even though she didn't want to spoil it for herself, she wanted to get 100% of the awe and the fondness for herself, Zendaya couldn't help but ask "what does she look like?"

"So beautiful, Z" the way Tom spoke, the breathlessness and amazement in his voice made her want to cry, she wanted to be there, she wanted to be with him when they first saw her, that's how they always envisioned it.

"Okay, so I checked, and oh my god it's there, it's the same Z, what am I supposed to do, oh my god"

"Here's what you're going to do, you're going to tell her right now!"

"There are like 100 people around, how am I supposed to do that!"

"I don't know tom, tell her you wanna speak to her or something, make it up!"

"I can't do this, I can't, I am freaking out!"

"Oh my god, you're an actor, pretend it's a scene"

"Will you be able to pretend?"

"Well no, but I'm not the one that can see her, am I!"

"Okay, okay, deep breaths, I am going to tell her with you on the phone, alright?" Tom said as he started moving towards the blonde, his confidence building up with his taller soulmate cheering him on through the phone

"Holy shit" and there goes the little confidence he had

"What? Tom! Answer me! Is she dating someone, I swear to god if she is-"

"No, no, she's not," looking back at his soulmate "at least I don't think she is. God, there's no way I am telling her shit now."

"Why not?"

"Her brother can literally run me over with his small rocketship of a car! I am not doing anything when he is literally two centimetres away from her!"

What Tom failed to realise was how Christian Horner had joined the pair of siblings, telling Max and Yn of his earlier observations, which made all three of them look at the young brit in sync.

"Um, Z, I think we won't have to worry about me telling her."

CH.III

{taglist: @celesteblack08 @minkyungseokie @woozarts @keii134 @celesteblack08 @sainzluvrr @fangirl125reader}

[malleleothreesome]

Fellow Honest Drunken Confession Feat. Playful Land Cast

(Ch.1 & Ch.2)

🌟 summary: Rewriting the end of Playful Land event where instead of Fellow Honest running away, he tries to convince you and your classmates to go out drinking with him. Cause he's super into you. ༶༶༶ 🌟 warnings: gender neutral reader, SFW so far (undecided on the end), fluff, romance. This is a slice of life comedy. You're just gonna have to go into it blind. Take my word for it. You're gonna love it. If you don't, don't tell me. All characters assumed to be of legal drinking age besides Gidel. ༶༶༶ 🌟 inspired by: this ask from @omo-kitty thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

🌟 song: Trust Fund "Oh, where, oh, where is my trust fund? Why can't I get ahead? 'Cause I have to work My daddy's such a jerk For not givin' me all his cash" ༶༶༶ 🌟 word count: 4.7k

Fellow Honest lets out an exasperated sigh, perched next to you and your classmates as the massive cruise ship that housed Playfulland amusement park sinks into the ocean’s abyss. With his hands clasped behind his head, a carefree grin lights up his face. 

"You know what?" He asks, turning to you. 

His fox ears twitch atop his head as a salty breeze sifts through his orange hair. Night was encroaching, a half moon suspended in the starry sky, pale and glowing. You stare back into his face, noting the visible points of his fangs, and the tip of his curly orange tail swishing happily. 

Fellow winks as he laughs his signature haughty cackle. "Do you want to grab a drink sometime?"

Ace Trappola perks up at the mention of alcohol and barrels forward, face beaming with naivety. "Hey, free drinks? You're talking to the right person, Man. You gonna let us drink free? I mean, it's like, the least you could do for trying to traffic us, am I right?" 

Trey Clover hisses, “Ace!!!” in a desperate (and failed) attempt to shut him up. 

Fellow regards the spectacle with the blankest of stares, his ear flicking as a whisper of a wince flickers across his visage.

The monster of a man tilts his head and smiles slyly to you—and only you. 

His eyes sweep you up and down as he croons, "just you and me, Hot Stuff. We're talking romantic, steamy even. We’re connected… don't deny it. Whaddaya say?" 

Fellow steps closer, tongue running along his canines as he looks you up and down with a cheeky grin and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "You, me, alone, drinking, talking... I'll be real good to you—I'm an honest guy! All my business is legit now!" 

He throws his head back, and with a flourish of his arms, roars with a particularly raucous laughter. Upon composing himself, his piercing orange eyes turn sharp, and he flashes you another lecherous look. A smirk plays on the corner of his lips, an eyebrow rises suggestively. Fellow leans to whisper in your ear, lingering in the electricity of your aura a bit too long before speaking. You shiver. 

His voice drops to a low, suggestive purr as hot breath grazes your neck, "but, if you like, a little bit naughty ain't out of the question... "

Before you can respond, Ace—unable to be subdued by Trey—makes his way back over and elbows you in the arm. As clueless as ever, his freckled cheeks flush bright pink from excitement. 

"Free drinks, Bro! He's an underworld mobster, Dude—a high ranking one—we'll be VIPs anywhere we go. We’ll be sipping absolute top shelf… not that gross, warm piss from a barrel everyone else gets!" 

Ace is giving the performance of his lifetime, gripping his heart and holding out his arms in utter theatrics, then leaning heavily on your shoulder. 

"Free… top shelf… liquor!" Ace shouts to the rest of your classmates, waving them over.

Fellow's eyebrow elevates further, threatening to leave the confines of his forehead. His eyes remain dead, cold. His tail, for once, stays perfectly still, frozen in an upright arch. When his lips part in a rigid smile and his shoulders begin to shake, a venomous displeasure radiates from him, palpable enough for you to feel on your own skin. Out of his mouth spills a jumble of fragmented curse words and giggles. You look at him in mild alarm, unsure if he has finally reached a state of losing his goddamn mind, or if he's about to commit a violent murder—starting with Ace.

Fellow holds up both gloved palms, covering his face. Slowly shaking his head, he doubles over, wiping away tears of hysteria in an uproarious guffaw. You are stunned, staring as Fellow wheezes and struggles to get ahold of his faculties. 

Catching his breath, he throws back his head and bellows with unrestrained joy, "The sheer audacity! The unmitigated gumption of this fool—oh my GOD.”

In a valiant effort to calm himself, he holds up his hands, as if praying, a wicked grin plastered across his face. Ace squints suspiciously at his antics, still totally clueless to Fellow's intent. Trey shakes his head slowly, rubbing his face in abject defeat, looking as if he's willing his brain to purge the trauma of ever coming to this place. 

Fellow breathes deeply. "Sorry, sorry, it's just funny, oh my God. Wow. He has some balls on him, I'll give him that! I really admire the gall. You know what? This brat might have a career in the biz." The fox beastman reaches out and condescendingly ruffles Ace's head of red hair.

"Alright, tough guy. Yeah, let's go get boozed. And hey, little Bastard—" his fiendish grin takes a more sinister tone, fangs slightly exposed. "Just so you know, if your pathetic college didn't send that sweetheart…” He winks suggestively at you, before his eyes wander across the crowd of students, utterly unimpressed, “I'd never be letting any of you idiots go. No way! I’d have dragged each of you back to my boss by force. Don't test my generosity or my kindness." 

Smirking, he shoves his finger into Ace's face, leaning towards him with intent to intimidate.

Fellow takes a sharp inhale and clasps his hands shut. "Now, just for fun, let's get liquored up on the highest rooftop bar, play some poker, do a little dancing..." His eyes flit back over to you— "...maybe some smooches, hey?" A foxy yip punctuates his sentence. His eyes return back to Ace, whose lips are pressed in a firm, disapproving line. Fellow's eyebrow twitches with delight as he takes in Ace's defiance, biting his lip for a second so as not to cackle.

"There isn't going to be any 'VIP treatment,' 'free drinks,’ or 'top shelf.' Is that clear? Who do you think I am? You think I like doing that type of shit?" 

He points to the water, gesturing to the decimated remnants of the amusement park. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Kid, people don't do those types of jobs because they're loaded.” 

He leans down to get eye level with Ace, using expressive jazz hands and a pompous voice. “'Oh, man, my yacht's all paid off and ready, better become a goddamn kidnapping organ trafficker—oh, the glamor! The luxury!' Do you understand what I'm saying, you dinky little shit?"

You can't help it—you burst out laughing. His grin returns full force, and he winks at you knowingly. He looks back to your classmates, and you consider his movements. The pure self-assurance in his stride, his careless and brazen attitude, his cheeky cockiness—intricate pieces of exactly what drew you to him initially. While his irreverence for any societal construct has both scared and enamored you, the sheer madness he exhibits on a regular basis is so addictive. How could you deny a guy with this level of audacity? You really, really want to give it a whirl—experiment with what might be if you throw caution to the wind.

His smile grows, noting the chagrin across your classmate's faces. Fellow gestures dramatically once more, his gloved hands clawing through the air, his gesticulations growing increasingly overzealous as he waxes poetic on the harsh realities of adult life. 

"So, listen up. Listen very carefully. Picture this: I'm poor. I'm scrappy. I was homeless. I don't even own the suit you're seeing right now! My clothes are stolen off the street." His expression darkens, ears and tail drooping, shoulders slumped, and head lowered. For a fleeting, transitory instant, there's an indiscernible emotion that flickers through his eyes—something genuine that betrays his frivolity. "That boy is the only family I have, and we've got nothing to our name."

He stares forward at something only he can see, his gaze boring a hole into the horizon. It is a wistful, haunted gaze, a longing and lost memory in his eyes, a sad sigh that drifts on a gentle summer breeze, lost within its dreams. "Not a single thing. Just the two of us, struggling and barely making ends meet, scraping by in this horrible, unforgiving, greedy world that cares not for the innocent and goodhearted folk. We need to be greedy. Selfish, if we want to keep each other safe. So, excuse me for being just a tad on the offensive side, you entitled fucking brats! I had to be the strongest so I could support the both of us. You truly know nothing about suffering—this isn't a pretty life to have and it isn't fair, yet, what can you do? Adapt, or die. There is no romanticism about hunger, about living like animals, constantly scrambling for scraps of food like the world is a bottomless garbage can and you are its filthiest dog." The sardonic chuckle he gives isn't unkind, merely tinged with bittersweet longing. You reach a hand out, resting it on his shoulder, and his fingers close over it with a soft caress.

There's a touch of vulnerability in his eyes, and his words strike a cord that resonates deeply within your soul. Though it hurts and grieves you, his explanation was enough for you—a starting point of understanding, as you accept him exactly for who he is. You see beyond the facade—the sheer intensity of the desperation that underlines his words and actions, that hollowness within him that yearns for more than the world can provide. 

Fellow seemed to awaken with greater purpose when you looked into his soul and told him he didn't have to do bad things. Something shifts in his eyes as he considers new paths. You see the stitches holding his tattered spirit together loosen slightly, revealing glimpses of his raw wounds, the aches and scars that he buries with sarcasm and callousness. His vibrant, intelligent, playful nature deserves more—his life isn't meant to be wasted, yet he feels as if that's precisely what he has done, resigning himself to this existence of bitter hatred against the world. When you meet his gaze, you feel a tenderness blooming in the chilly winter frost of his chest, like the first glimpse of spring. At last, you can sense the farce crumble, and the real Fellow taking shape underneath. You wish you could spend the rest of the evening talking to him. 

Fellow's fingers remain intertwined with yours as the moment passes and his flirtation returns. There is an uncanny ease with which the man is able to keep his expression blank while swapping personalities, as if each identity is a costume he wears as long as it suits him. A fleeting look of sadness drifts over him before being replaced by his cheeky, foxy smirk. He reasserts the cocky, irreverent demeanor—his favorite cloak. His orange eyes flit towards yours before gazing into the crowd of your classmates. You squeeze his palm reassuringly, and he beams down at you with gratitude. His finger swipes across your cheek, gently brushing it.

Fellow smiles his carefree smile, but there's a warmth and gentleness behind his orange gaze now. 

"All that being said,'' the beastman claps his hands together, grinning widely and putting on another showman's performance, "I bet I could do a little persuading to get us some free booze. We're going drinking, my new friends!" He throws his hands up jovially. 

A chorus of voices in front of him ring out in dissonance at the thought, except for Ace—who is whooping and hollering triumphantly, and Kalim, who is cheering in earnest. Before the rest of your classmates have time to voice their objections, Fellow shouts out, pointing at everyone, a finger dramatically extending in the air.

"Ah, ah ah—none of your whining and sniveling bullshit, you snot-nosed punklings. We're all getting our rocks off tonight and it's on me. Consider this the apology tour for almost making you all... well, go into involuntary servitude, to put it lightly." 

The corner of his lips twitch as his orange eyes scan the crowd for recognition, yet remain friendly despite his teasing. 

"Besides, a celebration is due! What I learned tonight was so startling to me—I did not foresee myself going down an honest path, a career in helping the helpless. This is truly life-altering, and it's all thanks to you folks." 

Another moment of vulnerability flickers in his eyes and his mouth is slack, letting the raw honesty and realization of change settle. A stunned silence from the crowd ensues.

Flailing his arms wildly to keep up and air of lightheartedness, Fellow huffs, the first signs of exertion finally showing. He was beaten up pretty badly while trying to detain your classmates, after all. He continues his pitch. 

"Of course, no hard feelings or anything. Just a nice fun night, free drinks, music, laughter—how could any of you possibly turn down such a gift?" 

With a grin and a gesture to the amusement park's busted entrance gate, he declares his final verdict. 

"It is your final day off before a lifetime of school, study, stress and commitment to society—your youth is ending, friends. Embrace this wonderful last sunset of freedom—because by tomorrow, we will all be under the yoke of labor, spending our lives slaving away to pay rent while we deal with taxes and the true horror of capitalism! At least, those without trust funds, right? Hah." 

Once more, your classmates all clamor with protests. 

"Like Hell I’m goin’ out drinking with that guy! Don't take orders from that shady jackass," Leona roars through the crowd.

Fellow’s scowls, tail swishing vehemently back and forth. 

"Ya just met him yesterday and he was about to sell us all off! Does a sociopath's Nice Guy act not make you the least bit suspicious or even nervous? Don't fall for it. No one's that forgivin' or stupid." Leona stares coldly at the conman with an indignant sniff as he crosses his arms over his broad chest.

Vil stands with his arms crossed as well, but his posture and expression exude boredom as he blows out an annoyed exhale, visibly judging his idiot classmates. "Unfortunately, I have to agree with Leona once again," he chimes in, ignoring the aggravated huff from the Savanaclaw dorm leader. "Our kidnapper is insistent on buying us drinks? Who does that?! Clearly, this guy has something up his sleeve." Vil clicks his tongue derisively, and flicks his purple hair over his shoulder in dismission.

Floyd, ignoring the forewarnings entirely, throws his arms up happily. He bellows, "hell yeah! What's better than a night of heavy partying to lighten up the mood, right? Bring it on. There's alcohol involved? It’s free? I’m in." He giggles maniacally, wrapping an arm around Fellow to pull him in for an enthusiastic noogie (and completely ignoring the pained squeaks coming out of the conman's mouth). Floyd’s twin brother, Jade, grins in agreement to the proposal.

Trey adjusts his glasses nervously, brows knitting and mouth stuck in a grimace. He opens mouth and closes his mouth a few times before suggesting, with trepidation, “it is... quite unusual for him to take us out drinking all of a sudden... are we sure this isn't some sort of trap, or a game, or—"

Trey is cut off by a loud groan from Ace. "Weren't you guys paying attention?!" Ace shakes his head rapidly and scoffs with derision. "He's obviously trying to get into Y/n's pants! The guy's totally thirsty! How are you not seeing this? He was checking Y/n out when he was doing all that crazy shit in the amusement park." 

A tense moment of silence falls across your class as they turn their heads towards you, eyeing you with surprise. "He's been hitting on the prefect this entire time! His weird-ass obsession is for real—no joke or scam. He's interested, I know it when I see it. He knows Y/n's not gonna go unless he takes all of us. So, like... yes, of course I'm into free beer!" 

Ace's red eyes gleam like he's just discovered the polio vaccine, proud of his insightfulness and intellect. The other students look back and forth between you and the notorious criminal fox beastman, noting his nonplussed smirk, calm tail wagging, and the way in which his ears prick up in excitement at the conversation about you.

Another uncomfortable moment passes. Your cheeks feel warm, knowing everyone's eyes are still on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet them. 

Kalim claps his hands together and chirps, "oh yeah, come to think of it, he does seem like he's super fond of you! All his cute talk and that sparkle he gets in his eyes when he looks at you and listens to your every word—he clearly really, really likes you, Y/n! That's totally awesome you found someone special in such a dark place!" 

Kalim is—almost comically—unaffected by Fellow's unsavory reputation. "And isn't it great if he's truly starting down a righteous path instead of being a bad criminal who hurts and steals from people? We've got to support him, this could be his fresh start! We're his friends, and that's what friends are for—they help each other out. We'll save him from evil!" 

Kalim is positively beaming now, his energy infectiously reassuring and radiant. "I’m looking forward to a fun night, count me in!" 

Leona scrunches up his face and screws his eyes shut before looking into the distance. It’s as if his consciousness has departed, from the sheer idiocy of this conversation. 

“How much has that fuckin' clown got you brainwashed already to make you spout such delusions of grandeur?!" He gapes at Kalim's relentless positivity. "C'mon Jack, we're goin' back. They can handle themselves." Without a backward glance, he walks away, trusting that the freshman will follow suit.

With a short sigh of resignation and a brief incline of his head, Jack follows along in his dorm leader's wake. "Sorry, guys," he murmurs. "I gotta agree with my Housewarden. Something doesn't feel right. Hope to see you all later." The wolf man turns his back and trots to catch up with Leona.

Fellow wears an indecipherable expression as he watches them leave. The muscles around his eye twitch slightly and an ear has flattened against his hair in annoyance. Though Fellow is doing his level best to remain unaffected by the sour reactions, a tiny tendril of disappointment wavers briefly over his features. His resolve steels, yet he keeps his smile, resolutely ignoring their mutterings as his fox tail sweeps side to side. His body language remains relatively casual and open, save for a subtle defensive set in his posture and shoulders. He stands a little taller in an attempt to maintain his cool.

Vil scoffs and walks over to the gate, holding up his perfectly manicured hands in mock surrender. "There's no amount of liquor on the planet worth suffering his disgusting presence or getting tangled in whatever diabolic schemes he's attempting. He's a repugnant vagabond with nothing but deceit and manipulation oozing from his vile, malicious tongue. Y/n, you can do far better—really, anyone with a proper background and education instead of someone from the fringes of society who can't even feed himself." 

With a flip of his hair, Vil sniffs dismissively. He gives you one last look of disapproval before strolling away in search of a less irritating place to be.

Ace begins to panic, feeling his chance at free drinks slipping through his fingers. "Wai- Wait- wait, WAIT—everybody STOP," Ace frantically exclaims in desperation. "Come back, you can't just leave! Come on! There’s free alcohol at stake here! Please?! Dammit. UGH!" 

Vil's words seemed to hit home. Fellow's unbreakable poker face crumbles as his ears pull down flat against his scalp. His tail stiffens, lowering between his legs in utter humiliation. The fox beastman swallows thickly as the tides of his happiness drain. Gidel scurries up to Fellow and places a hand gently on his back to console his guardian. Fellow tries to plaster a makeshift grin back on, but his pain bleeds through, brow furrowed and eyes darting, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

Ace blinks and smiles awkwardly before muttering, "Well, now I actually feel pretty bad." His freckled face reddens slightly, cheeks taking on a darker tinge of rose as the color creeps out to his ears. A soft, self-conscious laugh tumbles from his mouth. He runs a hand through his copper-red hair, clearly caught somewhere between guilt and shame—internal conflict is evident. 

Despite all the flippant, disrespectful comments, teasing and general disregard Ace has shown Fellow, this complete and public emotional breakdown appears to hit Ace harder than he'd care to admit, and perhaps—just maybe—a faint sense of kinship forms at the connection he sees between himself and the conman. Two jovial and clownish individuals—born entertainers. Suddenly, this moment strikes Ace more so than anything else Fellow has said or done thus far, leaving the redhead oddly touched. It’s as if his own heart was personally struck by the kind, selfless soul Fellow seems to be deep down, no matter how hard the foxman tries to keep it buried.

"Listen, man," Ace smiles shyly, shifting from foot to foot with his thumbs stuck in his belt loops. "You know, even if nobody else says it, I, uh... Well... If you're going straight," Ace chuckles, clearing his throat, "like you say, then you're pretty cool. Besides, all your antics are pretty funny. And... The way you really care for him..." Ace stares with admiration, nodding his head towards Gidel, voice low with reverence. His cheeks are completely red now, unable to formulate words, just awkwardly shuffling around trying to escape his own embarrassment. 

"You're a... a really good big brother. You know," He sputters, blinking and glancing to the side before slowly looking back at Fellow, and then you. "So... Just forget about Vil's stupid bullshit and move on. Because..." He pauses for a second before nodding assuredly, his confidence growing. "Because you've got plenty to give! It might not feel like it, and sometimes there will be a moment where all seems lost..."

You shake your head in disbelief. Had Ace just openly spoken words of wisdom? Such kind words, too—from him of all people! That, surely, is the sign of an actual miracle happening, since Ace, your dearest friend, is not typically one for… sincerity. ‘Shocking’ would be an understatement. Ace's friendly gaze causes Fellow's orange eyes to grow glassy. Your classmates, equally as stunned, stare at Ace in open astonishment.

