#pulling up the floorboards and gnawing on them

[kikidewynter]

want to talk about josh and krystal but i’m out of things to say

[vmbrq]

ovulation horny is something neither ethan landry nor charlie walker is equipped to handle LMAOO

unless.

[florawrites-blog]

Our way of making up

-Making up with enhypen members after a argument

(side note: I learnt new vocabs so needed to use them)

Lee heeseung - 이희승

The night had settled in, casting long shadows across the apartment as you sat on the couch, arms crossed, your mind still replaying the argument you had with Heeseung. It had been hours since he stormed out, needing space, and your pride wouldn’t let you be the one to reach out first. You told yourself he’d come back eventually, that he just needed time to cool off.

But as the minutes turned into hours, a gnawing sense of unease started creeping in. The once comforting silence of the apartment now felt suffocating, and every little sound seemed amplified. The clock ticking on the wall, the creak of the floorboards, and then… something else. A noise outside, subtle at first but growing louder, closer. Your heart rate quickened, your mind racing with thoughts of what could be out there.

What if it’s a thief? you thought, your anxiety spiking. Alone in the apartment, the fear was almost tangible, wrapping around you like a cold blanket. You tried to dismiss it, telling yourself that you were being paranoid, that it was probably just the wind or an animal. But then, the noise came again, clearer this time, and much closer.

Your breath hitched, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Heeseung should have been back by now, you thought, frustration mingling with your fear. If he hadn’t been so stubborn, so determined to stay out for six hours, you wouldn’t be alone right now, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Unable to shake the fear, you grabbed the closest thing to a weapon you could find—a pan from the kitchen. Your hands trembled slightly as you gripped it, trying to muster the courage to face whatever was making those noises. Slowly, you made your way to the door, your heart pounding so loudly in your ears that it drowned out almost everything else.

As you reached the door, you heard footsteps just outside. Your grip tightened on the pan, muscles tensed, ready to defend yourself. The door creaked open, and you swung the pan with all your might—only to have it stopped mid-air.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Heeseung’s voice broke through the fog of fear, his reflexes quick enough to catch the pan just before it could connect with his head.

Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes wide with shock and relief as you realized what had almost happened. “Heeseung!” you exclaimed, your voice a mix of anger, relief, and guilt.

He slowly lowered the pan, his expression shifting from surprise to a more serious one as he looked at you. “What were you doing?” he asked, his voice still tinged with the lingering tension from your earlier fight.

“What was I doing? What were you doing?” you shot back, your voice trembling as the adrenaline still coursed through your veins. “I thought you were a thief or something! You’ve been gone for hours, Heeseung! I—”

“I’m sorry,” he cut you off, his voice softer now, the anger from before dissipating as he realized just how scared you’d been. “I just needed some time to think… but I didn’t mean to be gone this long.”

You looked at him, your emotions all tangled up—frustration at his disappearance, relief that he was back, and a lingering fear from the strange noises outside. “You scared me,” you admitted quietly, your voice losing its earlier edge.

Heeseung’s expression softened as he stepped closer, pulling you into a hug that you hadn’t realized you needed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, his arms tightening around you, his voice filled with genuine regret. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

You sighed into his chest, the fear finally ebbing away as you felt the familiar warmth of his embrace. “Let’s not fight like that again,” you murmured, burying your face in his shirt, the earlier argument now feeling trivial compared to the relief of having him back.

He nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Agreed. I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’ll talk through things next time.”

The tension between you dissolved as you stood there, wrapped up in each other, the pan long forgotten on the floor as the night quietly continued around you.

Park jongseong - 박종성

The argument with Jay had been brief but sharp, a rare occurrence between the two of you. Usually, you could talk things out before they even escalated into something serious, but this time was different. He had to leave for work, cutting the conversation short and leaving you alone with your thoughts. As the door closed behind him, a heavy feeling settled in your chest. The unresolved tension gnawed at you, making you feel queasy, or maybe you really were getting sick.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You didn’t have the energy to do anything, and the apartment seemed too quiet without Jay’s presence. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that maybe the argument had been more significant than either of you realized. As the hours dragged on, you felt worse and worse, both physically and emotionally. By the time night fell, you had retreated to the bedroom, the curtains drawn tightly shut, blocking out any light.

You lay in bed, curled up under the covers as the TV blared at full volume, but you weren’t really watching it. The sound was more of a distraction, something to drown out the silence and the thoughts racing through your mind. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and you drifted into a fitful sleep, the weight of the argument still pressing heavily on you.

When Jay finally came home the next morning, the apartment was eerily quiet. He had tried calling you several times throughout the day, but there had been no answer. Worry gnawed at him as he walked through the apartment, noticing that nothing seemed to have changed since he left. Dishes were still in the sink, your belongings were scattered around, and the atmosphere felt strangely stagnant, as if time had stopped.

He pushed open the door to the bedroom, only to be met with darkness. The curtains were still closed, and the room was pitch black, save for the harsh glow of the TV, which was still on the loudest setting. His heart skipped a beat as he saw you lying there, unmoving, buried under the blankets. The sight sent a jolt of fear through him, and he quickly crossed the room, pulling open the curtains to let in some light.

Even with the sunlight streaming in, you didn’t stir. Concern etched deep lines into Jay’s face as he knelt beside the bed, reaching out to touch your forehead. The heat radiating from your skin shocked him; you were burning up, sweat clinging to your skin. He shook you gently, his voice tinged with worry as he called your name.

“Hey, wake up… please wake up,” he pleaded, his mind racing with thoughts of guilt and fear. Had you been like this all day? How had he not noticed something was wrong before he left? The argument replayed in his mind, but it seemed so insignificant now compared to the sight of you lying there, sick and vulnerable.

Slowly, you began to stir, your eyes fluttering open. They were swollen, red, evidence of the tears you had shed before finally succumbing to sleep. Seeing Jay’s face hovering over you, filled with concern, brought a fresh wave of guilt crashing over you, and tears welled up in your eyes once more.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Jay interrupted gently, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “You’re burning up. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. Let me take care of you, okay?”

Despite your weakened state, the guilt gnawed at you. You felt responsible for the argument, for not resolving things before he left, for getting sick and making him worry. But as Jay carefully helped you sit up, his touch tender and reassuring, those feelings began to melt away, replaced by a deep sense of relief that he was there, that he still cared.

Jay left the room briefly, returning with a glass of water and some fever medicine. He helped you take the pills, his hand steady as he held the glass to your lips. “Drink slowly,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he watched you, making sure you were okay. He then disappeared into the kitchen, where he began cooking something simple yet comforting.

The smell of food soon filled the apartment, and despite your sickness, it stirred a faint hunger in you. When Jay returned with a bowl of warm soup, the sight of it made your eyes water again. He set the tray down beside you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Eat a little bit, okay? You need your strength,” he urged, his voice gentle.

As you sipped the soup, the warmth spread through your body, a stark contrast to the cold fear that had gripped you earlier. Jay watched you closely, his guilt evident in his eyes. “I’m so sorry for leaving like that,” he said quietly, his hand resting on your knee. “I should have stayed. I should have checked on you.”

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “No, it’s my fault. I didn’t… I didn’t handle things well. I should have just talked to you.”

Jay squeezed your knee gently, his eyes softening. “We both could have done things differently. But right now, the important thing is that you get better. We can talk about everything later.”

That was all it took to break down the remaining walls. The tears flowed freely as you leaned into him, the emotions of the past day pouring out. Jay held you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively, his own tears threatening to spill over as he whispered reassurances in your ear.

“I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, holding you tightly. “We’ll get through this together, okay?”

In that moment, the argument, the sickness, all of it seemed to fade away. All that mattered was the two of you, together, ready to face whatever came next. And as you clung to him, the warmth of his embrace chased away the lingering cold of the night before, leaving only the comforting presence of the person you loved more than anything in the world.

Sim jaeyun = 심재윤

The day had been tense, to say the least. The argument with Jake had left a heavy cloud hanging over the apartment, and you both retreated to different corners of the house to cool off. It wasn’t like you to argue, but today, emotions had gotten the better of you. Now, as you sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the heated words in your mind, you felt the sting of regret.

Jake, meanwhile, had taken a long, hot shower, hoping to wash away the frustration that had built up between you two. He was still lost in thought as he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water clinging to his chest and dampening his hair. But in his distracted state, he didn’t notice the pile of laundry you’d thrown earlier in a fit of irritation.

One misstep was all it took. His foot caught on a stray shirt, and before he knew it, he was stumbling forward. You barely had time to register what was happening before Jake was tumbling onto the bed, landing right on top of you with a soft thud. The unexpected weight of him knocked the breath out of you, and you instinctively turned your head to the side, avoiding his gaze.

Jake froze, his arms on either side of your head, holding himself up so he wouldn’t crush you completely. His wet hair hung down, dripping cold water onto your cheek. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension from earlier still lingering in the air. Jake was the first to break the silence, his voice soft and hesitant.

“Uh… sorry,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed by the situation. His cheeks were flushed, whether from the heat of the shower or the awkwardness of the moment, you weren’t sure. He looked down at you, his usual confident demeanor replaced by the confused, almost puppy-like expression he wore whenever he was at a loss for words.

You could feel his warm breath against your skin, the closeness making your heart race despite the lingering irritation from the argument. But you still refused to look at him, your pride keeping you from acknowledging the accidental intimacy of the moment. Instead, you focused on the sensation of his wet hair dripping onto your face, each drop sending a shiver down your spine.

Jake, sensing your discomfort but not quite knowing how to fix it, shifted slightly, inadvertently causing his towel to slip just a little lower. You felt the movement, and your eyes widened in response, though you still stubbornly refused to meet his gaze.

“I, uh, didn’t mean to—” Jake started, but his words trailed off as he struggled to figure out how to salvage the situation. He looked down at you, seeing the way your lips were pressed into a thin line, your brows furrowed in a mix of annoyance and something else he couldn’t quite place. His heart clenched at the thought that he might have made things worse between you two.

The sight of you beneath him, so close yet so distant, was enough to make him realize just how much he hated the tension that had built up between you. He missed the easygoing laughter, the playful teasing, and most of all, the warmth that you always brought into his life. And now, here he was, in one of the most compromising positions imaginable, and he felt completely helpless.

A drop of water fell from his hair, landing on your lips this time. You finally couldn’t resist anymore and turned your head back to face him, meeting his gaze for the first time since he’d fallen on you. Jake’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the earlier argument seeming almost insignificant in the face of this unexpected closeness.

Neither of you spoke, the silence filled with unspoken apologies and lingering feelings. Jake’s confusion gradually melted into something softer as he looked at you, realizing that maybe this ridiculous situation was exactly what you needed to break the tension. A small, hesitant smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he tried to gauge your reaction.

“I really didn’t mean to fall on you,” he said again, his voice lighter this time, with a hint of amusement creeping in. “I just… well, I’m a klutz, I guess.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that finally broke through your stern expression, the absurdity of the situation starting to get to you. The sight of Jake, usually so put-together, looking down at you with his wet hair and sheepish grin was enough to chip away at your lingering annoyance.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, your voice softer now. “Just… watch where you’re going next time.”

Jake let out a small laugh, the tension between you slowly dissolving as you both began to relax. “Yeah, I’ll try,” he said, his voice warm. He carefully shifted his weight, making sure his towel stayed in place, and rolled off of you, sitting up beside you on the bed.

The two of you sat there in silence for a moment, the remnants of the argument lingering in the background but no longer the focal point. Jake reached out, his hand brushing against yours as if testing the waters. When you didn’t pull away, he intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said quietly, his voice sincere. “I didn’t want to leave things like that between us.”

You looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart ache. “I’m sorry too,” you replied, squeezing his hand back. “Let’s not fight like that again, okay?”

Jake nodded, his eyes softening as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Deal,” he whispered, pulling you into a warm embrace. The wetness of his hair was still a little annoying, but you didn’t mind so much now, especially as he held you close, making everything else seem so small in comparison.

In that moment, with Jake’s arms wrapped around you and the argument behind you, you felt the tension completely fade away, replaced by the familiar comfort of being with the person you loved.

Park sunghoon - 박성훈

The argument with Sunghoon earlier had been a rare occurrence. You were both introverts, and conflicts were usually avoided rather than confronted head-on. This time, though, something had snapped, and the two of you had exchanged a few terse words before he went completely silent. The lack of communication only made things more awkward, neither of you knowing how to bridge the gap that had suddenly formed between you.

Throughout the day, you both tried to go about your usual routines, but the tension was palpable. Sunghoon had eventually left the house without a word, and you didn’t have the energy to ask where he was going. Instead, you focused on trying to reclaim your cool, but the unresolved argument kept nagging at you, making it impossible to fully relax.

By the time night fell, you were emotionally drained. Rather than face the cold emptiness of your shared bed, you decided to crash on the couch for the night. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but it felt easier than being alone in the room where the argument had started. You curled up in a crooked position, trying to find some semblance of comfort, but exhaustion eventually pulled you into a restless sleep.

When Sunghoon returned home late that night, the apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator. He walked through the living room, intending to head straight to bed, but stopped in his tracks when he saw you on the couch. You looked so small and peaceful, even in the uncomfortable position you had curled yourself into. His heart clenched at the sight, a mix of guilt and longing washing over him.

He couldn’t stand to see you like that. The argument had already made him feel like he’d failed you, and now, seeing you sleeping on the couch because of it, he felt even worse. Silently, he knelt beside you, carefully adjusting your posture to make you more comfortable. As he did, you instinctively clung to him, your arms wrapping around his waist, seeking warmth and comfort even in your sleep.

Sunghoon froze, his heart pounding in his chest. The simple act of you holding onto him, even unconsciously, drove him crazy. He needed you—more than he could ever put into words. He craved your presence, your touch, your voice, and the thought of being apart from you, even emotionally, was unbearable.

Without a second thought, he slipped his arms under you, lifting you slightly so that your head rested against his neck, your cheek pressed against his Adam’s apple. You sighed softly in your sleep, your body relaxing into him, and he felt a surge of affection so strong it almost hurt. He stayed there, holding you close, his mind racing with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for.

Eventually, the exhaustion from the day caught up with him, and he felt his eyes growing heavy. He didn’t want to move—didn’t want to risk waking you or breaking the fragile peace that had settled over the room. So, he let himself sink into the couch beside you, his arms still wrapped around you protectively. Sleep claimed him before he could even think about it, pulling him into a deep, dreamless slumber.

When you woke up the next morning, it took you a moment to register where you were. The couch was even more uncomfortable than you remembered, and there was a weight pressing down on you that made it hard to move. It took another moment to realize that Sunghoon was there, his body draped over yours, his head nestled against your chest. He was still in his outwear, his soft snores escaping from his slightly parted lips.

