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uvobreakmylegs · 2 days ago

Text

Rework

vampire!Feitan x werewolf!reader (with a side of Feitan x werewolf!Phinks)

🎃Happy Halloween🎃

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping, captivity, blood, depictions of violence, death, murder, gore, body horror, stockholm syndrome, implied future poly relationships

Word Count: 13.7k

“So, what are you two going to be doing at that castle?”

The taxi driver's question pierced through the silence within the cab as he looked back to where you and Feitan were sitting, looking the both of you over in the rear view mirror. It came out of nowhere, as over a half hour ago the drive had begun with little chatter from any of you. It made you nervous, and you couldn't help but gulp as you kept your eyes on what you could see out the window. It would be better to pretend that you hadn't heard him.

Feitan didn't like it when you spoke to other people, after all.

When neither of you answered, the driver went as far as to turn his head around. Ultimately his gaze ended up on Feitan as he was sitting behind the front passenger's seat, making it easier for the driver to keep his eyes on him.

“Well?” the driver asked.

Feitan finally responded to that just to say “it's private.”

“Private business at a castle. That's a new one,” the driver commented, laughing a little to himself after.

Feitan didn't reply.

Luckily the driver seemed to get the hint that neither Feitan or you were in the mood to talk, and he returned his attention to the road as the taxi steadily continued up the woodland path.

You felt relieved when he stopped pressing, mostly because you didn't want him to be injured or killed. You had found yourself wanting to like the driver simply because of the hat he wore – it reminded you of your grandfather, as he wore that same style of pointed newsboy caps that your grandfather would wear when he went out, and thus you associated the cap with him. So you were feeling warmly towards the driver, as silly as it was, and you hoped that any sort of incident could be avoided when it came to him.

At least Feitan wasn't prone to random acts of violence against other people for no reason.

For the most part, anyway.

With the chatter in the cab now ceased and nothing else to focus on, you kept your eyes trained on the view outside of the window, watching as the car drove past brightly colored falling leaves and the trees whose branches were slowly becoming more exposed every time the wind blew past them, stealing away more of their leaves in a sign of the upcoming winter.

It made for a pretty view, and keeping an eye out for the various colors that came from the different types of trees kept you occupied on what would otherwise be another long and boring journey. Unlike Feitan, you didn't feel comfortable attempting to read while in the car as you were too worried that trying to do so would make you ill, so the options you had for entertainment were limited.

It wasn't much, but at least it was nice enough to keep your mind on.

It also kept your attention away from the luggage that sat diagonally from you in the front passenger's seat.

…. You shouldn't have even had that thought. Because just like that, the temptation was there again, and you needed to force your neck to stay in the same position. All to avoid your gaze straying in that direction. It was made harder due to the fact that the large burgundy suitcase was just within your peripheral vision. The very edge of it taunted you, it seemed. It would be so, so easy to keep your attention on that case for the entire journey, staring at it as you allowed the anxiety and desperation to fill your mind.

What if, this time, they wouldn't work when you got them back? What if they were ruined now and you were left like this permanently? Was there any accounting for that? Did he have a way to restore you if that happened? Or would you be in this state forever?

Would he even still want you if you couldn't go back to the way you'd been before?

You did your best to keep those thoughts at the back of your head as you focused on the outside. Worrying about it wouldn't do you any good, and as much as you wanted to blame it on the fact that the case couldn't fit in the trunk due to the wheelchair, directing your attention over to where it sat would only annoy him.

… How was Feitan doing, mood wise?

You tore your gaze away from the window to glance over at the man who sat next to you, finding that his focus was still on the book he had opened at the very start of the journey, several hours ago before the taxi when you had gotten on board the train the day prior. By now he was more than halfway through that book, though given that you were on the last legs of your journey, he probably wouldn't be able to finish it before the cab reached its destination.

He clearly noticed the way you stared at him as he glanced over in your direction.

Upon making eye contact, you gave him a small smile.

Feitan stared at you for a moment.

Then he ultimately chose to return to his book, turning the page once he picked up where he'd left off.

He was in a pretty alright mood, then. Though you followed suit and returned your attention to the window immediately after. Even if he was in an okay place, it was better not to press your luck, as it could be incredibly easy to annoy him.

That was one thing you had learned about him: he didn't punish you without a reason. Though his rules and demands were tiring and hard to keep up with sometimes, he had never ordered anything that was so unreasonable you were automatically doomed to fail. Some of the things he made you do were difficult, yes, but never had he forced you into something that was a losing battle from the start.

At least in regards to your captivity and the way he treated you, that was one thing to be grateful for.

And technically, with what was happening right now, you weren't being punished: he just didn't trust you enough during travel. Surely in the future things would be different. As long as you remained on good behavior and kept him happy with you, things would definitely be different, and hopefully different in a way that favored you at least somewhat.

Just keep your attention on the outside, you told yourself. Take note of all of the different fall colors that you were lucky enough to catch sight of and don't even think of what you would be going through in the upcoming days.

There was no way to put it off, but you could at least enjoy the current moment, even if it did feel somewhat stifling within the small space of the car.

The taxi continued to climb through the uphill path. At one point the forest that was directly next to your window vanished, the trees dropping off in favor of giving you a view of the entirety of the wilderness around you as the taxi drove along the edge of a cliff. The sight helped to calm your nerves a bit as you managed to relax a little more. Once the taxi left the cliffside and reentered into the denser forest, you again kept your focus on that, and you had an easier time keeping your mind off of the little worries that usually plagued you.

There was nothing to be done about any of them, after all. Not in this moment.

A sign that you were entering an older part of the area came when the driver took a turn to the right, and suddenly the ride became a lot more rough as the road turned bumpy. There was one moment where were it not for the security of your seat belt, you would have been thrown directly into Feitan. As it was, you found yourself lurching about uncomfortably regardless, and you needed to keep your grip on the handle of the door as you waited for the ride to become smoother again. The taxi driver made some joke about the rough terrain during that time, and Feitan made no response to him, though it seemed that the conditions were too much for him to continue his book as he soon shut it and put it away.

At some point during all of that, the blanket that you had tucked around your waist began to fall to the floor. Yet you didn't notice until it had fallen completely.

With that, your lap was exposed. Or rather, what was left of it. If the driver were to glance behind him, he would see what you had been so futilely trying to hide from him:

The stumps in the middle of your thighs where the rest of your legs should have been.

The fact that the rest of your legs were gone was still a sight that you struggled with, and seeing the way others would look over at you with questioning glances whenever you had the rare trip out in public made you feel worse. No one was ever rude enough to ask, but just to have that attention on you made your skin crawl. You didn't like it. Not one bit. If the impossible happened and anyone saw beneath the bandages that were hidden under the rolled up legs of your pants, they would have seen the sutures that held your flesh together and the still fresh wound that refused to fully heal.

But no one would ever get that close.

Feitan would never allow it.

Upon realizing that the blanket had fallen, you reached down, straining yourself somewhat in order to pick it off the rubber mat that covered the floor. Despite it being slightly dirty, you placed it back on top of your lap, once more securing it and this time keeping your hands on it just in case it fell again. Given that the taxi was now beyond the roughest part of the old road, that seemed unlikely, but you felt better holding onto it.

As expected, Feitan made no comment to you, but you could tell he was watching you. Without something else to keep his attention, his eyes would generally move over to your form, keeping an eye on you regardless of if you were doing anything noteworthy or not.

Why was he so fascinated with you?

As often as you had wondered that to yourself, you had yet to come up with a sufficient answer to that question. There was no point in attempting to ask Feitan directly as you knew he wouldn't answer. You had tried that once. A long while back, after your rage from being taken captive had died out and you were left with nothing but apathy, you dared to ask why he wanted you, of all people, and his only response had been to stare at you in that same intense way that he always did.

All this time later, and you still had no clue as to what the answer to that question was.

But by this point, it was easier to accept this as your current reality. Things weren't perfect, but they weren't completely bad. Not like they used to be.

After ten minutes of travel on the now only slightly bumpy road the roof of the small castle within the forest could be seen through the front windshield of the taxi. Five minutes after that, the yellow cab was pulling up to a large iron gate that was left locked, requiring Feitan to step out and unlock the large, gated entryway so the cab could gain access. Feitan watched you from the outside as the driver pulled into the rounded courtyard of the aged building. Creeping vines covered a majority of the base of the structure, the reddend leaves all piled upon one another while the thin branches reached upwards as if with the intent to cover the entire wall. Despite how old the building was by now, there was no sense of decay upon looking at it. The nameless castle within the wilderness remained strong, and it seemed certain that only some otherworldly force would be capable of bringing it down.

A part of you really enjoyed the place; it was nice to look at, and certain areas within the structure were cozy during certain times of the year. But there was another part of you that felt a wave of anxiety fall over as you looked at the building in its entirety and your hands began to clench at and fiddle with the blanket over your lap.

Being in this place would be much more enjoyable if Feitan bothered to bring you here outside of the timing of the full moon. Sadly, he never seemed inclined to do that, so you were forced to associate the castle with the awful few days you consistently experienced here.

Maybe that might change, you told yourself. Though you wouldn't hold your breath on that.

The cab driver got out, and both he and Feitan headed towards the trunk to unload the wheelchair and the other luggage that had been placed in there. When the trunk opened, the view you had of them from the backseat was obscured.

With Feitan not able to keep as close of an eye on you, you took the time to steal a glance at the burgundy case in the front seat.

It looked the same as it had at the beginning of your journey: an unremarkable but large suitcase that was slightly heavy from the contents it held. But from your vantage point, it didn't appear that anything was wrong with it. It didn't look damaged, nor did there appear to be any leaks spilling out of the seams of the case.

That had you feeling a little better, though your hands continued to nervously clench at the blanket.

When your door was opened and the wheelchair was brought out, Feitan didn't allow the driver to assist him in moving you. When you unbuckled yourself and moved to the edge of the seat to make getting you out easier, Feitan was the one who picked you up. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you allowed him to move you from the interior of the cab out into the courtyard, and you stayed in his embrace for only a few moments before he placed you in the wheelchair that stood not far away.

The blanket fell again, this time onto the leaves that covered the old cobblestone beneath you. As you were being set down, the driver made a move to get it for you.

Feitan beat him to it, and the shorter man gave the driver a look that seemed to make him nervous as he took a few steps backwards.

That was a slight overreaction, you quietly thought to yourself as Feitan shook out the now dirty blanket.

But as long as that was all that happened, it didn't matter much.

With everything out of the trunk, it had been swiftly closed, as had the passenger's door once you had been removed from the vehicle. The driver adjusted his cap as he watched Feitan hand you the slightly cleaner blanket, and you were quick to pull it back up around your waist. When the driver's side door had been opened, you couldn't recall.

In the middle of all of that, you heard the driver speak again.

“All right, guess that's it, then.”

You looked up to find the taxi driver had turned around and placed one leg inside his car as he prepared to get in and take off.

That was it? But-The case was still in the front seat.

And he was getting in without taking it out.He was going to leave with it.

That fact seemed certain when he settled into the driver's seat.

“NO!”

You yelled so loudly that it startled him, and he turned his head just before Feitan materialized next to the driver's side door, holding his hand against it in order to keep it open.

“Wh-what's wrong?” the driver asked, his head swiveling as he looked to the both of you.

“Front seat,” Feitan said.

“O-oh. Right….”

Dutifully, the driver exited the vehicle and walked around it in order to retrieve the case, though he didn't bother to hide the alarmed looks he gave the both of you as he did so. Feitan glared at him the entire time while you clenched at the armrests of the wheelchair. You weren't going to feel good until you saw that case out of that car.

The sound of the passenger's side door opening seemed to echo within the space of the courtyard, and you breath hitched when you saw him reach in and pull out the suitcase.

Be gentle with it, you wanted to tell him.

The driver circled around the cab, seemingly in an attempt to avoid Feitan. As a result, he chose to approach you, and handed the suitcase to you instead. You caught the way Feitan's eye twitched at that, yet you chose not to acknowledge it as you grabbed at the case being offered to you.

With a sigh of relief, you held it tightly against yourself, ignoring the weight and the awkwardness that came with holding it.

“Sorry for upsetting you,” the driver told you, though his tone didn't make him sound very sorry. The way he looked at you clearly indicated that he felt as though you had been overreacting.

It looked like he was going to say something more, but Feitan chose then to step in.

“Your job is over,” he told the driver, “leave.”

“Fine, fine.”

The driver headed back towards the driver's door of the taxi, stepping in as he had before. But just before the door closed behind him, you heard him mutter the word “assholes.”

The ignition turned and the engine rumbled, and within a few moments the cab rolled out of the aged courtyard, once more jittering horribly as it drove over the old, cobbled road. Feitan followed behind as the car exited through the entryway, and once it was completely clear, he closed both sets of iron gates shut and just as swiftly locked them. The key to the gate was soon back in the safety of his pocket, and the vampire stared at the vanishing cab before he turned around and set his sights back to you.

The case had already been set upon the ground in front of you, your hands now in your lap as you kept your gaze to the side.

You messed up.

You weren't supposed to talk to other people. Feitan didn't like that. Even though you had only said one word to that driver and it was just to keep him from driving off with the case, you had still done what you shouldn't have and spoke to him instead of trusting that Feitan would realize the man's mistake and prevent him from leaving.

Feitan's footsteps sounded against the cobblestone, and you straightened your back slightly, though you still kept your gaze averted.

If you apologized right now, would he forgive you?

It was worth a shot.

“I'm sorry,” you told him.

“Sorry?” Feitan repeated.

“For disobeying you,” you clarified, your hands wringing the blanket as you continued “I didn't mean to, I just – no. Never mind. I'm sorry.”

Stopping yourself from pointing out that he was about to leave with the suitcase was a good move, you felt. Doing that would have been interpreted as making an excuse, and that was never going to end well for you. It was better to acknowledge your failure and leave it at that.

“Hm.”

Feitan was standing in front of you now, staring down at you while you shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of his gaze. You weren't sure what to expect from him in this moment, but you told yourself that whatever it was he said or did, you needed to go with it.

What a stupid thing to think. Of course you needed to go with it – what other choice did you have?

Your internal dialogue was interrupted when Feitan spoke.

“You did speak to him,” he began, “but this once, I'll overlook it.”

Your neck snapped up so you could look at him, uncertain if you had heard what you thought you had and wanting to know if he was being genuine or if this was some way to lull you into a false sense of security before pulling the rug out from under you.

Looking at him as he was now, it didn't feel as though he was particularly angry.

Feitan continued.

“He was going to drive off with it, after all. He's more in the wrong than you are.”

He then cocked his head as he looked at you before he asked “don't you agree?”

You waited a moment before you nodded your head in agreement, saying “yeah.”

That was all to be said on the matter, as Feitan then turned his attention to the suitcase you had set down. His dark eyes looked it over before going back to you, and he pointed to it with a single pale finger as he asked a different question.

“Do you want them back now?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Then you looked back down at the suitcase.

The answer was yes. Of course you wanted them back now. You'd never wanted them taken in the first place.

….. That sort of answer wasn't what Feitan would be looking for though, would it?

With your hands wringing at the blanket once more, you answered “only….. Only if you think I should have them back now.”

“Hm.”

The action after your response wasn't immediate, and you were left to sweat nervously in front of him as you waited for some sort of sign from him. He could tell you were nervous as well; his hearing was good enough that he could hear the way your heart began to beat frantically when you felt too much time had passed.

When he did choose to act, it seemed like that yours had been the correct answer, because Feitan reached over to stroke his fingers through your hair, petting you in the way he only did when he was pleased with you. Considering the trouble you had first believed yourself to be in, the action came as a relief. Not that it lasted long, as he pulled away soon after.

Without another word to you, he leaned down, lifted the suitcase by the handle, and walked around you as he made his way to the large doorway.

You bit your lip and clenched at the blanket once more, your shoulders sagging as you accepted his decision, even though it frustrated you that he had decided on that. It was being taken away from you again, the only option you had was to accept the unfair situation.

Maybe he was more upset over your outburst than he was letting on.

When you were certain that he was out of earshot, you let out a slow, sad sigh.

At least you had answered correctly, you told yourself.

Not long after Feitan returned for you, and given the age of the structure you found yourselves in and the lack of accommodation for the wheelchair, he needed to carry you up the steps and through the doors before walking along a familiar path through the castle, down a few hallways and up a single flight of stairs. Soon enough you had been placed in the room that would act as your bedroom for the remainder of your time here, and Feitan left you on the bed before exiting the room to get the rest of the things that had been left outside.

He wouldn't stay here long once that was done, probably. Once that was done, he would leave for the night, not coming back until morning. He had things to prepare for.

All of it had to do with the night of the full moon that was fast approaching.

You felt compelled to turn your head then, the tall glass of the window that overlooked your bed giving you a good view of the sky. You found what you were looking for in an instant: the waxing moon, still hanging low due to the earliness of the evening, but still visible over the tops of the trees. Within a few days, it would be full.

Once that happened, you would change as you always did.

Hence why you'd been brought to this place: for the isolation. Feitan wanted a controlled environment for you as you waited for the full moon to come and bring about your transformation. When you would change into what could only be described as a monster. Ravenous and violent, you couldn't be allowed anywhere near a large population. During the time that followed your transformation, you would be completely out of your mind, and the only thing that would drive you was instinct; instinct to hunt down and devour anyone within your immediate vicinity.

The thought of all that made you shudder, and you reached back to pull the curtains over the window to hide the sight away.

Such a thing was useless, you knew, but it made you feel better.

Late into the evening of the following day, Feitan brought you down into the main kitchen of the castle, specifically the one with the fireplace that was especially nice to spend time in during the winter. When the snow outside and there was a large fire going, it made for a cozy feeling that was pleasant.

Though you doubted whatever happened here tonight would be in any way nice.

But then again, it could be something good. Feitan didn't seem upset with you as he placed you upon a chair that stood near the unlit fire. With the exception of your outburst at the cab driver, you couldn't remember the last time you had done anything to genuinely upset Feitan.

His temperament just made it so hard to tell if things were okay.

Feitan kept silent after leaving you at the table. He didn't stay in the room long either, leaving almost immediately as he stalked down the hallway. The place where you sat allowed you to watch as he stopped in front of a door that led down into the cellar, the aged metal of the hinges creaking as he pulled it open before he slipped down into that darkness. The door shut with a heavy thud behind him, and you were left alone.

You let out a shaky breath.

Something was going to happen. All you could do was hope that it wouldn't be too bad. After all, you haven't done anything wrong, you once again told yourself, so you haven't done anything to warrant cruelty.

You repeated that in your head over and over as you did your best to calm your nerves.

It was sad how often that was the only solution you had for your issues.

The cellar door opened again with the hinges creaking for a longer period of time as Feitan was forced to open it wider than before. Though again it shut with a similarly loud thud as Feitan let it go once it was through. The noise of the hinges combined with the echo that accompanied it through the aged hallway was unpleasant, and you flinched as the sound grated at your ears. Not that you had much time to focus on that, as you quickly noted that it sounded as though Feitan was carrying something.

One quick glance at him and you saw what was in his hand: the burgundy suitcase.

You tore your gaze away and found yourself sitting up straighter again, your hands gripping at the edge of the chair as you stared at the empty fireplace while your heart began to beat wildly in your chest.

He could hear that heartbeat.

He knew exactly how anxious you were as he approached.

Feitan was soon upon you, standing in front of the chair you occupied with the case still in hand. As was expected of you, you looked up at him from where you sat, staring back at him as you waited for him to say something.

Holding up the case a bit, he asked “do you want them back?”

“…. Yes.”

Things were silent between the two of you then, your heart continuing to beat erratically while you kept your grip on your seat. You felt like saying 'yes' was the right answer, but there was always a chance that you were wrong. Whatever it was, Feitan was choosing to drag this out, his eyes focused on you while you knew that he was aware of how much you were panicking internally the longer this moment lasted.

You would accept it if he decided not to give them back. You would be disappointed, yes, but like those other times before, you wouldn't argue or fight him on it and would instead simply accept his decision.

Cooperating with him was the fastest way to get what you wanted.

Feitan then made his decision.

With one swift motion, he dropped the suitcase in your lap. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt the weight of the suitcase against you once more, holding it tightly as you looked back up to Feitan to make sure you had his permission.

He had already stepped away, pulling out a different chair from the table so he could sit in front of you before he also took his place, leaning forward and resting his arms on his legs as he watched you.

Feitan wanted you to open the case.

You were more than eager to do so, your fingers going to the clasps that held it shut as your heartbeat hadn't slowed even a little. No longer thrumming with anxiety, you were now shaking from anticipation. What was yours was finally being given back.

Wasting no time in undoing the clasps, you threw open the case and felt relief upon seeing what was inside:

Your severed legs.

They were folded neatly within the case, along with a few towels tucked in at the sides to keep them from moving about too much for whenever the case was being transported.

The relief you felt upon seeing them was immediate and you wasted no time in beginning the process of reattaching them. Setting the case on the table, you went to work on the bandages that covered up your thighs, tearing them off with ease until your flesh was exposed, and from there, you began to tear out the stitches that had been placed at the end of your thighs to keep the wounds from bleeding out.

Not that you would have died even if all of your blood had left your body.

The process of removing the stitches was more strenuous than removing the bandages, and you couldn't help the small noises of pain that came from you as the thin thread was torn out of your body, ripping through the skin when you pulled hard enough. But just as quickly as you had removed them, those injuries were beginning to heal, the small wounds on that part of your skin closing up and mending with no trace of there being any stitches to begin with.

When all of the stitches were removed and lay in pieces on the floor beneath you, you were left with the open wounds at the end of your thighs, bone and muscle exposed while blood began to drip down onto the surface of the floor alongside the torn up stitches. The excess skin at the end of your legs which had been used to patch you up like a band aid now hung loosely, waiting to be reunited to your legs that still sat in the suitcase.

Now for the next part which would take longer but wouldn't be as painful: putting your limbs back on.

Reaching over to the case, you grabbed one of them at random. It turned out to be your right leg. Despite feeling that you were in a slightly weakened state after dealing with the stitches, you were able to handle the weight of your own leg easily as you pulled it out of the suitcase's confines and slung it over onto your lap.

Feitan continued to watch, still saying nothing, but you were able to feel the interest he had in this part. You didn't quite understand why he was so fascinated by this; he was also immortal, so shouldn't he be used to seeing such things with himself?

You kept that thought to yourself and instead focused on the task at hand.

Lifting up one of the flaps of skin with one hand, you used the other to position your limp leg up against your open thigh. Like putting puzzle pieces together, you grabbed the end of your leg with both hands as you started the reattachment process by putting the bones of each segment together. Once you had positioned it correctly, you felt it when the two connected.

The sensation had you shudder and you needed to grab onto the nearby table to keep yourself steady as everything else followed suit with the bone of your femur.

Marrow mixed back together as muscles reached out for one another, ends connecting in the same way the thigh bone had melding together as they were supposed to. Veins and your nerves did the same, and you gripped the edge of the table tightly as the process left you out of breath. It wasn't that it was painful, just uncomfortable. Like the sensation of a limb falling asleep only for the feeling to come back once you moved it. It was just that this was ten times as intense as that, and no matter how many times you went through this, you doubted that you would ever truly get used to it.

You stole a glance at Feitan then, peeking up at him to find that his gaze was just as intense as you imagined it was. He was concentrated on the way your muscles repaired themselves, on the way the blood from the injury dripped down onto the floor until it didn't, finally stopped when the ends of those veins found one another and sealed themselves up.

When all of the internal components of your leg had been repaired, you only moved your hand to smooth out the flap of flesh that had remained pulled back. Now with everything else done, the skin of your leg was finally allowed to mend itself as well.

Within moments, your right leg was firmly back on you, and you took the time to stretch out and move your foot to test that everything felt right. When that appeared to be the case, you slowly pushed yourself back so you were sitting up straight again, and then you reached back to the case for your left leg.

At least the process was a bit easier the second time around.

By the end of it, both of your legs were back, reattached with no sign of having been chopped off in the first place. You, however, felt exhausted. Sweat had collected on the back of your shirt and you were laying your arms and your head on the table, breathing out from your mouth as you calmed down after the experience.

It was fine now. It was over. You did it.

The sweaty feeling was gross, though, and you desperately wanted a shower.