Ace presses on with his impromptu speech, conveying the utmost sincerity, "You've got to be strong and push past your misfortune, and not allow yourself to think you're not worthy of love or care." His smile grows warmer and he turns his face to you, making brief eye contact before casting his gaze back towards Fellow. "I just know that somewhere out there, a happy life awaits you... and maybe... there's someone wonderful to share it with."

Now why would Ace allude to you when you haven't even decided your feelings yet? You quickly turn around to conceal the rising flush in your cheeks. You’re somewhere between mortified and thrilled for Ace to publicly express his support of your romance. Nerves flood your stomach—the anticipation, the prospect of falling in love has made you equal parts anxious and giddy. A mixture of euphoria and despair hits you all at once—how beautiful to acknowledge your affections for the fox man—yet, can you commit?

You look over at Cater and mouth with abject horror: 'What the fuck is going on?'

Cater looks thoroughly entertained by the entire event, flashing you a thumbs up. He bites his lower lip, silently giggling to himself. He snaps a picture of you on his phone—the audacity.

Cater mouths back, “looks like someone has a cru-ush.” 

Your face displays all of your confusion. “Stop—shh—be serious, this is real,” you whisper, stifling a tiny, strained giggle and putting an end to the banter by sternly holding out your index finger.

This is too much—too fast—you feel helpless, swept up in the stormy waves of fate and romance. One single day has dragged on and on, as if stretched forever by the overwhelming events of your trip. Even Fellow's unexpected change of heart is but a fleeting part of some fever dream—it couldn’t have all been real. An insane whirlwind romance, a kidnapping, a deadly amusement park, and a desperate con artist—who you’ve become increasingly drawn to. This has been one of the strangest experiences of your entire life.

Glancing quickly over your shoulder, you catch Gidel grinning and bouncing happily, his eyes bright with energy, seemingly thrilled at the idea of you and Fellow becoming partners. His excitement is contagious, and it only adds fuel to the fire in your heart. To know the little boy holds high hopes for the two of you—maybe something is already blooming? Blood pounds in your veins and a tightness builds in your chest, causing your heartbeat to drum ever faster as Fellow takes a step toward you.

He gently turns you to face him. His grip is strong, yet soft. A twinge of hope tugs at the corners of his lips, though his posture betrays his vulnerability and fear of rejection. His interest in you is palpable, and the seriousness of the impending moment makes you want to run away. As hesitant as you are to admit it, you definitely feel a connection to this man—one beyond lust. A deeper bond transcends physical attraction, as if your hearts are bound, stitched with a million red puppet strings of fate. With each pump of blood, another thread pulls taut, drawing the two of you closer together.

You're nervous, embarrassed, and entirely unsure of what you want. In an attempt to stall, you address your remaining classmates. "Well, I sure could use a drink right now! How about it?" Slight panic italicizes your statement.

Ace raises his hands in the air with triumph. "Fuck yeah," he laughs, looking around eagerly. Cater looks relieved to have the perfect excuse to drink a ridiculous amount of booze without getting nagged by Riddle for acting inappropriate. Trey sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in a strained manner, as if resisting another stress-related aneurysm. He nods with resignation that he won't be back at Heartslabyul any time soon, committing himself to making sure none of the trouble-making underclassmen get up to their usual antics of havoc, mayhem and chaos. You catch Trey mutter, "I will definitely regret this," to himself, but you still allow a surge of gratitude wash over your anxious heart at his kind gesture.

Lilia's laughter rings out, the night breeze sweeping back his hair to reveal a playful grin. "The Pop Music Club is always down for a fun time. This will be the perfect opportunity for me to show Kalim and Cater how to really party! Oh, what a splendid evening this will be," he gleams, patting his clubmates heartily on the shoulders. They both gulp, nervous about his declaration.

The gentle moonlight reflecting off the ocean catches Lilia's irises in a breathtaking display of shimmering crimson. In a flash, he materializes in front of Fellow, nearly scaring the poor fox out of his skin. Lilia's lips are curled in a wide, sly smile and he stares deep into his soul. 

After a moment of silence, he narrows his eyes and clicks his tongue, stepping forward and speaking conspiratorially. "But tell me the truth. What really is the score on this entire set-up?" The sinister, terrifying nature Lilia exhibits makes Fellow's ears tremble and tail swish madly in defense, eyes large and alert. Fellow lets out a nervous yelp, frozen as the staring contest commences. After what appears to be some type of mental standoff, the vampire's demeanor eases. 

Lilia puts a comforting arm around Fellow and hugs him to his side, eyes glowing brighter. "Ah, young love! So fun to watch! You two have my blessing," Lilia beams at the stupefied Fellow, whose ears still lay flat against his scalp in terror. His tail is tucked tightly between his legs in an act of submission, a concession of defeat.

With that, your classmates trail out of the boardwalk, away from the ruins of the defunct Amusement Park. Their loud banter fills the night air, a jovial cacophony of nonsense and delirium. Fellow places one hand between Gidel's shoulder blades to gently guide him along, and he extends his other to you, silently inviting you to interlace your fingers with his. His expression is relaxed and expectant—but his eyes show his nerves. His smooth, gloved palm envelops your hand and together, the three of you follow your classmates.

🌟 song: Violence (Club Mix) - Grimes ༶༶༶ 🌟 word count: 1.8k

The dark streets of the city are lit in an amber glow from the many shops that stay open late, with neon signs boasting special deals and hot food creating a gorgeous rainbow of flashing colors in the night. Bustling crowds move briskly, pouring in from all directions. They mill around, eager to engage in the nightlife of the entertainment district, excited to partake in their desired sins. You follow a group of partygoers through an arching entranceway that has the phrase 'Hell's Den' lit above the metalwork in garish crimson lights. Passing underneath the grand entrance and entering the gaudy exterior is another world of sound, color and light—a vibrancy not meant for the meek. The entirety of the complex is covered with glowing tiles, casting a radiant aura in such a dazzling fashion it reminds you of a place in your home world: Las Vegas.

Welcoming aromas of cigarettes, alcohol, and cheap cologne, and the buzzing, neon atmosphere draws a content sigh from Fellow. The wide array of faces passing by—all of them new and shining with happiness, seeking to escape their own respective realities. There is something inspiring about this bustling den of iniquity. The electricity that percolates within the underground is like a shot of adrenalin. It's pure magic. It is no wonder all of this serves as an irresistible lure for those craving freedom. In this night-city, any sinner can find solace.

As you pass the main foyer of Hell's Den, an enormous set of double doors lies ahead. Three large, burly bouncers loiter at the entrance and peer closely at you all.

"Now what do we have here?" the bouncer booms, zeroing in on Gidel. The bouncer points towards the kid, accusatory. "Ain't he a little young for this joint?"

All heads turn towards Gidel, who stands proud and fearless in the face of these mountainous men. While most everyone else shifts nervously, Gidel plants his little hands on his hips and looks up at the bouncers unabashed, pursing his lips in an indignant pout and giving an extra little sassy bob of his head. He stands his ground with the cold, fierce and commanding presence of someone much older. The way his stance radiates authority, even in the face of danger, is both admirable and comical. The usual slouching and youthfulness of his mannerisms and body language are totally eradicated as the imperious stare he fixes on the bouncers bears down. Gidel is a fearless soldier—a fiercely determined, stalwart pillar in the face of adversity, daring the guards to deny him passage.

"You wound me, good sir," Fellow puts a gloved hand to his heart in a mock sign of hurt. "Of course, he is of drinking age. How insulting!" He levels them with his withering orange gaze. The muscle men shift uneasily at his silent challenge—the cocky facade is his customary tactic for warding off hostilities before they could grow and take root. "This here," he grabs the glowering Gidel, patting the child proudly on the head, "is the eldest of our party." The bouncers look at each other, then at the boy, then back to Fellow. The sheer absurdity of Fellow's statement is undeniable—no reasonable person would buy it.

Fellow goes on. "Cater, are you seeing this shit? Discrimination, in this day and age? Put these nitwits on blast," Fellow gestures to Cater's phone, and Cater begins filming. Gidel points aggressively at the bouncer, shaking his little index finger with the might of his wrath, as Fellow declares loudly, "I want everyone to know—this place is not welcome to those of different social stations, based on age or appearance. This is preposterous!" He turns his attention back to the bouncers, widening his arms to the gathering crowd.

"Bigotry, ageism, it's so awful! No wonder Gidel hides the fact that he's over 2,000 years old. Now I see why the man refuses to share the wisdom he's collected, the amazing anecdotes and experiences, and the undeniable brilliance he could impart upon the world—instead, he hides, ashamed, all due to the abuse he receives on a daily basis from these types of buffoons!" 

The surrounding individuals stare in stunned silence. "It's not Gidel who is the child here, but all of you. People should not be judged so harshly due to their appearance. Everyone should be accepted—their ideas, actions, and experiences embraced with respect, despite physical differences that set them apart. Everyone must be loved and appreciated, for there are precious gems everywhere we look in this beautiful world. The rich, diverse community of people who inhabit this planet should be able to share with all, learn from one another and work together in unity, free to be who they are without harassment!"

The neon light catches fresh tears running down various faces in the crowd. To add further insult to the bouncers’ injuries, Royal Sword Academy's Seven Dwarves—who happened to be waiting to get into the same bar—stare daggers at the gatekeepers and gather near Gidel in solidarity. Their angry, diminutive stature radiates powerful force when unified against a common enemy—it is truly a frightening sight to behold.

In one single swoop, Fellow swings public opinion in Gidel’s favor, inciting rage to right the wrong. The fervor of the crowd continues to rise. "Please, show our precious elder the respect he deserves. Do not look at him and see a mere child—look into his eyes to the aged visage beneath." His orange gaze bores into the guards. "Can you not sense his inner radiance, the power and splendor of his soul, and the treasures locked away within? Don't allow your prejudices and expectations to hold him back. Or you, for that matter. The sheer fact of his youthful appearance is no obstacle to greatness! And as long as you carry this narrow-minded sentiment, you will forever be barred from ever knowing the greatest secrets of the universe. Remember, folks! In the end, it isn't your status, money, or popularity that ultimately leads to a better future! It's our kindness, compassion, and tolerance." The conman punctuates his powerful speech with a satisfied swish of his fluffy tail, and the crowd cheers wildly in approval.

Cater is eating this up. His thumbs frantically type out a lengthy post that ends with his signature sparkling diamond hashtags, creating the most glorious online discourse. 

Trey is lost in thought, muttering to himself, "he does have the right idea, maybe he'd make a good Headmage after all." 

Kalim stares intently, with a faraway gleam in his eye, utterly entranced by Fellow. He’s just about ready to sign up for a personal tutoring session on the topic of the Universal Principles. 

The rest of your classmates have the most deadpan expression on their faces, looking at each other and silently communicating how deeply uninterested they all are at witnessing this bizarre, disturbing spectacle for the umpteenth time.

The guards can’t hide their bewilderment, and they reluctantly backpedal to let your group inside. You and Cater share a mischievous smile, impressed at Fellow's antics. 

Your devious fox pulls you flush to his body, ushering you into the club with a sly wink. "Shall we, dearest Y/n? Let’s make our debut, hmm?" He smirks in the direction of his brother as he spins you around, all while moving backwards into the bar. He bows deeply and gestures elegantly, indicating you should head inside first. You can't help giggling, covering your mouth to conceal the toothy grin that betrays your giddiness as you make your way inside. His eyes travel up and down your frame, marveling at your swaying hips, devouring every curve. His suggestive tongue wets his bottom lip before he bites it, fangs now visible. You're almost ashamed of how attracted you are to him.

Your classmates follow like ducklings trailing a parent, curious to see where the night will take them and if any of it will be blackmail-worthy. How amusing. They muffle laughter at Fellow's narcissistic flamboyance and over-exaggerated antics, taking note of every ridiculous attempt to woo you. A few pretend to gag, exchanging distressed, strained expressions—a theatrical attempt to shove down the raw, unbridled horror they feel at the thought of having to live through another performance of the clown show.

You're not even sure if he wears a persona—a true entertainer, for the thrill of it all—or if he's trying on sincerity for once. You suspect he's a walking caricature of his own making. Even so, the raw energy and manicured showmanship are alluring. His penchant for high-pitched laughter and dramatized emotion adds levity to an otherwise dark situation—something about it really tickles you. His potentially-feigned amusement lights up his impossibly expressive face in a manner that is genuinely contagious.

Slowly taking in your surroundings, your mouth falls slightly open. This was no ordinary dive bar—this was a full on club. A disco ball hangs from the ceiling, dispersing kaleidoscopic beams of color and light throughout the space. The rhythm throbs, perfectly synced with the strobe—each flash of luminescence reveals a slightly new scene. Sweaty bodies bend and sway to the thumping, seductive beat—you’re so ready to join them. Every face around you morphs into carefree bliss. From behind you, Fellow's presence is electrifying, playfully tracing his fingertips across the curve of your lower back as he leads you to the bar. His hand lightly smacks your ass, as if in approval, and your face warms. The effervescent air and residual excitement of escaping death creates an aphrodisiac unlike anything you’ve experienced. The pulsing bass, Fellow's slightly-territorial hand on your hip, and his sensual gaze makes your heart thump erratically. An aching want—no, need—simmers beneath your skin.

"May I get you a drink?" 

Fellow's soft words pull you from your daze, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes appraises your dilated pupils. His toothy grin widens. 

"You prefer sweet, don’t you? I know just the thing." 

He studies you lasciviously. 

"Freshly-squeezed juices and top shelf liqueurs always do the trick. I just love the taste of cherries." 

He brings his hand up to your cheek, the pads of his fingers hovering over the shell of your ear before landing around a stray tendril of hair. He twirls the silky strand between his gloved fingers and tucks it gently behind your ear. Tantalizing.

"Yes, please. That sounds delicious."

You giggle nervously, unable to break eye contact. You hadn’t noticed how full his lips were—the bottom pout most inviting. You hope he doesn't notice you gulp.

Somehow, the man's smile grows even bigger. He takes your hand in his, clasping it tightly and bringing it up to his mouth to plant a soft, chaste kiss. 

"Wait right here for me, won't you, my dear? I'll be back in a heartbeat." 

With a spin, he dances his way through the crowd towards the bartender, expertly navigating the chaos. You stand there dumbfounded, unable to keep the affection from blossoming in your chest; full, red, and so tight that you're afraid it might burst.

Hi, it's me again. Erica. The girl who said "my goal for 2024 is to spend the whole year writing!" Yeah. Sorry about that. Turns out that life sucks and writing is hard. I'm doing my best out here, though. I hope y'all enjoy this one! This shit really makes me laugh, so I hope you laughed too. If you want to create any art based on a scene from this, PLEASE do. I've already started working on chapter 3. I hope it won't take me forever to finish this story but, I'm really just taking my time with it. By "it" I mean, you know, getting to the whole point of this request, which is where Fellow Honest drunkenly confesses to you. But as you can see, we are going on a whole journey, here. I hope you love it! That's why I'm calling it a slice of life. I hope I get to talk to you all again really soon, in my next writing, which I hope... will be... soon. Love you all dearly, ❤️ Erica Malleleothreesome. P.S. I'll be at Anime Expo at the beginning of July. Come say hi!

[undercover-smutlover]

Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley…💀

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Works by @ghostsareeverywhereblah2

Guard Dogs Pt.1: “He’s even cuter in person”

Guard Dogs Pt.2: “She’s always listened, just not to you”

The Progeny Series: “Shit, Lt. Looks like you actually have a real admirer”

Grumpy x Sunshine: Who in the world can be in a relationship with Simon?

Works by @lethalchiralium

Delicate + König: You were glad you had them both, satisfying your needs

Raindrops: He’s trying to remember every moment

Works by @ghosts-cyphera

Bloodied Bullets, Soft Confessions: “I guess I’d been lucky so far.”

Pornstar Ghost:  All genuine, from both of you

Works by @peachesofteal

Dead Disco: The one that’s always left behind

Light On: Simon has a new neighbor

Through Me (The Flood): Still, even in this moment, you leave him breathless

Works by @lvrxly

Singledad!Ghost: "Eh, I kinda like your son more than you, he's less broody," You tease

An Odd Feeling:

Works by @chaosandmarigolds

Among the Bullets Ch.1 Pt.1, Ch.1 Pt.2, Ch.2 Pt.1 , Ch.2 Pt.2: “Adrenaline makes the body do some pretty insane things, sir.”

Pre-K Universe

Works by @tojisun

My Baby Swinging: Simon and his pretty little sweetheart’s adventures

The Apple that rolled over to The Tree

It Takes A Rampage (to be a dad)

HockeyPlayer!Simon

Works by @bi-writes

Final Girl

Pregnant!Reader Snapping at Simon

Clean Up Call

Works by @writersdrug

Training For Two

Tea and Cigarettes

Works by @halcyone-of-the-sea

Sole Survivor: “Who’s the guy with the mohawk?”

Digging Gaze: But he was afraid, as well. Terrified

Three Is A Crowd by @xyziiix: Well your Captain always like proving you wrong

Cherry by @barefoothighlander: Ghost finds out about your side gig

The Captain by @as-is-above-so-below: Ghost’s wife joins the team on an op agaisnt his wishes

Bleeding Out Pt.1, Bleeding Out Pt.2 and Bleeding Out Pt.3 by @constantcrisis19: A bomb almost levels the entire town. Ghost extracts you.

Oneshots & Multichapter and Price’s Birthday by @rileyslibrary: An entire collection of Simon Riley oneshots

The Things I Never Said Pt.1 and The Things I Never Said Pt.2 by @lvlyghost: When the inevitable happens, you run

Ghost in the Austrian Asylum by @prazinos: The two of you want him as well

Painless Bruises by @tacticaldiary: Avoiding Simon’s gaze is harder than it’s ever been

The Experiments by @diaryofanidiot: Forced to fight and claw her way to live

The Accused by @amoristt: You fucking ran. What choice did you have?

Badges of Honor by @clairdelunelove: Ghost always recieves the biggest stickers

King!Ghost x Princess!Reader by @hyperactively-me: Stubborn Princess who warms up to the King

Ghost x Civillian Masterlist by @sim0nril3y: How he met his civillian and fell in love

The Twins by @princessdimondheart: He saw his own eyes

How many fingers am I holding up by @sprout-fics: “Don’t hate me for this, Si.” You think weakly

Lime-Sized by @imperihoe-writes: Sighing happily, she wiggled a bit deeper into his embrace

Bodyguard!Simon x Popstar!Reader by @xo-cod: Simon looks on in pride

Phantom Frost Line by @diejager: You’re a new face, unknown to Ghost and he isn’t too keen about the news

Nothing’s New by @thewriterg: He held you like he always will and as he always had

Unmasked Love by @springtyme: she turns her head to look over at you with an excited expression on her little face

Welcome Home by @babygirl-riley: but when she was around wow, he would make sure everyone knew who she was

Odds On by @bits-and-babs: The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory

His Heart, His Light, His World by @thexsilentxwordsmith: "You deserve it all, Simon. Every once of it."

Unexpected by @dammn-dean: Simon felt a pang of something up his spine, similar to jealousy but close to disappointment in himself.

If Only You Would Have Trusted Me by @ltghosty: That was the only thing that helped you come to peace with the things you were forced to do in order to protect your family.

Husband!Simon by @ahqkas: he didn’t hesitate to scoop the smiling baby up into his arms

Glory Days by @sstormyskyesss: If you weren't focused on calculating the best strategy out of this particular setback, you’d be able to see the stars in Simon’s eyes

Simon Riley Collection by @starstruckmiraclekitty:

Cure For Me [zombie!ghost] by @groguspicklejar:

Who Wants to Live Forever by @writeforfandoms: Then his lips twitched. “Took you long enough.” 

Vegas Wedding by @ceilidho: When he stretches an arm up to scratch his upper back, you almost whimper at the way his arm bulges. 

Secret Haven by @lightwing-s: and the moment his eyes caught yours you could clearly understand his message.

Lovely by @daisies-daydreams: “Even though this isn’t on my finger while I’m at work, I’ll always act like it is,” you reassured him

Homeward Bound AU by @writeforfandoms: You spared a brief thought of thanks that your mother had taught you everything about this job. 

Firefighter!Simon Riley by @thelaisydazy: He loves the ones handed over the counter by the cute worker that smiles at him and fusses over the dog every morning.

Simon’s Favorite Hair by @lovifie: And in that moment, with your hair still in his hand, he knew he was in trouble.

Coffee Shop by @sinkovia: His life was good, and he couldn't ask for more

The Next of Kin by @soapybutt17: Many eyes had lingered on you when they heard your last name

Nurse by @jayybugg: Ghost stayed silent. His eyes stay trained on you, no words or sounds coming from him.

Gold Rush by @midnightarcheress

Soft Spot by @cordeliawhohung

Hatred For You Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5 by @mangowafflesss

Dad!Simon by @tacticalgirlboss

Accidental Sugar Baby Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3 by @brainoutofstock

Special Eye on Singlemom!Reader by @bi-writes

Meeting Single-mom!Reader by @zvdvdlvr

Russian Roulette by @writingangst

No More by @mayflysdie

Footballer Simon by @dante-mightdie

Transferrable Skills by @dragonnarrative-writes

implied fat!reader x bluecollar!simon riley by @drgnflyteabox

Was Warm by @eevee-of-eternity

Ghosting Series Pt.1, Pt.2 by @bittersw33t-lotus

Weird by @fivechapters

Beaded Bracelet by @manicrouge

The Poor Decision by @ceilidho

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[mariasont]

Ours Minds Entwined----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4

Spencer Reid x Original Character x Aaron Hotchner

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

Chapter Three:

The precinct doors swung open, admitting the BAU team into a world where the air was heavy with the scent of stale coffee and the buzz of fluorescent lights. The local officers, scattered like leaves, paused mid-motion their gazes drawn at the badged newcomers. Among them, the chief stood out, his shoulders bearing the slump of defeat.