The sight of him like that—so vulnerable and peaceful—melted away the lingering anger from the previous day. Despite everything, he looked so much like a child in that moment, his hand twitching slightly as he slept, and you couldn’t help but smile. You reached up, gently brushing his hair out of his face, and pulled him closer, his cheek resting against your chest.

Sunghoon stirred slightly, nuzzling into you, but he didn’t wake. His presence, his warmth, made it impossible to stay mad at him. Whatever tension had been between you the day before seemed so insignificant now, compared to the simple fact that you were here, together, holding each other close.

As you lay there, watching him sleep, you realized that nothing mattered more than this—than being with him, even when things weren’t perfect. You pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, letting the last of your anger fade away. Sunghoon was your man-baby, after all, and as he lay there, snuggled up against you, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Kim sunoo - 김순우

You and Sunoo had a silly argument earlier in the day, something trivial that spiraled into a playful spat. The kind of argument where neither of you could stay mad for long, but still, it left a bit of tension in the air. Both of you had your pride, and neither wanted to be the first to break the silence.

Hours passed, and you busied yourself with other things, trying to shake off the lingering awkwardness. Then, as the evening began to settle in, you heard a soft knock on your door. You opened it to find Sunoo standing there, looking at the ground with his usual mischievous yet adorable expression. His eyes, usually so bright, were now big and doe-like, his lips pressed into a small pout.

In his hands, he held a large bucket of mint chocolate ice cream—your favorite. The sight of him standing there, looking like an upset sly fox, immediately melted your heart. Without thinking twice, you ran to him with open arms, pulling him into a tight hug. Sunoo let out a little laugh as he wrapped his arms around you, the tension between you evaporating in an instant.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice soft as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I’m sorry too,” you replied with a smile, “and you didn’t have to bring me this, but I’m glad you did.”

Sunoo grinned, his eyes lighting up again as he handed you the ice cream. “Well, I knew this would make everything better.”

You both headed to the kitchen, grabbing spoons as you sat on the floor, the bucket of ice cream between you. The argument was long forgotten as you both dug in, laughing at how ridiculous the whole thing had been. Sunoo, ever the entertainer, started making funny faces and telling stories, making you laugh so hard that you nearly choked on your ice cream.

Before you knew it, the ice cream was almost gone, and you were both lying on the kitchen floor, your stomachs full and your hearts light. Sunoo turned his head to look at you, a soft smile on his lips as he reached over to squeeze your hand. “You know, even when we argue, I can’t imagine not having you around,” he said, his voice sincere.

You squeezed his hand back, your heart fluttering at his words. “I feel the same way, Sunoo. I’m glad we have each other.”

The two of you spent the rest of the evening there, on the kitchen floor, talking, laughing, and just enjoying each other’s company. The earlier argument seemed so silly now, just another small bump in the road that you both knew would always lead back to moments like this—filled with love, laughter, and of course, a lot of mint chocolate ice cream.

Yang jungwon - 양중원

After a heated argument, you slumped on the couch, frustrated and hurt. Jungwon, equally upset, grabbed his jacket and made his way to the door. You expected him to storm out, but instead, he paused and looked back at you, confusion flickering in his eyes. He seemed to hesitate before walking back over to you, his expression softening slightly.

Without a word, he reached down and pulled you off the couch, gently but firmly. Your confusion grew as he knelt to slip your shoes onto your feet. “Jungwon, where are we going?” you asked, but he didn’t answer. He just took your wrist in his hand and led you out of the house, still in your pajamas.

He walked with purpose, and it wasn’t until you reached a familiar spot that you realized where he had taken you. It was the place where he had first confessed his love to you. The memories of that day flooded back, and you felt a mix of emotions—confusion, love, and the remnants of your earlier argument.

Jungwon finally stopped and turned to face you, his eyes serious but filled with the deep affection you had always known. “Every time we argue, I want you to remember this place,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “This place is special because it’s where I first told you how much you mean to me. It won’t have the same spark if we’re not together anymore.”

His words struck a chord in you, and you realized that despite the argument, he was trying to remind you of what truly mattered. The tension between you slowly dissolved as the significance of the moment washed over you. Jungwon’s expression softened further as he gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

“I don’t want us to forget this,” he murmured against your hair. “No matter what happens, I don’t want to lose this.” You hugged him tightly, feeling the warmth of his love and the importance of the place you both stood in. The argument seemed trivial now, overshadowed by the depth of your connection.

As you stood there together, you knew that no matter what challenges came your way, the love you shared would always bring you back to this place, both physically and emotionally.

Ni- ki -남편

You and Ni-ki had argued earlier in the day, and while the fight wasn't serious, both of you were too stubborn to back down. Instead of talking it out, you decided to ignore him completely, which he took as a challenge. He ignored you right back, and now, both of you were locked in a silent treatment battle.

As the night wore on, you decided to take things a step further by going to bed without saying goodnight to him. Instead, you kissed your Puma plushie, whispering a soft "Goodnight" to it as you pulled the covers over yourself. Ni-ki saw this from the corner of his eye and tried to act nonchalant, wanting to seem mature and unaffected. But as the minutes passed, the bruising of his pride started to gnaw at him.

Unable to take it any longer, he stormed into the room, the tension in his movements betraying the calm façade he was trying to maintain. Without saying a word, he crawled onto the bed next to you, wrapping his arms around your figure from behind. His grip was tight, desperate, as if he was trying to silently convey what he couldn't say out loud.

You could feel his warm breath against your neck, and the tension slowly melted away. Despite the stubbornness that had driven you both earlier, you couldn't resist any longer. You turned around to face him, his arms still wrapped around you, and sighed softly.

"Who's my big baby?" you teased, your voice gentle as you cupped his cheeks.

He looked at you, his expression a mix of annoyance and longing, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into your touch, allowing you to smother his cheeks with kisses. As much as he pretended to hate it, you could see the way his eyes softened, the way he let down his guard just for you.

Maybe the argument had been silly, but it had led to this moment, a reminder of how much he loved being babied by you, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

[magicalqueennightmare]

Bad Idea

Billy Butcher x Reader

Sleeping with Butcher was a bad idea. You acknowledged it every time but that didn't stop you.

NSFW happenings

It was a bad idea. You knew it. This damn stakeout was MMs idea and while you'd initially agreed that was before you knew you would be teamed with Butcher. Now you sat across from him trying to avoid his eyes as you strained to listen to the com in your ear hoping MM would give the code to everyone to pull out.

"What's wrong luv?" He asked, reaching across the table to let his hand brush against yours. You stiffened and pulled your hand back "just a little tense" you hated the game of playing dress up, of being under different names. You were wearing a sundress and a camisole for God's sake as part of this. Of course Billy was unfairly good looking in his suit, the few buttons he'd left undone and his chain peeking out making you fight the urge to taste the skin there.

He grinned "I know a few ways we could ease that tension" the two of you were playing a married couple, possible contributors but you knew he was very much talking as Butcher not as Anthony Martin, his alias. You shook your head "I bet you do"

As if the very gods above heard your prayers MMs voice rang through your ear "Pull out. Take the scenic route. Everyone meet at the safehouse in two hours, not a minute sooner" you groaned at the idea of being stuck in this getup for two hours but at least the pretenses were gone.

Billy stood and offered his hand which you took hesitantly. It didn't take the two of you long to make it to the parking lot.

You practically fell into his old car and closed your eyes in relief when you felt him pull out onto the road. The safehouse was a forty minute drive meaning you still had over an hour before you could go back.

You kept your eyes closed as you listened to Butcher fidget with the radio and curse traffic. You slowly opened your eyes to look over at him and he was already looking at you considering the two of you were at a red light "How did I get stuck with you on this?" He smirked "Come on now, you like being stuck with me most of the time" you rolled your eyes and waved a hand towards the light "It's green"

You watched Butcher as he drove and again that urge to taste the skin peeking out of his shirt hit you. As if he could read your mind his hand reached for your thigh closest to him and when you moved into his touch a devilish grin split his face "What was that about not wanting to be stuck with me?"

----------

His hand slipped higher, teasing your thigh before you felt his fingertips brush against your clothed core "Butcher" you warned and he cut his eyes at you before looking back at the road "Say the word" you sucked your bottom lip in between your teeth, gnawing roughly on it in an attempt to not moan when his fingers finally slipped under your panties.

He slipped one finger into your pussy and when you let your legs fall further apart in response he chuckled before adding another finger, curling them both up to find that spot inside of you. The moment his fingers brushed against it your hips bucked up slightly as a whimper escaped your lips.

Your head fell back against the seat, as he worked you closer to that edge. A whimper escaped you when used the heel of his hand to apply pressure to your clit. When your orgasm washed over you your hips shook slightly as he worked you through the aftershocks before slipping his fingers free.

He glanced at you before sucking his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. You swallowed hard before finding your voice "Fuck this, pull over Butcher" "That's my girl" he growled before pulling behind the mall the two of you were driving past.

The moment Butcher killed the engine your shoes were off in the floorboard and you were straddling him. His hands moved to snatch the camisole off of you giving him access to the flesh the low cut dress exposed "Who picked this damn thing for ya anyways?" He growled before attacking the soft flesh of your neck.

Your hands went to his hair, tugging the short locks harshly as he sucked and bit whatever flesh he could reach. You rolled your hips down against his and felt him harden under you "I hate you at times you know that?" You cursed and he simply laughed against your skin, cutting hazel eyes up to bore into yours "Really seems like it"

You leaned back to catch his mouth in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, fingers unbuttoning his shirt further to give you access to his chest. When your fingers smoothed across the skin, nails digging in lightly he groaned "Yeah you hate me"

--------------

One of his hands gripped your hair, snatching your head back. Your eyes fluttered shut, the pain mixing with pleasure "Eyes open sweetheart. You know you gotta say what ya want" you forced your eyes open "Fuck me Butch, please" he released your hair and pressed another hard kiss to your lips before lifting you off his lap just far enough to release his hard cock from his pants "I got ya" he murmured against your lips as he notched the head of his cock at your core, strong hands holding you in place "Please Butch" you whispered against his lips, too turned on to worry about how pathetic you sounded at the moment.

He pulled you down then, burying himself to the point your hips were flush with his. He swallowed the loud moan that left you at the movement. He smoothed his hands up your back, rubbing circles on the tense muscles through the thin material of your dress "So fuckin pretty with my cock buried in that tight little cunt of yours"

-------------

When the pain of him stretching you faded to pleasure you rolled your hips and he groaned "Gonna fuck yourself on my cock eh luv?" You left a open mouthed kiss against his collarbone as you started to move, hips straining at the angle but you could've cared less. He filled you perfectly and you were chasing that high, pleasure coursing through you as mixtures of praises and curses left his lips.

"Good girl" he cooed, lifting his hips to meet yours with every thrust. "Gonna come for me? Let me feel that cunt squeezing me?" You moaned in response, feeling your orgasm start to build.

He dipped his head down to your chest, freeing your breasts from the dress to let his tongue flick across the nipple of one while his hand teased the other. He started to guide your hips, lazily dragging you up his cock before slamming you back down "Gonna fill ya up, leave ya drippin. Yer gonna have to sit through talkin with the boys feelin my cum dripping down yer thighs"

--------------

You whimpered against his neck and when he slipped a hand between your bodies to rub tight circles onto your clit the whimper turned into a moan of his name as you gripped his hair with one hand and shoudler with the other. He fucked you through your orgasm and you could feel his hips start to stutter. Your muscles were gone, pleasure turning them soft. You braced your head against his shoulder "Harder Butcher. I know what you need. Take it"

"Yer damn near perfect" he growled, gripping your hips hard as he started to fuck up into you,chasing his own high. You knew if he kept up this pace and angle when he did cum he'd drag you with him. "You fuck me so good Billy. Feels so damn good" you moaned and his thrusts got harder in response.

You felt another orgasm building and buried your face into his neck, biting down on the flesh there. "Want to feel ye" he murmured, fingers finding your clit once again. You let your pleasure wash over you as the orgasm slammed into you and when you clenched around him you felt his hips stutter right before he buried himself inside of you, the feeling of his release coating the walls of your pussy.

------------

You sat like that for a few moments, both of you working to get your breathing back to normal. Butcher moved first, easing your breasts back into your dress and straightening it back into place. His fingertips grazed a few marks his mouth left on your skin "I marked ye this time"

You traced the mark you'd left against his neck "Don't worry I marked you too" you forced yourself back to sit up despite his cock still being buried in your pussy. You smiled at the cocky smirk on his face "I still hate you at times" he laughed "I know luv" he pressed another hard kiss to your lips then looked down where the two of you were still connected "Need help?" You nodded so he gently lifted you off his lap and sat you down in the seat next to him "Lets get cleaned up and we'll head back"

His eyes trailed over you, no doubt taking in your wild hair and swollen lips along with that just fucked glow. "I kinda like ya like this. Fuckin gorgeous" you rolled your eyes as you started attempting to smooth down your hair "This was a bad idea" he nodded "You say that every time, but still keep coming back dont cha?"

You shook your head "Put your cock away Butcher. We gotta get a move on"

[yandere-kokeshi]

— Who hurt you?

— yandere dad-ghost x gn teenager reader

Summary || You come home bloodied and bruised from school. While getting patched up by your dad, you reveal things

A/N || This is one of my favorite fics atm. Idk why but seeing soft dad ghost?? Yeah. That's how to do, my heart is. Anyway, enjoy 😉

Warnings || details of being hurt/bullied, blood, hints that ghost kills, and comfort.

Copper and sharpie. That’s all you can smell. The stench has embossed itself on your clothes, your flesh, and inside your nostrils. It was embarrassing really, coming home after being chased by bullies. 

They slapped you to the ground. Laughed in your face as the girls kept you from getting up, sitting directly on your chest. They pulled out permanent markers and drew foul things on your face, arms, and legs. 

Knead your stomach and kicked you. All you wanted was to hang out with them.

Silence settles between the bathroom, hearing your dad — Simon Riley, Ghost or a big Kodiak bear you like to call him, go through his bedroom, the sounds of his drawers opening and closing as he huffs loudly.

You heard the cruel rumors of your reputation. It was a gnawing sort of feeling of betrayal. One that ate away at your very soul and left nothing but pain in its wake. The action alone may not be the worst thing in the entire world. But what made betrayal ache was that in the past, in its place, was trust.

The rumors of you spread like a disease; whispers in the school of ‘slut’ and ‘freak’. Everyone looked at you like something else. Even teachers scoffed at you. You thought you could handle it, until today. It’s expected for your favorite shirt to be stained — again. 

You didn’t want to hear your dads voice. Him being incredibly disappointed in you. 

You leaned your head on the back of the toilet, chewing the inside of your cheek as you waited for him to come in. It was long, just like the torture you’d endured hours before. 