That thought was enough to incentivize you to sit back up, though that too was a struggle as your arms felt weak. Still, you made yourself do it, and you turned to look to Feitan once you were done.

He was no longer leaning forward in the chair; now he was resting his back against it with his arms folded across his chest. One of his eyebrows raised when you turned your attention to him, and he asked “want something?”

“Just to get a shower,” you answered.

He nodded, and you took that as permission to leave the room.

Not that leaving was easy. How long had you been without your legs? You weren't completely sure, but however long it was, it was long enough that you were incredibly unsteady as you brought yourself up to your feet, and you needed to brace yourself against the table, the chair you had been sitting on as well as the wall as you made your way out of the kitchen, taking small, soft steps as you hoped the feeling of walking would soon become normal again.

“Having a hard time?” you heard Feitan ask.

“I'll be okay,” you replied, “just need to get used to it again.”

“Hm.”

Pausing at the edge of the room to catch your breath, you made the mistake of glancing over at one of the tall windows at the other side of the kitchen.

Just like the night prior, the moon was in the sky despite the relatively early hour, and when you caught sight of it, you turned your head away, looking down at the floor and trying to will away the sight in your mind.

Feitan noticed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“…. Outside,” you answered.

He looked, and hummed when he saw the moon as well.

“Scared?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Why? Shouldn't you be used to it by now?”

After a long moment, you again nodded.

Feitan made a noise at that which almost resembled a laugh before he ultimately waved you away, telling you “get your shower.”

You nodded and exited the room.

The sound of the chair moving across the kitchen floor was loud, and once you had reached the door that led to the cellar, you heard him call out to you once again.

“I'll be gone when you get out.”

He probably wasn't looking at you, and he probably wasn't in need of any sort of response, but you nodded again anyway.

The ache had firmly settled in.

You were curled up on the bed, the sheets haphazardly thrown aside as it now felt too warm to keep them on top of you, but even if the cold set in again you weren't sure you would have the strength to reach for them again. Your arms hurt too badly by now, as did your legs.

You were hungry, too.

But as you spied the small refrigerator full of supplies that had been left for you, specifically for this predicament of yours, you had a hard time imagining you would be able to gather up the strength needed to crawl off of the bed and over to where it stood. You just felt too weak.

As much as you hated how it felt when you transformed into that monstrous state and the carnage that you had left in your wake more than once, you wanted it to happen just so this part would be over with already.

It would happen soon, you told yourself. Tomorrow, when the full moon would be in the sky, you would have your relief.

You began to feel cold again, but as expected, when you reached for the blankets by your feet your muscles protested vehemently and you were forced to bear with the cold as you placed your arms back down on the bed.

Ah, this part was always the worst.

You wanted food. You wanted a shower.

You wanted Feitan.

And by this point you were too far gone to find that feeling of yours to be wrong. Because once he walked through that door, you were fine again. The aches and the pains brought about in the period before your transformation would vanish the second you saw him, and the only thing you would be left wanting for after that was for him to be closer to you.

That wasn't how it had always been. In the months that followed your kidnapping, you were relieved that he was gone for that day and a half before you turned. It had been nice to get so much time to yourself, and you hadn't been afraid to show a sour expression when he came back.

You couldn't imagine doing that now. To treat him as though he were a pest that wouldn't leave you alone? Your mind wouldn't allow it. Not when you were in such a vulnerable state and you truly felt that you needed him with you. His continued absence during this time had set alight within you a yearning.

It was easy to wish that you could go back to before your time with Feitan, when the pains and the need for another's presence didn't even exist, when you had dealt with everything on your own.

But now, even if you went against your better judgment and defied him by running, it couldn't go back to that. He had done something to change you, and you feared that change was permanent. That you would always be longing for him and be happy to see him even when he returned covered in the scent of another.

He left you to spend time with someone else

For some reason, it bothered you. Both that he did so and the fact that you still didn't know who that person was. Those times at the beginning when you asked Feitan had refused to answer, and you had no wish to bring it up now as you knew he would only tell you if he decided that you needed to know.

As long as he came back, that was all that mattered.

That thought was what got you through the long hours that followed; when the sun finally set and the waxing moon rose, now only one step away from reaching the full moon state, you felt it begin to affect you. Knowing what would happen tomorrow night, the muscles beneath your skin began to loosen up as they prepared for the time when they would need to expand. The ache in your bones became more pronounced as they anticipated the way they would need to snap and grow, and your skin started the process of separating from the muscle beneath, all so it would be easier for when you would need to tear it away.

You hated it, but as long as he came back, you could deal with the pains, you told yourself.

The next day, after having spent all of those hours doing nothing but laying on your bed as you felt your body continue to prepare for the coming night, the sound of the lock clicking open had you shoot up from the bed, sitting at attention as your eyes were focused on the door, waiting for it to open.

Anticipating that you would see him.

The relief you felt when you saw that Feitan had indeed returned to you was immense, and all memory of the pain and longing you had gone through for the previous day and a half was forgotten as he stepped through the door, his eyes meeting yours before he looked you over.

No doubt you looked a mess, your wrinkled clothing and the circles beneath your eyes giving him some insight about the rough night you'd had.

As usual, he didn't comment on it. Instead, the vampire shut the door behind him before he headed over to the mini fridge, opening it to find that the food and water he had left for you were all untouched.

There was an ever so slight hint of a smile on his face when he saw that.

“Hungry?” he asked, turning his attention back to you.

Not feeling as though you had the strength for words, you responded by nodding at him.

Then come over and feed yourself

The words he had once told you at a different time echoed in your mind, and you gripped at the sheets, uncertain if he would have a similar response now. As usual, he noticed that reaction of yours, and for a few moments he watched you closely. Perhaps he was still deciding what treatment you would get today; no doubt he was going over the behavior you had displayed over the past month and deciding whether or not you had been good enough to deserve a bit of kindness from him.

Feitan made his choice when he took out a cup of yogurt from the fridge, pausing briefly after he closed it to grab a nearby spoon that had been left for you before he made his way over to the bed. When he pulled the seal off the top after he sat down, you held out your hands, ready to take the cup and the spoon from him so you could feed yourself.

The raised eyebrow and the annoyed look he gave you in response to that was surprising, and after a moment of him staring at you like that, you lowered your arms despite your confusion.

He wasn't just taunting you, was he?

You thought he might have been when he dipped the spoon into the cup, where it then seemed as though he was going to eat in front of you – he doesn't even need food, you dejectedly thought.

Then he turned back to you, the spoon raised up and hovering in front of your mouth.

“Open,” he told you.

You obeyed, and within a moment, he had placed the spoonful of yogurt into your mouth.

……

This…. This was horribly degrading. Your captor was literally spoon-feeding you.

After all of the hours you had spent wanting Feitan's presence with you, the irritation you felt at this one action was enough to break that spell, and you remembered all of the things that were so wrong about your situation. He had kidnapped you and had proceeded to train you as if you were an animal, teaching you to behave for him through punishments and rewards, all so he could get you here, to a place where you were so compliant that you didn't question or fight him on anything. Feitan wanted you to be dependent on him and he wanted you to be grateful for it.

You wished you could kill him.

As he pulled the spoon from your mouth to dip it back into the yogurt cup, you imagined yourself leaping on him and tearing his throat out. Gouging out his eyes. Smashing his head open against the floor. Biting off his fingers for having the nerve-

Feitan looked back to you.

The instant his eyes met yours, all of that fire inside of you died out.

He was strong; far stronger than you could ever hope to be. Even if you fought with all of your strength, you knew you would lose. Your rebellion would be ended swiftly and with more force than necessary, and the only thing you would gain from it was punishment. Many punishments, in fact. After he had spent so long to get you to this point, they would be harsher as a way to teach you the lessons you still refused to learn.

You didn't want to go through with all that again. Things with him were so much better now; why ruin that?

When Feitan brought the spoon up to your lips again, you opened your mouth and once more allowed him to feed you. There was no indication that he got any sort of enjoyment out of this, but the fact that he was doing so at all meant that he needed to be getting something out of it.

Feitan got up when the yogurt cup was empty, heading to the other side of the room to dispose of it.

That was when you spoke.

“Thank you, Feitan.”

Your voice was soft, but there was no way he hadn't heard you. Yet there was no verbal response on his end.

But when you glanced over to him and looked at his face, you caught sight of it again:

The barest hint of a smirk.

You had been hyperventilating for some time now.

With you locked away in the deep cellar of the aged castle, Feitan watched how you writhed about on the floor, breathing hard as you clutched at your head. Every now and then a twitch from a leg or an arm would jolt through your entire body and the pathetic noises coming from your mouth would only increase in frequency. Through your wailing and sobbing, he would occasionally catch words. Or rather, one word. One that you repeated over and over again.

“Please please please please-”

Feitan doubted you were trying to ask him to actually do anything – even if you were, there was nothing that he could do to relieve your pain. As content as he was to take complete control over your life, this was one aspect of it that was out of his hands. No matter what, once the light of the full moon hit you, you would transform. There was no getting around that.

He glanced up to the small window towards the ceiling, and he noted that it likely wouldn't be long until the moon came into view.

An idle thought came to mind – how was he handling it? – before his attention returned to you. And Feitan continued to wait, standing at the edge of the room as he watched what was the torment of your pre-transformation.

When the first rays of moonlight shown through the glass of the window, the result was violent.

Your entire body jumped, and the wails that had turned into quiet whimperings ceased as you were left speechless, your mouth hanging open and your eyes wide.

You began convulsing on the floor.

When you began to choke, you rolled over onto your back. The blood that had begun to block your throat spilled out from your mouth as hacked it out in violent coughs, and after a few moments, the red liquid that came from your mouth was accompanied by something else: your teeth. They came out in bunches, scattering as they were spat across the floor, one of them traveling far enough to bounce off the side of Feitan's shoe. Tears were streaming down your face again, this time accompanied by the blood that poured out from your gaping, bleeding gums.

The holes in your gums didn't stay empty for long, as Feitan could see the tips of the sharp, canine teeth coming through to fill up the empty spaces.

Then your bones began the process of rearranging themselves.

The way your bones cracked apart before they splintered back together filled the small room of the cellar, and he watched with no small amount of awe as you changed before him. Your limbs were becoming longer with the skin on top of them starting to tear apart as it no longer fit. Your face was going through a similar change as your skull broke apart, moving about as it changed its shape completely in favor of the form the moonlight wanted you to have. The skin of your face was tearing up as well as your nose and mouth began to push outwards, and more blood managed to come pouring out of your mouth as your gums were ripped apart by two long rows of sharp teeth.

By the time your hands began to tear away at your old skin, your mind was gone. Your eyes were wide and wild as you ripped yourself apart, showcasing the fur that had formed underneath. First your arms, then your torso followed by your legs; the skin was swiftly removed and tossed to the side as easily as trash. By the time you got to the skin that had once covered your head it was already in tatters, tearing further when your claws dug into it and ripped it off.

With that, your transformation was complete.

Anything that could have been identifiable as “you” was gone now. What stood before him was nothing less than a beast. With sharp teeth, long claws and powerful muscles that meant that few were capable of fighting or even outrunning you, you truly had become the monster that was the subject of stories that had been passed down through the ages, capable of decimating entire towns just to satisfy a primal bloodlust.

This version of you was breathing harshly, still affected by the trauma that had been the transformation process. But he was most interested in how you would react once you saw him.

Feitan knew very well by now that immediately after a transformation, werewolves had very little control over themselves. The first actions that would be taken were that of violence against anyone who was in their immediate vicinity, and if there was no one to be found, they would hunt for someone, anyone, to exact that violence on. Only then would anything resembling rational thought return to the shifter. After seeing the process so many times, Feitan had began to wonder if that was the result of the brain still catching up after the body had changed. The mindlessness seemed to indicate that, and maybe it was that act of taking a life that shocked the brain back into normalcy.

Though he also knew now it didn't need to be a life to snap you out of it.

He waited, his hands still in his pockets as he watched you collect yourself up from the floor, the blood still clotting your fur as you stood on shaking legs. He saw the way you sniffed at the room, but the scent of iron clogging your nose must have been too much, otherwise you would have noticed him by now.

It took you rising to your new, full height and looking in front of you before you noticed him, and you froze within an instant, yellow eyes growing wide as your fur stood up in shock.

Feitan's eyes met yours, and he waited to see what action you would take.

You stayed shocked for only a moment before your lips curled back to reveal the newly formed rows of canine teeth snarling at him as your ears folded back and your legs tensing as you crouched slightly.

One of aggression, then.

He tsked.

You lunged at him, claws extended and mouth open as you snarled-

Feitan hit you with the back of his hand.

The force was great enough that you were flung to the other side of the room, rolling over on the floor before you crashed against the wall. The hit made you yelp, and he had heard something crack beneath the force of his strike. Now you were cowering on the floor again, one monstrous hand clutching at the area where his hit had landed.

Had that been enough to wake you up?

Feitan again waited to see what you would choose. He was prepared that you may very well decide to keep fighting him, though at this point he trusted that you were past the point of fighting him through the whole night. From early on you recognized that forcing him to fend you off until the sunrise only left you hurting for days after, so these days it only took a few hits to knock the fight out of you.

When you pushed yourself back up and looked to him, your ears once again folded back. But not in anger.

This time, your form cowered against the wall as you bent your head low, letting out a small whimper as you did so.

A sign of submission.

That was better.

Your ears perked back up when he spoke to you.

“Come here,” he ordered.

A few seconds went by before you moved, shuffling over to him across the floor while still holding your injured maw, though he knew it wouldn't take long for that injury to heal.

Feitan couldn't help the smirk that made its way to his lips. Although you still weren't where he wanted you – ideally you wouldn't attack him at all – this was progress. Even in your most unstable form, you were learning what your place was.

When you were kneeling beside his feet, that same hand that had struck you now reached out to lay upon your head, petting the matted fur softly. You kept your eyes averted as he did as he pleased, your head still facing downwards.

“Hungry?”

That question of his made you look back up before you faced down again, answering with the smallest of nods.

He chuckled as he pulled his hand away, and he was about to motion for you to follow him out of the room when-A wolf howl could be heard in the far-off distance, coming in clearly through the thin layer of glass that separated the both of you from the outside. You reacted, jumping slightly in place as you turned your head in the direction of the noise, your ears going back again in fear.

Feitan brought your attention back to him when he told you “don't worry about him.”

Then he motioned with his finger as he told you “follow me.”

When he began to head to the room's exit, you got up to follow, trailing behind him by a few paces.

It would be some time still before he would let you out to hunt. The way you had attacked him earlier was a clear sign that he couldn't let you out yet; if you were to get even the smallest taste of freedom from him, then you might very well try to run from him. And then all of his work would be set back and he would need to start again from the beginning.

As much as Feitan tried to be patient in the process, he didn't want to go through with all of that again.

Walking wordlessly through the cellar, he led you to a different door, one that had been padlocked from the outside. From inside the room, the sound of someone crying could be heard, though it was muffled by the heavy door. A few moments later a different voice snapped at the crying person, hissing at them to stop.

What followed after was tense silence.

Removing the key from his pocket and unlocking the door, Feitan pulled it open for you, revealing the half a dozen people he had gathered for you in the days and hours prior. One of the women in the room shrieked at the sight of you, and all of them began to cower in the furthest corner, all yelling at one another as they tried to push past each other in an effort to get away from you.

Half a dozen sets of eyes looked at you in fear, and that was enough to make you shudder in place as you stared back at the people in that room.

Yet you hadn't moved. Instead of going in, your yellow eyes looked to Feitan, who still held the door for you.

He nodded.

That was when you charged in.

The screams started up immediately as Feitan shut the heavy door behind you.

Waking up felt similar to the way your father's ancient desktop computer would boot up back in your childhood home. It had been the kind with the monitor that looked like a large square box, and while it would initially turn on at the touch of the power switch, it would take several minutes until it was actually operational, the screen staying black with little bits of text popping up before it would wake up. That was how you felt now. Your eyes were open and you were staring at whatever was directly in front of your line of view, but you weren't really taking any information in as your brain needed some time before it could function properly.

That memory came to mind first: when you were a child living in your family home and watching from around your father as he turned on his computer, waiting for him to get up and allow you to get online to play games on some website. It was so clear in your head and yet you couldn't remember what games you played or even what the website was called. That was enough to get you to huff out a small laugh.

It felt like a lifetime ago that you were there.

But now you were here, naked and sprawled on the floor of the cellar with the only source of heat you could feel being the sunlight coming from the window that hit a small portion of your legs.

You closed your eyes as you took in a deep breath.

Finding yourself on the cold, hard floor was normal now. It had happened so often that there was no longer any surprise when you came to and discovered that you had been left in one of those cellar rooms. Sometimes surrounded by the remains of your victims from the previous night, sometimes not. A quick look around the room showed you that you were alone, nothing else with you aside from the ashes that surrounded you from your change back into your human form.

Pushing yourself up to a sitting position, you idly thought that it was nice of him to bring you back here. Even if you still felt like shit, it was nice that he didn't leave you locked in that room he had taken you to last night.

You knew you had hurt people – more than that. You had killed them. While your memory of it was only bits and pieces, you knew that it happened.

And you also knew the night ended with you nuzzling your face into Feitan's lap while he was petting you softly.

Like you were a dog.

……

At least you were a dog that he treated somewhat well, as you noticed the over-sized sweater hanging from the hook on the back of the door. If he only intended for you to be his mindless beast that killed at his command, he wouldn't bother letting you have some dignity by allowing you to cover up your nudity. Even if, after you had slipped the sweater on, it showed off a lot of your bare legs that were still covered in goosebumps from the chill of the cellar. But at least all of the important parts were covered.

This was a consideration – a kindness – that he didn't need to show you. The fact that he chose to do so meant something.

…. You certainly hoped that was the case.

The heavy door opened easily when you pulled on it, and you walked out into the hall on unsteady legs, still feeling the affects from the night prior. You were so unfocused that it took you reaching the stairs to realize that there was a wailing coming from one of the rooms at the other end. Taking a glance back, it didn't seem as though it was coming from the room you had been taken to previously. So someone else was down here.

…. You couldn't tell if they were crying out of pain or if their cries were that of emotional distress. Perhaps from being kidnapped.

Perhaps from something worse.

Listening for only a few more moments, you turned your attention back to getting yourself up the stairs, putting your weight on the railing as you hauled yourself up.

You wanted a shower. Your skin always felt so weird after transforming, like there was an invisible layer of grime that you needed to scrub off before you felt you could do anything else. You would see Feitan after that was done, probably. He was never around when you woke up, but he would always be back once you left the bathroom. Though you often wondered where exactly he went off to, you didn't bother asking him.

Much like whatever was going on with that wailing person you were leaving downstairs, there were things he did that you didn't need to know about.

The door at the top of the stairs as another heavy one, but it too opened easily when you pressed against it. This time your walk was more of a stumble as you entered the first floor, holding onto the knob for a moment before closing the door behind you.

You felt a bit more light-headed than usual. What had caused that? Certainly you had eaten enough. Ah, maybe it was water. You couldn't remember when you last-

You turned around and saw a man standing in the kitchen at the end of the hallway.

All the thoughts in your mind went silent as you froze.

As you stood there in shock, you noticed that he seemed just as surprised as you were.

It was clear that he had showered recently as his blonde hair was still wet, and despite your senses still being out of whack, you caught the smell of his body wash that had all but just been applied. His height made him slightly intimidating, as he was far taller than either you or Feitan, and by looks of his muscles, he was clearly strong. Whether or not he was stronger than Feitan was hard to determine, but certainly he was far stronger than you. At least, as you were right now.

His golden eyes were wide as he looked you over, that expression of shock and awe still clear on his face as his gaze traveled downwards before it traveled back up again, those eyes meeting yours once again and this time maintaining the eye contact.

As for you, once the initial shock of seeing a random man in the kitchen passed, you were hit with another sense of shock as you realized something:

He wasn't human, was he?

Despite your senses being frayed, you were able to tell that much after a few moments in his presence. Like you and Feitan, this man was something else, one that only appeared to be human at first glance.

So then what was he?

Why the hell was he here?

What was Feitan going to do when he found out about this intruder?

And did this man plan on doing something to you?

Now you were scared to move, keeping your hand on the knob of the door next to you as your palms grew sweaty. A wrong move on your part could make this man snap, and with how weak you still were, you wouldn't be able to run far if that happened. The only guaranteed safety you had was if Feitan were to appear, but you had no idea where he was at the moment.

The man wouldn't stay like this forever – what do you do?

You didn't get a chance to consider your options further because the man's expression changed, and he smiled at you.

“It's nice to finally see you,” he said.

You blinked, uncertain what to make of that.

Your heart began to pound hard in your chest when he began walking towards you, however, and the grip you had on the doorknob was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I've waited a long time,” he continued, still walking towards you at a pace that attempted to be steady, yet it was hard to miss the pure excitement in his step.

“I really wanted to see you earlier but he's so particular on how things should be done. He really thinks that if you weren't ready when you met me that I'd manage to bungle your training.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, not understanding what exactly what he was saying. Was he talking about Feitan?

The man stopped in front of you and noticed your confusion.

“… Do you know what I'm talking about?” he asked.

You shook your head.

To that, he sighed, looking disappointed as he gazed at you.

“Figures,” he grumbled, “though I really thought by now he would've mentioned something about me.”

You were listening to him. Technically. But now that he was so close, you were caught off-guard by something else: his scent.

It was the same scent that was always, always all over Feitan when he returned to you before you transformed. That of another werewolf, going through the same pre-transformation stage that you were.

… This was him?

He was like you?

He had known about you all this time while you were left in the dark?

The man was speaking again, and what he was saying came in clearer when you noticed how he was raising up a hand to cup your cheek.

“But that's okay. We have all the time in the world to get to know each other.”

Still uncertain as to what was going on, you kept silent. You kept still as well, even when his palm came so close that you felt the heat that radiated off of him on your skin.

When was the last time someone with a pulse had touched you softly?

He opened his mouth, starting with “I know we'll all-”

“Phinks.”

Feitan's voice called out, and chill ran down your spine. Based on the look on the blonde man's face, one ran down his as well.

The two of you looked to find the vampire standing at the other end of the hall, his hands in his pockets and his cowl missing, allowing both of you to see the full extent of his disgruntled expression.

“Not yet,” Feitan continued, his eyes on the male werewolf.

The blonde – Phinks, he seemed to be called – scowled before he looked back to you, pulling away and placing both his arms by his sides. But his hands clenched into fists after, and it was clear that he wanted to get ahold of you.

The blonde werewolf made no move of touching you, but he didn't make any move to back away from you, and when a few seconds ticked by like that, you saw Feitan's gaze narrow as his expression grew darker.

“Phinks.”

The warning in the way he said the man's name was even more clear this time, and even Phinks flinched slightly at the sound, gritting his teeth as anger was growing within him as well. It was clear that he didn't want to listen to Feitan, but he was compelled to do so.

With a deep sigh and something incomprehensible that he mumbled under his breath, Phinks turned away from you, heading back to where he'd been when you saw him before. He stopped when he reached Feitan, and from the way the two of them glowered at each other, there was some sort of argument that was silently playing out between them. One that Feitan was victorious in as soon after, Phinks' shoulders slumped downwards in defeat before he walked past the vampire.

Feitan then looked back to you, and upon seeing those dark eyes on you and the way he ordered you to leave without speaking, you jumped into action. With renewed energy, you turned and spotted a door that you knew led to a bathroom.

Perfect. You could clean yourself off and by the time you were done, hopefully whatever confrontation Feitan was having with this other werewolf would be over and you could go back up to your room.

Though technically you could've headed up the stairs that were only a few steps away from the door you had entered. Although by the time you thought of that, you were almost halfway done closing the door behind you, and if you changed course to do that, you might actually end up angering Feitan.

Better to just commit to this.

Only once you looked at the room you now found yourself in, you realized that you forgot that the downstairs bathroom didn't have a shower. Only a bathtub.

Oh well. You'd get clean either way, right?

You could pick up on the voices down the hall, recognizing both that of Feitan and Phinks. It was possibly an argument. Though you didn't try to listen in, instead heading over to the tub and turning the handles. Water immediately began rushing into the empty tub and all that noise blocked out their voices.

It took a few minutes until the temperature of the water was to your liking and the tub was filled, and when you shut the water off, you couldn't hear either of them anymore.

