#he bolts because he wants to survive the night

[benicebefunny]

We could've had a season-long Nathan/Simi romcom with mistaken identities; candle-lit discussions of leadership styles; mutual recognition of anger as a totally valid respond to oppression and abuse; scenes with Sam ranging from hilariously awkward to achingly heartfelt; and a diorama of Simi's kitchen.

[janiehellion]

Wildflower Woes

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Daryl Dixon hates you. Or does he? And do you only love the flowers that grow in your own garden, or do you love the wild ones too? Because with eyes watching in the darkness of the night, nothing is ever quite as it seems.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: S1!DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / HURT / ANGST / VOYEURISM / MASTURBATION / EXHIBITIONISM / DUB-CON / LANGUAGE / CUM PLAY / SEMI-PUBLIC

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8.000

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: NON-CON ELEMENTS

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

As you walked behind Daryl, your eyes drifted from the road ahead to the ground beside your feet, where something caught your eye and distracted you rather fast from everything else around you—a bunch of wildflowers that had bloomed along the side of the road. They were not only the kind you’ve always loved, but they were also a small reminder of what life really was like not so long ago.

Without a second thought, you decided to step off the path, with your fingers reaching out instinctively to touch the nearest blossom in silent admiration.

"They’re still so beautiful, despite everything," you whispered quietly to yourself, not wanting Daryl to hear what you were saying. "I remember how I always thought these were just pretty-looking weeds as a kid because Mom and Dad always had them everywhere in our garden. God, I miss them so much."

Kneeling down beside the flowers, you allowed yourself a quiet moment of peace, thinking back to a few weeks ago when everything was still normal. To those weekends gardening with your mom while your dad cut the lawn or filmed you and your mother to capture memories for the future. The time when your parents were still alive.

But that short moment of peace was quickly shattered by an all-too-familiar sound that made your heart skip a beat and sent a shiver through your body. Spinning around, your eyes locked on the rotting figure of a walker emerging from behind a tree, and panic flooded your mind.

"Shit!" You screamed, stumbling backward and falling hard onto the ground, and in your desperate attempt to avoid being bitten, you reached for your weapon, only to realize the handle was tangled with the strap of your backpack. Despair washed over you as the walker got closer, its hands reaching out to dig its fingers into your flesh.

Just then, Daryl heard your scream. He spun around, his crossbow aimed at the walker, and in the blink of an eye, the creature dropped dead at your feet with a bolt in its head.

"What in the hell were ya doin'?" Daryl shouted, his face full of anger as he rushed over.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stumbled to your feet, your voice trembling. "I… I just noticed the flowers! I’ve always liked flowers and these—"

"Flowers? Ya nearly got yerself killed over some damn flowers?" His eyes narrowed in frustration.

Daryl’s voice was bitter, full of anger, as he grabbed your arm and pulled you roughly back onto the road. Before you could react, he stomped his boot into the patch of flowers, grinding them into the dirt in front of your eyes.

"Can't believe ya'd risk yer life for this bullshit!" He said, as he pulled his bolt out of the walker and walked back to you again.

His grip on your arm tightened, and he yanked you forward. "Look at ya," he growled, full of disgust. "Ya think this is some kinda shitty garden party? We're fightin' to survive, and yer out here actin' like a pussy over a bunch of fuckin' flowers! ‘S that what's gonna save us? A fuckin' bouquet?"

His words made you flinch, and you were unable to hold back the tears that had already formed in your eyes. When you looked back up, Daryl's face was only inches from yours.

"Oh, look at ya, so delicate and pure!" He taunted with disdain. "Yeah… Ya gonna stop this shitshow with a bouquet, huh? Gonna wave 'em around and make all the walkers bow down to yer flowery grace? What’s next, princess? A fuckin’ garden gnome to guard the damn camp?"

You tried to steady your voice, fighting back your sobs. "Listen, Daryl… Thank you for saving me, really! But I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble! I just... I just wanted a moment of beauty that reminded me of—"

"A moment of beauty? Ya think yer gonna find some happy endin' in the middle of all this shit? It's like yer livin' in a fuckin' fantasy! Newsflash: This ain’t a damn fairy tale!" Daryl cut you off with a mocking laugh.

He stepped closer, invading your personal space. "Oh, I see. Ya got this big-ass plan, don't ya? Ya gonna sprinkle some petals ‘round and charm all the dead assholes with yer pretty flowers, huh? Hell, why not add a unicorn that shits glitter while yer at it?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but his insults didn't even give you a chance. "Oh, wait, I got it! Ya gonna build a fairyland where everything is perfect and we all live happily ever after! Ya gonna knit a quilt with flowers on it, and everyone will forget 'bout the damn world fallin' apart! That’s yer big-ass plan, ain't it?"

Listening to him, you struggled more and more to hold back your sobs, but you finally found the confidence to respond. "That's not true! And I didn’t say that. I just thought—"

"Thought what?" Daryl interrupted again, his voice almost yelling in anger. "Ya think that’s gonna change anything? Get real! Out here, ya don't get to have yer shitty moments of peace. Ya either get yer head outta yer ass or ya die!"

He shook his head, scoffing at you. "Tell me! What’s next, huh? Ya gonna start singin' lullabies to the walkers? Maybe ya should bake ‘em some cookies and ask ‘em to join the damn camp," he spat out, finally turning away and leaving you standing in the middle of the road, knowing that you’d follow him one way or another.

And you did.

Aside from Daryl's few mutterings of frustration, the walk back to the camp was quiet. He didn’t offer you an apology, nor did he ask why you seemed so fascinated by those wildflowers in the first place. Instead, he simply continued to walk ahead, throwing you angry sidelong glances from time to time, while his annoyed curses and angry mumblings barely reached your ears anymore.

You allowed the minutes to pass, and just as you were beginning to accept being his supply run partner a little bit more, Daryl's voice was heard again. "Quit yer damn whinin'! Pretty flowers ain't gonna keep ya alive!" he said, his anger not yet gone. "All this fuckin' bullshit just makes ya look weak! Ain't nobody got time for that. Ya gotta get that into yer head!"

He looked ahead, and with a sudden, quick move, he lifted his boot and stomped down on another few wildflowers growing along the side of the road. Your jaw dropped in disbelief, and your eyes widened in shock and hurt. The purpose behind it—to obviously hurt you—only made you clench your fists tighter, your nails digging into your palms.

But you stayed silent; the last thing you wanted was to give him any more reason to bully you and to fuel his anger. Instead, you focused on keeping your breathing steady, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you continued to follow behind him.

As you both finally approached the quarry, Daryl’s anger reached its breaking point, and in a rather sudden decision, he stormed off the path, disappearing into the woods without another word and taking the rest of the supplies with him.

"Yeah, yeah, run away, you fucking dickhead," you whispered to yourself before putting the backpack down next to the RV. "What a damn idiot! Just because he’s got a stick up his ass doesn’t mean he is allowed to shit on everything that others care about. He thinks he’s so tough, but he’s just an asshole who’s always acting like he’s the only one who matters around here! And here I was, thinking I might actually like him and have a soft spot for him. Guess I was just kidding myself. What a fucking joke!" You continued and let the sadness come out quietly as you were left standing alone.

"Can’t believe he thinks this is some kind of, I don't know, redneck survival training. ‘Oh, look at me, I’m so tough! I’ll just destroy whatever makes you happy!’ Well, newsflash to you too, Dixon: You’re not the only one who’s capable of surviving! Jesus…"

The sudden sound of footsteps approaching stopped your rant, and you turned to see Dale walking towards you with a look of concern. "Hey there," he said with a smile, taking the backpack into his hands. "You look like you’ve had a rough time out there today. Is everything okay? Where’s Daryl Dixon?"

You hesitated for a moment, the situation that has happened before making it hard for you to find the right words. Finally, you sighed and responded.

"I couldn’t give less of a fuck where that man is right now! I mean, listen, Daryl’s been—well, he’s been a jerk, like always. He got mad about a few pretty flowers that I found. You know, the wild ones that I showed you the other day when you were talking with Shane? Well, Daryl ended up stomping all over them because he had to save me from a walker, since the flowers distracted me and nearly got me killed. And now he’s just gone off into the woods without a word. He even took the rest of the supplies we’ve found with him. Can you believe that, Dale?"

"Oh, yes, I do remember the flowers; very nice to look at. My wife would’ve loved them as well, believe me," Dale’s eyes studied you as he listened to you, trying to understand what had happened, "but I’m sorry to hear about what has happened. Sure, Daryl’s got a lot of—let’s call it rough and tough edges. But I’m sure he’ll be back soon with the supplies; don’t you worry about that."

His words and warm smile helped to calm you down a little. "Yeah, I guess you’re right," you sighed, feeling a little better. "Thanks, Dale. I just needed to let off some steam. And maybe Daryl's right, some of those flowers weren’t meant to survive this cruel world…"

Dale nodded once more but looked slightly concerned because of your answer, though he decided not to address it, nor did he press any further. "Anytime. Now, let’s get these supplies sorted. I bet that Daryl will calm down soon enough as well."

You couldn't help but laugh at the thought. "Yeah, maybe. And pigs might fly too."

Soon enough, you were busy sorting the supplies when you heard footsteps approaching again. This time, it was Daryl who did come back from the woods, but his face showed that he was still annoyed.

"Here," he snapped, tossing his bag of supplies onto the ground. "Forgot to leave 'em here. Don’t expect any flowers or fairy dust."

You looked up from the supplies, sighing loudly. "Yeah, thanks," you answered quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. "I guess it’s good you’re back. The camp needs those supplies."

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Ya know, if ya spent less time daydreamin' and more time focusin' on what’s important, then we wouldn’t have to deal with this shit."

"Is that so?" You shot back, struggling to stay calm. "And what exactly is ‘important’ to you, Daryl? Destroying everything that reminds people of normalcy?"

He snorted at you. "Normalcy? Ain’t no such thing in this world no more. If ya can’t handle that, maybe ya should stay behind."

His words hurt, but you forced yourself not to fuel his anger. "Well, maybe if you weren’t so hell-bent on destroying everything that might still matter to others, you’d see that sometimes people need a bit of hope, however small."

Daryl stared you down. "Hope? Hope won’t keep ya alive. Only havin' a pair of balls and havin’ a clear head will do that. And from where I stand, ya got none of that."

"I guess we’ve all got our own way of coping with this new world," you said quietly, not really knowing what to answer him anymore. 

His eyes studied you. "Copin'? Ya think I’m just ‘copin'’ here? I’m tryna keep us alive, and all ya do is mess 'round with flowers like it’s some kind of goddamn gardenin' hobby."

You took a deep breath. "I’m just trying to hold on to a bit of what makes me human. I know it might seem pointless to you at the moment, but those flowers... they remind me of something good, something that I miss."

Daryl scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Well, good for ya. Maybe ya can save the world with yer damn flowers, while the rest of us are riskin' our asses."

Before you could respond, Andrea approached you, having overheard the conversation. "Hey, is everything alright?" She asked, her eyes looking from you to Daryl.

"Just a little disagreement," you answered, forcing a smile. "Nothing we can’t handle."

Daryl took a step back and shook his head. "Yeah, well, I’m done wastin' my time here. Gonna get some rest."

As he walked away, Andrea rolled her eyes and turned to you with a smile. "Don’t let him get to you. He's an asshole. But you’re doing the right thing by holding on to what makes you feel human. You’ll get used to him eventually."

Later that evening, as the campfire was burning down slowly and the rest of the group went to go to sleep after their meal, you sat quietly on the side, lost in your thoughts. Daryl had withdrawn from the group, sitting alone by a tree as he stared into the flames from afar. Eventually, you stood up and walked off to your tent, but the next morning, a flower appeared by the entrance, carefully placed where it was visible but not too obvious.

"Is he for real?" You said to yourself, not really sure why he'd even continue to make fun of you like this in the first place.

While you were helping with camp chores a short time later, you spotted Jacqui kneeling by the water, washing the clothes. Taking the chance to get some answers, you approached her.

"Hey, Jacqui," you began, trying to sound neutral. "I found this wildflower in front of my tent. Any idea who might be leaving them? I don't know if Andrea told you, but I had a problem with Daryl yesterday, and I thought he left the flower there just to keep on making fun of me."

"Of course Andrea told me, how come you think she wouldn’t? You can’t keep secrets around here!" Jacqui looked up, laughing out loud. "But come on, are you for real? You think it was Daryl Dixon? Really? Come on, that's too funny."

You blinked, taken aback by her reaction. "Wait, you think it’s funny that I’m even considering Daryl after him acting like a total dickhead? I just thought—"

Jacqui laughed again, shaking her head. "Oh, come on. Daryl? Why should he continue to make fun of you like that? I mean, I wouldn’t put it past him to throw a beer can at your head, or leave a skinned squirrel in front of your tent or even under your pillow, but flowers? You're overthinking things. Honestly, I'd bet it's Shane."

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks. "Shane? Seriously? That’s what you think? But Daryl literally bullied me because of them."

Jacqui stood up, stretching her arms. "So, what? I’m just saying that sometimes it’s better not to overthink things, especially when it comes to the Dixon brothers. There's nothing that'd benefit him in mocking you any further. Anyway, I’ve got clothes to get back to." With that, Jacqui wandered off, leaving you confused and a bit embarrassed.

"Hey! It’s not like I expect him to start a flower shop anytime soon, okay? It’s just super weird!" You shouted after her, shaking your head slightly, before you caught sight of Daryl from a distance, kneeling over his crossbow. The sight of him—mumbling to himself and clearly busy with whatever he was doing—irritated you, and you decided it was time to confront him directly.

"Daryl, can we talk for a second?" You finally asked and approached him hesitantly.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. "Whaddaya want, woman?"

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady despite the frustration you felt about him still being angry with you. "I found this flower this morning. Right by my tent."

"Yeah? And what’s that gotta do with me?" Daryl’s eyes narrowed, his tone defensive.

"I just thought that maybe you’d know something about it. I mean, I didn’t think it was a coincidence, since the flower is like the same from—" You started, but he didn't let you finish.

"Hell, I dunno nothin’ ‘bout those damn flowers. Ya think I’m runnin’ ‘round playin’ flower fairy for ya now or what? It wasn't me. Keep dreamin'," Daryl cut you off, his jaw tightening. 

His voice was harsh, his tone dismissive. "Just stop pissin’ me off; yer just lookin’ too much into shit. It’s just flowers. Quit tryna make somethin’ outta nothin’."

Your frustration was growing, and you took a step closer. "I’m just trying to understand. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to understand something. Look, it doesn’t make sense for this flower to just—"

Before you could finish, Daryl cut you off again. "Hell, just drop it! Got enough problems without ya comin’ at me with this bullshit. Ain’t in the mood for yer crap no more."

Just then, Shane appeared with a wide smile on his face. "Hey there," he said, leaning against a nearby tree. "I couldn’t help but notice you looking a bit stressed. You up for some fishing? Could use some company, if you’re interested, that is."

You glanced between Shane’s big smile and Daryl’s scowling face, and with a small nod, you agreed. "Yeah, that actually sounds nice. I could definitely use a break right now. And it’d be nice to eat some fish every now and then."

Shane’s smile widened. "Perfect! We’ll have a great time, I’m sure of it; even if we don’t catch anything, it’ll still be fun. I’ll go get everything ready and come back to get you when I’m done."

"Why don’t ya both just try to drown while fishin’ then? I’m sure ya’d both do a great job at it," Daryl suddenly mumbled, turning back to his bag.

"Excuse me? What was that? What did you just say?" You asked, trying to keep your voice calm, but your confusion was obvious as you watched Shane walk away. "And what the hell are you even doing there in the first place, Daryl?"

"None of yer damn business," he snapped back at you with annoyance. "Maybe ya should spend less time bein’ a pain in the ass and more time doin’ somethin’ useful. Like catchin’ more than just one damn pitiful fish with that Romeo ya got over there."

You shook your head, feeling your frustration boil over. "You think you’re the only one who cares about survival? We’re all trying to get by, Daryl. But as a team! Together, as a group of survivors! And you? You’re just being an asshole."

Daryl’s gaze hardened. "Oh, that so? And what’s yer excuse for bein’ a pathetic, whiny mess? Thinkin’ yer entitled to shit? Get over yerself."

Before you could respond, Shane reappeared with some of the fishing gear. He then noticed Daryl’s bag next to his crossbow and raised an eyebrow. "Thistles? What the hell are you gonna do with thistles, Dixon? Prick us to death?"

"Guess we’ll be havin’ a fancy-ass thistle salad for dinner. Real gourmet shit," Daryl answered sarcastically. "Ya can eat parts of 'em, if ya so keen on knowin', but I bet ya knew that already, ain’t that so officer fancy-pants?"

Shane’s face turned serious as he glanced between you and Daryl. "Dixon, you got a problem with something? ‘Cause you’re acting like a real jackass for no goddamn reason at all!"

Daryl turned back to his bag. "Nah, just tired of watchin’ ya’ll pretend to be so high and mighty. Don’t need no charity fishin’ trip from ya, Shane."

Shane’s jaw clenched slightly, but he tried to sound calm. "Funny, Daryl, really funny. Maybe you should take a look at yourself before you start a fight you can’t win."

Daryl’s expression grew darker. "Ain’t here to be ya damn buddy, Walsh. Got my own shit to deal with, so why don’t ya just keep yer damn opinions to yerself?"

"Alright, alright. You do you, Dixon," Shane answered, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile as he looked at you again. "Come on, let's go fishing then; I’ll ask Jim to be on the lookout in the meantime."

You watched Shane walk away, then turned back to Daryl, who was now looking at the thistles in his bag.

"Great, really great. That went well," you sighed, shaking your head, but Daryl didn’t respond and instead continued to fumble with the thistles. You soon walked away, joining Shane by the water. 

"Let’s get this set up," he said, handing you a fishing rod. "We might as well make the best of it."

As the time went by, the conversation drifted to other topics. Shane talked about his past life, even sharing police stories that made you smile despite yourself.

"Thanks for this," you soon said. "It’s nice to get away from the group a little, even if it isn’t far, and just... be."

Shane nodded, focusing on his line. "Yeah, I figured you could use a break. Daryl’s got a way of being a pain in the ass."

"I guess that’s one way to put it," you laughed back. “But he isn’t the only one around who isn’t very great to get along with. The real pain in the ass around here is Ed, and that’s a fact.”

“Ed, yeah, don’t remind me. But you do realize that talking about Ed would be a pain in the ass just as much, don’t you think?” He smirked, casting his line again. "But speaking of Dixon, you know, it’s actually funny. Because I’ve seen that asshole sneaking around your tent more than once. Creepy as hell if you ask me."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Wait, wait, wait... What are you talking about? What do you mean? Daryl Dixon? What? When?"

Shane shrugged casually. "Well, I’ve already seen him lurking around your tent when you first got here weeks ago, like he’s some kind of damn stalker. Even seen him hide behind some of the cars at night. Also quite funny, because Jim was the one who caught him near the RV first, since he’s more or less the mechanic around here. Did you know that being an auto mechanic was Jim’s job? Who would’ve guessed?"

You frowned at him, processing this new information. "Shane, could you please stop trying to change the damn topic for a moment? This isn’t about Jim right now! Just tell me if you’re serious about Daryl sneaking around my tent!"

"Relax, relax! But yeah," Shane laughed and shook his head. "I mean, Daryl’s always been a bit of a freak, but that... that was something else. Fucking creep."

You bit your lip, feeling confused. "I don’t know, Shane. I mean, sure, he’s rough around the edges, like Dale pointed out before too, but..."

"But? But what?" Shane asked, raising an eyebrow. 

You hesitated, then sighed. "It’s a little stupid, okay? But when I first got here, I kind of had a fleeting thing for him. But not for long; I mean, I didn’t know anybody around here; you were all just strangers, so of course I didn’t know what he’s actually like."

Shane’s face quickly showed disbelief and a bit of anger. "You’re shitting me, right? That piece of shit who literally told us to drown? You had a crush on him?"

You shook your head, feeling quite embarrassed. "No, listen, it wasn’t exactly a crush! Please, don't call it a crush, okay? I simply thought there was more to him, you know? Maybe under all that anger, there’s someone who… cares."

Shane shook his head, his jaw clenched so tight that you could see his muscles twitch while he was gritting his teeth. "You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That hillbilly dipshit? He doesn’t care about anyone but himself, just like his brother Merle. And now he’s got you thinking he’s some kind of misunderstood hero? That piece of shit couldn’t even fit into the anti-hero category if he wanted to! I already told Lori and Carol to keep Carl and Sophia away from him and his brother! Because they’re both a bad influence!"

"It’s not like that, Shane! I know he’s very difficult, but..." You started, but he cut you off once more.

"But nothing!" Shane snapped. "God, you sound just like Dale! Please now, just listen to me. You deserve better than that. Someone who actually gives a damn about you. Not some freaking weirdo who creeps around your tent at night. I know that I should’ve told you sooner, and I’m sorry. But you think Daryl’s going to change just because Merle’s probably dead? Nah. He’s just going to keep treating you and all of us like shit. But I’m here, and I actually care about you and the rest of us. And I did care right from the start."

You shook your head, feeling overwhelmed by his words. "Shane, please, this really is turning into an awkward conversation right now. I just need some time to think and not a motivational coach with a shotgun and a fishing rod."

"Fine. But just remember what I said. Daryl’s not the guy you think he is." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "And you know what? The two of you are a perfect pair of fuckin’ clichés. The tough redneck guy and the naive dreamer princess. It’s pathetic."

You hesitated, unsure of how to continue the conversation. "Okay, okay, I got it! Stop! I meant to ask you a different question anyway! About a flower I found by my tent. Did you leave it there for me?"

Shane shook his head. "Me? Leaving you a flower? No. Don’t have time for that. I have to keep this group safe, after all."

You sighed, feeling a bit of relief. "I know, I know, it's just that... Jacqui thought it might've been you. Guess she was wrong."

Shane shrugged nonchalantly, not wanting to talk any further. "Yeah, well, let’s just finish up here and head back."

A short time later, you and Shane packed up your gear and headed back to the camp, where the rest of the group, apart from Daryl, was already sitting around the campfire and talking. about the usual things, all the while you couldn’t stop thinking about what Shane had told you as you stared into the fire.

And as the night finally fell over the Atlanta camp, Daryl found himself in the shadows and lost in thought. He had withdrawn from the group throughout the rest of the day, thinking about how Shane and your fishing trip had annoyed him and left him feeling more than just pissed.

He moved quietly through the trees, his steps almost making little to no sound while his mind was full of conflicting thoughts, each one more chaotic than the last. He was still angry with himself over everything that had happened—his rage towards you, Shane’s arrogant attitude, and his own pushed-away emotions that he couldn't really ignore.

Standing by the edge of your tent, he looked around to make sure he was alone and out of sight before he crouched down, pulling out a small bundle from his pocket—another wildflower, the exact kind that you liked so much.

"Fuckin' ridiculous," he mumbled to himself and snorted. "Here I am, sneakin' 'round like some kind of goddamn lunatic."

He put it gently on the ground, just near the entrance of your tent, where you had to notice it one way or another. His fingers moved along the petals of the flower as if it could somehow help him feel better with his guilt. "Goddamn it, Daryl," he whispered to himself. "Ya really fucked it all up, like ya always do. Stompin' on 'em flowers like a fuckin' idiot. What were ya even thinkin'?"

His eyes narrowed as he remembered how he had responded and how he had used his insults and rage to try to push you away. "Ya didn’t mean it," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Ya were just so pissed off. Shane’s up her ass all day, and ya had to be the one who’s had to do somethin'. Hell, she's gonna think it was him now anyway, with the way he’s been actin' 'round her, that's for damn sure."

He stood up, avoiding stepping on the flower. "But ya know what? It ain’t 'bout him. 'S 'bout yerself, ya fuckin' idiot. Ya can’t just keep watchin' her and expectin' her to see ya for the piece of shit ya really are."

He looked around when he heard a noise, seeing you coming from a distance, and quickly moved to hide behind a nearby tree. His heart was racing in his chest; adrenaline and shame were rushing through his body, but he couldn’t let you see him; he couldn’t let you know that he was here, after all.

Daryl crouched down low, pressing his back against the bark of the tree he was leaning against. "Every damn night," he whispered quietly, "watchin’ her shadow. Shit, she doesn’t know. Fuckin’ hell, if she knew... I’m a goddamn creep. But I can’t stop. I just—I need to see her. Need to know she’s there."

His eyes followed you as you got closer, but he didn’t move. He was observing you and watching to see if you would notice the flower immediately, or if you wouldn’t until the next morning.

"She’s gotta know it’s me," Daryl thought, his mind racing and his body beginning to sweat all of a sudden. "She’s suspicious already. Can’t let her know the real reason why. She’d hate me for it."

His knuckles went white as he clenched his fists tightly. "I’m a fuckin’ idiot. That’s what I am. Tryin’ to make it right with damn flowers, but I’m still the asshole who’s watchin’ her like a damn perv. She’s got no idea," he whispered to himself again. "No fuckin’ clue what’s really goin’ on. Hell, if anyone 'round here knew, they’d run me outta camp. Can’t have that. Don’t want her to know; don’t want anyone to know."

"Why’d ya let things go this far?" He continued to tell himself. "Why’d ya let yerself get so fuckin' close to her? Ya think she’s gonna understand why yer such a fuckin' creep? Fuck, think again."

As you opened your tent, Daryl's eyes were watching you with nervousness. Even though he knew it was wrong, he was unable to accept the fact that he had been watching you most of the time at night, unable to take his eyes off your tent.

"Ain't gonna make excuses," he muttered. "Been an asshole, and I know it. Been watchin' her—sometimes even more than I should. Fuckin' hate myself for it. Every damn time I see her, she reminds me that I’m a damn bastard, and I can’t stand it."

Thoughts of how he had treated you kept coming back again and again to his mind. "I act like I don’t give a shit, but I do. Hell, I care more than I wanna admit. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so goddamn hard on her. Dunno. Maybe I thought it’d keep me from feelin'... this way."

Daryl stayed right where he was, watching you leave your tent open as you eventually got inside. "Fuck," he whispered to himself. "This ain't right. She deserves better than this. Deserves someone who’s not a fuckin' creep. Can’t help it. I keep comin' back here, leavin' these stupid fuckin' flowers, hopin' she might see some part of me that’s not completely fucked up."

He sighed, feeling his thoughts pressing down on him. "Yer a mess, Dixon. And ya know it. Yer leavin' flowers to try to make up for yer own damn behavior, and it ain't ever gonna be enough."

Upon entering your tent, you did notice the flower that was lying by the entrance. In fact, the flower was too familiar, and the thought of Daryl lurking around nearby made you shiver, but you didn’t acknowledge the flower directly. Rather, you purposefully chose to ignore it because Shane's remarks regarding Daryl had made you feel a little uneasy, which you could not quite shake, but it also somehow excited you to no end.

"Alright, let’s make this good, and let’s see if he really is sneaking around here," you then murmured to yourself with a smirk on your lips as you thought about your plan. "I’m gonna give him a show he won’t forget anytime soon."

You began to undress slowly, your fingers sliding over your skin as you glanced at the open gap of the tent, a deliberate choice to keep it ajar.

"Is this what you want, Daryl?" You whispered to yourself as you pulled off your shirt and slid your jeans down. "Do you want to see me like this?"

With every piece of clothing that you let fall to the ground, the blush on your cheeks turned redder. The thought of him possibly watching you from the shadows, all hidden and quiet, made you shiver with excitement and nervousness, because of the other dangers that might be hidden in the shadows. “Don’t think about anything else right now; I’m safe. I’m safe.”

Your fingers fumbled with the hooks of your bra, and you let it fall from your shoulders before you squeezed your breasts with your hands, the feeling of your fingertips brushing over your hardening nipples making you moan. "Look at me," you murmured, "see how I’m touching myself, how I’m getting so fucking wet because of you right now."

Your hand slid down your stomach, your fingers sliding into your panties, with the wetness of your pussy making you gasp as you started to rub your clit in slow circles. "You like this, don’t you? Watching me at night, knowing I’m thinking of you?"

You soon pulled your panties down your legs and tossed them aside, showing yourself off completely before you laid down and spread your legs, giving a full view of your wet pussy. With two fingers, you traced the outer folds before slipping them inside, letting out a quiet moan. "I know you’re out there," you whispered, "watching every fucking move I make."

As you began to fuck yourself slowly, your other hand continued to pinch and tease your nipples. "I can almost feel your eyes on me," you mumbled, "watching as I fuck myself. Is it turning you on, Daryl? I bet you're already so fucking hard."

You added another finger inside, curling them slightly to stretch yourself more and tease your G-spot with each thrust. "I bet you’re dying to feel what this is like," you taunted quietly, "to be so so fucking deep inside me right here, right now."

Your fingers moved faster, your hips moving in time with the thrusts of your fingers, and you were already getting closer to the edge just by thinking about the fact that Daryl was probably watching you. "I bet you’re imagining how fucking tight I’d be around you," you moaned. "I know you’re just as fucking turned on as I am."

Among the trees, Daryl remained hidden in the shadows. His eyes were locked on you, unable to look away even as his heart pounded violently in his chest. The way your fingers moved over your breasts, the playful, almost desperate way you touched your hard nipples—it drove him wild, and the image of you parting your pussy and pushing your fingers into yourself was nearly unbearable. Every little movement you made seemed to burn itself into his mind.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mumbled while his gaze shifted a bit as he attempted to stand up from his position without making a sound. He forced himself to remain motionless, but his hand went almost automatically to his zipper.

The simple sight of you, all naked, completely defenseless, and so vulnerable, was making him lose his mind. He could see how your body tensed and arched with every touch, and his eyes tracked every movement of your fingers as they slid in and out of your pussy.

"Fuck, not again; why’m I doin' this?" Daryl grumbled to himself, trying to ignore the throbbing of his cock inside his pants. "This ain’t right. She’s right there, and I’m just—fuck!"

He glanced down at his own body, his cock pushing hard against his pants. It wasn't easy to ignore the pulsing need that was building up inside him—a need that seemed to only grow with every quiet moan you let out. His heart was racing, and he could feel the sweat starting to run down his forehead.

Daryl’s fingers fumbled with the zipper of his pants; he was trying to calm himself down at first, but the sight of you getting yourself off was making it nearly impossible to think straight. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he muttered again, struggling to keep his breathing steady. "Ya can’t just give in. Not yet. Ya gotta keep control."

He watched you spread your legs wider, your fingers moving faster now, and it was all he could do to keep himself from making any noise. His eyes locked onto the way your body responded—how your hips bucked with each thrust of your fingers.

"Look at her. She’s so fuckin' beautiful," Daryl let out quietly. "So damn hot, and here I am, just watchin'. Like some sick fuckin' perv."

With a quiet, frustrated growl, he tried to regain control of himself, his hands clenching more tightly. Even though his cock was begging for attention, he was unable to let himself go.

"Keep it together, Dixon," he told himself, his voice trembling. "Yer not gonna just—give in. Not yet. Not like this. She’s... she’s right there. Goddamn it! Fuck!"

But Daryl's control was breaking fast, each breath that he took only making it harder to keep his impulses in check, and it was pushing him past the point of no return. The temptation was just too great, and he couldn't control himself any longer. His hands, which had been clenched tightly into fists, now finally moved to undo the zipper of his pants.

His cock sprang free, the sight of it being so hard making him shudder, and the moment his hand wrapped around it, he let out a quiet groan.

"Goddamn it," he mumbled, his voice full of frustration and lust as he started to stroke himself slowly. "She's gonna fuckin' kill me."

He couldn’t help but imagine your hands being on him—almost in the same way that you were touching yourself. He could hear your every moan, every breath, every whimper, and it only made him grip his cock tighter, his strokes becoming faster and more needy.

"I bet ya like that, don’t ya?" He grumbled to himself. "I bet ya fuckin' know I’m here."