“What happened?” 

You stayed quiet, continuing to look up at the white ceiling before turning your head to the side, looking at him in the doorway with half-lidded eyes. He’s leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed against his chest; almost like he’s disappointed. But his voice says otherwise. 

“Kiddo, what happened?” he re-asks, his boots creaking with the shift in weight distribution, floorboards straining as he walks across the space toward you. 

You stayed quiet, making him stare at you before sighing. 

He opened the bottom of the sink, grabbed the med kit and seized the necessary items before turning on the faucet, grabbing another dark rag due to the one you’re holding already used; stained with markers, blood, and some snot.  

Your dad clicked his tongue, “What the hell happened?”

“M’ don’t wanna talk about it,” 

“You worried me,” your dad voiced, using your name. You considered his words carefully, staring at your lap, legs, and arms littered with all kinds of marks. 

“You also worry too much,” you pointed out, watching him kneel before you. 

He steals your words from your mouth when his huge hand settles around the bloodied rag in your palm. He doesn’t speak; at first, silence hangs between you, once again as throws it away; grabbing the cloth into the sink. Then, he soaks it until it’s dripping, droplets pinging off the surface, and wrings it out. His dorsal muscles ripple beneath the backs of his palm, veins a ballpoint color and standing out against his pale skin.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he directs, carefully holding the damp fabric and slowly reaching for your face. “I thought something happened. Which did.”

You stayed quiet for a second. “… I didn’t mean to scare you,” you whisper. 

You can see his brown eyes narrow, his mind occupied by something. Clearly, he’s angry. And who wouldn’t? Finding your kid barely able to stand up, laying against the wall for help covered in bruises and blood, was a frightening sight. Especially with his type of job, anything is possible. 

The pressure of the cloth against your face is so delicate, almost like he’s appearing afraid to hurt you — gently brushing away the flecks of blood in your hairline as well as the drawings. He shakes his head gently, considering your words. “Not your fault, kiddo.”

He then grabbed your arm, rotating your wrist as he examined the bruises and forming – you watched his face fill with fury.

“Who did this to you?” he seethed, voice deep and low, a tone you’d heard not so much before. 

You shook your head, clearly not in the mood to talk about it. But it didn’t satisfy him, he called your name, demanding you to look at him. Tears were already falling before more words curled out of his mouth.

At long last, finally with the adrenaline and frightened state going away, you let your guard down, letting tears pour down your eyes. It stung, face hurting more than you’d like. But you didn’t care. You needed to cry.

Your hands went up to wipe away the tears, but before you can hit your sore cheeks, he’s capturing you in his arms and pulling you to his chest. He doesn’t say anything, letting your head rest on his shoulder. All you required at this moment was to be held, to know you were loved. And that he wasn’t mad — never at you. 

He rubbed your back, kissing the side of your head as you cried out more — sobbing turned into occasional hiccups and gasps, then sniffles and permanent hiccups that he would occasionally let out a chuckle on. 

“Ready to talk about it, kid?” He asks cautiously, prodding but patient. You only sigh softly before looking up at him, quickly noticing the snot and tears stained into his gray hoodie. 

“It’s just…” you pause, trying to find the right words to say. “Things have been rough, lately. School has been hard. Everything seems to be going wrong. Especially with the other kids.”

His eyes squint as he listens to you speak, the hazel color meeting your own, leaving you choking in your words. He’s your dad. You shouldn’t be afraid of telling him. But what if—?

“—And I know that being a teenager is hard. But, I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to see them.” you trail off, a shuddering breath escaping your lips as you feel your eyes swell up once more.

His thumb catches them before they fall, however, and you smile at him for a moment before continuing.

“I’m scared to go back,” you whisper brokenly. 

For a moment, the bathroom is silent, but all at once your dad’s arms are tightly around you in a hug. All-encompassing, it only makes you cry once more. Your head slumps over, forehead pressing into his shoulder – his hand pressing against the back of your neck.

“How long has it been happening?” 

You shrug your shoulders, digging yourself deeper into his shoulder. “Long enough, I guess…”

“Kiddo…” he starts, sighing out of defeat. “Shit- I’m sorry for not noticing. Le’s keep you home, mkay’?” 

“Okay,” you whisper, but that’s good enough for him. His hands started rubbing your back, before reaching over for the rag on the counter — continuing to clean up the stained marks and your irritated cheeks.

“Do you need me to do anything?” he says, his tone hardened. From the looks of it, he had a plan. But, you knew or not. His face was unreadable at times. 

You shook your head, before hissing out at the soaped cloth on your cheek. He gently moved your hair out of the way, just enough to expose the wound near your eye. 

“Sorry. Need to make sure it won’t get infected.” 

Before you know it, he was done. Already putting the first aid kit back under the sink and throwing the used cloth into the wash. “Tell ya’ what,” he says, making you raise your eyebrows. Though, he pulled his cracked-screen phone from his pocket, the exact one he’s had for years and the one you’ve begged to get a new one. 

He offers it to you, already on the phone on. More often or not, he didn’t let you snoop through it. Licensed files detailed in the phone. Plus, the last time you played a prank on him with it, he grounded you — for two weeks. 

“W-hat do you want me to… do?” you stammered questioningly, hesitantly grabbing it before looking at the screen. Then back at him.

“Order pizza. Get whatever you want.”

Your eyes widened, a smile widening to which he chuckled at. “There you are,” he says fondly, hand brushing your hair back. “You get whatever, yeah?”

“Okay,” you say, the first true smile forming today.

You got up, eagerly running out of the bathroom and downstairs as Simon yelled a small ‘watch it!’. As he gets up from his knees, he walked into his office – making sure to hear that you’re calling the pickup line before ringing Price.

He immediately answered, asking what he needed. From the way you described their name-calling, the images of you sobbing as he held you, anger filled his veins, knuckles turning white as he clenched his fist with rage. 

“I need a favor.” 

And weeks later, the news began talking about a murder spree – snapping you out of your thoughts, only to see both of your ex-friends, and those teachers on TV. A pang of guilt set through you. But, beside you, your dad had a huge smile; one that was promising to never let anyone hurt you.

—

Masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[kitkathatesu]

Got My Baby Cryin’

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Bo Sinclair x Fem!reader + mentions of Vincent

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓?: ✔️ @whatitshouldvebeen hope you like it pookie, sorry it took so long😗

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: NSFW❗️SMUT❗️dub/non-con, (DON’T READ THIS IF THAT IS A TRIGGER FOR YOU) ❕MDNI❕Use of degradation & praise, (mostly degradation sorry) mentions of blood & violence, pet names, canon!Bo, Stockholm Syndrome type situation, sub!reader, possesive!Bo, Dacryphilia, fingering (f receiving), p in v, spit play, hatefucking

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Vincent decides to use you as his “muse” for a new wax figure in the Museum, and though it may be a sweet gesture to you Bo doesn’t think so. Not at all, and it’s obviously your fault. So who better to punish than you?

☽♢☾

You’re in the kitchen cleaning up after a night of blood pools and broken glass. One of the tourists who’d decided Ambrose was a cozy spot to fill his tank found out rather fast that it comes at a cost. His life being the payment.

Vincent’s sitting across the room from you at the table, his one blue eye seemingly studying your movements with a slight tilt of his head. His fingers toying one of his many sculpting tools between them, gaze burning into you. The silence deafening while you sit there on your knees, crimson spattered rag in hand scrubbing the creaky floorboards.

“You wanna take a picture Vince?” You snicker. Glancing up to catch his reaction but he’s stood upright now just inches away from your kneeling figure. “Goddamn!” You gasp, your hand pressed tightly to your chest.

“Didn’t even give me a chance to breathe! You’re seriously the fastest fucker I believe I’ve ever met.” You squeak playfully, Vincent’s grunt of approval making you giggle.

You’ve grown quite close to all three Brother’s, Lester a little less than Vincent but Bo more than either of them. And he makes sure the others know just how 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 you are. Your desperate cries for benevolence etched into the walls from the night he caught you lingering around longer than you should’ve. The scars he left then now littering your body and mind for as long as you can remember.

Your eyes fixated back to the task at hand. Fingers beginning to ache at how hard you’ve peeled the desaturated blood off the floor, you can’t help but wonder how many more will seep away to nothing more than a stain in the rotting wood beneath you. You shake your head, the thought rattling around for a moment but dissipating shortly after.

“Hey Vince, care to grab me another rag? This one’s about to start ripping at the seams-“

You practically choke on your words at the sight of Vince now knelt down in front of you, his smooth hand caressing the flush that’s crept onto your cheek. His thumb gently tracing the lines that are naturally imprinted into your skin as you sit there frozen.

Dumbfounded, you reach up and place your hand atop his. Searching for an answer internally and externally, 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜? Hopefully nowhere close to what you suspect considering his hobbies.

“Uh, Vince?” You ask softly, a lump formed so tight in your throat that you feel like you’re suffocating. He just stares back at you like every word you’ve spoke has fell upon deaf ears.

He signs “You’re lovely. Would take forever to sculpt such a pretty thing.” His demeanor flashing something more than just curiosity causing your jaw to tighten.

“Could use some practice if you’d care to pose for me. Be the perfect muse.”

He continued on, only increasing the gnawing anxiety in your gut. Among the flustered butterflies smacking against your rib cage. You knew Bo would be pissed if he ever caught wind of this, hearing or let alone walking in and seeing it for himself.

“Vince..” You pause. Your eyes flickering to the right, then the left. 𝙊𝙝 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩.

Bo’s face is contorted with anger as his slanted figure stands positioned against the doorframe pulling you back to reality. You hurriedly push yourself off the floor, Vince scurrying backwards as Bo chuckles to himself. His presence unabated as it fills the room.

“Well, what’do we have here?” He mocks. Glaring at Vince first, then turning his half lidded eyes to meet yours, shooting daggers right through your chest.

Your heart pounds. His pupils are swallowing his irises whole. Used to he could disguise that look pretty well, but you’ve grown all to accustomed to the predator that’s always preying on you. The man who’s marked you in more ways than one that’ll last a lifetime.

“Bo, I can explain-“ You stammer. Voice barely amounting to a whisper but it’s silenced completely as Bo cuts you off.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bo barks, his voice gruff and threatening as he points a finger to you, daring a word to fall from your lips as he lunges at Vincent. Making him stumble back against the wall, his head hitting first as Bo’s hands clutch his shoulders to stand him still.

“You wanna explain yer’self?” Bo grumbled. “Or do I gotta beat it outta you first?” His fingers grip the fabric of his Brothers sweater, pulling him forward then ramming him back into the wall with a loud thud.

A muffled wince of pain strains behind Vincent’s mask, he raises his hands in reticence. Trying to deescalate the situation.

“Didn’t mean nothing by it. Only using her as means to create better, more realistic figures.” He signs. His one eye searching Bo’s for some sort of understanding, but all he gets is a sneer. Bo’s lip curling up into a cocky smirk as he drops Vincent’s shoulders.

“That so?” He snorts. “We both know that’s a lie. You’d be on’er like flies on shit if I’d let cha’ ya fuckin’ pest. Now git. I said git!”

Vincent storms out of the room and Bo runs a grease covered hand through his hair, a sadistic cackle bouncing off the walls as he turns around to find you cowered in the corner. Your eyes wide with fear as he saunters over.

“Awh, sweetheart. What’sa matter?” He taunts. Bending down in front of you, his cologne and the smell of whiskey flooding your senses. You try to find the words to say but they’re stuck. You’re stuck, you can barely think straight.

“I asked ya a fuckin’ question.” He snarls. His calloused hand claws at your jaw, his fingers digging into the fat of your cheeks roughly pinching your lips into a pout.

“I’m sorry- I just, I can’t..” You trail off, voice shaky as Bo’s hot breath fans over your face. His hand pulls you closer to him by the grip on your cheeks, a choked back whimper crackling in your throat.

“Can’t what?” He asked softly. His tone condescending but dripping with that honeysuckle Southern drawl that makes you weak in the knees.

Bo’s sharp tongue darts out to wet his lips and your eyes follow its movement. Nothing ever goes unnoticed when it comes to you like a cat with a mouse, he’ll let you think it’s safe to stray away and as soon as you do he’ll pounce and sink his teeth in without warning.

He taps your lower jaw with his fingertips. Your eyes squeezing shut as he leans in, his nose gently brushing against yours.

“Cat got yer’ tongue? Or you jus’ too busy thinkin’ bout Vince ta’ spit out an answer.” He tsks. Tongue clicking against his teeth as he jerks you upwards. His hand now snaked around your neck. Your feet slightly coming up off of floor. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you girl. Don’t get all shy now.”

You cough against the rigidity of his fingers delving into the sides of your throat, your eyes popping open and heartbeat thrumming in your ears, his lips now hovering above yours. You clasp your hand around his wrist as he peers down at your unnerved expression. A smug grin plastered on his pretty face.

“Bo- Fuck, please just stop.” You pant, each breath you take shorter and shallower than the next. A low sigh pulling from your lungs as he closes his hand tighter around windpipe. You swear you could hear it crunching.

“Don’t think I will darlin.’ As a matter’a fact, think I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, staring up at him through heavy lashes as your peripherals cloud with hazy darkness. A subtle pulsing between your legs causing you to shift, embarrassment bubbling up and spilling over as your body reacts to him, knowing it’ll only betray you further if you fight.

“You’ve been misbehavin’ a lot these past couple days sugar.” He purrs against the side of your face. His free hand coming up to grapple the dip in your waist causing your thighs to squeeze together a little too fast. Bo chuckles through gritted teeth.

“Think it’s time ta’ remind ya what happens when I let ya off yer’ leash. Since you’ve bitten off a bit more than you can chew.”

“I’ve not done anything, was just trying to clean. Honest.” You bleat. Tears trickling down your face. The thought of what he’s planning on doing to you raiding your already tattered mind. “Please- Don’t hurt me.”

Your lower lip quivers as his eyes glaze over you, your cheeks flushed a deep red and chest heaving. Awaiting your punishment as he stands there menacingly.

You can’t help but gawk at him. He’s got such pretty eyes, and his hands are so experienced yet 𝙨𝙤 deadly. Who could 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙮 resist? You’re acclimated to this place, this man. You have nothing left to lose and nothing more to gain.

“S’a shame ya gotta be so desperate when I’m not around. Can’t leave ya alone for a second without you missin’ havin’ one in ya.” He slurs, his jaw tightening as he pushes his lips against the shell of your ear. Tongue tracing it lightly causing your body to shudder.

“My Brother can’t fuck you as good as I can”, He husked. “And I’ll be damned if I sit back and watch him try. ‘Specially when yer’ eager to please.” That snarky smile forming against your skin. “Nothin’ but a fuckin’ whore.”