Evelyn stepped through the threshold, her arrival stirring the calm atmosphere as subtly as a breeze disturbs a tranquil pond. The male officers couldn't help but glance up from their desks, their conversations trailing off as they took in her confident stride and bright energy she carried like a torch. She was oblivious to the subtle shifts in posture, the stolen glances that followed her path to the map.

Hotchner's gaze, sharp and discerning, caught the brief interplay of looks, a silent conversation in the language of glances. Beside him, Reid's observation was more analytical, noting the dynamics without judgment, his mind already cataloging and discarding the information as irrelevant to the task at hand.

Hotchner's voice cut through the low buzz of the precinct, clear and authoritative. "We're here to assist, not take over. Your insights are invaluable." His words were a bridge, extending partnership to the weary officers.

The chief, a grizzled veteran with eyes that had seen too much, stepped forward to greet them. "We're at a dead end," he admitted, shaking Hotchner's hand with a grip that spoke of desperation. "This guy is thorough, leaves no trace."

Reid, his eyes sharp behind the lenses of his glasses, peered over the crime scene photos scattered across the table. "Has there been any consistency in the locations of the attacks?" he asked, his mind already sifting through the data like a codebreaker.

A detective, her badge dulled by the dust of the chase, shook her head. "All within a ten-mile radius, but no specific pattern. Random as far as we can tell."

Evelyn leaned over the map, her fingers tracing the spider web of roads and locations, her brow in concentration. "Not random, a constellation..." she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

It was there, in the quiet hum of her focus, the pattern emerged--a dance of dates and places that wove together.

"Look at the dates," Evelyn said, her voice a beacon cutting through the fog. "Each one aligns with a local event. It's not random; it's opportunistic. He's hiding in plain sight, using the crowds as cover for escape."

Silence fell, a heavy cloak, as all eyes turned to Evelyn. Reid's lips quivered in a semblance of a smile, his respect for her clear in the warmth of his eyes. "She's right," he affirmed. "The unsub isn't just local; he's embedded in the community, using public events as his hunting ground."

Hotchner's nod was slow, thoughtful, the gears of strategy turning behind his stoic facade. "Good work, Evelyn. Let's get a list of upcoming events, cross-reference with his known comfort zone. We might just catch him in the act."

--

The office was a cocoon of concentration, bathed in the soft hum of working minds. The only sources of light were the twin glows of computer screens, reflecting off Reid and Evelyn's focused faces. Papers littered the desk, each one a piece of the puzzle they were desperately trying to solve.

Reid, his eyes scanning the data before them, spoke without looking away from the screen. "If we consider the unsub's preference for high-density events, it's logical to deduce that he will utilize the inherent disorder as a smokescreen for his escape," he said, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room.

Evelyn's eyes, bright with the thrill of the hunt, were fixed on the screen as she leaned forward, her curiosity piqued by the list of events. Her hair had loosened during the long hours of research, giving her an air of approachability.

Reid, ever the picture of academic focus, had his brows furrowed in concentration. His hair was a bit more unruly than usual, the curls just slightly askew. The faintest hint of a five o'clock shadow graced his jawline, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise youthful appearance.

Evelyn leaned in, her eyes scanning the list. "What about this one?" she asked, pointing to an entry on the screen. "The annual bourbon event. It's popular, draws a big crowd, and it's happening within his hunting grounds."

Reid's eyes flickered with approval. "Good catch," he affirmed, his voice steady and calm, yet there was an undercurrent of enthusiasm for her keen observation.

Evelyn's cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, her eyes sparkling with pride. The praise from Dr. Reid, sent a wave of elation through her--all the way in between her thighs. She dragged her lower lip through her teeth, straightening her posture, as she turned to him. "So, we could catch him there," she said.

Reid observed the transformation with a gentle, knowing smile. There was a vibrancy to Evelyn's enthusiasm that reminded him so vividly of his own younger self--brilliant, eager to prove, and somewhat oblivious to the darkness they were about to face. Yet, there was a shadow of concern that crept into his thoughts; the job had a way of chipping away at one's spirit, and he hoped Evelyn would be spared the harsher realities for a little while longer. He saw her potential for greatness, but also the innocence that he once carried--an innocence he hoped to protect, even if just for a little while longer.

Reid leaned back in his chair, his eyes meeting Evelyn's with a mentor's patience. "It's a multifaceted problem," he began, his tone measured and informative. "We have to account for variables that could influence the unsub's behavior--law enforcement visibility, crowd dynamics, ingress and egress points."

Evelyn nodded, her pen pausing over the notebook that was quickly becoming a testament to her dedication. "Right, exit strategies," she echoed, her voice a mix of realization and admiration. "I didn't even think about that."

"There's always a pattern, a logic to their choices, even if it's skewed by their own delusions," Reid continued, the profiler in him surfacing as he spoke. "Our job is to decode that logic, to think like them, so we can be there to stop them."

Evelyn's scribbles grew more fervent, her eyes alight with the challenge. "To get into their heads," she mused, looking up at Reid with newfound understanding.

"Exactly," Reid affirmed with a nod, a subtle smile acknowledging her quick grasp of the concept. "And remember, the most seemingly insignificant detail could be the key to unlocking their next move."

The realization struck like a bolt of lightning, and the urgency was palpable in the room. Evelyn's breath hitched as she stared at the date, her voice a mix of alarm and adrenaline. "Reid, it's tomorrow," she said, the words tumbling out with the weight of their implications.

Reid's reaction was immediate, his sharp mind already racing through the implications. His eyes now mirrored Evelyn's intensity. "We need to call Hotch," he stated, the command in his voice leaving no room for hesitation.

--

The BAU team, after hours of meticulous planning for the bourbon festival operation, stepped into the hotel lobby--a spacious area with high ceilings and a grand chandelier casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and fatigue from the day's efforts.

Morgan's eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the surroundings before resting on Evelyn. His muscular frame relaxed against the front desk, his FBI badge glinting under the lobby's lights. "You know, for a rookie, you're not too shabby at this profiling gig," he teased, his voice carrying a hint of respect.

Evelyn, despite the exhaustion that shadowed her features, still managed to exude an effortless elegance. Her hair, usually tied back for practicality, had strands falling loosely around her face, softening her determined expression. "Oh, please. I learned from watching the best," she quipped, nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

Morgan chuckled. "Just remember, it's all fun and games until someone gets out-profiled by the new kid."

In the hours between the precinct and the hotel, the team had dissected every detail of the unsub's previous attacks. They mapped out the festival grounds, assigned undercover positions, and established communication protocols. They even ran through several scenarios, each time refining their strategy to ensure they were ready for any contingency.

As they finalized check-ins, Garcia buzzed in with last-minute intel, adding another layer to the plan. They would need to be vigilant, adaptive, and above all, united to outsmart a foe who had eluded everyone thus far. The team dispersed to their rooms, Reid lingering behind with Evelyn as their rooms ended up being next to each other.

The dimly lit hallway to their rooms was quiet, save for the soft thud of their footsteps on the plush carpet. Reid walked alongside Evelyn; his profile bathed in the intermittent glow of the overhead lights. His hair was tousled, likely from the countless times he'd run his fingers through it in thought, giving him a disheveled charm that Evelyn couldn't help but find endearing.

As they reached her door, Evelyn's bag strap slipped from her shoulder, prompting her to grasp it tighter. In doing so, the sleeve of her blouse shifted, revealing the gentle slope of her collarbone. Reid's gaze inadvertently followed the movement, and he felt an inexplicable warmth flood to his cheeks. It was a simple, innocent moment, yet it stirred something within him.

"Here we are," Evelyn said, her voice breaking the silence as she fumbled with her key card.

Reid, still slightly flustered, cleared his throat. "Yeah, um, goodnight, Evelyn. See you in the morning," he managed to say, his eyes lingered a moment longer than they should've before he turned towards his own door.

"Goodnight, Spencer," she replied, her use of his first name sending a ripple through the air.

--

The bourbon festival buzzed with energy, a tapestry of sounds and colors under the open sky. The scent of oak and vanilla wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet, earthy aroma of the surrounding food stalls. Laughter and lively conversations created a backdrop to the twang of banjos and fiddles playing a lively bluegrass tune, setting toes tapping on the grassy grounds.

As Evelyn navigated the festival crowd, Reid found his attention inadvertently drawn to her. The way the setting sun played with her hair, transforming it into a cascade of burnished waves, and the way the sundress accentuated her every curve with an understated elegance. There was something about Evelyn in this light, in this moment, that captivated him, and he caught himself appreciating the sight more than he had anticipated.

Reid's attire was a departure from his usual suits--a plaid shirt that brought out the flecks of amber in his eyes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark jeans that were both functional and inconspicuous. His hair lay in casual disarray, seeming as though the festival's carefree spirit had influenced his usually precise appearance.

The bourbon festival was in full swing, the air filled with the sounds of laughter and music. Undercover among the revelers, Reid and Evelyn blended in seamlessly, their casual attire and relaxed demeanor belying the sharp vigilance in their eyes.

Evelyn leaned against a wooden stall, sipping her fake drink as she observed the crowed. "So, we're looking for a male in his 30s, likely with a history of gambling debts and penchant for superstition," she recited quietly to Reid.

Reid, who was pretending to be engrossed in a festival brochure, nodded subtly. "Exactly. The four-leaf clover he leaves with his victims--it's not just superstition; it's a signature. It suggests a compulsion, a need to leave his mark, which is indicative of a narcissistic personality. He's taunting law enforcement, believing he can control the outcome of his crimes--like he's playing his own game of chance."

Evelyn, her voice low and steady leaned in. "So, we're looking for someone who blends in too well, someone who's watching but not engaging," she observed, her gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Reid nodded, his attention divided between her and the faces passing by. "Our unsub targets individuals who are isolated, perhaps separated from the group--easy prey in a setting like this," he explained.

Evelyn's eyes followed his line of sight. "Right, the loners. The ones who look like they're searching for something or someone," she added.

As the evening progressed, the shadows began to cast across the faces of the crowd. Reid and Evelyn moved through the throng, their gazes sharp and discerning. They passed a group of raucous college students, their laughter ringing out as they clinked their glasses in a toast. A little further on, a family of four navigated the crowd, the children's faces painted with whimsical designs, their hands sticky with cotton candy.

The air was rich with the scent of smoked meats and the char of oak barrels, the soundscape a blend of folk music and the murmur of hundreds of conversations.

Reid's voice was low as he leaned in, "It's fascinating how a beverage can be both a social lubricant and a potential clue in a criminal investigation. I suppose that adds a whole new layer to the term 'spirit detective'."

Evelyn's laughter was like a melody that cut through the ambient noise of the festival, infectious and unrestrained. It was the kind of laugh that turned heads, not just for its volume but for its genuine quality.

She turned to Reid, her eyes alight with a playful glint. "So, we're adding 'spirit detective' to your already impressive resume? I must say, it's quite the title upgrade from genius profiler," she quipped, her tone teasing.

"Easy, we don't want to draw attention," Reid murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. Her laugh was a laugh he realized he wanted to hear again, a candid burst of warmth that cut through the coolness of his analytical mind.

The festival's din faded into the background as Evelyn's attention was momentarily captured by Hotch's presence. He stood there, a figure of quiet authority even in his casual undercover attire. The subtle checkered pattern of his shirt did little to conceal his disciplined build, and the way his jeans fit just right made Evelyn's mouth feel dry all of a sudden.

Hotch's eyes, usually a well of stoicism, held a flicker of something else as they met Evelyn's--a momentary lapse in his guarded demeanor. His gaze, sharp and assessing, traveled over her in a swift, sweeping motion that was both professional and personal. It lingered just a beat too long on the curve of her neckline.

Hotch, after his brief lapse, was once again the picture of professionalism. His conversation with Rossi resumed, his demeanor unreadable, the brief moment of personal interest concealed behind a mask of focus and command. Evelyn, still oblivious to the subtle undercurrents of attraction, turned her attention back to the mission, her mind as sharp as ever.

Evelyn excused herself from Spencer, weaving through the crowd in search of the bathroom. The path to the restrooms was a stark contrast to the bourbon-soaked revelry Evelyn had left behind. The vibrant string of lights gave way to the occasional flickering bulb that did little to pierce the encroaching darkness. The music, once a lively companion, now played a muffled soundtrack to her solitary walk, the notes distorted and distant.

The restrooms, a small cluster of temporary structures, stood isolated at the edge of the festival grounds. Evelyn's boots sank slightly in the soft earth with each step, the recent rain turning the ground to a treacherous mix of mud and grass.

As she stepped out, the sense of solitude was abruptly shattered. A hand clamped over her mouth with startling force, stifling the scream that rose in her throat. Her assailant's arm was an iron band around her, pulling her back against a solid chest. Panic flared, her breath hot and desperate against the palm pressed to her lips.

Panic surged, her heart thundering in her chest, her mind screaming for action, but her body momentarily paralyzed by fear. It was him--the unsub. His breath was hot against her ear, his grip unyielding.

Adrenaline surged through Evelyn's veins, her training taking over as she drove her elbow back with precision, aiming for the soft of her attacker's abdomen. The unsub grunted, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist out of his hold. The unsub recovered quickly; his face contorted with anger.

He lunged at her, throwing a punch that Evelyn narrowly dodged. She countered with a swift kick to his knee, causing him to buckle, but he was relentless. He swung again, this time connecting with her cheek, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her jaw.

Evelyn staggered but didn't falter. She wiped the trickle of blood from her lip and glared at the unsub with fierce determination. With a swift move, she stepped inside his reach, delivered a powerful uppercut that snapped his head back, and followed with a knee to his midsection that doubled him over.

As he gasped for air, Evelyn seized the opportunity. She grabbed his arm, twisted behind his back, and pushed him down to the ground. "FBI! You're under arrest," she declared, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.

The scene was a rush of motion as the team manifested in an instant. Reid's face was a canvas of raw concern, his eyes searching for signs of distress. Hotch allowed a rare glimpse of worry to surface as he took in her appearance--the bleeding lip and the bruise blooming on her cheek. Evelyn's hair, though slightly disheveled from the altercation, framed her face.

The team's anxiety was palpable, a collective breath held until they were certain she was unharmed. It was her first case, and the stakes had never felt more personal. Yet, as Evelyn stood there, her bright smile breaking through the tension, her spirit undimmed by the encounter.

"I got him!" she declared; her smile unwavering as she met the eyes of her team.

--

Evelyn perched precariously on the cold metal edge of the ambulance, the harsh glare of its lights casting long shadows on the pavement. The EMT, with gentle hands, tended to the gash on her lip--a stark red against her skin. Each touch of the disinfectant was a sharp reminder of the day's chaos, a stinging sensation that seemed to echo her inner turmoil.

Despite the pain, Evelyn found solace in the rhythm of conversation, her words weaving between the EMT's methodical treatment. She spoke of trivial things at first, the weather, the relentless pace of the city, anything to keep the silence at bay. Yet, even as her voice trembled slightly, revealing cracks in her usually unflappable demeanor, she smiled--a smile, wistful curve of the lips.

Spencer's approach was hesitant, his hands buried deep in the refuge of his pockets, betraying a casual facade that his furrowed brow contradicted. As he drew nearer, the dim light fell upon Evelyn's features, illuminating the stark contrast of bruised skin against the sterile white of the ambulance's interior. His eyes, a mirror of his internal struggle, winced at the sight, a silent testament to the empathy that swelled within him.

"How you holding up?" he inquired, his voice a soft undercurrent amidst the wail of distant sirens. The concern in his tone was evident, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

Evelyn, her face a canvas of the day's trails, bore the marks of the ordeal with an unsettling grace. The cut on her lip, now cleaned, was a vivid line drawn across her otherwise smooth complexion. Flecks of dried blood were still visible.

Evelyn's smile, though small and tinged with irony, was a testament to her unyielding optimism. "I've had better nights," she quipped, the humor in her voice a gentle balm against the sting of the EMT's ministrations. As a fresh bandage adhered to her cheek--she winced.

"I know it's part of the job, but... I'm sorry you had to go through that," Spencer said, his eyes meeting hers with sincerity.

Evelyn's shrug was a delicate dance of nonchalance, her shoulders lifting in a gesture that belied the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. "Comes with the territory, right?" she said, her voice a mix of jest and earnest. "Besides, we got him, and that's what counts." Her words were a shield, a deflection of the concern she saw mirrored in Spencer's eyes.

Spencer's response was a nod, subtle yet laden with the weight of unspoken words. The corner of his mouth curved into a faint smile, a silent accolade for her courage. "You did good, Evelyn. Really good." His affirmation was simple, but it carried the depth of his respect for her, for the strength she wielded so effortlessly.

"Thanks," Evelyn replied, her gratitude genuine, a softening in the steel of her eyes. "For checking on me." It was a moment of vulnerability, a crack in her armor that allowed gratitude to seep through.

"It's what teammates do." Spencer said, his voice a low timbre that seemed to resonate with the quiet of the night. His gaze held hers, a momentary tether, it lingered a beat longer than necessary.

As the silence stretched between them, a figure approached, his footsteps measured and purposeful. It was Hotch, his presence commanding even in the dim light. He carried with him a blanket. Spencer, ever perceptive, felt the shift in the air and excused himself with a nod, stepping away to give them space. Hotch's eyes met Evelyn's, a wordless exchange passing between them before he spoke.

"You should keep warm," Hotch said, his voice firm yet laced with concern. He unfolded the blanket with practiced ease and draped it over her shoulders, the soft material enveloping in a gentle embrace. His eyes inadvertently lingered on the wound upon her lip, the starkness of the injury drawing his focus. It was a fleeting moment, but in it, there was an intensity. The EMT, giving them a brief nod, finished up and moved aside, leaving them in a quiet bubble of privacy.

Evelyn pulled the blanket tighter around her, the fabric against the night's chill. Hotch's proximity was a force itself, the air charged with an energy that seemed to pulse with each of his measured breaths. She was acutely aware of his gaze, the way it rested upon her with an intensity that was both unsettling and reassuring.

"Thank you," she murmured, her gaze lifting the meet Hotch's steady one.

Hotch's stance was as resolute as his reputation, his figure cutting a commanding silhouette against the flickering lights of the emergency vehicles. "Evelyn," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of authority softened by a trace of concern. His eyes, usually a guarded fortress, held a glimmer of uncharacteristic turmoil as they fixed upon her.

Evelyn, still cocooned in the blanket, looked up to meet his gaze. The ambient light played across her features, highlighting the youthful resolve etched into her bruised face.

In that moment, as he saw her standing her ground, something within Hotch shifted. The sight of her in the fray, fiercely fighting for her life, had ignited a surge of panic unlike anything he'd experienced with other team members. It was a visceral reaction, one that puzzled him with the intensity. Was it the paternal instinct to protest the progeny of his old friend and mentor, Gideon? Or was it something else?

Whatever the cause, it was a jarring sentiment that Hotch quickly compartmentalized, returning to the matter at hand with his usual stoic clarity. "You know the risks of going off alone, even for a moment," he reiterated, his stern gaze lingering on the cut of her lip--a silent reproof of her impulse.

Evelyn absorbed the words, her own eyes reflecting a complex mix or appreciation and a newfound understanding of the weight of her actions.

Hotch's gaze softened as he concluded, "Despite that, you handled yourself well out there. It's clear you're Gideon's daughter, and that's not just a responsibility--it's a strength. I have no doubt you'll become an invaluable part of this team. You're going to be okay, Evelyn."

next

[trashmouth-richie]

Series summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

ch 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

ch 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THE RED LIGHTS

ch 4: FAMILY VALUES

series trigger warnings: blood, character death, murder, smut, p in v, drinking & smoking pot, themes of misuse of prescription pills, character killer, stranger things canon events, light mentions of domestic abuse, neglect, etc.

BUY TICKETS

PROMO FLYER

part 1 summary: a movie night with friends ends with a very scared Nancy and you and your best friend getting high in your room, when the lights flicker across town— you + Eddie brush it off as nothing— because Hawkins Indiana has always been a little strange.

FLICKER

The popcorn bowl in your lap is nearly empty, only brown kernels left to shift noisily as Eddie’s hand scrapes around the bowl in chase of one last piece of the buttery snack.

Your eyes are glued to the screen, breath hitched in your throat as you watch Michael Myers stalk down the street. Even though you’ve seen it a dozen times, it still gets to you. Something about the rubbery, expressionless mask he dons as he chases and slashes through people's skin just rubs you the wrong way. 

“Ohhh fuck!” Eddie gleams, Michael’s knife cutting through Annie’s throat, “did ya see that?!”

“Trying not to,” Nancy muffles, her face buried into the broad shoulder of Steve, small hand clasped around her eyes, Steve’s arms pulling her closer into him.  