It was impossible for him to ignore how badly he wanted to be the one touching you, to be the one making you sigh and moan for him.

"Jesus," he panted out and gasped. "Ya just keep fuckin' doin’ that, don’t ya, princess? Fuckin' hell..."

Struggling to remain silent, his free hand felt for the tree next to him, and he pressed it against the bark to steady himself. Though he was getting close to the edge and the tip of his cock was coated with pre-cum, he was determined not to cum just yet.

"Damn it, Dixon," he hissed at himself. "Look at ya, gettin' off to this all over again. Yer a fuckin' mess. Fuckin' pathetic."

There was still a part of him that wanted to stop, and he battled the shame and guilt that was building up and rising within him. But as your moans grew slightly louder and as you suddenly whispered his name into the darkness, it only pushed him further into his own desperate need.

"Hell’s she sayin'?" Daryl mumbled to himself, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus and concentrate on your voice. "Shit, she’s sayin' my fuckin' name..."

The sound of his name on your lips, even if it was only a silent whisper, made his cock twitch and pulse, and his strokes became more urgent with the intense need to finally cum.

"Fuckin' hell," he growled, his breathing coming out even more uneven. "She's gonna make me lose my shit. Just... just keep talkin', princess."

The way you were saying his name, the thought of you knowing he was watching, made it impossible for him to stay still. Finally, he couldn’t resist any longer. He stepped closer, his throbbing cock in hand, and let out a growl to make you notice him as he slipped inside your tent. "Ya really thought ya could just tease me like this?"

With your fingers still buried deep inside of you, your eyes snapped open. "Daryl?" Even though you knew that he was watching you, you let out a gasp, and your voice trembled slightly.

"Yeah," he said, taking another step closer. There was something else that turned him on even more than just the shock he could see in your eyes. "Thought ya could put on a private show for me, huh?"

You swallowed hard, your eyes never leaving his as he stood directly over you, his cock still hard and pulsing with every stroke of his hand. "A show?" You asked, your voice sounding a little shaky.

"Damn right. A show," he answered with a small smirk. "With me seein’ everythin'. Couldn’t stay away."

You pulled your fingers out of your pussy and tried to stand up, but Daryl pushed you back down with one of his boots on your shoulder. "Stay where ya are," he growled. "Don’t ya dare stop."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as you looked up at him, your heart racing. The realization about the rawness of the moment hit you, and you nodded slowly, your fingers sliding back into your pussy as you lay back down in your tent. Your eyes were locked onto his, and he could see the mixed feelings of shock, excitement, and lust in your gaze.

Daryl’s hand soon moved in rhythm with yours again, his strokes becoming faster and more urgent as he watched you. The sight of you, so shameless and wet for him, made him lose himself even more. "Ya know," he said, his voice still low and rough. "Ain't thought I’d see this day. With yer all spread out like this, knowin' I’m here, watchin' ya fuckin’ yerself. 'S a damn mindfuck."

You moaned in response, your fingers working in and out of your pussy with an increasing speed of your thrusts. "And you think you can just walk in here?" You taunted back and teased him. "You think you’re gonna get what you want, Dixon?"

Daryl’s eyes never left yours, his cock throbbing with need. "Ain't just here for the damn show," he growled. "I’m here to fuckin' claim ya. Ya got that?"

Your eyes widened, and you barely held back a loud moan, your fingers pushing deeper into your pussy. "And what makes you think I’ll just let you?" You challenged him back, your eyes wandering from his cock to his face again.

"Oh, I think ya fuckin' will," Daryl said, his voice full of confidence. "'Cause I fuckin' want to. And it’s my turn to take what I want."

Every movement, every quiet moan, and every word you both whispered to each other heightened the lust and need for the both of you. Daryl’s strokes on his cock became more frantic, and he could feel his orgasm building, the pressure in his balls growing with every stroke, but he was determined to hold off until he had fully taken in the sight of you.

"Gonna make sure ya know who’s watchin'," Daryl said quietly. "Gonna leave my mark on ya."

He positioned himself above you, and without saying another word, he pointed his cock at you, making sure that his cum would land where he wanted it to.

"I ain't done," he growled, his eyes locked on you. "Not yet."

He took another step closer, his hand still jerking his throbbing shaft, while his other hand reached out, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you up slightly, just enough to make you look at him with wide eyes.

"Do ya want me to finish like this?" He mumbled, his voice already hoarse. "Or do ya want me to make a fuckin' mess 'round here in yer tent?"

You didn’t have a chance to answer before he let go of your hair and moved his cock closer to your body again. He had seen enough, felt enough—he was on the edge and couldn’t hold it back any longer. With a low groan, he started to jerk himself off harder and faster, his eyes never leaving yours, and without warning, he came hard, his hips bucking wildly and his cum shooting out, landing across your body, most of it on your breasts and chin.

"Fuck," he muttered, still stroking his cock, but slowing down. "Look at ya. Just a fuckin' mess now."

You lay there, slowly pulling your fingers out of your pussy, your body covered with his cum. "You know," you suddenly started, your voice quiet but teasing. "You might be the first wildflower that might leave a thorn in my side."

A smirk formed itself on Daryl's lips due to the mention of the flowers, but it was quickly replaced by a look of embarrassment, and he shifted uncomfortably as he put his cock back into his pants. "Shut ya damn mouth, woman."

Without a word, he stepped forward, grabbed your head roughly by your hair, and yanked you up to meet his eyes. You couldn’t help but whimper as he was staring at you up and down, so dangerously close.

Daryl grinned at the noise you made and grabbed your neck with his other hand, the thumb going to your chin and gathering the rest of his cum that was slowly sliding down on it.

"Eat," he insisted, but before you could answer or protest in any way, he put his thumb against your lips and pushed it inside your mouth, waiting for you to suck it off.

And just as he pulled it out again, his mouth came crashing down on yours in a rough and primal kiss. It was demanding, and his teeth moved against your skin as he went down to the side of your jaw, sucking on every bit of flesh on his way down to your neck before biting down hard into it, leaving his mark.

His gaze then fell to your fingers, still glistening with the juices of your pussy, as he held you in a tight grip to keep you from falling due to your trembling legs. Slowly, teasingly, he reached out and brought your fingers to his mouth. His tongue slid over your skin, licking and sucking them off intensely, devouring every bit of what was left of you on them.

Daryl enjoyed the taste of you, and his eyes never left yours as he pulled back a little, his hand roughly grabbing your chin. "Don’t ya fuckin' forget this," he growled, letting go of you and watching as you stumbled back onto the ground in front of him before he finally turned to leave. "Yer mine in ways ya don’t even understand yet."

TAG-LIST: NONE. BECAUSE MY WRITING SUCKS.

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[Smoking, Mention of Alcohol Consumption, Mention of Death]

[5.2k words]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 10 "The Color"

“Good night, Mister.”

The audacity you possess gnawed at his gut, he was boiling, seething.

How dare you try to walk out on him? How dare you treat him like a common nobody when he’s kept you alive for so long now without asking for anything in exchange?

It’s easy to understand your perspective. You’ve been led to believe you were betrayed and you would have been if you hadn’t presented him with the taste of heaven. He couldn’t get rid of you after the honeyed dew of you and that pretty mouth trickled down his tongue. He was too addicted to the sight of just how much influence he had on you – all hazy eyes and twitching smile, foggy mind and grabby hands tugging at him as if he was an oasis in the desert. He was drunk on the power, writhing in delight at your willingness. He had you wrapped around his finger and he hadn’t even tried.

But then you slide off the windowsill and slowly walk away, towards the door, try to leave him. It was then that he realized you had just as much of a chokehold on him as he had on you if not more.

He didn’t mean to grab you by the hair, he just reached out to stop you. Then you hissed and whirled around to bite him and his internal monologue to persuade himself into seeing things from your eyes dissipated. He’d had enough of your tantrum, he was nurturing a missing kidney because of you.

You weren’t going fucking anywhere.

He snarled at you and jostled you still and silent, spat a few venomous words he wasn’t too proud of and tossed you on the bed.

Be mad all you want, you weren’t fucking leaving him. You had no right to deprive him of the little comfort he’d found.

Sleep did not come that night, it didn’t come for many nights after. He’d spent the quiet hours daydreaming about being the cause for Mitzie’s disappearance. As days blurred into weeks, he became more and more agitated because no matter how much he drank or indulged in chems, he couldn’t fall unconscious. Not when he couldn’t feel you pressed into him and sleeping off the exhaustion of your travels. He’d be so close to slumber, about to slack and doze off, then he’d be startled awake because the lingering smell of lavender and the heat against his chest wasn’t there. He’d bolt upright, look around in delirium, ready to shower the world with bullets because his first thought was that you were kidnapped.

No, you were right there, a few feet away with your back turned to him. You were there, you just refused to touch him.

No more tugs at his coat, they’d been so annoying, he’d ripped his sleeve away as soon as he’d felt them, now he missed them. No more huddling together at night with the excuse of it being cold, no handholding, no loving glances. You weren’t trying to be in direct contact with any part of him you could get your hands on, you didn’t try to strike small talk while you mapped out the wasteland, no more stupid questions, no pleading for him to tell you stories when you camped down for the night.

He was alone, felt like it, the only indicator for that being false was you walking silently behind him, a presence in his shadow, another thumping heart around the campfire. Other than that, there was nothing.

It was agonizing, nerve-wracking, infuriating, but he was too stubborn to try and fix it. He was too prideful to soothe the aftermath of the turmoil he had caused. He tells himself time heals all, you’ll be right back to being a nuisance in a day or two, he comforts his gaping chest and bleeding ribs with those hopeful thoughts, stifles the annoying little critter reaching for you. His heart? No, something else. He had no heart left to give, but something akin to a heart was cradled in the crevice of his ribcage and he’d be willing to share it. If only you’d turn around and fucking look at him…

But the days roll on and you’re stoic in your silence, he’s not sure if it’s a wordless protest still or if you’ve just given up on him and are trying to figure out how to escape. The prickling possibility poisons his blood until he’s angry all over again, but he can’t say anything when you’ve made no such move.

It’s all a waiting game now.

It’s bothersome.

It’s skin-boiling.

It’s –

“ – Mister!”

He blinks at the call and what had been jumbled letters and fake scenarios disperses to give way to a darkening horizon and a mountain of muddy green clouds. The sound of distant thunder echoes in the deserted field you’ve been crossing today and he finally acknowledges the stinging gust of wind licking at his face.

He catches your strained expression as you struggle to bring in a sheet with all that you’ve managed to scavenge for your current occupation.

“Shit.”

A monstrous radstorm creeps your way, lumbering warningly and eating away at the once clear blue sky. Braving it is a lost cause for him, let alone a small smooth-skin like you.

Cooper isn’t one to turn back, but with the path forward cut off with acidic rain ravaging anything that breathes, for once he’s willing.

With a grunt, he snuffs out his cigarette, turns from the approaching apocalypse to you, pushes you aside, and grips the sheet of provisions before dragging it inside the moldering shack that will be your salvation for the next few days. With the need to not be useless pumping through your blood, you burden yourself with your backpack and the ghoul’s pack over each shoulder before stumbling inside and kicking the door shut behind you.

The windows, glassless, are already conveniently boarded up; that’s one less thing to worry over. The latch on the door is too flimsy to survive the storm, both you and Cooper come to realize that quickly when you slide it shut and it nearly breaks off into your hand, having been worn and eaten by rust and bad weather for countless years. The heap of supplies is left to roll around in a pile on the ground as you’re ushered aside.

Another strained grunt comes from the ghoul as he fights against the barren bookcase positioned in one corner of the room. He pushes it towards the door, topples it over, and presses his full body weight against it to slot it neatly against the wall.

As the shack begins to creak under the cutting pressure of the wind, you make haste for the bathroom. Having mapped out the place already, you’d been pleasantly surprised to find a bathtub intact – a decent place to build a little nest for the duration of the storm, away from both the radiation rain and Cooper. There was a used-to-be-teal couch in the main room and you were almost certain he’d bunk on that and leave you to your peace.

You were wrong.

As you drape a flimsy, dirty blanket over the tub to make for your mattress, heavy boots can be heard thudding against the wooden floorboards and before long, you aren’t alone anymore.

“Door’s secured.” Cooper voices out, a meek attempt at conversation, as he leans against the doorframe and crosses both arms and legs before he looks down at you. His hat is off, discarded somewhere on his way to you, as if to shed some mental barrier he’s kept up to give you the chance to step foot inside an invisible crater left gaping after your quarrel. It was a heartwrenching gesture, you weren’t oblivious to his subtle attempts at trying to stoke the fire that now lay dead between you two.

But you were having none of it.

With a curt nod and not raising your gaze from making your bed, you acknowledge his statement, wishing to keep it simple and wordless.

Maybe it was your first proper tragedy of betrayal that kept you tongue-tied, or that you simply didn’t know how to interact with a stranger because that’s what he’d become once the veil had been pulled away from your eyes. Betrayal, it was the sort of dull ache that burrowed deep and ate at you like a worm did an apple, it was something you still struggled to swallow. Microanalyzing every past experience and interaction with the ghoul had become a pastime activity and the more you delved, the darker the general picture became.

He wasn’t a savior, the man was straight up a textbook abuser and you were his unfortunate target for the time being. But your predicament prevented you from simply walking out on him, you’d not survive alone even after months of scouring the wasteland. You scorned your fragility and lack of self-sustainability, if you’d not been constantly sick back at your vault you would have learned to handle a weapon at the very least. Now, you didn’t know how to hold a knife properly, let alone a firearm, not that there was any easily accessible one lying about.

The ghoul was your best bet and as much as you rebelled against the thought, a part of you was unwilling to walk away even if the current obstacles for not doing so weren’t there.

“You hate me now?”

The storm is above your heads now, you can hear the patter of rain against the weather-beaten roof, and the green-tinted grimness of the world outside casts dramatic shadows on Cooper through the cracks of the boarded-up windows. But for once, he doesn’t look like the Grim Reaper, no, he depicts a man distraught, but with enough masculine pride to hide it well. The whole situation seems like an exaggerated drama series, the culmination had passed already, and you didn’t have the mental strength to go through another.

You didn’t stand a chance in another verbal fight, not when he was prone to spit venom in your face and there was no alcohol to dull your aching heart, no Bucky to offer you warmth and slobbery comfort.

Fingers still over the bundle of rags you’d planned to wrestle into a pillow, eyes dart up to look him over well, taking in the lines in his face that seemed to deepen the longer your silence persists.

“What?”

That’s all you can manage to blurt out as you blink at him owlishly.

“Is good t’ hate, Darlin’.” he speaks softly, the rasp in his voice nearly unnoticeable, and tilts his head to the side, returning your gaze with something akin to pity. “It’ll keep you alive longer.”

“Why would you ask me that?” you feel insulted; it shows clearly as spring water in your intonation. There’s a shift in your features, from neutrality to confusion and then slowly – hurt. The difference in height bothers you at that moment, you feel like a small child about to be given a reality check and your first instinct is to shrink away. Instead, you stand, despite your wobbly knees protesting to stay put and not move and hope that it’ll all be over soon.

But you are no child. You’re a grown woman, you can, have to, stand on your feet and stand your ground even if you smell another argument brewing. You can’t run, you refuse to succumb to his intimidating stance, to the way he’s crossed every limb to lock you out and seem more distant than he actually is.

If he dared to ask you such a question, then you would have the audacity to stand up to him for once.

“Don’ snuggle with me at night no more.” Cooper shrugs at both your question and the saggy expression you give him, he’s casual despite the hoarseness of his voice deepening. “You rather the cold bite yer ass than come anywhere near me now.”

The bathroom you’d chosen as your occupation was dark, windowless, the only light came from the open door where the ghoul stood. He looked like a deathly angel coming to retrieve and deliver you to better times, better lands. He looked soft despite his best efforts to keep a protective barrier between the two of you.

Typically, you’d already be watery-eyed and stumbling to him. You’d wrap your arms around his chest and bury your nose in the crook of his neck and soothe him tenderly that everything was fine, that he was more important to you than a fight, that betrayal could be fixed and trust rebuilt. You wanted to… but it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong – being close to him, smiling at him, touching him.

You just couldn’t. Something deep in your core stopped you, thrashed at the very thought of forgiveness and letting your guard down.

But in truth, you didn’t hate him, you couldn’t.

“I wanted to give you space…” you answer, this time with more than monotony, there’s a pang of spice in your words, a disgust at holding affections for a married man, understanding for his conscious decision of letting you in despite not being fully yours, and a sliver of hurt for being held in the dark for so long. “If I’d known you had a family I would have never overstepped.”

“Did I ever say I wanted space?”

His quip is sharp; it quickly dashes through the air before your own words have dissipated into nothingness.

You’re silent, the moisture leaves your throat and mouth and your tongue sticks to your teeth as you clench and unclench your jaw. Wide eyes stare at him, almost unblinking despite the heavy presence of dust particles all around you. The raging storm is drowned out by the screeching in your ears as your pulse picks up speed. You try to swallow, but end up only flexing your neck.

“You didn’t say anything about having a family either.”

It’s a nasty statement, a defensive hiss emitted more to remind yourself that you aren’t the one in the wrong rather than spur him on, but it does both.

“My family ain’t none o’ your fuckin’ concern.” the spaces where his brows used to be locked together, accentuated his skull-like appearance. His jaw tightened at your mention, it was a sickening subject for him and you were well aware, but that didn’t stop you from resorting to it when he attempted to balm over things without offering a simple apology.

In truth, that was all you needed, to see him honestly remorseful for stringing you along. You didn’t want his autobiography, his entire life’s story, all you needed were little bits of information to keep in your lane and be aware of the proper way to treat him – whether father figure, romantic interest, or simply a guardian.

But he was too stubborn for that. Cooper would rather you learn the hard way, via action over word, a stranger over his own voice. He’d rather you struggle because of his inability to open up and a part of you didn’t fault him, the poor man had been through hell. So had you, though, you’d lost everything, more than him. At least he had a family somewhere out there, you, on the other hand, had nothing. You were worse than him and still you were burdened with being the beacon of light, the source of vulnerability and softness.

It wasn’t fucking fair…

You were sick of the one-sided exchange.

“Mister…” you sigh in defeat and your features scrunch in subtle regret, a hint of empathy illuminated in your dilated pupils. You give him a small frown and take a tiny step forward as your hands reach up to rub at your exposed arms in self-comfort. It wasn’t easy talking about any of this despite how many times you’d lead repertoires in your head.

“Cooper.” the ghoul corrects, acting like you addressing him by anything aside from his name was the biggest insult you could have used. He’s all taut muscles and stiff shoulders, curled fingers digging into the leather of his coat and making it squeak under the strain.

He’s more distraught at your distance than the mention of his family and it breaks your already wounded heart. It gives you the illusion that maybe you are special to him and this wasn’t just a farce, it beats at the walls you’d raised around your naïve affection for him. You’re crumbling before him and you don’t even notice, too caught up in his display of pain to realize it might be just another theatric. Or maybe you just didn’t care if it was.

Bright green lightning strikes close to your rickety sanctuary, it makes the grown beneath your feet tremble and you would have winced away, crawled to a corner, and hid with your hands over your ears until all was calm again. Not now, though, now everything is blocked out. The whole shack might be ripped from above your head and you might not even register it.

It’s just you and him in your cesspool of corporeal need and pain, of words unsaid because neither of you knows when the right time to say them is. The gloomy light from outside creeping through the windows, the dust particles big enough to resemble snowflakes. It all makes him look heavenly, albeit in a very peculiar, unsettling way.

But what wasn’t peculiar and unsettling in the world you lived in?

“Why can’t you be glad I’m putting your happiness before my own?” the words slip past your chapped lips before you register them, hang in the air heavily, and go straight for his gut. There’s an unwavering calmness to your expression now, a friendly, empathetic, even maternal delicateness as you speak. “I want to find your family as much as you do, what’s important to you is important to me.”

It’s painful to him, your lack of self-preservation, your denial of selfishness, it complicates his situation. If you were simply a brat and lashed out at him, he could just leave without regret, but even in your sorrow you kept giving, not material things to ease his life, emotional acceptance that fed his soul, healed the rotten inside of his being. It was addictive, it became the same as oxygen to him and it sewed you to his very skin, he couldn’t get rid of you without leaving a piece of himself with you.

Stupid girl. His little angel…

“I’m not asking you for anything, I’m not having a hissy fit, I’m pleading for an explanation. I’m trying to be selfless and support you and you’re being – ” you gesture towards his stiff, blocked-off pose, his crossed arms and tipped head, stiff jaw, and ridged shoulders. “ – like this.”

You’re ruthless in your soft assault, berating him with kindness and gentle words. It sucks the marrow out of his bones, leaves him soft and weak and needy when he sees the shine in your eyes as tears start to form. He’s not a gentle soul, though, he doesn’t pull you in his arms to soothe your woes and hush you before you start sobbing. Instead, he scoffs with malice.

“Like what?” his tone is biting because he knows no other way, having forgotten what being soft on someone was like. Kindness and comfort are foreign to him still, even if you’d made it your mission to rekindle his humanity before and had done so somewhat successfully in the past few months. He was still a rookie in the field and when it came to him exposing his feelings, everything turned into red alert. He shut down.

Or maybe there was nothing there and you were simply projecting and deluding yourself because you so desperately needed something to cling to in such trying times. It was maddening to think about and so you pushed the doubt away into the crevices of your subconscious and instead thrust your blind faith in him.

“Break for me…Please, break for me…Just this once…”

“Like an asshole.” you spit out, nearly choking with strain as a vein bulges in your neck. Like a good mirror, his malice reflects in you; your brows lower, your lips thin in a line and your teeth shine from beneath. “I didn’t do anything bad. Why are you acting like this?”

Your stance is nearly prowling, bent back and knees ready to pounce at nothing in particular. Cooper wanted to laugh at the sight because despite your unfriendly demeanor, your voice, like always, betrayed you. It was still a soft lullaby, contrasted with your sharp look, and gave away too much you’d tried to hide behind an angry mask.

You were bad at acting, even worse at lying. It was a good thing in his eyes.

Irritation bubbled up his throat at your devotion to him. Even when in pain, even after he’d hid so much from you, you still couldn’t be truly angry at him and it pissed him off to no end. Too pure for this world, your sorrow derived from the unsettled conflict, not his revolting actions towards you. It was sickening, he hated you with every fiber of his being because you were him two hundred years ago.

He didn’t mean to let it out on you.

His turmoil was his to handle alone and with a smoke and a few gulps of whiskey he would have snuffed it out. You were never meant to be the battering ram for his emotional invalidity, but you were standing there waiting for him, for some sort of comeback to turn your monologue into an actual conversation.

He felt mournful only after he’d gripped you by the neck and stuffed his face in yours, his spit flying over your cheeks and chin as he snarled like a rabid dog.

“Because you’re my happiness.”

Your face pales with fright at first and he can see his own degraded reflection in your watery eyes, it’s not a pretty sight. Your features are frozen in a blasphemous mix of fear and so much more once his words begin to register and it’s by pure chance that the tears don’t spill right away.

You’re clinging to his wrist, nails dug into his rubbery skin at first to loosen the death grip he has on your hair, then simply holding on as he forces himself to appear to you in a different light, a softer light despite his rough handling.

“You’re my fuckin’ happiness. My only happiness.”

It wasn’t enough to spit self-indulgent love in your face that felt like a knife right through your stomach, he had to toss you aside right after like you were worthless.

You stumble with a whimper and grab at the wall behind you, flat palms pressing firmly against the peeling wallpaper to steady your footing.

Cooper storms out, kicks the door shut behind you, and leaves you in utter darkness, his heavy boots echoing and drawing distance until the only noise is the deaf storm and your shaky breathing. You slide down until your bum is resting on the dirty floor, weep softly for what feels like hours, let it all out in one go after a long time of keeping everything bottled up. Regretful of not speaking sooner, of letting things fester because of your own stubbornness, because for once you want him to approach you and not the other way around.

Now you’re left alone sobbing in a dingy bathroom.

Your hands card through your hair, fingers sunken in your scalp to try and ground you, calm you down in a way as your face lay stuffed in your knees. Your tears soak the fabric of your tights, and leave stains you hope won’t be noticeable when you go after the ghoul.

Was he kind and you just asked for too much? Was he complicated or were you just stupid? Was this love? Were you supposed to fight for him or let him be free of your burdensome existence? Were his words more lies or was he being truthful?

You sniffle back the tears and wipe your cheeks, deciding that if he notices your puffy eyes, you’ll blame it on the dust. With a small grunt, you stand and dust off your dress before clearing the wet gunk from your throat and taking a confident breath.

You could fix this. You can talk like adults. You can figure something out.

And so you venture out into the corridor, making as little noise as possible and you’re gentle when you close the door behind you.

The storm outside rages on and you see a few puddles of acid water on the floorboards, droplets dribble through the cracks in the ceiling, you avoid them, ignore your despicable reflection in them when you pass by. Another lightning strike and this time you’re more aware and squint, but keep moving forward. The house creeks, nearly sways from the winds, and your drive to find Cooper is no longer solely based on easing his irritation, but also on seeking comfort in his presence if all were to crumble over your heads.

If today was to be your last day together, you wanted to die on good terms with him and maybe in another life, you’d get a second chance to be happy together.

Your nose scrunches at the thought, a foul taste in your mouth, bittersweet. You dismiss the gloom over your mind as best you can and round a corner to the main room where you find him. You halt, slide a hand on the doorframe, and peek at him silently, debating whether approaching would be volatile or not.

He’s sitting on the couch, an old whiskey bottle by his boot. His elbows rest on his knees as a lit cigarette wastes away between his fingers, you can smell it from your spot, the pungent aroma too distinct and frequent to pass by you unnoticed. His back is bent, his hat back on his crown.

Maybe he knows you’re staring and doesn’t care enough to acknowledge you, maybe he’s too deep in the sea of thought to register anything outside the storm raging in his head.

You swallow snot, thankfully the tears have dried, and slowly, cautiously make your way to him. You sit beside him, your knees brush, but he doesn’t do anything to indulge or deny the contact so you continue in your need for him. Small hands wrap around his arm as you wordlessly rest your head against his shoulder and sigh something heavy.

When he presses his cheek against your crown you stiffen, clutch at the sleeve of his coat and scoot a little closer, glad to be welcome instead of chased away as you’d feared. Your foot grazes against his, both pairs planted firmly against the floorboards, it brings you comfort, always has no matter how dire the situation at hand.

It takes time to find your voice again and when you do it’s a weak shell of its normal state.

“Is it bad that I’m in love with you?”

He takes his time to contemplate and you’re left in suspense, but as long as he lets you cling to him, you don’t mind. You feel him eventually nod against your hair and a gentle pat is given to your knee to affirm the answer to come. His motions bring dreadful information, you wish his next word would be different, but you’re no fool and right now you’re too tired to be delusional.

“Yeah…” he whispers, voice roughened and battered from mouthfuls of alcohol and lungs filled with smoke. There’s a distance to his gaze as his eyes stay glued to the stray, empty can of beans in one corner of the room.

He’s not equipped for this, never thought he’d fall into such a situation even after he’d scorned his marriage and called it quits despite there being no actual divorce papers. He never thought the wasteland would gift him with something so precious to care for let alone hold his heart.

He doesn’t want to be loved, he doesn’t like the complications it comes with, but he’s left too weak to say no to it.

“What do I do then, Mister?”

It’s a genuine question, makes him smirk for half a second before his face falls again and the whirl of thoughts resurfaces tenfold. He nuzzles your head tenderly and the hand he rests on your knee squeezes as if he’s afraid you’ll stand any second, take your bag, and run away with the storm. A prerequisite for his words to come, his heartfelt advice from one survivor to another.

If only you were two simple survivors…

“Run.” he says so softly, but so powerfully, so sincerely. He wished you’d listen and rip away from him, be free of his torment, and find a settlement where to prosper. But he knows you, understands how you tick, he’s already poisoned you with the spilled blood of innocents, you even smell of cigarettes, no longer just lavender and sweat. “But you refuse.”

Poor little thing.

You’re his now even if he doesn’t want you. He’s yours now even if you refuse to believe it.

“Yeah…” you agree without debate, despite the negative implications his words carry.

You had no one, you were too deep in. What else were you supposed to do?

The ghoul pulls back then and you lift your head to look at him as your death grip on his arm loosens. You watch as he takes his hat off and places it on the backrest of the stained old couch before leaning down to your eye level.

Your lips part and you inhale, ready to mumble something out to fend off the quiet, but he beats you to it.

“I’m sorry.”

He kisses you then, latches onto your mouth with foreign gentleness, testing your resolve, tasting the bitterness of your tears, past and fresh. He pulls away just barely, enough to quickly wrestle out of his coat before draping it over the both of you.

“Cooper…”

He shushes you with another kiss, less gentle, more fervent, desperate even as he pushes you back until you’re lying down with your head tucked in one of his hands. You’re squished between him and the couch as he nestles between your thighs and lets his weight sink you into the cushions. You kiss him back, hidden beneath him and his coat.

His tongue slips past your lips without any resistance, finding yours, twirling around it, guiding it into a languid dance as you begin to tremble uncontrollably. His free hand finds each of your arms and moves them to encircle his neck where you hold and grip at with shaky fingers.

He cups your cheek and tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss. His lips are soft and tight, rubbed clean and delicate by the whiskey and you can taste it on his teeth. You’ve never craved that taste before in your life, for once alcohol is pleasant.

You mewl when his tongue leaves your mouth and he dips his face into the crook of your neck, cradling you carefully as he breathes you in and mouthes your sensitive skin sloppily. You breathe slowly and deliberately, trying to steady the pounding in your ears that deafens all but the rustling of his coat. You bite your bottom lip as uncertain sounds crawl up your throat and seek to escape.

And suddenly, the world has color again.

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Hello, lovelies!

It's been a long time since I posted an update, forgive me. Between work and uni, I've had my hands extremely full this summer. Updates will be slow, but I've not abandoned anything!

I don't know if there is still interest in this story, but if anyone reads: Hello! Good to see you! I hope you enjoy the end of the first arc!

More to come soon! Stay safe out there!

PS. If you're no longer interested in the story and you're a part of the tag list, don't be shy and let me know. I completely understand <3

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Masterlist

Tag list:

@bountydroid @windierhades @ultimatreality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x

@fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead @robin-the-enby @savanahc @whatthefuckkrichard

@lisnamavka @lomlbillieeilish @itsyellow @cloudroomblog

@skykaykay @i-just-like-to-read @landlockedmermaid77 @enaelyork @maeplaysbass

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@zloshy @skrzydlak

[satorusugurugurl]

may i request camping with kento plsss

The Wingman!

Summary: Marie’s Summer Fest prompt: Camping

Pairing: Nanami Kento x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: language, threats, confessions, fluff, dry humping

Word Count: 1,982

A/N: Thanks for the request, Nonnie! This was a fun super cute prompt! Ugh I love Nanami so much so precious!! 😩💚

You were going to kill the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. Despite his six eyes and limitless technique, you would find a way to kill Gojo. The cocky bastard found out you had liked none of me after walking by Shoko’s office and overhearing you, gushing about the glorious blonde that has stolen your heart.

He made it a point to help you get together with the seven-to-three ratio sorcerer. Gojo often asked you to meet him at the vending machines, only to find Nanami waiting instead. He would have Ijichi pick you up after the mission while Nanami was in the back of the car; he even went as far as locking you in the teacher's lounge together

Gojo had dubbed himself your wingman, and his first attempts to help you had been very innocent. This time he had gone too far.

The bastard had somehow talked Yaga into setting up a camping weekend for students. His reasoning was to let the kids be kids, which could help with their survival skills and team-building—all of which your boss fell for. At first, you were excited. You loved teaching the next generation of sorcerers, and your students always had a way of brightening your day. You sadly realized another reason for this trip, the second not standing in the woods waiting for everyone.