It was confusing; not knowing who Phinks was when he clearly knew you. Feitan knowing him and clearly not having any major issues with him considering that he didn't attack the blonde upon seeing him with you. And the thing Phinks had said, something about having all the time to know each other?

Just what was Feitan keeping from you?

You sighed before you slipped the sweater over your head, leaving it on the floor as you stepped into the tub, slowly lowering yourself before you were submerged up to your shoulders.

The next sigh that escaped you was one of relief, as you felt the tension leave your muscles once you had settled in the water. This was nice; nice enough that you felt safe as you closed your eyes, leaning your head against the rim of the tub while you let your thoughts drift away. Perhaps it was a little dangerous to be in the water when you were still feeling so weak, but you told yourself it would be fine.

Even if you did slip under, you no longer needed to fear death by drowning.

The moments of peace you felt lasted for some time, and you made no move to scrub yourself down like you had originally planned as you felt too content to bother now.

Then the door creaked open.

The daze you had been in was broken immediately and you sat up as you turned your attention back to the door.

Unsurprisingly, Feitan was the one who had walked in. When he shut the door behind him with a good deal of force, you found yourself cowering slightly as you worried what that might mean for you.

You sat quietly as he approached, his steps echoing off of the smooth surfaces of the bathroom until he reached the edge of the tub. Feitan's gaze flitted down to what he could see of you beneath the water's surface for a moment before he turned around and sat down on the edge of the tub. Oddly enough, his attention was on the door.

What was his mood right now? Your brows furrowed as you tried to figure him out. With him being closer now, you found that he didn't seem angry, or even annoyed as he so often was. If anything, he just seemed a bit perturbed.

All because of your encounter with Phinks? Why was it that bad that you met him? Were you even supposed to meet the other werewolf? Phinks made it sound as though you were, but with the way Feitan was acting both outside and in here made you wonder if your paths were never meant to cross.

Curiosity drove you to say something then, and you cleared your throat as you asked “did I do something wrong?”

Feitan glanced at you, then shook his head.

“Then…. Can I ask who Phinks is?”

Feitan turned his attention to you fully and you couldn't help but shrink down slightly into the water once the weight of his gaze bore down on you.

“You can tell, can't you?” he asked.

You nodded.

His eyes narrowed as he continued with “so why ask stupid questions?”

Your response to that was to look down into the water as you mumbled out a “sorry.” Feitan scoffed in response, but then he shifted himself on the edge of the tub so his body was turned more towards you. He wasn't saying anything more, instead once again choosing to stare at you.

Did he really need to do that when you were in the bathtub?

Unable to stand the silence and the irritation that came with his last answer, you meekly asked “was I not supposed to meet him?”

Feitan let out a small sigh as he said “not yet.”

With a roll of his head, Feitan looked back to the door one more time as he added “he's just too overeager. He doesn't understand patience.”

You nodded along like you understood everything that he was saying, although when you thought on it, previous experiences with Feitan had you thinking that it was rather hypocritical for him to criticize others on being patient. Especially when the vampire had been around for as long as he had, you would have thought patience would be something that he was a master of.

That was yet another thought in a sea of them that you kept to yourself.

Not wanting to leave things there, you spoke up again.

“Phinks seems nice,” you said.

Feitan looked over to you and his expression was blank.“…. Is he not?” you asked.

“He's better now,” Feitan told you, “but you wouldn't have liked him at the beginning.”

“Beginning of what?”

“His training.”

The vampire dipped his hand into the water, moving it about with gentle motions as he added “the process of teaching him to be obedient took decades. Training you has been much easier in comparison.”

He said nothing else as he kept his hand in the water.

You stared at him as you felt slightly shocked.

… Feitan… The things he had done to you…. Had he also done them to Phinks? Were you not the first victim of his to be kidnapped and subjugated? Phinks was so much stronger than you, and he had honestly seemed to be just as strong as Feitan, if not more.

Yet Feitan had managed to gain control over him?

Part of you wanted to ask the vampire more while another part of you never wanted the subject to be brought up again. And luckily for that latter half of you, that part was the one that got its wish as you got the sense that Feitan didn't want to talk anymore. In his mind, no doubt, he had been nice enough to give you the answers you had sought. Answers to questions that you shouldn't have even had since it truly seemed you weren't meant to meet Phinks. Not this day. To push him further would be to cause distress for yourself. If not now, then in the future.

You desperately didn't want that, if just for the sake of your own well-being.

There was then a quiet that settled within the confines of that room. Neither you nor Feitan spoke, and the only sound that regularly battled against the emptiness in the air was that of the gentle sloshing of the water against the smooth sides of the bathtub. With nothing else left to say to him, you told yourself that you should continue as you were. Clean off that grime and refresh yourself as you had been intending when you first entered the room. If Feitan wanted to watch then he would. If he didn't, he would leave.

…. For some reason, you didn't want him gone yet.

What possessed you to do what you did next, you had no idea. But slowly, you moved, scooting up slightly in the tub until your head reached where Feitan's thigh was sitting on the edge. Just as slowly, you moved your head forward until your cheek was resting on his leg.

Feitan said nothing, nor did he make any move to stop you.

Eventually, you were resting the weight of your skull on his leg, the parts of your hair that had been soaked by the water getting his pants wet in the process. Still, Feitan didn't do anything.

He couldn't have been completely against it. If he had, he would have shoved you away or stood up and left. That he allowed you to do as you pleased meant that he couldn't have minded that much.

When he finally reacted, you held your breath.

Feitan pulled his hand out of the tub, and with the water still dripping off of his skin, that same hand came down to rest on the top of your head. How he felt about this became clear when he began to pet your hair with soft, gentle strokes. At that, you allowed yourself to relax more against him, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch, humming contentedly.

It was similar to what had happened last night.

The memory came back again: of you kneeling before him in a room full of blood and body parts while he stood before you, and a single hand had reached out to stroke the top of the head of your monstrous form, his fingers becoming stained with red as they moved through the blood soaked fur.

This time was much nicer, you felt. The clean bathroom and the soothing water were much better accompaniments to the rare gentle touches from him that you had come to yearn for. Because he only did as such when he was especially happy with you. As you thought over the events of the past few days, you counted three different times, including this one, where he had shown you such affection.

That was good, you told yourself. It meant you were doing something right.

Things would be easier if you did the things that would please him. If you made that your goal, then you could be happy. And already, you felt a fragmented part of you wanting just that: for Feitan to be happy with you. To please the ancient vampire that had decided to choose you. Please him and accept whatever he wanted, be it to keep you to himself or to bring Phinks into whatever it was the two of you had.

Or were you the one being brought into something he had with Phinks?

It didn't make much difference.

As long as your mind could break enough so that it could accept this life with Feitan, that was all that mattered.

#reader insert #yandere x reader #yandere feitan #feitan x reader #hxh feitan #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #yandere hxh #hxh x reader #feitan portor #monster au #yandere phinks

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kumkaniudaku · 21 hours ago

Text

At Last: Part Two

Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Richmond make their union official.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: None

Part One

Under two Spanish moss trees, the two that towered highest above the rest like gods watching over their creations, Patrice and Terrence were due to share vows and declarations of love with a small crowd of family looking on as witnesses in less than twelve hours.

Her mother referred to the quick turnaround between engagement and nuptials as a “small miracle” as she and her elder sister meticulously planned details that even Patrice had overlooked in the haze of the evening.

Truthfully, after all the fuzzy feelings and congratulatory bubbly had worn off, she was left with a gaping pit of confusion deep within her belly. Terry had promised one year to prepare for a life together. That amounted to 365 days to learn, grow, and get ready for eternity. A calendar year to decide if the eagerness of fresh love could bloom into something everlasting. Three hours ago, she didn’t need any more convincing. Now, having 365 days cut nearly in half with a wedding occurring on the other side of the sunrise had suddenly become suffocating.

They hadn’t taken a traditional road, one paved with tangible milestones on the journey to name changes and legal titles. There was no high school sweethearts storyline to follow. They hadn’t awkwardly fumbled over kisses after a first date or met each other’s parents at a Sunday evening dinner. Terry never officially asked to be her boyfriend and she never really treated him as a man to date on the way to some serendipitous revelation that he was, indeed, the one. In her mind, they’d always existed as lovers, time moving in a flat circle back to him as the only man at the altar when she envisioned jumping the broom with a new last name.

But, even with all roads leading back to Terrence James Richmond, the cotton sheets beneath her tired body provided no refuge. She was restless in the dead of night, head pounding with uncertainty and throat raw with questions. She kicked at the thick duvet for some relief from the stifling heat in the bedroom of the tiny guest cottage she and Imani were forced to share for the night.

Because, even if she and Terry didn’t adhere to tradition, the women of her family held strong.

Next to her, Imani grumbled into her pillow before flipping the bedside lamp on with a huff.

“Damn, Petey, what now? You must wanna look like Frankenstein at the altar tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t get comfortable.”

“What I gotta do? My arms ain’t big as his but I can be the big spoon. Turn over.”

Imani jokingly cuddled up to Patrice, pretending to be Terry as she spoke to her in a dramatically deep voice. “I love you, girl. You the only woman in the world, girl. Kiss me a hundred times so I don’t melt away, girl!”

Patrice couldn’t hold back her laughter at her cousin’s silly imitation of a man she’d only just met in person but managed to get his mannerisms down to a science. She was good like that. Always able to break the ice and calm Patrice with a joke, even through troublesome storms.

Turning in Imani’s arms, Patrice faced her cousin to feel less alone in the world. Imani adjusted her bonnet and looked back with a faint smile.

“Tell me what’s wrong. You nervous?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Anxious?”

“Not that one either.”

“Worried.”

Patrice nodded and chewed her bottom lip before answering. “That’s the one.”

“Spill. You already got me awake. Might as well make it interesting.”

“I wish I could but, I don’t know what exactly I’m worried about,” she started, shifting to her back to search for answers on the vaulted ceiling. She found nothing. “You think this is all moving too fast? It’s only been a few months. We said we’d wait a year at least.”

“A year? Three months? Who’s countin’. Those rules are made up.”

“Yeah, but what about the courting? The whirlwind romance? Being held close while you dance in an empty jazz club tasting champagne on his lips while Etta James plays in the background? What about all that?”

Imani watched her cousin jump from the bed, waltzing in circles with her head thrown back, treating the empty space between the bedframe and dresser like a palace ballroom. An amused smile tugged at her lips as she sat up to get a better view.

“Girl,” she exclaimed, laughing and shaking her head to Patrice’s dismay. “None of that shit is real! You watched the Brandy Cinderella one too many times during the pandemic.”

“Only four times. Five. Six if you count the time we watched it on FaceTime.”

“That’s why it’s rotting your brain now. How many times you been in love?”

“Once,” Patrice answered, her mind drifting to Terry and what he might be doing all alone in that room upstairs.

“It’s been three times for me. And guess what?” she questioned, not expecting an answer. “None of them had a formula. Love is illogical, girl. There are no steps or rules or movie scripts to guide you through this shit! It’s about the willingness to give yourself over to something incomprehensible in hopes that you found your person for as long as you can hold on to them.”

Imani’s rant floated around the room until it began to burrow itself deep into Patrice’s ears in hopes of reaching her brain. She stood there, taking every word in, eyes intently focused on her wise older cousin, knowing she was right yet having a hard time turning that insight into something she could fathom for herself.

She’d always had a plan that she followed to the letter. She thrived in logical next steps and absolutes. The black and white kept her organized. Routine was her center. But love with Terry? That was different. That was whimsical. That was girlish pining and a botched kiss when they pretended to be a couple for one night during senior prom. It was time away wondering what their bond had become amid infrequent communication and eventual radio silence. Their love was reuniting as adults and running so fast into dizzying passion that she hadn’t time to wrap her mind around what had happened over the last seven months. Their love was intense and scary, beautifully abstract with no rhyme or reason. Nonsensical even. But it worked.

Scooting to the edge of the bed and standing to her feet, Imani mimicked a chivalrous prince, pulling Patrice into a silly little waltz around the room. “Create your own fairytale, P. Everything doesn’t have to make sense.”

“You think he misses me?” Patrice asked, her voice so tiny and meek that it almost surprised Imani. “Think he’s thinking about me like I’m thinking about him right now?”

“Only one way to find out.”

A mischievous smile spread across Imani’s face as she dashed for her phone. Patrice chased after her, calling for her to stop what she was doing at such a late hour.

Ordinarily, Terry would be asleep. He was never one to stay up too far beyond the early hours of the night, often dragging Patrice away from a good book to force her to sleep beside him.

Peaceful slumber, however, had been elusive all night. The moon was too bright. The room? Too hot. He could complain about the bed being a hair too soft or the floorboards creaking too loud whenever someone would sneak down the hallway for a late snack, but all of those would be a deflection from the true issue - he missed Patrice.

Just as his longing was reaching a tipping point, his phone buzzed against the solid oak nightstand. He had half a mind to ignore the sound. It was likely his mother confirming details yet again or one of his twin sisters finally responding to the engagement video, he thought to himself as he lay on his back staring at the constant revolution of the ceiling fan.

Then another buzz came accompanied by several more to let him know this was a phone call and only people with emergencies call at that hour.

He answered without looking at the screen to verify the caller.

“Hello?” He answered, slightly annoyed by the interruption.

“Terry put some clothes on and come to the cottage. We got an emergency.”

“A what?”

“Boy, just come on! Skip the third step from the bottom and go out of the side door by the kitchen.”

Terry wished that sneaking around his fiancée’s family home was among the silliest things he’d done in the middle of the night for a woman.

He carefully slipped into a hoodie and sneakers before tiptoeing his way down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out of that side door like Imani instructed. The moonlight provided the only guidance down the cobbled pathway leading to a tiny shack at the edge of the property with a little light flipped on in the bedroom.

Imani watched through the peephole with Patrice hot on her heels, peering over her shoulder as if she could see too.

Moanie shrugged her away with a harsh whisper. “Girl, get off my ass. He’s coming!”

Patrice backed away with her hands up in surrender. The wait for his eventual appearance felt like forever. She fiddled with the hem of her nightgown, wondering if he would care that this was all a half-baked scheme to circumnavigate their forced separation.

Terry ambled up the dirt path with his normal scowl and fists pushed into his pockets to shield his hands from the wind chill. Imani timed his arrival perfectly, swinging the door open before he created a disturbance by knocking.

“Everything good?” He asked, one eyebrow hiked high as Imani pulled him into the cottage by his arm.

She stepped back and gestured toward Patrice who stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“I just wanna sleep,” she sighed. “Take her, go in that room, and do whatever y’all do until the morning. Then you gotta dip because I’m not getting in trouble for y’all. My mama will still hit me.”

Terry’s eyes drifted from Imani to Patrice, catching how she looked nervous under his gaze. He smiled and extended his hand for her to take.

“C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”

His voice, honied and soothing to her soul, gave Patrice her first rush of comfort in what felt like forever. She placed her palm in his and trailed behind him as he led the way.

Imani called behind them. “Please, don’t have sex on the bed. I gotta sleep here until Tuesday and I don’t really need that image in my head.”

“Can’t make any promises but, thank you. I’ll make sure you get the bouquet.”

“Hard pass. Give it to Moon’s desperate ass. I like to let my fairytales unfold organically.”

She winked at her cousin just before Terry could close the bedroom door to block them from the outside world.

Wrapped in the midnight hour, they’d finally found peace.

Patrice watched from the bed as Terry stepped out of his shoes and pulled off his hoodie to expose bare skin to the night air. He slowly crawled in beside her, brushing his fingers against her midsection to guide her against the mattress the way he liked. He pulled her close to his chest to rest his nose in the crook of her neck for a deep inhale of her unique scent. She sighed and pressed even closer, at ease once eyelashes painted butterfly kisses where his warm breath fanned against her skin.

“How’d we get like this,” he laughed once they were settled. “Can’t even fall asleep without each other.”

“I still think you put a spell on me in that bathroom. I loved sleeping alone before then.”

“Had to pull out all the stops for you, baby.”

“I’m just that fine, huh?”

He chuckled and closed his eyes, already feeling slumber's clutches coming for him in the darkness. His grip around her waist tightened. She trailed her fingers up and down his forearm with her focus on the soft rustle of the linen curtains against the window. Her mind quieted. The room fell silent save for steady, deep breathing and the crickets making music outside.

“You wanna know something?”

Terry blinked himself awake to answer. “What?”

“They call me Petey because I had a big crush on Tobey Maguire as Spider-Man one summer,” Patrice admitted in the darkness. “I figure if you’re gonna be my husband by this time tomorrow, you should know.”

No answer. Only the smack of his lips pulling away from the skin behind her ear in another kiss. He knew not to interrupt her fleeting moment of vulnerability with the silly joke on the tip of his tongue. So, he joined her confessional.

“I used to think Roxanne from A Goofy Movie was fine.”

“The animated dog?”

Terry scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know being attracted to a human spider was better.”

Their shared laughter reverberated off the walls, uncorking the bottled-up pressure to be present as perfect beings to the world. Terry felt Patrice’s ribcage expand and contract in his embrace as she took a deep breath to release pent-up nerves, silently thanking God that he was the one allowed to mold himself into the curves and contours of her body every night.

“I want to know more about you.” she requested, sounding like a child asking for a bedtime story. “Tell me something else.”

So he did. With no hesitation, he told her secrets that seemed so daunting to share until she was the one listening. Anxieties about the future fell from his lips freely, receiving no judgment on the other side. He told her about his fear of clowns and felt his first dose of validation when she agreed that expressionless mimes shouldn’t be around children. The backstory of the small scar on his upper lip was followed by a giggly recollection of the time she put her brother in the dryer to see how long he could spin without getting sick which made him laugh until his abdomen ached. Together they shared uncomfortable memories that introduced intense insecurities, weird theories about the existence of intergalactic forms, and wondered if LeBron James was secretly an android. An elementary game of 21 Questions created a crash course in the entire history of one another.

They lay there together in a pitch-black room drunk off the jagged, imperfect pieces of each other until their eyes burned with exhaustion and sleep was no longer an option.

The last thing Terry whispered into Patrice’s ear was a promise to never stop learning about her, to never stop being curious about her likes, dislikes, hopes, and dreams as long as they both lived. She could barely mumble out a worthwhile response but hoped that her gentle hum served as an oath to do the same.

By morning, he was gone. Out into the breeze by first light, leaving only his scent on Imani’s pillow and the fleeting memory of his fingers making a home between Patrice’s legs with whispered praise on his lips as evidence that his presence wasn’t an apparition in the witching hour. Patrice couldn’t resist burying her face into the sheets, squealing and kicking her feet beneath the duvet in elation.

She was getting married.

“Y’all are so cute,” Imani swooned, leaning against the bedroom doorframe as she watched her cousin hold a pillow close to her chest like an actress in a romantic drama. “We gotta get you ready, sis! It’s your wedding day!”

People whisked around all morning like busy worker bees, each one darting off to a new place around the estate to fulfill a purpose. Some balanced stacks of white chairs under their arms like magicians to turn a portion of the backyard into a wedding venue. Others hustled through the kitchen’s service door with mounds of ingredients for what could only described as a feast fit for royalty. Women giggled on their way out of the backdoor to meet Patrice and her small entourage to prepare her for a day she’d planned as a girl, but never saw coming together in a dizzying whirlwind such as this.

In the cottage, women laughed and sipped tea in porcelain cups to go with their fancy hors d'oeuvres on fancier china. The soothing purr from an antique sewing machine placed careful stitches in a beautifully plain satin gown gifted by Imani and Rosalyn to ensure that the garment was made to Patrice’s exact proportions. She was a princess for the day, the world bending to her every whim.

Terry wasn’t so lucky. The bedroom was still too hot and growing even hotter with each unwanted guest moving in and out with more questions than he thought he needed to answer. He wanted a moment to write out heartfelt vows with pen and paper but found himself so frustrated with the whole production that he slammed his writing utensil against the writing desk in the corner and cursed at the wall.

Another visitor tsk’d behind him. “Boy, you better not let Mama hear you talkin’ like that.”

”She’d pull that ear clean off the side of your head!”

Equally raspy voices made Terry sigh with relief before he stood to his feet. As two almost identical copies of their mother, Zorah and Zanah were Terry’s first loves. He remembered the day they entered into the world. So precious and honey brown with striking chocolate eyes that could make him bend to their will without a word. He watched them mature through the world like their hired security, never letting harm come to a single hair on their head. He wiped tears, kissed scrapes, and played with dolls like a third parent. When they went their separate ways to grow into adults with individual hopes and dreams, he cried in secret like he’d been the one to birth them.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged his baby sisters but he knew he’d never needed their embrace quite like he needed it in that moment. They hugged him back, two sets of arms wrapping him up in a quiet group hug until he’d had his fill.

“How is this supposed to be the happiest day of your life and you’re in here cussin’ and breathing all heavy,” Zorah, the oldest of the pair, asked as she cleared her brother’s face of invisible debris.

She’d always acted as his surrogate mother despite being six years his junior. The everpresent pillar of stability, she left home as soon as she could to explore the other side of the country at UCLA in hopes of studying the ins and outs of music performance. Tall and athletic with long dark locs, her voice became her calling card, but her big brother knew her as a young lady that was once too afraid to sing in the children’s choir at church.

“You know how Terry is. He think he Obama. All serious for no reason sometimes.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’re right,” she conceded. “You never gon’ be fine as Obama.”

Zanah was the hell raiser. Loud and full of energy with an afro big enough to block the sun, she lived to tease her older brother. A zest for bold flavors that could bring even the worst enemies together for a good meal sent her in search of the best culinary school their parents could afford. If you could dream it, she could make it appear in the kitchen with little effort. Terry admired her for her gift, but couldn’t stand her poking and prodding at his expense.

He kissed his teeth and broke free from their short-lived period of civility. “Treece and the girls are out back. She’ll be happy to see y’all. Zo, get the rings from Daddy as soon as you can. You know how he gets.”

The twins rolled their eyes at each other while watching Terry pout on his way back to the writing desk for another crack at his speech. Zorah was the first to move with Zanah bringing up the rear.

She stood over his shoulder to take stock of what he’d managed to write in his time alone. Half sentences and scribbled words scratched through several times over littered the page as if a madman had gotten ahold of his journal. Something about how much he cherished her but with far too much Shakespearean language to be sincere made Zanah giggle behind him.

She sat on the edge of the desk, pretending to judge his work. “Are you writing your vows or the sequel to Romeo and Juliette?”

“Zanah, please. Pick with me after all of this is done. I can’t deal with the stress right now.”

An invisible weight seemed to push Terry into a defeated hunch, forcing his head into his hands as he angrily rubbed at his eyes. His stress tick was back and more ferocious than ever. Zorah flanked his other side and gave her twin a look of concern before looking back at him.

“Wanna pretend we’re Patrice to practice?”

He sighed. “No, not really.”

“Don’t be like that. We won’t tell and you gotta get a move on these vows. It’s a win-win.”

Terry sat back in his chair to mull over their proposition. A practice run couldn’t hurt. At worst, he’d rid himself of the useless mass of words clogging his brain.

“Fuck,” he conceded, pushing back from the desk with a loud scrape across the wooden floor. “Look, be nice. If I say something stupid or too mushy just let me finish, alright?”

“It wouldn’t be nothing we ain’t heard you writing poems about before,” Zanah laughed along with Zorah.

Terry showed her both of his middle fingers with a smirk as he walked to the center of the room. His days as an amateur poet were a well-kept secret that only his family was forced to witness. One day, when he and Patrice were old and grey, he’d reveal a shoebox full of terrible musings in her honor.

Taking a needed inhale through his nose and long exhale through his mouth, Terry prepared to ramble through his feelings.

“When I try to imagine my life without you, my mind goes blank. It’s kinda like when you get an error message on a computer or something. No images, no search results, nothing. Empty.” Terry began to pace, finding inspiration in the back-and-forth motion.

Zorah pressed for more. “Why?”

“I’m not supposed to imagine life without you, Patrice. I don’t want to experience another birthday or Christmas, Earth Day, Juneteenth, shit anything if you’re not there. I prayed for you.” Terry didn’t anticipate getting choked up until the sensation brought with it a lump in his throat. All of the instances he’s asked God for guidance in matters of the heart came rushing back to his remembrance with only one answer at every turn. “Trying to imagine an existence without you feels like I’m telling God that bringing you back to me wasn’t enough.”