Movie nights in the Wheeler basement were a typical Friday for your group of friends. Something that you weren’t sure would continue to happen after you, Eddie and Steve graduated this past May. Being waitlisted for your dream school put your endeavors on hold and neither one of them had any grand plans of leaving Hawkins, especially since Steve and Nancy had rekindled their on-again-off-again relationship. 

Currently they were on again, and dipping into near pornography whenever they thought no one was watching or listening.

“I gotcha,” Steve purred into Nancy’s mouse brown hair, rubbing her back, “c’mon Munson, turn this shit off.”

“No!” You and Eddie both say at once. 

He smirks at you. The same dimpled closed mouth grin he had given you since you were thirteen years old. He clears his throat, “It’s almost over anyway.”

Eddie’s love for movies and music came at a young age. Anything to keep his mind busy while his parent’s fought. Anything to keep the noise of the screen door slapping shut as his mom fled their trailer again, his dad hot on her heels and swinging a fist through the dark night trying to make contact. Anything to drown out the noise and squeal of her tires kicking up rocks and dead grass against the aluminum trailer as she sped away, this time for the last time— without him.

He was your friend before his mom had left and any of that had started, and he had spent more nights sleeping on your couch than he had his own bed. You were comfortable with Eddie in ways that girls shouldn’t be with their best friends who were boys. But you could care less. It was always, and forever would be, platonic between you and Eddie Munson. 

Reaching over the laps of both Eddie and Steve, you tug Nancy’s shirt until she peeks over Steve’s collar. You mouth bathroom? And she nods, getting up and following you, trying not to trip over a very drunk Robin or passed out Johnathan. 

The light in the bathroom does absolutely nothing for Nancy’s complexion, playing on the peaked look of her skin and illuminating dark circles under her eyes that you normally had not seen. She sits on the sink and holds her arms against her chest as you finish up, washing your hands next to her. 

“How can you guys watch that stuff?” She half whispers and sniffs, rubbing a petite hand under her red nose. 

Drying your hands, you shrug, hanging the towel back up on the hook, looking back at your reflection and fixing your smudged eyeliner,  “it’s just a movie Nance,” you say to her through the mirror, “besides, the possibility of something like that happening in Hawkins, are pretty damn slim.”

She shakes her head of ill thoughts, “yeah, o-‘f course, I just,” a chill runs through her, tickling her spine and making her skin goosebump, “the thought of it is… scary.”

“I think that’s the whole point.”

Opening the door, Steve audibly gasps at the next jump scare, and Eddie claps along hooting and hollering as Michael’s next victim joins the dead. 

“I hate Halloween,”she mutters to herself, hopping down from the sink following you out to your friends. 

-

Nancy spent the remainder of the movie with a lamp on, reading over her English paper for Mrs. Click’s class that was due in a few weeks, huffing in disapproval at either the movie or her paper you weren’t sure. 

Robin wedges her way onto the couch with the four of you, whisper yelling about how stupid the characters are and how none of it makes any sense. 

“You’re ruining it Buckley, shh!” Eddie says, placing a ringed hand over her mouth. And you can’t help but laugh at them both. 

Robin licked the flat of his palm, her signature move, and Eddie squealed in disgust, “fucks sake Robin.” 

“Aww,” Robin says, squeezing his cheeks with her long chip painted fingers, “don’t be jealous Eddie-bear.. you probably won’t know this but that smell is puss— ow!”

Your elbow digs into her ribs, “shh!” you sneer, 

The ending credits roll and Eddie’s on his feet, ejecting the tape and slotting it into the paper protector. “Who’s up for the second one?”

He groans when the entire room yells no. Pouting and shoving the tape into his backpack. “What about you Byers?” he asks, kicking Jonathan’s leg to bring him back to life. 

“Huh?” he asks through a yawn, rubbing his shocking red eyes, “nah man I’m cool, need to get home, mom is working late and Will’s by himself.” 

He tosses the pillow he was using into the arm chair and trudges up the steps, saying see ya laters and thanks as he leaves. 

Eddie shoots you a wink and you stand reaching for the blankets you were cuddling with and fold them neatly onto the couch. 

Robin stumbles up the stairs behind Jonathan, trying to score a ride so she doesn't have to walk the three blocks to her place completely drunk. 

Steve pulls Nancy in his lap. She’s whispering to him with tears brimming her bright blue eyes, but you can’t hear what she’s saying.

“Yeah, c’mon” he whispers against her hairline, holding her up so they can both stand, “still have your toothbrush at mine… hey, we’re going to my place,” he announces to you and Eddie, just turn the lights off and we’ll see you tomorrow for opening day right?”

The Annual Hawkins Halloween Carnival was in town, and after two years of working the county fair in Roane County, you had all been asked to work at the carnival this fall. 

The carnival schedule was the weekend before Halloween to the weekend of Halloween. 

Seven days of thrills and chills. Pumpkin carving, face painting, a corn maze that seemed to go for miles, the best food in the Midwest, and finally the usual carnival rides with a sick twist of Halloween themed frights. 

Orientation was last week Saturday and Sunday a grueling 7am-7pm both days. Mr. Creel went over expectations and rules for you as staff to follow. 

It seemed easy enough. You and Eddie were put on rides just like you had been all summer. Nancy and Argyle were in charge of games, Tina and one of her cheerleader friends were doing the pumpkin carving. 

Steve and Robin would be set up in a small booth sponsored by Scoops Ahoy from morning until 5 pm, later taking over on rides for Eddie while he and Corroded Coffin made their debut on stage at night. 

 Steve was still pissed that they were insistent on him wearing the blue sailor uniform, even though the mall burned down last July— they managed to have Mrs. Sinclair sew the outfit for him.  

Jonathan would help Argyle and Nancy with the nickel and dime games, ones designed to have parents shell out pockets of change to have their kids possibly win a stuffed animal that wasn’t even worth an entire dollar. 

Billy Hargrove— who you were certain fled town after the mall fire, was apparently still in Hawkins and now in charge of the haunted hay ride at night and the corn maze during the day. 

Him and Eddie used to be close during his senior year, but it all fell apart and you weren’t really sure why. When you asked, Eddie would shrug it off, claiming he had changed after graduation, and that was that. 

You were surprised that the staff was minimal even though the festival was bigger and had more events going on than the summer carnival did, but you didn’t want to jinx your chances of working for it next year. Rumor was, Creel paid double for the Halloween event, Eddie called it the chance of a lifetime, and you knew it’d  be stupid to mess it up by asking questions. 

-

“Thanks for letting me stay again,” Eddie mumbles after you toss him the sleeping bag from your closet, “didn’t know he’d be home tonight.” 

After you had drove home from Nancy’s you had barely gotten into your room when your phone rang, it was Eddie and he was at the payphone outside of Benny’s. 

It’s me, can I stay over?

you didn’t think twice, telling Eddie yes and hanging up the phone. 

His dad had been released from county two weeks ago after Eddie finally scraped enough bail money together to get him out. He swore this was the last time he’d do it but you knew better than that.

Eddie was a lot of things but he wouldn’t let his dad rot in some cell. Even though he deserved every single second of being there. 

Al Munson had been in and out of jail since you could remember, petty crimes this and grand theft auto that. He was hardly a stable male figure for Eddie. 

But to the doe eyed boy with brown curly hair— Al hung the moon. 

It nearly killed Wayne Munson to see Eddie stick up for his old man, but he still offered his home to Al whenever he came through town on his next stunt, bleeding Eddie’s pockets dry and taking every emotional spark left in him when he tore out of the driveway, just before the blue and red lights could follow.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrug tossing him one of your pillows, “you know you’re more than welcome here, anytime.” 

Even though your parents hated the idea, you moved into the old apartments across town the week after graduation. Full of naive wonder and wanting some privacy you worked all the hours you could between Meldvald’s and Bradley’s Big Buy, earning just enough to have a couple hundred dollars left to go into savings after rent. 

The faucets leaked, the paint was chipping and probably poisonous, the front door didn’t even lock properly, but you could care less: it was freedom.

Eddie grabs the hem of his shirt and drags it over his head, revealing his tattooed chest and silver bar nipples, wincing when his shirt grazes the new piercing. His curls tickling his shoulders. 

“I know,” he grunts, unclasping his belt and chain from his jeans, tossing them to the floor beside his makeshift bed, “I just worry one day you’ll get sick of pitying the Munson charity case all the time.” 

He scoffs when you throw a pillow at him, “what I’m serious!”

“Knock it off, Bam Bam, you’re my best friend, I’m never getting sick of you.”

“oh Christ, listen—” he began, shaking his head in disgust and holding up a ringed hand to stop you, “this game only goes one way, babe, and that’s me calling you the same name I have since we were six.” 

You roll your eyes, a sudden heat to your cheeks that lately was becoming more and more prevalent each time Eddie used your nickname or an endearing name someone would use for a girlfriend. 

But that was just how Eddie was, he even called Ms. O’Donnell “honey” once to ace a test but all he got was a big fat ‘F’ and a week’s worth of detentions.  

Eddie reaches into his pocket for the plastic film, “besides, you only keep me around because you can smoke for free,” he says, presenting the pre-rolled joints and his trusty zippo. 

“Ooh, and he brings gifts? you shouldn’t have,” you mock in a terrible accent, fanning yourself with your hand as if you were a true southern bell, “it's not even my birthday, mister.” 

Eddie gets into the bit, sitting cross legged on your bed and dumping the contents of the bag onto your comforter, the skin of your knees touching, “well it’s not every day a lonely feller like me comes across a lady lookin’ as fine as you.”

Giggling he licks the end of the paper to seal it tight and you lick your own lips in greedy anticipation. You loved movie nights with all your friends, but there was always something special about being alone with Eddie. 

It was calming, but maybe it was just having him around that made the stress of bills and everything else just fade away. He had that special way about him. 

Holding the joint and lighter up for you his eyes locked with yours, and you swore his cheeks went pink, “ladies first, princess.” 

—-

Across town, Steve was spending the evening with his lips on Nancy’s neck, huffing when she gasps when the bed creaks from his movement. 

“Sorry— I’m still a little freaked out.”

Steve brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, “there’s nothing to worry about honey— I promise, I’ll keep you safe. You know that right?”

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “I-I know that, I’m— it’s just this time of year that always gives me the creeps.” 

Nancy Wheeler had gained minor popularity when she struck the fancy of the king of Hawkins High. She wasn’t used to it, finding the glory of being Steve’s girlfriend suffocating. 

“Well I’ve got somethin that isn’t creepy,” he coos into the shell of her ear, “in fact, you always seem to like it.”  

“Steve..”

He shushes her with his lips, and like she always did, Nancy found herself giving in to him. 

—

Fingers twirled between the bouncy rings of a telephone cord, Robin waited patiently— well as patiently as she could— for Vickie to pick up. 

Their relationship was secretive, only her closest friends knew of Vickie and Vickie didn’t tell a single soul about the nights spent tangled in the corn powder blue sheets with the pretty freckled faced clarinet player. 

They had a system. Vickie dealt the cards and made the rules, while Robin had a hand of jokers and mismatched suits, only she didn’t—couldn’t— see it for what it was. 

The phone rang and rang, and would continue to ring. Hard to answer the phone when you’re too busy being pressed into the mattress with your feet on your boyfriend's shoulders. 

—

“Yeah mom, I’m home now.” Jonathan answered annoyingly into the phone, “… W—No he’s asleep.. I’m sure he did… yeah, fine..I’ll go check.” 

The phone would have stretched easily into the small bathroom down the hallway of the Byers’ home so he could check that Will had taken his nightly medication, but instead he let the phone slap against the floor in a clankety thud. 

Jonathan Byers had been the man of the house since his dad left in seventh grade. He cooked, he did the laundry, and worked part time wherever he could. His mom was barely able to keep it together since Lonnie had left. And most days, she couldn’t. Somehow the last year she had gotten worse. 

She was rail thin, and never ate a thing. Absent minded. Constantly writing things out and scribbling nonsense onto scraps of paper. Strewn across the living room, the kitchen, any surface available. 

She was always worrying if Will would be okay, but never reciprocating that same kind of love and care to Jonathan. 

Joyce Byers loved her boys equally, but the youngest was given more attention, maybe it was because he was her last baby, or possibly because his father had rarely ever acknowledged his existence. Still, the relationship between mother and son was broken off, string rolling in on itself when it came to Jonathan. 

The pills in the slot marked ‘friday’ were gone, just like Jonathan knew they would be. His brother took his medications religiously, never ever skippinga day, he had it clocked down to the hour,  minute, and second— the same time every single day. 

A routine he had since last year. 

Jonathan looks back at his gaunt expression when he shuts the medicine cabinet, smiling fake and toothy, taking the usual freebie from the hoard of pills his mother was prescribed but never took. 

His lips under the faucet he swallows the white oval pill down. 

Will wasn’t the only one with his own pill routine. 

—

“Eddie, turn the lights off already it’s fuckin 2 am,” 

Without fully waking you throw a pillow down to where he was laying, it wasn’t unusual for him to get high and pass out with the lights still on, but it was annoying beyond belief. 

A muffled groan is heard from beneath the tossed pillow before Eddie wrestled it from his face, “the fuck are you throwing shit at me for?” 

“you left the lights on again.”

Head on a swivel Eddie looks from you, to the ceiling to the switch, “open your eyes Helen Keller, they’re not on.”

the sting of light is still shining bright in your face and when you peel your eyes open you see that he wasn’t lying. Your room was dark, but the street lamp was glowing brighter than usual.  

Your toes curl around the plush fibers of your rug and you pull the cord to open the blinds. Eddie’s weight shifts onto your mattress as a loud yawn escapes his lips, followed by a scratching noise that you’re hoping is his nails against his skull instead of his balls. 

“what the fuck?”

The street lamps up and down your street were buzzing and glowing in an emberred haze. The glow of yellow was straining brighter than could be deemed possible and it was pulsing with an ominous flicker. 

You were tantalized by it’s beauty, like a moth to a flame hypnotized by the menacing doom— you couldn’t look away, and for a split second the welcoming sunshine of the lamp turned blood red, a warning of terror before being blown to bits and shattering to the ground below. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie jumps behind your shoulder, “what the hell was that, you saw it right?”

You definitely had, it’s illuminating shadow still glowed bright when you blinked your eyes. You have heard of electric surges, currants going hot when wires were overloaded. But flickering like that then burning red before burning out? It was almost like a fallacy, something Eddie probably would have made up for Hellfire, it simply couldn’t have been true. 

You rubbed at your eyes like a tired child, “told you that second joint smelled funny,” you said sitting on your knees facing him and shoving his shoulder, a look of shock on his face.

He scoffs and shoves your shoulder back, rolling his eyes playfully, “it’s a new strain Rick concocted himself, red…red somethin’…” he lays partly on the bed and stretches his body to the floor fumbling into his jeans pocket in search of the cellophane plastic of the baggy. 

“Ah, here,” he says, shoving the bag into your hand, your thumb rubs over the black sharpie written in boy chicken scratch hand writing.

You read it the same time Eddie says it. 

“Redrum.” 

♡ hope you enjoyed, comment what you think will happen next; reblogs are appreciated

♡ part 2: A SLICE & A SCREAM ♡

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[beautifulplaceofyouth]

JJK FF/ROYAL GUARD

CHAPTER TEN | SERIES

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Ch. 6

Ch. 7

Ch. 8

Ch. 9

Ch. 10

When you keep bumping into your personal royal guard by accident not knowing he is your guardian angel

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook!fallen angel!royal guard! × fem!reader!virgin!princess

Word count: 2.1k

Rating: 15+

Genre + warnings: Fluff, paranormal romance, historical fanfiction, Kook being cold and mysterious, being his sexy self. Caring and possessive!jk! Really horny towards his princess, being a big seductive tease. Dead bodies - corpses and much blood. JK kills everyone who dares to hurt his princess. MAKES PROMISES TO BE SAFE. The story isn’t real, just my imagination running wild so just enjoy reading!

a/n: Finally a small update, guys! I will stop making excuses and will hope you will not kill me for vanishing like every time I promise coming back sooner but still...yeah. I hope you forgive me.

You were standing by the large window.

The castle’s walls seemed to surround you.

The windows let out on a long stretch of fields leading to the border of the woods.

Since your fallen angel left, it has been three hours  since Jungkook disappeared. Three more hours without food; three hours without hearing news or seeing anyone besides the servants running around like little heads in a tornado.

It made you restless.

Your legs started moving before your mind did. The white dress was fluttering behind you while you walked through the corridor.

It’s been three hours.

Three more hours and no updates. Your thoughts were racing and your stomach was growling. But there was nothing you could do, nothing you can say, until Jungkook returns.

As you turned the corner into the hall where the servants and guards resided, you stopped suddenly. Something was wrong.

You frowned.

As you neared the palace exit, a witch-maid stopped you before you can leave further.

“I’m sorry, my queen but the king didn’t allowed you to leave the castle for safety reasons. We still are under attack,”  the female servant said apologetically. “Please return to your chambers.”

She tried to take your hands, which you quickly pushed away.

What were they thinking?

That Jungkook would come back in less than ten minutes?

No. Jungkook wouldn’t. Not now.

He is probably dead. Killed by vampires, maybe. Maybe captured in battle and taken prisoner. What if he got hurt?

No. He’d never let a vampire touch him unless…unless…

You ran outside and searched in every part of the grounds. No sign of him anywhere.

Then why the hell haven’t you heard anything yet?!

‘I’m not letting any vampire near my guard,’ you thought fiercely. ‘And if they do get near my angel, I swear to God...’

Looking up, the sun is barely visible. A thin veil of clouds covering half the sky, dark grey.

There was no sign of any vampire in sight.

Where the heck is everyone if there is attack?!

Tears welled in your eyes as you sat down on the ground and leaned your back against the stone wall of the castle’s exterior. There was a small pond a few meters to your side, a beautiful blue lake reflecting the sky above it. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, casting an eery orange light over everything in the vicinity.

Your heart was beating fast, threatening to burst through your ribcage. Tears stinging your eyelids, you felt your cheeks getting wet.

You wiped your tears off angrily. You are being foolish.

Jungkook wouldn't be dead. He can fight for himself but he knows how much you love him and if something happened to him…

Oh god, please don't let something happen to him. He’s strong but he's too young to die. Please God, let him be okay. Let him survive.

Jungkook’s POV

The sun was setting when Jungkook flew over the woods of his territory with his sword in hand, prepared to defend his home.

As he descended closer, he noticed many vampires fighting against the guards on the other end of the forest clearing.

With the sharp edge of his sword ready to strike, he landed heavily between several vampires, sending them flying to different parts of the field.

His presence was enough to scare most of them away, leaving two vampires with their backs turned towards him who weren’t afraid of him whatsoever.

Without hesitation Jungkook lunged forward with his sword and stabbed one of the vampires in the back with all his force.

His opponent fell, unconscious and bleeding, but still alive.

Jungkook ignored him as he jumped to the other vampire, slashing his blade across his throat before landing behind the first one again to stab him in the back.

Two vampires had surrounded Jungkook.

One with blonde hair, the other with red. They charged at him simultaneously.

Jungkook dodged each of them with ease.

Suddenly, the blood lust filled air vanished.

A cold, piercing sound echoed through the forest.

In a matter of seconds, the second vampire was dead. His eyes staring wide open as if asking for help and pain. The red head also fell lifelessly onto the ground.

Blood flowing from his neck, he didn’t have a chance to scream.

Slicing remaining vampires in half, the blood was the only thing left on him when he finally finished. Seeing his guards dead, he could only  watch them fall and the bodies turn pale and gray, their skin wrinkling and turning into dust.

The other vampires that were still around looked at him with horror and shock.

They wanted to run. They wanted to kill him.

But they couldn’t move, not a single muscle in their bodies dared to move; not even their hearts.

“You’ve been warned,” he snarled,” Attack what’s mine again, you will be taken as my trophies  for all eternity."

The vampires began fleeing after that, screaming in fear and terror.

Jungkook took out the swords he used in the fight, sheathing them neatly once again, before turning to look around.

Death’s  scent was everywhere. Blood was smeared everywhere, along with some pieces of flesh scattered throughout the area.

The bodies of his guards lay sprawled all over the ground. Their faces twisted and bloody, covered in dirt.

Jungkook closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

Now since the danger was gone, the only thought on his mind was you.

When he opened his eyes, he could already see you.

You were walking out of the forest, your face pale and frightened.

He didn’t need to look at you to know that the blood from these deaths must have affected you greatly. As if sensing him, your eyes met his, a look of complete devastation and sorrow filling their depths.

“Jungkook,” you whispered in fear, looking around the field as though searching for enemy still lurking by but there was no one left alive except for the king himself.

His jaw clenched when he spotted you, knowing you have disobeyed his order for you to stay at the castle. His guards haven’t stopped you from leaving and now you’re here, in the middle of the battlefield which is no place for someone like you.

Looking like an angel in a white dress, Jungkook looked ready to kill again when you slowly approached  him.

The wind was playing with his raven hair, dancing through his bangs and causing small droplets of sweat to roll down his body.

He looked like a predator waiting for its prey to come close and bite it.

Your gaze flickered between the corpses laid on the ground, their eyes frozen in fear and pain.

Y/n POV

Seeing your angel in the middle of that made you realize how strong he really is.

The blood was on his armor and even his face scarf. His eyes were the only thing holding you steady as you dared to walk forward.