You were seconds away from bolting back to Campus when Gojo grabbed you by the back of your shirt, dragging you back to the group. “Alright, so we’re gonna go over sleeping arrangements.” Gojo went through the list of students before pointing towards himself.

“And our talisman teacher will be bunking with office-worker-dropout sorcerer Nanami Kento. While I’ll be chilling with Suguru!”

“I’m going to kill you.” You harshly whisper while the students begin setting up their tents.

“How could you say that after all the effort I put into giving you some alone time with Nanami?”

“Sleep with one eye open, you stupid cocky, arrogant—”

“Ooh~ keep talking, I'm getting close.”

You embedded your fist with cursed energy and slammed it against Gojo’s infinity, drawing out of the bark of laughter from the blindfolded asshole. Since punching him was out of the question, you stormed off to set up your tent with Nanami close behind you. Like always, he was courteous, insisting that he could put the tent up, but you declined, telling him that you needed to do something with your hands because murdering Gojo was impossible. To which he did something you’ve never heard; he laughed out loud.

Nanami’s laugh was warm and rich, leaving your stomach swarming with butterflies. You found yourself blankly, staring at him. Unaware of your staring, he grinned, shaking his head, as he leaned against a tree near him. That smile had all murderous intentions, floating down the river as his laughter fueled your drive for the night. Did the kids need firewood? You were off skipping through the woods to collect it. Suguru forgot to get the marshmallows out of the car for s’mores? No worries! Thinking of Nanami’s little headshake, you zoomed back to campus alone!

Thinking about his smile had you in a daze all evening. Even when you lay in the tent, staring off into space, you fought the urge to kick your feet as you thought about Nanami earlier. Your thoughts allowed a silence to grow between, but not awkward in an awkward way. It was almost smooth and comforting until he cleared his throat, drawing your focus towards him. Nanami had propped himself up on his elbow, still in his sleeping bag. His gaze was glued to the side of the tent as the soft flush dusted the tips of his ears

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“What?”

“I just wanted to apologize.” You sat up, watching as the Nanami Kento flushed his eyes, avoiding yours. “You’ve been distant today; you went to get firewood by yourself and went back to Campus alone.” he ran a hand down his face. “Gojo had told me you wouldn’t mind staying in a tent with me, but that man was wrong.”

“No—god, Kento, I’m sorry.” You rubbed awkwardly at your neck. “I’m not uncomfortable at all! I’ve been so giddy all day because of you, so I guess I just seemed distant because I was in my world.”

Nanami shifts in his sleeping bag, focusing his attention on you. “You’re giddy because of me?” There is no going back now; it is now or never.

“Yes, because of your laugh and your smile.”

Nanami just blinked momentarily before the same smile from earlier graced his lips as he lay down, shaking his head. “Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.” Your cheeks flushed down next to him. “So my smile, huh?” he cocked an eyebrow with a smirk.

“What can I say? I’m a simple woman.” Nanami chuckled softly, watching you closely. “You were really that worried I was uncomfortable?”

“Of course, you're the last person I’d ever want to make uncomfortable.”

“Oh, and why is that Kento?”

Honey brown eyes met yours as he inched closer. “Just like you, I get—“ he scoffed, “giddy around you.”

It felt hotter in the tent, so hot that you were kicking your sleeping bags down your legs, allowing you to inch yourself ever so closer to Nanami, freeing yourself from the confining blankets and, in a sense, the ropes that had metaphorically been holding you back. You moved closer. And you moved with the soft grind as you cut some of your hair behind your ear.

“Does the Nanami Kento like me?”

“If I said yes, what would you do?”

“Well, tell me, and you’ll find out.”

The sound of Nanami’s sleeping bag being unzipped and his smell invaded your space. “I like you.” You felt like the tension snapped in your shoulders as you jerked forward, cupping his face.

“I like you too.” Your lips pressed against his with a soft kiss. Ken didn’t flinch at the sudden intimate contact. Instead, he melted into it with his eyes shut. His hands slowly trailed up your arms, pulling you closer to him with a happy hum.

That small peck became more heated; Nanami’s teeth gently tugged at your bottom lip as he pulled you into his lap with a groan. You shifted your legs to straddle his hips, allowing you to grind against his. The taste of mint flooded the inside of your mouth, leaving you like putty in his arms while you ran your fingers through his soft, blonde hair, gently tugging at it by its roots.

“Haah~ shit.” Hearing a curse being breathed against your lips, you pulled away with a breathless laugh, leaving Nanami slightly frustrated at the sudden absence of your lips.

“Did you just curse?”

The man below you didn’t answer, and instead, he pushed you back against the sleeping bags, causing breath in your lungs to leave as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, allowing him to press himself directly against your crotch. “Yeah—“ he caught your lips with his and another heated kiss, “You’re going to be learning a lot more about me tonight, darling.” Almost all of Nanami’s weight presses down against you, and he begins rocking his hips against yours.

His erection pressed perfectly against your thin shorts; the seam in the middle of them hit your clit perfectly. Soft whimpers escaped your mouth and slipped into his as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down tighter against your body as you dry-humped each other like a couple of teenagers. The was flooded with soft grunts and moans along with the shuffling of clothes as you both pushed past the barrier of colleagues and friends into something more.

He couldn’t get over how good you smelled and how sweet you tasted against his lips, making him run faster, his hands gripping your hips and holding them down as he thrusts faster against your pussy. He wanted you, God, and he had wanted you for years! To finally have you underneath him was a dream come true. One that was, unfortunately, most likely going to end like the wet dreams he had had countless times before. Nanami couldn't help it, though, the feel of your body against his, the sweet sounds you were allowing to spill from your mouth into his, already him on the edge. He pulled away from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

“I’m sorry to admit this, but I’m not going to last very long.” He muttered, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a grunt.

“Me neither,” you whispered into his ear as your leg started to shake, “faster~ faster!”

Nanami obliged with a moan, rutting his hips faster against your teeth, clenched together, while you gasped, tilting your head back as the slow, steady grinding turned into a more feral, less synchronized pattern. It was turning into something that was more focused on the sweet relief of the building pressure that was going to burst. Sweat beaded on both you and Nanami’s forehead as his lips sucked and nipped at your sensitive neck, making you cry out softly.

Hearing your moans and feeling the way your clothed core twitched against his aching cock encouraged Nanami to grind his lips, moving harder, his fist digging into the blankets underneath as he threw his head back. The head of his cock rubbed frantically over your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. It was when your legs were wrapped around him that Nanami let his whole body hunched over yours as he moaned out loud.

“Cum, oh fuck I’m gonna—!!”

The way his hips rolled expertly against your clit, r your back arching off the ground as your eyes went wide. Both of you came at the same time, his hips stilling against yours for just a second before he thrusts frantically against you, drawing out both of your orgasms until you both that he finally stopped. You kissed each other lazily as your hands fisted the fabric of his shirt. As you closed, separating your bodies from each other, fingers running through your hair until you both broke apart and panting heavily.

“Ooh, shit—” Nanami said, planting several kisses against your cheek. “I feel like a teenager again.”

“Me too—” you giggled as Kento pulled away to smile down at you, fingers gently caressing your cheek. “You wanna do something else like a couple of teenagers?”

“Oh, and what do you have in mind??”

You sit up, grinning mischievous as you toss him his shoes. “Let’s blow this camping trip and head to an amazing twenty-four-hour bakery I know.”

The following morning, when Gojo crawls out of the tent with his blindfold in disarray, he notices you and Nanami are absent while the students are rebuilding a fire. Out of curiosity, he checked his messages on his phone and saw an unopened text. On his screen is a picture of you and Nanami grinning with food in front of you. The message underneath it read. ‘Thanks Wingman.’ Leaving Gojo hooting as he smacks Suguru with his pillow. When the dark-haired man sat up with a groan, Gojo showed him the message.

“Get up! We’ll ditch the tents and take the kids to celebrate with pancakes!”

Suguru narrowed his eyes at Gojo, a vein in his forehead twitching as he shook his head. “It’s too early for your shit Satoru.” He purred before kicking his sleeping bag off.

“I wonder if they’ll name their firstborn after me!”

“I doubt it.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

Summer Fest Tag List:

@typicalife-101

[sacrednova]

Drive me home | Simon "Ghost" Riley | 6

fem!reader | In this story, a young woman mistakenly texts Simon "Ghost" Riley, thinking he's her Uber driver after a wild night out. Despite his gruff, reserved nature, Simon shows up. Contains fake screenshots with texts messages and calls!!!! Start reading from the beginning: Part 1 | Part 7

It wasn’t like she wanted him, not exactly… It was the mystery, the curiosity of him—the man who never showed his face, who spoke in dry, single sentences that left her mind spinning. Tonight, would he take off the mask? Of course, he would, right? How would he even drink if he didn’t?

Stop overthinking, she reminded herself. She slid into her black dress and forced herself not to linger in front of the mirror. She didn’t want to pick herself apart tonight.

Then, at 11 p.m., her phone buzzed.

Heart racing, she bolted to the door, hands a little shaky as she turned the lock. Her legs felt numb as she stepped outside and saw his truck parked on the street, his door cracked open. And there he was—stepping out, a shadow in all black, face mask and cap concealing everything but those dark, piercing eyes. Does he ever take any of it off? she wondered, caught in a breath. But damn, even like that, he looked so good. It was all in his stare, in those brown eyes that seemed to look right through her.

She reached the truck, her pulse racing as he opened the door for her. And just like that, she melted a little. There was something so unfairly attractive about this tall, serious man with that effortless chivalry.

"Good night for a drink," he murmured, voice low and smooth.

“It is… a good night… for a drink.” What was that?! Her words fumbled, sounding ridiculous even to her own ears.

She could feel his gaze, steady and unphased. He didn’t comment, just nodded as she climbed in, settling into the seat. The truck felt like a world of its own, quiet and filled with the heavy, unspoken tension between them.

She felt the thrill of it all, of not knowing what the night would bring, and the unshakable feeling that maybe… just maybe… she wanted to be around him for more than one drink.

To Simon, having her there in the passenger seat felt… different. Not because she was a woman—that had happened plenty of times before. He was almost forty, after all. But it was how she looked at him, like his presence was something worth having around. Like she wanted him there, not just anyone.

He could feel it in every quick glance she stole at every red light, like she was hoping for him to say something, anything, to break the tension. But hell, he was as nervous as she was. Ridiculous, he thought, feeling like a rookie on his first deployment.

Get it together, Riley. He wasn’t some jittery teenager; he was a soldier trained to stay calm under pressure, to keep his emotions in check. But somehow, her quiet breaths, her shifting in the seat, and the faint sighs she let out felt louder than any battlefield.

Finally, at a red light, he gave in to the temptation. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick, blunt message to the one person who would probably laugh at him the most for this:

He hit send and glanced back at her, hoping she hadn’t noticed the message. Just sitting beside her, seeing her nervous fingers tapping at her dress, somehow made him realize just how much he wanted her to feel… good here.

Soap’s response came through quickly, just as Simon expected: a blend of teasing and actual advice.

Simon rolled his eyes, already regretting asking. But another message followed almost immediately:

Was he? Good at listening? Simon didn’t think so. Listening had always been a matter of survival, a skill honed for the field where every sound and word carried weight. It wasn’t about connecting—it was about completing the mission. But now, as he glanced at her while she nervously fiddled with the strap of her bag, he realized something unsettling. There was a reason to listen to her, though it was hard to name. It wasn’t tactical or practical. It was… something else. Something personal.

When they reached the bar, Simon parked the truck, stepped out, and moved to walk beside her. She started talking almost immediately, her voice animated as she explained how her friends would never agree to a place like this.

“They’d say it’s boring. Too quiet, not enough lights or—are you listening?”

Her voice snapped him back, her playful tone laced with curiosity.

Simon paused, glancing down at her as they walked. “No,” he admitted with a small shrug, his thick Manchester accent cutting through the cool air. “But I’m tryin’.”

Her expression flickered, amusement and a hint of insecurity mixing. “Am I boring you?”

“Not at all,” he replied, his voice steady. “You just distract me.”

“Distract you?” she echoed, her brows lifting slightly. Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, the color deepening as she smiled nervously. “How… how is that?”

Simon’s gaze softened, though his expression stayed firm. “I can’t take my eyes off ya,” he said simply.

Her breath hitched slightly, her eyes widening at his bluntness. She looked away for a second, brushing her hair behind her ear with trembling fingers, but the small, flustered smile that crept onto her lips didn’t escape his notice.

And damn, Simon thought, he could’ve stood there all night, just watching her get flustered like that.

They found a corner table, tucked away from the faint hum of conversation. The bar wasn’t loud—dim lights, wooden tables worn from years of use, the quiet clink of glasses. It was understated, grounded, like the man sitting across from her. He leaned back in his chair, broad shoulders almost too large for the small space, his dark hoodie blending into the shadows.

Simon hadn’t said much since they sat down, but she didn’t mind. The silence between them felt alive, charged with something unspoken. She fiddled with her glass, pretending not to stare at the way his gloved fingers tapped the table absently, his focus elsewhere. Or maybe not—maybe she was his focus, but he hid it behind that mask, the black fabric pulling tight over his jaw each time he shifted.

The waitress came and went, delivering their drinks with a polite nod. Bourbon, neat, for both of them. Typical, she thought, hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass. Strong, no fuss, and maybe a little bitter. Exactly what she imagined he'd order.

And then it happened.

He reached for his drink, long fingers curling around the glass, and pulled the mask down.

Her breath caught.

His features were… everything she hadn’t expected and exactly what she had. A strong nose that looked like it had taken a few punches over the years. A sharp jawline, scarred just enough to suggest a life she couldn’t even begin to imagine. His lips—pressed tight together, like even they weren’t ready to let her in—completed the picture.

And the scars. God, the scars. They weren’t grotesque or overwhelming. They were real, etched into his skin in a way that felt like history carved onto stone.

She stared, unable to help herself. And for a moment, she thought she should look away—shouldn’t she? But then he lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, his eyes flicking up to meet hers, heavy and unreadable.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. He could have any other face—softer features, smoother skin, a nose that had never been broken—and she’d still be so completely into him. It wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he was. The way he carried himself, like the world had thrown its worst at him and he’d stood tall anyway. The weight behind every glance, every word.

And maybe that was why she couldn’t tear her eyes away, not even when he set the glass down, licking his lips briefly, almost absently.

“What?” he asked, his voice low, rough around the edges like sandpaper.

She shook her head quickly, a small laugh escaping before she could stop it. “Nothing,” she said, though her chest felt tight, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears.

He didn’t believe her—she could tell by the way his gaze lingered. But he didn’t press.

Instead, he leaned back, one arm resting on the edge of the table, and said, “Good bourbon.”

And just like that, she knew. She was in trouble. So much trouble.

She picked up her phone the moment Simon leaned back, his eyes scanning the room like he wasn’t the center of her universe right now. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, her heart doing somersaults like she was seventeen again. What the hell was happening to her?

Quickly, she opened the chat with Lottie and fired off a string of frantic messages:

Lottie’s response was instant:

She set the phone down quickly, realizing Simon was watching her again, his head tilted slightly, like he was trying to figure her out.

“What are you texting about?” he asked, his voice even but carrying that low timbre that made her spine tingle.

“Nothing!” she said quickly, stuffing her phone back into her bag and gripping her glass like a lifeline. “Just… uh… girl stuff.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push. Instead, his focus shifted. “I want to know about you.”

The simplicity of the statement caught her off guard. There wasn’t a trace of pretense, no charm or manipulation. He just wanted to know.

“Oh,” she said, sitting up straighter. “Well, uh, where do I start?”

“Wherever you want,” he replied, leaning in just enough to let her know he was listening.

So, she talked. About her job, the friends who made her laugh, the ones who drove her crazy, how she loved a certain weather. She rambled, unsure if any of it mattered, but he nodded along, his eyes steady on her.

But then, curious, she shifted gears. “What about you?” she asked, leaning forward slightly. “What’s your favorite day? Do you even like the rain? Or are you one of those people who thinks it’s a hassle?”

His expression stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Lot of questions,” he said, voice low and clipped.

The change was immediate. She froze, words catching in her throat, the slight sharpness of his tone cutting through her like a cold wind.

“Oh,” she muttered, pulling back slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t say stop,” he interrupted, though his gaze flicked away, landing somewhere past her shoulder.

She blinked, uncertain of what to make of his sudden dryness. He wasn’t annoyed—not exactly. If anything, he seemed… guarded, like the spotlight had been turned on him and he wasn’t ready for it.

“I’m just not used to it,” he added, softer this time, almost like an apology.

Her chest ached a little at that. “Used to what?”

“People asking.”

The air between them grew heavier, more intimate somehow, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many walls he had built up, how many times he had pushed people away before they even got close.

“Well,” she said, keeping her voice light, “you’ll have to get used to it. Because I’m curious. And I ask a lot of questions.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner. “Figured that out already.”

This time, when he looked at her, it felt different—less guarded, more… something she couldn’t quite name. But whatever it was, it made her heart do that high school thing again, and she was so not prepared for it.

tags: @sleep101 @all-by-myself98

I'm incredibly busy right now—so much work and so many things going on in my little life. But despite all that, I'm really happy to have some time to write. Thank you for the feedback and for letting me know you're enjoying it; I truly appreciate it! ♥

[Part 7] ---->

[aviscarrentals]

i want to play a (racing) game

a series of f1 fics based off of some of my favorite horror movies

charles leclerc- the shining

you, your boyfriend, and a bunch of friends decide to spend your winter break together in a giant hotel. what could go wrong?

max verstappen- it

after years away from your hometown, derry, you suddenly receive an urgent call from your long-forgotten childhood friend, alex, that leads to you returning to the very place you swore you would never face again

carlos sainz- a quiet place

after losing everything you know when the world fell into apocalypse due to the invasion of alien-like monsters with some very sharp ears, you find a new family in the other survivors

lando norris- scary movie (saw parody)

you wake up next to a stranger in a dimly lit room chained to a chair, which is bolted to the floor. luckily, the situation turns out to be more humorous than terrifying (may or may not be 100% based off of the jerma episode of generation loss LOL)

fernando alonso- freaky

you wake up in the body of a middle aged man. but not just any man. a man who also happens to be a wanted serial killer.

george russell- the purge

you and your best friend alex's annoying best friend, george, have to work together to survive the purge night (lily's also there)

pierre gasly- unfriended

you and your friends video call every friday night to hang out together. unfortunately, an angry spirit has decided it wants to spend some time with you guys as well...

mick schumacher- fnaf

after countless failed attempts, you've finally found yourself a new job! the bad news is, it's a night shift and you're scared of the dark. so, naturally, you drag your boyfriend along with you.

alex albon- child's play

when you and your boyfriend unexpectedly have to take in your young niece, you two struggle to make a connection with the little girl. maybe splurging on the cool new doll she's been wanting will fix that.

yuki tsunoda- final destination

what do you do when some random guy that you've never spoken to before tells you he's seen visions of you dying? what do you do when it turns out he was right and death is pretty pissed off?

oscar piastri- the menu

you and your husband have worked non-stop to build a successful, stable life for yourselves. you two really deserve a break. how about a fancy dinner on a remote island prepared by one of the most revered chefs in the entire culinary world?

ollie bearman- scary stories to tell in the dark

it's the final halloween before you have to move away from your hometown and your best friends since birth. hopefully you can make it a night to remember.

lance stroll- the cabin in the woods

you and your boyfriend decide to invite some friends to spend the weekend in a little log cabin in the forest as a way to momentarily retreat from your stressful lives. well you definitely won't be getting any rest this weekend, that's for sure.

logan sargeant- scream (aka yelp)

an eerie masked killer has made its way into your town and is slowly picking kids off one by one. who could it be? is there anyone you can trust? prologue chapter 1

liam lawson- happy death day

happy birthday! i hope you're excited because this will be the longest day(s?) of your life

sebastian vettel- the texas chainsaw massacre

it's summer, which of course means it's time for a roadtrip! unfortunately, you and your friends decided to visit texas, usa, where everything's bound to go wrong (because it's texas, usa)

kimi raikkonen- would you rather

desperate times call for desperate measures, although at this point desperate would be an understatement. so when the perfect opportunity falls right into your lap, who are you to turn it down?

jenson button- halloween

it's halloween! the spookiest day of the year. even though you don't bother participating in silly little holiday celebrations, there are some traditions you can't ignore…

mark webber- 28 days later

the world has gone to shit. even so, you're doing everything you can to survive, despite how hard it is on your own. maybe it would be better if you formed a team?

[purplelupins]

Lamb

|Midnight Mass |

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Father Paul Hill/John Pruitt x fem!reader

Word count: 11k

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

Notes: There’s a little Easter egg in this chapter for any Hamish fans…let’s see if anyone clocks it.

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Crickets were the first to make a sound.

For days, that speck of an island was silent. Birds either flew away or hid in their nests. They didn’t chirp, or caw.

Bees slowly began to appear again too after a week.

Flowers began to open.

Months passed and finally things looked almost as they used to.

Buildings repaired, town cleaned up.

Only now the island looked abandoned during the day.

You had never liked summer. Too hot and humid. You still didn’t like it.

John was used to hearing the Crockett Island community wander the island every night.

He was used to the occasional sound of your screams, too.

It wasn’t often, but sometimes your fortified house lacked, and you were forced to run into the night and hide until sunrise.

John pursed his lips bitterly the first time he had stopped them from finding you on the abandoned spit on the west side.

They claimed they just wanted to help.

Wanted you to be at peace and be a part of the community again.

Those words stung like poison; hearing his own justification used back at him.

He’d seen you run past him on one of his walks, not even knowing he was there as he stood amongst the skinny trees. Eyes like little pinpoints in the darkness.

A predators eyes.

A wolf’s eyes.

When he had only wanted to be a Shepard.

Though of course that had been the issue. He would have had to have wanted to be a fellow sheep for him to see just how wrong his actions were.

Now there he was, just one of the wolves watching their token sheep run for her life.

You were so resilient. Determined to stay alive. Hope incarnate. But you were not delicate or wispy like most imagined hope to be; a foolish thing. Your hope was bruised and battered and exhausted from having to get back up again after surviving another night.

You still prayed.

He heard you at night when he would walk past your house and listen close to one of your boarded windows. It was mostly to check that you were alright.

It was a little because he found your heartbeat soothing.

But hearing you pray was what helped him continue. That you hadn’t lost your faith. He didn’t care who you prayed to…just that you had faith.

And that faith had you.

You tasted copper as you ran.

It had been months since they had last managed to get inside your house, and you had begun to get comfortable with the couple knocks at night and the pleading to come out. But over the last week, the knocks had turned to pounding, and tonight the pounding turned to splintered wood and you bolting across Crockett as fast as your exhausted body would carry you.

The best shot at safely was the thick woods on either end of the island. You used to keep a boat in the Uppards for emergencies, but they had found it and taken it one night.

Now you had become stellar at losing them, but tonight something felt different. You had noticed clear medical baggies of blood in trash cans just a few weeks following…following that night. You assumed they used Sarah’s medical connections to have shipments of blood brought to the island at night.

You wondered who Bev had to bully to have that done. Not like it was hard.

But you wondered now if perhaps the latest shipment wasn’t received, and now the islanders were…antsy.

Not that the reasoning mattered to you greatly as you passed by one of the abandoned buildings. What mattered was that they were closer to you than usual, and you hadn’t slept properly in weeks. That, and your terror that they winged bast might still be prowling around looking for a new body to drain.

You pushed yourself to go faster but you couldn’t put distance between you and them. That feeling of fear began to creep back into your tissue. It was only natural; it didn’t matter how at peace you were with death. A lamb being hunted was a lamb being hunted.

And wolves never stopped being terrifying.

John sat, book in hand inside the rectory.

Collarless.

He heard your heartbeat from a half mile away, and it was fast. Too fast.

He stood, and walked to his door and opened it to step out onto his porch. You didn’t usually come this way, but as fate would have it - or your great misfortune- you did. John could hear feet following you- a few sets by the sound of it.

John walked out into the middle of the cemetery.

He waited.

Sure enough, a few minutes later you came up the hill; your adrenaline being the only thing that kept you going.

John called your name.

It was the first time since Easter that you had heard his voice. It made you take such a quick breath that you stumbled a little. It felt like you had been sprayed with ice water.

He looked down the road where the small militia was chasing you, then back to the rectory- door wide open. You stood there for a moment, and you wanted to keep running. But those footsteps were close and you figured it would be easier to fight off one instead of several.

You could feel your rage start to rear its head over the fear, but you knew it would only get you killed.

You ran towards him, and he began leading you inside. The warm glow of the rectory enveloped you, and John shut and locked the door as soon as you stepped onto the floorboards. He closed the curtains and turned off most lights aside from a reading lamp, and began taking you to the far end of the house. As you approached you stopped short and shook your head.

“What are you doing?” You whispered, eying him wearily.

He knelt down and lifted a part of the carpet in his room and lifted a small door.

You stared at him hard.

And he stared back. “It was built for me decades ago for storms.” He said simply, and calmly.

You were apprehensive. Even more now than just being in his presence.

Uneasy.

Terrified.

Cold.

“Please…they won’t find you.” He whispered a little harsher- you couldn’t hear them but those footsteps were getting closer now. Just cresting the hill.

You might have resented the monster before you more than anything, but you did need help. And you didn’t have a plethora of options. You walked over to him and sat down on the edge of the opening- feet hitting the steep stairs. “I don’t trust you.” You said, staring down into the dark room. You could see a lamp there.

“I know.” He nodded.

You blinked, and didn’t look at him as you began to lower yourself. John grasped your arm to help you, but you wrenched it from his grip, “Don’t touch me.” You snapped.

He immediately dropped his hands, and had to almost sit on them to keep himself from reaching out to you to help.

As you hit the ground, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small fishers knife to show him.

“If you don’t let me out, or try anything I’m killing myself and braving Hell, Father.” You shot at him.

Again, Father Pruitt only nodded in understanding, “The lamp is fully changed. There’s a blanket on the shelf.” He said, then looked suddenly back towards the front of the house.

You flicked the light on, and when you stared back up at the preist, he quietly shut the door.

You watched it for a moment, then slowly took in the space. A very small room that looked more like a bomb shelter. There was a small bed and a shelf with some canned food. And indeed there was a thick blanket there. You sighed, and went to settle in only to jump a little when you heard voices. You stayed still and tried to listen as close as you could…but then it went quiet, and you only heard one pair of soft footsteps.

John opened the door to see a handful of fairly new parishioners standing there on his stoop.

“Evening Father…she ran past here a few minutes ago did you hear anything?” One of them asked.

She.

You didn’t even have a name to them anymore.

John sucked on his teeth, “I’m afraid not. She’s quick.”

Another one nodded, “G’night Father.” They mumbled and began walking away- eyes scanning the trees and brush.

He watched them for a moment, then walked back inside and locked the door again. He might have gone out that night for a walk or to visit someone in the community. While he didn’t fully count himself as a priest anymore, he was still the guide to many of his flock. They were even more lost now than ever.

After that first night, many turned to the church for help. His heart ached that still his parish turned towards God for help; that he hadn’t driven them away from their faith entirely.

Many resented him.

He didn’t hold any blame towards them.

But still, when he held Mass, many came. Many still confessed to him. Many still asked for his aid.

But John Pruitt was less of a person now, and more of a symbol.

A tool.

He kept to himself- accepting his passive segregation.

Unwanted, but needed.

With no need for food, John felt a sudden panic when he hadn’t given you anything fresh. He strode back to the little door and gently opened it; the lamp was still on, but even in the low light he could clearly see you sitting against one of the walls breathing deep, heart rate slow.

You hadn’t used the blanket, he noticed. John knew you were strong willed, but he didn’t know how stubborn you were. Perhaps a trait you hadn’t discovered until he ripped your life apart.

John carefully lowered himself down into the little cellar, and crouched down in front of you. He gingerly eased his arms under your knees, and pulled you to his chest, then hoisted you up and carried you back to the main level.

John didn’t care if the others heard your heartbeat. He didn’t care if they came to his door. He knew they wouldn’t dare try to get you while he was there. He had been turned for longer than them, and was much stronger, and much faster. For the ones who were present when Sturge had shot Sarah, they knew he wasn’t incapable of beating a man bloody.

He laid you down on his bed, and slipped your boots off carefully; he caught the knife that fell from your left one, and rolled it over in his hand.

He had pushed you to violence. Self-defence, but violence all the same. He tarnished that ray of sunlight he had seen that first day he returned.

John smiled bitterly. He supposed it was only fitting that you were sunlight and he would die if he touched it.

You were so limp as you slept- your exhaustion taking over and forcing your body to rest. John brought the blanket over you, and left you there to sleep.

The bed laid unused most days.

It wasn’t as if he truly slept anymore.

The first thing you were aware of was the great sense of comfort that enveloped you.

The second was how that feeling horrified you.

You knew you had slept in an uncomfortable position, so why was there a pillow under your head and a blanket over you.

The third was how well rested you were.

You instinctively reached for the knife you kept in your boot, but then that came to your forth realisation: you weren’t wearing your boots.

You bolted up, and took in your surroundings. You were back in the rectory. You felt fear start to creep back into your flesh as you realised just how deeply you had slept. Your hand instinctively reached for your neck and shoulders so ensure you didn’t have any marks. You checked your arms and then you saw the flicker of metal out of the corner of your eye- your knife sat comfortably beside you on the bedside table. You snatched it up, and slipped your feet down onto the floor as quietly as you could-

“I made you some coffee if you’d like it.”

John called to you; he had heard your heart rate spike as you awoke. In an effort to not spook you too much, he waited to speak from his place in the living room until you were fully up.

You crept to the door, and tentatively pushed it open, knife clutched tight as you surveyed the room.

The curtains were all drawn, and two lamps were on. If it weren’t for the man who lived there it might have been a very inviting home. But you saw the man in question sat at his desk, writing.

John paused, and looked up from his paper to you.

“How are you?” He asked, genuinely wanting to know. It was a loaded question- he knew- but he truly wished to know any ounce of your mental state that you would provide him with.

You looked around once more- ensuring you were alone.

“Don’t worry, they all think you’re in the Uppards.” He said, turning a little towards you.

You stood there. And stared at him. You didn’t even know what to say to him.

“A shipment was late.” You finally said.

His brows perked up, “Yes.” He nodded, “Yes there…there was an issue. Has been pushed back but it’ll be here by tonight, not to worry.”

You nodded.

John sucked in a breath and exhaled, “I’m sorry-“

“You’re not ashamed of what you did, Father?” You cut him off, voice breaking more than you would have liked. Finally meeting his eyes properly for the first time in months.

Father Pruitt placed his pen down and leaned onto his knees, staring up at you, “I believe I…I do feel shame yes. For my actions, but even the good intentions that I attempted were misconstrued, I never meant-“

“But it happened,” You shot back - eyes starting to sting, “You were selfish. You just…assumed everyone would want what you wanted.”

He nodded solemnly and stood slowly, and suddenly you were a little more afraid. You didn’t know what he was fully capable of anymore, and you did not want to find out. As if he could sense your apprehension, John backed away and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“You’re welcome to stay if you have questions-“ he started, trying to give you an open space.

“Questions? I don’t have any questions, Father,” you did. But you wouldn’t admit that yet, “I am alone, and I will live alone and I will die alone. I don’t need to know much more if it won’t change that.” Your voice shook.

He nodded and looked down- brows pinching together as he began to feel the weight of your burden, “I’m so-“

“Please don’t.” You said, tears forming in your eyes.

John raised his gaze to look at you, and he pursed his lips that you once thought were so pretty. A moment passed as both of your gazes were trained on one another.

John watched your beautiful eyes well up the longer you looked at him, and he clenched his fists to stay put lest he try to comfort you. He had only just gotten you to open up the tiniest bit to trust him for a few hours that night, he didn’t want to take one step forward and three back. So he didn’t try to defend himself. He didn’t try to make you stay or understand.

He hoped there would be a time when he could, but he knew that it wasn’t time yet.