His eyes flashed up to his sisters, finding them in the throws of emotion right along with him.

“Keeping going. Bring it home,” Zanah encouraged. “Give her the fireworks, loverboy!”

Terry laughed through misty vision. “I’m excited to spend the rest of our days together. Tonight, I’m promising you a lifetime of my protection, my devotion, and my desire to show up every single day to make our time together worth the wait. Thank you for choosing me, baby. Let me work on making sure you never regret that decision.”

A slow clap took over the room, first from two sets of hands that Terry expected, making his shoulder slump from relief.

“Shit, now I gotta remember all that.”

“Don’t worry, we recorded,” Zorah assured.

But there was still applause. He whipped his head around to investigate the extra spectators and found his parents beaming from the room’s threshold.

Diedra spoke up first as she made a beeline for her son. “Oh my God, oh my God! This is really happening. My baby is about to be somebody’s husband.” She claimed his face with her hands, distributing doting kisses on both of his cheeks. “Beautiful vows. Remind me of your father’s.”

“Not nearly as eloquent,” Marvin laughed, joining the conversation. “Matter of fact, I don’t think I got past the to have and to hold portion without stuttering. The pastor had to move us along because I was so tongue-tied.”

“Yeah, but the feeling is the same. Your heart’s in the right place.”

“Not right now,” Terry laughed before kissing her forehead. “My heart is in my ass, Mama. Stomach too.”

The Richmond family laughed harmonious laughs, providing the first bit of ease Terry had felt all morning.

Marvin reached out to grab his boy’s shoulder for a small squeeze. In all his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have imagined a better man than Terrence had become. All the rearing, the man-to-man talks, the tough love, and every stern redirection had become another foundational brick in not only a worthwhile man but a spectacular human.

He looked around the room at his girls and wife, trying to hide the overwhelming rush of emotion tightening his chest. “Can you ladies give us a moment?”

Zanah released a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, here we go. They about to cry a river in here. Come on, y’all. Patrice says they’re opening another bottle of champagne and you know I don’t like to miss hearing a cork pop.”

“You honestly need to talk to somebody about that.”

“We talk all the time, Zo!”

Time winding down turned advice into a hot commodity, transcending social groups as the sunset drew closer. Everyone had an opinion, an unsolicited tidbit on how to navigate the peaks and valleys of marriage. A hodgepodge of dos and don’ts thrown out like casual information whether Patrice wanted it or not.

Don’t go to bed angry. Have sex every night. Make sure there’s a separate account for personal emergencies. Keep the kids out of your bed. Some were helpful, others mostly nothing but projections and special circumstances veiled as some sage secret that Patrice and Terry should offer special thanks for receiving.

Nerves were turning into embers of annoyance. By late afternoon, they’d both requested for rooms to be emptied and questions to cease. They’d had enough. No more information. No more guidance. Anything left to learn was up to the test of time, not a bunch of people who meant well, but would ultimately return to their own lives with no say so in what went on between the newlyweds.

Reprieve came when the white chairs were in perfect rows on either side of a flower-lined aisle, ties were neatly draped underneath starched button-up collars, and dresses were pressed to perfection. The sun had begun to dive behind the clouds, leaving the sky full of pink and orange hues. A half-moon hung high in the sky as if it were invited to witness a show made especially for the cosmos. Guests took their seats without care given to which side belonged to the groom or bride. They were all family now. A beautiful mix of lineages and temperaments bonded for as long as Patrice and Terry saw fit.

At the altar, Sybil stood under two Spanish moss trees towering high above the rest, her gray hair pulled up into an ornate headwrap that matched her dress. She smiled up at both trees as if saying hello to living, breathing beings before asking stragglers to take their seats.

From the kitchen’s sliding door, Terry bounced on his toes, waiting on his cue to step into the early autumn chill. A tailored suit hugged him close, finally fulfilling its duty to carry him down a path lined with his love's favorite flowers to forever bond himself to the woman handpicked for his unwavering fidelity.

This was the moment. Fate had willed it so. He wouldn’t turn back for any reason. Destiny had come knocking and he welcomed her in with open arms.

Dreamy chords from a baby grand piano served as the soundtrack to his final walk as a single man. Measured steps carried him forward, his chest puffed with pride and his shoulders rolled back in the type of relaxed confidence only afforded to people who had no doubt that they were on the exact path they’d been ordained to traverse.

Candles and soft, white light from paper lanterns hanging nearby provided romantic theatrics to accompany his every step. Voices whispered, some calling his name, others leaving comments as he passed. In his periphery, he caught a glimpse of his family. DeeDee’s eyes welled with happy tears as Marvin rubbed her back for comfort. His sisters, both beside themselves with excitement, flashed Terry a look at the wedding bands as a final check-in on their whereabouts.

At the altar, Junior waited for his arrival as his best man. Terry had requested his presence during a surprisingly heartfelt conversation where Junior had all but lifted his brother-in-law off of his feet to show his appreciation.

“I love my sister, man.” He repeated over and over under the spell of brunch liquor. “I’m happy it’s you, T. I’m happy it’s you for my sister, man.”

Junior tapped his right hand over his chest and nodded at Terry, jumping right back into the masculine display of affection that had escaped him when no one else was around.

Patrice watched it all unfold as she carefully made her way into the kitchen at the tail end of a secret mission to hide her from her husband. Imani trailed her with a bouquet of blue hydrangeas in one hand and the train of her dress in the other. If not for her heels clacking against the black and white tile on the floor, Patrice was sure that her cousin could hear her heart thudding against her sternum.

“Alright, girl, this is where I leave you,” Imani spoke, a small smile forming as she took another look at Patrice. She tucked a stray curl back into place and presented her with the flowers. “You look beautiful, P. Stunning. My friend is all grown up. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you, Imani. For everything. Let’s not allow too much time to pass before we see each other again, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll be back for Christmas. But, don’t focus on me. You gotta get down the aisle, Mrs. Richmond.”

Patrice sighed and grinned at the mention of her new last name. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it, baby! It’s time.”

A final hug connected the two before Imani was out of the door and comically announcing the bride’s arrival before taking her place as maid of honor.

She stood behind that glass door, beaming as all in the area stood in anticipation of her entrance.

You fix your makeup just so

Guess you don’t know that you’re beautiful

Try on every dress that you own

You were fine in my eyes a half hour ago

Terry had mentioned the song in passing once, commenting on how he heard it in a department store and found John Legend kind of corny. What he didn’t mention was that he was in the department store getting fitted for the very suit he wore as he watched Patrice walk toward him and how he took the song as a sign that he was doing exactly what God intended.

That cheesy song from a cheesier artist was the reason he was dabbing at the corners of his eyes with his knuckles to stop the incoming tears.

In a lovely satin dress with a high halter neck, Patrice was the center of attention. Imani had specifically chosen a white dress without any reverence for outdated tradition. If her girl was to be wed, she’d be in the appropriate color, no doubt. A split in the front was a personal gift to Terry, a peek at her oiled legs with each step immediately catching his attention.

Her bantu knots were unraveled, leaving behind shiny, bouncy curls that framed her face just right. Soft makeup enhanced ancestral facial features. Minimal jewelry kept the look tailored to her flare for the understated.

When she waved at Terry, he waved back with a smile so wide that it made his cheeks burn. In all of her glory, every perfect inch from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, was his to cherish.

And this evening, I won’t let the feeling die

I never wanna leave your side

Before the music could fade to make way for the ceremony, Terry had already found himself unable to hold back emotion. His fingertips were damp with tears as he assisted Patrice onto the low platform.

“Sorry,” he whispered while she pulled the handkerchief from his breast pocket and used it to clean his face. “Think they got all this in the photos?”

“I hope so. Might get a couple wallet-sized prints to carry in my purse.”

Patrice chucked as she tucked the pale blue fabric behind her bouquet’s stem and smoothed Terry’s collar. He captured her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

Sybil cleared her throat. “We aren’t at that part yet, but I love the enthusiasm. Should we get to the good stuff?”

Patrice hoped the good stuff was captured in ultra HD on a camera somewhere. She couldn’t bring herself to care about the flowery words and intricate language. She tried her hardest to listen for her name to avoid embarrassing herself in front of everyone hoping to see something movie-like unfold in front of their eyes. But seeing the light etch beautiful reflections and shadows on Terry’s skin was all she could lend her focus to in the moment.

Luckily, she made it through her vows without stumbling, even managing a joke that garnered a communal chuckle.

“Honestly, we’re lucky this is happening now instead of at 18 like you said you wanted. I got to see Juicy J at homecoming one year and that wouldn’t have happened if I was chasing behind you in my 20s. You cute but not miss a Juicy J concert cute.”

She listened to Terry sniffle his way through heartfelt lines, occasionally wiping under his eyes to clear his vision. He gripped her hand tight and bathed her in a gaze so intense it sent a shiver down her spine.

What she was present for, however, was the grand finale.

“Do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?” Sybil asked Terry though she was already sure of his answer.

His top lip almost disappeared from being stretched so wide in his smile. “I do.”

Sure as he knew his first name, Terry affirmed his decision with two words and all of his teeth on display. Sybil looked to Patrice, finally seeing her niece as a woman and not the little girl that kept her on her toes every summer.

She took a deep breath and then laughed. “Lord, now I’m crying!” The family laughed, some using the moment to wipe away their own tears. “Okay, I’m back. Do you take this man to be your husband -”

“Yes! I do! I mean you can finish if you need to, but that’s my answer. One billion times, yes.”

There was no need. Under the twinkle of ancestors acting as stars and God showing his splendor in the marvelous brightness of the moon, man and woman became one. Mr. and Mrs. Richmond, free to jump hand in hand over a small, decorated broom to honor the folks that had come before them.

Well wishes came in abundance. Gifts big, small, and monetary spilled from a small table onto the rug beneath. Toasts became the preferred way to start a conversation. Buttons and ties had come undone from tight collars. High heels swapped for sensible shoes. Couples already squarely in the mature stages of partnership rushed to slow dance in the center of the communal area between tables. Pictures memorialized a wondrous occasion. They’d sign official paperwork another day. Tonight was for celebration.

While the party raged on, Patrice and Terry sat in the center of the table wrapped up in one another. His chin rested in the palm of her hand as he watched her lips move in time with the lyrics to a line dance song her parents led on the makeshift dancefloor. Her fingernails gently scratched at his jaw, an absentminded habit she’d picked up recently. He nudged her temple with his forehead like a cat begging for affection.

“Hmm,” she hummed, not looking in his direction. He repeated his actions to receive the attention he craved. She finally looked over and giggled. “What, baby?”

“Nothing. Just wanted you to look at me.”

Patrice pressed her nose to Terry’s before placing a soft kiss on his full bottom lip. “Let’s get away from here for a second. Follow me.”

Without question, Terry allowed Patrice to tug him along, past the throngs of dancing guests, away from music blasting out of jumbo speakers, down a shallow hill, and to a small lake shimmering in the night.

He held her steady when she stopped short to remove her heels, saying something about needing to feel the grass between her toes. She jogged the rest of the way to the lake with Terry holding her shoes and taking long strides to catch up.

She carefully lifted her dress before stepping into the water, only allowing it to cover the sides of her feet as she tilted her chin to the sky. Terry watched her with a placid grin and low eyelids.

“You having fun,” he asked as he placed her belongings on a tree stump and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Mhm. You?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

He watched her for a few seconds more, admiring the way she seemed to salute every piece of nature in the vicinity.

“You know, we didn’t get a first dance.”

Patrice stopped creating ripples in the water with her toes and looked over at Terry. “Oh shit, we didn’t, huh? Wanna go back and do that? I don’t even have a song picked out. Slipped my mind, I guess.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” he answered, still smiling. “We can dance right here.”

He presented his hand for her grab, pulling her from the lake with care until she was up against his chest. They swayed to nothing for a second while Terry fiddled with his phone to find something worthy of their time. Patrice closed her eyes to listen to the breeze, more content with the wind as a soundtrack than she expected.

Soon, Etta James came rolling through his phone’s speakers.

Terry dropped one hand just above Patrice’s backside, the other wrapping around her back to lead them in a slow dance. A waltz of sorts in the blue moonlight.

Her hands snaked up to the top of his head and pulled him as close as he could be, his nose so tight against her neck she could feel the slight suction and release from every breath.

They stayed there, moving side to side under Etta James’s sweet song of found love until all distractions faded and left them in the fullness of each other.

Patrice angled her head upwards as Terry kissed along her collarbone. Then her ear. Her cheek, her nose, and, finally, her lips.

As he said I love you without words, Patrice tried to place the sweet taste of citrus and apple on his tongue. Was it dessert? Maybe her lip gloss or the fancy compote from their dinner plate?

No, none of those.

She closed her eyes tighter to taste more. There it was. The ghost of her fantasy. The secret marker of her one true love.

Champagne.

---

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl

#terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge #aaron pierre

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 2 days ago

Note

Hiii this is my first request! I love all your works!

Could you write about Donna and reader getting into a fight resulting in reader hallucinating. Reader is terrified of Donna after this and strays away from Donna. Reader decides to finally go down to the basement after days of staying away from Donna. Most things in the basement are broken, and Donna is in her workshop crying and talking to herself ( a very bad crisis ) Reader is hesitant to comfort donna, but Donna sees this and reacts even more. Reader finally comforts Donna and sees that Donna won't hurt her.

Yesss!!!! I hope you don't mind I put this one as a kind of "halloween special", the plot suited very well with it! Anyway, welcome to the amazing world of requesting, and thank you for your request! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Terrified

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, hurt and comfort, Donna being Donna, some scary things...

Word count: 8,055

Summary: You never thought she was capable of doing that to you...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! Happy Halloween to you all!!!

“So… do all the dolls have the same size?” you asked curiously, raising your gaze to better observe the brunette's work.

The lady in black looked at you briefly, shaking her head and placing a new dress on one of those new porcelain companions.

“No,” she answered dryly. “It depends on what it's going to be like, the clothes it wears…” she commented, securing the seams.

“Oh,” you said interested, nodding curiously and moving your chair closer. “I see… and… how do you decide what each one will wear?” you asked again.

She shrugged, this time without looking at you.

“I guess I don't think about it, unless it's a special order,” she murmured, focused.

“How many orders do you have?” you asked, letting your curious nature not stop asking.

“Um, not many,” Donna whispered, sighing tiredly. “Little girls don't like porcelain dolls nowadays.”

“Well… it's understandable,” you said, running a hand over your neck and looking at a nearby shelf, where those finished grey dolls seemed to be watching you, giving you a chill. “Some people find them scary.”

“Mm, nonsense,” she said, with a mocking smile.

“Yes…” you sighed, with a shy smile. “It's probably nonsense but… just looking at those lifeless eyes…”

“Do they scare you?” Donna asked, with an amused expression.

“What? Oh, no, no, not me,” you said nervously, pretending to be brave. “They seem harmless… except Angie, of course.”

“Are you scared of Angie?” she asked, frowning.

“Scared is probably not the right word,” you said amused, rolling your eyes. “Rather, what scares me is finding out what new insult she has for me.”

“She's very good at that,” the lady joked, finishing the seams and looking at her new creation. “But you already know that she likes you, don't take everything she says seriously, tesoro.”

“Oh, I know,” you murmured with a tender smile, getting up from the chair. “I think you made her… creepy, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t make Angie,” Donna said, looking down. “She was a gift from my father.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” you said in a lower tone, as an apology. “Sorry, maybe I’m disturbing you, I can’t help but ask.”

“No, don’t worry, it’s okay to have company,” she whispered, turning her head towards where you were, pulling your wrist tightly to drag your body to hers, sitting it on her lap. “Your company.”

“Mm, well, that’s a compliment,” you said in a tender voice, letting Donna steal a couple of kisses on your lips while she held you lovingly. “Hey, release me.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, amused, giving kisses on your face, sighing after that little game. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Mm, not at the moment,” you said, pretending to think about the answer. “But I'm sure I'll come up with more questions.”

“You always want to know everything,” she said, caressing your cheek and lowering you to the floor after one last kiss.

“Yeah, well,” you said shyly. “Maybe you need my help if you get sick or something, so I like to learn new things.”

“You don't have to worry about that, I never get sick,” Donna said, with a much more serious voice than the situation required.

“Sorry, my immortal, blessed by the Gods lady,” you joked with a childish voice, pretending excessive respect.

“It's not a blessing,” she said, turning around with a sad voice, relaxing her expression.

“W-Well, I think that...” you murmured, nervous because of that sudden cold attitude.

It would be better to change the subject.

“Hey, Donna, I thought that when you're done with your dolls, we could take a walk in the woods,” you said in a loving tone, hanging on the lady's shoulders, kissing her wounded cheek to calm her apparent nerves.

“No,” she said, moving away from your overwhelming touch.

“Why not? It's been a long time since we went for a walk and…” you said frowning.

“(Y/N), it's October, it's cold and it gets dark soon; we're better off at home,” Donna said, with a firm voice, focused again on some pieces of fabric.

“It's true,” you sighed shaking your head and looking around. “But tomorrow we could…”

“What part of it's cold don't you understand?” the lady interrupted, with a dark look at you. “If you want to go out and freeze, go ahead, but don't count on me.”

“I can't count on you for anything, it seems,” you whispered angrily, fed up with the doll maker's passivity and constant refusal to do different things.

“What did you say?” she asked, turning around abruptly. “(Y/N), what…?”

“Nothing,” you said with a sigh, with your hands making a gesture of surrender. “I haven't said anything.”

“I don't understand why you insist so much on leaving the house,” she murmured, with a fleeting glance that pierced your soul.

“I don't like being locked up, when I was little, I used to always be outside, you know, in the woods,” you commented, wandering aimlessly through the workshop. “I love nature, all its seasons. Cold was never an impediment to…”

“Do you mind shutting up for a moment? I have to concentrate,” she interrupted you in an unpleasant way, saying with her attitude that you were really disturbing her.

“Um, um… I'm sorry, Donna,” you said, obeying.

“Mm, don't worry, sometimes I have a hard time getting used to not being alone,” she said after a few moments of silence, lowering that tension.

“And I have a hard time getting used to being quiet,” you joked.

“Sì, that too,” she said, calming your nerves.

Deciding to leave the lady in black alone, you walked around the workshop, curious, as always, observing each of the details that you didn't usually notice, even taking some of those shadowy dolls with your hands.

“Mm, yes, lycans are definitely scarier,” you whispered in a low tone so as not to disturb, assuring yourself that those dolls didn't scare you.

There would never be anything that would cause you more fear than one of those drooling, bloodthirsty beasts. Ever since you were very young, you were terrified of those creatures.

An annoying noise almost made you drop the doll, it sounded like a thunder coming from above.

“Ah!, damn!” you screamed, putting a hand on your chest.

“What's wrong? It was just a thunder,” said Donna frowning, annoyed by your interruption.

“Yes but... well, down here they are worse,” you said embarrassed, returning the doll to its place and scratching the back of your neck.

The lady slowly stood up, walking towards you and grabbing your waist.

“Do you know what scares me, tesoro?” she asked, whispering in your ear. “How beautiful you are…”

“Um, Donna…” you said blushing, accepting a couple of quick kisses from the brunette, who laughed amused. “I love your kisses.”

“I love giving them to you,” she whispered again, fulfilling your wish to feel, again, her lips on yours.

It was a shame that another thunderclap made you jump on the spot, cowardly clinging to your girlfriend.

“Damn it…” you whispered embarrassed, moving away among amused laughs from the lady.

“My little scaredy-cat…” she sighed amused, giving you one last kiss and walking away again, sitting at the work table. “Calm down, tesoro, I have to make the top of a dress, but when I'm done, I'll be all yours.”

“Oh, I like how it sounds,” you said, turning your ankle on the floor, biting your lip, but leaving the lady alone. “I'll wait…”

The silence was interrupted by thunders that rumbled in the walls from time to time. You, trying to ignore them, walked back next to the dolls, observing them with curiosity.

One of them, which stood out among the rest, caught your attention, and very carefully, you picked it up, observing it with interest. It wasn’t a normal doll: it had a colorful dress, with weak, frayed seams.

The doll's face was terribly poorly painted, one eye here, another there, lips of a garish color... it was a complete disaster, and an unbeatable opportunity to continue joking with Donna.

“Wow, I see that there is a first time for everything,” you said amused, arranging the doll's disheveled hair. “This doll is horrible, Donna.”

“Mm? What doll?” she asked without looking at you, cutting a piece of fabric.

“This one,” you said, coming closer and showing her that piece of porcelain. Calling it a doll would be overestimating it, of course. “I think it's the ugliest one I've ever seen.”

The lady turned slowly, opening her eye wide when she saw what you had in your hand, snatching it from you with a nervous gasp.

“Give it to me!” she shrieked furiously, with a childish gesture, hugging that doll. “Come osi?”

“What? Um, I don't understand,” you said nervously. “What have I done?”

“Do you think this doll is horrible, (Y/N)? That's what you said, right?” the lady growled, lovingly placing the piece of porcelain on the table, placing her disastrous clothes on it. “Come on, say it again.”

“D-Donna…” you said a bit scared. “W-Well, you've made better ones, haven't you?”

“Mm, stupida…” she hissed, with a look of disgust. “This doll was made by my sister, it was the first, and the last one she made,” she explained, making you close your eyes due to your mistake. “Mm, tell me, do you think the doll that a nine-year-old girl made is horrible?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know, Donna, I…” you said trying to apologize.

From the look the lady gave you back, it was too late.

“Didn't you say you knew everything?” the woman in black mocked, with a tone imbued with rage.

“N-No, I said I wanted to know everything,” you said with a very low voice, nervous and embarrassed by your mistake. “Donna, forgive me, I didn't mean…”

“Get out,” she hissed, turning her back to you.

“W-Wait, I…”

“Get out! Porca puttana, lasciami estare!” she shrieked madly, pointing at the door. “Get out, get out, get, out!”

“O-Okay,” you said hastily, running towards the door. “Donna, I…”

“Leave me alone, (Y/N), please,” she whispered in a calmer voice.

You nodded regretfully and left the workshop.

You should have known that any mention or involuntary disregard for her deceased family triggered that horrible behavior from the Lord. After all, she wasn’t just any woman, even if you were.

You were no different than any other villager. Your life was simple, your family, too. Being born and raised under the protection of the Black Gods had many disadvantages, but the tranquility that came with being in that place surrounded by shadows made up for it.

Always a lover of nature, animals and plants, you had satisfied your curiosity by reading a thousand books on those subjects, and studying the little beings that lived near your house.

Real animals, of course, not lycans.

That innate, almost unbearable curiosity made you fill yourself with knowledge, an apparently useless knowledge.

Luckily, the knowledge that seemed useless to you made sense that afternoon, the afternoon when, buying things from the Duke, you came across something unusual.

Normally, the Lords didn’t come down to the village and associate with inferior beings like you, much less the lady in black, doll maker, Donna Beneviento. She was a strange woman, consumed by madness and loneliness.

Seeing her black dress contrasting with the snow, the doll she held in her arms and her face hidden by a black veil made you want to retreat.

Fortunately or unfortunately, a valuable encyclopedia about the flora of Romania was waiting for you and your thirst for knowledge was much stronger than fear. If you hadn’t approached that day, you would probably be wearing a castle maid's uniform.

Apparently your interests caught the timid attention of the lady in black, or rather, of her doll. That someone like her wanted to communicate with you was a sign that you didn’t know how to interpret at first.

Visits to the estate, teas and talks… All of this managed to divert your interest from the animals and plants, and direct it towards the woman in black, towards the relationship that was slowly forming between you.

Love wasn’t long in coming, unexpectedly, but long desired. Donna Beneviento's beauty was no longer a secret to you, and the question of how it would feel to kiss her, was finally answered.

It was true that Donna was a complicated, tormented woman, victim of horrible tragedies in her past, but she had a hidden side, one that only you could see.

Tender, loving, attentive… The mysterious and terrifying behavior of the lady changed completely when you were around, and you stopped returning home to stay with her. That was two years ago, two wonderful years full of joys and sorrows, of love.