Your heart is hammering. Legs wobbly, you’re lightheaded and on the brink of passing out as his fingers dance against your pulse points. But a piercing shot of air fills your lungs suddenly causing you to sputter and choke as he releases you. Your feet plant flat on the ground, a shaky hand frantically lacing itself around the handprint that now sits like a necklace on your throat. His hands fall at his sides with a huff as he tucks them into his pockets.

“I don’t think of Vince that way!” You yell at him, your voice broken and dry in your throat. Bo’s brooding facial features making your skin crawl as he rakes over your unsteady figure. “Yeah?” He belts out. His head dropping down and back up with a wolfish grin. “Bet yer’ soakin’ wet right now.”

Your stomach drops and your legs nearly give out. You 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 if he was to reach his hand between your legs and touch you right now his fingers would be drenched.

Bo inhales deeply through his nose. Letting out a long, breathless, sigh. “I can smell you. Ye’ ain’t hidin’ nothin’ from me.” He uttered. A deep growl rumbling in his chest as one of his hands fists your hair, gripping it hard between his fingers as the weight of his body is now flush against yours.

“Every. Fuckin’. INCH of this body is mine.” Bo snarled. His breathing loud and rugged, fuming with whiskey and desire. His grip on your hair stiff as a board, your scalp stinging from the force of him holding your head back.

“Bo- Bo, I’m sorry please? I’m yours, only yours.” You plead. Tears sliding off of your cheeks. The salty streams glistening down your neck and chest, staining your sternum. What a mess you are already. 𝙋𝙤𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜.

Bo’s jaw cocks open like a boa constrictor and his tongue drags a long hot stripe up your jugular, catching your fear on his tongue. A groan seeping out of his mouth like blood from an open wound. Your teary eyes and battered body only making his already hardened cock strain against his zipper.

“That tight lil cunt between yer’ legs belongs ta’ me too. Ain’t that right honey?” He cooed. “So pretty when you cry’fer me like that.”

𝙁𝙪𝙘𝙠. He’s got you. He has you right where he wants you, where he always has you. Right on the edge of insanity and serendipity. You break pathetically at the slip of his knee between your legs, his muscular thigh pushing up into your core. The friction of his jeans alone makes you whine but it’s effortlessly snuffed out as Bo’s lips crash against your own.

Your head is fuzzy and your limbs are numb like venoms slithered beneath your skin through his saliva. Disintegrating you from the inside out as your lips move on their own accord.

“Yes Daddy.”

“You’re disgusting ain’tcha?” His eyes blown wide with lust and his hands full of rage he yanks you by your hair with one swift motion turning you around.

Your back arches and your face slams against the wall. The taste of copper filling your mouth is bittersweet as Bo’s free hand slides up the back of your thigh, your ass pushing back against it as his fingers hook into the fabric of your shorts pulling them to the side. Your body shifting at the chills that rip their way up your spine. 𝙍𝙪𝙣 𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙞𝙩 𝙧𝙪𝙣, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙖𝙧.

“Look at that.” Bo panted, watching the arousal that’s bubbled and weeped out from your core spread and string to the outside of your lips with each buck of your hips.

“Fuckin’ pathetic ain’t it? Gettin’ all hot’n bothered by someone who kills for a livin’?” He chided, his middle finger swiping through your folds in a downwards motion grazing your clit. “Y’should be ashamed of yourself girl.”

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚. You should be fighting this, fighting him. Running as far as your tired body could carry you, but no. Instead a moan rolls off of your blood slathed tongue earning the tip of Bo’s ring finger circling the edges of your entrance. “Please?”

“Please what?” Bo asked well aware of the answer. His one digit quickly turning into two as he pushed them inside you down to the second knuckle. Angling them upwards, rubbing against that spongy spot that has you speaking his name like a prayer worthy of an altar.

You squeaked in response. Hips plummeting backwards to plunge them as deep as they’ll go, your walls fluttering around them. 𝙍𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙛, 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙛, 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙛.

“Ah ah!” He scolds. “Who the fuck told ya ta’move huh?” You pout as your desperate attempt to give yourself what you didn’t ask for comes to a halt. Bo’s left hand vigorously rips itself from your scalp, scraping his jagged nails down your spine as he traces the vertebrae, a bruising grip now glueing you in place.

“Dirty fuckin’ slut”, he groans. “Fuckin’ yer’self with my fingers like a bitch in heat.” You revel in the disgusting sounds of your juices splashing onto his wrist as his fingers twist inside you. His voice cracking you open and leaving you helpless. The pleasure that’s jolting through you lights you on fire, your legs trembling and your stomach tightening. Unable to fight the biting urge to be filled to the brim with him.

“Oh my God- I want your cock. Need it.” You babble, almost incoherently as your moans turn into sobs. Bo hums low in his throat adding a third finger and you clench hard. The agonizingly slow stretch of your walls making you mewl. “That’s right sweet girl. Let me hear ya beg proper.” He licked his lips and spit a wad of saliva onto your cunt. Pulling his fingers out to smack through your folds harshly, eliciting a string of curses to fall from your swollen lips.

Your legs buckle as your knees go to give out but Bo catches you by your hips. Your head starts to spin as the sound of his zipper sparks every nerve, every fiber of your being. You tilt your head back to catch a glimpse of him, his eyes lock onto yours and his eyebrows knit together. “Fuck ya lookin’ at me for?”

Your jaw quivers with adrenaline as your head is slammed into the wall once more. Fingers digging into the supple flesh of your love handle, his cock now pressed firmly against your pussy from underneath. The tip grinding against your clit with ease as he collects your juices by rocking his hips back and forth slowly.

“I know why”, he rasped. “Cause yer’ a cock hungry whore. Ain’t that right sugar?”

“Yes Daddy.”

“Whad’ya want?”

“Want- I want..” You stutter and before you can even think a loud, pornographic, moan echoes out of your lungs as he pushes himself inside you with one deep thrust. Your walls clenching as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix, the pain and pleasure sending you into a frenzy. “Oh- Oh my fucking GOD! Bo, Bo, please!”

You could cum right here but you know better. You know the fullness you feel right now will cease and the emptiness that gnaws at the back of your skull will replace it instead.

“Ah fuck, that’s right honey. I’ll be yer’ God.” 𝙎𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙪𝙡, 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙢𝙮. “Pussies s’fuckin’ tight baby.” Bo groans and your head starts to pound. His fingernails biting at the skin on your hipbone as he picks up a relentless pace, your ass bouncing off of his hips deliciously with each thrust. Face repeatedly scraping against the withering wood pricking the rosy parts of your cheeks leaving them hot and raw.

He reaches his hand to your mouth and you open. Tongue darting out to wrap around his fingers but he jolts his hips upwards and you cry out. His middle finger hooking into the side of your jaw, stretching your mouth out as he fucks you stupid. “Fuck, fuck-“ Your eyes flutter shut as fresh tears fall and he wipes one off with his thumb. The taste of his skin setting your twisted desire for him into overdrive and your stomach churns as the familiar coil starts to tighten and thrash through you.

“No use in cryin’ bitch”, he growled. His balls slapping against your clit and his head now resting in the crook of your neck from behind, his canines scraping your pulse that vibrates against his lips. “Wasn’t sad when Vince was on his knees droolin’ all over ya, or when he touched you. Ya’ fuckin’ liked it.”

Your pussy throbs and your hands grab at the wall in front of you helplessly. Nails chipping and teeth baring as he pounds into you. You’re not going to last much longer. 𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪?

“No. No, no-“ You sob and he rips his fingers from your lips roughly, slathering your own saliva all over your face. Clasping his big hand over your mouth and nose, your eyes roll back and your cunt coats his cock in spurts as he slams his hips into you. 𝙄𝙣, 𝙤𝙪𝙩. 𝙄𝙣, 𝙤𝙪𝙩. Hard and deep strokes till your body goes limp and your moans turn to mush in your brain.

“Shut yer’ fuckin’ mouth cunt. Open up wide for me. 𝙔𝙚𝙖𝙝 just like that.”

Bo almost whines as his thrusts become sloppy and your juices drip down his thighs. His own orgasm picking him to pieces as your pussy sucks him in so eagerly. Regardless if you want it, he knows you can’t deny him. You 𝙬𝙤𝙣'𝙩 deny him. You’re his and 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 his and he’ll make sure you never forget it. If he has to shatter every sliver of hope that you cling too by God he will. And you’ll beg him for more each time.

“S’good for me when ya’ wanna be darlin’,” he cooed. Making your heart sink and your body ache to be anywhere but here in this moment though you yearn for it when he’s not looking. Fucking stupid fuck.

He kicks your legs open farther with the toes of his boot thudding against your ankle. Almost knocking you off balance as he jerks you back into him, you can feel his cock pulsating as he finally paints your walls white with his cum. Your body basically lifeless as he ruts inside you, mumbling curses and sweet nothings into your ear. And no matter how much you plead with yourself to remember who he is, the invisible noose he has tied around your neck reminds you who you belong too. Who you’ll 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 belong to. You’re swallowed whole.

Bo pulls out and immediately tucks himself back into his boxers as you stand there with his spend dripping out of you and onto the floor, inner thighs slick with a disgusting mixture of your cum and his. “Get cleaned up”, he grumbled. Throwing a random dirt tinged rag onto the floor in front of you.

“Want yer’ ass back in the kitchen in 5 or I might have ta’ get Vince back in here. Show him how a real man takes care of what’s his.”

With a wink and a satisfied grin Bo disappears into another part of the house. Leaving you in the same way he found you. Weak at the knees and starving for something to heal the wounds you mindlessly reopen every time he’s around.

[nina-ya]

Late Nights With Luffy

Pairing: Luffy x Reader CW: None, pure fluff WC: ~600 A/N: Hiiii im gonna write a bunch more now that im back <3 fun little fact- this used to be a drabble for Law but I've been in my Luffy era lately so this spawned instead

When restlessness gnaws at you, the idea of sleep feeling like nothing but a mere myth, you can always count on Luffy to be awake to keep you company. With a sigh, you slip out of your bunk, your feet softly thumping against the ground as you attempt to find Luffy in his usual spots. You check his own bunk first, and seeing he isn't there, you make your way to the kitchen.

There, you see Luffy’s figure illuminated by the refrigerator light, his silhouette outlined against the faint glow. He is rummaging through the contents, his brow scrunched in concentration and his tongue poking out with determination as he searches for a late-night snack. You pause in the doorway, watching for just a moment, before stepping into the kitchen.

The floorboards creak softly under your feet, and Luffy’s head snaps in your direction, the corner of his eyes crinkling as a wide grin spreads across his face. “Hey!” is all he exclaims, his louder voice ripping through the quiet atmosphere of the ship.  You smile at his constant enthusiasm, muttering something about not being able to sleep, and he nods back in understanding, not surprised since this is a usual occurrence for you. You walk up to him from behind and peek over him to get a better look at what he is scavenging from the fridge. It’s a mishmash of leftovers and snacks, typical of Luffy’s late night feasts. 

You eye the skewer he’s holding, resisting the urge to snatch it straight from his hand. Instead, you reach across from him and grab a snack that catches your eye. “You can’t just hoard all of this, Luffy.” you say teasingly with a giggle as you start munching on the treat. As if by instinct, his hand reaches out to steal your snack, and you playfully swat him away, pulling a pout from him.

He knows how to get you to give into any of his requests. His bottom lip juts out ever so slightly. Those big brown eyes widen, feigning innocence, gleaming with that mischief that is always an underlying presence. The fridge light bouncing off the caramel orbs, making them twinkle ever so subtly. You can’t help but admire the way his features scrunch up in that expression, his brows furrowing ever so slightly to convey his disappointment, or the way his messy black hair frames his face, mirroring his playfully charming personality.

You decide to tease him, holding the snack just out of his reach, waiting for him to reach out, right before popping it right into your mouth, taking another bite. His expression shifts to a determined one, his pout morphing into a grin as he leans closer, staring at you with a look that is daring you to deny him again. It’s a sort of game that the two of you often play when you encounter each other on nights on these. You finally relent, offering a piece of your snack, and his face lights up with unabashed joy, a radiant smile stretching across his lips. His gratitude is evident in the way he eagerly accepts the offering, absolutely inhaling the snack, and staring at you once again with an anticipatory grin as he awaits another bite.

Late night encounters with Luffy always seem to be a highlight. You often wonder if your body is subconsciously keeping you awake so you could have these private moments with him. Such thoughts get pushed away once you meet Luffy’s gaze, and you can’t help but yearn for more moments like this with him.

[watchnrant]

Quake: Veil of Deception #3 – Echoes of Deception

The rain had finally let up, leaving Madripoor cloaked in a damp, eerie silence. The streets, now slick with rainwater, reflected the faint glow of early dawn. Daisy Johnson, aka Quake, sat on the edge of her safe house, the city sprawled out below her. The usual noise of the city was muted, allowing her thoughts to echo in the quiet morning air.

Daisy’s mind was a tangled web of memories and doubts. The legend of the stone statue she had seen at the auction haunted her thoughts. The tale of a man consumed by his ambition, driven to ruin by his desire for power, resonated more deeply with her than she cared to admit. As she stared at the city below, she wondered if she, too, was on a path that could lead to her downfall. Was she, like that man, destined to be consumed by her own drive to uphold the legacy of S.H.I.E.L.D.?

But the sting of betrayal by S.H.I.E.L.D. cut even deeper. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been her home, her family, and now it seemed that family had seen her as a threat. The thought gnawed at her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. How many times had she put her life on the line for them? How many times had she trusted them with everything she had, only to discover they had a contingency plan in place to neutralize her if she ever became too powerful? The realization left her feeling isolated, hurt, and more determined than ever to uncover the truth.

Her emotions surged—a mixture of hurt, anger, and a deep sense of loss. Yet, it was this very pain that hardened her resolve. Daisy quickly shook off the thought. There was no time to dwell on the past; Madripoor’s shadows were closing in, and she had to stay focused on the mission. The coordinates she had pulled from the data chip were her next lead. With a renewed sense of determination, she stood up and prepared for the day ahead. She would find out who was behind all of this—and they would answer for what they had done.

Navigating the labyrinthine alleys of Madripoor, Daisy made her way to the coordinates she had uncovered. The location was deep within the city’s most dangerous district, a place where even the most hardened mercenaries dared not linger. The building she found herself in front of was decrepit, its windows boarded up, and its walls cracked and peeling. It seemed abandoned, but Daisy knew better than to trust appearances in this city.

The scent of decay and mildew filled the air as she entered, her senses heightened by the oppressive atmosphere. Every creak of the floorboards, every echo of her footsteps, seemed amplified in the eerie silence. Signs of recent activity caught her eye—footprints in the dust, a door left slightly ajar, the faint hum of electricity. The tension in the air was palpable, almost suffocating.