His chest was rising up and down.

“What are you doing here, princess?”  he asked harshly, making your body shiver.

You looked down at the ground, ashamed of yourself.

Why were you so careless? You shouldn’t be here! It’s dangerous. Too dangerous to be out here alone!

How long have you been standing here? Did you hear the screams of vampires earlier? Did you hear them running away?

Did you hear them dying? Did you understand what was happening?

Your hands trembled as you looked at the bodies laying on the floor; lifeless.

“Answer me.”

He didn’t wait for a response, he grabbed your chin roughly, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“Princess. Why are you here? Answer me.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your heart thumping painfully inside your chest.

After a moment, you answered in a weak voice, “I just wanted to go for a little walk. I lost track of time and ended up here.”

His grip on your chin tightened and his lips curved in anger.

“You’re such a liar, love.”

Before you know, he kneels in front of you. Putting his sword on the ground, he takes your hands in his.

“You shouldn’t be here. What you did was dangerous. How can I protect you when you don’t listen to me? You would have been captured on the way here, possibly killed by those bloodsucking monsters!”

“I’m sorry Jungkook. But I just wanted to make sure no one hurt you. I know you can defend yourself just fine but…”

“It doesn’t stop you from worrying. And I appreciate it very much, but you don’t have to do this. I am stronger than these creatures.”

“But you don’t always have to be. You’ll get attacked by them sooner or later, you know. You won't be able to take them down with a sword on your own. Sooner or later, they'll find you.”

“No they won’t. This forest is protected by powerful magic. My kingdom is safe as long I’m here.” He explained, trying to reassure you.

“But not enough to attack this place?” You inquired quietly.

“Someone tipped me off. That’s why they got inside. No one without my magic permission can go through the barrier of this land. Its separates the human world.”

“So they can still be out there and continue to attack,”  you said bitterly.

“That’s why I must kill them all.” Jungkook declared, determination in his voice.

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to escape and fall down your cheeks at any moment.

You quickly wiped away any evidence of your weakness before looking into his eyes with a determined look of your own.

Before you can chicken out, you step closer to him when he is back to standing position. His eyes darken when he notices the movement, his nostrils flaring when your scent washes over with the death smell all over the field.

It was like a flower has bloomed in the middle of the grave, filling his whole being with the sweet fragrance of your happiness and life.

You stood on your tiptoes while he stood on his, looking at him intently in the eyes.

His gaze never wavers. Neither does yours.

Neither of you breaks eye contact until finally you pull him towards you, hooking one finger underneath his mask, playing with the seam of the fabric slowly.

“What are you doing, darling?” His voice is husky, full of desire for you even it was wrong in that moment.

How can you touch him like this after he has slaughtered every vampire? He had blood on his hands and corpses still laid all around you so how come you’re not afraid to touch him?

“Making sure you’re not hurt,” you whisper, lifting his mask to reveal a strong jawline who can cut steel and lips that look tempting yet deadly.

He stares back at you, the intensity in his eyes making you want to drown in his eyes forever. He grabs your waist, pulling you against him tightly, his hand caressing your lower back, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin cloth of your dress.

“You’re making this harder for me, princess. You can’t stay here longer. It’s dangerous,”  he says softly, leaning closer to you, his hot breath fanning your cold skin as he whispers.

"I don’t care.” You say, closing the gap between your lips and pressing them softly onto his.

At first, he tried to push you away.

But the minute you parted your lips to deepen the kiss, he gave up.

As your tongue ran along his bottom lip, tasting each other, you wrapped your arms around his neck while he gripped both sides of your waist.

He lifted you easily in his arm and you placed your legs around his hips, holding on tightly when you felt yourself getting dizzy and lightheaded.

Lifting up into the sky, you almost scream when you realize that he has intended to fly you back to the castle. His wings even through the mist shine with the specks of light that peeked from the clouds.

Not daring to look down because of your fear of heights, some minutes later you brace yourself for landing when he flaps his wings to stop his  speed abruptly, causing you to cling onto him like a koala.

When he puts you down gently on your feet, you let out a soft sigh of relief.

Jungkook pulled you in his arms, cradling you close and soothing you as best he could.

“I’m sorry, baby. Didn’t want to startle you like that. I just can’t imagine you walking through that mess.  It must have been terrifying.” He whispered tenderly, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You leaned into his touch, melting at the sound of his deep, rumbling voice calling you baby in that loving way of his, feeling warmth blossom inside your chest.

Feeling safe. Protected.

“You need to stay indoors while I go back to finish the job. Someone still can be lurking in the shadows and watching us so we have to take precautions,”  he says sternly, grabbing the hilt of his sword and taking a few steps backward as he looked behind him.

“Come back to me safe, please.” You pleaded.

He sighed as he turned around, walking towards you again.

He reached out to caress your cheek once more before giving you a soft smile.

“I promise you.”

You nodded as he took off with a flap of his wings. The air surrounding him seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow, the wind caressing his skin like a lover as his figure disappears among the thick mist in the distance.

p.s. All images and gifs are not mine, some of the edits are mine edited but not every picture. All the credit goes to their rightful owners

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[sp4ceboo]

CHAPTER 3 ~ PAINKILLERS & PLEAS

beneath a crimson sky masterlist | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5| ch 6

pairing: stray kids ot8 x afab!reader

genre: apocalypse au, dystopian, dark, adventure, action, thriller, fighting, eventual smut, romance

a/n: lil update for yall before i start getting busy

chapter warnings: somewhat vividly described gore, possible lazy editing on my part

chapter word count: 3.2k

Over the next week with them, you find that the boys’ unwarranted kindness makes it easier to fit yourself into the rhythm that all their hearts beat too, despite the odds.

Each morning you wake up to heat radiating either side of you, indicators of Minho’s back inches behind you and the length of Chan’s thigh pressed against yours through the double layer of your blankets. Jeongin is always the first to wake, and Hyunjin the last - no more late night tears occur with him. You wonder if Minho or Seungmin or even Chan have told him not to be alone with you, just in case.

Changbin, you find, is a little more serious on the exterior than he was when he was a child, though you’re not sure if it’s from being forced to survive or general maturing or even the time he’s spent serving in the army - he was lucky to be on leave when the Pestilence came. One thing you deem as odd is that he seems a little less vigilant of you than you’d expect him to be, but then again, nothing is exactly as you expect it to be. His eyes still hold no recognition for you. Somehow it makes the kindness in them harder to stomach.

You manage to avoid inciting Minho’s protective wrath, garner a few spare smiles from the still wary Jeongin, and crack Jisung’s shell enough to talk briefly about his music production. Best of all, you earn Felix’s friendship. His smiles feel like a trail of crumbs leading you closer and closer to a place where you might have the chance of belonging.

You’re eager to earn their trust, not only because it would give you someone to trust in return, but also because you’re beginning to realise just how close you were to driving yourself crazy when you were on your own. You want to prove you’re useful, if not to them, to yourself.

You want to know that there’s a reason, other than luck, for you to have survived thus far.

So when the opportunity presents itself, you seize it. Changbin is surveying his neat arrangement of cans and bottles in the corner, his lips moving silently as he calculates how much longer they’ll last, when he announces it: you need to go on a supply run. Chan offers to come first, you next, causing Felix to perk up and volunteer too, which leads to Seungmin saying he’ll join as well before a narrow eyed Minho can.

Now, you stand just outside the lab, all your masks pulled up over your faces. You’ve got an empty rucksack over your shoulder and the knife that Minho handed to you, along with a threatening look, stowed safely in your pocket. Absently, you fiddle with the rucksack’s straps, craning your neck to look up at the disturbing, crimson sky.

“We could clear out the convenience store I met you guys at,” you suggest when Changbin doesn’t immediately lead you in a particular direction. “Unless you had anywhere else in mind,” you add hastily.

“The petrol that leaked will all be used up,” Chan points out. “We won’t have that safety measure.”

“It’s close, though,” Seungmin replies, agreeing with you, to your surprise. “We won’t be long.”

“Changbin?” Felix asks.

He shrugs. “I’m the only one who hasn’t been there. You tell me.”

All four of you look over at Chan, who makes a face and gestures for you to lead the way. It doesn’t take long for you to get to the petrol station, just like the first time. You still have to skirt your way around the dead body twenty metres from the lab, you still have to turn the corner round the Korean BBQ shop.

As you do, your eyes widen, because the place looks almost unrecognisable. The electronic sign that would have displayed the petrol prices has been almost fully melted from the fire, which must have caught one of the other pumps so suddenly it exploded - the whole shop front is blackened, the glass blown in. Ironically, it looks like something from a zombie movie.

“Guess I need to be sent to jail for arson,” you mutter.

“Wait, you did this?” Changbin asks.

Felix huffs. “I told you I wasn’t exaggerating.”

You feel heat rising up your neck and shove open the door, careful as you step over the shards of glass littered all over the scorched linoleum floor. There’s several small scuff marks on the floor, too small to be human footprints. Idly, you wonder if any of the feral dogs have learnt to open tin cans as well as survive without their owners.

Cold wind gusts in through the broken door, whistling between the high shelves and ruffling Chan’s hair. Involuntarily, you shiver. It’s strange to see a place that you’d visited so many times reduced to this state: food on the lower shelves has been knocked down, plastic bags ripped open, the contents half eaten and rotting, no doubt the doing of wild animals. A crow flaps by and settles on one of the registers, eyeing you and snapping a beak stained with a type of red you don’t want to think about.

“Grab whatever you can,” Chan instructs once he’s stepped in after Seungmin. “Changbin and I will get the water.”

You nod, wincing as glass crunches beneath your shoes and following Felix and Seungmin deeper into the store, the latter peeling off after a while to pile some tinned vegetables into his bag, the former turning to talk to you.

“Shall we try in the back?” He asks. “When I came through here to look for an exit, it looked like they had a lot of food in storage.”

“Sure,” you answer, pushing open the already ajar door, squinting against the darkness within.

You make it several steps in before the stench hits you. There’s no doubt that something or someone has died in here; the smell of rotting flesh hits you like a punch in the face, and you clap a hand over your face while beside you, Felix retches. The next thing you notice is the trail of blood, as if a body was dragged in here from somewhere else in the store, and your heart plunges.

How could you be so stupid? How could you be so distracted by the burns and glass on the floor and gathering food that you didn’t see the streaks of dried blood, rusty on the ground beneath your feet?

Then comes a jingle, and you catch a quick flash of silver: light, reflected off something fixed to a shadow on the floor, and as your eyes begin to adjust, you realise with a jolt what it is. A metal tag, dangling from what must have once been a lovely blue collar that is now stained almost black with dirt and what you’re beginning to realise is blood. A lot of fucking blood.

The shadow attached to the collar growls.

Felix makes a choked sound, and the wind howls in and pushes the door open more, further illuminating the room and revealing what exactly the dog was feeding on - one of the store workers, long dead from what must have been the illness. The blood staining its muzzle is nothing like the old smears on the floor, not brown but the startling red of the sky.

You curse under your breath as several more growls sound, more dogs appearing from behind the storeroom shelves. The two of you won’t stand a chance fighting against them. These are the dogs that survived without their owners, who probably weren’t even trained properly, who would definitely prefer fresh, still warm meat to the rotting human they dragged into their new home.

Backing away, you fumble for the knife in your pocket. The first dog growls, and you can see the muscles in its haunches bunching, as it prepares to launch itself at you. You are completely and utterly screwed.

Adrenaline rockets through you. A stupid, entirely unhelpful thought shoots through your head: this is what your ancestors felt like before they tamed the wolf. Though not exactly - the one difference is that these dogs are not wild and they don’t have the instincts of a wolf to capably hunt for themselves, which means they’re hungry and you’re food.

Lurching to the side, you scrabble for anything on the shelf to your right, knocking over half the cans with a huge clatter, and launch the first thing your fingers come in contact with at the dog, just the second before it leaps.

The can of cat food glances off its shoulder but hits hard enough that your throat thankfully doesn’t get torn out.

Whirling around, as fast as you can in the seconds remaining before the dog recovers and attacks again, you grab Felix by the arm and shunt him as hard as you can towards the door. He stumbles, cursing, but makes it through and you sprint for the door too.

Felix’s eyes widen. You turn just in time, almost overbalancing in your haste, blindly stabbing out with your knife.

Fortunately, your blade hits home, and you narrowly miss probably losing a leg.

Less fortunately, your calf gets shredded into ribbons.

Agony tears through you, almost brings you to your knees, but your momentum sends you forward, out of the storeroom. Swearing colourfully, Felix catches you and kicks the door shut behind you, and it shakes with the impact of what must be the other dogs hurling themselves against it.

Seungmin hurtles around the corner, closely followed by Changbin and Chan. You grit your teeth, your eyes watery, fighting back the scream that builds in your throat, knowing your nails are biting into Felix’s arms and hurting him but unable to stop yourself. Changbin takes one look at the blood streaming down your leg and strides over, easing you out of Felix’s hold and hooking an arm around your waist so he can keep you upright.

“We need to get out of here,” you gasp. “I don’t know if the door will hold.”

“What happened?” Seungmin demands.

“She saved my life,” Felix replies. “I’ll explain later. Let’s go.”

You attempt to take a step forward, still clutching Changbin’s arm for support, and realise that it’s not such a great idea at all when spots fizzle to life right before your eyes, pain shooting through your leg as if someone’s replaced your shin bone with a hot poker. A stifled sound rips itself from you as you straighten, trying to fight back the wave of nausea that fills you when you glance down.

Blood runs down your legs and collects in your shoe, soaking your sock. The wound is messy, all torn flesh mixed in with shredded cloth, and you can see the puncture marks from the dog’s teeth, neat circles that tear away in long gashes. You sag against Changbin.

“I’ll carry you.” He phrases it like a suggestion, but you get the feeling he’d do it even if you refused.

Mutely, you nod. You’re half certain you’ve gone into shock.

He picks you up with ease, careful not to jostle you as he holds you with one arm under your legs and the other at your back. You tip your head to rest against his shoulder, trying to focus on the firm feel of his chest against your side in a failing attempt to ignore the blaring, insistent pain in your leg.

The brisk pace that Seungmin sets as he walks ahead with Chan while Felix explains means that to keep up, Changbin can’t hold you steady enough to completely avoid jarring your leg; you can’t remember when, but he’s tied a tourniquet for you from his shirt sleeve, tight enough that pulses rather than an onslaught of pain come throbbing down your leg with each step he takes. The distance from the store to the lab stretches far longer than it was on the way there.

“I’ve decided to become a cat person,” Changbin mutters. “Even though I’m allergic.”

You manage a strained laugh, knowing he’s trying to distract you. You already know he’s allergic. When he came over to your house after school, he’d always insist on petting your cat, even when his eyes and nose streamed.

Changbin laughs too, but it’s nothing like his real laugh, just a hollow sound that might have somewhat put you at ease if you didn’t know he was faking it. He twists sideways so he doesn’t bash your feet against the door frame into the lab. Sweat begins to bead on your forehead.

Looking worried, Felix’s face appears beside you, and he pulls off his mask, grabbing your hand tightly and squeezing it, unable to hide the concern roiling in his eyes despite the wavering smile he gives you. His face has paled a little, making his freckles stand out starkly, like brown constellations across a honey sky. They fade as your eyes go blurry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t move sooner,” he says, gnawing at his lip. “If you hadn’t had to push me out the door, you might have gotten out before the dog jumped.”

You force your eyes to focus on him. Over his shoulder, there’s a commotion as Seungmin and Chan enter the lab, no doubt relaying the story. “It’s okay, Felix. I froze up too. Seeing the body… it was awful.”

“Yeah. Yeah it was,” he nods. “Thank you.”

Hyunjin rushes over, his face draining of colour when he sees you. “Oh, shit.”

The others crowd around too, before Changbin orders them away and helps you sit down. Wordless, Minho kneels beside you, a muscle in his jaw feathering as he cuts away the rest of your ruined trouser leg, peeling off the scraps of blood soaked fabric from where they stick to your skin with laser focus. You think you glimpse a hint of concern in his eyes, but the pain has made you dizzy.

Everyone else steers clear, though Felix and Hyunjin send you worried looks, and Chan talks in a low voice with Seungmin and Jeongin. You get the impression that an injury as serious as yours has happened before, and they know to leave Minho alone as he works to clean your leg and bandage it, keeping Changbin’s tourniquet in place.

He doesn’t speak, either to put you at ease or to tell you how bad it is, so you take it as a good sign. Hiding your face in the crook of your elbow, you lie back and grit your teeth. You don’t want to look at your calf. You don’t want to know the damage.

Eventually, he sits back on his heels and cleans his hands on one of the less soiled wet wipes he must have been using to sanitise your calf. Getting up without a word, he turns and searches the rucksacks until he finds what he’s looking for, taking out a few pill packets and popping out two from each before returning to your side and holding them out to you with a freshly opened bottle of water.

“Painkillers,” he informs you. “Probably enough to knock you out for a bit, once they kick in. And antibiotics, since dog bites get infected a lot. Hopefully they’ll work if it transmitted the Pestilence, too.”

He watches you choke them down.

You don’t point out that if antibiotics worked on Pestilence, a lot more people would be alive right now.

Minho bundles up a spare blanket and eases it under your leg, his voice curt. “Keep it elevated. Try not to move too much.”

You blink as he walks off. He doesn’t really have anywhere to walk off to, so he just inserts himself between Jisung and Jeongin, who are sorting through the supplies he, Chan and Changbin managed to grab before you all left, his jaw still clenched.

Chan sits down beside you, a dark expression on his face as he takes in Minho’s handiwork, fiddling with his masks before he stills his hands, shoves the masks into his pocket, and gives you a hard look. You get the feeling that you’re about to be reprimanded, and you don’t really like the idea, but you can’t exactly get up and evade him.

“What you did was stupid.”

Yup, there it is.

“But it was also brave,” he adds, surprising you.

“There’s a fine line between brave and stupid,” you reply dryly.

He huffs a laugh. “That’s true, but I just wanted to thank you. It’s a pretty big deal to get bitten by a dog for some guys you didn’t know a week ago.”

You look at him. Belatedly, you realised that this - Chan saying that he values what you did - is him extending the olive branch. Before, you could tell he was still unsure about you, but there’s a certainty that sparkles in his eyes now, a confidence that fills you with a burst of hope that catches you off guard with its suddenness. There’s a chance that you might have caught the disease and that you might spread it to the others if you have, but he’s willing to take that risk because you are someone he wants to keep around, someone he knows he can trust with his life and with his friends’ lives.

You can feel the painkillers beginning to work, your eyelids drooping and the acute pain of the dog bite being washed away by numbness, but they don’t hold back the startling rush of clarity that clears your head: you didn’t hesitate this time, and you won’t hesitate the next.

“I’d do it again,” you tell Chan, so softly he has to lean forward to hear.

A strange look passes over his face. He gets up but pauses for a moment. “Let’s hope you won’t have to.”

You close your eyes so you don’t have to see him walk away. Your head is fuzzy, and you can no longer feel the sharpness in your calf - it’s turned into a dull ache, weak enough that you could forget it’s there. You don’t want to forget it’s there.

There’s a shuffling sound beside you and you crack your eyes open again. Felix is there, looking like an angel with his blonde hair and freckles and sweet, worried face. Reaching forward, he takes your hand again but says nothing, and you cling to him, suddenly irrationally afraid that they’re going to leave you while you’re sleeping. You try to focus on his face in an attempt to fend off the tidal waves of fatigue crashing over you.

“Felix,” you whisper. “What if I get the disease?”

He squeezes your hand, hard enough for you to wince, but you don’t let go, needing to hear what he says before you give in to sleep.

“You won’t,” he says.

It sounds more like a plea than a promise.

taglist: @estella-novella@0bticeo@lixies-favorite-cookie@smashleywow@realrintaro @extremechaoswarning @4l17h4 @hyunjinsjeans @insufferablyunbearable @lovemepie67 @needsumcomfypillowstosleep @loumin908 (let me know if you want to be added)

[deathmightbe]

[id: panel 1: Killians front facing the camera. Its paws are raised up, blood on its hair, face, paws and chest. Its eyes are red with black sclera, and it appears to be in shock, eyes and mouth wide open. Hair falls on the left side of its face. Speech bubbles read:

killian: I've done it!

killian: I…

panel 2: still facing the front, the camera comes a bit closer. Its ears are now drooping down, its eyes back to the normal yellow. It smears the blood on the right side of its face, with sfx reading "plap!". In chicken scratch, on the left side of it is written "shit".

panel 3: Killian walking close to the body, blood from paws dripping to the ground, as it looks at it. The body is mostly obscured, only part of it covered in blood. Speech bubbles read:

killian: Uh. he really is dead.

killian: like dead dead.

panel 4: view of blood splattered on the grass, with speech bubbles reading

killian: This feeling…

killian: Oh god… I… fuck!

At the bottom of the screen in chicken scratch is written "ha ha ha ha ha ha", text turning from white to red.

panel 5: Killian is crying, smile on its face, "hahahaha" covering all the red background.

panel 6: Killians paw on the grass, and brother's body in the background, the blood coming off it leading to the paw. Speech bubbles read

killian: Sleeping well over there?

killian: hehe?

panel 7: Killian is now laughing mouth open, teeth visible, spiky speech bubble reading

killian: Fuck you brother!

panel 8: Killian standing in the distance, covered in blood, three dots above it. / end id]

first | previous | next

[persevereforahappyending]

Maybe in Another Life |11|

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Hunter of Artemis!Reader

Summary: You are a Hunter of Artemis, but you start to question what you truly want when you meet Clarisse and get to know her.