You took a shaky breath, and turned to the door, and left.

Once upon a time you might have looked back and maybe would have waved goodbye. Might have said that you'd see him tomorrow.

Might have wanted to stay longer.

Might have flushed in his company.

But you didn't look behind you. Not anymore.

If you had, you likely would have caught sight of the preacher in the window where one of the curtains was pulled back a sliver; you might have seen how he let the sunlight fall over his face; how he let the sun burn him as he watched you.

John listened to your heartbeat fade as you walked further away and out of his sight. His chest ached just as his skin did. And that ache churned and curdled down into his stomach and out into his fingertips. He felt that thing that he had once been so thankful for not feeling- guilt. It felt like so long ago that he had sat across from Riley and told him about how God had moved through him and how remorse had never come after Joe...Now he felt sick when he dwelled on his delusion. So selfish he had been. So utterly desperate.

Sometimes he could still hear that record you had played for him...how you had reminded him of his youth. Your vibrance had overthrown him, and drawn him in. That memory alone made him feel younger than the blood he drank.

The warm summer air immediately made you feel sticky. Humidity filled your lungs as you took a few settling breaths. Then as you reached the bottom of the hill, you finally allowed the tears in your eyes to fall. You sobbed quietly as you walked past the general store. It was an unwritten rule that they kept out of there- that was your space during the day. Most of the time they abided by the understanding.

Sometimes someone got hungry and waited to see if they could sneak a bite of you.

You had to laugh a little though- it was always a dead giveaway if it wasn’t safe to enter the store. All you had to look at were the windows.

Covered: not safe.

Uncovered: safe.

They kept the store stocked enough for you. Sometimes you felt ill at the thought of them just doing it to keep you alive. You bet they thought it was a mercy. You wondered if they fought over it; end the food supply to make you starve and beg them to turn you vs. keep you alive because you didnt deserve their fate.

You went to the shop everyday knowing that one day you wouldn’t have food stocked. Shelves and fridges empty.

Waiting for the day that they finally broke and had enough of keeping you alive.

You passed by more houses...Scarboroughs and the Flynns, and you didnt dare look up at the buildings. You never did anymore. It hurt too much.

The families you knew well used to leave you things…food they made out of boredom…flowers…Annie used to write you the odd letter. Then after a while they stopped.

Back in the later spring sometimes someone would be stupid and run out of their house to try and grab you...The smell of burnt flesh was still engrained in your nose.

No one tried anymore.

You wondered who was still there. You wondered if Ali was still there... you wondered how he was. You wondered how Leeza was and if her family was okay. You wondered if Bev was pulling the strings.

You missed that routine you used to treasure. You missed seeing your friends and neighbours. You missed talking.

It was like some sick joke that the first person you had spoken to in close to 6 months was the very man who had done this to you.

When you finally reached your house, you felt your heart sink even lower as you took inventory of the damage. The broken doorframe and smashed windows were going to be an issue.

You sighed and walked to the small shed at the back of your house to retrieve tools you had accumulated and set about fixing your home. Hours passed as you tried and tired again and again to make sure everything was fixed and strong. But the longer you worked, the lower the sun settled, and the less time you had to ensure you would be safe. But as twilight began to set in, you sighed; you were done. The inside of your house was almost pitch black with all the windows boarded up over the broken glass. You stretched and locked your doors, then began up the stairs to wash yourself after the previous night. But then as you walked past the spare room, you stopped breathing.

You had missed a smashed window.

The wind blew against your face as if it was taunting you of your mistake.

Your gut tightened as you began weighing your options.

You didn’t have many.

And the most feasible one made your eyes glaze over as you contemplated every life choice you had ever made.

With one look out that window, you knew you didn’t have time to think of anything else. So against your better judgement, you grabbed a large bag from your room and began shoving anything you might need, showered and bolted out your door within ten minutes with your hair still wet.

You weaved through the island's foliage and kept off the main road lest anyone be watching from their windows. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to know where you were going. As you crept through the trees past the marsh, you crouched down and stared up at the rectory in the distance. There was a warm light coming from the building like a beacon; your gut clenched at the memory of Easter... how you had thought the exact same thing for St. Patricks.

The sun was just a sliver of light now on the horizon, and you knew you had to decide quickly if you were going through with this or finding a tree to hide in tonight. You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath.

I’m here to help

Those words of his…they still rang in your ears from that first day. He was sick. Selfish. Egotistical and manipulative and…

You sniffled.

You had really thought he was a kind man. You had let him in and he had made a home of your soul. Healed you and guided you and aided you, but all for himself.

You pursed your lips. You hated that you needed his help. But you did.

With another deep breath, you began stalking up the grass, and hurried a little more when you heard voices down the road. You hadn’t even noticed it was properly night time and worry spiked in you as you stepped up to the door and went to kno-

“Come in.”

You jumped at the sound of his low, soft voice calling out to you from inside. You slowly opened the door, and took a tentative step inside.

John Pruitt was stirring a cup of tea by the kitchen counter, and looked up at you- a weak smile on his face.

“Twice in one day, to what do I owe the pleasure, young lady?”

You clenched your jaw at his honeyed words. So gentle and honest-sounding.

“They destroyed my house. I didn’t have time to repair it completely. Didn’t feel like being dinner.” You murmured, then looked at the cup he seemed to have forgotten he was holding.

John followed your gaze, and nodded, “I heard you come up through the trees 10 minutes ago…I hope you don’t mind, but I made it for you just in case.” He extended the cup out to you, and you eyed it wearily.

You didn’t see him make it. Anything could be in it.

John knew that look. The same one you had given him when he ushered you inside the previous night. He retracted the offering and placed it on the counter.

“I apologize for their brutality …many of them don’t know better. I will speak with them tonight at Mass. They won’t harm you again.” He assured you like he used to when you thought his last name was Hill. “It’ll be fixed by tomorrow.”

Your gaze snapped up to his, “Mass?” You asked.

He nodded in realisation that you likely weren’t around when service happened, “I- it’s…well…it wasn’t my idea…it’s- everyone is so lost and they need something to hold onto…I cannot undo what I did. And I know they will never give me forgiveness, but many of them are still very close to God and some have become closer in their…confusion…and I’m just…I try to keep them on the right path. The path I should have been on..stayed on. Your path.” He pushed his hands towards you as he spoke so sincerely.

You pursed your lips as you listened. You wanted so badly to believe him…but the last time you did it had been the worst decision of your life.

The silence stretched between you. You didn’t want to ask for his help, but it was too late to not ask-

“You are welcome to stay here again.” He added, trying to get you to engage. Like he needed you to speak to him.

You nodded, “My warning still applies.” You reminded him of how he’d better play nice or you’ll be dead before he can do anything.

John sighed and nodded. His brows pinched and his eyes drooped, “Of course- I- Mass is in a couple hours…but I can stay-“

“I’d rather you weren’t here, Father.” You said quietly, looking down as guilt started to creep into your gut. He was so wonderful at making himself seem small. Non-threatening. You forced yourself to remember how easily he had restrained you in the church; how his hands had held you without making a mark yet you couldn’t pull away…

“I understand.” He muttered, then something seemed to catch his attention outside as he almost jerked up from the counter and looked towards the front window. You twitched at his reaction, and already knew there was someone nearby before he said it.

“Come on, let’s get you settled.” He said almost to himself as he began back towards the small door in the floor.

You followed behind him, and gripped your bag’s strap a little tighter as he crouched and opened the hatch. He shifted away a little to make room for you to get by, but you saw how tightly he clenched his fists. Whether it was to keep himself from reaching out to help you or to grab you, you didn’t know.

As you descended, you noticed that it was far cleaner down there, and had an extra lamp.

“Knock twice if you need anything.” He said softly. Earnest.

“I won’t.” You stopped looking up at him as that guilt started to return.

“I’m sure you won’t. But everyone needs something sometimes.” He finished, and offered you a tight little smile.

You stared up at him, and neither of you moved.

“Goodnight, little one.” He murmured.

The endearment made your stomach flip upside down and your throat constricted; you ached from how much you missed...well...everything. You missed being called "Hun" by the fishermen and being hugged by Annie and walking Leeza to church and sitting among the pews and enjoying your morning walks and you missed your life.

Before you could say anything, he closed the door, and you heard him lay the carpet over top. There were no footsteps though- not for a few minutes. You listened close, and felt your eyes unfocus when you heard him muttering a prayer over you.

You almost shouted up to him to stop it.

That you didnt need his protection.

But your mouth went dry when you realized that you did.

Why else were you letting him hide you?

Several minutes later, you heard his long strides move throughout the rectory, then the door shut, and you were left in silence.

Mass.

Sadness flooded you in mourning of your beloved routine, but jealously quickly took its place when you realized you were the only one being deprived of your time of worship. The jealousy startled you. Anger was understandable, but jealousy was new.

You closed your eyes, and focused on why you were there. Safety.

The feeling slowly left you, and as you calmed, you turned on the lamp. It was cold, and with no extra warmth, you shuffled onto the cot and grabbed the thick blanket that sat folded there. As you settled in, cocooning yourself in it, and laid your head on the pillow, you felt your eyes start to droop. You found yourself breathing in the smell of the blanket, not even noticing that it was the smell of the man keeping you hidden that you were inhaling. It comforted you…like smelling your mother or father. Somehow familiar.

It was early when you awoke the following morning, not that you could have told that by your surroundings. Your sleep could have been five minutes for all you knew. You laid there for a few moments, listening. The last thing you wanted was for it still be night and for Pruitt to have a visitor. You paled at the thought of Bev being there. But when a few minutes turned into several, then you were certain there indeed was no additional company.

It was silent.

You gingerly raised yourself up out of the bed, and made your way up the ladder- bag in tow over your shoulder. You didn't even make it up to the top to knock before you heard shuffling and footsteps above you. The door was pulled open, and you stood stock-still for a moment as fear clutched your heart for a moment. The light from the lamp below you caught his eyes and made them glow in the darkness of the bedroom. Indeed it was dim in the space around him which only seemed to accentuate his dark features and made him appear as more of a creature than a cursed man. You swallowed.

“Good morning, young lady.” He greeted you with a hand outstretched.

You clenched your jaw, but took his offered hand tentatively, and he pulled you up with far more strength than he should have had. You got your footing, and noted the light illuminating the drawn curtains- it was bright enough for you to leave.

You didn’t say anything, and chose instead to dig your nails into the palm of your hand.

“They put in new windows and fixed your door…I’m so sorry that happened…I spoke with them and they will do better.” He murmured gently, as if he didn’t want to scare you away.

You nodded; mouth clammed shut. There once had been a time where you would have bared your heart to him, and poured your soul into his hands, but now you found yourself unable to find much more than a few words to utter to him.

“Did you manage alright? I know- I know it’s a bit cold down there…” His voice was a low rumble as you adjusted your bag.

“Just fine.” You whispered, looking away from him. You couldn’t stand that he cared.

“I can-“

“I’m fine, Father.” You snapped. He looked like you had slapped him; to his credit he also looked like he understood it. “Thank you.” You added when the pain in your chest twisted unbearably.

He nodded, seeing your unease.

"Goodbye." You whispered as you gathered yourself and headed to the door.

He so deeply wanted to tell you to stay and let him explain everything, but he supposed if he needed to force you to say, then his apology would be hollow and selfish.

Days passed quietly again. A few knocks on your door was the most disturbance you got. Things had calmed considerably.

He must have been right…that shipment did come.

Something itched in the back of your mind as you sat in your fortified house one night. It had been over a week since you had last been hiding in the rectory, but something he had said stewed inside you.

He still held Mass.

You wondered if that had been something agreed upon by everyone…they must have felt so lost…

It had been close to midnight when Father Pruitt had left for Mass that night…and it was just past midnight now.

You wondered if…if you could just climb up one of the trees and listen. If he still preached with the same vigour as he used to you were certain you could hear a little. It was silly and dangerous- you knew that- but it had been so long with just yourself and your thoughts…you craved just a little bit of something else.

You slowly walked downstairs to your front door and listened. It was silent outside.

You very slowly undid your several locks, and gingerly pried it open when you still heard nothing.

Indeed, there was not a single person in your field of sight- not that there were many who ever came down your way that far down the island. You opened the door a little more, and stepped out into the night air. It was refreshing when you weren’t running for your life.

You shut the door just as carefully as you had opened it, and quickly knelt down to check that you had your knife in your boot before starting to walk as softly as you could towards the bushland. The tall grass that had been bleached by the summer sun rose up around you the further you walked and helped to hide you while you trekked across the island and through the marsh and into the skinny trees that slowly grew thicker until you were on the same hill that you used to walk up everyday.

You could see the back of the church, and the bright light that shone through the windows. You had been right- you could hear them sing. It would have been so easy for you to just go back home, but you moved without thinking, and began towards one of the older trees behind St. Patrick’s and jumped up to the lowest branch, and began to climb.

As you grasped each branch, climbing higher and higher, you began to sing along; your throat was tight as tears threatened to fall, and you let them.

John felt a little tick in the back of his head that made him twitch slightly as he began down the aisle. Something off. Something he wasn’t used to during church. The people around him sang their hymn, and as he listened closely, he recognised a sound that he hadn’t heard in so long.

Your singing. Broken by your cries.

John’s sinuses stung as tears rose that wouldn’t fall, and he nearly stopped service right then to go and find you, but he was stuck.

You sat above the church, and leaned your head against the trunk of the tree as you listened to the preacher. You could have sworn he was louder than he used to be… though he wasn’t so much about revival, as he was about reconciliation and guidance. His words no longer made you uneasy. You didn’t want to admit it, but it did indeed sound as if he just wanted to help. Finding the light in the dark.

Mass finished, and you watched the islanders leave slowly…and saw the tall figure you knew wellstand at the front to bid everyone a blessed night. It was so strange to see it all from your viewpoint then- truly a stranger looking in. You perked up when you started to recognise some faces and felt your throat grow tight all over again. Your eyes burned from the tears that wouldn’t stop.

The church grew empty, and John waited until he couldn’t hear footsteps before finally turning back inside to shed his chasuble. His thoughts preoccupied him as he moved quickly and placed the fabric onto the table in the vestibule and walked out the back door. He hoped he wasn’t too late…that you hadn’t left yet. Then as he stepped into the chilled night air, he knew you were still in your perch.

That sweet smell of your skin…the gentle thump of your heartbeat.

John slowly followed the sound, and stared up at the trees until he spotted you. He stood down at the bottom amongst the roots, and cast one last look behind him then back up at you and extended his hand for you.

You stared down at him, and while he was the last person you wanted to help you down from that tree…he was also somehow the exact person you wanted, too. His sermon had made your hardened shell break a little, and you gradually climbed down to him. You sat on that last branch, and tentatively took his outstretched hand; he closed his fingers around yours and you jumped.

Your feet hit the ground with a soft thud, and you quickly looked around out of habit.

John still held your hand in his, and he gazed down at you so softly that you thought he might weep. Instead, he slowly brought his free hand up to your cheek and wiped away the remains of your tears.

“God loves you…” he whispered earnestly.

You felt your nose sting, and your lips pulled into a small, bitter smile as a tear fell and caught the corner of your mouth, “Just not enough to save me.”

The man before you pursed his lips at that, and looked down at your hand in his. He didn’t show it, but you felt a single drop of water on your thumb.

So he could cry.

And he did.

His eyes were red from holding them back once he did finally look back up at you.

Neither of you said another word before you took your hand from his grasp and left him. You took off into the brush and kept low, and didn’t look back even as you felt that prickle on the back of your neck like you used to after Mass.

September brought with it a crisp wind.

Colder weather meant you prayed harder that no shipments were delayed or you would have to hide out in the cold if they got inside your home. The autumn that you once loved was now a marker for your extreme isolation. You knew snow would eventually come, and winter storms that would knock out the power.

There was one night when you were delirious with loneliness that you actually walked into the main town. You walked along the beach. You knew most islanders would be at Mass, so you strode to the marina and sat on the shoreline. You stayed there for hours, and found yourself not caring when you heard voices of people passing by on the road. It wasn’t until you heard a couple familiar old voices that you looked up at the doc. Leeza and Warren were standing at the edge of the platform looking out over the water.

It was Leeza who stopped talking first. She stalled, and looked down sharply and you stared up at her. She looked as if she saw a ghost, and you didn’t blame her.

You were practically like a unicorn on Crockett.

You watched her elbow Warren when he asked her what was wrong, and he looked down at you with the same expression. You waved slowly, and offered them a small smile.

They looked behind them, then back at you and waved back.

They didn’t come down to see you. And they didn’t tell anyone where you were.

You stayed and watched the slow approach of the Belle that they now used for shipments. It tore through the waves of the Atlantic, and you watched as it docked. You wondered how easy it would be for you to sneak aboard, but you knew that was next to impossible. You didn’t know who sailed it, you didn’t know who intercepted the shipment…for all you knew you would be offering yourself up on a platter for Bev to serve to the community.

The sky began to brighten, and you still remained where you were as the boat sailed away.

You almost started waving your arms and screaming for them to come back.

Almost.

The sun was still down when you stood up and brushed off your pants. You sighed and turned to start back to your house for a needed cup of coffee, but when you looked up to the main road, you went still.

His dark eyes bore into you. Father Pruitt stood on the edge of the road staring down at you. You wondered how long he had been standing there. You hadn’t heard him.

He had that same pained expression on his face that he seemed to have every time he saw you. Like you were even more of a reminder of his sins than the turned islanders.

You stared back, and shivered when a wind picked up. You could feel the sun start to rise behind you, and you wondered if he was going to stay there looking at you until he burned.

It seemed like he wasn’t quite ready to face his wrongdoings as he slowly turned and began to walk away. You stood there alone as the day came and embraced you.

And once again, the island was silent.

Another day alive.

Another day alone.

November was cold. So cold.

During the day you could sometimes see sheets of ice floating on the top of the shore. Frost on the trees. Complete silence.

You had been trying for weeks now to map out the arrival and departure of the Belle and who sailed it, how long it stayed, if there were any moments when it was left unattended. Anything.

You could feel yourself start to lose yourself. You looked at old recipes you used to love making, and considered trying them out…but your shoulders would sag when you remembered you had no one to feed and a shortage of ingredients. You listened to every vinyl in your house and had started several books. Your internet connection was horrible as it always was but you tried to learn something new when you could. You were jamming your brain full of information so you could ignore the hole in your heart that grew everyday.

You knew you couldn’t stay like this forever, but if you were honest you didn’t know what else to do.

You were afraid.

John pulled his long coat a little closer around his collar as he began his trek back up to the rectory. He waved at a family as they passed him, and he found that he now received small smiles from people instead of grimaces. That change alone had him humming a little as he ascended the hill, but before he even started, he stopped short.

Those sensitive ears of his prickled as he picked up the sound of a rapid heartbeat.

He listened carefully to see if it was just an animal in the trees, but it was much too strong. He began to follow it, but after only a few strides, a sense of dread filled him.

It had to be you.

And you hadn’t come this way in months.

With your heart beating that fast, you were either terrified or exhausted. Or both. Neither was a wonderful option. John hurried his steps and walked up the pathway to the rectory when he slowed again just shy of the steps.

John had to steady himself.

The stench of blood confronted him like a wall, and he felt that repressed hunger inside him rise, but the last bit of goodness in him beat it down like a heathen. It was then that his sharp ears picked up the sound of several pairs of feet walking on gravel…perhaps 50 meters away. They were coming that way, fast.

John stepped up to the door, and noticed then that the door was ajar. He never locked it- it wasn’t like he needed to. But it wasn’t the open door that made him even more compelled to move quickly, it was the drop of blood there on his doorstep.

You were actively bleeding.

John pushed the door open, and scanned the dark home. It was so still inside. If it weren’t for his heightened senses, he could have missed what was wrong. The Monsignor, however, did know very well that there was something or someone in his room. The man slowly made his way back to the dark room, and his eyes lowered to the floor at the edge of his carpet.

Little bloody fingerprints were imprinted on the floor and smudged onto the fabric.

John knelt down and gingerly gripped the edge of the hidden door, and pulled. If it weren’t for his stellar sight in the dark, John wouldn’t have seen a single thing in that cellar. But as he stared down, he remained calm and refrained from making any sudden movements.

You were there against the furthest wall, curled in on yourself, eyes just barely visible in the sliver of dim light from up above; blood soaked your visible clothes and you trembled terribly.

“Don’t you dare come any closer!” You cried in a strained voice.

You were in pain.

“What happened?” He asked gently, crouching a little more to get a closer look at your shaking form.

“You lied that’s what happened!” Your voice was strong despite the tremble from fear and pain.

“How did I lie?” He asked. The Father tried to keep his voice as level as he could without begging you to tell him who did this. However, he took a very slow, very cautious step down onto the stair and that was not the right move.

“I said-…I said don’t come closer!” Your edge was lost as fear began to take over.

He held his hands up and knelt there on the first step, “You’re clearly hurt, I just want to help-“

“That’s what you said before! And the time before that! But if you had meant what you said about telling everyone to leave me alone then I wouldn’t be here!” You were almost crying- throat growing tight and heart beating faster as anxiety set in.

Father Pruitt felt his fingers itch with want to carry you up to his home and care for you, but he couldn’t risk scaring you before expressing his submission. Disbelief settled in as he looked over your tattered and bloodied clothes.

“They did this…” he said aloud to himself as he came to terms with the carnage, “I told them very clearly that you weren’t to be bothered I promise you-“ he started.

“Even i-if you’re not lying they didn’t listen…” You curled in tighter on yourself. Your weakening voice strung at Johns heart.

John swallowed and made to take another step down to you as he tried to quell his rage.

“Hey- shh…okay. I’m- listen to me sweetheart I’m-“ John paused then. He could hear those same footsteps he had heard before now just outside the rectory and he had a sneaking suspicion that he had what they were seeking, “I’ll be right back.” He whispered and lowered the door again.

John slowly straightened himself up and stood to his full height; he began walking to his door, but as he grew further from you, his calm walk turned into a determained stride that was in no way welcoming and anything but docile.

He wrenched the door open and without missing a beat he stepped out in front of the small group of islanders who were now half stumbling back from him.

Johns nostrils flared and his eyes lacked any semblance of the gentle man he was. His eyes glinted in the light from their lanterns, and his shoulders hunched slightly like he was ready to attack. In that moment, John was thankful that you couldn’t see him in such a state- he was certain he would never lay eyes on you again if you did.

“Did I not say that that young woman was off limits?” He bellowed, teeth bared as he snapped, taking another step forward off the porch.

There was a small gathering there, but not a single person had been prepared for the Father to burst in such a way. The attack on you had seemed like such an insignificant thing for them- like they were trying to catch a stray cat.

“Hey now! I-we- well you know how- I- it was-“ the man at the front floundered.

“I gave you all specific boundaries to abide by. I might as well have said nothing because now I have the last creature on this island that deserves Gods grace, and she is halfway to meeting her maker.” John paused and looked down at the stomach of the man then back up at his face. There was a large bullet hole there just above his bellybutton that had a ring of blood surrounding it, “Did she do this?” He asked, still seething, cold and direct. His tone quieted as he spoke now.

The man nodded, “Y-yeah she blew me right off-“

“Good.” John nodded and shifted back up to his full height, “You know what this is good because now you all know the consequences of disobeying your limitations. Daylight is one of your limits, and this girl is now too. Get that through your heads or god help me I’ll hand her the gun next time myself.” He didn’t wait for a rebuttal before he was slamming the door and locking it.

John barely broke stride as he turned and marched right back to the door in the floor and opened it back up to peer down at you. You were still there, and still cowering in the corner.

“I’m so sorry…They’re gone…I- please let me help you…I can keep you safe here but you’ll bleed to death if you don’t let me help you.” He pleaded with you.

John watched you for a few very long moments. When you didn’t respond, he felt a jolt of dread spear his chest and he was suddenly flooded with the memories of his sister on her deathbed; how he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. It only intensified when memories of Sarah’s limp body flashed in his mind.

He had lost his sister.

He had lost his love.

He had lost his daughter.

Now his eyes blazed as he decided he was going to help you whether you let him or not.

You were not going to die.

Johns eyes prickled as he pushed those memories away and leapt down the remaining steps to you and gathered you into his arms. You weren’t completely limp, but you weren’t doing well. You must have gone into shock from the attack, coupled with the freezing cold night and your lack of proper clothing.

As he pulled you up with him and gently laid you on his bed, he finally saw why you had come to him.

On your shoulder was a very deep bite. Whoever had done that to you had not wanted to let go- looked as if the perpetrator had almost taken a chunk of flesh right out of you. John felt that anger in him start to seep into his veins as he thought of someone maiming you so brutally- he nearly considered finding that man who had done this to you and-

No.

No he was better than that. That man would meet his fate when it was the right time.

John sucked in a breath despite not needing to, and went to his small bathroom. He searched frantically for a small medial kit he remembered he had there, and almost tore it open to find what he needed. He took a moment to gather himself as well. Certainly he was well stocked with blood, and he wasn’t hungry, but there was always something about fresh blood that made that beast inside him claw at its bars.

But this was you.

And he would be strong for you.

When he returned to you, your face was buried in the blanket there, hugging it to yourself. John pursed his lips, and ripped open the disinfectant wipe and gauze. He wetted the material in the sink, and began dabbing at your wound.

“Holy Spirit, please come like a dove…Shield and protect now the one that I love. Cover her wounds with Your grace feathered wings…Shield them from sorrow, breathe hope songs within…”

John’s voice began to shake as your wound came clean; as he prayed for you, all he could think of were how many times he was unable to stop Gods plan of taking those he loved. How he was perhaps still foolishly trying to stand in His way.

“Tend with Your goodness the pain that she bears. Heal now her sickness with miracle care. Carry her high far above till she sees...”

He pulled your night dress down over your shoulder to clean the rest of the dried blood. He swallowed as his mouth began to ache. His teeth itched at the sight of such fresh blood- flesh already broken…so easy…

But he pushed it away.

“Your rainbow of promise, real hope lies ahead. I love her so dearly, so help me to be. All that you, would give out through me.”

John gazed down at your sleeping form and felt his chest tighten. His last little piece of hope. His ray of sunshine that burned him to touch but he couldn’t let go. Even with your skin clean, your clothes were still sodden with blood and sweat. He knew that if you stayed in them you could risk getting ill, and worsening your recovery. He sobered at the thought.

John looked up that the cross on his wall, and closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh God, in beautiful ways, you created and redeemed mankind. Give us steadfast minds to resist the allurements of sin so that we may attain the joys of eternal life. Hear us, Oh Lord. Amen.” He muttered quietly, and slowly as he focused on the words, he found that his thirst ebbed away slowly and the ache in his mouth dissipated.

After a moment, John carefully unfurled you from your position and pried your hands away from the blanket. Then as tactfully and quickly as he could, he gripped the edge of your dress and pulled it up. He kept his eyes glued to the fabric in his hand, then once it came away, he stared only at the wound you had; to keep your warm, he pulled one of the blankets you had bled on up over your body. John wiped and dabbed as gently as he could, chastising himself when he would accidentally watch one of the droplets of bloody water run astray and trail down your collarbone over your clavicle. Your skin was coming clean, but there was still the grime and sweat on you.

John hung his head- his forehead touching your arm.

“God help me…” he murmured. If you got a fever because he didn’t clean your wound and body fully then he would fret and stress even more than he already was. It would torture him just as it would torture you.

After contemplation, John made the decision to hold you under a gentle shower steam- just something to wash you a little better. If he had dwelled on the idea a little longer he might have talked himself out of it and spiralled for a while, so instead he chose to act quickly. He strode into the little washroom and turned the tap. Waiting until the stall was filled with steam that would warm you up.

John stared down at you for a long minute- wondering if there was some other way to do this. When he didn’t come up with anything, John trained his eyes on a point on the wall to keep from accidentally seeing your bare skin, and gathered you into his arms as gently as he could, and carried you into the shower. As soon as he stepped in, the water began to drench his clothes. The warmth permeated the small space and cocooned both of you as the water soothed your filthy body. John was mindful to not constantly hold you under the direct spray; he slowly let your legs down to hang limp and he dangled your arms around his shoulders as he swayed with you under the spray like a doll. With his height, your feet didn’t even touch the ground as he held you, and it seemed to make things easier as he could manipulate you enough to rinse off most areas of your skin without needing to jostle you too much and cause more bleeding or wake you up.

The longer he stood there with you, he began to realise that there was something so tranquil to stand there with you in his arms. Relaxing and hypnotic - the warmth of the steam invading his senses. The intimacy of having someone’s body against his. John found himself humming, and his thumb drew small circles on your back. It was selfish to say he enjoyed it. Sinful too. But he did. He could feel your soft breath on his neck, and your heart beat against his soaked chest.

He felt young again.

Human again.

John basked in the rejuvenation.

After several minutes, he carefully stepped out with you, and cradled you to his chest as he grabbed his towel from the back of the door. He sat with you on the lid of the toilet and did his best to wrap you in the towel while barely looking at you. He praised God for the halted bleeding, and while he was still dripping he walked back into his room with you.

John positioned you on the bed, and rubbed the towel against your damp skin until he was satisfied. He then pulled any hair away from your shoulder and placed a large bandage over your wound. He paid attention so as to not irritate any small cuts from the bite. It would scar, but you weren’t going to turn.

Then as he pulled away, John could feel his soaked clothes cling to him, and he stood quickly to not get the bed any wetter. He needed to change you, but if he was going to keep you dry he needed to deal with himself first. He grabbed whatever he had folded on the edge of his bed and went back to the washroom to change. As he removed his shirt, he paused when it clicked that now he had to dress you while you were completely bare. He swallowed thickly, and quickly settled into the mindset that you were his patient, and he was giving you care. Nothing else.

If he was honest he wished the earth would swallow him up.

What time was sunrise?

Maybe he could go for a walk and just disappear forever in the wind. The thought was fleeting but so tempting at that moment when he straightened and quickly changed. Even the dry clothes didn’t fully dissipate the sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

The Monsignor returned to your side quickly albeit timidly now. He eyed you wearily as he gathered some clothes for you, and had to muster up some courage to continue. He stood there just feet from you, and watched you breathe for a moment.

You looked so calm.

Serene.

Beautiful.

But he couldn’t stand there forever. And he knew it would be so much worse if you woke up in the current state you were in versus dressed.

He bowed his head and crossed himself as he muttered a prayer, then inched over to you and gingerly sat beside you. Father Pruitt slipped an arm under your back and rolled your torso into his lap. He focused on the top of your head as he fiddled with the shirt he was now getting over it, and cursed to himself when he had to look for your hands to bring them through the shirt. His ears would have flushed pink if he had been human. He told himself it wasn’t his fault for catching sight of your nipple. It was his fault for noticing that it had become pert in the cold.

John finished with your top as fast as he could, then he guided you back further onto the bed and rested your head on his pillow before glancing down where the towel was draped over your legs. He gripped the sleep pants in his hand like a vice and he gulped down the saliva that pooled on his tongue. The good Father’s hand shook as he took the towel away and instantly looked down at your feet where he started to hook the pants onto you, slowly sliding them up. Up, up, up until he had to finish the last of it a little roughly as he looked away.

The intimacy of it all had his head dizzy. It had been such a strained relationship with you for months now that having you in a state like this made him feel like a perverted old man taking advantage of your state. Of course he knew he wasn’t and that he was just taking care of you, but the guilt remained.

John looked down to inspect his work, and sighed with great thanks that the stressful task was over.

You were washed and dressed and you weren’t bleeding out as badly.

The Monsignor carefully placed a small towel under your head for your damp hair, and brought the thick blanket up over your body; he retrieved an extra one for good measure and laid it over you too. He petted your head for a moment- smoothed his thumb over your forehead to draw an invisible cross there, and read a prayer for your health and forgiveness. He was well aware that he was undeserving, but they prayers came out of habit, and soothed his anxiety of what he had done.