Her heart pounded as she followed the clues deeper into the building. She reached a locked door at the end of a long hallway, its surface marked with a faded S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem. Daisy took a deep breath and used her seismic powers to gently vibrate the lock, disabling the mechanism without triggering any alarms. The door creaked open, revealing a small room filled with outdated S.H.I.E.L.D. equipment, dusty but functional.

In the center of the room was a table, and on that table was a single file folder. The label read “Project Quake.” Daisy hesitated for a moment before reaching for the folder, her hand trembling slightly. She knew that whatever was inside could change everything she thought she knew.

As she began to read the documents inside, the weight of betrayal settled in her chest like a stone. Project Quake wasn’t just a S.H.I.E.L.D. initiative—it was a contingency plan, a failsafe designed to neutralize agents with seismic abilities, including herself. The project had been classified at the highest levels, kept secret even from most of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s leadership.

Each page she turned felt like a knife twisting deeper into old wounds. Schematics for devices capable of dampening or even completely nullifying her powers, reports on potential targets—other agents who were considered threats due to their abilities—filled the file. The final page was the most chilling—a profile of Daisy herself, marked with a single word: “Activate.”

Daisy’s hands shook as she absorbed the implications. S.H.I.E.L.D., the organization she had dedicated her life to, had seen her as a potential threat. The trust she had placed in them felt like a betrayal now, and the weight of that betrayal threatened to crush her. Anger welled up inside her, mingling with the hurt, fueling her resolve. But she couldn’t afford to lose focus. There was more at stake here, and she needed to know who else was involved.

As she pulled herself together, Daisy noticed something odd. One of the devices mentioned in the files was missing from the room—a portable power dampener. Her mind raced as she tried to piece together the puzzle. If the Power Broker had access to this technology, it could explain how they had been able to stay one step ahead of her. But why was the file left here for her to find? Was this another trap, or was someone trying to warn her?

Meanwhile, across the city, Sharon Carter sat in her office, reviewing a live feed from the building Daisy was in. Her expression was calm, but beneath the surface, a storm of conflicting emotions brewed. Everything was going according to plan, or so it seemed. She turned to Rook, who was standing nearby, awaiting orders.

“She found it,” Sharon said, her voice measured. “Make sure she doesn’t leave that building without an escort.”

Rook nodded and left the room to carry out her orders. Sharon leaned back in her chair, her mind already working through the next steps. Daisy was getting closer to the truth, but Sharon was confident that she could keep her in check. She had been playing this game for too long to lose now.

But as she watched the feed, a flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Daisy had proven to be more resourceful than she anticipated. For a moment, Sharon allowed herself to consider the possibility of failure. She remembered her days as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, the values she once held dear, and how far she had strayed from them. A pang of guilt, quickly suppressed, gnawed at her resolve. Could she really keep this up, knowing what she had become?

She quickly pushed the thought aside. There was no room for doubt, not when she was so close to achieving her goal. The Power Broker couldn’t afford to be weak, and Sharon Carter wasn’t about to let sentimentality get in the way of success. But as she refocused on the monitor, the lingering doubt remained, like an unwelcome shadow.

Back in the building, Daisy finished reviewing the files and tucked them into her jacket. She knew she needed to get out of there before the Power Broker’s forces arrived. But as she stepped into the hallway, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching from both directions. She was surrounded.

Without hesitation, Daisy activated her seismic powers, sending a shockwave through the walls, creating a temporary barrier of debris. The walls trembled, dust and debris raining down as the building groaned in protest. She sprinted down the hallway, using her powers to sense the structural weaknesses in the building. She needed to find a way out before they closed in on her.

As she rounded a corner, she came face to face with a group of heavily armed mercenaries. They didn’t waste any time, opening fire as soon as they saw her. The muzzle flashes lit up the dim corridor, and the acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air. Daisy threw up a force field of vibrations, deflecting the bullets, but she knew she couldn’t hold it for long. She needed to make her move.

In a split-second decision, Daisy unleashed a concentrated quake beneath the mercenaries’ feet, causing the floor to collapse. They plunged into the darkness below, and Daisy took the opportunity to dash toward the nearest exit. But as she reached the door, she was hit by a blast of energy that sent her crashing into the wall. The impact left her ears ringing, the world spinning as she struggled to regain her footing.

Dazed, Daisy struggled to get back on her feet. She looked up to see Rook standing in the doorway, holding the missing power dampener. The device hummed ominously as Rook approached, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

“You’re not going anywhere, Quake,” Rook sneered. “The Power Broker has big plans for you.”

Daisy knew she was in trouble. The power dampener was already starting to weaken her abilities, and Rook was closing in. She needed to think fast. Summoning the last of her strength, Daisy sent a focused tremor through the floor, creating a small but powerful shockwave that knocked Rook off balance. The dampener sputtered, momentarily losing power, and Daisy’s heart raced with a mixture of desperation and hope.

Seizing the opportunity, Daisy bolted for the exit, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the effects of the dampener wearing off, but she knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet. As she burst through the door and into the open air, she realized she was in the middle of a dead-end alley. The only way out was up.

With no time to waste, Daisy used her powers to propel herself upward, scaling the side of the building in a series of leaps. The rough brickwork scraped against her hands, and the wind whipped at her face as she climbed. Behind her, she could hear Rook and the remaining mercenaries scrambling to catch up, but she didn’t look back. Her only focus was on getting as far away as possible.

As she reached the rooftop, the ledge crumbled slightly beneath her feet, sending a cascade of loose bricks tumbling down into the alley below. For a heart-stopping moment, Daisy teetered on the edge, her breath catching in her throat. But she quickly regained her balance, pulling herself up to safety.

Reaching the rooftop, Daisy took a moment to catch her breath. The city stretched out before her, a sprawling maze of lights and shadows. She knew she couldn’t stay here for long, but she needed to regroup, to figure out her next move.

As she stood on the rooftop, her thoughts raced. The Power Broker’s reach was vast, their methods cunning. But Daisy wasn’t without resources. She began to consider her options, the allies she could call upon, and the strategy she would need to take down such a powerful adversary. This wouldn’t be a battle she could fight alone; she needed to be smart, strategic, and a step ahead of the game.

The resolve within her solidified. The Power Broker might have the upper hand for now, but Daisy wasn’t the type to give up. She’d find a way to turn the tables, to expose the truth, and bring down the person behind all of this. She’d survived worse, and she’d survive this too.

With her determination renewed, Daisy disappeared into the night, her silhouette blending seamlessly into the shadows of Madripoor. The city, with all its lurking dangers and hidden truths, awaited her next move.

[eastwindmlk]

Did this just pop into my head this morning and did i write this instead of cleaning? yes and yes. But here is a slightly longer something for today. 1k for Jilyweek. Hosted by @kay-elle-cee and @sunshinemarauder

Petunia had been right. This was not a sentence Lily thought often, at least, not as she got older and her sister had drifted further and further away. Her views follow the same trajectory. Just thinking about it made Lily’s heart ache.

But she’d had a real point the last time the sisters met. “It’s easier like this. I can’t remember the last time I had time to wash my hair,” she explained after Lily had commented on her new, sleek bob cut. Which Petunia had undoubtedly modelled after Lady Di, completing her royal look with their mother’s double string of pearls and the chubby, red-faced infant pressed to her chest.

Harry was two weeks old now and Lily had forgotten what the inside of their bathroom looked like. She always found something to do. Even when, or maybe especially when, her husband told her to rest. Guilt gnawing at her while he maintained the house, did their groceries and indulged her strange cravings, like roasting her chicken at ten in the morning or somehow producing fresh chocolate chip cookies while she fed Harry at three.

All this while, she could not even manage to wash and brush her hair regularly. Lily kept the tangles hidden in a bun that also served to keep the greasy strands away from grabby hands. It was fine. It was something she would deal with when… Well, sometimes she was certain.

This thought persisted until one fateful four in the morning she couldn’t take it anymore. Shifting uncomfortably, itching at her scalp and cringing at the coarseness of her usually soft hair. Lily carefully moved out of James’ arms, cursing the creaking floorboard that was far too close to the crib while she sneaked out.

She rummaged through the kitchen drawer until she found a pair of scissors which she marched to the bathroom. Lily tried to not pay too much attention to how tired her reflection looked, her fingers carefully working the hair elastic free from where it had twisted into the infernal knots that were driving up the wall.

Eventually resorting to pulling at it hard, yelping when the elastic snapped but finally free from her hair. Though it seemed to do very little to move the mess. Scissors in hand, Lily had the urge to just start hacking away and clean up whatever she had left after.

If it had not been for the sleepy voice from the hallway she might have done it too. “Lils? What are you doing?” James’ voice was adorably raspy with sleep and it soothed the fire in her veins enough to nudge the door open to let him in. He rubbed his eyes against the light, blinking the world into focus as his eyes landed on the scissors in her hand. “what are you going to do with those?”

Lily swallowed, clicking them open and shut for a moment before her shoulders sagged in defeat. “Cutting my hair,” she admitted a little sheepishly and watched his features shift through the five stages of grief before settling on concern.

“Any reason in particular?”

It was a fair question and one that she could not really answer with anything more than a non-committal shrug. “It’s a mess and I don’t have the energy to sort it out,” she admitted after a moment of consideration and once more raised the scissors up to start hacking away.

James appeared in the mirror behind her while his fingers wound around her hand. “Darling,” he cautioned and her eyes met him in the reflection. “Do you want help sorting out your hair? If you still want to cut it off after that we’ll get you to a hairdresser.” His fingers slipped down, fingers skimming her wrist and came to rest on her shoulder.

The reflection grew blurry with tears feeling his thumb rub soothing circles into her shoulder blade. She drew in a shaky breath in the hopes of keeping her emotions in check. Something that had proven rather difficult ever since Harry, the pregnancy has wreaked havoc on her restraint. Her heart was on her sleeve whether she wanted it to be or not.

“You’re already doing so much, I c-can’t ask you to sort out my bloody hair too.” She tried to refuse, placing the scissors on the sink with a metal clang. “It’s too much.”

“Nothing is too much, Lily,” he answered so immediately it was almost jarring. “If anything, I am sorry I did not notice it before.” She felt his lips kiss away the tears that rolled down her cheek and his hands steered her towards the bathtub.

With a flick of his wand, it filled and the soothing scent of lavender and oleander swirled around her. Tempting her into the warm water. “I suppose if you insist.” With that, she slipped into the the tub, her body more achy than she had realized before.

With patient fingers silently worked through the knots in her hair, not once did he so much as mention the mess it was. He just worked, slowly and methodically. Lulling her into a meditative state, more restful than she had been for months. Before she knew it the small window started to filter in cool morning light. Which was the only indication of how long they’d been there.

Lily shifted, trying to turn to James to look at him and maybe suggest he take a break. That she could still just cut it all off. But then she realized something. His fingers were slowly running through her locks, smooth and soft. “One more minute. Just need to rinse and you’re good as new.”

Her hand shot up, fingers sliding through with ease. She combed her fingers through once, twice and then again. “Oh, James,” she sighed, her voice trembling with emotion. She could not express how much this meant to her. Lily swallowed the tightness in her throat, her fingers brushing the back of his hand gingerly. “Thank you.”

James lifted her hand up to his lips, kissing her fingertips and she could hear the gentle smile in his voice as he simply answered. “I love you.”

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟔.𝟓𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

Rooster’s looking at you something funny.

You’re standing before him, facing the wall, gripping the wooden siding of the examination table almost entirely motionless. Your spine is straight, your neck is rigid, your shoulders are pulled up to your ears, your knees are locked, and the pigment in your knuckles is lightening because of how tightly you’re holding onto the side of the table. 

Surely you’re giving yourself splinters, Rooster thinks. Christ, birdie.

There’s a pile of clean linens in front of you, some of them half-folded. There’s an opened bag of pretzels, too, but they’re untouched like you were interrupted by something. Kenny Loggins is playing quietly on the radio. 

Nothing is out of place. Not really. Even you standing there, folding sheets, munching on snacks you stole from the canteen, listening to music isn’t out of place. Walk by the nurse’s cabin anytime this summer and passersby would see precisely this.  

What’s out of place, Rooster realizes, is the petrification that is holding you tight in its arms. And he realizes that is exactly what it is, this strange mood that’s infecting you, holding you down: it’s fear.  

He can’t imagine what’s got you this spooked in the middle of the day--Mable? Jake? Him? 

God, he hopes not. 

He wonders if he came on too strong earlier--really, it’s been gnawing at him all afternoon. He doesn’t want to come off as some Clydesdale who’s pissing all over you to mark his scent. He likes how fiery and independent you are and he’d never wanna squash that--partially because he knows that you would squash him if he even tried it. 

“Birdie,” Rooster tries finally. He’s been standing with one foot in the door long enough--he can’t bear to stand there and watch your frozen figure a moment more, not when you seem so off. “Hey. Birdie! C’mon, honey, did I come on too strong?” 

He’s really regretting it now--telling you that he’s been thinking about you all day.

What an opening line, he thinks. Idiot supreme.  

Still stuck in that gripping bit of farce that is nestled between awake and asleep, you can’t hear anything except for your own racing heart. Your lungs are in a vice and it’s getting tighter with each sunsoaked moment that passes, forcing your grip to get tighter and tighter on the wood until splinters embed themselves in your hands. 

Whatever is here with you is getting closer--so close that you can feel its heat radiating off whatever skin it wears, infecting your own flesh with goosebumps. 

This has to be a dream. 

Whatever you’ve seen isn’t real. It can’t be real because there is no Heaven and there is no Hell. There is only here and now. There is no such thing as monsters or ghosts or ghouls or cryptids. You’re dreaming. You didn’t sleep well last night. You fell asleep standing up like prey in the wilderness. It’s like a defensive mechanism.  

Yes, that must be it.

And even though your mind is pulsing with all these concrete conclusions, you still can’t move. And your heart will not cease in its racing because you can feel it coming closer and closer, the floorboards crying beneath their heavy footfalls, the stench of sulfur almost suffocating you. 

When it finally touches you, you’re ready for a fight. You whirl around, ready to face it, ready to scream, ready to dig your nails into its flesh. But it’s just Rooster standing there with his brown eyes wide and his hand on your shoulder. 

“Jesus!” You exclaim, all the breath punching out of your lungs and into his flushed face. “Way to sneak up on a girl!” 

Rooster’s brows furrow. 

“Sneak up on you? What planet are you on?” He asks, squeezing your shoulder. “I said your name, like, a hundred times.” 

Twice. But who’s counting? 

Swallowing hard, you put a hand over your still-racing heart and just blink at Bradley. 

“Didn’t hear you over the radio.” 