Warnings: Slight Battle of the Labyrinth Spoilers

Word Count: 4k

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch. 7 | ch. 8 | ch. 9 | ch. 10 | ch. 11 | ch. 12 | ch. 13 | ch. 14 | ch. 15 | ch. 16 | ch. 17

You groaned, straightening your back, and stretching, as you woke up. You felt mostly healed up, you looked over the injury on your shoulder and leg, it seemed it was all healed up, leaving only faint little scratches. “How long was I out?” You asked. Time moved differently but given how rested you were you felt you had slept a lot longer than you should have.

Clarisse was still facing the waterfall before she turned to face you. “A couple hours,” Clarisse said.

“You should have woken me for my watch.” You pulled yourself to your feet, walking a short distance to see you were no longer limping. “Want to get some rest now?”

Clarisse shook her head. “We should get moving. As nice as this place is,” she looked around. When you weren’t being chased by a giant bat creature you had to admit the place was rather gorgeous, dozens of waterfalls flowing and cascading down smooth dark grey rocks. They flowed into a darkness you didn’t want to go into, but you couldn’t deny the view. “We need to find a way out.”

“You need to be well rested,” you tried to reason.

“I’m fine,” she shrugged you off.

“If today is anything like yesterday you need to be alert, you-”

“I’ll be fine,” Clarisse snapped.

You sucked in a breath; you weren’t going to point out how cranky she clearly was. “Okay,” you surrendered. Children of Ares were so stubborn, even when you knew you were right, there were times you couldn’t bother arguing with them.

The two of you gathered your stuff and made your way out from behind the waterfall. It still looked like nighttime, light shining in from somewhere you still couldn’t find, making the water shine. Out of all the places in the world you’d been to, all the isolated, untouched by human, places, nowhere had as crystal clear of water as this place.

“Think it’s safe to drink?” Clarisse asked.

You looked at the water. It was crystal clear; you didn’t even see fish or life of any sort living in it. Though the only creature you had seen so far was the giant bat. You were also in the labyrinth; it was designed to kill. You could only shrug, maybe the water was safe, or maybe it was poison that would slowly kill the both of you if you drank it.

Clarisse shrugged. “Whatever, it’s worth the risk.” She slung her backpack around, digging through it before pulling out a water bottle. “Always be prepared.” You looked down at her with a soft smile.

“I was only meant to be gone a few hours,” you sighed, you had no idea how much time was passing in the real world, you had no idea how long you had even been in the labyrinth, it felt like hours, but it had been nonstop since you fell in there. It felt like you hadn’t drank anything in days.

“Don’t worry, I’ll share.” Clarisse gave you a teasing smirk as she held the water bottle under the waterfall, filling it up to the brim.

“A child of Ares sharing?” You gasped.

“Shut up,” she aggressively shoved the now full water bottle into your ribs.

You chuckled, taking a big gulp before handing it back to her. You waited a few seconds and when you didn’t drop dead you decided you were probably fine. The water was the most satisfying drink you had ever had. Clarisse took a gulp, then refilled the little you had drunk to top it off.

The two of you made your way around the island, looking for a good spot to climb. You could have jumped from island to island but you both decided to climb up to where the waterfall was flowing down from was probably the best bet. You weren’t sure where a door out of there could be, but the last door opened up through the floor and you dropped down onto one of the rock islands, so anything was possible.

“You got any rope in there?” You joked as you looked up the side of the cliff. You had climbed worse, though you usually had the other Hunters, Artemis, and some sort of climbing gear.

You turned, still quietly chuckling to yourself when Clarisse didn’t answer. Your mouth hung open when you saw Clarisse digging through her backpack, pulling out some rope and a hook. When she was all done, she looked up, seeming to realize you were watching her. “What?” She asked.

“Nothing, you just,” you gestured down to the rope and hook. “Really were prepared for anything.”

“Of course,” she slung her bag back over her shoulders. “You can never know what to expect on a quest.”

You nodded, that was true. You never knew what monsters you’d run into or where you’d end up on the journey. Most demigods only prepared by having the basic necessities, food, money, a weapon, and if they were really lucky a couple pieces of ambrosia. Clarisse wasn’t most demigods though, she was a child of Ares, she loved a fight, she was always prepared for a fight.

She handed you a rope and you began tying it around your waist as she did the same, then she clipped your two ropes together. Being connected was dangerous, if one of you fell you could bring the other down with you, but on the other hand if one of you fell the other could stop you from plummeting to your death. Clarisse spun the rope a few times, getting some good momentum before releasing it. You watched as it sailed up into the air, wondering if it would be long enough. It didn’t hit the top, but it did catch on a couple rocks just before the edge. Clarisse pulled on the rope tightly, then both of you did the same, using all your strength to make sure it would hold both of your weight. When the hook didn’t budge the two of you began your trek up the side of the waterfall.

The waterfall didn’t look as big before you started climbing it. There were plenty of ridges to put your feet and hands on as the two of you climbed up. You each only nearly fell once, when you got closer to the waterfall the rocks got slippery. Clarisse’s hand slipped once, leaving her hanging on with only one hand until she could regain her balance. Your foot slipped when you went to push off a rock, forcing you to claw at the rocks to maintain your grip.

When the two of you finally got to the top, pulling yourselves over the edge, you both just laid there, the only sound coming from your heavy breathing. After a moment you both pulled yourselves to your feet and got a look at your new terrain. Much like down below it was all darkness and rock, though there were no more floating islands or bridges connecting to the main one you were on.

“What’s that?” You asked, pointing at something through the darkness.

Clarisse squinted, trying to determine what it was. “I don’t know,” she said.

You both looked at each other and when you gave a little shrug, she pulled out her dagger, you pulled out your bow, and the two of you walked into the darkness. There was a slight glimmer, in the distance, you were just hoping it wasn’t another monster. When you finally got to your destination you saw it was another rock, your eyes trailed up but unlike the last cliff there was no waterfall, it looked never ending as the tip disappeared in the darkness.

“Over here,” Clarisse whispered, nodding her head to the side.

You furrowed your brow but didn’t question her as she began making her way around the side of the rock wall. Around the side was a small opening, it looked to be a cave of some sort. The only way either of you could fit was by sliding through sideways, there was no guarantee it would ever open up more, for all you knew it led to a dead end and it wasn’t actually a cave.

Clarisse unzipped her bag again, digging around until she pulled out a flashlight and a headlamp. “Preference?” She asked, holding each of them out to you.

You shrugged and took the flashlight. Clarisse nodded and strapped the headlamp around her head. “Ready?” You nodded and Clarisse squeezed through the small crack in the side of the rock wall. You gave the open cavern one last look before following after Clarisse, making sure to stick as close together as possible.

After what felt like an hour of squeezing through the tight space it finally opened up, allowing the two of you to walk properly. The rest of the passage was still narrow, meaning you and Clarisse couldn’t walk side by side. She tapped her shoulder, you instantly put your hand where she tapped, knowing what she meant. You didn’t know what lay ahead and you certainly didn’t want to get separated in a dark cave in the middle of the labyrinth.

You finally came to an open room; the walls were still all rock, but the ceiling was high. You pointed the flashlight up and the light got swallowed up by the darkness. You turned in a circle, using the flashlight to scan your surroundings. Everywhere you turned there was just more black rock. The room didn’t continue on into another tunnel and you didn’t see a way out anywhere.

“Should we turn back?” You asked. You weren’t sure how long you had been moving, it didn’t seem like you had covered much distance, but your body sure felt like you had been going nonstop for hours.

“Clarisse?” You asked, turning around when she hadn’t answered you. You saw her crouched down near the far end of the room. “What’s up?” You made your way to her side, tilting your head as you saw what she was looking at, a hint of light peeking out where the wall met the ground.

“Let’s see if this moves,” she said.

She was already jumping to her feet and feeling around the wall before you had processed what she said. You got to work, holding the flashlight in one hand while you felt around the other end of the wall with your other hand. Your head snapped to the side when you heard a low rumble. Clarisse quickly pulled her hand off a rock, taking a few steps back. You didn’t know what she did, but you followed her lead.

You watched as the part of the wall Clarisse had been standing in front of groaned, the bottom of the wall grinding against the ground as it opened up. When the grinding stopped, and the hidden door was fully open there was a blinding white light on the other side. You and Clarisse both raised your hands, trying to block the light. You squinted as best as you could trying to make out anything through the light but there was nothing.

You reached down, brushing your finger against the back of Clarisse’s hand. She turned to you; you could just barely make out her squinting at you. You gave her a nod, hoping she could see it. She took your hand in her own giving it a small squeeze, she understood. The two of you turned forward, facing the light, squinting as you both took the step forward, into the white light.

You blinked away the white spots, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the new lighting. When your vision was finally clear enough you could see you were in a long corridor. The walls were once again made out of stone, perfectly cut rectangles forming the walls. You looked to Clarisse seeing her glance around the new location as well. You looked down, quickly letting go of her hand while clearing your throat.

On the other side of the corridor, you saw a door. It was closed but it was clearly a door. You hesitantly put one foot forward. As soon as your foot crunched down on the sand it began to shift beneath you. Clarisse yanked you back as the floor rumbled and the sand parted out of the way, falling in between the cracks of the tile it was resting on. You crouched down, under the stand revealed a pathway, large stone squares with various carvings, each of them leading to the door.

“I don’t like this,” Clarisse said.

“How do you want to play this?” You asked. “There’s got to be a trick of some sort.” Your eyes darted around the room, looking for what death trap could await you if you walked forward.

Clarisse swung her backpack off her shoulder again. “Let’s see how sensitive this thing is.” She dug around in her bag until she pulled out a little blue ball. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at her. “Selina thought it would help with my anger issues,” she used finger quotes over the words anger issues, making you chuckle.

Clarisse crouched down and rolled the ball across the tiles. You were pretty sure you both held your breath as the ball rolled over the first tile and nothing happened. As soon as the ball touched the second tile the tile dropped, shooting up a burst off hot air. The both of you leaned back, feeling the heat from the air, you could smell the magma that was surely below the tiles.

“You got anymore of those?” you asked, glancing at Clarisse hopefully. She shook her head and you let out a sigh, you should have known that would make it too easy.

You stepped forward onto the first tile that you knew was safe. You leaned over, peeking down through the hole. As you suspected you could see lava flowing below, you could feel the heat from it rising. You reached into your pocket and pulled out a handful of drachmas. You sighed, you were sure Artemis wouldn’t be happy to hear about you using drachmas to test the floor, but it was either the money or your life.

You tossed one drachma to the left of the fallen tile, letting out a shaky breath when it just made a little clang and didn’t end up in the lava. You looked back at Clarisse one last time before you took a step onto the same tile. When you didn’t fall to your death into lava you knew the coin was heavy enough to work. You continued your slow movements down the hall, tossing the coin onto one of the next tiles in the next row. You hit the wrong tile and your drachma was sent into the lava plenty of times. You were hoping Artemis would understand when you didn’t return with much change.

You finally let out a sigh of relief when your feet landed safely on the other side of the tiles, where the door was. You turned back to Clarisse who was staring across the pathway, seeing the lava bubbling below. “Just step exactly where I did,” you said, keeping your voice as calm as possible.

Clarisse nodded and began making her way to you. You watched her, making sure she didn’t move for an unsafe tile. It wasn’t a straight path and some tiles required jumping to. You were sure with all the tiles it wasn’t scary but with the missing ones you were jumping across molten lava. One wrong move, one slip of your foot, and you’d be sent straight to your death.

When Clarisse was safely by your side again you looked at the door. There was an arch creating the doorway but where the door should be was a flat stone block. The two of you began feeling around the arch, hoping to unlock something, you didn’t want to walk back across the lava. When you turned around you saw the remaining tiles crumble into the lava, leaving you with nowhere to go.

You turned back around when you felt the ground begin to rumble. You looked down at your feet, watching the sand shift around, you were waiting for the ground to crack open and swallow you up. That didn’t happen though, the stone block in the doorway began to shift, fully opening and revealing the doorway.

You slowly stepped forward peeking your head through the doorway. It was another dark room, though not as dark as the cave. Clarisse reached up, pressing the button on the headlamp she was still wearing. Since she had the light Clarisse took the lead, stepping into the room. Once you were fully in the room you didn’t bother glancing back as you heard the door closing behind you.

You didn’t need Clarisse’s head lamp for long as lights above began to flicker. When the lights finally kicked on you saw you were in a normal-looking room, filled with old technology. You might have been born before all that was invented and spent all your time in the woods, but you knew the computers and control panels were incredibly outdated.

“Do you know how to use any of this?” you asked, gesturing to all the foreign technology. Even if nothing was outdated and worked perfectly there was no way you’d be able to figure it out.

“Do I look like the kind of person who sat in front of a screen all day?” Clarisse asked, giving you a deadpanned look.

You shrugged. “You judged me for never seeing a movie.”

Clarisse rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “That’s different.” She walked to the center of the room, spinning in a circle as she got a look at everything. “This is something else.”

You took one side of the room while she took the other. You had no idea what anything was or did, but you began hitting buttons. If something turned on you weren’t sure what would happen, for all you knew it would release some giant monster. You were mindlessly hitting the buttons until you pressed a large red one. There was a loud groan, making your head snap up.

“What did you do?” Clarisse snapped, spinning around.

You turned around, opening your mouth to defend yourself but nothing came out. Your mouth was left hanging open as you heard skittering. It was like little bits of metal scraping against more metal.

You cautiously made your way to the middle of the room. You and Clarisse stood back-to-back once again, waiting for whatever was coming. You tilted your head, standing up a bit straighter when out from under one of the tables came a little metal spider. The machine scurried its way across the floor, stopping at your and Clarisse’s feet, you could almost swear it looked up at you.

“Is it going to kill us?” you whispered, sparing a glance at Clarisse.

The little metal spider moved forward, climbing up your boot slightly. Your entire body tensed up, but nothing happened. “Is that…” Clarisse trailed off. You raised an eyebrow as she stepped around the spider, crouching down to get a closer look. “Hephaestus.”

“So, it’s a friendly?”

“I would never use the words Hephaestus and friend in the same sentence,” Clarisse mumbled under her breath. “But it’s probably the thing least likely to kill us in here.”

The mechanical spider backed off your boot and began scurrying across the room again. “Where’s it going?” you looked to Clarisse. You both shrugged and followed the spider. Following a mechanical spider created by a god was sadly probably the least deadly thing you could do in the labyrinth.

The two of you followed the mechanical spider around the control panels until it stopped at the back wall. You furrowed your brow, there was no telling how long the little spider had been in the labyrinth, it was probably malfunctioning. You were about to ask for other ideas of ways out of the room when a door opened. Your eyes widened but before you could process what was happening the spider was moving again.

The two of you didn’t have anything better to do so you continued following the spider. You followed it until it led you to a long narrow passageway. You could see a singular door at the end of the passage. You took a deep breath before stepping into the hallway. About halfway to the door the entire hall began to shake and rumble.

“Run,” Clarisse whispered. “Run!”

The two of you took off down the hall, you were vaguely aware of the mechanical spider scurrying faster down the hall to the door. You did a full sprint down the hall, sparing a glance behind you to see the walls and ceiling caving in, creating a giant dust storm. You hit the door full force, Clarisse slamming into you. You both stumbled over each other as you tried to undo the latch on the door as the hallway continued to collapse. Just as the sand was beginning to blind you and send you into a coughing fit, the latch moved and you and Clarisse were tumbling through the door.

You coughed, shaking the sand from your hair. You were doubled over, your hands on your knees as you tried to regain your breath and get the sand out of your system. When you stood up, clearing your throat a few more times, you scrunched your eyebrows, spinning around in a circle at your surroundings. The first thing you noticed was the busted up mechanical spider at your feet, seeming to have been crushed by the collapsing tunnel.

“This is a weird room,” you said. You spun around again, looking up to the sky. The sun seemed to be beating down on you, you could see it and feel it. You hadn’t seen the sun since before you entered the hotel back in New York, so you weren’t sure what that meant. You were also standing in the middle of the street, surrounded by buildings.

“I know this place,” Clarisse whispered. You turned to face her, seeing her spin around as well, but instead of a look of confusion she had one of familiarity. “We’re in Arizona.”

You furrowed your brow, even more confused than before. When you turned around again you saw the door you most likely exited from. “Look,” you said, nodding to Clarisse.

Clarisse turned around, her eyes widening at the door. “That’s the symbol Annabeth told me to look for.” She stepped closer, looking the door up and down. It looked like a normal metal door at the back of a standard building, but this one had a Delta symbol glowing in the middle of it.

“Does this mean we escaped?” you asked slowly. You still weren’t sure you could believe what you were seeing.

Clarisse slowly nodded. “I think so.” She turned back to face you. “And I know where we are,” she smiled. “We’re not to far from my house.”

“You’re from Arizona?” that was the least important thing you had learned or to be going on, but you couldn’t help but smile at the new bit of information.

Clarisse looked down at the street, kicking her feet at an invisible rock. “We can go back to my place and…” when she looked up again her eyes widened.

“What?” you asked, searching Clarisse’s face for what was wrong. Clarisse was staring past you, making you turn around to see a boy about your age pacing back and forth in the street. His clothes were ripped up and caked in dirt, his hands gripped his hair tightly, shaking his head as he mumbled to himself.

“Chris,” Clarisse whispered. You looked back at Clarisse, not missing the concern and care on her face. The only Chris you knew of and that held, and significance was the boy from Camp Half-Blood, he was one of the first to go off and join Luke.

Taglist: @cxcilla @touchmyfracturedomens @luclue @manu-007s-world @death-in-love @nenas19 @mynameiskaci @danonered

[talesofesther]

scorch marks | ch 2

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: Wednesday has been careful to keep what you two have behind closed doors and far away from labels; but when someone starts to take it — take you — away from her, she realizes how much she cares.

A/N: Not much to say here, just that I hope you like this part and let me know your thoughts. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 1 here

It was an awful day outside.

The sky was all baby blue and the sun was shining warmly over the lake's water. Wednesday could see everyone running around all the way from the round window of her dorm.

She liked to keep as far away from the commotion as possible on days like these. But Enid had other plans when she dragged her roommate outside, going on about how sad it was to be cooped up inside on a day like this.

Though Wednesday was quickly ditched when Ajax came into the picture, and that's when she spotted you.

It was genuinely, annoyingly, one of the most beautiful sights Wednesday had ever witnessed. You were leaning back on your elbows under a huge tree, lips moving softly into words she couldn't know; your skin was mostly hidden from sunlight, but a few rays still managed to catch your hair, painting the strands into a golden glow as the glistening of the lake's water in front of you framed your profile. It almost got Wednesday enjoying the bright and warm weather for a second, but the rest of the world came back into focus when her gaze settled on the girl beside you.

Why did it look so intimate? Why was Yoko touching you with such grace? Why did you let her?

Wednesday had always been observant, noticing details to a minimum to find weaknesses and points of advantage, so of course, she noted how your sunglasses matched the ones the vampire was wearing. Wednesday caught her mind wandering as to how it happened; were you in her dorm room when you took them? Did Yoko put them on you, her hands touching the apples of your cheeks as she did so?

She kept her distance to keep her heart safe, so why does it hurt so much to be this far away now? Why is it so awful to see you with someone else, so happy and lively? Why does Wednesday feel like you're being stolen from her, when you're not even hers, to begin with?

There were so many goddamn questions flooding Wednesday's mind and making her feel less and less in control. It got her clenching her fists, breath coming out shallow as she nagged on her bottom lip until the metallic taste of blood brushed her tongue.

Goody warned that she was destined to be alone, so maybe she shouldn't be surprised if one day someone else gets to keep you. Doesn't mean she needs to like it, or go down without a fight.

With each step Wednesday took towards you, the more she hated herself, because it felt childish and naive, maybe even futile. But deep inside her little black heart, she also knew she would never stop torturing herself about it if she just turned away.

So she played her cards, and now that you were walking side by side with her — your shoulder bumping into hers because the concept of personal space changed when it was just you and her — Wednesday's lips parted with a long sigh she'd been holding since laying eyes on you on that picnic blanket.

Dead leaves and branches snapped under her boots, the bee keeper's shed slowly coming into view amidst the dense trees. She glanced at you, blinking slowly as her features softened for you, for you, for you always.

"What did you need me for?" You eventually asked, all innocent curiosity and flushed cheeks from the sun.

"Eugene wanted you to check on the new hive." Wednesday lied easily.

"Are the bees okay? Did something happen?" The look in your eyes mimicked the urgency of your tone.

Wednesday rolled her eyes, though the action held more adoration than anything else. "That's the whole point of checking in on them, is it not?"

The old wooden door of the shed creaked as she opened it for you and let it close again once you were both inside; it was a little darker, stripes of sunlight coming in through the cracks and holes in the walls, illuminating the organized mess of the shed.

"Touche," you mumbled, making a beeline for the new bees that were still settling in. You and Eugene liked to keep them inside for a while before relocating them to their definitive hive outside, especially when a new Queen is added.

You could feel the weight of Wednesday's gaze on your back the whole time as you checked the little ones with a faint smile, and when nothing out of the ordinary was noticed, you started to wonder — to hope — that maybe this didn't have anything to do with the bees at all.