John then pressed a kiss to your temple and left you there to sleep. Your gentle breaths filled the room, and the Father sighed. No doubt you would be spitting fire at him tomorrow, but for now he could admire how innocent and peaceful you looked.

He cast one last look at you as he shut the door, and his mouth twitched into a small smile.

Sunshine.

Hours passed. John watched the sun rise and began writing, then read, then he checked on you, then prayed. Then began the cycle over again. If your shortness of breath and rapid heartbeat was any indicator when he had found you, you must have ran very quickly across the island…that coupled with your blood loss must have exhausted your body. You needed rest.

He had stood guard outside the rectory until twilight began- hand clenching and unclenching. Digging his rosary into his palm. The scales were out of balance, and he hadn’t wanted to rectify that so badly until now. Wanted to find the man likely still healing from the bullet hole in his stomach and make him feel the same fear you felt.

John briefly wondered where you had gotten a shotgun from. A pistol wouldn’t do that damage. Though he supposed it wasn’t entirely foreign that you had one.

He heard you stir and move from inside, and abandoned his post to return to your side; wetting a new cloth to lay on your head.

Now, he was sat on the small couch, and waited. He filed away several passages from the Holy book in his hand- ones that he may enlighten you with should you need it. There he remained until he heard your heart rate pick up again, and the blankets start to rustle. John slowly placed the Bible in his lap, and stared at the pages as he waited. It took a while until you slipped from the bed and your bare feet hit the cold floor. He really should have put some slippers there for you.

He heard you scramble for a moment, most likely grabbing something to throw at him or something to defend yourself with. He understood both. The last thing you likely remembered was laying in his dark cellar as you bled. Now you were in his bed and changed.

Johns suspicions were proven correct when he felt a pair of scissors fly at his head and nick his ear.

He didn’t blame you for a second.

“Good morning.” John murmured calmly as his flesh stitched back together.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear @vintageglassheart02 @ethanhoewke @dancingisdangerouss @cherrysugarx @daisychainsinknots @thesoundresoundsecho

[chronicdisasterwrites]

i’d keep you company in the dark

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre + warnings: - ANGST but FLUFFY ending!! jjk movie spoilers!! happens after the ending of jjk-0, death, sad gojo, kisses.

word count: 1,672

authors note: this was a request by my lovely @daisy-the-quake <3 it's a song-fic, inspired by the song "peaches” by grandson x k.flay

enjoy <3

Your eyes shoot open as you lie still and unmoving. The blinking red light of the clock on your bedside table indicates midnight. Yet another nightmare, about the same thing. It starts with you standing face-to-face with Suguru. His face twisted with the sneer he had on when he came to the school to announce his plan; "The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons". You try to move but you can’t. You try to talk to him, try to convince him to listen to reason, but nothing comes out. He laughs, then it shifts and his laughing transitions into an irksome drone coming out of his ajar mouth. It turns into an incessant buzzing growing exponentially until it’s so loud you can’t see, think, or feel anything. And then the noise stops completely and you’re standing in the sky looking down at Satoru standing in an arena, alone, with a horde of shadows surrounding him. They all make their way toward him like ants capturing a crystal of sugar. You don't do anything. You don’t move or scream or fight. You feel like you don't even exist. Just when the shadows are about to swallow him whole does he look up at you, with hollow eyes and no will to survive.

The hammering of raindrops against your windows could’ve also been a factor, but the sweat on your face and the drumming of your heart indicate otherwise. Taking a few deep breaths you try to normalize your heartbeat. It was exhausting, having the same nightmare over and over again. Ever since Suguru died, all your dreams seemed to be about the same thing. Then you imagine, how Satoru must be feeling. You fall back into reality and realize Satoru’s side of the bed was abandoned. It had been a few days since Suguru died, and since then Satoru had been acting strangely. You never asked him straight up if he was okay, because you know he wasn’t. Of course, he wasn’t. So you tried to show him you were there if he wanted to talk, but he always laughed it off and changed the subject without showing a moment’s weakness. He was acting like nothing happened and life was just fine and dandy. The dream you had fills your mind with thoughts of Satoru losing his mind to the grief of losing his best friend and trudging down a path from which he could never return. You couldn't help him in your dream. Instead, you just stood there watching him get consumed by his demons. You bolt out of bed to look for him. He wasn’t in the apartment you both shared, so you made a guess and decided to trust your gut. You take your keys, wear a raincoat, take an umbrella, shove your phone in your pocket, and make your way to Jujutsu Tech.

Parking your motorcycle in front of the steps of the school you see him sitting on the steps, head downturned and raindrops ricocheting off his Infinity. Once you start climbing the steps, does he lift his head to give you a small smile, tired and sullen, not at all like his genuine smile. 

You sigh and sit next to him, shoulders touching and legs brushing. Your face was half-covered by the hood of the raincoat but some raindrops still fell on your nose and exposed hands. Hearing the familiar buzz of Satoru’s Infinity, you look up and watch the raindrops slide down around you, making you feel like you were encased in a snow globe. The pattering of raindrops sounded muted and you felt safe and protected from the terrors of the world. So, this is how Satoru feels? 

“What brings you here?”

You remove your hood and look into his dull eyes. Shrugging, you reply with a tender voice, “I couldn’t find you so I figured you’d be here.” 

Satoru huffs, looking away and linking his hands together over his knees, “I’m fine before you ask.”

Gojo Satoru was a complex human being. Sometimes people tend to forget he is a human being, thanks to his charisma, strength, and holier-than-thou attitude. But that’s all he was; a human being, blessed burdened with the strength of a God. The ever-present smile on his dazzling face makes you forget that he’s not a shiny person. But when his eyes dim and his smile falls in the dark of the night when a million eyes aren’t on him you realize just how bruised and battered he is. 

You release a tired breath. He thinks he’s all alone in this world. He thinks no one can ever help him with anything because no one is as strong as him. The world always revolved around him, his strength, his power, his name. No one could ever equal him, so he believes it’s only fair for him to carry his burdens and sorrows on his own.

“Y’know Satoru…” He glances at you and quirks a thin, silver eyebrow. You stare ahead, picking at the skin around your nails. 

“You’re not alone. As much as you want to believe you are, you aren’t. So, if you aren’t gonna let me in, that’s fine. Just- please let yourself feel without putting on a front.”

You hear him exhale and watch him hang his head down from your peripheral vision. 

“What’s the point?” He mutters under his breath. The only reason you could hear him at all was because his Infinity dulled the noise in the outside world. 

This time you stare at his downturned head and you can’t stop yourself from speaking, “What’s the point? The point is that you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to hurt alone. I want you to share your pain with me! Yeah sure, you can get through this alone. You can shove it under the rug, but just this once, don’t be the strongest. Just let me hurt with you, let’s get through this together. Please, Satoru.”

He lifts his head and stares you straight in your eyes. You know how much he’s hurting. His world turned upside down and everything changed. He had to watch his friend plummet into the darkness and he had to be the one to deliver the final blow. His heart is shattered and you’re scared there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. The only thing you can do is be by his side and try to pick up his broken pieces.   

He exhales a shaky breath as his eyes glisten like a dewdrop on a blade of grass, “Can we get through this?” 

You reach out your hand and move a couple of strands of his hair from his vision. You let your hand lie against his warm cheek and he lets his eyes shut, “I know everything went to shit. But it’s not permanent, Satoru. I don’t know if things will get better, but we can only hope, right?”

He takes your hand in his own and runs his thumb over your knuckles.

“Yeah. We can only hope.”

He sighs and stares at your hand, “I miss him.”

“I know…”

You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back. It’s dark, except for a few streetlights. You think he’d enjoy a piece of cake or something sweet right about now. You open your mouth to ask him when he beats you to it, “Things won’t be the same.”

Your mouth hangs open and you wait as he continues speaking, “It might get better, it might get worse. Honestly? It doesn’t matter. We can’t really afford to be optimistic with a life like ours.” He lets out a humorless laugh. Looking at you, he gives you a gentle smile and leans forward to kiss your forehead. He lingers there for a quiet moment as the rain serenades you both.

“We’ll get through this.” 

You love him so much. Looking at his beautiful, weary face, you smile and leave a chaste kiss on his lips. Stealing another kiss, he brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, “I love you, y’know that?” 

Smiling, you stand and give him your hand, “Yeah, I love you too.”

He holds your hand and stops you on your way down the stairs, “Hey…I'm sorry for being selfish. I know you’re hurting too. I don’t want you to think I don't notice that.”

Turning back to look at him, you caress his knuckles with your thumb, “It's okay, Satoru-”

“No, it's not.” He stands on the upper step, looking down at you with tender eyes, "D'you have another nightmare? Is that why you woke up?" He traces the dark circles under your eyes and keeps his thumb on the apple of your cheek.

You sigh and close your eyes momentarily, "Yeah..."

"You wanna talk about it?"

Your free fingers wrap around his slender wrist as you look up at his glittering, blue eyes. "Maybe later." He nods.

You both walk down the steps, your hand warm in his. By now the rain had slowed down to a soft patter. He notices the umbrella tied on the backseat of your motorcycle and quirks an eyebrow, “Why’d you bring this?”

You offer a sheepish smile and take out your keys from your pocket, “I- uh, figured you might need it. I thought you’d deactivate your Infinity and sit in the rain or something… So y’know I didn’t want you to waste all your energy covering us both from the rain but I guess that’s exactly what you did so it was pretty usele-”

Your rambling was immediately shut down by the press of his lips against yours. You feel him smile into the kiss and your heart feels so warm. I love him so much. Hugging you, he rests his chin on your head, “Thank you.” 

You think it’s ironic how you’re shivering from the cold yet feeling so incredibly warm at the same time. He chuckles and unties the umbrella taking a seat on the backseat of your bike, “Let’s go home, yeah?”  

a/n: well, after chapter 236 this sure is a knife to the heart.

taglist: @thepup356, @porridgesblog, @stray-npc, @daisy-the-quake, @reignsaway, @ainetx, @icarusignite, @mariapierce789, @laylasbunbunny, @r0ckst4rjk

[yamujiburo]

HANAMUSA HEADCANONS

more hcs as promised! my girlfriend wrote some too heehee

My headcanons:

Delia is a morning person and was surprised to learn that Jessie was even more of a morning person than her

Jessie's a massive romantic and is usually the one to plan all their dates

They're both very clingy with each other

Jessie and Delia enjoy doing karaoke together

Delia would never say it but she gets sad whenever Ash leaves so quickly for his next journey. Jessie picks up on this and manages to convince Ash to stay home longer for his mom's sake.

After finding out Delia wanted to be model, Jessie started making a lot of new outfits for her using her years of expertise from making disguises

Delia enjoys being big spoon

Delia initiated their first kiss

They both rescue a pair of Zigzagoons from a poacher. They were named Ziggy and Zaggy by Delia

Jessie cuts Delia’s hair for her

Once Jessie becomes a nurse and starts going to work, Delia starts packing lunches for her every day (it’s usually way too much food)

Whenever Delia’s working in the kitchen, Jessie’s always waddling right behind her (not usually being much help but Delia doesn’t mind)

Delia is incredibly fond of Jessie’s Pokémon, Wobbuffet and Gourgeist in particular 

Delia never really drank before meeting Jessie but now they have wine nights together. They usually end with Jessie passed out in Delia’s lap

Pikachu comes around to Jessie rather quickly after realizing she’s not really a threat and finding out how good at head scratches she is (she has nice long nails)

Mimey takes the longest to come around to Jessie 

Ash never calls Jessie “mom” and she’s very okay with that. He does however call her “dad” to piss her off

Jessie calls Ash “champ” in retaliation

Jessie calls Delia “my Deerling” and Delia calls Jessie “Smoochum”

Delia loves when Jessie gives her kisses on the forehead

Delia is a huge Jessilina fan. Jessie reveals that she is Jessilina but Delia doesn’t believe her at first

Jessie and Ash slowly bond through Pokémon battles

Jessie and Ash tried making breakfast for Delia together once. Delia cried and they thought it was because it turned out bad (it did) but it she was just really happy to see them working together 

Living alone and having to run a restaurant on her own, Delia never got to travel much. Jessie, being pretty worldly, takes Delia on lots of trips once they get together. James and Meowth hold down the fort and run the restaurant while they’re out

Jessie and Delia do a lot of movie nights together. Jessie loves sobbing at romcoms and Delia likes really fucked up horror movies for some reason (Jessie’s terrified of them but doesn’t want Delia to think she’s a coward)

Jessie likes to randomly scoop Delia up and carry her around the house

Jessie enjoys giving Delia makeovers and Delia loves getting them

Delia tends to keep a lot of her negative feelings to herself but after meeting Jessie and seeing how unapologetically expressive she is, she starts letting her guard down a bit. She rants about rude customers and Jessie could listen to her all day

Because she lived alone for so long, Delia sometimes needs her space. Jessie’s still getting used to this (as someone who hates being alone)

Prior to getting her own job, Jessie would just do chores then sit around at the Ketchum house waiting for Delia to come home. She’s very bad at entertaining herself

@miwwiew​ ‘s headcanons:

Jessie is a passenger princess 

Delia has gone so long only conversing with Mr. Mime at home that she will ponder inappropriate things out loud, only for Jessie to now hear what she says and bolt over to her in a panic

"I wonder how I would survive all alone with just Mimey if I lost both of my arms in a freak accident" "IF YOU WHAT???"

"Jessie would you love me if I were an orthoworm?" "Where is this coming from, I'm-"

Jessie is used to verbally sparring with James and Meowth, but Delia has not dealt with conflict for years, so sometimes Jessie will overreact as a bit, which accidentally leads Delia to assume she did something to offend Jessie.

General Team Rocket headcanons!

https://at.tumblr.com/yamujiburo/team-rocket-headcanons/jey12qvg2631

[juniperdugong]

Perfection Pt.2; Alive

Brought back to life via lightning bolt, you and Mingyu discuss what happens now that you're back. He makes it clear that his intentions are to make you fall in love but is that such an easy task?

Pairing: mortician!mingyu x corpse!fem!reader

Genre: Mortician!au, Horror!au || Fluff, Crack, Romance, Angst

Warnings: Reader wears feminine clothing || Mentions of death and corpses (Nothing in-depth and nothing intended to disturb) || Mentions of suicide || Necro-romance, aka romantic attraction to a corpse. || Nudity || {Please let me know if there are other warnings you would like me to add}

WC: 4.7k

Songs that inspired this fic

Teaser | Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 |

A harsh slap to the face. Or rather, the cold smack of a linoleum floor. Your welcome greeting back into the world of the living. Your hands go to grasp anything they can hold onto on instinct but you find your muscles still tight and rigid. Processing such overstimulation is a task that not many would survive and even you at this moment are still reeling from the effects of, what was essentially, a lightning bolt shot into you. Too possessed by confusion to notice as strong but gentle hands grasp your shoulders guiding you to sit on the table you once laid.

"I've got you…" a firm and quiet voice attempts to assure.

Mingyu meets you with a stack of clothing, putting it down next to you. "Sorry, I was going to dress you before you woke up but I didn't want them to burn…nor did I think it would work at all." he says the second part in a hushed tone leaving you unsure if you should have heard it all.

You attempt to speak but your mouth feels sewn shut; Within a second of noticing your discomfort, he's at your side with an urgency that rivals EMS. Bringing his hands to your jaw, his expression grows serious as he gently relieves the pressure with a couple sways. His concentration makes your heart jump. He's so close and you can tell he takes this seriously; He takes you seriously. "Better?" he looks at you with concern.

"B-better." your mouth feels dry like it's filled with sand and gravel.

His face lights up as you speak. He stutters as he attempts to talk but resolves to holding your face in the palm of both his hands, holding you like a precious jewel. "It's worked…" It looks like he might just tear up but before anything threatens to spill he is picking up the stack of clothes once again and placing them in your lap. "You should get dressed, I didn't mean to have you indecent for this long."

He leads you to a corner of the room and grabs a foldable partition to cover you, even though he's already examined your body before. You can practically feel his excitement as multiple content sighs come from him from beyond the screen, the patter of his feet telling you that he's cleaning up all the things he had set in place before.

Once you're finished dressing yourself in…very fanciful(?) dress (what was meant to be put on you for your funeral viewing) you move the partition to find Mingyu standing underneath the skylight gazing at the night like a god. "Thank you," he whispers to it before you grab his attention.

"Ready?" he starts. "For?" "Right, I haven't told you anything yet. Forgive me." He leads you to sit on the rolling stool. "I have woken you because…" he sees the way you look up at him with doe-like eyes and anticipation, it makes him falter for a second before continuing. "…because I want to find love and well I was compelled by something unknown to me to believe that I might find that in you. I'm sorry for doing this without your permission, I didn't exactly have the means to ask." he doesn't meet your eyes when he says this. "But, if you don't want this, I won't force you. I've given you a second chance, I don't intend for you to be in my debt for it, however."

The way he speaks is so proper and refined compared to how you remember boys in life. His eyes barely meet yours as he waits for a response. Fearing the worst he begins to speak,

"You-" "I agree." your words strike him like arrows and poison his face with confusion. You continue, "I am not in your debt, I didn't ask for this umm-" he can sense you're searching for something. "Mingyu." he sees your discomfort in speaking and brings a bottle of water to hold before you. Waiting for you to finish. "-Mingyu. But since you've given me this chance." your memory flickers to the feelings of wanting someone, of loving someone, that you had before your death. "Why wouldn't I at least give it a try?" He looks up at you in astonishment but bites his tongue waiting for you to give more details. You take a sip of the water he's brought and it soothes your throat enough. "I think love is also something that I wanted in life but was never able to find. I don't remember feeling loved I mean. And I don't know if this will work out the way you imagine, I expect many complications because I can't hold out hope for the life of me. But that does not mean I can't try to fall in love…with you." for the first time he lets you hold his gaze. "Okay." Several seconds pass in silence as you both absorb everything. "What now?" "I had a plan…if you would like to go along with it." "Tell me-" "Of course!"

He goes on to tell you about what he had imagined. About taking you to either a shop to get more appropriate clothes, more comfortable ones; Or to his house to relax after something so-chaotic. In either case, he would defer to your wants and needs. He made sure that you knew that he was at your beck and call if you wanted him to be.

Without much deliberation you agree to go back to his home; It being far too late to consider if this is inappropriate, you were past that point the moment your lifeless eyes met his loving gaze.

Now you're in the front seat of his car, a silent drive, not even filled with music. You remember what it is to feel nervous now. The sweaty palms, the glances, the fidgeting, all of it comes back to you in this moment and you think What if this is wrong. Not once since you've been reanimated have you reflected on your choices or his but this silence gives you time to deliberate, albeit briefly.

You know how weird this all is, you've made peace with that. But the matter of love…that is your concern. To promise someone to try and fall in love with them? You barely know him. Although he is as handsome as it gets and obviously infatuated with you, you can't say that love can grow out of something as small as physical attraction. You've always thought of love as something much greater, maybe that is your failing but it is your opinion nonetheless. And now this conundrum has you-

Before you can finish your thoughts the door is opening and Mingyu is outstretching his hand to help you out. He leads you up to his home. A nice 2 story house, quite rare for a single man you think but you don't know how much money comes from the mortuary business. He fumbles with the keys before finally opening the door. Instantly, you are met with the same warm and inviting feeling you found when you first "met" Mingyu.

You would half expect that someone as clean and careful in the preparation room as Mingyu might live oppositely in his personal life but you are pleasantly surprised as the home you are in is as spic and span as can be. Cozy and clean. You're almost in wonderment at it but seeing how Mingyu comes in with ease and knowing makes you relax into the space as well. There is comfort in knowing that this home is his because he, himself, is comfortable to you. You don't know why that is but there is a sense of familiarity with Mingyu, maybe it's the same sort of feeling he felt when he looked at you for the first time.

He brings you in and sits you down in the living room. The lights cast an orange glow over everything that brings a great deal of warmth, something your body lacks. He doesn't so much as speak and it leaves you to think. Being left alone with your thoughts is nothing new but you have so much more to think about now with this situation.

Mingyu busies himself in the kitchen that overlooks where you sit. Your back is turned to him so you don't notice how he stares at you, your every movement making him restless; It's as though he's waiting for you to approach him, to call for him. But you don't, too wracked by everything to move so much as an inch from where he left you.

He returns with some ramen for the both of you. Setting it on the coffee table and motioning for you to join him on the floor. You have a hard time sitting down and once again he's practically jumping up to help you. Even still his gaze is beyond you, looking far past and never truly meeting yours.

"I should've told you that you can turn the TV on, I'm sorry…"

"Please don't."

"Don't? What?"

"You keep apologizing. You apologized for bringing me back, you apologized for not having me dressed. You don't need to apologize for even smaller things than that, Mingyu." You take hold of his hand as you say the last sentence and turn your attention to the ramen. "Thank you for this."

"Of course. I'm sor-" You give him a look and a smirk before he continues. Giggles are exchanged and you both turn attention to the TV for a time before stealing glances back and forth at each other, much more focused on being next to each other than what the game show host is rambling on about.

Dinner finishes and Mingyu takes both your dishes back to the kitchen. He returns quickly and shows you to the bathroom, "You can wash up. I've left some towels and clothes for you to change into on the sink. I hope they fit. But please…take your time. Enjoy your bath.". His eyes plead with you like he isn't simply wishing for you to have a good bath but instead, he is asking you to do so. He leaves you to your business.

You relish the feeling of a warm bath drawn. It brings you to life a second time or it is what truly makes you come to life. Your skin reacts to the warmth and color crawls back onto you. The pinkish tones cover you and you notice how the gray disappears in place of it.

You're once again alone with your thoughts and it allows you to think about everything, every moment that you can remember since awakening. The morgue, the journey in the car to the mortuary, meeting Mingyu, and then formally meeting him. It oddly makes you feel a bit empty. You don't know how to feel. It's all so surreal and you have to wonder if this is simply the afterlife, a mirage painted by god to make you believe. But he keeps bringing you back to the present.

Mingyu. Sure his looks might make you think he is an angel of some kind but his heart is human, maybe the most human amongst everyone you knew in life. His gestures and words and well…his life just feels like he is someone. He is tangible and real. He grounds you. In the same way you might've wanted to in life. You feel as though he will call you back home if you were away too long. And it's strange but it's fantastic and it makes you feel something, he makes you feel here. You do not wander in his presence and that empty feeling fades when he is near.

And just when you are finding comfort in Mingyu and contextualizing it you finish your bath and put on the clothes he's prepared for you. Some shorts and a tank top. Plain in their colors but it does strike you as odd. Why did he have women's clothes if he was single? You hate to doubt him so early on, a mere hours after meeting. But it does make you wonder, the thought draws you out of your body, and doubt surfaces along with anxiety. You hate yourself for it honestly. Because you barely know him and yet you feel so deeply about some made-up mistrust. You can't stand it and before you take a second longer to think about it, Mingyu does as he has since you woke up. He brings you back down to earth.

A loud knock at the door, "Sorry-shit, I mean I'm sorry for-Never mind." His voice instantly brings a smile to your face and any meandering thoughts you have float away, you giggle at his stuttering. "I hope you enjoyed your bath- I mean if you're still in there I don't mind but I just wanted to let you know that I'll be waiting in the living room…if you want to talk a bit before bed." He endears you so completely and as he perks up to speak again you are opening the door.

You're met with a hushed "Ah" as you see him. The smile on your face is contagious, catching on him and allowing you to see his shining fangs that make him resemble a puppy. His hair is wet and you suppose in the time that you've been bathing he's had the time to take a shower and change. He's wearing loose pajama pants and a white t-shirt that, because of the light, shows off his muscular figure. You are captivated and he follows your eyes chuckling, "Umm the living room?" you nod and he takes your hand in his as if it is the most natural thing in the world, leading you back to the couch downstairs.

You both relax into a comfortable silence. A sigh comes from you which he follows and you both are snickering at the gestures. How beyond ridiculous this day has been and yet also so perfect. There is so much to say and so little words to convey the feelings and thoughts you have. But who could blame you? It isn't like this situation is any more simple than a normal relationship or friendship. All the more complicated by the condition of your body and soul. After all, a corpse - it is infeasible, by regular means, for something like this to happen.

"So-" "So." in succession you both speak earning mild laughter from each other. "You wanted to talk about…" you begin with the obvious. "Right, I just wanted to talk. Gives us some time to get to know one another. But, even now I can't seem to find the words..." "I can't either. I mean- I just don't know what to say or talk about." "That's okay. We can start with something simple." "Like?" "Like…a game of 21 questions?" you have to scoff at the idea simply because it's so…normal. In all this mess of things that have been peculiar and weird, Mingyu is asking for something normal. "Okay, you first then. Since it's you're idea." It takes him a while and you let it happen, feeling no need to fill the space with idle conversation. "You're favorite color?" It takes you by surprise just how simple his question is and even still you are unable to answer with certainty, "Hmm I don't know. What's yours?" "Mine? I asked you the question…" he smirks. "I know but I don't think I have one-" "C'mon, you don't remember having one or you don't think you ever did?" "I don't know. Maybe I never did…" you ponder for a moment, you really don't remember much about your life other than the feelings. He's a bit baffled by the revelation but he doesn't want to bombard you too early so he concedes to your answer. "I guess, we'll just have to find you a favorite color then! Right, your turn."

Now you take a moment to think. "What about me-" you gesture up and down on your body, "caught your eye first?" There is a smile on his lips, "Honestly…it was your lips. Most people I see in my prep room come in with cracked and dried lips but you came in and I don't know, it was different. Your lips looked like you could wake up at any moment and-" he stops himself from saying too much, his mind in battle with something as strange as an attraction to your body, "You looked alive and yet you weren't, it captivated me." he says to you earnestly. You didn't know how to respond to such honesty. So you just let it be, allowing the muffled noise of crickets and the rustling of leaves to fill the awkwardness. "My turn again. Hmm, since we're jumping into the fray, what do you think of me?" You look at him confused, "What do you mean?" "I mean, I've brought you back to life, you're in my home, and we've talked about things that I've never talked to anyone about. So, what do you think of me? Of this?" he motions towards everything in the room so you can assume he means the situation. "I can't really say. I mean I accepted your proposal but it's not like I had many other options, y'know?" "Right." "I can say that this is new for me though. Attempting something like this, I don't think I ever did it in life." "You never fell in love?" "I don't think so…I don't remember those feelings." Gloom overcomes Mingyu as he hears this. "But! I think that just means that I have all the more to gain from this experience, right?" you try to assure him. "Right…" he's still mulling over what you said but gathers himself, "Your turn" "Okay- well, let's get back to a lighter note, what's your favorite song right now?"

You guys go back and forth for a while exchanging different likes and dislikes. The room is now more cozy with the familiarity growing even more between you. It's down to the last 4 questions now, Mingyu hums with anticipation as you search your mind for something to ask.

"Ah! I got it! This is something I've been thinking about but I didn't know if I should ask you about it. If we're taking things seriously then I don't want things to start off with any regrets or things unsaid so I'll ask anyway." "Okay, shoot." "Where exactly did you get these clothes?" your hands wave over the pajamas he gave you. "Oh, those are my younger sisters. She left them here during her last visit." you visibly relax at the answer and he notices. Being a bit bold he reaches out to place his hand on yours, "Hey, I know we just met but I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, certainly not give you the clothes of some other person." You take him for his word and grasp his hand in yours, allowing your fingers to intertwine. The ease of the action doesn't seem to affect either of you, it's like your hands were made to be together. "Your turn, Mingyu." "Hm hm hm…I was gonna ask you this anyway but since I can't come up with a good question I'll ask it now; Where do you want to sleep?" your puzzled expression spurs more of an explanation out of him, "I don't know where you're most comfortable so it's really up to you. The couch is comfortable but it's lonely down here. I have a guest room I can set up for you, when my sister visits that's where she sleeps. Or I can give you my bed for the night, don't worry about me I can sleep almost anywhere so it's no big deal, more comfortable than the guest bed though in my opinion." You digest all your choices, "The guest room works. Any bed is better than a body bag-" you joke earning a smile from Mingyu and a squeeze of your hand in recognition. "Done, I'll get that ready for you once we finish the game." "The next question I have is a bit of a serious one…" your tone makes him sit up straight.

"What happens to me?" "What?" "I mean, I'm dead according to official records and you were supposed to prepare my body for a viewing. What happens to me now that I'm back? What happens to my viewing? To the people who might go to that?" "I don't- I don't know." now he's as concerned as you are, making it evident that he didn't think this far ahead. "You were scheduled for a quick viewing, nothing fancy. And we have until next week to figure stuff out-" Mingyu begins racking his brain until an idea hits him. "I- We can say that you asked to be cremated. You left it in your…note." Both of you sour at the mention of your suicide note. "Right but doesn't the coroner have that? Haven't they read it by now?" "Yes, I mean it's a big part of determining your cause of death. But if we can go in there-" "Mingyu. You are not suggesting…" "I am. If we can get into the morgue and find your belongings, all we'd have to do is swap out a sheet of paper." The fact that this is on the table at all is blowing your mind. It's so incredibly risky. Maybe even more risky than just saying he lost your body. But if it works it certainly would clean up your issue quite well. No one would question the wants of a dead person, would they? Mingyu waits expectantly for your approval and after a minute you give it to him. "Okay." "Okay?" "Okay, we can try this but…" you look at him, both of your hands now holding his as he stares back at you with his big brown eyes whose effect is akin to a siren song. "-but we have to plan this out carefully. The morgue is the one place where people might recognize me easily since, y'know, they've seen my dead body." you try to drill seriousness into your words. "Yeah yeah of course! We can plan it out as carefully as you want, y/n."

The day has been long and although the conversation is lively enough to keep you both going Mingyu recognizes that rest should come sooner rather than later. "-But I think we should reserve that for tomorrow. I need to start getting your room together." He begins to get up before you're grabbing at his wrist. This man has been waiting for you to call for him; To reach for him, you've got him sitting back down in an instant as all his attention focuses on you.

"You have the last question, Mingyu." "Oh- Oh I- Umm." your touch lingers on him like some sort of spell meant to leave him in delirium. "It's okay, we don't have to finish the game-" "Ahh no no no, we can finish it, it's just one question…should be super simple to come up with one question." he contemplates for a while before speaking up again, whatever's come to mind making him blush wildly. "You can say no to this!" Great start Kim Mingyu, "I know we just met and this is a very sudden request; And I want you to know that you can refuse it if you don't feel comfortable. But since we've talked about the nature of what this is-" he motions towards the both of you, "-Do you think it would be too soon to ask for a kiss?"

Your mind goes blank. A kiss? Now? Unsure of what to say or how to react you just look at him with a stunned expression. Mingyu takes your apprehension as a "Not right now", not wanting to push you any further than you're comfortable with. He moves to cup your cheek, "It's okay, it's too soon, I know. I'll go get your room ready.", with that he's up and walking up the stairs.

You're still in shock from the question. Out of everything he could've asked and everything that he has asked this is the question that stumps you. Your mind is working overtime to process it. A kiss. Is that what you wanted? He was right, it is too soon. But eventually, would you get to a point where you're ready for that step? The thought runs rampant in your mind and you find yourself imagining what a kiss with Mingyu might be like, while also slightly scrutinizing yourself for missing the chance of finding out.

Lost in your imagination you come back to reality as Mingyu is coming back downstairs. "It's ready." You follow him to the guest room; It's just a few feet away from his room and as he ushers you inside he lets you know that if you need anything at all he's a few steps away.

The room is as clean as the rest of the house and you find yourself wandering around it in search of more pieces of Mingyu's life. A vanity holds some skincare products that are lightly used, Mingyu's sisters you think. Tucked between the mirror and the wood frame that holds it are a few childhood photos of the 2 of them. You can't help but smile as you picture them playing. The dresser holds other clothes, some of them you can discern are his sisters but others seem to be men's clothing. The closet doesn't reveal much other than spare towels and blankets.

You retire to the bed after your snooping and it doesn't take long for dreams to seep into your mind.