The radio is hardly loud enough to hear at all. Bradley knows that. You know that. But instead of pushing you, instead of asking you what’s got you so scared, he just nods curtly. His hand is still resting comfortably on your shoulder now. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you say softly, quietly. “Tired, I guess.” 

Rooster burns. He wants to say didn’t get much sleep last night, huh? But he reserves that special bitterness for Jake--lets it sit in a cool and dry place like an aging red wine.  

It’s quiet. My Sharona by The Knack is playing now. 

The two of you just stand near each other, touching in some places but far away in others. You’re still coming down from your waking nightmare--which is what you’ve decided it is. Just a waking nightmare. It’s not uncommon in stressful situations--and this is as stressful a situation as any.

“Freaked out about what’s going on around here?” Rooster asks 

Things still feel relatively okay around here. Mable’s a nightmare and a half, you’re having freaky sleep paralysis, the tree is still blocking the drive. But the kids are still playing tag and Coyote still freestyles to entertain his gremlins at lunch. Everyone’s wearing their camp uniforms and taking turns cleaning the mess hall. Grass is still green and sky is still blue--so for right now, everything should feel okay. 

But you can’t shake that pit in the bottom of your belly. One that you get when you hear a rattling in a baby’s cough and know, with all your heart, that they have RSV. One that you get when you know why an elderly patient has been smiling at the foot of her bed all day like she’s seeing an old friend. One that you get on very, very quiet nights in the hospital. 

It’s impending doom. 

“Sure,” you answer, clearing your throat. “Things haven’t been tubular, right? I’d be a quack to not be a little freaked.” 

Rooster nods. He knows you won’t come completely undone--not here, not now. 

“But you do know things will be hunky-dory, yeah?” 

A beat passes. 

“Sure I do,” you answer quietly. 

You don’t. 

“Your turn to comfort me,” Rooster teases. 

He’s waiting for a grin to split your face. He’s waiting for an eye roll or an exasperated sigh or a nudge or a shove. But none of it comes--you’re just staring at him, your eyes wide and watery. 

“Do you think someone sliced her?” 

He swallows hard. 

“What do you mean? Didn’t you say it was man-made?” 

He knows precisely what you mean. 

“Yeah. But, like--do you think she did it to herself?” 

Another beat passes. He isn’t sure what to say to make you feel better. 

“What’s the alternative?” He asks softly, parroting your previous conversation from the night before. 

He wonders, right then and there, if hysteria is going to eventually take hold of this place. Are things going to keep on happening, is this vibe going to keep getting infected? Are they all going to die by the end of summer? Or will all the men be able to hack the tree up, haul it out, and get everyone the Hell outta dodge before then? Is this just some fluke that you all will talk about next summer and the summer after and the summer after? 

He wishes he knew what was going to happen next.

You shift uncomfortably, wringing your hands together. 

“Someone running around cutting people up.” 

“Haven’t we been over this?” He asks this gently, but seriously. “She’s a nut. A martyr, right? Who’d wanna cut her up, anyway? I mean--the bible I understand, I guess. Take her down a peg or two. But who would really wanna hurt her? She’s a kid.” 

Your mouth is dry. 

“Right,” you say. “Who’d want to hurt a child?” 

He knows it’s a rhetorical question--but he deflates when he can’t find an answer for you.

“I mean--we figured out no knives were used, right? So, what? Another kid uses a broken up sea shell or a stone to cut Mable? I don’t really see that happening, birdie. Mable’s obedient, but she ain’t obedient enough to sit there and be worked on with a rock.” 

“They could’ve been strong,” you tell Bradley. “Maybe she didn’t have, like, a choice.” 

Bradley shakes his head. 

“Mable’s the tallest in her group. What kid’s big enough to hold her down?” 

Shifting on your toes, you bury your nails into the soft part of your palm. 

“What if it wasn’t a kid?” 

“All the counselors were accounted for--!” 

“--I know that,” you interrupt, looking at Rooster through your lashes. “I know that. All I’m saying is that we need to be vigilant. Just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Rooster asks. 

“In case shit hits the fan and we can’t leave.” 

Rooster blinks a few times. 

“Well, at least we’ve got two good shots now. Right, bullseye?” 

You don’t laugh. 

Another beat passes. 

Bradley very carefully pushes the pads of his fingers into your cotton sleeve before pulling you a centimeter closer, inhaling the thick scent of jasmine on your pulse points before slowly resting his forehead against yours. 

His sweat bleeds onto your skin. Your salt is his salt now. 

Gingerly, you reach out and take his left hand, carefully tracing his bandages. They’re dotted with a tiny bit of blood--nothing to worry yourself over, but enough that you’ll change them before he heads out again. 

But neither of you are keen on moving at this precise moment. Everything else can wait.

“I’m a survivor,” Bradley whispers with a small smile, wrapping the fingers of his left hand around your inspecting fingers. “Don’t you worry about me.” 

“Oh, I don’t,” you assure him. “I worry about me.” 

“I worry about you, too.” 

Even though you’re mostly kidding, he isn’t. 

“Don’t,” you say quietly. The very tip of his nose nudges yours--a bead of your sweat rolls down your forehead and into his messy curls. “I’m big and strong.” 

“I’m bigger and stronger,” Rooster teases. He isn’t surprised when you pinch him, but he grins anyway. “And I’ll protect you from all those big, bad monsters out there.” 

“They only want to cut up bible-thumping little girls,” you answer. 

He heaves a sigh of relief. 

Good. You’re teasing again.  

“Maybe it’s virgins,” he says quietly, beaming down at you. And then when you gasp and step on his toe, he’s laughing a big and broad laugh, pulling you closer to him. “Oh, birdie-girl, I’m only joshing you!”

“You know, I was gonna change your bandages,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes at him as he grins a boyish grin at you. You smooth your fingers over his mustache sweetly and he kisses your fingers, which sends the butterflies into a fluttering frenzy. But then you pinch his lip. “But now I’m gonna let you sit in it. Bathe in your own blood.” 

Bradley smiles softly, wrinkling his nose. 

“You’re already goo-goo under her influence,” he teases. “Only a matter of time before you start telling Hangman he’s gonna get chopped up, too.” 

Shrugging, you hold both his hands in yours. They’re so big--riddled with veins that you know like to bleed, callused from working construction during the year.

“No one’s getting chopped up on my watch.”

♀

Just as the sun is setting, when it’s a ball of orange fire sinking below the towering oak trees and the wispy pink clouds, you happen upon Mable standing at the old barn. She’s not supposed to be standing there--none of the children are. Not only because it’s basically falling apart old red plank by old red plank, but because it houses the old bus which is basically a hunk of tetanus. 

“Mable, honey,” you call in an even and gentle voice, turning towards her and stepping a few paces in her direction. 

She doesn’t turn around--she’s starting intently at the old dust-covered bus with her hands limp at her sides. Her bandage is soaked with blood. 

When you make it to her, the cooling air goosing your skin, you can feel the strange charge in the air that kisses her skin. It’s intimidating almost--how thickly her energy buzzes, how it makes you feel peculiar. 

“I’m just looking,” she whispers defensively, taking a half-step away from you. “Not doing anything wrong.” 

“I know,” you say, straightening your shoulders. “But you know you aren’t supposed to be over here, right?” 

You watch her face. She wrinkles her nose, blinks her glazed eyes a few times. Then she gives a tiny nod. 

“I wanted to see it,” she says, quieter now. “Wanted to see if it would…turn on if we needed it to.” 

The immediate reaction in your gut is to huff and puff, roll your eyes, and tell Mable that she’s making a big deal out of nothing. But that’s what everyone has been doing to her. And right now--well, right now she isn’t hurting anyone. She is just looking. You remember what it felt like to be her age: when all the attention you got was from boys who dropped worms down the back of your shorts and tried to steal your panties during cabin raids. Being a twelve-year-old girl was lonely, rotten work. 

“Why do you think something bad is gonna happen?” You ask her very softly. You hope no one passes by on their way to the fire and hears you asking her this--they’d never let you live it down. “Is it a feeling or…?” 

“It’s more than that,” Mable tells you. She digs the toe of her Ked into the gravel and twists it. “Miss Nightingale, I saw the Devil.” 

“What makes you so sure?” You whisper. 

Now you’re staring straight ahead, too. There is no way the hunk of rust before the two of you will start up--it’s thick layer of dust is an indicator of that. You can’t even imagine how many spiders live there now in the hot, dank barn. Wedged between old leather seats. Gathered in the corner in webs of cotton. Underneath the wheel well. 

“I saw him. I was going to the bathroom and I saw him going to Mister Hangman’s cabin. I got in his way on accident. I was so scared when I smelled his rot that I wet myself.” 

“What did he look like?” You ask. 

“Like one of us. But funnier. Like a wolf in sheep’s skin.” 

The sudden urge to retch overwhelms you, but you take a deep breath and stay quiet, waiting for her to continue. 

“I could not run. My legs were like Jell-O. He told me he is going to get Mister Jake. He told me he is going to get us all. I tried to push the holy book against his skin, but he shredded it. Shredded it.” 

“With what?” You press, assuming that she will drop the act and suddenly be at a loss. 

But she answers instantaneously. 

“One of those knives that has clippers and a corkscrew.” 

“A Swiss army knife?” You ask. 

She nods. 

“That’s what he cut me with, too. Slice. Right there.” 

“You’re bleeding,” you tell Mable, taking her wrist and pulling her arm to you so you can start rolling her bandage back. “Does it hurt?” 

“It bleeds when I think of him,” she answers, all breath. She shakes her head, still not tearing her glassy eyes away from the barn. She doesn’t even move to slap a mosquito away from her face. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

You nod, tongue swollen with fear. 

“Alright,” you answer. You sigh. “What do you think is going to happen?” 

Now Mable turns and looks at you in your eyes--they’re wide with fear, swimming with unrest. She’s tearful, but not in a babyish way. In a petrified way. In a hopeless way.

“It’s already happening,” she whispers. “The tree. The first cut. My blood being drawn. My bible being shredded. It’s getting stronger. And we’re stuck here.”

Despite the lightning bugs dotting the green grass and the stars beginning to litter the sky, a chill runs down your spine. You’re staring at Mable’s undressed cut now, eyes glazed, when it suddenly begins to ooze dark red blood. It is thin and watery, cascading down her arm and into the dirt below you. 

She’s thinking about him. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up before the bonfire starts, huh?” 

“I’m not going,” she says. 

The both of you know that attendance is necessary. But both of you know that she will not go and you will not make her. If need be, you’ll tell everyone she’s running a fever. 

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m gonna give you a new bandage, okay?” 

“Miss Nightingale?” Mable asks, her voice thin. 

Despite your better judgment, you meet her wide-eyed and watery gaze.

“Yes?” You whisper. 

“I don’t want it to get you,” she whispers. “When it comes for you, you have to fight it.”

“That’s enough now,” you whisper. Warm blood drips onto your hands. “That’s enough.”

“You can get it,” she mutters. “God has touched you. You’ve been close to death--I can see it on you.”

Fingertips tingling, you shake your head. 

“How do you know that?”

“I smell it on you,” she says. Her cheeks pinken at the confession like it embarrasses her. “I can always smell good and bad.”

“I think you need to go to bed,” you tell her softly, nodding towards the nurse’s cabin. “Let’s clean you up.” 

She nods. And then she chews her lips for a moment, feet dragging on the gravel. 

“I don’t wanna die,” she admits to you. 

Staring straight ahead, straining past the dying call of the sparrows and the beginnings of a roaring bonfire just down the courtyard on the edge of the lake, you swallow hard. 

“You’re not going to die,” you tell her. And then you shake your head, holding Mable’s wrist tight. “But don’t you have a spot waiting for you past the pearly gates? Thought death wasn’t supposed to skeeve out believers and all that.” 

You can’t help yourself from asking this. It claws at your fingers after the fact when Mable takes a moment to respond. You shouldn’t have said anything. She’s just a kid. But right before you’re about to turn around and apologize, she opens her mouth. 

“God has a place for us all in Heaven,” she says, measuring herself. “My mama says it’s like a guest bedroom. Some of them are ready--like, when you’ve got the AIDS or when you’re a grandma. So, their walls are painted and their quilts are finished and there’s little chocolates waiting on their pillows. But when you’re young like me or you…they’re not ready yet. And we’ll have to wait in the hallway while they make our beds. And when we go in our rooms, the walls won’t be painted and the photos won’t be framed. None of our friends will be there yet. It’ll be like staying at a hotel by yourself.”

For some reason, you can’t breathe for a moment. You’re about to cross the threshold of the nurse’s cabin but your foot pauses mid-air, hesitating. 

Mable just watches your spine stiffen, your fingers tighten. 

“Oh,” you whisper. And you don’t know what else to say. “But you know that’s Heaven?” 

“Yes,” Mable answers--and there’s no hesitation this time. “Hell is much, much worse.” 

Like a Motel 6, you think. But then you can’t seem to find the humor in any of this at all. 

Heaven and Hell, life after death, the great beyond--you wonder about it a lot. Not enough to send you through chapel doors on Sunday’s, but enough that you sometimes let The 700 Club play on the television while you cook. You’ve watched a plump, pink baby slip from their mother in a flurry of blood and fluid on the emergency room floor. You’ve held a dying man’s hand in yours--even taken off your gloves quietly to let him feel skin one last time before the cancer takes their last bite of him. You know that cuts bleed on living flesh and clot under decaying flesh. You know the scent of rot and the smell of someone’s insides when they’re opened up for an appendectomy. You know the differences between these two things. 

It bleeds into other areas, too. Like right now: you’re tenderly cleaning the bleeding cut on Mable’s live skin as she sits on the examination table, her skin warm and her lungs pink. Just down yonder, there is a tree that is dead. It’s leaves will no longer be green in a few months--the ones closest to the trunk have already begun to brown. Being alive and being dead seems to be such a simple state of being.

Petrification tickles the base of your spine when you wonder about what’s coming next. When you die, will you smell drying paint and hear the dull humming of a naked bulb? Or will you smell your grandma’s peach cobbler and sleep between two down-comforters on silk sheets? 

And as Mable watches your face--your brows drawn, your lip bitten, your cheeks hot--she prays. 

Dear God, It’s Mable again. Please turn on the bus or else you’re gonna be spending a fortune in bedsheets. Thank you. Amen. 

♀

Bradley and Jake both notice how little you’re speaking within the first ten minutes of your arrival. You’re late--the sky totally dark--when you finally show up in your lazy cotton dress, nestling yourself between Bob and Phoenix on the opposite side of the roaring fire. Both of them saved a spot for you and were keen on finding out where you’d sit; both deflate when you don’t so much as glance at them. 

When spooky stories begin, each camper holding a wide flashlight beneath their faces while they tell their fragmented and, frankly, not-so-spooky stories, you just nod along. You only laugh when Phoenix nudges you or when Bob twists to look at your orange-lit face. 