“She's right, I'm stupid,” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head as you walked through the dark basement, looking back from time to time, saddened by the wailing that could be heard at the end of the hallway.

“Claudia! Mi dispiace per gli errore che ho fatto!” You heard someone shout in the distance. A heartbreaking scream that made you stop.

“Donna…” you whispered helplessly. “My love… I'm sorry.”

“You've bothered my Donna again!” a shrill voice startled you, along with footsteps on the basement floor.

The Angie doll walked towards you cursing, surely due to your presence.

“Angie, I didn't mean to…” you stammered sighing, overwhelmed by the situation. “It was unintentional.”

“You're lucky that Donna is stupidly in love with you, villager, otherwise, I would have finished you off a long time ago,” the puppet commented, ignoring you and walking towards the workshop.

“Hey! That's not true!” you shouted, knowing that Donna was right, Angie was never serious. “I'll make it up to her, I promise!”

“You better do it!” the doll shrieked, opening the doors of the workshop, making Donna’s cries more evident.

“I have to do something for her,” you muttered to yourself, scratching your head. “I have such a big mouth” you lamented, shaking your head and looking for a solution to the problem you had created. “Yes, that's it.”

With renewed spirits and a smile on your face, you came to the conclusion about what you could do to calm her lament. Maybe it would be silly, but Donna loved the little details you had with her.

“Get ready, my love, I'm cooking today,” you said, entering the dark kitchen and rubbing your hands, searching among the junk for an old recipe book. “Let's see, let's see... yes, flour...”

Little by little you followed the instructions on that book, a dusty and ancient one that you barely understood. That, along with the thousand questions you asked the lady while she was cooking and your intense observations, gave you enough courage to try to make the sublime pasta that Donna blessed you with every day.

“Um, yes, okay,” you said, with your hands full of flour, observing your disastrous dough. “I think it turns out more or less like this, right? Maybe I should ask Angie for help, I don't understand anything,” you said sighing, passing a stained hand over your forehead, covering your face with flour. “No, (Y/N), I don't need that doll, she'll tell on me, for sure.”

Saying that it looked anything like the food the ventriloquist prepared would be very bold on your part. You tried your best, but cooking was never your strong point, no matter how much effort you put into it.

“Basil…” you said, searching through the aromatic herbs the lady always kept. “I don't see it…” you murmured, looking at the steaming plates, covered in a disastrous tomato sauce. “I-I suppose an oregano leaf will do, right?” you said, tearing one of the leaves from the pot and clumsily decorating the plates.

“(Y/N)…” a sad murmur alerted you.

Donna had appeared at the door, looking hurt from crying, but apparently calmer.

“Wait, wait!” you said with an amused laugh, running towards the lady and quickly turning her around so she wouldn't see what you had done. “Don't look, honey.”

“(Y/N),” she protested, stopping dead so you couldn't push her out of the kitchen. “La mia cucina…” she sighed with a gasp of horror as she looked over your shoulder at the mess you had caused.

“Yes, yes, don’t worry about it,” you said amused, finally managing to throw her out of the room. “I’ll clean it up later, you… set the table, okay?”

“A-Aspetta, (Y/N), let me…” she protested again, to which you laughed, shaking your head. “That doesn't smell…”

“Do what I say, okay, my love?” you insisted with an amused smile.

“O-Okay, but… Gods, (Y/N), you're covered in flour,” she said, running a finger down your face and showing it to you. “What have you done?”

You laughed shyly but didn't give it any importance.

“Come on, honey, out, out, move your ass to the living room…” you said amused, kissing her quickly and making impatient gestures with your hands.

The lady looked at you with a frown, blinking in confusion, but finally shrugged, walking down the hall muttering something incomprehensible.

“Just wait, my Donna…” you said satisfied, giving her some time to set the table, watching your pathetic attempt at cooking.

After a few minutes of waiting, you decided to go up with dinner, trying not to burn yourself with the plates.

“Here's dinner,” you hummed as you exited the elevator. Luckily, the lady in black listened to you and the table was carefully set. “Sorpresa.”

“Mm?” she murmured, sitting down and looking at her plate with an arched eyebrow. “Dinner, you say?”

“Yes, I've been in the kitchen for two hours and this is the result,” you said, dropping into the chair and rubbing your hands. “Do you want some wine?”

“No, um…” she said, dipping her fork into the food and looking at it with a strange expression. “Cos'è questo?”

“Well… pasta,” you said with a soft smile, nervous. “I made it myself.”

“That's obvious,” she commented, arching her eyebrow, letting a piece slide off the fork, falling onto the plate with an unpleasant sound.

“What's wrong? You don't like it? You haven't even tried it,” you said worriedly, observing her expressions. “Try it, come on.”

“I don't need to do it to know,” she said, shaking her head, with a sigh of disgust.

“Know what?”

“That it's the worst pasta I've ever seen in my life,” Donna said, without any tact, stirring that strange dough with her cutlery.

“Hey, okay, it's not perfect but I...” you protested embarrassed, lowering your head.

“What is this? Oregano?” she asked, taking the green leaf that decorated the plate with her fingers. “Cazzo, (Y/N), put basil, do you understand? Basil.”

“I-I'm sorry, there wasn't any and… I improvised,” you muttered with trembling hands, terribly offended.

“Improvised… idiota… the tomato is cold. You have to heat it so it doesn't cool the food, well, if you can call this… food,” Donna said unpleasantly, breaking up the pasta with her hands. “Look, it's full of flour, you haven't cooked it enough and it sticks to my fingers.”

“I'm sorry, okay? I'm not as good a cook as you,” you said annoyed, crossing your arms. “I was just trying to…”

“What? To kill me?” she joked, with an ironic tone that ended up making you angry. “Questo è una merda.”

“Hey! Hey, don't be too hard, Donna,” you said, getting up from your chair. “There’s no need to offend me... I made it with all my love, for you.”

“I'll tell you things as they are, (Y/N), if you wanted to surprise me, you've succeeded, unpleasantly,” the lady said, laughing arrogantly.

“What's wrong with you? I was just trying to have a detail for you, and you thank me like this?” you said with a sob. “Well, you know what? Leave it be, I'll throw it in the trash.”

“Now you want to throw food away?” she asked, holding the plate you wanted to take with you. “You're pissing me off, (Y/N)...”

“What about you? You've never spoken to me like that,” you said, leaving the plate on the table and running a hand over your forehead. “I just wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize? Why? Oh, right, for making fun of my sister,” she said cockily, arching her eyebrow.

“I already told you I didn't know,” you growled, clenching your fists. “It was a mistake.”

“Your mistakes are dangerous, tesoro, you should think better before speaking,” said Donna, tasting the food with disgust, making an almost amused face. “Mm, yes, horrible.”

“Sometimes you are unbearable, Donna,” you whispered with a furious look, shaking your head. “Yes, I made a mistake, but I apologized for it and… ah!” you shrieked when a lightning bolt illuminated the room, leaving behind a deafening thunder.

Donna laughed amused, making you even angrier.

“Do you find it funny? What the hell got into you?” you asked angrily, on the verge of tears. “Is it another mood swing? Or are you just that unbearable?”

The lady didn’t erase the smile from her face.

“I'm unbearable? Me? You're the one who's after me all day, asking me absurd things, overwhelming me,” she said, pointing at you with her finger. “You make me sick.”

“Does it annoy you?” you said mockingly. “I thought you liked it.”

“Stop thinking so much, your head is going to explode,” she mocked again, eating unhappily. “(Y/N), I'm not in the mood for your nonsense.”

“Of course, the conversation ends when you say so, right, Donna?” you said, slamming your fist on the table. “Well, listen to me!”

“Shhh, don't shout,” she said in a dark whisper. “Relax, tesoro.”

“Oh, now you call me tesoro, no one can understand you, honey,” you said ironically. “Well, now you're going to listen to me... I'm really tired, Donna, I'm tired of being locked up in this house all day.”

“Mm, nothing stops you from going out,” she commented, looking at you briefly.

“You don't get it, do you? I like going out with you, doing things with you, but you, what do you do? You spend the day with those stupid dolls. You don't pay any attention to me.”

“Are my dolls stupid?” she asked, bending the fork due to the strength of her hand. “You're the stupid one. My head hurts, (Y/N), shut up.”

“I don't want to shut up!” you shouted, something that caused a sinister laugh to suddenly appear.

“Fight, fight, fight!” Angie said, making a funny gesture with her fists.

“Mm, I see you're unable to keep your mouth shut, at least outside the bedroom,” the lady commented, with a mocking smile, something that made you even more furious.

“You know what, Donna? I'm starting to think about getting out of here,” you hissed, speaking irrationally.

“Don't you dare to leave!” she shrieked, standing up abruptly, her eye shining with anger at your words. “You love me!”

“Now you yell at me, how mature...” you mocked, with an amused smile. “Now I realize why you've been alone your whole fucking life.”

The lady opened her eye wide, approaching slowly, breathing heavily. You were angry and upset by that erratic attitude that you should know about, and regretful for the mistake you made with her sister.

Anger caused those horrible words to come out of your mouth, mouth to which you immediately brought your hands. Her gaze locked onto yours like a dagger, and her hand moved slowly towards you. Donna didn't speak. She simply pressed her lips together tightly, darkening her eye more and more.

“D-Donna, honey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I...” you said in a pleading voice, realizing that you had gone far, too far. “Donna...”

The woman remained motionless as you slowly approached, extending your hand towards her.

“Donna, listen to me, I…” you whispered, about to reach the black fabric of her dress.

The contact never came.

Your hand reached the darkness of her clothes, but they only blurred with a blackened cloud. You weren’t able to touch her. Her entire figure vanished with a strange sound, suddenly turning off all the lights in the room.

“What?” you asked scared by the new atmosphere of that place.

The warm light turned cold, like a wet forest in winter. In the mansion there was only darkness, the sound of rain bouncing off the windows. In front of you, there was no one. The lady had disappeared, as had her doll.

“Donna?” you asked, hoping that your eyes would soon get used to that new and strange darkness.

The cold ran down your back in the form of an unpleasant sweat and your gaze wandered around every corner of the mansion, looking for some source of light, some place to go. Your steps made the wood creak horribly, almost sinking under your feet. You were terribly scared, your whole body trembled.

Cautiously, shivering with fear in the face of that horrible darkness, you approached the hall, from where a dim but saving light came. The moon illuminated your path, guiding you through that sudden disorientation.

“Donna?” you called again, huddled in on yourself, overwhelmed by a deathly silence that perfectly matched the darkness.

The echo of your voice on the walls was the only answer. You were alone.

Terrified, you walked a little further, looking for the light that timidly entered through the large window, which was reflected majestically in the portrait on the stairs. The lady was still there, with that regal pose, holding her doll.

You swallowed, looking for answers around you, another source of light other than the dark and cold moonlight.

A deafening sound and a blinding light illuminated the house. A terrible thunder sounded at the same time, making you crouch on the floor, covering your head with your hands.

“Gods!” you screamed, seeing how the white color illuminated your surroundings for an instant, with your ears attacked by the horrible sound of the thunder.

When the fear disappeared from your body, you got up blinking several times to accustom your sight again. Everything seemed the same, but different. The atmosphere was heavier, full of humidity, and it didn't take you long to realize that the furniture was out of place, broken.

A dark sound coming from the old clock attacked your heart again. It wasn't its normal sound, it was like a sound of death, of a bad omen. Another flash of lightning appeared to scare you, combining with the mournful and dull sound of the clock.

Your eyes fell on the stairs again and your breathing quickened even more as you noticed a small, but horrible detail: the portrait of Lady Beneviento had changed.

Inside there was no longer that regal and stoic pose, that cold look. The black color was spread all over the canvas. There was no one or anything on it.

“No... no... no...” you murmured, approaching and passing your hand over it.

Nothing, it was a frame that only secured a black canvas, with a darkness that was overwhelming, opaque, empty.

That was too much for your brain to process, and your survival instinct went on alert, making you turn around and run back to the living room, screaming in terror.

“Donna, Donna!” you cried desperately, running quickly through the room, clumsily tripping over something on the floor, something that wasn't there before. “Oh...” you lamented, looking at the cause of that accident.

Your breathing stopped and you stepped back with a horrified moan. You hadn't tripped over a piece of furniture, but over a black and white stain that had been lying on the floor. A flash of lightning illuminated the room again and you could see what it was.

“No, no!” you screamed, shaking your head.

Beside you, lifeless, was a figure dressed in Donna's clothes, but it wasn't her. Instead, that dress covered the bones of an old, lifeless skeleton. Next to it, lying on the floor, was the Angie doll, also lifeless.

“Donna? N-No… No…” you stammered, realizing who those bones belonged to, clumsily getting up from the floor, moving as far away from that horrible sight as possible. “What's going on? Help!”

Your screams were of no use, but your vision cleared a bit. Around you, there was undoubtedly the Beneviento mansion, but it was nothing like it was a few moments ago.

The wind moved the curtains through some windows that were now broken. Everything was destroyed, covered by a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, as if hundreds of years had passed.

Scared, confused, you bent down to pick up the Angie doll, its wooden limbs rotting, almost falling apart in your hands.

“Angie…” you sighed hugging the doll and looking at that strange and dark place, trying not to look at the lady’s bones.

You walked cautiously through the living room, tripping over broken furniture, over bowls full of spoiled fruit, illuminated by those tireless flashes of lightning.

Desperate, you looked for a corner to protect yourself from that nightmare, letting yourself fall on the damp, broken floor, which was covered in mold.

“No, I'm dreaming, I'm just dreaming,” you repeated over and over, rocking on your back with the doll in your arms.

Completely oblivious to logical and rational thinking about your situation, you just cried desperately in that unknown, devoured by the passage of time house.

A creaking sound caught your attention, one very similar to the sound the front door made. Then, slow footsteps seemed to approach you. You looked up, dragging yourself along the old floor to check what was happening. You wish you hadn't.

The front door moved in the wind, completely unhooked from its frame, hitting the wall with an unpleasant noise. The rain and thunders sounded much more intense, you could almost feel the drops of water wetting your face. But that wasn't the worst; you knew the door was closed, which meant that... someone had come in.

You backed away again, hiding behind the door that led to the living room, looking through it without letting Angie go. A flash of lightning illuminated a horrible bloody claw that peeked out from the doorway. Growls began to harass your ears as you walked backwards.

You turned your head for a moment to see the identity of your pursuer. A lycan, a horrible lycan was walking through the house, looking for something, looking for you. You gasped, stepping on a vase on the floor, drawing its attention. Its head turned towards you, but fortunately, you were much faster, able of fleeing from that monster.

Its steps destroyed the rotten wood of the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind them. It walked slowly, looking around, as if it couldn't see you. Your legs trembled hopelessly but you forced them to keep moving slowly, dodging all obstacles.

A dark roar alerted you again to the danger, and with your gaze, feeling cornered, you looked for a place to hide. Knocked over on the floor was Donna's old desk, perfectly placed to serve as a shelter.

Without thinking, you launched yourself at it, covering your mouth so your breathing wouldn't alert the creature. Carefully, you watched its steps, suppressing a horrified cry when one of its claws ruthlessly crushed the skull of Donna's skeleton, making a noise you would never be able to forget.

You tried to relax, but it was in vain, you were unable to remain calm. You had never been so scared. You thought you could have died of terror. Almost feeling the monster's breath on your neck, you focused your gaze on the Angie doll, a terrible idea.

The puppet's head turned slowly, freezing you. Its broken, nonexistent eyes watched you, you could feel them.

“You... You killed me!” the puppet screamed in a distorted voice, causing you to scream as well, throwing the doll to the floor.

“Ah!” you screamed, standing up in horror, something that, of course, alerted the beast, which roared in satisfaction at your presence. “No, no!” you cried, without looking very well where you were going, running down the elevator hallway.

You quickly opened the now rusty bars and got into the cabin, desperately pressing the button and praying that it would work. Miraculously, with a metallic sound, it did.

“No!” you yelled when that beast launched itself at the fence, extending its claws to tear you apart. Luckily, you managed to corner yourself in the farthest part, and the elevator began to move downwards.

The light in the cabin flickered, threatening to leave you completely in the dark again. You tried to catch your breath, to wake up from that nightmare, but you couldn't, as a lugubrious metallic sound shook the cabin dangerously. The light went out, and the elevator abruptly fell to the basement.

It was a resounding fall, but you didn't get hurt, not a scratch, not even the blow affected you.

To your relief, the basement was perfectly lit, with that warm atmosphere it always had. You looked at the destroyed elevator, swallowing and walking forward, stopping abruptly at the horrible sound of another thunder.

When you opened your eyes, the nightmare continued. That kind of abandonment emerged in the basement as well. All the lamps were fallen, broken on the floor. The pictures on the walls no longer hung from them, the dust and humidity became too noticeable in your nose.

A sinister laugh bounced off the walls, the distorted voice of the doll entered your ears unpleasantly, almost as if it were behind you. You didn't want to check, you just ran out again.

A creaking sound accompanied your steps, slowly turning off the lights that were still on. The darkness followed you, as did that sinister laugh.

Just when you were about to lose the remaining light, you reached the shattered doors of the workshop, closing them as best you could, with that laugh sounding behind them. Scared, fearing the worst, you moved one of the tables in the workshop, which mysteriously remained illuminated, and put it as a barricade, slowly backing away.

“Open the door! You killed me!” Angie was screaming, hitting the doors with too much strength, impossible for her.

“No…” you sighed exhausted, crying in fear, approaching the back of the room, looking for another hiding place. In the absence of one, you crouched on the floor, pressing your head with your hands. “Stop, stop it…”

The knocks stopped and you were able to open your eyes. Slowly, you stood up, looking around, coinciding with the dolls that were always on the shelves.

“(Y/N)…” a hoarse whisper told you that you weren’t out of danger yet.

The laughter returned, but it wasn’t the only one. Giggles could be heard in the workshop, some coming from those dolls on the shelf. Unable to continue, paralyzed by fear, you stood still, looking at them out of the corner of your eye.

With the sound of a thunder, all those heads suddenly turned to look at you, increasing the intensity of those deafening laughs.

“No! No! No!” you screamed with all your might, letting yourself fall to the floor. “No, no, no, no, no, no…”

“(Y/N)!” a louder scream made you open your eyes.

The light illuminated the living room of the mansion with the usual warmth, while you were against the wall, with your knees pressed together to your chest. Your eyes hurt from crying and your body still trembled with terror. Confused, you looked around for some coincidence with that nightmare, but there was none.

In front of you, Lady Beneviento was crouching, with a worried look, but, above all, alive.

“Donna!” you yelled, throwing yourself into her arms. “Donna, Donna, Donna...” you repeated, crying desperately, terrified, but relieved because the nightmare was over. “Gods, it was horrible, I...” you stopped, letting the brunette's clothes go and moving away slowly.

When your mind was able to calm down, you realized what had happened. All of that seemed like a nightmare, a very real one. You hadn't fallen asleep, nor was there any other possible explanation. It was a hallucination.

It wasn't the result of nerves, or that disastrous dinner. You knew who was responsible. Donna, she, surely overwhelmed by your hurtful words, made you hallucinate, demonstrating her powers before you, using them against you.

The fear returned, but that time it was different. Slowly, you moved away from the lady's embrace, panting nervously.

“Honey, forgive me...” she said, searching for your hands, ones that you rejected with a furious gasp. “I lost my mind, I didn't want to...”

“D-Donna...” you whispered, almost without a voice. “Did you do this to me?” you asked, getting up clumsily due to the trembling of your legs.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have... (Y/N), I was very angry and I took it out on you... if you let me explain...” she said in a soft voice, chasing you slowly through the house while you backed away, shaking your head.

“Don't come closer,” you said, cornered against a wall. “Don't come closer...” you begged with a frightened sob.

“Amore mio, per favore, io...” Donna whispered, reaching out her hand towards you, making you run away again.

“No, no!” you screamed scared, dodging her attempts to grab you. “Don't touch me! D-Donna... what have you done to me?”

“If you let me explain...” she insisted, managing to grab your wrist.

You, frightened, tried to get out of her grip.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed desperately, pushing her away from you.

She looked at you with a sad look, with her mouth open, not knowing what to say.

“I'm sorry, (Y/N),” she sighed, with her eye full of tears.

“Are you sorry? You've made me live the worst experience of my life!” you shouted furiously, moving further away. “I-I don't want you to come near me, Donna, you scare me.”

“But, tesoro…” she said, crying at the impotence of not being able to make you reason.

“No! Leave me alone!” you screamed, fleeing up the stairs, passing by the intact portrait, being desperately pursued by the lady until you locked yourself in the guest room. “Go away!”

“(Y/N), please, listen to me,” Donna said behind the door, knocking on it softly. “Please, open the door.”

“No!” you shouted, leaning your back against the wall, turning on all the lights in the room. “Go away! You scare me!”

“Don't tell me… that… please… just let me…” she stammered, her voice broken by sobs. “Open the door, I just want to talk.”

“I'm not going to do it, I'm not going to let you hurt me again,” you growled, clenching your fists tightly. “This is the worst thing you've ever done, Donna... You've made me be afraid of you.”

“I would never hurt you! It was a mistake!” she shrieked, banging harder on the door. “I was wrong! Forgive me, please!”

“I will never, ever forgive you!” you screamed with all your might, making your voice bounce off the walls, the echo of your screams being the last thing you heard before a quick clatter of heels and a heartbreaking sob that receded down the stairs.

You sighed, closing your eyes and letting yourself fall on the old bed, crying inconsolably. You simply couldn't believe it. Naturally in all that time you had arguments like any normal couple, it always ends well.

Not that night, that night Donna went too far, attacking you with her powers, concentrating your greatest fears in your mind. Donna being dead and a lycan chasing you was no coincidence; those were your two greatest fears. She played with them, with your mind, unable to be rational, making completely lose your mind.

You wondered if your nightmares would be the same from that moment on, if Donna hadn’t become, unwittingly, your worst fear.

It was a dirty and unpleasant trick that couldn’t be justified by anything, not even by her sick mind. She had gone too far and your heart was reeling with doubts. That night was horrible, you could barely sleep.

Going down from the guest room was something you simply didn’t want to do. You were terrified, you were afraid that the rage would consume the lady in black again, that she would make you pay for having said all those things to her. You were never so afraid of her as at that moment. Getting away from her was your best option.

Leaving the mansion was hasty. Although reluctant, your heart refused to stop loving her. Waiting a while and clearing your mind was the best thing you could do.

Two days passed like this, two days in which you opened your door often, looking at the portrait, making sure that nothing had changed, that this nightmare wouldn’t return.

Hunger didn’t matter. Your mind was too busy making a decision.

Donna was dangerous, and you knew it, you knew it when you agreed to have tea with her, when you kissed her, when you moved in with her. In all that time they only seemed like absurd rumors to you, until that moment.

Yes, Donna was jealous, arrogant and cold. Her gestures of affection were common, but many times she made you understand your excessive displays of affection were too much for her. You didn’t blame her for that, of course, you knew her past, her terrible childhood, her terrible loneliness.

Loneliness... that characteristic of the lady in black was what triggered that nightmare. You regretted your words, but pride prevented you from facing Donna, from facing your fears. She said she would never hurt you, but she did, whether she meant to or not. Or maybe, maybe it was you who hurt her without realizing it, who talked too much, who downplayed all her problems.

Donna's attitude that horrible day began to make sense in your head. You knew her. You knew that some days were bad, that her mind tortured her sometimes, just to make fun of her. You were so intent on knowing her, on asking her, on loving her, that maybe you had forgotten the most important thing, taking care of her, just like you promised.

Instead of making a fool of yourself, messing with her sister and insisting to do something different, you should have hugged her, interpreted the signs that told you that Donna wasn’t having a good day, and that she needed you, she really needed you.

Sure of the idea of not looking like a sick woman, Donna held on to her pride; she would never tell you she needed your comfort, to calm the horrible voices in her head. Normally you noticed these signs and acted, but that day you didn't.

Could it be that in some way you were to blame too? After all, you said something horrible to her and she could only defend herself in the only way she knew how.

Your stomach growled, pulling you out of your thoughts. You had spent too much time in that room. It was time to go down.

Slowly you opened the door, looking, as always, at the portrait. Everything seemed to be in its place, except for a horrible silence.