The dreams you have come to you more like visions. Recollections of the day spinning off into "what ifs-". What if you hadn't accepted Mingyu's proposal? Where would you be now, what would you be doing? If he hadn't woken you up at all? Would your soul be trapped in your body forever reaching for an afterlife and never finding one? And what if you had kissed him tonight? Would you still be here, sleeping alone in this empty room? Or would the night have somehow veered in a direction where he and you would be sleeping side by side? The night leaves you to meditate on the endless stream of questions and before long the sun rises.

Peaks of sunlight linger in the empty room but it isn't what wakes you. It's the loud footsteps that go up and down the stairs, the cacophony of different/unfamiliar voices, and the final straw, your door opens and a dolphin-like scream rings your ears.

Before you can open your eyes and see who it is they are running out of view but leaving the door swinging wide open. A man with glasses peaks his head in like a curious cat, immediately apologizing at the sight of you, "So sorry.". Promptly he closes the door leaving you reeling from the abrupt intrusion and unable to pinch together enough sense to realize the predicament you're in.

The door bursts open once again, and this time Mingyu rushes in. "I'm so sorry, they came in so suddenly. I told them not to come up-" "Who?" "My friends, it's okay, I yelled at them to go back downstairs. Are you alright?" he's hurriedly assessing your condition as if you were the one who screamed. "I'm fine…just shaken?" "Okay. Well, wash up, don't worry they won't bother you again and I'll tell them to leave." "You don't have to-" "I do though, they are so annoying" he huffs which elicits a laugh from you. He pats your shoulder before moving his hand towards your face, running his thumb over your jawline, admiring you for a few seconds. "I'll meet you in the living room?" "Yeah, I'll be trying to get those weirdo's out of here." he gets up and closes the door behind him as he leaves. You can hear a muffled yell that echoes through the halls as Mingyu scolds his friends.

Another day has come and you are absolutely alive.

A/N: This one was a doozy for me to write and by far the longest part in a fic I have ever made (even b4 this account lol) but I hope you like it! Please comment, like, and reblog if you do! Seriously, it encourages me so much to hear what you guys think. My biggest hope in posting this part is that it'll make me feel more confident in my writing since I've been in a slump ;-; Anyways my loves have a good weekend!! The taglist for this series is open and my requests are open as well!!

TAGLIST (open):@jjin-kun @mydolle-dd

[lesinquietes]

Summary: Alucard thinks the dreams he crafts for you are delicious. And they feel so real, don’t they? Maybe they are. Maybe all of this is. In the end, only you and him will know.

Pairing: Yandere!Alucard x AFAB!Reader

Warning: 18+ (minors, don’t interact), angst, horror, mentioning of noncon, sexual themes

Previous l Next

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

really love the idea of alucard messing with reader in her dreams 🥰 and the power of friendship — even tho its not enough to stop the horrors that await them all

The Basement’s Monster II

“Find me, trandafir… or I'll find you.”

You wake up in a foreign land. It’s dark. There’s a nip in the air. Alert and frightened, you glance down. You're standing upright. Your bare feet are encased by snow and ice. The frosty dust travels all the way up to your ankles, scratching your raw skin. Around you are tall evergreens, their skirts hiding more than ice beneath them; you learn this almost immediately.

As you guide your gaze down their branches, you catch a glimpse of something in motion between them. You take a step back. Suddenly, growling is heard to the left of you. With a gasp, you whirl to face the threat. It leaves no trace. You hear the same noise again, closer this time. You can’t catch the culprit, regardless of your wit.

Unmoving, you listen to the ambiance of the eerie site. You want to freak out. It takes every fibre of self-restraint to not. But inwardly, part of you does. Part of you spends several seconds attuned to your heartbeat, believing that cardiac arrest will kill you before the monster does. Inside, you claw your hair out in chunks and howl like a werewolf into the cloudless sky. You close your eyes and beseech for a swift end, because giving up is easier than the prospect of failing, or running into the abyss, of getting lost in this Carpathian forest.

A soft growl emerges from behind you once more. Hauntingly, the beast’s breath dances across your bare shoulders. Your hair hovers on end. Jesus Christ; this thing is close enough to touch you.

Your survival instincts kick in. Thoughtlessly, you bolt forward. A sitting duck certainly doesn’t stand a chance; a running duck might.

The snow crunches under your toes as you dash. The crescent moon poorly illuminates your path while you clumsily dodge trees, dead shrubs, and pitfalls, panting feverishly. No one has treaded this section of the woods yet. There’s no indication of where to go, or where you could be headed. All you know is that you're being hunted.

You stumble to a halt when your lungs burn, begging for reprieve. Collapsing to your knees, the powder beneath you cuts into your skin. You barely feel the slices; you’re too cold to notice.

You swallow laboured pants and kneel in silence, attending to the earth. You count to sixty three times. In that span, you don’t hear anything.

It’s odd. There are no animals in this area, prowling about in the guise of night. You seem to be the only living creature out here. A cryptic realization strikes you. Animals and insects can detect predators more effectively than humans.

Climbing to your feet, you survey the circumference around you. The shadows remain in place this time. Still, there’s an unrest in the pit of your stomach that prompts you to move on. Staying here will do you little good.

You trek forward, rubbing your arms to keep warm. The walk feels like it lasts for an eternity. Maybe it does. But even eternities die hereafter.

There's a wooden post pitched awkwardly near a hulking tree. At the top is a carved arrow pointing to the right. You can’t read the words that are scratched into the jaded wood. You reach up to wipe off the snow. Unnerved, you discover that the characters are in a different language.

Nu intrați.

You look in the direction it’s signifying. You squint through the blowing snow, straining your eyes to scan the visible distance. There’s no path in sight. You don't know what you were expecting. You do notice something else, though. Through the thick trunks and thorny bushes, the small hills and frosty terrain, you see a light. It’s dim and foreboding. It’s also the only lead you’ve got. Reluctantly, you embark.

At your rear, the darkness is steadily closing in over your shoulder. Is it you, or is the void getting closer? You can no longer conceive the larger details of the woods behind you. It's inky and devastating. You get the sense that you'll be consumed if you don't pick up your pace. Right then, your stride transforms into a brisk jog.

Utterly disoriented, you reach the light source. Your icy fingers coil around the post. This one has a lantern dangling from its upper axis, swaying ominously in the arctic gusts; that must be what you saw. You shift to get a glimpse of what was pursuing you. Nothing. It cowers from sight, skirting along the hem of light, as though fearing what will be revealed.

Next to you, on the opposite side of the post, there are items dangling from a hook. They appear to have been planted, given their relatively clean state. Strange, based on the lack of footprints. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to determine that this is bait from the predator chasing you. Upon further inspection, it's a cloak and a pair of boots. Gear to survive this landscape — a grim confirmation that he doesn't want this charade the quest to finish prematurely. Mournfully, you may have no choice but to adorn them if it means getting out of this polar nightmare alive.

You snatch the cloak and toss it over your figure. It’s made of a white silky fur, instantly enveloping you in a toasty hug. There’s a thicker pelt lining the garment, barring the wind from gaining access to your nudity. The length of the fabric lands below your knees, guarding most of your body. Surprisingly, it's weighted.

You put the boots on next. They’re precisely your size. Creamy white fur lines the collar, cushioning your glacial feet. They stretch a few inches above your ankles. You're better equipped for the expedition ahead. The relief that hits you is instant. It offers the physical security you required to commence.

Leaving the light is petrifying. You don't know if the creature is going to pounce on you the moment you're out of safety. Graciously, it doesn't. That's how you know there's more for you to see.

Your destination remains unclear. You're aiming for the direction the arrow suggested, but you haven't seen a sign post since. You wonder if you missed the path somewhere. You suppose you'll never know; it's more likely you'll perish out here.

Minutes turn to hours. You're relentless. Exhaustion perches on your shoulder like a dreadful gargoyle, slowing you down. In your perspective, stopping would mean giving up. You won't do that. And thus, your aching soles hike further than they ever have.

A deviation in the scenery finally gathers your attention. Weaving through the trunks and canopies, you notice grey rock. At last, a clue as to where you might be, and how you can reach civilization. You rush, fast approaching what you seek.

The moon shines just right. Your jaw drops. It's a towering cliff face. The trees thin out, and you capture a set stage fresh out of a sinister fairy tale. Evacuating from the forest, you lay witness to a castle at the edge of the massive stone mountain. A shallow layer of snow decorates the path leading to its gigantic archway, unlike the mounds you treaded through on your trek. This place is distinctly habitated.

The gates are several metres taller than you, made from a ferocious oak. There are twin knockers on either door. You can't make out what shape they are. You feel drawn to enter.

A wave of anxiety chokes you. Intuitively, you believe it would be a grave error to trespass further. The beast has other plans for you, however; he didn't bring you all this way to have you turn back.

He slithers up behind you — where he's been hovering for your entire odyssey — and digs his feral nails into your bicep. The sharp tips puncture your flesh, extracting blood. You open your mouth to scream. Everything settles into a muted chaos. The last thing you witness is the vampire running his tongue along his finger, tasting your life force.

You jerk into an upright position. Sweat pours down your face, dripping from your wrinkled forehead. Eyes watering and lips trembling, your gaze darts to and fro. Soon, your vision stabilizes.

There’s no forest. There’s no snow. There’s no castle. You’re in your bedroom. Panic becomes background noise as you hash out the questions in your mind.

When did you fall asleep? You didn’t want to pass out, but you must have lost the battle. You can’t blame yourself; it was late. The last thing you recall being conscious for was reading about Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Must have been a little dry.

How long have you been asleep? Afternoon sunlight beams through your curtains. It’s definitely past noon. Then, what happened during your slumber? Your memory is fading upon awakening. You’re already forgetting several key portions of your dream, such as the event which caused you to run further into the unpredictable woods. The final details are fuzzy, as well. You know something must have startled you into consciousness — but what?

You throw off the sheets and scrutinize your form. There are no scratches. Bruises aren’t decorating the skin of your ankles, nor are there markings from the cuffs of your boots. The threat of frostbite didn’t directly affect you, either, sparing your flesh from decay.

Perplexed, you get out of bed. What was that land you were in? And that language. You wish you could remember what the sign said. There’s no hope of deciphering lost words.

You tug your robe off its hanger and slide your arms through the wide sleeves. You’re going to shower and brush your teeth. Then, you’ll go downstairs to have a meal. There’s much research to be done. You need to feel fresh and energized if you want to keep up.

You leave your bedroom. Peeking around the corner, you notice there’s more life than usual in the house. Everyone seems to be home. Nelly is in her bedroom, talking to a friend. Cree is listening to music at a moderate volume, singing along occasionally. Downstairs, Ericson is likely in her chamber or lounging in the living room. It’s a nice change.

Quietly, you move down the corridor. The bathroom still bears uncomfortable memories for you, but you can’t avoid it. Hygiene is too important. You dip inside and close the door.

Washing up goes immaculately. You’re able to groom yourself for the day without qualm. The vampire doesn’t show himself. In fact, you’re safe until you’ve stopped expecting the worst.

Robe tied firmly at your waist, you open the bathroom door and release the steam that’s been built up. The cool air is refreshing as you step outside of the humid space. A soft sigh escapes your lips. It’s silent. Mournfully, your peace doesn’t last.

You pass Nelly’s room. Strangely, her door is open. Filled with natural curiosity, you glance inside. She’s not talking on the phone anymore. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, head hung low. Her short red box braids dangle in front of her face, shielding her features. Instead of chocolate skin, you see something else. Dark tendrils are crawling along her exposed flesh.

What the fuck?

You grind to a halt. You’re inches away from your door. You want to pretend you never saw that. Unfortunately, you can’t. If Nelly’s in trouble — if the monster has enough gall to lay claim to her — you have to do something.

You clamp your eyes shut. Your breathing is dysregulated and chaotic. It’s impossible to soothe your grieving heart. You really don’t want to do this… but Nelly has shown up for you countless times in the past. It would be a disservice if you abandoned her.

With sheer motivation, you veer in the direction you came. You adjust your robe and creep closer to your comrade’s door. You purse your lips. Now, it’s closed halfway.

“Oh, god.” You whisper, practically frozen with fear. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

You open the door prudently, using your whole arm. The scent of cinnamon and almonds — her favourite body spray — warms your spirit temporarily. Nelly’s no longer on the bed, though. In fact, there’s no trace of her at all.

“Uh… hey!” You call out. “You okay?”

Not a sound. Worry grows thicker in your chest. You wander into the room. The window is closed and none of her usual electronics are on. It’s as though she was never present to begin with. But you know you heard her before showering. And who was that on her mattress?

Your earlobes tingle. You pick up on a gentle noise. Initially, you think it’s movement.

“Nel?”

But it’s not shuffling; it’s sobbing. And it’s coming from her closed closet.

The twin wicker doors are menacing. There’s darkness in their confines, meaning if Nelly’s in there, she’s sitting on the floor in pitch black, crying. That’s not like her.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. You shake your head, stepping away from the source. There’s no goddamn way you’re searching in the closet for your friend — not alone. You have to get out of here and find someone to help you, now.

The crying ceases abruptly. You don’t stick around to find out why. Barrelling towards the ajar door, you throw it open. The knob flies into the wall, breaking its stopper and lodging the ball into plaster. You’ll apologize later.

You whirl into the hallway and cut to the right, smashing into someone in the process. You trip backwards and catch yourself on the wall. Holding your head, the person is blurry for a short eternity, until he reacts.

“Woah!”

A friendly male voice penetrates through your tunnel vision. Amiable hands grasping your upper arms crush your apprehensiveness. You unravel, breathless.

“Cree!” You gasp, seizing his shirt with quivering fists. “We gotta— we need t—“

You can’t summon the words. There’s embarrassment as much as there is urgency. Although you don’t have the ability to prove what you experienced, you need him to believe that you’re telling the truth.

“Hey!” He cooes. “Calm down, girl.”

He folds you into an embrace, large arms boxing you against his firm chest in an expression of care. He recognizes how frazzled you are. And his efforts aren’t lost on you, despite the influx of anxiety that’s pumping through your veins. You spend a few moments huffing and puffing and wailing. There’s no time for hugging, and yet, it’s what your nervous system craves. You lean into him.

Cree has been your friend for a while. He’s only let you down once. It was when he was smudging his grandmother’s home. He accidentally lit your hair on fire with the white sage. You didn’t talk to him for days after that. This is different, though. Would he scorn you for being spooked?

“There’s something in this house.” You croak, going all in. “I keep seeing it, and hearing it, and it’s trying to hurt our friends.”

His hold tightens. He strokes your back and shushes you gingerly. The gesture ought to be comforting; instead, it disheartens you. He doesn’t seem to grasp your admission. Maybe you were wrong; maybe there’s no one you can trust with this horrible secret.

He shuffles so that his arms are outstretched and his hands are clasping your shoulders. There’s confusion carved into his face. He explains himself.

“I heard scratching on my wall. If I wasn’t lying in my bed, I wouldn’t have heard it. It was steady, like nails on drywall.”

Your watery eyes widen. The head of his mattress rests against the wall corresponding to Nelly’s closet. A shiver scrambles up your form, causing you to cringe. What would have happened if you’d opened the wicker doors? You dread considering the gruesome outcomes.

“It stopped, and shit was quiet for a while. Then, someone was crying.”

You tremble. It was the monster luring you into its clutches. Cree nearly overheard your demise.

“I-I-I thought I s-saw Nel.” You stammer, rattled. “S-she—“

“She left for work this morning.”

You whine. You’re grateful she’s alive; nevertheless, this news has you questioning your reality. You might be losing it from the level of psychological warfare this bastard is inflicting upon you. Regardless, you know that whatever you heard talking on the phone wasn’t your friend. Whatever you observed sitting on the bed, with tentacles for legs, wasn’t your friend, either. The monster has been hunting you from the second your eyes opened.

"I thought I saw her when I walked by her room." You gesture to your robe. “As you can see, I just finished showering. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking kinda sick. I went in the find her, but—“

You can’t stop thinking about what was in that closet. It was luring you, like a scumbag uses candy to snatch kids. He tempted you in the realms of curiosity and goodwill, effectively poking at your moral code. You have to admit, scurrying out of the bedroom didn’t feel great when you thought Nelly could’ve been in there.

Your exhale is noticeably strong.

“—but I heard someone crying in the closet.”

“And you ran.”

You nod, failing to restrain a waterfall bursting at the gates. You bawl into Cree’s shirt. He lets you, all while stroking your back and rocking you in place. He knows there’s nothing to say to a grieving soul, and so, he simply holds space for your pain. Your break down lasts for a good five minutes.

Alucard stands by the doorway of Nelly's room, observing the scene with envious eyes. If you turned around, you wouldn't catch him savouring your misery. He's undetectable to the human gaze.

It was him in the closet, luring you into his clutches. He shapeshifted into one of his various forms and embellished his usual theatrics. You took the bait flawlessly. If you were an idiot, he would have captured you there. He isn't certain what he would have done with you, so perhaps it's better for your health — and the longevity of his game — that he didn't fall for his trickery. Still, he doesn't care for the result augmenting before him.

The one you call Cree has his hands on you. He may prove to be an obstacle if he's not removed. You could be driven closer to the boy as you grow more frightened. If that’s the case, he'll have to speed up the process of isolating you from the others. They have you to blame for the cruel measures he’ll engage with to enact total control over his future queen.

He refrained from caressing you last night, in the dream he fabricated. He could have tackled you into the snow and taken you if he wanted. He’s more of a gentleman than that, though; tactics such as animalistic, dehumanizing rape is a method most commonly employed by the Catholic church. He, on the other hand, will lay claim to your body when you give him permission; he won’t have you until then.

In your sleep, he permitted you to venture closer to his castle, to work for the life he’s ready to give you — albeit unknowingly. He was impressed by your perseverance. He’s witnessed mortals give up after being chased by Baskerville. You chose to push on. You are proving to be very worthy. This was accentuated by the taste of your blood. He was fortunate to relish in a few drops.

When there's fresh, delectable blood available, a part of him — one who's incredibly juvenile — tends to coax him into indulging. In his younger years, he would have. He's learned since then, however. Watching his greedy counterparts drain humans dry and suffer the brutal consequences, it cemented the idea that feeding carelessly results in an untimely demise. He wouldn't be the apex predator he is today if he didn't heed his cryptid instincts.

The others died; he’ll live forever. Hopefully with you by his side.

Cree doesn’t explicitly indicate whether he believes you or not. What he does do is offer his support. He tells you to call him when you’re nervous. If he’s at work, and the cafe is dead, he’ll be able to chat with you for a bit. It’s an incredibly sweet gesture. Part of you wishes he volunteered himself to help you battle the monster in this house. Doesn’t he comprehend the gravity of letting this creature roam free?

He invites you into his room. You listen to music until Nelly comes home. He tells you that all of you are going to sit down and have dinner with each other this evening. Before leaving for work, the redhead told him and Ericson — both of who were already awake for the day, themselves — that she's going to bring home a few pizzas. After that, he's going to search the basement.

You don't know how he does it, but Cree manages to take your mind off the situation at hand. By the time Nelly arrives, you're laughing together about misheard lyrics from a song he showed you. Her advent is a reminder of sinister activities. Your mood is sapped the second you hear her keys jingle.

By six-thirty you're in the dining room, seated at the table. It's massive and made of a solid mahogany. Around it are six chairs. Two more sit off to the side. You recollect how adamant Nelly was about purchasing the set.

“We can’t have a house without a dining table. Might as well not have a damn house at all.”

This is the first place she's ever called home; you don't blame her for wanting it to be perfect. She's invested. You wish you could follow her lead.

You reach for a slice of your favourite pizza. Once everyone has food on their plate, the devouring commences. You didn't understand how hungry you were. You skipped breakfast and lunch today, but Cree gave you small candies to tide you over. Right now, this meal feels like the best thing you've eaten in your whole life.

You munch in silence. Cree pipes up between chewing.

"Yo, I heard some shit in the basement today."

You swallow, staring at him intently. He didn't tell you he was going to do this. Is he sparing you the embarrassment of having to bring up what occurred earlier?

“Oh yeah?” Nelly drones, biting into her food.

“Yeah. I thought it was someone crying.”

“What is it with everyone getting creeped out by the basement?” Ericson asks genuinely.

"Dunno." Cree shrugs. "Anyone wanna come check it out with me?"

Nelly hums, curiosity evident in her tone. She mulls the idea over in her head. You notice the rings beneath her eyes which resemble cattails in their colour. She tried to cover them with makeup, but it must have faded after a full day of working. Your friend seems exhausted.

"Sure." She concedes with a shrug, focusing on her food. "But give me time to eat and digest before this little—" She pauses to gesture at Cree, who's visibly animated in his seat. "—adventure."

"Sweet!"

Something you've come to realize about your comrades during this ordeal is that they're exponentially compassionate towards one another, yourself included. Your collective dedication to friendship is admirable. Each of you have different personalities, and yet, you mesh well on a united front.

"I'll come, but I won't go down." Ericson chimes in. "It's too cold."

"You sure that's why?" You lift a teasing brow. "Or are you scared?"

She head rolls around the back of her neck. She faces you with an exasperated expression. You crack a simper.

"Girl." She scoffs. "You're asking me if I'm scared when I busted in the washroom to save your ass from a peeping tom?"

"Nah, that's a human!" Cree interjects, grinning. "What about if (f/n) said she saw a ghost tryna get at her?"

Nelly snorts, almost choking on her food.

"You're acting like the ghost is tryna fuck."

"Maybe it is!" Cree snickers.

"Hey, if I was dead for decades, I'd be pretty horny." Ericson asserts.

As funny as it is, once removed from the reality of the circumstance at hand, you barely giggle. It stirs anxiety in your chest. The threat to you is tremendous. And what if the vampire is trying to fuck? That's an outrageous demand you don't want to give into.

Later that evening, Cree and Nelly disengage the locks and open the door to the basement. You and Ericson gather around to watch. You can tell Nelly has some reservations about the impending endeavour.

“I’m telling you right now: if there’s a demon down there, I’m getting terminating the damn lease.”

While you nod in agreement, pleased by her willingness not to trifle with the supernatural realm, Ericson rolls her eyes.

“Chill.” The brunette groans. “I swear, you guys are freaked out by the house shifting and the pipes rattling.”

“Darkness, too.” Cree adds with a coy smile. "Don't forget that."

He flicks on the light switch. Abruptly, the bulb blows. Its deafening snap has you covering your face in terror. Ericson shrieks.

“What the fuck!” The man cries. “Shit, dude! That could not have happened at a worse time!”

“What a coincidence.” Ericson mutters, weary.

“Yeah.” Nelly grumbles, face twisted in disapproval. “But I feel like that was too much of a coincidence. I say we keep that door locked tight. Like, I’ll wait at the top of the stairs while you guys investigate, kinda thing.”

You get why she doesn’t want to put herself at risk. She’s smarter than most. A bad omen is a bad omen.

“I mean… I don’t want Cree going by himself, so I’ll go, too.” Ericson volunteers.

She’s genuinely concerned for his safety. You are, too, but you can’t set foot down there. Guilt rises. You punch it down so it’s mere background noise.

Cree scoops his phone out of his pocket. He turns on the flashlight app and regards Ericson. He flickers the beam beneath his chin.

“‘Kay. You ready?”

The young woman replicates his moves.

“Sure am.”

Ericson trots down the stairs after Cree. You stand on the stoop and gaze into the abyss. It’s haunting to remember when you were here on the viewing day, tempted to meet the monster. You believe he blew the bulb. Does he plan to screw with your friends while they’re in his domain?

Suddenly, nausea bubbles in your gut. You shouldn’t have let them go. He doesn’t seem capable of harming you on the other floors of the house, but what if he’s more powerful in the basement?

A hand drops onto your shoulder. You yelp at the impetuous contact. Thankfully, it’s Nelly.

“Are you okay, hun?” She inquires, perturbed. “You’ve been hella jumpy lately.”

She hasn’t been noticing the noises. She hasn’t been privy to his growing vitality. The closest she got to him was today, when the lightbulb blew. If she knew, she would be frightened, too.

“Cree isn’t the only one hearing noises.” You admit. “It feels like there’s something else here with us.”

She bobs her head slowly, digesting your confession.

"You're saying you heard noises?"

"Yeah."

"In the basement?"

"That's right."

"And we sent those two down there?"

You bite your tongue until you taste iron. That's precisely what you were pondering when she confronted you. In a sick way, you're content that's you're not the sole one concerned about their trek into foreign territory.

The clock in the kitchen cycles two and half times. Just then, footsteps echo from the stairwell. Unknowingly, you and Nelly hold your breath. They’re gradual and intentional. It could be your friends or the beast. Graciously, Cree’s head appears. Ericson is there, as well.

"Nothing at all is down there, guys." He announces, securing the door behind Ericson. "Just dust."

"Yup." His counterpart corroborates. "We split up and didn't see anything weird."

Relieved, you huff. It doesn't mean that he's a figment of your imagination, or that he's not surveilling you; it means that your friends made it back up alive. He didn't trifle with them.

"Whew!" Nelly bellows. "Y'all had me worried there for a sec, I'm not gonna lie."

"Like when the light went out?"

Ericson rags on her in jest. She laughs.

"Yes, exactly!"

The brunette turns to Cree.

"Are you satisfied?"

He stares at you. It's in indication that he wants to know your answer to Ericson's probe. With the smallest of smiles, you nod discreetly. You can't rely on them to take down a vampire. It's enough that no one got hurt. Cree mimics you.

"Totally, dude. Thanks."

With that, everyone disperses. You decide to retire to your bedroom for the evening. You have a lot of work to do. Cree turns in, too. He’ll probably stay up and play games with his friends. Nelly heads for the bathroom to shower and hit the hay. In her words, seven in the morning comes fast. You think this is a positive ending to the night.

Ericson moves towards her chamber. She's the last to go. Once she's inside her room, she locks the door. Then, she removes an amulet from her back pocket. The jewel is crimson, as though filled with blood. It's encrusted with gold. She found it down there, when her and Cree were searching for any sign of life. It was tucked away on a ledge in the cold room, at the furthest corner of the house. She spotted it because she thought she saw something when she scanned her flashlight over the small space. Upon further examination, she discovered this mysterious treasure.

She grins. This will be her little secret. She can’t explain why she doesn’t want to tell you or the others about the jewel. Does she think you'll steal it from her? She has no reason to. Years have dictated that none of you are thieves.

It's peculiar...

...but a voice in her head — distant, yet demanding — implores her to keep this to herself.

[iouinotes]

Heroic Betrayal | Luke Castellan (part 1)

SPOILER FOR THE PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS SERIES AND THE BOOKS

pairing: Luke Castellan x female!reader

show: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

warnings: dark!character, betrayal, implied sexual content, heavy angst, kidnapping

word count: 5,8k

summary: When Luke switches to the dark side, he tries everything possible to win you for him.

a/n: so as the show comes to an end (dont cry dont cry dont cry), I thought I would finally post this :)))

read part 2 here

"I'll find you!" his voice echoes through the forest, my laughter much louder than I intend to. But that´s just how it always goes. It's our own little tradition.

Every year when the camp starts again and we meet after the holidays passed, we play hide and seek in the dangerous forest of the half-blood camp. The creatures usually don't come across our path, in recent years it has rarely happened, that we actually had to defend ourselves against them.

Once it was an angry dryad, who threw branches at me (she had a crush on Luke and wanted revenge, but since I could understand her feelings and felt sad for her, we sorted it out).

Another time we were spotted by some camp members, who made fun of us, but Luke must have said something to them later, because we haven't been bothered by these troublemakers since.

It is always the same pattern, but each time there is still something special about it. We have grown, became more mature (I think), and have more and more experience about the struggles in life.

So being able to just let go for a few moments and being completely alone with him is probably the best thing to keep myself sane (even if he drives me a little bit crazy with the love I hold for him).

But a lot has changed recently.

It all started when rumors spread, that Zeus' lightning bolt had been stolen by Poseidon's son. And then the most supportive, bravest, sassy kid in the world showed up here. Percy Jackson. Ever since I met him, even though it's not his fault, there's been war going on. The gods are angry, the monster attacks became worse and again, rumors about the oldest, most powerful titan Kronos reached the camp.

It scared and frightened many people, including me. That's why we've been training harder and stay awake, even when the stars are shining, so that we can prepare for any catastrophe. To be able to fight.

My mother is the goddess Demeter, my father a simple man. I adore them both, even though my mother isn't one of my closest contacts. But I never really held that against her, because at least she decided to acknowledge me as her daughter. After all, it's a privilege that not everyone gets. My siblings and friends at camp are important to me, but the world is changing and so is everything around it.

The only stability I have left is my boyfriend Luke.

If I had to rely on one person in the whole world (and by that I also mean the underworld), it would be him.

He's been my best friend since I arrived at this camp. We've been together through ups and downs, I know every side of him and he knows everything about me too. Many of the people here are like blank pages to me, but not him. He is like my favorite book, that lays open to me and allows me to read each letter individually. Just as I know every of his dreams, every secret, every truth and every lie. He is my protector, my hero in every dark night and every bright day. Without him, I don't even know who I am. He is a part of me and my heart wouldn't be whole without him.

I watched him grow up. From the small, thin boy whose eyes hid so much pain and sadness to the strong, soulful leader he is today.

His beauty cannot be influenced by anything, he is like my very own sun, without him I could not survive.

I wouldn't want it any other way though.

Now, I'm hiding behind a tree with my back pressed against the bark and I am able to hear the cracking and swinging of the branches.

I smile so wide, that my cheeks start to hurt, when I hear his voice calling. My heart is beating in my throat, but it's not just the adrenaline of not getting caught. It's because of my love for him, which is so strong that sometimes I'm afraid of it. But only in the moments when I realize that nothing, but him is my biggest flaw. I think I would do anything for him.

Then I concentrate again and listen to the sounds around me. But his voice has fallen silent and I don't hear his footsteps anymore.

My eyebrows furrow, confused I try to look around the tree and search for an orange t-shirt. Likely together with his slim body, biceps, beautiful face and wonderful personality.

But when I want to withdraw again, it's already too late. A branch breaks behind me and before I can move I'm pushed against the tree from behind.

I immediately feel his body against mine, hear the laughter in his voice and listen to his strained breathing. His hands wrap around my body and turn me towards him, so that we are now face to face.

He's taller than me and as I look up, I feel the familiar fluttering feeling in my chest. I am so in love with him.

He grins triumphantly at me and I lean against the tree, smiling kindly.

"Found you, princess." The light reflects in his brown eyes and some of his curls are laying wildly on his head. He looks like an angel.

"I made it easy for you." My voice teases him and when he leans in so close to me, that our lips almost touch, I forget how to think properly. A habit I can't change. He's just so captivating.

"Yeah? You think I wouldn't have found you otherwise? Funny. I remember that in the last few years, I always was the winner of our little game." His lips brush mine, I want nothing more than to kiss him. But he knows that, which is why he slowly pulls back, when I start to lean forward.

When I want to complain, he puts his hand around my waist and pulls me into his chest. My knees almost give out, I feel so intoxicated by his presence.

"I-I wanted you to find me." My voice whispers quietly.

His eyebrows rise in mock surprise.

"Then I guess, I can claim my prize without feeling bad." In the next second, his lips are on mine and I'm unable to do anything, other than kissing him back. I wrap my arms around his neck and enjoy the warmth that radiates from him. He sets my heart on fire.

While pushing me against the tree, I've completely forgotten about, he lets his hands wrap possessively around my waist. Digging his nails into my hips, to keep me grounded. Otherwise, I would probably get lost in those sensations.

Luke kisses in a way, like it's the last time he'll have the chance. (As if I would ever want to keep him from doing that).

He's passionate, my body feels like it's on fire and the heat inside me feels so good, that I want more. I can never get enough of him and he knows it. He grins against my lips, but he doesn't break the kiss. I think he secretely loves knowing how much he can mess with me, with just a few kisses.

My hands find his hair and pull him closer to me, our chests touch and his breathing mingles with mine.