There was shuffling behind you, steps coming closer to you yet slow and hesitant in their movement. You would have known it was Wednesday even if she wasn't the one who brought you here. From this close, the feeling of her was unmistakable; it was almost like your soul already knew the shape of hers.

You felt a touch, a barely there graze of fingertips on your elbow. You knew that it was Wednesday's silent plea for you to focus on her. Solemnly.

Oh.

You turned around, twisting on your heels and almost forgetting how to breathe, she indeed came closer, you noted.

You didn't want to look desperate — Wednesday was closer, her perfume numbing all your other senses; there was a lock of her hair slightly caught on her lips, the freckles over her nose and cheeks much more apparent — though it took everything on you to not cup her cheeks and pull her closer still.

A beat passed with you wondering whether she'd ever feel the same — with you not knowing she was already in just as deep, if not deeper, than you — watching how the slivers of light reflected off of her dark irises, how her eyebrows relaxed and her lips quirked in the faintest of smiles. With time you came to know her mannerisms, the little telltale of emotions on her that you adored, that you could spend hours admiring. This was new.

"You're so pretty," the words came out in a breath before you could hold onto them.

They got Wednesday blinking multiple times, as if a dandelion had been blown in front of her, its petals grazing her cheeks, leaving testimonies of affection and delicacy.

You wondered if she liked the feeling, or if it got her nauseous and annoyed.

Wednesday breathed in deeply, her tongue running over her bottom lip in motion that you followed. She wasn't looking at you as she said; "I remember the last time we were alone here," she spoke carefully, at the same time that her thumb curled around the belt loop of your shorts.

From her avoidance to look into your eyes to the way she insisted on touching you, it was somehow foreign territory. From all the other times you've sneaked away with Wednesday, this is easily the most intimate.

"I like that memory." Wednesday finished, tone dripping with something sweet, akin to honey but better.

Before you could even think, your fingertips were already tracing the outline of her jaw, like a satellite following the pull of gravity. You'd never heard her say anything that resembled attachment, let alone this. Part of you wanted to ask what triggered it, or where was the punchline.

Wednesday kissed you first; lips tender against yours as her nose nudged your cheek. Her urge got you stumbling backward until your back hit the shelf behind you.

You forgot any and all types of rational thinking.

————

"No," you grumbled, closing the bottle of nail polish, "no, stop fucking complaining, you're the one who asked me to do this."

You were laying on your belly on top of Wednesday's bed, her plush, comfy black comforter wrinkling slightly with the way Thing was gesturing erratically in front of you.

"And, I made it pretty clear I wasn't the best at it," you raised an eyebrow at him. Just because it was a little smudged on the sides doesn't mean he has to make a big deal out of it. The dark purple does look nice with his skin.

"Wednesday, tell him how it looks nice."

The raven-haired girl carefully picked up a filled page off of her typewriter and laid it down on the pile by her side. She spared a half-second glance towards you and Thing before inserting a new page to resume the noisy typing of her novel. "It looks dreadful."

You groaned exasperatedly, burying your head under the covers.

"I love it." Wednesday finished.

"Well there you have it," you hummed, clumsily getting up from her bed, "at least someone likes it."

Thing relented, signaling to you that it wasn't that bad.

It got you chuckling, for only a hand, he was quite something. With your palm over your chest, you mouthed a thank you to him before turning to Wednesday.

She was focused on her writing; her eyebrows just a tad furrowed, eyes sharp over the ink that was set on paper, her lips pulled thin as her fingertips skillfully pressed over the letters. Selfishly, you wanted to pull out your phone and take a picture, stash away this memory just for you. She probably wouldn't like that though, and as your mother used to tell you; memories exist outside of time. You could be back here and now anytime you wanted.

Some might think that Wednesday's side of the room is morbid and dead compared to the burst of colors that is Enid's side. You saw it differently; her hoodie was thrown over the bed, from earlier when she came in; there is a potted cactus sitting on the bedside table, beside the big round window, you gave it to her a few weeks ago and it still a vivid green; her cello rests beside her wardrobe, its case half open from when she practiced last night; the bin from under her desk is almost overflowing with balls of paper, signs of a dead end on her novel that she, apparently, has just found a way around.

If you look closely enough, Wednesday's side of the room is just as full of life as Enid's is. Each corner has a little bit of her, of her personality for you to discover. And just recently you've been allowed to. Honestly, it's still a little overwhelming.

You've been in her room before, countless times because of Enid, but never because Wednesday had invited you. It caught you by surprise when she — in her own nonchalant and cryptic way — asked you to come back with her a few days ago. A part of you always thought she would never want to entangle your personal lives more than they already were, so it did catch you a bit off guard when she yanked you from Yoko's side in the hallway and just… didn't let go.

Every day since, you've been spending more time by her side. None of you had quite addressed why yet.

You slowly walked to Wednesday's side, with every three clicks of the typewriter you took one step. Your gaze shifted from her to the recently written pile of pages on the desk.

Wednesday's fingers hovered over the buttons when she noticed you looking. She strived to keep her face impassive even when her breathing felt stuck to her throat.

Shit. She thought to herself, did you have to come snooping right when that page is on the top?

"Is there a new character in your novel?" You asked, lightly tracing your fingertips over the black ink, mainly over the lines in which Viper was described holding the hands of an unnamed girl.

Wednesday got up in a quick motion, her chair harshly scrapping the dark wood floor as she stepped in front of you, blocking your view of her story. "No, I… She's not important." She explained, looking at you through her eyebrows in an almost daring way.

You were about to open your mouth to inquire more, but three knocks on the door stopped you.

Both you and Wednesday looked towards it. She took a step away from you, her back bumping the desk and causing a few pencils to roll over, as if just realizing how close you two were — as if you'd never been much closer than that.

Wednesday cleared her throat, taking swift steps to the door and pulling it open only to reveal Yoko on the other side, round sunglasses resting above her nose and a cheeky grin on her dark-painted lips.

"What do you want?" Wednesday all but growled, her knuckles going white around the door handle.

"I'm here for that one," Yoko gestured towards you, before tilting her head so her eyes could properly find yours, "due date is next week Y/N, last I checked we're still a pair, come on lovergirl."

The nickname held no bad intentions other than to tease you for suddenly being glued to Wednesday's side. But if looks could kill, Wednesday would have Yoko six feet under already.

Begrudgingly, you picked up your backpack, giving Thing a fist bump before walking to the door.

You stopped by Wednesday, naturally reaching out to touch the back of her hand with yours. Her skin was all silk-like smooth as you hooked your pointer finger with hers.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" You asked only for her to hear.

Pathetically, Wednesday dreaded the thought of you leaving with someone else. She only nodded, giving your finger a barely-there squeeze before you walked away.

And when Yoko put an arm around your shoulders, she almost knocked the whole building out of place with the way she slammed her door.

————

The smell of coffee and freshly baked goods was ever-present in Weathervane, the place held this warmth to it, all cinnamon and brown sugar. Maybe that's why it was your favorite place in town.

You and Yoko sat by one of the booths beside the big glass windows, watching the people walk by on the sidewalk as a light drizzle painted the streets a darker color.

Your spoon clicked against your mug every time you mixed up your cappuccino. There was a small frown on your eyebrows, your back hitting the plush fabric of your seat; "yeah but like, why?"

Yoko let go of the straw in her drink with a pop, she shrugged, "not sure."

"So someone just told you oh by the way if you eat anything with garlic you might just end up in the hospital, and you just went with it no questions asked?" You tilted your head to the side as a puppy would, a faint smile coming to your lips.

"I mean," the vampire leaned back, strands of her straight hair going over her sunglasses, "back then I didn't give much of a shit, and since then it has happened to me enough times that I know it's true so, no I never asked about the whys."

A waiter passed by you holding a recently baked pie, the warm smell of apples invading your nostrils. You briefly considered ordering a slice. "I'd be curious about the whys." You mumbled, your lips grazing the edge of your mug before you took a sip.

Yoko smirked, her fangs prodding at her lower lip, "look it up then."

"We have, there's nothing."

"That's because it's something we know since the dark ages."

You hummed, "talk about blind trust."

Placing your mug on the table, you lazily turned your head to the side to look out into the street, only to be met with the piercing eyes of Wednesday staring right into your soul from the other side of the glass window.

Your hand bumped into your mug with the way you jumped in your seat, spilling a bit of your drink, "shit," you cursed under your breath, hearing the pounding of your heart in your ears.

"Don't scare me like that," you exclaimed to Wednesday, motioning wildly to the cappuccino stain on the table.

All the raven-haired girl did was raise an unimpressed eyebrow at you, probably not understanding a word of what you were saying.

"You two, I swear to god…" Yoko giggled, watching you amusedly.

"Don't." You pointed a finger at her.

From the sidewalk, Wednesday visibly huffed before turning around to carefully make her way inside.

"Yeah, I'm gonna take that as my cue to go to the bathroom, because she," Yoko told you, finishing her drink before gesturing behind her to where the bell above the door dinged as Wednesday came in, "looks like a damn storm cloud."

"Yeah very funny," you whispered back, to which you only received a salute from Yoko as a response as she walked away.

Wednesday made her way around the tables and to you, her arms straight by her side and face impassive. Her eyes never left you, she choose to sit beside you on the booth instead of in front of you, her shoulder brushing yours as her hands rested neatly on her lap.

"Hey you," you smiled something shy, feeling the familiar way your cheeks warmed up and your stomach filled with butterflies for having her this close. "I'm happy you're-"

"I couldn't find you at school," Wednesday stated before you could finish, her gaze sneaking from your eyes to your lips.

Your hands became slick with perspiration, words tangled at the tip of your tongue. She was looking for you, came all this way for you. Maybe it shouldn't have made you as happy as it did.

"You were looking for me?" You dared ask, tone filled with tender hope and something else, all warm and sweet, a feeling you've been trying to keep at bay since she first kissed you.

Wednesday gulped, her jaw tensing as she averted her gaze with a slow blink. One of your hands was resting on top of the table, fidgeting with the edge of a napkin; was it too bad that she felt like holding it?

"I uh- I'm sorry I didn't say anything," you said when she didn't answer, "Yoko wanted to go out for a bite and asked me to tag along."

There was an instant coldness to you when Wednesday shifted on her seat, separating her shoulder from yours, "she asked you out?"

"I mean, yeah but-"

"And you said yes?"

Your lips hung open for a beat where you simply looked at Wednesday; her dark eyes shining under the orange lights, droplets of rain still clinging to her black hair, and for the first time, no walls up around her heart. But maybe it was your fault that it was not for the right reasons.

Wednesday breathed through her nose, it sounded much like a sniff and she hated it; "don't let me spoil your date." She got up so fast that she was halfway to the door when you scrambled to go after her.

"Wait, Wednesday wait," you called, jogging to catch up to her and almost knocking over a guy who was carrying two big mugs of hot chocolate.

You took hold of her hand without thinking, walking around her to block her path a second before she reached the door handle.

She didn't return the hold you had on her hand and it stung, but you carried on almost desperately; "not a date. This is not a date, you don't have to be jealous or-"

"I don't care." Wednesday yanked her hand away, her words so cold that she almost convinced herself that they were true. "The fact that you could even think I would feel anything remotely close to that for you is ridiculous at best."

It was already a scene, you and Wednesday could feel the not-so-discreet eyes of almost all the customers on you, forks with pieces of pie and mugs with coffee stopped midair as they watched the show.

You involuntary curled in on yourself because of the unwanted attention. Wednesday didn't seem to mind.

"Please can we talk about this somewhere else?" You asked quietly, your sneaker tapping the floor rhythmically.

"There's nothing to talk about." Wednesday simply said, but the words were pushed out forcefully, bitter on her tongue and razor-sharp around her already bleeding heart. They hurt, but at least this was a pain that Wednesday could control.

You took a step closer to her, hands itching to touch her in any way but she took a step away from you.

"We have nothing worth talking about."

With that Wednesday walked around you and into the now pouring rain, leaving behind everything that could've been.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 3 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @gayestfeels26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @angel-luv-04 @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @kylobensgirl @witchyhs-blog @tobylikesfire @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @astancomerbelova

@justyourwritter69 @natashaxwife @fieldofsecretss @faunusrubyrose @darkblueeyedperson @jujuu23 @part-timetraveller @athenablack1959 @loki-is-loved @oh-thats-cute @straweberries

[mischiefmaker615]

Ghost (Loki Love Story) Ch. 2

Note: Chapters *when published* can be found on my masterlist ♥

•Chapter 1 is recommended to start with•

Summary: Somehow Loki is back from the dead and.. quite literally, stuck with you! and his methods on trying to 'fix this' seems a bit to exotic for your taste.. but dead or alive, a god of mischief is still a god of mischief.

Rating: R

You stir, wincing at the mere movement that reminded you your shoulder had been injured. Your left hand raised to clutch the throbbing joint and felt a bandage had been placed on it, wrapped in such a way where you felt your arm resting against yourself to indicate it was in a sling as well.

Great. A temporary cripple that had to stay put in headquarters until the sling was ready to be ditched. No missions, no adventure. The mere thought of having to do paperwork made you groan and open your eyes, your body freezing in place as you stared up into two gorgeous and.. familiar blue orbs that gazed down at you with curiosity and life now that you were awake.

Loki.

The sudden moment of mixed emotions and thoughts made your free hand swing right and hit him square in the jaw, making him fall out of view as your body jolted up and took in the scene. You were back in your apartment, in your bed, yes your arm in a sling and shoulder bandaged. The only thing that now was to be handled was the man that caught his footing beside your bed and a hand clutching his probably sore cheek.

‘’what in the nine realms was that fo-‘’

‘’what the hell are you doing here?? alive??’’ you shout as your hand fumbled to find your sword you kept on your nightstand while keeping eyes on him. its sudden disappearance made your eyes glance back to find it had been removed and now your brain said he possibly had a weapon on him.

Adrenaline aiding you, you jumped to your feet as you stood on your bed, your eyes watching his every move as his hands raised up, palms facing you in a surrender position.

‘’now don’t-‘’

‘’fuck you-‘’ you snapped and jumped down, dashing towards the living room quickly as you heard boots pound behind you while your hand reaches for the cabinet below your tv where you keep a dagger. Before you had the chance to swing it open in your crouch position, two arms envelope you from behind, feeling your back and sore wings press against his chest as you begin to struggle in his arms.

Your Asgardian strength vs his makes you both an almost equal match compared to if you were a Midgardian, but being a woman vs a man had its disadvantages as your front was pressed up against the wall, your good arm being pinned behind your back while his other hand kept your wing pressed forward.

‘’now, if you care to listen properly this time, I’ll start with informing you that I am not here to harm you-‘’

‘’you think I’m afraid, is that it?? ghosts aren’t welcome here Laufeyson’’ you snapped as you tried to push yourself from the wall but his body against yours kept you were he wanted you.

‘’I am not a ghost.. really. Your blood brought me back.’’ Loki explained, quickly as if you were going to interrupt him again.

‘’the hell are you talking about?’’

‘’language darling, and I’ll tell you.’’ He smirked but you weren’t in the mood to play games as you struggled harder.

‘’eat shit-‘’

‘’alright, I didn’t wish to have you further injure yourself so do try to cooperate.’’ He warned and he released your wing, quickly moving his hand instead to your mouth to silence the next set of cuss words that threatened to leave your lips.

Trying to take the opportunity that your wing was free, you moved your body to turn you both but he backed the both of you up. Wrapping his other arm around your waist, he kept your arm pinned to your side before he sat down on the couch with you on his lap. You struggled against him, him merely keeping silent as he tightened his hold while you mumbled in his hand, trying to get free. Once your adrenaline came down after a minute, pain seemed to shoot up your body as you stilled, squeezing your eyes shut as you breathed through the pain.

‘’now that your done with your little fit, there is much to discuss and it’s important for you to know,’’ Loki explained, keeping his voice low as if to sooth your mood but you just answered him with a glare, whether he could see it or not as you tried to ignore the fact that he was keeping you in his lap.

‘’back at the.. museum of sorts, during your heroic battle against the mortals, a bit of your blood just so happened to land on my attire and bring me back. Why? That is what I wish to find out eventually. I have no memory of my previous where abouts, only the memory of my brother and.. Thanos.’’ His voice sharpened at the mention of him, you figured he was referring to his last moments. Either way, his hand seemed to loosen briefly where you could turn your face to the side to free your mouth.

‘’so what, are you here to thank me for bringing you back or something? You’re welcome. Now you can get out of my apartment.’’ your voice dripped in sarcasm but you failed to hide your curiosity that Loki, god of Mischief was back from the dead.

‘’I would, but we have a small problem.’’ He then stood up, releasing you finally as you created distance with yourself and him but before you could think to go back for your dagger, he swiftly walked to the front door and opened it.

You raised a brow in confusion as he stepped out, the door shutting behind him. in one swift moment, almost in the blink of an eye- he reappeared out of nowhere in front of you and you jumped, taking a step back as your back hit the wall- your emotions having you ignore the pain for now as you looked at him in all the forms of ‘what the fuck’.

Loki sighed as he crossed his arms. ‘’trust me darling, as gorgeous as you are- I’ve tried leaving you several times.’’

You glare at him, not knowing exactly how to feel about that comment as you scooted around him cautiously before bolting to the door, yanking it open as the light hit your eyes as you stepped out, taking one glance at New Asgard before in a blink of an eye, you appeared right before him, perhaps a little to close as you stumbled back away from him.

His face couldn’t help but hold amusement as he leaned against the wall, watching how you tried about two more times before landing just a step away from him and you even bolting to the farthest part of the apartment before the same result occurred.

‘’what the fuck!!’’ you yelled in frustration and plopped down on the couch, exhausted from your wounds, mentally and from this whole new situation you have to deal with.

You resisted the urge to kill him when you heard chuckling before he strolled over and sat beside you. You didn’t hesitate to scoot farther away as he leaned back and sighed. ‘’it seems to me that we’re stuck together-‘’

‘’no- no no no no no.. we are not stuck together… I’ll just call-‘’

‘’who? The Avengers? SHIELD? My brother?’’ Loki almost mocked as he crossed his arms and looked at you. ‘’wherever I go, you’ll go darling. I get locked up, so will do. This isn’t a scientific situation for your green monster or your iron idiot to dissect. I’m not entirely sure if magic is involved in this. This seems to be blood bound. Whatever is holding the bond together, needs to be undone.’’

‘’..i could always kill you.’’ You threaten as you look upon him with hatred.

‘’and risk you dying as well? Unless you wish more to be stuck being around a dead body than a mobile one.’’

‘’hard choice honestly.’’ You said sarcastically and he rolled his eyes.

‘’there is a scripture involving blood magic, it falls almost along the lines of black magic. I could have sworn reading it long ago..’’ he trailed off, as if memories back on Asgard came back to him but it was short lived as he stared back at you. ‘’blood is a bond, what breaks the bond is completing the contract. When you placed your blood onto my attire- accident or not, you must have been thinking about something.. something that you wished assistance with or something completed.. I help you, and we might be able to separate.’’ He explained, hard to tell if he was thrilled by having to help or not but you looked at him as if he were stupid.

‘’so.. what? you think I called you here to try to help me with something? As if you could help me feel complete or mend something I had broken? All you managed to do was get me shot in the shoulder and have shards of glass in my wings- who the hell even did this?’’ you pointed at the sling and bandage.

‘’your soldier did.’’ Loki said dryly, hating any type of mention of the Avengers.

‘’you saw? So how did you get here?’’

‘’I didn’t exactly have to run darling. From medical bay, to this.. New Asgard apparently, I just kept reappearing to keep up. Not exactly a fun trip when you are being teleported against your will every 10 steps. You’ve only been out for merely a day.’’ Loki explained casually as you glanced at the clock.

9:00am

KNOCK KNOCK

‘’now what-‘’ you groaned as you got up and went over to the door, Loki not even glancing behind him as if he could care less while you look through the hole.

‘’Y/N? it’s Steve.. I’m just here checking in..’’

‘’oh gods this keeps getting better and better..’’ you groan under your breath as your eyes dart around the room. ‘’a.. one second!’’ you call at the door before you run over to the couch and make a shooing motion at Loki. ‘’get in the closet.’’

‘’excuse me?’’ he looked up at you in almost disgust.

‘’we can’t handle this situation if your locked up so you need to hide.’’ You hiss, needing him to move.

‘’I much prefer your bedroom,’’ he smirked but you snatch his hand to yank him up with a struggle.

‘’to far, the closet is the closest to the general area he’ll be in without any of us.. teleporting. Hurry up-‘’’ you hiss as you go behind him and practically push him to move forward as he mumbled something in a different language before getting in the closet, moving your jacket and coats aside.

‘’this is absurd-‘’

‘’this whole day is.’’ You snap back before shutting the door in his face before cautiously going to the door, pausing as if that distance alone would have you snap back to Loki but you stayed put. Taking a  deep breath, you opened the door. ‘’Steve!’’

‘’Y/N! thank goodness you’re up and about, I figured you would feel a bit more comfortable in your own home rather than the medical bay you always found creepy.’’ He teased with a  laugh as you stepped aside and he entered, going further into your living room.

‘’well thank you by the way, and your patch job is getting better’’ you tease as you gesture to your bandages and he laughed.