“Hello? Donna? Angie?” you asked timidly, peeking into the living room. It was empty, there was no one there. “Donna?”

No one answered your call, so, nervous, you decided to go to the elevator.

“She's probably in the workshop with her dolls,” you muttered to yourself, silencing your fears.

The light in the cabin flickered, causing you to jump and making you hit the lamp softly, panting.

“Damn light…” you complained, arriving at the basement calmly, without horrible falls.

You took a step forward and your blood froze. That horrible vision of your nightmare returned.

The lamps were smashed, the furniture knocked over, everything was a mess. You walked cautiously down the hallway, checking how all the paintings were torn, broken. Fear took over you, but Donna was your target, it didn't matter if it was another hallucination.

The mirror in the corner was broken into a thousand pieces. You passed your hand over it, noticing a few drops of blood.

“Donna...” you sighed, focusing your gaze on the doors of the workshop, checking that the lights didn't disappear.

“And then I told her I'm just an idiot, I have no more stories to tell...” An erratic babbling reached your ears, confirming the presence of the lady.

Little by little you opened the door, finding a desolate scenario.

Everything was thrown on the floor. There were broken dolls, glasses… as if a tornado had devastated that place, a tornado with a name and surname: Donna Beneviento.

The lady in black was cornered, laughing with a nervous expression, with her eye wide open and her hand with a stain of dried blood, surely because the broken mirror.

“Yes, ma'am, tell me how can I leave you today ma'am, I have lost you, you are, idiot, you are…” she continued, absent, unhinged, erratic, completely lost. “Stupida, stupida, stupida!”

“Shhh, Donna…” you whispered, approaching slowly.

The lady fell silent and looked at you slowly, blinking several times.

“You…” she hissed, approaching you abruptly, something that made you unconsciously step back. “You're running away from me!”

“I-I'm sorry, I…” you said fearfully, gathering enough courage to approach, realizing that the Angie doll was lying lifeless on the floor.

Donna's crisis had been so bad that even her doll lost her consciousness.

“You're not here! Have you come to torment me?! Do you want me to throw myself off the waterfall?! I will!” she screamed madly, covering her ears. “I will!”

“Shhh, Donna, don't say…” you said, taking her hands away from her face deformed by rage and tears. “Shhh, listen to me… I'm here,” you said softly.

“You're dead! I killed you!” Donna screamed, looking at you with distrust.

You, with tears in your eyes, shook your head, reaching out your hand to her cheek, caressing it in a comforting way.

“Shhh, be quiet, my love… I'm here, see? Do you feel my hand, darling? I'm here with you…” you whispered, getting closer while you caressed her, trying to calm her demons.

“You left,” she said, lowering her head but keeping her eye on yours.

“No, no Donna, I never left, I just…” you said with a sweet voice. “Oh, darling… my love, come to your senses, I’m here with you, I would never leave you…”

“You’re scared of me, you said you were scared of me,” she said, blinking nervously again. “I scared you.”

“Yes, but… Donna, I…” you said, being careful with your words. “I didn’t behave well either. I shouldn’t have said that horrible thing and… yes, I was scared but… but…”

The lady moved quickly, taking your hand in hers, squeezing it tightly.

“I would never hurt you, never!” she squealed desperately. “Never…”

“Shhh, I know, I know…” you whispered, bringing her body closer to yours, releasing yourself from her grip and burying her head in your chest, cradling her sweetly. “Donna, my Donna…”

“I’m sorry,” the lady said, clinging to your clothes, wetting them with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Shhh, don't shout, my precious Donna... it's over, I forgive you, it's okay...” you whispered in her ear, feeling her warm embrace as the end of your worries, of your fears. “We both behaved like idiots... forgive me, my love... forgive me for not being there when you needed me.”

“I-I promise I won't do it again,” she whispered, with a childish voice, letting herself be cradled, raising her gaze. “I promise.”

“I believe you, darling, come here...” you murmured, moving her head so her salty lips rested on yours. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she repeated, caressing your cheek, with a different light on her face. “I love you, I love you, I love you...”

A strange sound brought you out of that romantic reconciliation.

“As I was saying, silly Donna, you've screwed things up in the worst possible way and…” the Angie doll stood up, coming back to life as her owner's heart calmed down. “Wait, what happened?”

“Nothing,” she said, still looking and caressing you. “Everything's okay, right?”

“Yes,” you said smiling, returning her caresses. “Now, darling, let's go heal those wounds and maybe you'll want me to make dinner…”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

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bilbao-song · 3 days ago

Text

(all credit for the original idea [and a significant portion of this text] goes to @quiet-beatle!)

ho ho ho, classic rock fans! Christmas is coming and so is The Secret Rocker Santa project! if you are looking for an opportunity to make new friends who love classic rock, or just want to make someone happy, this is your chance!

** if you don’t want to see posts about this anymore: filter the tags #secret rocker santa and/or #srs24 — click here for an explanation of how to filter tags **

What is Secret Rocker Santa?

Secret Rocker Santa is a tumblr-wide “match-maker” in which you will anonymously send asks to (and hopefully befriend!) a tumblr user who is assigned to you. you will also be assigned to someone else, who will send anonymous asks to you. the event will run from december 1st through december 25th. while this might seem complicated, it’s actually quite simple, and you will only need to answer a minimum of two questions to sign up.

How it works:

you must read these instructions!

the deadline to sign up is november 28th. there are two ways that you can sign up: the first option is to sign up via google forms. the second option is to send me a submission (or an ask) with your completed questionnaire (found here). while the first two questions are required, you can otherwise provide as much or as little information as you want.

please reblog this post! (this isn’t a strict requirement, but it would be greatly appreciated and helps to ensure that enough people will participate!)

your ask box must be open to anyone! this means that anon asks will have to be enabled. if you want, you can wait until the first day of the project (december 1st) to change this setting, but please make sure you remember!

your blog doesn’t have to be classic rock-related, you just need to be a fan. (we will also be using a very broad definition of “classic rock,” so nearly any music from 1950s-1990s counts.)

(those are the main things you need to know, but more details + some helpful tips are below the cut!!)

shortly after signing up you will be assigned a number — you probably won't need it for anything, but it's a backup way for me to keep track of who is who in case we run into any problems :)

during the last days of november, i will be assigning people to their Secret Rocker Santas. you will receive a message from me telling you who you have been assigned to, either in the form of an ask or direct message.

you will start messaging the person assigned to you ANONYMOUSLY on the 1st of december and continue until Christmas (december 25th), which is when you will reveal your identity and (hopefully) have made a new friend!

you can send your partner whatever you want (as long as you do not reveal your identity). your job is to make your partner feel happier! (some ideas: send lyrics, pictures, or facts; play games, chat, and of course do things that are not only associated with classic rock).

be careful - make sure you are messaging your assigned partner anonymously.

please tag messages that you receive from your secret santa and any other related posts as #SRS24, so your santa will be able to find your answers more easily.

EXTRA REMINDERS:

some people might get more than one santa or will be assigned to more than one person, depending on how many people participate and how many suitable matches i have for certain people. if you are certain you will not be able to be a secret santa for two people, please mention this when you submit your form (you can also let me know if you would prefer to be a santa for two or more people! anyone who volunteers for this will get first pick if the need arises)

if you’re not committed to sending asks to your partner and/or responding to your santa at least a few (2-3) times a week, please do not sign up.

while the primary focus of this project is classic rock, any additional interests you list may be used as a secondary way of helping to find a good match for you. with that in mind, don’t hesitate to list any interests and hobbies you might have, whether they relate to classic rock or not! this will especially come in handy if there are many applicants who like a particular band, or if i am having trouble finding a match for you based on your favorite bands.

if your santa has not contacted you in over a week, message me and i will gently remind them or find you another one.

as a general rule, be nice! anyone who is rude to the another participant will be removed from the project.

make sure to answer all of your santa’s messages! you don’t have to answer right away, but don’t ignore them.

please let me know if you experience any problems at all (for example, if i have made a mistake, or you are having problems with either your own santa or the person you are assigned to)

if you are not already following your partner’s blog, you probably shouldn’t do it right away, because they might guess that you are their santa.

it’s useful to have an easy-to-find “about me” page or pinned post so that your santa will have a better chance of finding something to talk to you about!

please try to keep a note of who you’ve been assigned to, as well as your assigned number!

IF YOU CHANGE YOUR URL AT ANY TIME DURING THE PROJECT PLEASE LET ME KNOW. if you don’t let me know about your new URL (or otherwise make it clear that you have moved), i will not be able to assign matches for you.

please be patient! i will assign matches and answer questions as quickly as possible, but please keep in mind that i have other responsibilities too!

you don’t need to be following me, but i will be sharing updates here, so it would be a good idea to at least keep an eye on that page/tag.

please don’t hesitate to participate! this is supposed to be a fun, lighthearted, seasonal activity, and if you do encounter any issues, i will help you :)

ALL RELEVANT LINKS:

google forms sign-up

copy the questionnaire here (to sign up if you don't wish to use google forms)

paste questionnaire, fill out, and submit here

FAQ page

all future updates will be posted in this tag!

lastly, if you have any questions or want to ask for advice, do not hesitate to message me or send an ask!

please spread the word if possible! :)

#classic rock #classic rock fandom #the beatles #beatles #led zeppelin #pink floyd #rock and roll #HI sorry again for putting this in band tags but it's kind of the best way idk. all bands are welcome lmao #anyway kjshgshgs pls bear with me for the first few days here bc i had to put this together so hastily this time #let me know if there are any glaring issues!!!#srs24 #secret rocker santa #srs updates #secret rocker santa 2024 #long post

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fluentmoviequoter · 23 hours ago

Text

They're Not Us

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: You and Jim's team can see that he is jealous and overprotective, but he refuses to admit it. After five clear examples, you set out to make him see what you do. (5+1 fic)

Warnings: fluff, very minor angst, a brief argument, jealousy and protectiveness

Word Count: 3.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Street’s here,” Tan announces as he returns to the table.

When he appears, smiling as he removes his jacket to sit, Hondo and Deacon lean to the side to look around Street.

“What?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Where is she?” Hondo inquires.

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend,” Deacon answers, raising his shoulders like it’s obvious.

“It’s a team night,” Street reminds them. “She’s at home.”

“You left her alone?” Chris questions, her brows raising. “How many times will you call to check in?”

“Makes it sound like I’m overprotective,” Street grumbles as he sits.

“You are,” Hondo, Deacon, Tan, Chris, and Luca reply simultaneously.

“Luca!” Street exclaims.

“You… you get a little jealous sometimes, Streeter,” Luca explains. “It’s not a bad thing, but you are most definitely overprotective.”

“No, I’m not,” Street replies.

Hondo opens his mouth, but Deacon waves to stop him.

“Whatever you say,” Chris mumbles. “What’s everyone ordering?”

Street tries to push the idea of him being jealous and overprotective away to enjoy the time with his teammates. His fingers itch to reach for his phone and check in on you and he briefly wonders if they’re right.

“Street, my neighbor bought a Ducati,” Luca says, drawing Street’s attention from you and his perceived lack of protectiveness.

Throughout the rest of the night, Street forgets what his teammates said and doesn’t notice any sign of the protectiveness they claim to see.

1.) Street gets jealous and protective when he sees you talking to another man.

Street sighs as he enters SWAT HQ. Their raid went well; a drug dealer selling to teenagers is now in custody, and narcotics is investigating the contents of his house. Street feels like there’s more that needs to be done. The kids in the future won’t have to meet this specific monster, but there will be more, and the ones who have already been affected are left to deal with the consequences on their own.

His mood changes immediately, however, when he hears your voice. You laugh down the hall, and Street is drawn to you. He rushes through the station, leaving his helmet by the sparring ring. When he reaches the doorway to the kitchen, he stops.

You’re leaning against the counter and talking to a patrol officer. Street knows you would never do anything to jeopardize your relationship. It’s not you that he worries about at all. Despite his moments of insecurity and the few nightmares he has had where you told him he would never make you happy and left him, Street loves you and wholly believes that you love him just as much and would never cheat on him or leave him as you did in those dreams.

He tells himself that he’s watching the officer instead. Something stirs in Street: a need to ensure that you’re safe, comfortable, and respected.

Hondo extends his arm to stop the rest of the team as they enter the hall. They watch as Street shifts to straighten his spine, his arms flexed as he crosses them across his chest. His attention is locked on something through a doorway, but Hondo is sure he knows who it is.

“What did she say?” you ask the officer standing across from you.

Hondo smiles at his team, and Deacon murmurs, “At least she finds it endearing.”

“Do you think she actually knows? The level of protectiveness, I mean,” Tan inquires.

“She knows,” Luca answers, smiling as Street approaches the door. “He’s the only one that doesn’t see it.”

Street steps back, waits a moment, and then enters the kitchen and says your name. The officer has left, and you’re alone and safe again, so Street’s demeanor is simply that of a surprised boyfriend. You know he was watching, protecting, and letting his mind wander. His protectiveness and the minuscule amount of jealousy he lets himself experience doesn’t bother you, and you smile as you wrap your arms around his neck to hug him and say hello.

2.) Street gets protective when you’re out.

“Is Annie coming?” you ask as Street pulls out your chair for you.

“She is. Deacon said she has some projects she’s been working on that she wants to show you,” Street answers.

He sits beside you but orientates sideways in the chair to face you. You aren't usually the first to arrive at these dinners, but you enjoy the additional time with Street. His fingers brush over your neck as he leans in to kiss you.

“You look beautiful,” Street tells you.

“You do too,” you reply.

“Beautiful? Really?” Street teases.

“I told you from the beginning that you were going to be the pretty one in this relationship, pretty boy.”

“Hey, that’s my nickname,” Hondo interjects as he approaches the table. “Get your own.”

“You have never called me pretty boy,” Street points out, turning slightly away from you.

“I could,” Hondo points out. “I don’t know, it doesn’t suit me. Playboy, yes.”

“You can’t call him a playboy anymore, though,” Annie adds, stopping beside you to hug you.

You smile and stand, feeling the tenderness and care in Street’s movements as he pinches the hem of your dress and pulls it down. It comes from his inherent need to protect, and you thank him softly as you lower back to your seat. The men sitting across from you look at one another, wondering how Street could pay so much attention to you while engaging in conversations, yet fail to see the emotions behind it. Deacon is the only one who understands in any way; it’s a delicate connection between lovers, one that attunes you to the needs of the other without noise or spectacle, but a whisper or a subtle movement that encourages you to act.

After dinner, Tan suggests you meet at a jazz club/coffee shop hybrid that just opened nearby. Annie and Deacon politely decline to go home and be with their kids. The rest of your party finds their way to a booth in the corner, surrounded by dark décor and soft jazz playing under the hustle of the bar.

“I’ll get the drinks,” you offer as you stand.

Street rises with you this time, stating that he will help you carry everything. His presence also keeps the men around the bar from paying you too much attention, and as he stands behind you, he slides your dress strap higher onto your shoulder after it slips. He smooths his hand over your arm, then rests it on your hip.

“Not protective,” Tan repeats at the table.

“He’ll see it eventually,” Luca responds with a laugh.

“Maybe we should help,” Hondo adds, smiling as he looks away from you and Street.

“Keep talking,” Luca encourages.

3.) Street gets jealous and protective while you’re shopping together.

“Which color?” you ask Street. “I like the blue, but I’m not sure it suits me.”

“Every color suits you,” he replies. “The blue is nice. Try the pink, too.”

You nod and pick up your size in both colors to add them to the cart. Street places his hands on the rail and smiles at you.

“Where next?” he inquires.

“We can go to the dressing room. I know you have things to do.”

Street shakes his head and abandons his hold on the cart to pull you against his chest. “Your day, your shopping trip, so we look at everything you want. And then I get blessed with the dressing room fashion show.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” you murmur.

“Then I’ll pick the next thing for you to try.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Street smiles and rubs your back. “Let’s go see if they have more of those pants you like so much. You said there were other colors when you bought them.”

Nearly half an hour later, you enter a fitting room with twenty items to try on. It seems Street picked more than you, but those are the clothes you’re most excited to try. Outside your stall, there’s a small hallway leading to an open area with a circular couch. Street and three other men sit and wait for their girlfriends to exit and show off their new clothing choices. Street shifts on the vinyl, wondering why the store is laid out to allow everyone sitting here to see anyone coming and going from the fitting room.

“Dalton!” one of the girls calls from around the corner.

“Courtney,” he replies, walking to the entrance. “Yeah?”

“Can you come help me zip this? I can’t tell if it doesn’t fit or if I just can’t reach it.”

“Sure.”

Dalton ventures farther into the fitting room area and Street stands. He already didn’t want these men to see you in the clothes he helped you pick out, but now that one of them has gone into the area where you are, he decides that it would be easiest to stay close. He locates your stall, at the very back, and says your name.

You open the door and smile as you spread your arms, dressed in the pink version of the first dress you chose.

“What do you think?” you ask, not even bothering to wonder why he’s back here instead of in the waiting area.

“Beautiful,” Street murmurs. “Like you.”

“It’s not gonna zip, babe,” Dalton says from one of the other stalls.

That’s why he came back here, you realize.

“I think I like this color on more than the blue,” you tell Street, drawing his attention from the door down the hall. “So, I’m going to try on the pants next.”

“Perfect.”

“Like you,” you repeat with a wink before you close the door.

4.) Street gets protective when you go out with your friends.

“I’m meeting some friends at Guisados,” you tell Street.

He looks up from his game, his eyes roaming over your outfit before landing on your face. His brows pinch together as he considers what you said.

“That’s not a great part of town,” he says. “I can come with you.”

You shake your head and explain, “We’re going for one of my girlfriends who just had a really big breakup. You know, girls’ night.”

“I could drive you down there, though.”

“Street, I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

Your eyes widen at Street’s honest argument. He licks his lips but doesn’t say anything else.

“I’ll check in often,” you promise. “I get that you just want to stay close, make sure everything is okay, but it’s just not the night for that.”

“It’s not the night to keep you safe?” Street replies.

“I didn’t say that.”

Street takes a deep breath, then nods. “I know, I’m sorry. I just- I see the worst parts of LA every day, and I don’t love the idea of you in that area after dark. Please check in, and you should stay together.”

“We will.”

You bend forward to kiss Street, and when you pull back, he cups the back of your neck and pulls you in for one more kiss.

“Be careful,” he pleads softly.

“I’m coming home to you,” you promise. “I always will.”

For the next few hours, Street sits in silence, dressed and ready to run out the door as he watches your location on his phone. You see the notification that he’s viewing it, but you can't blame him if it makes him feel better.

“Sorry,” you tell your friends when your phone chimes.

You expect a text from Street, but the message from Victor Tan reads: Why does Street have us ready to roll during your girls’ night? Planning to pull a bank job?

Smiling at the message, you type your reply that he’s just being protective, as usual. The laughing emoji he sends makes you wonder if Street’s team is as aware of his jealousy and overprotectiveness as you are. Then you have the wonderfully terrible idea of asking them if you should test his limits. Street doesn’t deserve it; his desire to keep you safe comes from his experiences and job, and you love him, even his jealous pout and protective actions.

5.) Street gets overprotective when you’re injured.

“I see here that your emergency contact is Jim Street,” the nurse reads. “Is that still correct?”

You hum, imagining Street's reaction if he gets a call from White Memorial Hospital informing him that you’ve been injured.

“He’s actually at work,” you reply. “Could you call his commander instead and have him pass on the message? Preferably when my boyfriend is off duty?”

She nods and says, “I understand.”

The doctor clears you three hours after you arrive by ambulance, and you haven’t heard from Street yet, so you’re not sure he knows what happened. But you need a ride, so you’ll have to call someone.

“Hey,” Street greets. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Hi,” you reply.

“What’s wrong?”

“Promise not to freak out.”

“What’s wrong?” Street repeats, his voice tighter than before.

“Give the phone to someone else,” you request softly.

“No, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I will, but please let me talk to one of the other guys first.”

Street grumbles, but a moment later, you hear Deacon ask, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” you begin, “I’m at White Memorial and need a ride but I don’t want Street to freak out when he finds out what happened.” Deacon hums, and you explain, “I was walking down a sidewalk, and some guy swerved onto it. I jumped back when I saw him coming, but I sprained my ankle and fell, so they wanted to make sure I wasn’t concussed and hadn’t broken anything. All that’s wrong is the sprained ankle.”

“That’s good,” Deacon says. “I’ll bring him.”

“You’re the best, thank you, Deacon.”

“What?” Street demands as he takes the phone back. “Deac will bring me where?”

“Deep breaths, Street,” you remind him. It’s odd, considering he’s usually the one to calm you down. “I sprained my ankle, but I’m at White and need a ride home.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I- I think maybe I should tell you after you get here.”

The moment Street exits Deacon’s passenger seat before the car even stops, he’s pulling you against him to get the weight off your wrapped ankle and asking you yet again what happened.

“A guy swerved onto a sidewalk, and I fell jumping out of the way,” you explain. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“Did they arrest him?”

“He won’t be doing it again,” you answer.

Street’s brows furrow and Deacon fills in, “He ended up here, too, Street.”

Street looks back at you, and you explain, “He had a heart attack. That’s why he swerved. I found out a few minutes ago, Hondo called and told me it was on the accident report.”

“You’re never going anywhere alone ever again,” Street says, hugging you tightly.

“Oh no,” you deadpan. “Whatever will I do?”

1.) Street gets jealous when Hondo flirts with you, unaware it’s a setup to expose his overprotective tendencies.

“We can’t take this anymore,” Hondo says as you enter SWAT HQ.

“Where is he?” you inquire.

“Sulking somewhere because you disabled your tracking software,” Luca answers.

“My phone died,” you reply. “What do you suggest we do?”

“He won’t admit that he’s jealous and overprotective,” Tan begins. “So we need to show him that he is.”

“When is he most like that?” Luca asks.

“Uh… the worst I ever saw him was when a man flirted with me while we were out together.”

“We can do that,” Hondo states with a smile.

“I don’t like that smile,” Deacon murmurs.

“It might not end well for you,” you point out. “I had to talk him down from punching the last one.”

“I can handle Street; you just prepare to fight off the temptation to take me seriously.”

You roll your eyes and follow Hondo, hoping things do not worsen after this. Luca promises everything will be okay, and you desperately try to believe him.

A few minutes later, you wait in Hicks’ office with Hondo. “Where is she?” Street asks from outside.

“Here we go,” Hondo whispers.

“Sure,” you reply with a smile, perched on the corner of Hicks’ desk while Hondo leans toward you.

“Street always says you’re pretty, but your beauty… there’s not even a word for it,” Hondo flirts.

“Stop,” you reply, giggling as you gently push Hondo’s shoulder. “Hondo-“

“You’re too good for him,” he murmurs. “You know that right?”

You smile, not at what Hondo said but at how hard he’s trying not to laugh.

“Hondo!” Street bellows from the door. “A word?”

Hondo straightens and turns toward Street.

“Hey, Street,” you call, waving. “Hondo was keeping me company while I waited for you.”

“I can see that. Hondo?”

“Did you know she wears that outfit just because you picked it out?” Hondo asks.

Street’s anger melts into confusion momentarily. He isn’t sure what’s occurring, but he knows he doesn’t like it. Hondo reaches toward you, and Street is ready to snap before you pass Hondo his phone.

“Oh,” Street mumbles.

“Can I ask you something?” you inquire.

“Of course,” he answers.

“These reactions aren’t because you don’t trust me, right?”

“Absolutely not! I just… there’s some part of me that makes me desperate to keep you safe.”

“That’s called love,” Deacon says, stepping into the office with Luca and Tan.

“With a bit of jealousy because you know how good you’ve got it,” Luca adds, winking at you.

“You did all of this just to make me admit that I get jealous and can be overprotective?” Street asks.

“I didn’t work alone,” you defend. You stand from the desk and walk to Street before you say, “Besides, Hondo isn’t even my type.”

Hondo scoffs behind you, but you ignore him as you hug Street.

“I appreciate everything you do for me,” you whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he replies, tightening his grip on you. “Sorry I take it too far sometimes.”

“Honestly… it’s kinda hot.”

“No,” Tan groans.

“Why would you tell him that?” Luca questions.

“We were trying to fix him!” Hondo laments.

“You can’t fix what Street’s got,” Deacon points out. “As long as he’s in love, this is normal.”