It is wonderful and so precious, I would refuse any gift from the gods just to be close to him.

When he pulls away from me, our bodies are still close. My eyes open and look dreamily into his, our gazes reflect a familiarity and love that is like nothing I have ever experienced.

He smiles at me, pushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear and leans himself against me. His fingers stroke the exposed skin of my pulled-up shirt.

"I've missed you." If my heart hasn't melted before, it has now. I give him a kiss on the cheek and hug him, we stand in our embrace for a moment. Enjoying each other's closeness, the calm feeling until the next chaotic situation happens.

"Now we are together again. Only that matters." It's quiet around us and when I close my eyes for the second time, I hear his fast heartbeat. I have to supress a smile.

The wind is the only thing I hear until his voice breaks the silence.

"Something will happen soon. Something big." The peaceful atmosphere is threatened by his words and when I look at his face again, I see his worried eyes.

I sigh, but then nod to agree with him. "I thought about that too, it feels different. Like something is coming our way, that we can't control."

His fingers stroke my cheek and for a moment, his face holds an expression, that I can't understand. It resembles regret.

But before I can ask him about it, he smiles tenderly at me again.

"Nothing will separate us. The world is just a game. It's a matter of time and making the right moves." That is his motto. But I'm not always convinced of this. Even though I trust him to do the right thing.

"I'm just worried we'll get seperated, you know? Evil can be sneaky and traitors always exist. You never know who you can trust." Something I said must have really bothered him, because he looks like I just stabbed him.

This time I ask him about it.

"What's on your mind? You can tell me. Two people who worry about something are better, than one who is alone with it." I take his hand and stroke his skin, it feels cold even though we have summer.

"Nothing, just- I don't want to lose you. I couldn't be here without you. I need you. I mean...I-I love you. You know that I would do anything to keep us together, right?"

His words surprise me. I know he loves me. I can sense that, everyone probably does. But he has never worn his heart on his sleeve and the three magical words only come out of his mouth on special occasions. The fact that he's telling me now surprises me.

"Of course. I trust you. We will survive together, I know that. Are you worried because of the rumors about the Titan King?" This topic is always very critical and he usually doesn't like to talk about it, but this time I decide to address it directly.

"He will come. I just want you to be safe, when it happens." He sounds so confident it gives me goosebumps.

"Perhaps. His followers will definitely try. But love is stronger than anything else. Especially our love. We will get through it." He doesn't look convinced, so I turn his face towards mine and kiss him.

My voice sounds soft, when I speak again.

"Luke, I love you. I could never leave you. Not even the King of the Underworld will be able to keep us apart. I promised to be by your side in every moment of our lives. You are my soul and without it I am damned."

This seems to reassure him, but I feel like he's not telling me something of great importance. But I don't want to push him, I know he will tell me when the time comes.

He always does.

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

As the day comes to an end, I say goodnight to my siblings and report for my night watch duty. The situation has been a lot more worse the recent weeks. Kronos exists, my worst fear was confirmed. And he is building an army, that is so strong that it will be difficult to fight against it. But what I'm really worried about are the rumors about our people, who have also joined his cause.

Nobody knows who, the spies have been hiding ever since. I've never felt like I was paying more attention to my words than I am now. The only person I don't have to hold back to is Luke.

But even with him I notice the effects of the bad news. The circles under his eyes are darker than ever and his nerves are so frayed, that every little thing makes him want to explode. His temper is hanging by a thread, that is increasingly threatening to break. And I'm trying everything to prevent this.

No matter if I try it by making him laugh (which has become difficult), massaging his tense shoulders, trying to kiss him to the point of forgetfulness (usually it's the other way around) or when he takes out his frustration by burying himself deep inside me. With every thrust of his hips, I feel him relax, his hand so tight around my body as if I would run away, if he didn't hold me close enough.

He's changing and I'm trying my best to maintain his good sides. That he doesn't completely lose himself in his responsibilities and the pressure, that he has, because he is a member of the camp council.

Besides, I can't complain, when he fucks me until I can't breathe aynmore and I block out everything around me. When he comes, he whispers the sweetest things in my ear. Even if sometimes they sound so protective, that I could almost come from his voice alone.

When he whispers to me how good I am for him or how much he loves being able to have such a power over me like that - maybe it should scare me, but I trust him like no one else.

My mind concentrated his best for my shift, but when I finally go to bed after quiet some time, my eyes quickly close.

Looking back, I wish I had never let myself sleep that night.

Because, when I close my eyes I see waves. Hear the seagulls screaming in the sky, the fish swimming in the water and the distant cries of strangers.

It's all unusual and the bright light would blind me, if I didn't avert my gaze. And as soon as I do it, I see a ship. It's huge, rust shimmers in the sunrays, the anchor shows that it's been in the same place for a while now.

I feel something pulling me towards it, pushing and burning in my chest, leaving me with a tremor that I can feel, even in my deep sleep.

As I flit through the window like a ghost, I feel paralyzed. My blood freezes, I want to disappear immediately and in my mind I scream at myself to wake up.

But it's no use, whatever is here, someone decided that I have to see it. Only then, my wish will be fulfilled and I can wake up. So, I hide in a corner, there are scratched picture frames above me and broken glass is scattered on the floor. The monsters that loudly crush the glass ahead of me seem unstoppable.

I tremble as I look at at least seven dracaenae, several shaggy hellhounds and set my eyes on gigantes, that take up almost the entire room.

But that is nothing compared to the terror, that grips me when I see my classmates. My friends. People I trusted, who I fought alongside, for who I cared about. People I would have sacrificed myself for. They all betrayed me. And I feel close to tears. When I want to turn away, I hear a voice that almost brings me to my knees.

It's Luke.

My faithful and caring protector, my heroic love. Someone, to which I had dedicated everything. He was my life, with every single breath I took. The motivation behind my every action. The reason I wanted to survive in this cruel world. He was everything I had and everything I will ever have and in that moment it was abruptly taken from me.

I didn't have the strength to concentrate, it was as if every fiber of my body was on fire, triggered by the torment of my suffering heart. Seeing him like that, in black armor, Kronos' silver mark glittering around his neck, instead of his colorful necklace. A stoic, hostile expression on his face, his hands gripping his sword, it all hurt too much to watch.

And as I sank to the floor and covered my eyes with my hands, I was still forced to listen. I couldn't understand why he was saying such things.

"With every day he becomes stronger, with every participation in our army, we become stronger. Everything is planned, the camp is weak. Just like all of its residents. The surprise is on our side, because we will show no mercy. We will kill anyone, who does not confess to us. Do you hear me? No hostages will be taken. Only Hades population will be expanded."

The screams around me are so loud, so angry and horrific that I feel tears running down my cheeks.

I don't want to see any of that. The person infront of me is not my Luke.

A kind of fog creeps around me and I feel cold, it seems too late to forget it now. When I notice the golden coffin and Lukes hunched posture, the scar on the side of his face, I realize he is praying to him.

To the fall of Olympus. Kronos.

I want to cry, to scream, to be angry - but I just feel like every part of my heart is breaking and will never be whole again. Luke will never again be the one to heal it.

My consciousness leaves the ship until I finally wake up, but I can't move at first. I feel lost, my muscles are stiff and after a few seconds I notice that I'm shaking. But it's not because I'm cold, the summer air is wafting in the air.

Such dreams are rare, but are like the own scary predictions of the future.

And then it comes all back so me, the memories, that have just turned my whole life upside down. Traitor. The word appears in my mind, I feel like I almost can't breathe. And then there is a finger on my cheek, gently stroking the skin and my chest immediately becomes warm.

I know this gesture.

When I open my eyes, I see his loving eyes and the smile that covers his mouth makes my heart clench in sorrow.

It was just a nightmare. Luke would never betray me.

But the whispers in my head say otherwise.

As we continue to look at each other in silent, I notice his furrowed eyebrows.

"What's wrong, my love? Did you have a nightmare? You look scared. Don't be afraid, I'm here. I will always protect you." His voice is so calm, so usual loving and it makes the butterflies in my stomach fly around like crazy.

He is so beautiful.

As he briefly turns his head to tighten the blanket around me, I see his side profile and the scar. Reminders of my dream crash onto me like a lightning strike from Zeus himself.

I sat up abruptly. Luke is a servant of our enemy. How could I ignore that? I feel like I'm almost starting to hyperventilate. The thought, this nightmare, Luke's appearance, this evil feeling - it makes me sick. And I'm suddenly so afraid, more than I have ever been in my life. But I can't tell if it's the fact that I just found out he joined Cronos' army or that he broke my heart doing so.

I see him tense, my panic seems to be affecting him too.

My thoughts are so confusing, I don't know what to do, I have to tell someone. I have to-

His hands find their way to my cheeks, cupping them gently to direct his gaze towards himself. I would have preferred not to look at him, but I have no choice. His eyes search mine.

Then, as if the weight of Atlas punishment was put on his shoulders, he lowers them. His lips tremble slightly and his eyes look at me, as if I am the most valuable thing in the world and he is about to lose it.

"You know it." He doesn't have to say what he means by that. We both know.

I want to break away from him, but he won't let me. He's always been much stronger.

But everything still feels so different, light surrounds us and I can't really feel my body.

"Listen to me, please. I can explain it. Please-" The world goes silent, before he can finish his sentence.

It is too much.

I stifle a scream. I want to jump out of bed, but his hands hold me close. I only manage to fall to the ground, breathing heavily, but his arms are much stronger and I'm still weakened by my dream. He trys to hold me in a position, so that his back hugs me. His hands grab mine and one of them covers my mouth to silence me, when I want to scream for help.

With any other person, I would have known what to do. With anyone but him, I could have defended myself without any problems. But it wasn't just anyone and what he had done to me, the betrayal he had committed, was nothing I could handle.

I tried to wriggle out of his grip, to kick him, but the more I cried and the more hysterical I became, the easier it was for him to have control over me.

And for the first time, it scared me.

"Please calm down, I have to explain it to you- you have to know, that I never wanted to deceive you, please-" I notice how his voice is failing and he has to pull himself together, to not to lose his composure.

When I shake his hand away and want to yell again, he grabs my neck with such a warning force, that no sound escapes me.

I tremble in his hold. Tears stream down my cheeks and I literally feel my heart breaking.

Then he starts whispering in my ear and his grip feels like a tragic prison.

"Nobody can know. I never wanted you to find out. Not until I convinced you, that it is the right thing to join him. Because he will win, sweetheart. I want us to win by his side." His voice sounds so confident and at the same time, as if he was a completely different person.

Tears continue running down my face and he slightly let's go of me, so he can comfort me.

"If you would just listen to me, you will understand my actions. Please, just listen to me-" but the world blurs infront of my eyes and I am only able to whisper three words, before darkness surrounds me.

"You betrayed me."

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

When I wake up, my head hurts so much, that it takes me several minutes to open my eyes. When I finally do it, I almost have a heart attack.

I recognize the similarity of this room from my dream. When I stand up, I run to the round window and look out, being only able to see the blue sea. Feeling empty and alone.

When I want to step out the door, I expect it to be locked. But instead the handle turns and I step out of the room. I'm so surprised about that, that I'm acting without thinking twice.

As I walk around the next corner, the deck creaks and I see an ugly creature in front of me, that makes every instinct to escape kick in.

I run in the other direction, but every turn makes me more desperate and, without any consideration, I run into the hall, I was so afraid of.

It is filled with all kinds of ciders, and I also see the figures of my classmates, wounded and unhappy.

It's all so overwhelming, that I dont even see him standing on the podium, in the first place.

But as the monsters try to grab me, his voice echoes through the room with an affable authority.

"Nobody touches her. You hear me? Nobody. She is under my protection." I almost freeze into a stature, as he comes towards me and I have no way of avoiding him. No weapon is within my reach, his eyes notice my growing panic.

"Everyone leaves the room. Now." Nobody discusses it, even if some roll their eyes or quietly protest. His authority is unquestioned, it sends a cold shiver down my spine.

When the last doors slam shut, we stand a few meters opposite each other.

"The doors are guarded." It's the first thing he says.

When he tries to approach me, I lose my nerves and run to the corner with the broken glass, that I saw in my dream. I take them in my hands.

I see his eyes widen and he stops in his tracks.

"You- you want to fight me?" He actually sounds surprised and sad. Like I was the one who betrayed him and not the other way around.

"Don't come any closer. I may not have been able to do anything last time, but if you take one step closer then-" I don't know what to say. In no scenario did I ever think, I would have to threaten him.

But despite my warning, he comes towards me with his hands raised, the panic within me so palpable, that I can feel every muscle in my body.

I dodge, when he is only a few meters in front of me. Right into the next corner. As far away from him as possible.

"Princess, you can't keep me away forever. I've always loved that about you. You need me as much as you need to breathe."

It's supposed to sound sweet, but his words make me feel sick

"I'd rather suffocate." He didn't expect that. My words hit him so unexpectedly that he is almost speechless. Almost.

"I won't hurt you. You just have to let me get to you and I'll show you everything. You will understand, believe me." He really thinks, I'll just stay by his side and let him explain.

"Are you crazy? You're a traitor, Luke. You- you betrayed everyone. You betrayed me. How could you do this?" I suppress my tears, because that's exactly what he's waiting for. That my defense becomes weaker. I can't allow this.

"You dont understand. I always told you I would protect you. And I can only do that, if I'm on the winning side. And I am now. We are." His eyes flash with a craziness that makes me tremble. I don't recognize him.

"Why are you acting this way? You are doing the wrong thing - you give up everything. You're giving up on us." Tears leave my eyes and I see him take a few steps in my direction.

"I'm doing the right thing for us. You'll see. You just have to trust me, please. You know I always win. With the power he gives me, I will be invincible. You don't have to worry about one of us dying in this war anymore." I can't move, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have a way out now. He's too close.

"You are wrong. I would rather die in this war than join this monster and his deceitful army." The shards in my hand hurt, but I don't let them go. They're the only thing I can use to defend myself.

"You would leave me?" His eyes are staring into my soul.

"Would you fight me?" Every word is more intimidating.

"Would you stop loving me?" His words are like his own shards, leaving deep wounds in my heart.

He's standing right in front of me now, looking at me like I'm fragile.

Then he whispers "Would you kill me?"

In the next second, he suddenly has my hands in his, making me drop the glass. Be is only a few centimeters away from me now, his eyes are looking into my own.

"Would you, princess? Then show me." Suddenly he does something, I would have never expected. He takes out his sword and puts it in my hands.

His own hands go behind his back, his eyes tempting me. I feel all the blood in my body drain.

"Do it. I can't live in a world, where you don't love me anymore. In which you are no longer by my side. I am yours. That will never change, just like my love for you."

I can barely hold the sword, it's so wobbly in my hands. He stands in front of me and gives me every chance to defeat him. But I can't move.

It's quiet for a moment, then I see new hope in his eyes and when he speaks again, the tone of his voice melts my heart.

"What did you say a few months ago, you would always let me win? Let's win together this time. Please, just listen to me." His hand strokes my cheek. Wipes away the tears.

Then he drops his hand and grasps his sword, letting it fall to the ground.

He takes my hand instead.

"Follow me." He pulls me behind him, closer and closer to the golden coffin, it's like I'm in a trance, but when I finally feel the cold aura of something cruel, I'm able to think clearly again.

"No-" I don't want to be one step closer to this thing.

He turns around so quickly, that I can only slap his cheek, before he grabs me again.

"That was for kidnapping me. Let me go now!" I want to avoid his grasp. But again he does something I don't expect.

He holds me still, catches my gaze and then, kisses me so gently that the feeling alone makes me almost completely defenseless. His hands cup my cheeks, grip my hair, hold my body.

This is probably his worst trick. I've never been able to resist one of his kisses. And he knows that. He uses it against me.

Then he murmurs words against my lips, that barely reach my ears.

My heart is pounding in my throat.

"You feel this? We belong together. It is not written anywhere on which side we need to be. As long as we are together." His fingers stroke my lower lip, his figure towers over me and for a moment my surroundings fade. It's almost like always.

But he's not wearing his orange t-shirt, his expression isn't relaxed, and I don't hear any insults from the camp members in the distance.

"You're manipulating me." I am powerless against him. I thought we were on the same team, that no one had more power over the other one. But I was so wrong.

His eyebrows furrow again, and when his hands try to pull me against him, I hit his chest, without thinking, with the only piece of glass I hid in my pocket. But unlike I expected, nothing happens. The shard bounces off his skin and falls loudly to the ground. I can only stare at him in disbelief.

"How-" He just looks at me worried, no anger is visible in his eyes.

"You can't hurt me. I have the curse of Achilles upon me." I suddenly become aware of the effect the lake Styx in the underworld hast and I almost fall to the ground at the realization, my knees weaken.

"That was a test earlier. You wanted to see if I would kill you-" my voice fails.

He just looks at me sadly and smiles in regret. My heart becomes heavy.

"And I knew you wouldn't hurt me on purpose. You would never hurt someone you love. Not if you'd kill me in the process." What can I do? He knows me better than anyone, he can see right through my every thought.

"I can't do this, Luke. I-I can't be together with you, if you are like this." I'm serious, but he doesn't believe me.

"That's what you think, but it's a lie. The sooner you admit it to yourself, the more pain you avoid. Our souls are linked together, without me you are not able to live. I know, that you will continue to love me, no matter what I decide to do. That's how much you love me. You would rather die than not loving me."

I can't listen to him. I can't.

But his eyes are like all the promises in the world. He is my world. How could I ever forget that?

"Please come back with me, Luke. I-I won't tell anyone, but please. Let's go, let's forget everything, please-" I cant deal with this anymore. It's like he's draining all the energy out of me. More with every word, that leaves his lips.

"I can not do that. It will stay the way it is now. Don't fight against me, fight with me. You are so smart and loyal, you will be convinced. He will show you." His eyes now flash with something that frightens me. I see his hunger for power, something that has always been dormant within him.

"Luke, the only thing I ever really wanted was you. No power, no war, no prosperity. Only you. But I'm about to lose you. Don´t do this to me, I beg you." My hands find his face, stroke the skin and I look into his eyes. But they are no longer the same ones I fell in love with.

I never thought he would love having power more than he loves me. It breaks my heart.

"I have decided. Nothing will change about that. Not even your pleadings. I'm sorry." His eyes reflect my desperation.

"What's holding you back? All you need is me." He says it so confident, that I almost wonder, why I don´t agree with him.

But my conscience has always been my greatest strength.

"I won't betray them. I couldn't live with myself, if I did." He takes a step back.

"But you could live without me? You would rather be by Jackson's side than mine?" His words hurt me. But he speaks the truth.

"I love you Luke, more than I ever thought was possible. But just as you put power before me, I put loyalty first. And I'm not sorry about that."

Frustration finally seeps through his perfect facade. I wonder how long he's been playing with me. The thought of it makes everything inside me tighten.

"I am not letting you go. Our fate is set. You will recognize it too and when that happens, you will be on my side."

His conviction frightens me, but this time it doesn't freeze me into a statue. Now, I'm running away.

And luckely, he didn't expect that.

For a few minutes now I've noticed one of the windows, that doesn't look very stable. I just have to jump against it to open it.

"NO!" Luke's voice echoes across the room, loud and warning, but it doesn't stop me. Before he can catch up with me, I jump towards the window, my shoulder hurts, but I was right, it breaks.

But I didn't think about the height difference and I realize it might be too late to do something about it now.

As I try to hold on to the wall outside, two thoughts repeat in my mind.

Either I die or I'm trapped.

Then I hear Luke's voice. He sounds desperate and at the same time angry, like I have never heard him before.

The wall is slippery and it takes every bit of strength in me not to fall, I know it would be my death. I hold on to the broken wall.

"She is outside. Get her back, NOW!" My muscles hurt and I don't know what to do. Then I hear the loud beating of wings. Before I can see who it is, I hear Percy's quiet voice. I feel like crying.

"Drop down, I've got you." I have to trust him. So, I let myself fall without thinking.

Then I feel myself landing on something soft, I hold on to it and my knuckles turn white.

The screams and shouts of the monsters make me tremble, I just want to get out of here. Even if it means, that I perhaps will never see Luke again.

"Come on, now. They'll be here soon." As the wings of the Pegasus move towards the sky, towards freedom, I let the tears fall. The wind is beating around my ears and I can only see in the corner of my eyes that we are getting closer to the clouds.

"I'll find you!"

Luke's threatening voice is the last thing I remember as I close my eyes from the grief of leaving him.

[hanjist]

my witness.

content - roommate!han jisung. gn!reader. hurt. comfort. brief changbin mention.

warnings - harsh break up. cheating mentions. food mentions.

word count - 781.

a/n - i forgot i had this sitting in my notes. decided to post it while im writing new stuff. not proof read.

“take all your fucking clothes with you!”

you throw off your boyfriend’s, now ex, clothes out from the balcony. he’s down below, trying to catch his precious name branded items in his hands. as he catches the last of his clothes, he puts his middle finger up at you.

“fuck you, y/n!”

as this scene goes on in the depths of your neighborhood, the quiet scenery seems to be disturbed of your yelling. your roommate, jisung, has just arrived at your place. getting out from his friend changbin’s car after a long night of work, he watches the scene unfold. he glances back at changbin in the car, shooing him away to go home, instead of being intrigued of what’s happening. as jisung makes his way to the apartment building, he accidentally makes eye contact with your ex. he’s quick to look away, but it’s too late.

“what! what are you looking at, huh?”

your ex makes his way to jisung, bolting at him. jisung scurries inside the building, almost dropping his keys, before your ex can get to him.

“leave him alone, you dick!”

the last item you throw at your ex before you slam your balcony door is his laptop, not giving a care in the world if he catches it or not.

jisung walks inside your shared apartment door; eyes wide and skin so pale, as if he had seen a ghost. he takes a deep breath before his shoulders relax.

“seems like it was a long day.”

he says in a joking tone as he takes off his shoes. you sigh, leaning against the glass of the balcony door.

“you have no idea.”

as he makes his way to sit on the couch, he pats the empty space beside him.

“wanna talk about it?”

you accept his warm invite, sitting beside him. your head immediately going back as you sigh.

“yeah. you don’t mind, right?”

“never.”

a few seconds of silence go by before you lift your head up to look at him.

you explain your story to him. how you found out how your ex was cheating on you, how he tried to explain himself earlier, and how he thought having sex would be enough of an apology. it made you angry, which led you to kick him out of the apartment. trying to plead his innocence, he threw pebbles at your balcony for ten minutes straight, which ended up with you in annoyance. you argued with him from the second level, yelling at him to get away from you. as he cursed you out, you got the clothes he left in your closet, throwing them out the window. as well as his laptop he left the day before.

“what? he did that to you?”

“of course he did, he’s a dick.”

as much as jisung hates admit, he does agree with you. your ex was known to ill-mannered. he was conceited and very unpleasant to be around. whenever he was over, he’d insult jisung like there was no tomorrow. only reason why jisung didn’t say anything to you was because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.

“i thought it was funny when you were running to the building door. it made me laugh in the middle of our argument.”

you look at him, giggling. jisung turns red. that was not his finest moment.

“oh! hah, i’m glad i made you smile. he scared me though, i thought he was gonna beat me up on the spot.”

you shake your head at him.

“even if he did, i’d be down there in a second to defend you. i know you wouldn’t survive.”

you press your finger at his chest, he rolls his eyes at you and your joke, giving you an playful look. you sink back into spot on the couch, slapping your hand against your forehead in frustration. you take a deep breath once again. jisung watches you and your apparent struggle.

“you went through a lot today, why not i make you food?”

“no, you just came home from work. i know you’re tired.”

“and you went through two years of being with that thing. you deserve rest.”

his words comforted you, the tinge of an insult towards your ex was the cherry on top. jisung always knows how to make you smile, he’s proud of it too.

“i guess you can make me something. only if you’re fine with it.”

“i’ll always be okay with it.”

as jisung gets up from the couch, the dip of both your weights disappears. he ruffles your hair, softly smiling at you, before turning to the kitchen.

when jisung’s around, you know you’re in good hands.

[fallen-flier]

swim in circles (sniper! tim)

au where tim's parents get kidnapped by obeah man earlier on but they survive. and he becomes a sniper. :)

inspired by @yjcorefourenjoyer's sniper! tim idea, who graciously let me run around in their sandbox. :D

Turns out, when you leave your child alone without a parental figure for months, you can’t integrate yourself back into their life and just pretend all is normal.

You never wanted to parent me before, Tim wants to scream. Why are you even pretending you care now?

But he says none of it, swallows it down his throat dry where it resides in his chest, thick and cloying like a good son. His parents narrowly escaped being killed. Tim is being selfish because he isn’t used to this. It’s fine.

Jack wants him to transfer to a nearby private school and live at home instead of boarding school so he and Mom can keep an eye on him, fine. Tim can adapt, take advantage of the fact that he’s home more to take pictures of Batman and Robin. 

So Tim is twelve years old when his father brings him to a shooting range and puts a hand on his shoulder. Some good ol’ father-son bonding, his dad claims. His dad is too scared to admit what the true purpose is; so Tim won’t be defenseless in case he’s kidnapped.

But it doesn’t matter whether his dad verbalizes it or not: Tim knows, so there’s no point in saying it out loud.

(For a brief moment, he thinks of becoming Robin, of fists and swinging staffs and acrobatics. Of following Batman’s no-kill rule.)

It’s a silly thought. Tim’s parents are very much alive, and his reality is this: gunpowder and cameras and slow, choking patience. Tim is athletic, but doesn’t exactly make a point to get into fights— if he’s attacked, he would have the best chance with a gun.

But for the next few months, Tim drowns under his father’s expectations and his mother’s worried and guilty gaze. The knot in his chest tightens until he struggles for air, and Tim needs something, needs to get out of the house, needs to do something other than follow Batman and Robin because his parents keep checking on him in the middle of the night.

Tim flounders, kicks fruitlessly at the waters until another weekend, when his father brings him out again and he adjusts his stance, aligns his handgun, and waits until his hands are steady.

It doesn’t take long until he speeds through a fire safety certificate test and all but owns his father’s 9mm pistol.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Tim breathes.

It’s a hobby his father supports and something his mother, who sits in her wheelchair, loosens the furrow in her brow for. Before he goes, she quietly brushes her hand over his hair. Remember your gun safety, Tim, she says, and he nods before heading out for another lesson.

Really damn good, his instructor says, and Tim smiles, because his arms are getting used to the recoil and Tim has one of the highest accuracies among all the teens in the class, even if he takes a little longer than everyone.

But it’s no matter: Tim has experience with being patient.

It doesn't take long for Tim to start bringing his handgun out with him while he goes birdwatching. It takes even shorter for Tim to start eyeing the bolt-action rifles jealously, thinking of how much farther he could take it, what he could do. Eighteen years old, he chants, eighteen years old.

Except when Tim turns thirteen, Jason dies. Batman grieves his son’s death in a way that leaves Gotham a bloody, destructive swathe of pain. And Tim can’t just watch, anymore. He goes to Dick, pleas in his mouth, begging him to see that Batman needs a Robin. 

It doesn’t work. And now Two-Face has Bruce and Dick, and Tim has nothing but his 9mm pistol and the location of the Wayne manor. Alfred looks down at him, lips pursed in hesitation, and Tim knows, knows that Robin doesn’t use guns, knows that it would be an abomination to Bruce’s values and Dick’s legacy but he doesn't know what else to do. 

“Please,” he begs.

Surprisingly, it is easier to convince Alfred that he can protect himself with a gun. Tim suspects that Batman will have a different reaction.

–

Bruce and Dick are safe, Two-Face is safely in jail, and Bruce looks at his guns with poorly concealed suspicion and apprehension. And that’s the crux of the matter: Tim uses guns, Robin does not. Tim cannot be Robin, not with his parents so closely around and his only method of protecting himself being a lethal weapon. The worst part is, it all feels like a waste. The hours at the shooting range, his father’s proud smile, his rising accuracy rates, and it sucks, because Tim doesn’t want to feel this way. 

Tim never meant to be Robin. But he needs to become Robin now and Tim has never trained in hand-to-hand combat or swung a staff before. His way out has become another trap, and Tim has never shot a dart gun before, nor is it sustainable to use tranq darts. 

Funny. Tim never seems to be given a choice. But he can’t complain, so he does the next best thing. Tim throws himself into convincing Bruce, tries to prove that he can be Robin, even if he’s fighting a losing battle. There’s really only one way Bruce will accept, and Tim knows it. 

He screams until his voice is hoarse after Batman nearly dies, but he can't be Robin, not until he gives up Tim Drake. Timothy Jackson Drake holds tightly onto a hope that isn't sustainable, thinks of his father who looks at him in the eye and makes him promise that he'll keep his life over everybody else's.

TIm is selfish and he’s drowning again, but so is Gotham.

–

“Tim.”

His dad looks angry, flickers of worry shining from behind his eyes. Tim knows he’s been acting suspicious: too many bruises on his legs and cuts on his arm, coming home later than usual.

Tim shrugs self-deprecatingly. 

“Please, dad? I know it’s not what you want but it’s getting to be a lot and I need to move around my schedule to fit in more.”

“Tim… This wasn't brought on because the boys in your class have been roughhousinging you because you’re better, right?”

“No! It’s not, it’s not,” Tim shakes his head, face burning with mortification. That would be so embarrassing. It seems so juvenile, quitting because he was bothered by the envious comments, rather than quitting because he wanted to take on a vigilante mantle that had a fifty percent mortality rate to make sure Batman didn’t go off his rocker. 

Tim is so grounded when his dad finds out. His father sighs, running a hand through his hair, and Tim guiltily shrinks under his gaze. 

“You spent so long practicing,” his father accuses. There’s the hidden panic Tim was expecting. “I really thought you were into it, Tim.”

Tim flinches. 

“It’s not that,” he mumbles, trying not to feel like he’s wasted so much of his and his father’s time. “I’m just not that interested anymore and…”

And the truth is, Tim hates this choice. But it’s still his decision, to pick up Robin and put down Tim Drake. He goes for the low blow.

“Let me make my own choice for once, okay? You always want me to do this and that and I’m trying, but I want some space to figure out what I like instead of just balancing what you want in favor of what I want.”

His dad freezes, frustration playing out over his features, but Tim knows he’s won this one. 

“I’m going to check up on your mom. I don’t want to talk about this tonight, but we are talking about this.” I can’t stand talking to you right now.

It’s fine, because Tim has won. 

The situation will blow over, and Tim will prove that he can protect himself in other ways, to both his father and Bruce.

And once again his reality shifts: swinging fists and lies and the fast, spiraling rapids of life.

He thinks of steady hands and the quiet click to the loud bang of a gun. He will wait it out, he foolishly thinks. He has practice being patient.

a/n:

so basically this could go a NUMBER of ways, holy. i had so many plans that i derailed and thought over and whatnot

i originally was going to go for tim being a sniper wayyy earlier, like shooting bruce with tranqs post-jason death (which, by the way, tim would've gone through SO many hoops for that, dude is way too tiny to pass as over 18 and has to be a pretty damn good liar to his parents), never becoming robin (prob would've become a vigilante, just with guns)

but oh man in this version i haven't even GOTTEN to sniper! timmy yet...

also! discussed another cool idea with my wonderful beta @pinkcowzz about reverse robins where tim comes back from the dead as a sniper would also be fun. there are many ways that this au could branch out lmao

[not-neverland06]

haunted past

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader

a/n: WARNING: loose recollection of the movie bc I don’t have the energy to rewatch it lol. I’m not planning on following games/book lore bc I don’t have the time to rewatch the eight-hour YouTube video covering it all. So, forgive me if I take some creative liberty. (Dark subjects following the themes of the movie/games below the cut, including the murder of children)

Summary: You'd thought you'd left the past behind. You never thought you'd be back at this place. It's the source of your every waking nightmare and the worst day of your life. Freddy Fazbear's is the catalyst of where your life went wrong, but when Abby's life is on the line, you have no other choice. Can you survive another night at Freddy's? (Part of my Halloween Palooza)

The door creaks open, one eye peeking through the crack. Mike taps his foot impatiently. He glances briefly down at Abby. She’s practically giddy with excitement as she waits for you to open the door. He knows it's only because you’ll let her watch whatever she wants on TV and don’t enforce bedtime. 