“You not jiving with spooky stories tonight?” Phoenix asks as the cicadas sing. “You look peeved.”

“Tired,” you answer with a small wrinkling of your nose. 

“Tell me about it,” Bob whispers to the both of you, fire reflecting off his glasses so pristinely that it looks like his eyes are on fire. “I’m beat. Today’s been Hell.”

“Let’s get blitzed!” Phoenix grins.

“Let’s,” you agree, wilting.

By midnight, you’re perking up a bit. You’ve been passing around the brandy bottle for a while, your cheeks and the tip of your nose hot from the hissing fire before you. There’s marshmallow in your teeth and goosebumps down the backs of your arms. Seats have been arranged and songs have been sung and stories have been told. 

Now, you find yourself buzzed and sitting between Hangman and Rooster. They’re both buzzed, too, and their pink cheeks and glossy eyes are a dead giveaway. Stolen glances, sly swipes of the thumb across the back of your hand, the occasional lean-in have all occurred on the left and right side of your body. 

“What’s next?” Bradley asks, his worn acoustic guitar settled on his lap. He’s holding the brandy bottle in one hand, his lips wet from the swig he just took. You watch as a marshmallow melts on a rock. “Got any requests, birdie?” 

He’s asked you this half a dozen times tonight. 

“Buzz off,” you whisper, a smile tugging on your lips.

“Yeah,” Jake echoes. “Buzz off, Bradshaw.”

“Easy now, Bandit. Easy now, Cledus!” Payback grins. “There’s enough Carrie to go around!” 

“Hey,” you say suddenly, turning to Bradley with a faux-frown. “You took my copy of Carrie!” Bradley swallows, his brows sloping. You cock your brows, too, lips quirking. “What?”

“I think I might’ve misplaced that,” he says, sighing through his teeth. “Sorry about that.”

Pretending to gape, you don’t shrug Hangman’s arm off your shoulder or his lips from your cheek as you continue to stare at Bradley. 

“Bad move, man,” Fanboy sighs, clapping Bradley on the shoulder. He takes the bottle from Bradley’s hand and takes a swig, too. He doesn’t grimace. “Pushing her right into his arms!” 

“Aw, can it!” Phoenix quips from across the fire. She’s inspecting the joint she’s had tucked in her suitcase all summer. She brings it out at every bonfire and usually never smokes it, claiming that the energy just isn’t right. “They’re endgame.”

“Says you!” Bob laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose. They’re somehow still crooked. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“They’re betting on us now,” Hangman whispers, shaking his head. “Should I tell them to bug?” 

“Nah,” you whisper, pressing your open palm to Bradley’s cheek--he leans into your touch, laughing. “Let them guess!”

The brandy’s really making you feel better about all this spare-bedroom business. Who cares if you live or die, go to Heaven or Hell, when your face feels this warm and your belly feels this full? And who cares if you choose Hangman and Rooster? You feel good enough to even consider both of them--

Stretching your body out, your skirt riding up deliciously on your plush sighs as your rear scraped the bark of the log you’re sitting on, you sigh and run your fingers down your dress. 

 “Alright,” Coyote calls, coughing quietly and sending the joint back to Phoenix. “Jakey-poo! Why don’t you fill everyone in on that story you were telling me earlier? Gave me the willies!”

Grinning, you turn to Hangman. Bradley’s palm falls on your knee. 

“But my song,” he says, brows knit. 

Hangman grins at Rooster and then winks at you--so quickly, so slyly that you almost miss it.

“Your song can wait, brother,” Hangman says. “I’ve gotta scare everyone’s pants off real quick!” 

Rooster makes a show of glancing at you and then back to Hangman--everyone groans in unison when he throws his arms up and bites a boyish grin. 

“Oh, by all means, then!” Rooster calls. “Take it away!” 

“I’m not even wearing pants, you goons,” you mutter. Then you pinch Jake’s thigh. “But give it an honest try.” 

“Yeah, and maybe something else will come off instead!” Coyote grins, winking when you send him an o-shaped mouth. “Aw, honey, I’m only razzing you!” 

“Yeah,” Fanboy echoes. “We all want you to keep your panties on!”

“Speak for yourself,” Hangman laughs, winking at you. 

“The next person to say panty is going to get an Indian rugburn,” Phoenix declares, hands on her hips. The joint is hanging coolly from her lips, her dark and shiny curls slicked back into a ponytail. “And then a swift kick in the ass.” 

“I’ll throw in a loogie,” Bob says, nodding at you. He waves away Phoenix when she offers him a hit. “You guys are real beasts!” 

“We’re only kidding,” Bradley says, nudging you. “Right, honey?” 

“I’m gonna bite the next man that touches me,” you sigh. 

“Promise?” Hangman and Rooster say in total unison. 

“Tell the damn story!” Payback insists, borderline incredulous right before he swigs the brandy. “Idiots!”

Bradley’s laughing as Jake grins, running his hands through his blonde locks before he holds his hands up in defense. 

“Alright, alright!” He grins. He presses a lewd kiss to your forehead and you growl softly, digging the toes of your shoes into the dirt. “Four score and seven years ago or however fucking long ago the fifties were, there were six camp counselors and one nurse--!” 

“--Wait a minute,” Coyote interrupts dumbly, counting all counselors and then you with wide eyes. “There’s six counselors and one nurse here!” 

“Jinkies!” Bradley says, mouth wide open and grinning. 

“Christ, can’t we make it through one story?” Fanboy groans. 

“So, there’s a whole gaggle of these idiots here,” Hangman continues, laughing. You lean back on your palms, the bark rough on your hands. “And one day, some big old fucker decides to trot onto camp grounds and start slicing and dicing everyone! And I mean everyone--even the nurse.” He pinches your sides and you roll your eyes but bite a grin. “But these people weren’t just, like, regularly sliced and diced…” 

Everyone oo’s and ahh’s. 

“Like, what were they, man?” Bob asks, mocking Shaggy Rogers. 

“Axed,” Jake answers ominously, eyebrows raised. “Into little tiny bits and little tiny pieces. One by one, counselor by counselor…” 

“Oh, bullshit,” Phoenix says, lungs full of smoke. Her voice is pitched from holding her breath as she passes the joint to you. “Seven versus one. Bullshit he killed them all!” 

“He did, though,” Jake insists. “Right here at our camp!”

“Nah,” Payback returns. “We would know about it!” 

You hold the joint to your lips, its earthy scent tickling your nostrils, before inhaling deeply and titling your head to the sky full of stars as you hold your breath. 

“Well, I’m telling you, aren’t I? Stop interrupting,” Jake says, passing the joint back to Phoenix for you after taking a tiny hit. “What I was gonna say was: he was strong enough to take on all them weaklings because he wasn’t working alone.” 

“A Bonnie and Clyde situation?” You ask, coughing. You can already feel the high in the tips of your fingers and toes. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“No, not another person,” Jake insists. “The Devil himself.” 

“Right, okay--Mable.” 

Everyone roars with laughter except you. 

“Hey,” you snap, turning towards Bradley, whose eyes are gleaming in the firelight. “Knock it off. She’s just a kid.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Jake says, brows furrowed. “A kid who said I was gonna die before the end of summer!” 

“Yeah, and little Susie ran around camp saying Rooster gave Nightingale a rib inspection,” Coyote defends. “Kids say shit. Doesn’t mean jack!”

“She meant whatever the fuck she was saying,” Fanboy sists, eyes fixed on the flames. “Freak.” 

“C’mon,” Payback says, bumping Fanboy. “Lay off, man. At least she offered to save your soul before you croak, Jake!” 

Everyone laughs again. 

“Okay, so the Devil helped him,” you interrupt, glancing at Jake again. The laughter dies off until it’s no louder than the bullfrogs. “Then what? He killed everyone and got away?”

“Let me guess--he’s still living on campgrounds today! And he only comes out when there’s a--!” Bradley gasps, pointing to the half-crescent moon. “A crescent moon!” 

Jake straightens his shoulders, just drunk enough to wanna grab that serious face of yours and press his lips against yours. But he refrains, shrugging softly. 

“Well, that’s the mystery. This guy’s strong enough to pick off seven adults--but he’s found dead, too. Some say he had shot himself. Others say one of the male counselors drowned him before kicking the can too. But only a few know the truth.” 

Oooo. Ahhhh. 

“And what would that truth be?” Coyote prompts, practically vibrating in his seat. 

“The truth is…” Hangman says, pulling you against him as he leans in and drops his voice to a whisper. “Only the Devil knows what happened that day. But the whole town of Great Oaks remembers when the Devil met the Maniac.”

And, on cue, Coyote suddenly jumps out of his seat and hollers. There’s a collective jump, then howling laughter from Coyote and Hangman as they high-five each other. 

“I’m gonna kill you guys,” Bradley grumbles, eyes narrowed. “Or die trying!”

Hangman grabs both your hands, dropping to his knees before you as he beams up at your sweet-but-annoyed face. This is how he likes you: a little bit pissed off, but drunk enough to forgive his idiocy immediately. 

“Did I scare the pants off you?” He asks, warm palms sliding up the outside of your thighs. He bites his lip when your smile begins to fade, a certain wanton hunger dancing across your pupils. “Or should I tell another?” 

Rooster clears his throat and throws his arms around your shoulders, pulling you against him. You really feel like a ragdoll tonight. 

“How about a little Joni?” Rooster asks. 

You gasp--just like he knew you would. 

“I love Joni Mitchell!” 

And with that, Rooster begins to strum on his guitar. His notes are a little bit sour, but after a moment, the chords become decipherable. 

He’s strumming A Case of You.  

He’s not the best guitar player here--but he’s the only one who brought his guitar and he isn’t keen on letting anyone else touch it. It makes Bob squirm every time he sees the uncareful way Rooster cares for his instrument, always throwing it around and letting it hang off that awful paisley strap that looks like it’s about to snap right off. But Bob never says anything at all; he’s content knowing he could outplay anyone here and not get a scratch on his guitar. 

Sometimes, when everyone works together at something, it gives you chills. Like when someone is crashing and all the nurses and doctors work in total unison to push epi and transfer stretchers and grab a crash cart. Or when everyone’s washing dishes in the canteen and there’s an assembly line of ringer-wearing friends drying and rinsing. You get it the most when people sing together--even if no one sounds particularly good. 

You feel the chill now, sitting complacent at the base of your spine before springing to life and sending shockwaves all the way to the ends of your hair, when everyone begins to drunkenly sing and hum. 

“Oh, you’re in my blood like holy wine,” Bradley croons, his voice exacerbated and rocky as he winks at you. “You taste so bitter and so sweet!”

Just as you’re about to fall head over heels for the idiot with the big brown eyes, Jake suddenly takes your hand and pulls you to your feet. Before you register the placement of your feet on this earth, Jake’s spinning you out and pulling you back in as everyone hoots. 

“Oh, she’s a fantastic dancer!” Hangman narrates, grinning at you. His face is warm and sweet in the light of the flames. “Watch her now!”

I’m frightened by the Devil / And I’m drawn to those ones that ain’t afraid

“You’re embarrassing me!” You try--except you’re beaming when Jake pulls you close to his warm body, stroking your hair from your face carefully. “Really!” 

“Sure,” Hangman says, kissing your forehead before spinning the two of you in a circle. “Tell me to stop then.” 

You can’t find your voice suddenly.

And she said, “Go to him. Stay with him if you can. / But be prepared to bleed."

And just as everyone is clapping and the bottle is being passed and the joint is being devoured and the guitar hits a few sour cords and you can feel the lustful heat from two sets of eyes, you are suddenly overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by it all: Heaven, Hell, Mable, Jake, Bradley, Joni Mitchell, the fire, Maine, the bullfrogs. 

Jake watches you blink a few times, your grin dying on your lips. 

“Invite me over tonight, huh?” Jake says close to your ear. “I’ll make it worth it. Again.”

 And even though his inquiry makes wetness pool in your panties, your cheeks are too hot and your body is too full and your mind is too foggy. 

Before he can ask if you’re okay, you tear yourself from him abruptly and give him (and everyone else) a weak smile. 

“Bathroom break,” you say softly. 

Phoenix jumps to her feet. 

“Me too.” 

You and Phoenix finish the joint in the privacy of the girl’s restroom--which is really just a glorified outhouse with broken tile floors and only one working sink. The naked bulb above the two of you rocks back and forth as you two smile at each other from across the tiny, dingy floor. 

“I think they’d tear you in half if they could,” she says, shaking her head with a sigh. “Dumbasses.” 

Rolling your eyes, you nod. Your arms are crossed and the heat radiating off your own chest is lulling your heart to a steady beat. You feel better being alone with Phoenix in here--it’s cooler but stuffier. You’re getting high quickly. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “They’ve both got it pretty bad for me.” 

“Is that why you’re losing sleep?” Phoenix asks, ashing the joint before taking a tiny hit. When your eyebrows pull together, when your lips twist, she cocks her head. “Bags. Under your eyes.” 

Instinctively, you press the delicate skin there. It’s thin and warm. 

“That noticeable, huh?” 

She shrugs. 

“Oh, like you’re not the hottest person here anyway,” she says, rolling her eyes with a good-natured grin. 

Moving towards the mirror, you examine yourself in the mirror. Yes, there’s definitely a puffiness below your eyes that reads exactly like hey, I haven’t been sleeping! Good morning! 

When you groan, Phoenix pats your shoulder. 

“It’s not the boys,” you tell her finally, swallowing. 

For some reason, just the prospect of talking about it outloud makes your heart race. How do you even begin to explain what’s happening to you? The figure, the blood, the kiss, the sleepwalking? 

“What is it then?” Phoenix asks, glancing at you with her face open and earnest. Her shoulder is pressed against yours and despite facing opposite ways, you know you have her full attention. “Night terrors?” 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Something bogus like that.” 

“What--like, really?” 

You nod. 

“I don’t know,” you mutter, looking into your own eyes as Phoenix pulls out her ponytail and lets her curls spring free. “Just, like, the worst nightmares of my life. They make me sleepwalk sometimes. And fall asleep standing up. It’s--well, it’s weird, right?”

Phoenix blinks at you, combing through her hair. She watches your serious face as you look at your reflection, absently touching all those little places you consider to be less-than. 

“When did it start?” 

“They’ve been going on for a few days,” you answer quietly. 

“Like--recurring?” She asks. You nod. Her hands fall to her side. “That’s bogue.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I know.” 

She swallows, chewing her lip. 

“What happens in them?” 

Shaking your head, you hum. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Don’t wanna--I don’t wanna, like, give it any more power over me, you know? And even talking it outloud feels like I’m doing just that.” 

Phoenix nods--she understands. 