“So, you do the same thing for Annie?” Street asks.

“No,” Deacon answers.

Street raises his hands in question, and you murmur, “Because they’re not us.”

#jim street x fem!reader #jim street x reader #jim street imagine #jim street fic #jim street fluff #jim street #swat cbs #swat x reader #swat fic #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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sunonyoreface · 3 days ago

Text

He Knows - Simon "Ghost" Riley Pt. 21

Word count: 5589

Warnings: minors dni, angst, military setting, explicit language, use of weapons, mentions of injuries and death.

My feelings towards Price are continuously conflicted. On one hand, he’s been very generous throughout my stay with 141. He seems to trust my word at face value and has offered me protection with Soap and Ghost. He also seemed genuinely impressed with my work as a translator, and then again with my performance on the phone with my father.

On the other hand, he is the entire reason I’m here. Sure, Ghost arranged everything, but Price is the man behind every step 141 takes. Nothing is done without his permission. My existence is simply a form of currency to him. My value relies on how much my father is willing to sacrifice for me. Markets are rarely stable in times of war. One wrong move, and the stock will tank faster than in 1929. I feel the dip approaching like a rollercoaster at the top of a hill. Imminent.

As he stands in front of me, Price has a welcoming presence, despite all of the atrocities he’s committed. Despite everything he has put me through to gain the upper hand on my father. Despite everything he is going to put me through.

His voice is soft as he speaks. We’re alone in my quarters. He leans against the dresser as I sit in bed with my legs pulled to my chest.

“We identified another rat,” a double agent. Another one of their supposedly well-vetted men who turned out to be a terrorist in disguise. His shoulders remain rigid and his arms cross over his chest. “He was in our transportation unit,” Price continues.

I search my mind for some of the faces I’ve come to recognize. There are too many to remember. I don’t know if I’ve even talked to any of the task force members in that unit. Everyone I know is an extension of Soap’s circle.

“What happened to him?” I ask.

“Nothing yet,” he answers. “We can’t risk tipping off the ultranationalists or the exchange being called off,” his thick English accent reminds me of a misty, fall day spent at a café. It’s cold, but there’s also something comforting about it - about him.

It makes sense how the ultranationalists always knew where we were. The mole could’ve tapped the vehicle GPS or tipped them off about which bases we were at. All of those attacks couldn’t have succeeded without him.

“Are there more of them?”

“Rats don’t lie alone,” there’s an underlying tone of disgust in his otherwise reserved voice. His message is loud and clear and more unnerving than ever. The men in 141 are even less trustworthy than I originally thought. “But I didn’t stop to visit about pest control.”

The air feels colder as the words leave his lips. My breathing pauses and the false ease of our conversation drops away like a theatre curtain.

“It’s happening, isn’t it?”

“Affirmative,” he confirms.

“When?” my soft voice is urgent.

“In fifteen minutes someone will drop off your gear. In forty-five you’ll get on the van. And in one hour we depart,” My chest clenches and I feel a nervous ball form in my stomach. I can’t believe how fast this is all happening. I’m not ready. I don’t have a plan to save myself if this all goes south. He doesn’t care if I live. Neither does my father. He might say he does, but he doesn’t, not really. I’m just an excuse for them to meet head to head. Just an excuse for them to pick a fight with one another. They don’t care what happens to me. Only I do. Price watches my reaction closely. I can tell he half-heartedly expects a breakdown.

“Will Soap come get me?”

“Soap’s team left an hour ago,” they’re gone already? Why’d they leave so early? Why aren’t they all leaving together? I know the answer I’ll get if I ask these questions. I turn my attention back to the exchange.

“What’ll happen when we get there?” Price shifts his weight. He’s a busy man. He doesn’t have additional time to stand here and let me quiz him.

“We’re meeting at an old landing strip in the forest just past the Russian boarder. The exchange will happen in the clearing. Only a few of us will be there for the handoff: Ghost, myself, and a couple other sergeants. The rest will be waiting in the surrounding woods on our side. But they won’t be alone. The ultranationalists will have men waiting on their side of the woods. In the event that this all goes South, you’re going to retreat to the defilade,” he takes a decisive step away from the dresser with his feet pointed towards the door. I don’t have much time to get any other information from him.

“Wait what’s a defilade?” the word stumbles across my lips.

“The men in the trees,” Price pauses. Like always he has the army green hat on his head and is dressed in partial camoflauge. “y/n, I’m not saying it’ll turn into a dogfight, but your father doesn’t exactly have the best track record. Be prepared for that possibility.”

I heed his warning closer than anything else he’s said all morning. Why is Price going through with this if he thinks its going to go to shit?

“I’ll see you soon enough,” There’s a knowing look to his face. Maybe it’s the way his eyes slightly squint or the ghost of a smile that tugs at his lips. It ambiguous. Comforting yet concerning.

Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, a member of the task force drops off a bullet proof vest and new clothes to change into. She is tall and wears a uniform almost identical to the one passed onto me.

“Once you’re dressed, I’ll escort you to transportation,” her voice is low and confident. There’s something reassuring about her presense and I’m just glad it isn’t Bennet or one of his friends taking me there.

After hastily throwing on the tactical gear and bulletproof vest, there’s still a piece of fabric sitting on my bed. When I pick it up I recognize the familiar black, fabric bag from several weeks ago. They’re blindfolding me again. Its eerily soft between my clenched fingers. I can’t fucking believe they’re doing this to me again. After everything, why now?

If Ghost was here, would he make me wear it too? Or is this all Price’s doing?

Her firm hand rests on my upper arm as she leads me throughout the compound. Soon the smell of gas filters through the mask and I hear the rumble of multiple engines. People are talking. Orders are barked from one person to the next. Gear is being loaded onto vehicles. Metal clinks and clashes against each other. Everything is in motion.

And then I hear his voice.

Ghost’s distinct tone cuts clearly through the air. It’s powerful and travels with a force that is impossible to ignore. I can pinpoint the exact moment he notices me. The orders he’s giving briefly falter. Then he’s approaching the sergeant and informing her he’s got it from here.

His strong hand replaces her’s. I imagine the warmth of Ghost’s hand through his glove and my sleeve. Ghost’s chest brushes against my shoulder as he leans down to speak. I blindly await his words, only imagining what we look like to the rest of the soldiers. Will they even notice or are they too preoccupied right now?

“You’re riding with me. Don’t say anything. The blindfold will come off once we arrive,”

“Where is th-“

“Don’t. Speak.” Ghost lowly cuts me off.

The van reminds me of the one before. Similarily, I think we’re strapped in against the walls of the vehicle. But I can’t tell for sure.

Ghost quickly buckles me in. His fingers are fast, yet cautious. He takes care not to pinch my skin between the clasps. For a second it almost feels like he’s lingering just to touch me longer. My remaining anger towards him melts for a moment. In a strange environment where I’m stripped of my senses, he’s the only thing that’s familiar. He’s the only one I might just be able to trust.

There are low murmurs amongst the other task members, but not the cheerful kind like before. These are the types of conversations reserved for before high-risk missions. Conversations that hum just above a whisper. They know not everyone will return. You can hear it in their voices.

The van rocks back and forth as we drive. Ghost’s thigh presses against my own. I melt into his side. The firmness of his strength is a reassuring senestion. My hand rests between our legs as my thumb gently traces back and forth along his pantleg. I wonder if he can feel it? I wonder if he knows how this is going to end?

The terrain progressively deteriorates from pavement to gravel to dirt to something far more unpredictable. When the van suddenly stops there’s a split second of absolute stillness. It only lasts for a single breath. Then, it’s go time.

The clicking sounds of seatbelts fill the air. Orders are reaffirmed down the line. Shuffling bodies exit the van. Cold air wafts through the doors.

The blindfold is harshly yanked off my head. Ghost’s calm eyes latch onto mine. In the sea of chaos flowing around us, he remains anchored.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Ghost only nods once, his eyes telling me all I need to know.

Thick forest surrounds us as teams of armed men meticulously clear the surrounding area. It’s daylight, but the shadows of the trees make it feel like dusk. The snow crunches under my feet and bitter air bites at my skin as visible clouds form when I exhale. We’re back in Russia. Ultranationalist territory.

Price appears from another van followed by a formation of armed men who surround Ghost and myself.

“We’re clear. Their men have claimed their half and the rest are waiting on the flat.”

“How many?” Ghost asks, his hand is glued to the automatic riffle clipped to his vest. His eyes continuously scan the area for threats. Everyone is on high alert. Something is happening behind the scnenes that I don’t know about. I can just tell.

“Half a dozen,” Price responds.

“Beyond the zone of action?”

“TAC estimates about fifty,” Price’s attention is entirely on Ghost. He trusts his opinion more than anyone else on the task force.

“We’re outnumbered,” Ghost’s jaw clenches under the skull mask. His response is short and matter-of-fact. He doesn’t like this. “Update on demolitions?”

“They’re ready,” Price smirks knowingly. What the hell have they got planned? Where is Soap?

Ghost processes what Price has just said. Despite his hesitancy he seems to find some reassurance in Price’s words.

“Right. Y/n,” my eyes are already on Price. “When we go out there, you stay in the detail circle until instructed otherwise. Keep your act up. Sell it to your father. If something happens, retreat to the West side of the flat,” his instructions echo between my ears. This is real. This is happening.

“Affirmative,” I force my chin up.

Then like no time has passed at all, we march as a unit through the trees into a long opening. It’s an old landing strip once used for planes with an abandoned hangar at the far side of the field. The sun gleams through the opening in the trees and reflects off the snow. The brightness hurts my eyes at firt, but then as they adjust, I see several men gathered at a table in the center of the air strip. Its them. It’s him.

Fear pummels through my veins. It’s violent and demands my attention. Every sense feels heightened. Dread fills my body and weighs me down like iron restraints.

It takes everything I have to push myself forward. Every action feels forced. Snow sinks up to my shins as we walk, adding extra resistance. The space is large, spanning multiple football fields. I feel their eyes on us from a hundred meters away. I don’t think I can stomach seeing my father after everything.

The tension is killing me.

Four men surround me as Price and Ghost lead them towards the group. The Ultranationalists have more men at their station, but some of them must be the prisoners theyre supposed to exchange.

At least that’s what I think until Price clears his throat. “You’re missing three sergeants,” His voice sounds different than I’m used to: louder, demanding, dangerous.

“No one’s missing, Captain Price.” My father’s all too familiar voice reaches my ears. “I assume it’s Captain Price, you didn’t exactly leave room for introductions.” it’s warm and relaxed. “They’re resting just beyond the treeline. We only wanted to garuntee your honest intentions before bringing them out,” he sounds completely in control, with his attention completely on Price. It gives me a moment to really look at him.

I haven’t seen my father in weeks and while he looks exactly the same, I can barely recognize the man in front of us. His beard is longer, but still well groomed. He’s dressed in dark greens and greys, the same as the other Ultranationalists. A toque covers his head and a warm winter jacket is hugged by a bullet proof vest. A chest holster hides a gun while his hands remain open and falsely inviting. His eyes look darker than normal. He must be tired. Or maybe it’s hidden rage that gives them that look. I can’t tell anymore. He isn’t the person I once thought I knew, that much is certain.

Our eyes meet and my blood runs cold.

“Dad?” my voice croaks. Price’s reminder to play into the traumatized daughter act weighs on my shoulders. Suspicious eyes square me up from every angle. There isn’t a single person here who fully trusts me. One wrong word and we could all end up dead.

“Y/n?” his brows furrow as his head cranes in my direction. “Y/n, are you okay? Just be patient darling, you’ll be safe soon,” I note how he chooses his words to influence my emotions. How many times has he done this before without me noticing?

“Right, lets cut to the chase then, bring the rest of my men out and she’s all yours,” Price says. I watch as my father eyes him up for a second and then nods in agreement. He barks an order in Russian to one of the men behind him who repeats it into a transmitter.

Then Price steps to the side, opening up a hole in the baracade of men surrounding me. Ghost does the same as he turns and our eyes lock. Under the skull mask I see his lower lids tense with suspicion. He doesn’t trust the Ultranationalists. Every person here has conflicting goals and values. No one is safe.

I can’t look at him for long. Beyond them, someone else expects me.

I take off running into his arms and hot, genuine tears fall from my eyes and freeze to my cheeks. As his arms wrap around me, I can’t hide the shudder of terror that ripples down my spine. It’s becoming harder and harder to separate my father from his actions. When I close my eyes, I see the footage of him ordering the execution of hundreds of vulnerable people. “I’m scared, Dad,” the hushed truth leaves my lips and brushes against the fabric of his coat. He doesn’t react to my words.

“Those aren’t my men,” A type of hollow furry reverberates through Price’s chest. A realization. A confirmation. They let me go too soon. Now I’m in my father’s arms, while the men marching towards them are more Ultranationalists. Not the taken 141 soldiers.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” he says with his arms still wrapped around me,” as I look over his soulder and past his soldiers, I see more men dressed in grey and green emerge past the treeline and stalk in our direction, guns in hand.

I hear Ghost whisper something into his com. I wonder how many guns are trained on us right now? How many snipers are hidden in the trees waiting for clearance?

“You don’t get to change the conditions of the exchange last minute.”

“I suppose you’re right. That’s not normally how we do things,” my father finally releases me from the hug. His leather glove wipes the tears from my face. The empty, almost irritated look in his eyes tells me he isn’t satisfied. “We don’t typically go through the effort of an exchange. However, Captain Price, these are unique circumstances. Yet, I can’t help the feeling that you are getting a better deal than we are. Look at all these men you’re getting. They’re incredibly valuable to us. They know a lot of information. Information that could hurt a lot of people. Not to mention your men who will be returned to you, once we adjust our terms, of course.”

“Is her life not valuable enough to you?” Ghost’s voice booms across the snow. It’s the first time he’s spoken since arriving. His official introduction to my father. In another life, I wonder if they’d like each other?

“Of course it is,” he brings a hand to his heart and holds onto my arm with the other. It isn’t. I feel his grip tighten. “But that doesn’t mean this is a fair trade,” My stomach drops. He just confirmed everything I’ve feared without directly saying it. My life doesn’t matter as much as having an advantage on 141. He wants more. That greedy fucking bastard.

“What is then?” Price demands.

“You,” he answers. “And several lieutenants. Then we’re getting somewhere.”

“Negative. Never going to fucking happen. Get that through your thick, Russian skull,” large clouds form in plumes as Price’s burning words meet the arctic air. I sense the tension rising as more Ultranationalists approach the group. We were already outnumbered. Now it’s at least two to one. Why haven’t they called backup yet?

“It will. Wilingly or not,” there it is. The underlying threat of violence that has simmered just under the surface of this entire meeting has finally emerged. The Ultranationalists are more than willing to fight. Maybe they’re even counting on it.

��I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Price sneers. I spare a glance in Ghost’s direction to find his eyes already on me. They’re unreadable. He’s never felt so far away.

“Yeah? What’s that?” my father’s cocky voice bites back. This entire time I feel his hands tighten around my arm as though my winter jacket isn’t there. The heavy vest weighs me down. The cold air hurts my skin. Everything feels off. And just when my attention is focused on every uncomfortable detail, Price’s words cut through the air with such clarity they almost don’t sound real.

“If you don’t follow through with our original deal, your wife will die.”

I feel my father freeze. His molten iron grip solidifies. At the same time my heart drops and it feels like I’m falling. My mom? 141 has my mom? My eyes flicker to Ghost, but he won’t look at me. He lied to me. Again. He fucking lied. Ghost had every opportunity to tell me and he didn’t. My cheeks flush with betrayal. After all this time… How could I be so stupid to trust him?

“That’s impossible,” for the first time, my father looks genuinely rattled. The Ultranationalists were supposed to have a team in New York to protect her. She would be almost untouchable. Yet, Price reaches into a large pouch on his vest and pulls out a tablet. On the screen is a livestreamed video of my mom tied to a chair in our family livingroom. The surge of panick that courses through my veins is indescribable.

Somehow, they did it.

“Go get my men,” Price lowly orders and I don’t doubt for a second he’d kill me or my mom to get what he wants. It’s a terrifying realization. He is willing to do anything to protect his task force. All notions of morals and ethics fly out the door when it comes to his men. Bennet was right. I’m not safe with them.

More orders fly out of my father’s mouth in Russian which are then repeated through the transmitter. All eyes are on the treeline waiting for the captured task force members to emerge.

I can’t bring myself to look at Ghost again. Not after this. Not after such a devastating betrayal.

Just as they emerge from the trees, a popping noise behind us in the distance snags my attention. I turn my head just before the men do, seeing nothing. But that noise, that unmistakable noise can only be one damning thing.

Just like that, all bets are off the table.

I’m yanked behind the line of Untranationalists as each side raises their weapons at each other. The line hudles together and pushes back towards the trees as men from each side scream orders and threats at each other.

Over the shoulders of the Ultranationalists, I briefly see the six task members shift into formation, covering all angles. Price yells out something about their men and I realize they didn’t get ahold of the promised Ultranationalists or their captured soldiers. They are leaving completely empty handed, with the exception of my mom. If this doesn’t turn around, they’ll kill her. Nausea floods my stomach. I feel the blood leave my face. If I wasn’t being pushed back by my father, I would be sick right now.

The distinct sounds take me back to the night the Ultranationalists ambushed 141’s base. I’d never heard gunfire so close before, but that’s nothing compared to now. What once originated on the other side of the field, now sounds to be only meters away.

Price said if I get the chance, to escape to the West side, but right now, that’s impossible. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know that it’s any safer than being with my father. Nowhere is safe. The forest is crawling with armed men and even if I did escape, everyone would be looking for me and I don’t have anything to defend myself with.

“They’re moving forward!” I hear someone yell in Russian. We’re just entering the treeline as more men flood around us and then break into smaller groups. Everything is so completely chaotic and yet seemingly rehersed.

My lungs burn and for a moment I forget how cold it is outside. Adrenaline and panic fight with eachother as I try to distinguish what to focus on. So much is happening. I completely forget about my father’s grip on my arm.

“Y/n,” he braces my shoulders, encouraging me to look at him. His eyes are wide with excitement. I feel like I’m going to be sick looking at him. “Everything is going to be alright dear, we’ll escape to the trucks. Alright? Just follow me, okay?” I manage a small nod.

I’m yanked forward as we run through the trees. The group of men with us switched from those on the field and now there are only four additional Ultranationalists escorting us. I don’t know how long my father pulls me along for. It feels like miles and hours, but can’t be more than a few minutes.

A loud eruption shakes the ground as snow and dirt fly through the air and a tree crashes beside us. Holy fuck, that was close.

Smoke clouds the air as people shout and bullets fly. The scene can only be described as a deadly, gorilla clusterfuck with the goal of taking out as many people from the other side as possible. We are in an incredibly dangerous position.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, one of the escorts is shot in the leg and drops to the ground. Red stains the snow around him. My father yells in Russian to keep going.

We weave through the thick pines and any sense of direction I once had is gone. My heart thunders in my chest.

A loud shot rings through the air and another Ultranationalist drops to the ground. A second shot sends a bullet through his skull.

Someone is following us. Stalking us. Toying with us. My gut turns.

For a second, I wonder if it’s a sniper.

Then, a knife comes flying through the air, lodging itself into the back of the third of my father’s men.

It’s in this moment, I know exactly who is after us. After me.

The last soldier turns around and fires blindly into the trees behind us. As soon as his clip is empty and he pauses to reload, a single bullet pummels through the trees and it too, pierces his skull and stains the snow a brilliant red. His body slumps to the ground with a muffled thump.

My father pushes us behind the trunk of a large tree and grips his handgun in both hands. He doesn’t need to tell me to be quiet. I don’t think I could make a sound if I tried.

The sounds of gunfire and explosions echo in the distance, but there’s nothing close to us like there was before. The majority of the fighting is taking place closer to the air strip.

The only place Ghost ever struggled with stealth, is in the snow. There’s no technology in the world that’ll muffle the sound of his footsteps strategically approaching the tree we’re hiding behind. You can hear the frigidness in the air as the crunching snow gets louder. He’s close.

“Throw your weapons to the side of the tree and then slowly step out with your hands in the air,” Ghost’s demanding voice fills the air. A dissatisfied grumble ripples through my father’s chest. I shift to move from behind the tree and a large hand snags the back of my vest, pulling me back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses.

I bite my tongue. He doesn’t know Ghost like I do. There’s no escaping him. The best I can hope for is that he doesn’t want to kill either of us.

“I won’t repeat myself,” his voice sounds closer already. I can imagine him on the other side of the tree with his assault riffle pointed in our direction. Part of me wants to believe he wouldn’t fire on us. But I honestly don’t know anymore.

“Forgive me darling,” the hushed words come as my father wraps his arms around me from behind. He pulls me against his chest and presses the barrel of his gun to my temple before stepping out from behind the tree.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the panicked words bubble up my throat as I try and escape his deathly grasp. I twist and throw my weight around, but it’s no use. Even with one hand occupied, he’s simply too strong. “Let go!” The barrel of the gun bumps against my head as hysteria begins to cloud my better judgement.

Just feet away, Ghost stands with his weapon aimed directly at me. At some point he clipped the riffle to his vest and switched to his handgun. Behind the daunting skull mask, his narrowed eyes calculate our every move with extreme precision.

I’ve heard the rumors about Ghost. Caught wind of whispers detailing the horrors he’s capable of. I’ve even witnessed some of the brutality myself working as his translator. Yet none of that cruelty was ever directed toward me. Now, I find myself looking directly down the barrel of his gun. There is no escaping Ghost’s wrath. There’s no escaping my father’s wrath.

“Put the gun down,” he calmly instructs my father. There’s something different about his voice. Something tense. I notice a stiffness about his posture that isn’t usually there. I’m not the only one who picks up on his behaviour either.

“So that bastard was right,” spite laces my father’s voice. His hot words travel down the back of my neck as his arm wraps tighter around my chest. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

I blink. My mouth dries up and I’m left speechless. How the hell does he know? How did Bennet know? Who else knows?

“No, dad-” the words start to tumble out of my mouth.

“Don’t lie to me, little bird,” his tone is venomous. I’m a traitor to him. Sleeping with his enemy. “You fucking whore.”

Tears prick my eyes. His words stun me and I can’t help the self loathing that weighs down my shoulders.

“Let her go or I’ll shoot,” fearful tremors shake my body. My vision starts to blur with emotion. I’ve never felt so scared in my life. I truly may not survive this.

“Then what?” he sneers “You’ll kill me anyways.”

“If you don’t, your wife will die,” the ultimatum is clear. “Is she really worth it?” Ghost’s words sting like never before. I wish one of them would make a decision, put me out of my misery.

Then, as if without thinking at all, my father releases me from his grip and takes a large step back. My weak knees barely hold my shaking body and when I turn around to face him, I truly don’t recognize the man in front of me anymore. Hundreds of burning questions ache for air, but the only one that escapes my lips begs for the devastating truth.

“Do you- do you even love me?” I force myself to make eye contact with him. From the very start of this horrifying journey, something has been missing. Like I was trying to read a misprinted book.

My father purses his lips and furrows his brows. I know the answer when our eyes meet. Not now. Certainly not after betraying him like he thinks I did. He inhales like he’s about to answer when three deafening gunshots pierce the air. I feel the bullets whiz through the air beside my head and watch as one tears through my father’s arm and two hit him in the shoulder. His gun falls to the ground and his eyes buldge as he realizes what just happened.

Ghost rushes past me and tackles my father to the ground. He forces his arms behind his back, despite the bleeding wounds, and zipties his hands together. He groans empty threats, but they’re so muffled I can’t make them out. None of this feels real. Every part of my body feels numb and full of static. Breathing becomes increasingly difficult.

Ghost stuffs my father’s mouth with a gag and then covers his head with a black bag. I try to tune out the harrowing sounds of his muffled moans and the distant gunfire and explosions. I feel a panick attack building under the surface of my skin. This is all too much. My knees finally give in.

“Y/n? Y/n,” Ghost’s voice softens as he abandons my father for me. His gloved hands are gentle as they embrace both sides of my head. I flinch away from his touch, causing him to falter. “You’re safe y/n, I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe,” he crouches to the ground beside me and pulls me against his bulky chest. I missed feeling his warmth so damn bad. I want to trust him. God do I want to, but all he does is lie to me. “We just have to get closer to the runway. Then the extraction team will get us out of here,” he strokes my hair as he speaks.