He hates having to resort to bugging you about this. It’s not like he can pay you for all the times you’ve watched his sister. Relying on you for free labor isn’t exactly the best lead into asking you out—not that he thinks you’d actually give him a chance. 

“Christ,” you prop the door open, just barely wide enough for your frame to fit in. You’re not especially welcoming. “What do you want now?”

Abby breaks free from his hold. She shoves through you and rushes into your house. You scoff, turning slightly to watch her. Mike rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “Don’t tell me,” you stop him before he even gets a chance to start. “You’re back for unpaid labor?”

Mike’s face screwed up, even if it’s true, it still stings to hear. “Look, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t-”

“Do this if you didn’t have to,” you finish for him. With a brief sigh, you close the door and step outside with him. You’re in some of the skimpiest shorts he’s ever seen and an inappropriately flattering tank top. He’s struggling, as he usually does, not to just bolt. 

He finds you hard to talk to. Not just because of his usual aversion to the general public, but simply because of how intimidating you are. Besides your already blunt personality, he’s rarely ever had a crush this intense before. It’s hard to stomach these feelings, especially when he knows there’s nothing to be done about it. 

“I’ve heard the spiel before, Mike.” His face screws up at the bluntness of your words. You’re normally like this but you seem especially annoyed tonight. You take a seat on the rocking chair on your tiny porch and nod towards the other one. He takes it as a win that you’re not just kicking him to the curb.

You’ve made this place a home more than he’s bothered to. You’ve got a few potted plants littered around the porch, chairs, and your little glass table with an ashtray he’s never even seen you use. You don’t seem like a plant kind of girl, but they're doing better than any he’s ever attempted to take care of. 

“What is it this time, anyway? And what happened to your other babysitter?”

He rolls his eyes at the mention of Max. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with her all day. She just left Abby home alone the other night.” Your eyes narrow with anger and you let out a loud huff. 

“What a bitch,” you mutter, tucking your legs into your chest. 

Mike shrugs and picks at the hem of his sweatshirt. He hates talking to you, he doesn’t know how to. He never knows if what he’s saying is irritating you or not, you’re so hard to read. He barely knows anything about you, yet you’re the closest thing to a friend he’s ever got. 

“I’ve got a new job-”

“You didn’t tell me that,” you interrupt, and you almost sound… hurt? He doesn’t want to read too much into it, but he still offers you a whispered apology anyway. 

“I’ve been pretty busy, all this shit with my aunt and rent,” he gestures vaguely to his house across from yours and lets out a tired sigh. His head falls into his hands and he scrubs his hands down his face. He hates burdening you with his problems. It’s not on you to be his on-call babysitter and therapist. 

You place a light hand on his arm and for a moment he thinks he might be dreaming. You lean forward, forcing him to meet your eye. “Rent? Look,” your face screws up awkwardly and you force the next words out, “I’ve got money.”

“No,” he immediately interrupts, jerking away from your touch as his face sets in anger. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a beggar. He’s not telling you this to get a handout. “No, I don’t want your money.”

You scoff and cross your arms, glaring at him. “I’m not offering it freely. Consider it a loan, alright?” He opens his mouth and you cut him off with a pissed-off look. “Just shut up and wait here.” You get up, slipping back inside your home. He hears you through the open window as you greet Abby. 

“How’s school?” You ask, rummaging through something. 

“I don’t know, fine,” she answers vaguely. 

He can hear you scoff in amusement, “Yeah, I hated school too.”

“Mac and cheese later?”

The door opens and you call a, “Sure, kid,” over your shoulder. It’s another reason he likes bringing Abby over to your place. You seem to be the only person she’s willing to give more than two words to. Besides, you can actually get her to eat somehow. 

You approach him with a slip of paper in your hand. You shove it into his unwilling hands and he lets out a rough sigh when he sees it’s a check. “Don’t argue,” you snap, sitting back in your chair and refusing to make eye contact with him. “You’ll pay me back.”

He says your name and you shake your head, clearly uncomfortable. “Forget it, just tell me about the new job.”

He scratches the back of his head, debating whether or not he should thank you for the help. It’s not a lot, he knows you’ve got about as much to spare as he does, and he’ll still need to finish this job. However, it is enough to put some food on the table without worrying about every penny. 

Still, you look incredibly disturbed by your own generosity, so he pockets the check and figures he’ll think of a different way to thank you. “It’s a security gig.”

“Really?” You smirk and turn towards him. “Someone hired you after what happened at the mall?” You give him a disbelieving look and he can feel the way his face heats up in embarrassment. 

“Yeah, well it’s pretty creepy. It’s at the old abandoned pizza place. Freddy Fazbear’s.”

Any amusement on your face is drained and you give him a horror-struck look. “What’d you say?” You whisper, voice stricken by something he can’t decipher. For a moment, he doesn’t even want to answer you. 

You’re completely unrecognizable, the usual stoicism he faces is replaced with absolute terror. “Um,” his brows scrunch in confusion and he clears his throat awkwardly, “Freddy Fazbear’s.”

Abruptly, you jump up from your seat and rush away from him. He watches as you run back to the door, his confusion only rising. He calls out your name but you just shake your head. “I gotta head inside, watch the kid.” It’s a rushed excuse and one he sees right through. “You should go.”

He doesn’t get a chance to question you as you slam the door closed. He gets up, but the lock clicks, and the window slams shut. Mike stands in front of your house, absolutely shocked by what just happened. He’s too confused to be concerned, wondering how what he just told you could have elicited that reaction. 

With a low exhale he turns on his heel and walks back to his car. He throws one last glance over his shoulder at your house, but you’ve clicked off the porch light, completely blocking him out. 

He shakes his head in astonishment, getting in the car and driving off to the pizza place. What the hell was wrong with you?

You’re glad Abby is in the bathroom as you catch your breath. Your back is plastered to your door, chest heaving as you fight off the oncoming panic attack. The last thing you need right now is her pestering you about what’s wrong. 

You clench your eyes shut, but when you do all you see is a golden back and the sharp glint of a knife. Your hand drifts towards your abdomen, subconsciously lingering over the scar. Your eyes shoot open and you shake your head, trying to force the memories of the night away. 

You haven’t heard that name in years, haven’t thought of it. You’d thought you’d gotten rid of it entirely. You should have known better, it was always going to haunt you. If you were less of a coward you would have moved away years ago and let the past be buried entirely. But you just couldn’t fully let him go, could you? 

The sink runs and the door is thrown open as Abby comes back to the living room. You force yourself away from the door and offer her a tense smile. Her eyes narrow in suspicion and it’s the first time you’ve despised how clever she is. 

“What’re you drawing?” You rush the words out, voice tight and panicked. You just need to distract yourself. You need to think about anything but that damn place. 

Her suspicion gives way to her typical eagerness to shove her sketches in your face. You don’t know much about kids, but you know she’s not what people consider normal. Not that you mind. However, you’ve never been a big fan of children in general, they bring about bad memories for you. Watching Abby so regularly was happenstance when you greeted Mike as they moved in. 

You’d never been the type to have freshly baked cookies and a welcome wagon for everyone in the neighborhood. For the most part, you all pretty much steered clear of each other. But Mike was cute and you felt like flirting for a little bit. 

You hadn’t expected him to be quite so awkward, or for there to be a kid. In a desperate attempt to end the conversation and escape how stilted the whole thing was, you offered help if he ever needed it. And he needed a lot. 

Now, your weekends have turned from one-night stands and hanging out with people you barely consider friends, to watching cartoons with a kid. You don’t mind it, but you’d prefer it if her brother were there to join you both. His stunted personality has a certain charm you find yourself drawn to. 

“Here,” Abby takes a seat on the floor and you join her. You tap your fingers against your thigh, trying to soothe your heartbeat back to a normal rate. Your mind is racing in a million different directions as you take the picture from her. 

It doesn’t help, if anything, you feel even worse. Bile and terror make for a bad combination as you stare down at her crudely drawn “friend.”

“That’s Freddy,” she tells you. “Chica, and Bonnie,” she’s all smiles as she points to the different caricatures. All you can do is nod, eyes peeled on the blue bunny. 

“You’ve been with Mike to the new job, huh?” Your voice is airy as you flip the paper over and shove it away. Abby frowns, snatching it back from you and smoothing out the wrinkles your grip left behind. 

“No. These are my friends.” 

Terror makes way for concern as you slowly turn towards her. “What?” You ask quietly, not wanting to believe what you’re hearing.

“They’re my friends,” she repeats slowly, giving you a disbelieving look. She turns away from you, huffing and picking up her crayons again. You scramble to your feet, rushing to get away from her. You grab your phone book and run to the landline. You go over the F’s a million times, but you can’t find Fazbear’s number anywhere. 

The entire night is turned into one long, agonizing wait for Mike to return home. You find yourself unable to eat or sleep. You move like you’re walking through a fog. Make Abby dinner, wait for her to pass out, and put her to bed. Then you sit and stare at the blank screen of the TV, just waiting for a knock on your door. 

At 5:30, you finally hear it. You shoot off the couch, rushing towards the door and throwing it open. You know you must look insane, eyes wide and face drained of blood as you drag Mike inside. 

He stumbles from your grip, giving you an affronted look as you slam the door closed behind him. He glances over his shoulder, making sure Abby isn’t woken up by the noise. “You need to quit!” You shove the words out in one rushed jumble. 

His brows furrow and he shakes his head, not quite understanding you. “What?” He asks, scoffing and looking away from you. He glances towards the messy couch and then back at you. “Have you been awake the whole night?”

“Mike,” you grab him by the shoulders, squeezing until he winces from your touch. “I need you to fucking listen to me, you cannot go back. You can’t go back.”

He places his hands over yours, threading his fingers through yours and trying to ease your grip off of him. Neither of you pays attention to the fact that he doesn’t let go. “What are you talking about? I can’t just quit.”

“Mike,” your voice carries a desperation you rarely let yourself show. You know that it’s difficult for people to read you. You’re aloof on purpose, anything to keep people away. But right now, you need him to recognize how vulnerable you’re being. You need him to see the fear and panic on your face and just fucking listen to you. 

“You need to leave that place behind and not look back, okay?”

He takes a step back from you and you know you’ve gone too far. You should have played it cool and approached the subject like a normal person would. But there’s nothing normal about Freddy Fazbear’s and you need him to know that. 

Instead, all you’ve done is properly terrify him away from you. He releases your hands like they’re hot irons and stumbles a few steps away from you. He has a placating smile on his face as he nods his head shallowly. “Alright, sure,” he mutters, not meaning a word of what he says. “I’m gonna get Abby. Need to get her to school soon.”

He rushes down the hall and you let yourself fall into your kitchen chair. Your head drops into your hands and a hollow pit of despair opens up inside you. You did this all wrong. You always do. Every time you try and help someone it turns back around on you. No one believed you the first time, why would they now?

You hear him walk past you, Abby’s grumpy voice demanding to know why she can’t stay longer. “Now,” he snaps, opening the door and pushing her out. It closes and you finally lift your head, expecting them both to be gone. 

Instead, Mike lingers by the door, he has a concerned look on his face as he approaches you. He kneels and opens his mouth with a low huff of breath, “Look,” his hands hover over yours like he wants to hold them. You tuck them away before he can, not willing to make eye contact with him. He shakes his head, stopping himself from whatever he was going to say. 

He stands back up, glancing down at you with a frown. “Just try and get some sleep.”

That’s rich coming from him, but you don’t bother saying anything. You only nod your head, willing him to just get the hell out of your house and take his sister with him. You tried, you can’t say that you didn’t. 

The door slams closed and you flinch at the noise, a flash of blue darting across your vision. You know it’s not real, it’s just a product of your lack of sleep. You can’t help searching for a pair of blue bunny ears, though. 

Dread sinks deep in your gut as you think of losing the closest thing to a friend you’ve had in years. Preemptive grief weighs heavy on you as you get up and throw yourself onto your couch. You imagine the pain of losing Mike and let it be what lulls you into a restless sleep. 

As insane as you were behaving yesterday, Mike still has little choice but to ask you to babysit once more. He hesitates, something is clearly going on with you. He’s never witnessed anything beyond vague disinterest in your interactions. 

How you acted yesterday would be out of character for anyone, but coming from you, he’s worried that there might be something seriously wrong with you. He doesn’t need to burden you further with his sister, but he needs this job. He’s backed between a rock and a hard place. 

He decides to come over without Abby, just to try and gauge how stressed you might be. Your porch light is on as he approaches the house, but he doesn’t see your car anywhere. He’s hoping it’s parked down the street. 

He didn’t give you much notice that he was coming over, but you rarely leave the house. When he first moved in, you were gone every night and there was a new car besides yours every other week. 

Nowadays though, you seem content to be a homebody most of the time. He’s about to knock on your door when he notices something pink shoved under the ashtray on your table. He frowns, his confusion only deepens when he sees his name scrawled in your unusually messy handwriting. 

He unfolds the paper, eyes roving over the words in disbelief. 

Mike, 

In case you need my unpaid services again, call someone else. I’ve got a date tonight that I’m not gonna reschedule to deal with a kid that isn’t even mine. Maybe you’re right, you really should just give her up to her aunt. God knows you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re a bad friend, but you’re a worse brother. Stop dragging me into your mess and just sort your life out. 

The further he reads, the more angry he gets. The paper is crumpled under his tight grip and he cusses as he tosses it into your rosebush. He doesn’t know what crawled up your ass and died, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with it tonight. 

As angry as he is, that you could throw something like that in his face, he still can’t help but worry about you. There’s something very wrong with you, lately. But it’s not his problem to solve, you’ve made that abundantly clear. 

You fiddle with the rings on your fingers, gnawing on your lip as your eyes dart out the window of your beat-up car. The longer you sit in this parking lot, the more guilt you feel. You know you wrote what you did for the best, but it doesn’t ease the sting of regret. 

You wrote some nasty shit to Mike, throwing his deepest insecurities back at him like it meant nothing. But you needed to make sure he didn’t come looking for you. You needed insurance that after all this he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. 

Freddy Fazbear’s dilapidated sign looms over you and you could almost cry looking up at it. You’ve run from this moment for so long. You’ve kept your back stubbornly to the past and refused to look. 

Surging memories have been buried in alcohol and sex. Remembrances of the past have been erased. You cut off your family, friends, and anyone who knew what happened to you. Yet, you couldn’t leave this town. You could never leave him behind, not when you know he’s still in there. 

The taste of bile has laid thick on your tongue since last night. You haven’t had a moment of true rest since hearing that name again, since seeing Abby’s picture. Never, have you labeled yourself as selfless or a hero. The whole reason you’re in this mess is because you’re a coward, through and through. 

Now, in an ironic twist of fate, you sit in the parking lot of your childhood and you wait to sacrifice yourself to some higher entity so Abby might have a chance of surviving. You know that what you’re hoping to accomplish tonight is a pipe dream, that you’re more likely going to die than you are to achieve anything fruitful. But you’re never going to be able to live with yourself if something happens to Mike and Abby and you don’t do anything. 

You can’t have someone else's blood on your hands again. You left Jeremy behind. You’re not going to do the same to them. You check the clock on your radio and suck in a deep breath. Adrenaline rushes through you as the sun slowly sets behind the pizza place. 

Your blood is tingling with the anticipation of being spilled. There’s a phantom twinge of pain from the scar on your stomach. You wince through it, turning off the car and throwing the door open. You’re praying that you’ve left Mike without a babysitter and he won’t show up to his shift tonight. 

You round the back of the pizzeria, frowning at the chain on the handle of the door. You brought bolt cutters for a reason, but you were hoping you might be granted a silent entrance. You cut through the chains and they clatter to the pavement, the noise echoes through the quickly darkening sky. 

You roll your eyes, pushing the rusted door open and slipping inside. So much for the element of surprise. The hinges creak behind you and you whirl around, grasping for the handle. The door slams shut with a loud slam before you can stop it. 

You shrink into yourself, glancing over your shoulder, already expecting someone to be standing at the other end of the hall. Instead, it remains empty. You don’t know if that's better or worse than what you were expecting. 

You pull your flashlight out of your back pocket, shine it down the hall, and step silently over the tipped-over filing cabinets. The place is nothing like you remember it. Gone are the bright neon lights and the sound of children’s laughter. 

Instead, it’s replaced by cobwebs, flickering lights, and a haunting silence that has chills rising along your arms. You keep one hand along the wall, ignoring the way dust seeps into the cracks of your palms. Your light darts between the ground and the cavernous dark before you. 

There’s a suspicious shadow at the end of this hall that you don’t trust. It’s too dark, and you swear you feel eyes following you. But you can’t tell which direction they’re coming from. Something loud cranks at the end of the hall, the sound of gears grinding together stops you where you are. 

You freeze, breath coming in short bursts of air as you slowly tilt the light towards the shadow. Before you can see what it is, a shrill, childish scream rips through the air. “Abby!” You shout, rushing towards the noise, ignoring the noises following quickly behind you. You burst through the door at the other end of the hall and freeze when you see Mike fighting off the cupcake. 

You rush towards him, slamming the bolt cutters through the faux frosting before it rips his fucking arm off. He stares up at you in shock, he’s already covered in blood and bandages and you can’t even begin to wonder what happened to him. 

He mutters your name in disbelief and you stumble back from him, letting the bolt cutters and animatronic drop to the ground. “Mike, what the hell are you doing here?”

He jumps to his feet, speaking to you with an accusatory tone, “What are you doing here? I thought you had a date,” you don’t miss the jealousy in his tone and you scoff. 

“You almost had your arm gnawed off by an animatronic, do you really think this is the time for that?”

He opens his mouth, to argue or concede you’re not sure, and another scream rips through you both. You turn towards the side door and your face screws up in fear. “Tell me I’m wrong, tell me that’s not Abby.”

His answer is shoving past you, shouting his sister’s name. You follow after him, barreling through another door and stumbling back as you watch the scene before you. Foxy paces across the room, dragging his hook along the old arcade games. 

Mike dives to the right, ducking behind a booth. You see his head begin to tilt towards you and you rush towards the stage, hiding behind it while you look around for Abby. You can’t see her anywhere and you don’t know if you should be relieved or throwing up. 

Something loud clanks above you and the walls of the stage tremor under your hands. You clamp your lips together, swallowing down a whimper as you slink further down the stage. The wood vibrates again and you can’t help the slight gasp you let out. 

Something clamps down on your shoulder, fuzzy and blue. You feel the metal pushing against the plush of the suit and he squeezes until you hear your shoulder cracking. There’s nothing that can stop the scream from ripping out of you as your bone shatters under his grip. Mike turns just as you're dragged onto the stage. 

You’ve only got one arm you can feel now. The other drags along the wood, longer than it should be. You can’t even feel the pain, your blood is pumping so hard you’re blind to it. You lash out at the hand holding you, groping for wires and pulling the second you feel them. 

It makes his grip loosen just enough for you to wiggle away from him. You’ve got oil coating your hand, blood drips down your arm. You can’t look, you know if you do, you’ll see your bones poking through your skin. If you look, you’ll pass out and there’s no telling what they’ll do to you then. 

His eyes narrow in on you and you scramble weakly on your one good arm. Freddy’s disappeared, and you don’t know where to. You can only look on in horror as Bonnie stalks towards you. Dying at the hands of the friend you’d left behind. It seems poetic, in a way. But you know this isn’t him. This is what that bastard has twisted him into. 

His good hand reaches out towards you and you do the only thing you can think of. “Jeremy!” He pauses, the orange light illuminating his plastic eyes flickering out only for a second. For a brief moment, you can see the frightened child within him once more. 

Then, something latches onto the back of your hair and slams your head down until the world goes dark. 

You glance around the pizzaplex, smiling as Jeremy blows out his candles. His parents hover behind him, bickering silently between each other. Jeremy looks at them, his big smile fading when he sees them fighting again. 

“Hey,” you grab his arm as the other kids dart greedily towards the cake. “Wanna play hide and seek again?” He looks at his cake, but he’s never had a sweet tooth. You know he just wants to keep playing, his parents practically had to drag him away from the stage for this. Only to be too busy fighting to wish him an actual happy birthday.

Jeremy nods eagerly, jumping off the bench and following after you. You laugh, darting underneath the balloon arch Mr. Afton had brought out for him. 

You and Jeremy come here every weekend, you’re practically best friends with his daughter Vanessa. She’s kind of weird, but you don’t hold it against her. Besides, being nice means Mr. Afton gives you both free pizza. 

The only reason Jeremy’s parents could afford to rent this place for his birthday was because Mr. Afton had offered them a big discount. You dart past the stage and hover at the edge of the ball pit. “One-two-three, not it!” You press your finger to your nose, laughing as Jeremy is just a second too late. “You’re looking first,” you command, shoving him slightly away from you. 

“Come on,” he whines, “it’s my birthday.”

“No cheating,” you tell him, practically stomping your foot. The big 8 on the paper crown he wears goes ignored as you point towards the booth behind you both. He lets out a loud sigh, stomping his way towards it and turning his back to you. He starts counting, loudly and skipping a few numbers. 

You narrow your eyes at his back but don’t hold it against him. Someone hisses behind you and you frown, turning to see Vanessa peeking out from behind a curtain on the stage. She gives you a weak smile, waving you forward. 

You look to your parents but they’re not paying attention as they talk to the other adults. You clamber on stage beside her, smiling up at Freddy and Bonnie. She grabs your wrist, not saying anything as she takes you to the back. 

“Vanessa?” You whisper, growing a little scared at the darkness of the room. It’s a stark contrast to the bright lights outside. 

“Shh,” she instructs, holding a finger to her lips and smiling. “Just wait here, okay? My dad says he’s got a surprise for you.” You watch as she leaves the room, you hear the lock click as the door closes and jump in surprise. 

“Vanessa?” You call out again, hoping this is just a stupid prank and she’s coming back. Loud, clambering footsteps ring through the hall outside the front door of the room and you gasp. You look around for a hiding spot, something sick twisting in your stomach. You know Vanessa said it’s all a surprise, but you’re scared. 

There’s nothing but empty animatronics around you. Mr. Afton told you to stay away from them, that the springlocks could hurt you. But you have nowhere else to go. You pop open the stomach of Sparky and curl yourself inside her, your eyes just barely looking through the top. 

“This way, birthday boy,” Mr. Afton’s voice croons outside. He opens the door, motioning Jeremy inside and you can almost see his smile through the golden bunny suit he wears. You’re starting to feel a little silly. Mr. Afton’s always been nice to you, why are you so afraid all of a sudden?

Jeremy walks in, a bright smile on his face as he looks around the repair room. He stops in front of a run-down Bonnie and looks back at Mr. Afton. He’s in your blind spot, covered by a shelving unit. You can’t see what he’s doing, but you see the way Jeremy’s face drops. 

“Mr. Afton-”

A golden hand shoves Jeremy’s face back. His brown eyes widen in surprise, the whites of them the only thing you can see. You can hear his muffled scream against Mr. Afton's paw.

Mr. Afton shoves Jeremy back, pressing him against Bonnie. Something silver flashes under the dim lights and you peek your head up. You watch as Mr. Afton runs a knife through Jeremy’s stomach and he shoves him into Bonnie's open chest. You clamp your hand over your mouth, dropping back down into Sparky. 

Your knee knocks into one of the metal springlocks and you have to fight everything in you not to surge forward as it digs through your intestines. You squeeze your hand over your nose and lips until you feel like you can’t breathe so you don’t scream. 

Blazing hot pain shoots through your stomach and legs, blood pools thickly down your dress and you can feel tears building along your waterline. Mr. Afton looks around the room, he rips the bunny head off and frowns. A vein bulges in his forehead as he calls out your name. 

He wipes the knife off and hides it behind his back. He places Bonnie’s head over Jeremy, “Vanessa?”

A moment later the door creaks open and a sheepish Vanessa pokes her head inside. She looks around the room, frowning when she doesn’t see either of her friends. “Where is she?” Mr. Afton demands. 

She shrugs, “I don’t know. I left her in here.” Her eyes narrow and she looks close to tears. “What was the surprise, Daddy?”

Mr. Afton lets out an irritated sigh and waves his non-blooded paw. “Forget that, we need to get back outside.” He rushes towards her, dragging the bunny head behind him, and shoves her back through the door. 

The second he’s gone, you’re openly sobbing. Hot tears pour down your cheeks as putrid bile shoves against the walls of your throat. You push Sparky’s stomach open and gasp when you see the large hole in your stomach. 

The other springlocks twitch threateningly as you tug at the one buried inside you. You take in a deep breath and rip it out, forcing yourself to leap away just as the others close. Your blood is dragged along the concrete as you crawl towards Bonnie. 

“Jeremy?” You call out, head swimming so much you can’t even feel pain anymore. Your fingers are cold as you dig fruitlessly at Bonnie’s stomach. You tug and tug, falling back as the panel swings open. 

You can’t see Jeremy’s head, you only see the springlocks digging into his small body. “Jeremy!” You scream, you scream so loud, Mr. Afton can’t even stop the parents from finding you before he does. 

You pass out from blood loss before they reach you. In that time he manages to paint you as two misbehaving children. You snuck backstage and messed with animatronics you had no business being around. He said you both must have tried to wear the old suits and there was no way of proving him wrong. 

So much damage was done to Jeremy’s body, that they wouldn’t be able to find a knife wound even if they knew to look for one. No one would believe you when you told them he killed him. They just thought you were trying to avoid getting in trouble. 

Mr. Afton only managed to keep the pizzeria open for a few more years. But you never went back. You couldn’t. You never forgave him and you never forgot your friend. 

The smell of cleaning products and the familiarity of a sterile hospital room greet you as you wake up. Your vision is slow to come back. Eyes foggy and blinded by the bright lights of the room you’re in. 

Your fingers twitch at your side and you’re relieved to find your arm still works, even after it was practically shattered by a haunted puppet. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing them to focus. A messy head of brown hair lays at your side. 

Mike is draped across the hospital bed, completely passed out. You find yourself smiling slightly at the sight. You slowly bring yourself into a sitting position and poke at him. “Mike,” you whisper, voice hoarse from lack of use. 

There’s a throbbing in your head that pulses along your optic nerve. Your face screws up as you reach towards the bandages wrapped around your temple. You’re honestly just happy to even be alive. You can deal with migraines for a few weeks. 

He jolts up, slightly disoriented as he stares at you. You offer him a weak smile and he lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re awake.”

“Apparently,” you mutter. You glance around him, a frown forming on your face. 

“She’s getting some snacks,” he tells you before you can even ask. “Abby’s fine.”

You let out a breath of relief, sinking back into the pillows. Maybe it wasn’t all for nothing, then. “You knew them,” he says. “Or, the bunny, at least.”

You nod your head weakly, any energy you had has been sapped out of you from the relief that both Mike and Abby are okay. “Yeah, I used to.”

“Are you going to tell me how you knew them?”

You take his hand in your own, surprising the both of you. “Some other time, alright? I think I want a date first before we start trading childhood trauma.”

He stutters and stumbles over his words, brows furrowing as he gives you a disbelieving look. “Did you just ask me out? While you’re still concussed?”

“Are you saying no?”

He opens his mouth but quickly closes it. He lets out a low chuckle and shakes his head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Abby comes rushing back into the room before either of you can say anything else. She smiles at you when she sees you’re awake. She jumps onto the bed, uncaring of the way her knees dig into your legs. 

“Careful, Abs,” Mike scolds. You wave him off and he rolls his eyes. 

“I made you something,” Abby tells you. She hands you a picture and you let out a sharp breath. 

It’s you and Jeremy. Granted, crayon versions of the two of you. But it’s him all the same, as the boy you knew, no longer the monster he was turned into. You feel tears building in your eyes as you tug Abby into a fierce hug. “Thank you,” you whisper, holding the drawing close to your heart. 

You’d like to pretend that you’ve gotten closure from all of this. Jeremy’s been put to rest and you can move on with your life now. Now, you can have a family again, have friends again. But that would be a lie.

You still feel him, as you always have. He’s a shadow clinging to your back, a haunted past you’ll never be able to let go of. He always comes back. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the games/movie Five Nights at Freddy's (FNAF), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[dairy-farmer]

Randomly thought of my Night Watchmen Andriods Au again? And I just??

So much POTENTIAL~☆

It's the "hunting him for sport(possibly to eat him, possibly sexually)" element! Vaguely five nights at Freddie's set up. VERY horror movie. Brought to you by CAPATILISM!

Cause Timmy NEEDS that job! Any job! And the pay is ridiculous.

Whiiiiich? He now knows WHY.

It's fucking HAZARD PAY. "Are you willing to work nights?" His ASS! "A unique environment with its own set of unique occupational hazards" HIS TERRORIZED ASS! He should call the union!

Cause first? FIRST?! He has to survive GETTING to his office. Bolting from the car park, through the darkening hallways, up stair wells, through offices, to GET to his keys. Take those keys. Bolt. Before THEY wake. For his office. For the safety of the blast doors.

Slam them shut like sealing a BUNKER. Check the vents for tampering, weld them back together if there has been any. Because they NEARLY GOT IN once, the ONE time he forgot.

It was the little one.

Fucker STABBED him through the grate. He managed to return the favor with a hunting knife duct taped to a broom handle.

And? AND! Once he's IN his little work bunker? He's not even fucking safe THEN! Because he's pretty sure they're slowly chipping away at the fucking WALLS! They circle like sharks! Prowling shadows on the Security Screens. Always twitching their gaze up, to look DIRECTLY into the cameras.

Worst of all? They know where he fucking LIVES.

Cause it's not like they're CONTAINED here. Just don't go out in the light. His stuff has been moved. Things go missing only to show up weeks later.

He's the longest lasting guard this place has ever seen. It's driving him to drink. The stress is unimaginable. But he NEEDS that fucking paycheck and no God damn Cryptid Bat motherfuckers are gonna stop him.

They may be bats! But he? Is Timothy God damned DRAKE! And Drake's are DRAGONS!

....the problem is though? They are getting faster. Or he's getting slower. The near misses are happening more often. Clawed hands just BARELY swiping against his back, holds that don't have time to close before he rips away. Stumbles. Pounding feet, just behind him. The FEAR.

And yeah, suspension bridge effect. He KNOWS. That "holy shit I'm ALIVE!" rush of horny. Not helpful, body!

Especially when he's proven RIGHT. When one of then manages to finally claw a hole through the wall, get him by the ankle. Drag his leg through up to the thigh. He thinks he's about to LOSE that leg. Expect pain. A sudden crunch and tearing agony. Not...

Not his pants leg be shredded. A face pressed to his inner thigh, breathing deep. Hot tounge, sloppy and uncaring, running against his skin. Tim freezes. Hands still pressed against the way, other foot still braced to push. That... that's not pain...

Hot and hard, pressed against his shin, rocking desperately. Rutting until it's too much. Spilling against the bare skin of his leg. The clawed hands never stop stroking at the skin. The covetous mouth sucking and drooling, licking tender skin.

His leg his released.

It marks the beginning of a change. Like that gates have opened and the hunt is officially on. Cause it turns out? Yeah, they DID want hin dead. But the maybe Cryptids, maybe horrors, have a competency kink! They are IN to this and now the thirst is real.

First one to catch the cute night guard get to fuck him! Have they decided whether they're going to be "oh so VERY distracted~" by their orgasms? They're debating it. On one hand, get to KEEP the night guard. On the OTHER hand..... get to keep hunting him~♡

Better hope you get to that office before we get to yooooou~

Night Guard Tim~♡

-🐼🐼🐼

tim being desperate enough to risk his life thinking that he's going to get murdered every night only that his survival skills have made it so now all the things that wanted to kill him are horny for him 😩❤️