‘’I hoped I wouldn’t have to practice. I have to make this visit short but basically Fury has given you leave until you’re fully recovered.’’ He told you, his voice cautious as if you would blow up but your wings merely slumped.

‘’well.. I suppose its better than office work’’ you half tease as you scoot more towards the closet, not wanting to risk getting to far away from Loki as Steve shifted to the kitchen.

‘’well I know your arm is going to take some time to heel so is there anything around here you need assistance with? Cooking, cleaning perhaps? Its tough having your dominant hand affected’’ Steve offered as he went over to the kitchen as if there was guarantee dishes but you followed him, cutting your steps short as you got close to the couch.

‘’no no- I’m pretty good with my left, I’ll manage and I promise to call if there’s anything I need.’’ You smile, panic nudging you as he seemed to be around the corner, making you lean a bit to see what he was doing but he already came back to view, seeing you lean to see rather than just take the step forward.

‘’you okay?’’ he asked, giving a confused and amused look at the same time.

‘’yeah just a.. stretching- I’m a little tired though..’’ you hinted as you stayed put, not wanting to sound rude but had to much to take care of him as he nodded.

‘’I understand, I know you can take care of yourself but don’t be stubborn, I’m just a call away’’ Steve smiled as you followed him to the door, returning the smile as he stepped out.

‘’I promise, and thank you. Take care of yourself out there.’’ You tell him before you close the door, a gasp leaving your lips as you suddenly appeared in the closet- falling against Loki’s chest as you struggled to regain footing in the cramped closet.

‘’my apologies love, I must have taken a step back.’’ Loki chuckled, his hands on your hips to steady you as you push off of him and yank the door open, stepping out red faced.

‘’w-whatever.. let’s try to figure this out.’’

[hottpinkpenguin]

Until My Bones Have Turned to Leaves - Ch.2

Joe Liebgott (BoB) X Fem!SoldierReader Part 2 of ? | Part 1 here! WC: 1808 Warnings: depictions of war; cursing; not proofread; non-canon Taglist: @imafckingbitch @aliciax3 @needf0rspeed

You saw it all in slow motion. In the cold, dark night, Pvt Jackson yanked the pin out of his grenade, the soft metallic click a familiar sound to your ears. He recoiled his arm to throw the grenade into the open window of the building. You could hear snippets of guttural German from inside, including a man’s brittle laughter, and the clinking of cutlery. They’re eating, you thought with a pang something almost like pity. In a few instants, they’d be dead.  

Jackson’s grenade left his hand, sailing through the night in a graceful arc. It soared over the fence surrounding the building and leapt through the glass-less window into the inviting lamplight of the room beyond. For a split second, no one noticed. The Germans kept talking, the patrol outside held their breath, and the grenade landed with an ominous clunk. 

In the same instant that the Germans inside let out a cry of surprise, Pvt Jackson was moving. Too soon, your instincts screamed. You grabbed clumsily at the back of his jacket, but the cold made your fingers feeble and fumbly. The fabric slipped through your grasp. He kept moving forward, mounting the small set of stairs in front of the door to the immediate right of where his grenade had only just disappeared. He confidently kicked the door in, warm light spilling into the night air outside.

You lunged forward with the intention of wrapping your arms around Jackson to prevent him from kicking in the door before his grenade detonated. You managed the first part of your plan - got your arms wrapped around his wiry torso - but his momentum carried the both of you forward. 

You heard Bull yell behind you, a garbled mix of “wait!” and “no!” 

The grenade detonated a heartbeat later. Jackson absorbed the explosion in full, but you felt the bite of shrapnel and heat on your hands and forearms where they snaked around the front of his chest. Both of you were thrown backwards. He landed heavily on the top step of the entryway, but your feet slipped on the icy stone, and then air. For a moment, you were suspended. Somewhere beside you, Bull’s booming voice. You heard a gunshot, then another. 

You collided with the frozen ground, a sharp lighting rod of pain ripping up your back. Your head snapped backwards against the earth, and all turned to black… 

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

“Patrol’s back.”

Joe’s lip curled at Hoobler’s idiotic observation. 

“Gee, Hoob, you don’t say.” Everyone ignored the sarcastic bite in Joe’s voice. The men were on their feet, shuffling quickly to the street outside in search of the returning patrol. Joe hadn’t moved from the dust-ridden armchair he’d sunk into shortly after dinner. His neck ached and there was a pounding headache forming behind his eyes. No one in Easy Company was a stranger to the risks of warfare at this point, but the stakes of this patrol, after everything they’d endured in Bastogne, was a cruel knife-twist to the ribs. Nobody in Easy wanted to be in that patrol, but they hated being left behind even more. At least when they were all together, they could look out for each other. Pack mentality, Joe heard Lt. Speirs call it. The drive to move as one, fight as a unit, protect each other. This patrol had separated them, splintered off a small group to face danger alone. And now, as if proving the mens’ suspicions, something had gone wrong.

In the street outside on Easy’s side of the river, the distant sound of agony shattered the quiet of the pre-dawn dark. Someone was injured. Someone - maybe more than one - might be dead. Those who’d been left to wait followed the anguished cries of their Company-mate through the empty streets. 

It didn’t take long to find the source of the wails. Joe, along with about a dozen others, honed in on a barn at the end of a narrow street running east-to-west through Haguenau. Joe was practically sprinting towards it, the sounds of screaming getting louder. Who is it? He didn’t recognize the voice, and for some reason his heart locked up in terror. A few meters ahead of him, he saw Malarkey duck into the barn. 

Joe got there, stepped into the quickly filling room and took in the scene. Most of the patrol members were there, clustered around Pvt Jackson writhing in pain and moaning. Doc Roe was bent over Jackson’s head and chest, murmuring quietly and smoothing the man’s hair down against his forehead in a gentle, almost maternal gesture. Joe felt a sudden burn in his eyes as his throat closed up. They’d all served with Eugene Roe long enough to read his body language. If he was barking orders at the others to ‘give me some of your morphine’ or ‘hold him down’ or anything of the sort, or if he was digging around in a bullet wound or tightening a tourniquet until his patient was screaming bloody murder, chances are the soldier could pull through. But times like this - when Doc’s voice went quiet and he stopped barking orders and his touch got gentle - meant something differently entirely. Joe wondered if Pvt Jackson knew it the way that everyone gathered in the room did. There was an eerie hush on the growing crowd, a hollow sadness in their eyes. Not the first body they’d seen, and far from the last. But this one felt wasteful in a way other deaths hadn’t. 

After a few minutes, Jackson’s cries of agony turned to unintelligible moans. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, his muscles relaxed in a way that wasn’t natural to any living thing. His eyes dulled and Doc Roe stopped stroking the man’s head. And that was that. Pvt Eugene Jackson died in agony surrounded by moldy hay and sad faces in a French town that was little more than a crossroads. A few of the men swore under their breath and ducked out of the stifling barn into the dark night outside. Joe thought to do the same, but as he ducked around Malarkey towards the door his eyes landed on Bull Randleman. Bull’s mouth was puckered into a line that threatened to turn down at the edges, his telltale cigar hanging limply from his lips. His eyes were trained on Pvt Jackson but misty, like his thoughts were elsewhere. 

The realization hit Joe like a freight train. There was more than just grief over Jackson clinging to the eyes of the men from the returned patrol. There was an empty, bombed out quality to their stares, like they were all wrapped so tightly in their own thoughts they’d suffocate. Joe hadn’t caught it before, but he did now. He was in a room full of men for the first time since you’d joined Easy outside of Nijmegen, just before Bastogne. You were gone.

“Jesus Christ, Bull.” Randleman looked disoriented for a second before his eyes found Joe’s, his gaze coming into focus as if his thoughts had to travel thousands of miles to come back to Haguenau. 

“Where the fuck is she?” Joe’s voice broke on the last syllable of his question. A few of the others who’d joined the returning patrol looked on in varying states of comprehension at the unfolding exchange. The rest of the room was silent, all eyes glued on Liebgott and Randleman. 

“I… I’m sorry, Joe. She, she took a grenade. Jackson’s grenade.” Bull’s voice sounded small and pinched. Webster, who’d served as the interpreter on the patrol, laid a hand on Bull’s shoulder as if to steady him. Bull squeezed his eyes shut against the memory of your head ricocheting off the ground like you were a ragdoll. 

“Where, Bull.” Joe felt like he was about to vibrate apart into a million pieces. Not only had this piece of shit patrol gotten one of their own killed, but they’d left someone behind. A goddamn woman, no less. You. The Angel of Bastogne. Joe had been - and continued to be - the first to decry your presence as unnatural at the Front. He stood by his feelings on that point. But he’d sooner put the barrel of his M1 down his throat and pull the trigger than consider leaving you behind in this muddy, wasteland of a crossroads. Joe knew it as deeply as he knew his own heartbeat. 

Bull just shook his head slowly and sadly. “I’m sorry, Joe. I’m sorry.” He kept repeating it, over and over again. 

“She dead?” Joe challenged, stepping towards Bull with half a mind to punch him. The air in the barn froze as a dozen men held their breath, waiting on the answer. Bull crumpled at the question, choking out a single sob as he hid his face behind a hand. The sight made Joe’s bones feel brittle like porcelain, and he blanched. His anger fizzled, turning dangerously in the direction of desperation. You couldn’t be… dead?

It was Webster who answered after a few long moments. “No. Likely not. Just concussed.”

The silence in the air deepened for a heartbeat as everyone processed Webster’s answer. The cold fist of dread in Joe’s chest burst open into black rage.

“You left her?! You fuckers left her for the Germans?! Fucking left her in the mud?! What’s wrong with you?! Fuck!” 

Unable to keep his fury compressed to words, Joe turned and struck out with his leg at a rusted out bucket that lay discarded near his feet. The bucket flew through the air and hit the planks of the barn with a crunchy thwack before clattering to the hard packed ground beneath. The clamor earned Joe some chastising from his Company-mates, a few of them grousing about ‘sound discipline’. Joe ignored them and stalked out of the barn, his hands balled into fists at his side and his vision starting to go white. His mind reeled between memories of you darting from one foxhole to the next beneath the explosions of pinewood and snow in Bastogne to snapshots of your body bent at an unnatural angle and your face plastered in the half-frozen mud on the German side of the Moder river. 

Joe’s body took him back to the house where he’d last seen you on autopilot. His hands put his gear and pack on, cleaned his rifle, and stocked up on ammo and grenades. The pale whisper of a pink dawn was peeking over the horizon when an empty-eyed Randleman and a stony-faced Webster joined him in a beeline due-east through the streets, headed towards the banks of the river and, on the other side, German-controlled territory. All the while, Joe’s mind teetered on a single, incontestable fact: if you were out there, Joe would find you. And God help any man who stood in his way.

**more to come!! stay tuned and let me know if you want to be tagged

[poorwritingandstalecoffee]

in vita, in media morte sumus. Ch.1

WC: 2K

Note: New series popping out! I really have no idea the direction of this series or how many chapters will be included. Also, updates will likely be spread out since I am in the middle of the semester. Therefore, patience will be greatly appreciated with how quickly I can shell out chapters. Also, this is only the second extended work I've done, so once again, patience and kindness are very much appreciated.

Note: Also, Desdemona is 19-20 years old. The terms of her education at Nevermore will be explained in the upcoming chapters. HINT: Nevermore has blended into a high school/college atmosphere for Outcasts using alternating schedules.

BUZZZ!

*Rustling* 

“I.D.? … Hmm, here for the Addams girl?”

“What gave it away? The black or the black?”

“Tish, play nice, my love.” 

“Ohh, a playful little barb never hurt anybody, dear. Now, where is our little dagger, hmm?”

“Right this way,” the guard grumbled with his head down. He pulled the radio to his mouth. “Open cell block 394.”

BUZZ! 

Their banter reached your ears before you reached the end of the hall. It made you want to claw your ears to bloody shreds and stuff them down the throat of the guard that would not stop picking at his fucking fingers—flicking dirt from underneath the dead nailbed with the toothpick. Swipe, dig, flick. Swipe, dig, flick! Nothing like family to incite you into a murder spree.

Morticia and Gomez turned a corner and met you at the halfway point between cell block 394 and cell block 394-C. “Aahh! Our little dagger! Look at you in your little red uniform,” said Gomez, clapping his hands as if to seal the finality of his joy.

Morticia smirked at you and murmured, “Only the best for an Adams.” She winked at you behind the bars separating the cell blocks, making your lip twitch. 

Despite your distaste for her overtly sweet manner, you did appreciate her respect for your reputation that has awarded you such an unmatched level of security—a uniquely colored uniform and private cell block, in fact—and fear that wafted off those you passed, including the guard who has yet to remove his eyes from your form. You suppose rightly so since you did have the propensity to pounce on those inside the prison with teeth slashing into their pliable flesh, even if your hands were permanently locked into a steel cage. 

You watched the guard pocket his dirty toothpick and slowly speak into his radio while eyes remained watchful of you, “Open the gate.” 

The security light overhead flashed green while the gate buzzed open from a remote control center, and you stepped through the threshold. You sighed and walked up to your mother and father. “Hello, parents. Did you get bored of trying to act like you could still procreate and decide to pay your eldest a visit finally?”

“Desdemona!” Morticia shrieked. 

Gomez chuckled and touched her back to quell her growing frustration. “Easy, Tish, she’s just warming up for the day. You didn’t mean it, did you, my little hellion?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How serious are you about breaking me out of here?” You narrowed your eyes at him while all four of you, including the guard, walked back to the entrance. As the four of you stepped outside the prisoner living quarters, Gomez turned and gestured toward the guard, who was hesitantly moving toward you with a set of keys jingling in his unsteady hands. You watched him fit the correct key into the lock of the steel cage and turn the little knobs inside, releasing the pressure from the cuffs and letting them bounce apart from your wrists before the box snapped open and thudded to the ground. Your brow raised while you rubbed at your sore wrists. Giving a cursory glance at the guard, you thought, ehh, there’s better prey than you, little piggy. 

You turned toward your father and mother as they said, “Dead serious, darling.” You smirked and followed them to the car. Lurch let you all in, moved into the driver's seat, and put the pedal on the floor, leaving dust and gravel flying in your wake with the prison and the shaking guard fading into little dark spots.

Turning back to your parents, you said, “So, who did you kill, poison, or bribe to get my indefinite sentence halted?” 

Morticia and Gomez stopped fawning over each other and whispering like teenagers about their little escapades in their youth that were similar to this one. They turned to you, and Morticia said with a familiar smirk, “A certain judge might have suddenly come to the belief that were you not immediately released, his bowels might begin imploding on him, causing massive internal bleeding that would quickly escalate to extreme bloodloss and sudden death.”

You raised your brow, thinking, gross, definitely not your style. Then again, yours and your parents’ signatures have never quite aligned. Have they? “And he agreed to that?”

“Well…a little give was admittedly needed on our part, little dagger. No justice system would simply allow a famed serial murderer to walk without some sort of agreed-upon rehabilitation plan. That is what our little friend informed us." Gomez said this with palms up and a placating smile, knowing you would add in that you could have done it without having to bend your will, albeit coming away with messier hands and the smell of blood on you. 

Scoffing, you looked out the window, knowing whatever they agreed to put you through would not be to your liking, which would most certainly make your parents smirk with satisfaction—Morticia, anyway. Your relationship with your parents has always been a complicated one. “So, what will this forced rehabilitation plan look like, hmm?”

You could practically feel Morticia buzzing with selfish glee as she slowly said it, letting her lips form each word wholly before dropping them before you to splatter into the carpeted floorboard under your feet. “You're going to attend school with your younger sister, Dezzy. Our old alma mater, Nevermore Academy.”

“WHAT?” You barely registered that she used that stupid, loathsome nickname because all you could hear was your blood ringing through your ears. Your heartbeat sped up, imagining you mingling with petty little tweens and other teenagers as they giggled, cursed, sweated, cried, and chatted with one another. Their germs and fluids mixing as bodies inevitably tangled, writhed, and pulled at one another while they threw away all of their intellectual capacities for brief moments of desire and ecstasy. You don’t know how Wednesday does it every day. God, I hope that place hasn’t changed her, you thought. 

“Oh, come now, Dezzy–

“I told you never to call me that! You know how I feel about that fucking nickname!” You screamed, images of you trapped and bashing your fists against the underside of the musty floorboards while tears streamed down your cheeks, listening to the girls chanting Dezzy! Dezzy! The scared little baby! above you flashed in your eyes. You blinked the memories away and looked at Morticia out of the corner of your eyes with betrayal and disappointment. She never fucking learns, you thought.

Morticia was always startled at your outbursts, the level of fury you could hurl at her in a second. Like the flip of a match, you exploded on her, which never fails to leave her speechless and hurt. She looked to Gomez for support but found him nudging his head towards you as a signal to apologize; Morticia, come on. She looked at you as you stared out the window, watching the foliage blur into greens and browns. Sighing, she thought, fucking stupid, you remember why she hates that name, hell you walked in on them doing it, Morticia! Leaning her head towards you, she tries to get your attention again and slowly says, “I’m sorry darling, I- I know, I shouldn’t have said that. It slipped out before I knew what I was saying, little dagger. Desdemona darling…” she waited for you to look at her, “forgive me?”

You studied her expression, saw the plea in her eyes, and remembered how she ripped out the floorboards, picked you up from that dark, spider-infested place, and held you in her arms. While you cried and clung to her, she held you and screamed how could you? What is wrong with you? You’re fucking monsters! to the group of blushing girls caught red-handed. You remember how she stormed into the headmaster’s office, demanding an explanation for why he didn’t protect you, why those girls were left unsupervised, why he let you go so long without a single friendship made at that damned school? Above all, you remember her vowing never to bring her daughter back to that hellhole and that he could say goodbye to his reputation and credentials as an educator. You recall as she carried you out of there, hearing her swearing on her mother’s grave that he and those girls would pay severely for making her baby scream and cry out in fear. Ohh, how you could hear her chanting something deadly in her spell room while Gomez talked with strange men about visiting the families of those unfortunate, monstrous people, and finally, you remember seeing four little dolls that looked so like the condemned from that school wind up on your mother’s desk in gruesome conditions with pins and burned bodies.

“Okay, fine, I forgive you—but only for the nickname, not for this nightmare you are about to put me through,” you grumbled and leaned your head on the back of the seat. 

Morticia smiled and forced herself not to reach out and clasp your hands because she knew how alike her daughters could be. Instead, she grasped Gomez’s arm and said, “Nevermore is a charming little gothic wonderland! We swear it is not like other schools; Nevermore is a place for freaks, ghouls, werewolves, vampires, and gothics alike. Tell her, Gomez.”

“Tish is right, my little dagger. Nevermore is unlike any school; it was founded by Faulkner himself, after all. The principal there is devoted to ensuring every student feels welcome…especially after what happened last year, the school has become more like a family of goths and freaks that protects its own.” 

“How touching,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm in response to their sickly sweet praises of the school. You looked out the window and saw the beginnings of a massive castle-like structure forming in the distance. Turning to your parents, you sighed, “Well, if I am to spend the rest of my sentence here, at least tell me more of this famous school and its esteemed principal that you’re so giddy to bore me over—quickly though, otherwise my ears might burst with anymore prolonged exposure to your insane joy.”

Morticia frowned at the word sentence and watched you smirk at her facial expression. Sighing, she thought, sometimes you and Wednesday are too alike before going into detail with Gomez about the academy’s history and the unfortunate events of last year. The tales of the raving monster they called the Hyde and its evil commander, how they ravaged the town, the school, and everyone that came unsuspectingly into their path—they were gruesome. Morticia and Gomez smirked at the unmistakable growing spark of curiosity and thrill in your eyes. An Adams through and through. They told you how Wednesday and her band of misfits were crucial to stopping the Hyde and its evil commander, Mrs. Thornhill, and how Wednesday’s known skill for potionmaking ended up saving the principal with one of her concocted antidotes. Indeed, what a tale of misery, murder, and mystery it was. Agatha Christie would be pleased, you thought. 

…

Staring up at the gothic architecture, in all its dark, sullen glory, you thought it impressive. At least your parents were not wrong about the appearance and atmosphere of the place. Nevermore is most certainly a school reserved for only the best of freaks and goths; you could see students roaming about under the gables, curved archways, gargoyles, and on the marbled and grassy surfaces of the quad and the lawn surrounding the gothic concrete creature. It looked more like an overdone mansion than a school. Students dressed in matching dark purple and blue uniforms, some with black glasses, others with mixed expressions of glee, curiosity, suspicion, or dread, and carrying books, backpacks, trinkets, or all three; it made them look like little characters from a story that were hiding powers and ambiguous morality. 

Making your way through the school entrance with your parents on your heels and gossiping about the glorious days of their youth—yuck!—you came face to face with the gold plaque of Principal Weems. You could hear her typing away on her laptop and talking on the phone about a banquet, or was it a dance? Her voice was distinctly sweet yet deep—how dark could it go?—and smoothly rich, the voice of someone who was not afraid to demand respect and authority she likely felt she was rightly due…and of someone who was used to receiving it promptly, with haste…someone who rarely found herself matched and challenged. Hmm, you might actually have some fun here, Des. With that thought, you knocked sharply on her door, hearing her voice come to a halt before she murmured a short apology and goodbye, followed by a short silence and then the rhythmic, steady click of her heels as she approached the other side of the wooden barrier.