I’m not ready when he pulls us up from our position on the ground, but there’s no time to be ready. Every second we waste in the forest - in Ultranationalist territory - is another second we risk running into more of their soldiers.

Someone is going to notice my father’s absence, if they haven’t already. And they will come looking, if they haven’t already. In which case we are in even more danger.

Ghost lifts my father to his feet and forces him to walk, at times roughly pushing him ahead. Watching them makes my stomach twist into a knot. I can’t believe I haven’t thrown up yet.

He switches the handgun for his automatic riffle again and uses the sight to scope out the surrounding woods.

I have no idea where we are, yet Ghost seems to know the exact path to our destination.

Twice, he takes out multiple men in the distance before they can spot us, but our treck back is otherwise eerily silent.

I don’t remember waiting for the chopter or boarding or the ride back to Latvia. But I do remember the pained sounds escaping my father’s chest as he sits across from me, still blindfolded.

I completely forgot about Soap’s absence admidst clusterfuck of everything else going on. That’s until I hear another member of the task force briefing Ghost on a separate attack they planned to take place while the exchange was happening. The whirling of the helicopter makes it almost impossible make out their words, but Ghost’s eyes give away everything.

“He was injured sir. Badly. He lost a lot of blood on the way back to base and they didn’t have the equipment to operate in the air,” I feel my heart rate pick up and watch as Ghost completely freezes.

I don’t hear what Ghost asks him next. I do however, see the soldier shake his head with remorse.

Dread consumes me.

#simon riley #cod ghost #ghost imagine #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #he knows

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exoticb-utters · 3 days ago

Note

So I know this is out of the blue, (pun intended) but can I request a yandere Hank McCoy fic?

Nothing creepy just Hank being a bit clingy.

Short A/N: Hey! Im aware I didn’t post a chapter yesterday, I unfortunately had a problem uploading a chapter? I guess it never got posted so sorry guys 😭😭😭😭😭

Can’t Get Enough of You

“Flufftober” series. 6 🎃 Clingy Hank X GN Reader ‘Fluff’ Word Count: 565

You knew something was up when you tried to get out of your shared bed before being pulled back into the duvet by sting blue arms.

Your husband’s love language has always been touch, so you simply brush it off with a chuckle. You pressed a sweet kiss to his knuckles before speaking.

“Hank it’s time to get up…” You mummer into this large, calloused hand. You’re answered with a deep huff, his warm breath grazing across your skin.

He finally released, letting you get up and ready for the day. After that, the rest of the morning carried out as usual. That was, until you were on your between class breaks.

It was like he was always there, baiting his time until you were alone before engulfing you in his embrace. You’d never found yourself opposed to his affection, but you’d have to say, this was strange for him.

When you were making yourself a late afternoon snack, you felt the familiar texture of fur and the warm scent of teakwood.

“What’s up honey?” You asked while cutting some fruit, smiling as you feel him press soft kisses along your neck.

“Just wanted to check in is all…” He said against your skin, causing you to roll your eyes affectionately.

“I think you’ve ‘checked in’ on me about ten times today~” You tease, popping a berry into your mouth.

“I can’t help it when it comes to you…” He replies softly, holding you tighter against his large frame. “Guess I can’t argue with that,” You shrug with a chuckle, holding up a strawberry to his face. “Strawberry?” He hummed in reply, gladly taking the small fruit with his teeth. If you didn’t know any better, it must be one of those days where his…libado gets out of control…

Yes, it’s happened many times before, courtesy of his ‘beastly’ mutation (pun intended). You don’t know exactly how it works, but it’s the only explanation for his clingy attitude.

“No other reason you came down to the empty kitchen then?” You say, still smushed between the counter and Hank. “No…” He mumbles bashfully, knowing he was caught like a deer in headlights.

“Welp, guess I should just return to teaching classes then, huh?” You hum with a knowing smile, knowing how’d he would inevitably react.

You carried your bowl of fruit as you made your way out the kitchen, knowing Hank’s expression was suffering.

This was too embarrassing, he hated bothering you all the time with this but he couldn’t help it!

“I lied…” He sighs just before you could go any further. You stop, looking over your shoulder with a raised brow. “Oh? About what?”

“You know what…” He huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. “Hmmm, I don’t think I do…” You tease, watching a warm flush blossom across his face.

“Don’t make me say it. It’s…so embarrassing.” He looks up at you with a pleading look. You chuckle at his pout, such an adorable look on a large man. You couldn’t hold in the affection anymore as you walk back over to him, taking his face in your hands. “Alright I’ll save you the grief…this time.” You smile, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

When you part, you realize you’ve made a mistake, seeing Hank’s expression serious as ever, eyes lidded and his focus zeroed-in on you. “…Hank?”

“Do you actually have a class to teach?” He questions without missing a beat.

“No…why do you-AHH!” You yelp, feeling yourself thrown over his shoulder without another thought.

“Good. You wouldn’t have made it back in time anyway.” He snickers, causing your head to whip around to scold him. “HENRY MCCOY.”

#beast #hank mccoy #x men comics #marvel #x men 97 #henry mccoy #hank x reader #beast x reader #hank mccoy x reader #wolverine and the x men #my writing #writers on tumblr #writers on ao3 #silly posting #Fluff #flufftober2024 #flufftober prompts

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sweetcocopowder · 2 days ago

Text

Day Thirty One: Ritual/Tentacles

Synopsis: Dean has to perform a ritual to continue further in his hunt. Said ritual, is fucking an ancient being that only wants to pleasure. And Cas is here as moral support.

Word Count: 4K

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel

Warnings: Tentacles. Anal Sex. Hand job. Orgasm denial. Monster fucking.

Notes: Omg last fic for kinktober good lord. This was fun but this last one was very stressful to get out cause I only have five minutes to post this before midnight haha. So enjoy as always and I'll see you in the next fic haha

“Why on earth would angels be in here?” Dean asks the most obvious question out of the entire list he could have asked.

The cave Dean and Castiel venture down is damp, small and feels like it goes on forever. It slopes slightly downwards, threatening the hunter to slip over on the slick rock. He made that mistake earlier on the journey. He had placed his foot on a moss patch and fell backwards to touch the slimy, slick substance that covers everything. He can still feel the sensation crawling over his hand.

The wall are far too close to Dean’s liking. He pushes on though, keeping his flashlight in hand and pointed forward, hoping that it opens it. He’s shoulder to shoulder and even crouching down slightly to get through the passage way. Every few steps when he zones out, one of his sleeves brushes against the walls of the tunnel and instantly soaks his jacket through to the skin. Cold and wet.

He grips his flashlight tighter. He’s got an angel with him. A literal angel. If they run into any trouble, Castiel can just zap them away while Dean tries his best not to have a panic attack. But he’s here for Cas. Here for the angels that are hiding away here deep underground and causing havoc topside. They’re also been luring down the faithful down here to do god knows what and then killing them. Or maybe killing them. But both of them know that whoever comes down here doesn’t come back up.

Castiel finally answers, “There could be sacred ground down here.”

“Sacred ground?” Dean raises a brow even though the angel can’t see it from behind.

“Old grounds from even before humans were placed upon this earth. When angels walked more freely,” Cas continues on.

Sounds like a bunch of mumbo jumbo but what is Dean to believe these days. His world has been turned upside down and he can’t find himself to complain. What many people would think is just for horror movies and such, Dean would have to laugh in their face having killed those creatures ten times over. So, instead he answers with a soft hum, as if agreeing to whatever Cas is saying.

He just hopes that Gabriel isn’t feeding this to Sam wherever they are. His brother is at another location with Gabriel of all angels. Splitting up wasn’t on the to-do list but attacking both locations at once was the best course of action.

The cave suddenly levels out and Dean mumbles praise under his breath. A faint droning noises comes from the other end of the long tunnel like system. Dean doesn’t notice it at first, but Castiel does.

“Running water?” He asks more to himself.

“Huh?” Dean perks up, flashing his light straighter down the tunnel.

Now that it’s pointed out, the further they walk forward the louder it gets. And the further they go, the more open the tunnel becomes to Dean’s relief. An orange glow suddenly spreads across the walls of the cave, the slick rock reflecting it like glitter. Dean is a bit hesitant, but a hand rests on his shoulder to urge him on. Cas better be right about this.

The tunnel suddenly opens up and the roaring of water hits Dean in the face like a slap. The open cave is large, big enough for a wide stream to be flowing through the centre. A small waterfall flows on the right-hand side of the opening, the mist making the air moist and cool.

Angelic lanterns litter the space, hanging from the ceiling and the walls giving the cave an orange hue. Every now and again the light within the lanterns flicker a sombre blue, giving the place a dream like look.

“Look,” Castiel points across the stream.

And if Dean wasn’t admiring the pretty lights, he would have noticed the door on the other side of the stream. It looks to be made of pure metal and it shines like newly polished platinum.

Without a word, Castiel crosses the knee high stream to the other side. Dean grumbles, looking to the crystal clear water. But, instead of rocks like any normal stream would have, the bed of the stream moves. Moves like eels and snakes under the water. Dean shines his torch to the running water to get a better look. For only the things to move away in a perfect circle around the light, evading it.

It sends a chill down his spine. That is something that he does not like one bit. And he’s seen much worse. This makes his skin crawl worse than the feeling of the slime on the cave and his lunch threatens to come up.

“Don’t step in the water!” Castiel suddenly cries out.

Dean quickly takes a large step away as he looks to the angel, who looks terrified. Cas looks down at the water and then back at the door. His hand hovers over angelic words that have been carved into the steel.

“What’s it say?” Dean asks.

“Do you really want to know?” Cas double checks with furrowed brows.

“Spit it out! I want to get out of here!” The hunter snaps.

The angel takes another look at the words before crossing the stream again. He doesn’t care about the things in the water nor do they care for him. They don’t seem to want to touch the angel.

“Behind that door, are the angels we’re looking for,” Cas begins, “But the door is sealed behind an old Enochian ritual that relies on a mortal.”

“So, you can’t open that?” Dean asks.

“No.”

“What do I have to do? Blood ritual or something?” The hunter jokes. “Can’t we just force it open with some explosives?”

Castiel hesitates a fair bit too long for Dean’s liking. “The door won’t open unless a ritual is partaken. A sexual ritual.”

“A what now?” Dean barks out, shining the flashlight right into the angel’s face.

Cas frowns as he lowers the torch slowly to continue explaining, “In the water is an old, angelic being that was made alongside humans. With all the same needs and wants. It resides here as a key for the holy grounds beyond the door. And only a mortal willing to give themselves to it can open it.”

Dean stares blankly at Cas for a moment, letting his words sink in. The angels have been bringing mortals down here to fuck? What the fuck is wrong with them!?

“You guys are doing this shit!” Dean snaps out suddenly, “This is some kinky ass shit, Cas!” He shouts as he points towards the water.

Cas looks at him in utter disbelief. Blue eyes wide as saucepans and brows furrowed deeper than an old man’s foreskin.

“I’m not apart of them, Dean!” Cas defends him. “It’s an old ritual that’s meant for mortals to give their bodies over to-“

“Sounding like some sex dungeon shit there,” Dean cuts him off.

The angel can only stare at him with a frown, not wanting to argue any further. He begin to walk away, back towards the exit of the cave with his hands clenched into his fists.

“Where are you going!?” Dean shouts from where he stands.

Cas stops and spins around quickly, his trench coat whirling around him. Dean stays still, not moving from the edge of the stream.

“We can’t get through here,” the angel grumbles, pointing towards the locked door.

“We’re getting through,” Dean says firmly. “What do I have to do?”

Cas blinks. Absolutely stunned at what has just come from the hunter’s mouth. He turns towards Dean fully, eyes flicking back towards the stream before back to the blonde.

“Are you sure?” The angel asks. “You’ve got to be fully willing to do so, otherwise it won’t work.”

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says with little confidence.

Cas raises a brow as he stalks back towards Dean.

He clears his throat again, “Yes,” he says with more assurance.

The angel shrugs his coat off as he walks past Dean without a word. He roughly folds it up and places it beside the stream before stepping back into the water. His pants are already wet to his knees so he doesn’t bother with caring. The tendrils in the water move away from him in a perfect circle, not wanting anything to do with him. Cas turns to Dean, holding out a hand.

“All you have to do is step in the stream, and they’ll do the rest,” Cas says calmly and slowly. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

Dean sucks in a breath. He’s seen stuff like this in some of those weird alien pornos he’s come across. But having to actually do something like this in real life? On a job!? And with Cas next to him. Good god this day couldn’t get any worse.

Dean procrastinates by untying his shoes and taking them off along with his socks. Cas waits patiently, not saying a word otherwise he knows Dean will just snap at him.

Finally, Dean steps into the cool water. At first, the black tendrils seep away from him, not wanting anything to do with him. Then, one reaches out, long, black and shimmering under the water’s surface. Dean watches with disgust as it wraps itself around his ankle. His first instinct is to pull away and run out of the water. But he stands still, his body frozen in anticipation.

It’s a lot warmer and slimier than Dean wanted to know about, but at least it isn’t freezing cold like the goddamn water. It’s curls around his ankle before feeling up under the cuff of his jeans. That has Dean jerking backwards. The tendril automatically retracts, returning back to the mass of the others it coils itself around.

Cas looks to Dean with furrowed brows, worry deep set on his face. “You don’t have to do this,” the angel inquires.

Dean looks to the door on the other side of the stream before huffing. “Do you know any other way in? Or any other human that’s willing to be fucked like some alien porno?” He asks half-heartedly but it comes out much firmer than he intends it to be.

“No,” Cas answers even though he already knows the answer.

“Just give me a minute,” Dean says. “It’s not every day that you gotta let some weird tentacles jerk you off.”Cas goes very quiet at that and worry quickly settles into the hunters gut. Green eyes meet blue and Dean swallows thickly. “That’s all… right?”

“Dean,” the angel responds firmly.

The hunter becomes very still at the tone in his voice. “You don’t mean they’re gonna,” he makes an upwards motion with his hand as he finishes the sentence.

“It’s how the seal works,” Cas answers for him.

Dean runs a hand down his face. Okay. Okay. How bad can this be? It can’t be harder than getting fucked up the ass. He’s only done that… once. And it felt odd. But good, in a weird way.

“Okay. Shit,” Dean curses to himself as he steps into the water again, both feet this time. If he thinks about it too much, he’ll head home and grab some other hunter that is more willing to have their wet dreams enacted in real life. He doesn’t want to admit out loud to the angel in front of him that’s he might be oddly into this more than he lets on. His macho man personality is just getting in the way a bit and he’s very aware of that. “Shiiiit,” he curses again. “Let’s do this.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you,” Cas informs.

“And how do you know that?” Dean bites back a little harshly as he takes another step forward.

“It speaks an old Enochian that humans can’t here,” Cas swallows thickly. “It told me so. It’s the last thing it wants to do.”

Cas holds out a hand and Dean instantly takes it in a bone crushing grip. Somehow that makes Dean feel a little bit better about all of this. And here he thought it was a mindless mass of tentacles that just wanted to fuck.

Multiple tendrils reach out this time knowing that a willing mortal is here now. They don’t hesitate this time to curl up and under Dean’s jeans. Their slimy texture makes it easy to worm their way up the wet fabric and feel his skin as if they’re curious on who is here to open the door.

A shiver runs down Dean’s spine as the tendrils slither further up his jeans. He glances at Cas and notices that the angel is watching with an intense gaze. As if waiting for one of these things to hurt Dean. None of the black tendrils reach for Cas, all focus on Dean. The hunter can’t even see his feet anymore with how many tendrils reach out and want to touch him.

Suddenly, the tendrils pull at his legs and he falls to his knees in to the water. It’s freezing and Dean lets out a gasp as air is drawn from his lungs. The stream is only knees high so Dean can kneel in the water, but it doesn’t make it any more comfortable as he’s all of a sudden swarmed by the bloody things in said water.

Dean still holds onto Cas’s hand, using it as an anchor as the tentacle like things in the water move around the hunter’s body. There’s so many at this point that Dean doesn’t even know where to start. They shift and move under his jeans, popping his fly open to knead at his cock. They venture under his shirt, curling and roaming under his skin. They firmly wrap around his arm that’s in the water, holding him in place.

“Cas,” Dean manages to utter out pass the breathless moans escaping his mouth.

A tendril venture into his underwear and finds what it’s looking for. It wraps around his cock, the warmth of the tentacle a very nice contrast to the cold water. Dean shudders out a groan, trying not to make too much noise. But it’s very hard when the tendril squeezes around the head of his cock, fondling his balls all in the same notion.

Cas kneels down in front of him, unphased by the chill of the water. He lets go of Dean’s hand and for a split second, the hunter panics. But the angel only lets go so that he can drag Dean’s upper body from the water. The tentacles come with him, wrapped around his arm and chest. They don’t stop moving, slithering and sliding across skin and under his clothes.

Dean is brought into the angel’s lap so that he can lay on his back. And to also avoid being brought down into the water and drowning with how goddamn needy these things are.

“You’re doing great, Dean,” Cas’s deep voice rumbles very close to his ear.

The tendrils lower down his body, back to the water where it comes up to just below his chest. They don’t seem to like being out of the safety of the water for too long.

Dean breathes in sharply as the tendrils manoeuvre downwards and start prodding between his ass. He tenses, reaching back with a hand to grip onto Cas’s sleeve tightly.

“Just relax,” the angel coos.

The thing is about all of this. With the tendril curling and rubbing up and down his dick to the warm feeling of all the appendages slithering over his skin, he’s very quickly realizing he’s very into this more than he thought. Would he ever verbally say that out loud? No. Absolutely not. He’s rather shoot himself in the mouth than ever tell Sam about this. Or anyone else for that matter. And so he finds himself opening his legs a bit more so that the tentacle that’s searching under there can find it’s prize much more easily.

It prods at his rim before rubbing itself over his ass a few times. The slime that it emits stick to his skin rather than being washed away in the water. Once it’s deemed there’s enough, it brings its blunt head back to Dean’s ass and pushes lightly.

Dean grinds his teeth as it pushes past his tight ass. It’s no bigger than two fingers but the stretch still hurt ever so slightly. He grunts low in his chest as the tendril moves out slightly before diving a little further in. The feeling is foreign, but not unwanted. He can’t help the breathy gasp as it ventures in further, brushing up against those sweet bundle of nerves that has him wincing in bliss. The glide of the tentacle is slicked by the odd slime, but at least it’s not going in dry. Because God does Dean know that shower or bath sex is fucking difficult. Bloody amazing. But God does the water wash everything away quickly.

Another tentacle pushes up beside the first one, coiling around each other to make themselves thicker. The new found girth has Dean gasping and panting loudly. The stretch is painful but it’s a good stretch, quickly overlooked with just how good it all feels.

Cas holds onto him, his hands on his chest to keep him grounded. He continues to hold onto the angel’s sleeves, not wanting to let go in case he accidently grabs a hold of those slimy tentacles. He is still slightly grossed out by the feeling of them, but by god do they know what they’re doing down there.

The same tentacle that’s been jerking him off firmly squeezes his balls as if trying to milk him. Dean breathes out shakily as he feels it brush up against the head of his cock again, slicking him up even more. But it’s when the tip of the tendril flicks against the slit of Dean’s cock does he strangle out a cry and jerk suddenly in the water. Not out of panic or fear, but in pure pleasure and sensitivity that suddenly overtook his nerves. The tendril does it again, as if sensing the pleasure that it brings Dean and then it does it again and it brings the hunter to a shaking mess within the angel’s arms.

“You okay, Dean?” Cas immediately asks.

The hunter chuckles out loudly, the noise echoing off the cave walls. The water moves like it’s boiling with just how much the ancient being is moving around Dean. Wanting to touch every inch of him. Wanting to please him for giving his body to it.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes out finally. “I’m okay.”

Somehow, the tentacles move Dean’s jeans further down until they’re all the way down at his ankles. Then, with a firm grip around the hunter’s thighs, hard enough to leave bruises, they pull his legs open wider. Allowing the two tentacles to drive themselves even deeper into Dean with now a brutal pace.

Dean shudders as he can feel an orgasm quickly rising deep in his gut. But it’s stopped dead as the tentacle on his dick and balls squeezes tightly at the base of his cock. Stopping him in his tracks. The hunter can’t help the whines and keens that come from his throat now.

“Cas,” He finds himself breathing out.

The angel only holds him closer at that, moving him further up into his lap. But that doesn’t stop the thrusting of the tentacles. They move further into Dean, hitting every good spot that has his legs shaking. He throws his head back against Cas’s chest, panting and groaning deep within his throat. The angel stares at him for a moment, those big blue eyes just watching as Dean gets royally fucked. And being the type of romantic the hunter is, he grabs onto Cas’s hair and drags him down into a deep and wet kiss. It’s broken in bits and pieces between Dean trying to fill his air with lungs that the tendrils are pounding out of him. But the angel kisses back all the same.

The constricted grip around Dean’s balls and dick suddenly loosen up to begin feeling him up again. Dean shudders, his lips ghosting near Cas’s as he peers down at the water past a hooded gaze. It’s a lustful sight. So many of the black tentacles wrap around his legs and torso, wiggling and moving that it almost looks like rope for bondage. That earns Dean a chuckle from himself.

The pace of things suddenly change as he feels a third tentacle prodding at his loose rim. Dean hisses in sharply as it pulls and tugs before being able to slide up against the other two. It joins the others, the three coiling around each other to stretch Dean just that much wider. He loses himself now, throwing his head back once more into Cas to squeeze his eyes shut.

“You’re doing so well, Dean,” Cas’s words send a deadly shiver down his back that pushes him just that further to the edge. “Just a little further, I think they’re almost done.”

The thought is a blessing, but at the same time Dean doesn’t want this to stop. This feels too good. He shivers and shakes at the constant onslaught of his guts. He feels his balls tightening again, his orgasm building up again, stronger this time. The tentacles just have to keep hitting the spot and ah- Ah!

Dean arches up out of the water as he juts his hips as he comes undone. Hot, thick ropes of cum land in the water that are quickly washed away down in the stream. The tentacles don’t stop what they’re doing. They pump every last drop out of him, squeezing at his dick and balls to milk him dry. The three inside of him don’t stop either, keeping up a pace that is becoming very sensitive with every thrust. As if they send a jolt of electricity through him with each pass over his sensitive prostate.

Dean pants out, weary eyes watching the black tendrils do their thing. “Cas?” He asks as if the angel know the answer to the question that goes unasked.

“The door hasn’t opened yet,” he inquires.

His green eyes flicker over to the door that is still sealed shut. Every movement the tentacles now make is very overstimulating and overbearing. He grinds his teeth as little grunts escape his throat at each thrust.

“Just hold out a little longer,” Cas’s fingers knead at his scalp. “You can do this.”

A shiver runs down Dean’s spine as he squeezes his eyes shut. It’s painful and Dean reaches down to at least move the tentacle from his dick. But Cas is quick to grab his wrist and bring it back over his head with the other. Dean arches his back, trying to move or push the burning feeling from his hardening dick for the second time tonight. He whines out a noise that is shaky and on the verge of a sob.

Suddenly, the three tentacles in him stutter and sink a little deeper within him. They pulse and bulge lightly as they cum deep within the hunter. The hot cum feels sticky just like the slime that the tentacles are covered in. Dean’s body shakes at the sensation, his mouth gaping wide as it feels like it keeps going on for ages.

When the tentacles deem itself finished, they pull out slowly, leaving Dean feeling sticky and slightly bloated. The rest of the black, slithering tentacles retract from Dean’s body just as slowly as if not wanting to let go. He pants and licks his lips, trying to collect himself the best he can. But he still feels very dead to the world. That might’ve been the best orgasm he’s ever had.

“Holy shit,” he manages to get out.

A loud click drags both Dean’s and Cas’s attention over to the door that opens by itself smoothly. Dean can’t help the breathless laugh that bounces off the cave walls.

“You did great, Dean,” the angel comments with a smile.

Dean swallows thickly and doesn’t move from where he is. He looks back into the water and quickly notices that the tentacle mass has moved away from him. It keeps at a distance like it did with Cas. He thicks his dry lips again.

He’s never going to be able to look at another alien porn the same.

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