It’s quiet for a few moments. You’re high enough to wonder if you can hear the campers dreaming--but then you realize it’s just crickets. Phoenix is high enough to want to take a dip in the lake and is heavily considering asking Bob to join her. 

“Let’s not leave ‘em waiting,” she says, nudging you. “Don’t want any maniacs to chop ‘em up!” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, shaking all the bad thoughts away. “That’s my job.”

And just as the words leave your lips, just as you turn and smile tiredly at Phoenix, you feel something pop between your nostrils. Suddenly, Phoenix looks confused then horrified as warm, wet blood begins to gush down your face. 

“Nightingale!” Phoenix says, scrambling. “Your nose!” 

As quickly as you can, you lean over the sink. But then Phoenix is grabbing your shoulders, tugging you towards the shower. 

“Too much blood!” She insists, laughing despite herself. Pennies settle on your tongue. “Your shoes!” 

Kicking your shoes off, you let her lead you to the dirty shower tile. You’re both laughing and blood is dripping onto the floor and you’re too high to care about the blood spilling down your throat and the chest of your dress. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” You ask between laughter. “My God!” 

Phoenix laughs, holding your hair back. 

“There is no God here,” she laughs, dropping her voice a few octaves. “Only the maniac! And the devil!” 

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: PHOENIX IS ON ONE, I LOVE HER!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

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[wallwriterstuff]

Paint Over The Cracks ||FosterDad!John Price x Teen!Simon Riley|| Part 4

Warnings: A lot of swearing. Implicit mentions of child abuse. Brief description of murder. Descriptions of PTSD and trauma. Discussions of the foster care system. Mentions of sibling separation.

Words: 3383

Summary: Simon is grappling with much more than he lets anyone see, so much so he feels like he's splitting at the seams. John meets him with the same calm kindness he always has, and Simon struggles to figure out his motivations for it.

<-Part 3: Dirty Laundry Part 5: Fault Lines ->

Nothing here was right.

The old man was though.

You’re a stain, shitbag that’s exploded and left his stench behind.

No. No? Shut up. God shut up.

If there was a way to turn down the voice in his head Simon would have muted the thing years ago. It’s gruff and cracked from the abuse the vocal chords have suffered, inhaling too much crap and not enough air. It spews poison in his brain and he knows it’s all rubbish, a hallucinogen, a serpent in his Garden, but god if it isn’t convincing. He wants to peel of his skin, drain the blood from his veins, and refill it with someone else’s. It’s got to be genetic right? The black spot of old that got pirates quaking has to be branded into his DNA by cigarette butts the same way the life lessons are beaten into his skin, a colourful array of reminders that blare like sirens when he presses one just right to feel something other than the overwhelming dread of just existing as himself.  He can count each one and he knows the meaning of them all.

Worthless.

Vile.

Stupid.

Disappointing.

Coward.

God it’s hot. It’s boiling in this stupid hoodie. It’s got burn marks for ventilation and the sweat it soaks up only makes it smell worse as he pours himself out just trying to keep it all in. Cover the marks. Keep your voice hidden. Don’t tell a soul. Protect mom. Protect Tommy. Fuck, she looked like his mom. Well, the mom he knew before his old man beat her down anyway. No one deserved to look how she looked at the end. Fuck was that – no, no a splash of paint, it was paint, just paint. That bloody awful portrait in the doctor’s office was too close to her head. He never knew blood could arch that far until he watched his old man pull the hammer back. It’s all so confusing. Simon doesn’t honestly know if he’s here or there or somewhere in-between but there’s sun in his eyes and a paper bag in hand with his name on and an address printed underneath that he doesn’t call his own.

No, that’s the address of the palace. It’s a place where the surfaces always smell of citrus bleach, where the walls are warm and straining to keep the bustle of the world out and the quiet of the house within. There’s no blood staining the bathroom here and there’s no desperate search for food through the haze of a burning joint that makes his head swim more than Michael Phelps ever has. No, no in this palace, there’s always food whenever he wants it. The fridge is a pantry stocked full in preparation for a grand feast three times a day, and there’s always spare food going about. He should throw out the apples he’d never gotten round to eating but the luxury of storing it all away beneath that one loose floorboard still hadn’t worn off because – God, was Tommy as lucky as he was? His stomach’s never been so full and yet so queasy. It’s exhausting keeping an eye on the Bearded Guy. He’ll snap eventually, they always do. He was surprised he hadn’t set him off when he saw the mattress.

The shame is still gnawing in his gut and reminding him what a disgusting stain he is on that palace. His fingerprints leave trails of blood and ichor behind. There were no monsters under the bed before he moved in. Those pristine white walls are tainted with smoke and filth and he’s just never quite clean enough. How much do you have to scrub a soul for the devil to want to barter for it again?

“Simon?”

Should have never fucking had you.

“Simon?”

You can join your fucking mum.

“Simon!”

The touch is light, unintrusive, but the flesh remembers what the mind wishes it could forget. Simon flinches from Price’s tap to his shoulder like the man’s burned him, and he has to give himself a good mental shake before he dares meet Price’s eyes. Shake it off. Head in the game. Protect Mom. Protect Tommy.

“Why the fuck are we at B&Q?” Simon blurts the question before he can stop himself. His thoughts feel a little too lose and it’s unhinged his mouth. He clamps it tightly shut once more and imagines the box; Pandora would be jealous of the horrors he hides in his, but the lock doesn’t feel quite so sturdy today. Price raises a brow at the language but doesn’t comment on it. Simon’s glad. He’s finding it increasingly hard to fight the Bearded Guy on anything when he’s always so calm about things. It’s a beguiling sense of security. They’re trying to coax something out of him but he still can’t tell what.

“Paint.” Price’s reply is simple, and yet it throws him completely for a loop. Paint? Why the hell do they need paint? His palace is glorious and in no need of renovations. It’s got everything he could ever want. Hell, he could die happy in the bathroom just to juxtapose his mum. The old man might call it poetic justice. Simon squints through the windshield, eyeing the bold orange letters with wary confusion. It feels like a trick, but his head’s too scrambled to really figure out the man’s mind games today so he has no choice but to bite the line and let him reel him in.

“Why?” he asks, letting his eyes drift back to Price. The man’s got eyes like ice and Simon isn’t sure he’ll ever know what lies in the murky depths of them, isn’t sure he wants to know. Price pulls up the handbrake and turns off the ignition. The silence in the air is charged and Simon’s muscles ache from all the tension in his body. The morning’s been a lot and he just wants to go to the closest thing he has to home, which is currently the bin liner in his room that’s rapidly losing the smell of Tommy and his Mum and he just…isn’t ready for it to go. He can’t handle the palace becoming his home, for their to be no trace of his mum or Tommy in it, for lemon scented cleaning products to replace stale cigarette fumes and the tang of blood that’s his only real connection to the last of his mother’s warmth as she spilled it onto his hands with her final breath. God he needs therapy, and he hates himself all the more for acknowledging it. 

Uh-oh. That looks never good on an adult. His lips have pursed and his eyes are searching. Simon won’t let him find a thing though, tilting his chin up just a little and narrowing his eyes the way he’s been taught. He’ll bare his teeth before he ever bares his throat.

“There have been certain things that have come to light, things that Mrs Laswell wants to come and talk to you about before she’ll talk to me about them, that mean you’ll be staying with me for a while,” Price is choosing his words as carefully as a bomb disposal expert picks which wires to cut, “So I thought…maybe you could choose a colour or two, make your room your own and decorate it a bit.” His words ricochet around his brain like bullets, but none of it’s a misfire. They hit so many open wounds it makes Simon suck in a sharp breath to keep from screaming out because it’s just not fair. He doesn’t want Price’s room, or his baskets, or his palace but nobody seems to care what he wants right now.

“How long? Is Tommy coming to live with you to?” Simon’s voice is sharp, too sharp, jagged edges bleeding raw and Price is seeing too much again. He can’t help it though and the white hot fury and panic is a deadly combination with the heavy grief that keeps trying to steal his breath. He’s a skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of flesh and there’s not enough room for all these feelings so into Pandora’s box they go to.

“No, Simon, he can’t.” Price is so calm about it all, as if Simon’s sanity isn’t hinging on the decisions these adults are making for him. “I’m sorry. I understand that feels unfair, and you might well be angry, maybe even anxious, sad. It’s okay to feel like that-“

“Fucking hell here we go.” He muttered, eyes rolling and head turning away. He’s agitated by the injustice of it all, a tempest incoming on a tranquil shore. Since when did they get to decide for him? Why do his choices never seem to matter?

“Okay. Okay. I see it’s not something you want to talk about. When you’re ready, I’m here to listen. Do you want to do this? Decorate your room a bit? Or should we go home?” He wants to yell and scream at the old man to get mad, to be mad on his behalf, to rebel against the stupid rules of the world that are keeping his brother away from him and just let him have him anyway. Tommy needs him. He always has. It’s the only thing he has left. But here Price is again, a gentle breeze on a summer’s day that gives fresh air in a humid and cloying place devoid of comfort. He just seems to know how to calm the fiery fury, flips switches in his brain like a train line manager switches tracks, easily diverting disaster because yes – yes, god, finally, something he can control.

“Whatever.” He grumbles, already opening the car door and leaving Prive to follow behind. Maybe he’ll get black. Or neon yellow. His thoughts are already spinning to see what colours might piss off Price the most. His feelings are all spiteful and petty little things that demand retribution for him in all its forms. You’re a stain. Alright then. He’ll taint this palace just as he’s tainted every other place he’s been. Yet, as Price leads him to the paint section and he faces rows and rows of colour swatches, he’s struck dumb by the amount of colour.

It’s the explosive reds that catch his eye first, his rage calling to those colours like their soulmates destined to cross the distance and meet, but then he spots a crimson too close to the shade of his mum on the bathroom floor and he’s forced to look away as grief swells and crushes any fight or resolve his spirit had. Perhaps blue is the better colour for him, but even that looks too happy. The feelings and thoughts battle in his head and Simon pulls the black mask from his pocket instinctively, slipping it over his ears and hearing the whisper of maniacal laughter rumble through his mind before it all falls quiet. Silent as the grave. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Go on Simon, pick one, as a treat. Don’t tell your dad, okay? He so badly wishes his mother was here and it really was just as simple as picking a sweet treat at the bakery to sneakily share with her on the way home from school. How can he possibly pick a colour for his room in the palace? It’s too big a responsibility for his thin shoulders.

“Have you got a favourite colour?” Price’s question pulls him from the depths of his mind and Simon forces his eyes to move from the shades of red. The question seems innocuous enough that he feels inclined to answer.

“Blue.” Simon’s not really sure it’s the right answer, but he’s got to be the man of the house and blues a boys colour, or so he’s been taught.  He’s not entirely sure he likes any of the blues that Price pulls from the swatches to show him, though he’s sure he should. His brow crinkles slightly.

“You sure?” Price’s voice is gentle, probing. Simon’s eyes roam the swatches of colour and linger on the greens. There’s one like the shade of Tommy’s hoodie, and another like the grass in the field of the old industrial estate he could escape to when the house was too much. Some nice oranges to, like the sunsets that painted his mum in such a lovely light in summer, back when she could wear sundresses without worrying about who saw the bruises or cuts or emaciated bones beneath butterfly-wing flesh. He gravitates to them, craving the joy those memories bring. If he gets to control anything in this shitshow of a life he’s living, if he really gets to choose this, then god fucking dammit he wants to be the one to really choose. He gently slides the two colour strips from their snug spot in the line up and stares them down like the answers might just pop out at him.

“I want these.” The words are out before he can stop them, and his head snaps up because stupid stupid stupid you’re not allowed to want such unnecessary things. Be grateful for what you’ve got you little maggot.

“Well, we’ll need to narrow down a shade a bit more, but green and orange it is.” Price so easily gives in and Simon feels a spark of something warm. It’s the same kind of feeling he got when he saw them take his old man to the ground and cuff him like the criminal he was – satisfaction. It’s a feeling that grows when, between himself, Price, and a store employee, he narrows down the shades of paint he wants. Price loads them and two other cans he insists are necessary to make a proper paint job onto the trolley and they start weaving back through the aisle’s. B&Q isn’t a place Simon’s ever gone to before and for just a little while it’s nice to get lost in the wide and busy aisles, to let his eyes wander and dream of what a real home might look like. He can’t imagine ever really having a proper one, but dreams are nice, comforting, delusional.

With the paint purchased and stored safely in the boot of the car, Simon’s set to return to the palace and tries to steel himself for a torturous evening of stopping his mind from collapsing in on itself again when Price points out the nearby IKEA to.

“What about it? You know the meatballs are all horsemeat right?” Simon says. Price chuckles slightly at that. He’s relaxed back in his seat, making no effort to leave anytime soon. It set’s Simon on edge slightly, and he sits straighter. What sort of favour did he want in return for the paint then?

“I don’t want the meatballs. I wanted to know whether or not you’ve got enough storage for your things? We can get some more furniture if we need to.” Price says. Oh. Simon’s brow furrows, wondering when the other shoe will drop. He’ll surely want him to pay up for it somehow but he just can’t workout how or when or with what. He’s been shown how it works time and again. Maybe it’s a fistful of powder or his own beaten body, but somehow you always have to pay the piper.

“It’s fine.” He won’t get in anymore debt than he already has today. Price nods, takes him at his word, but still drives them there anyway.

“Well, I want to get a new desk chair for my office. We’ll go home after this and sort dinner, okay?” His words are a soothing balm to Simon whose more than ready to be home and out of the public eye. Being under Price’s watchful gaze is draining and he’s ready to hide back in his room again, imagine the paint on his walls, wallow in peace. They walk a good section of the store where Simon can’t stop the way his eyes turn and wheel over the items on display. It’s an abundance of luxury to him. None of this stuff is thrifted or upcycled from his neighbour’s garage, nor a hand-me-down from grandparents he never got to meet. He wonders aimlessly through the aisle’s as Price takes his sweet time choosing a chair.

As they pass through the kids section he gets the feeling he’s been doused by a bucket of cold water. It’s a monstrous thing, long and green with a yellow underbelly and this flicker of red felt for a tongue that’s in no way real but still sends a shiver down his spine.

You scared of Rocco, Simon?

Just having fun.

He can see the things bulbous head, hear the lapping of its tongue as it flicks to search for prey. He can feel the smoothness of scales on his lips still. It takes a lot of willpower to stop his hands from shaking in the pockets of his hoodie as he reminds himself the toys just that, a toy.

“You like snakes?” Price asks with genuine and innocent curiosity. Only Simon see’s the horrors in his head as he replays vivid memories of the nights his old man bought home the deadly beasts. It brings a cold sweat to his palms and his knee-jerk reaction is to keep the weakness hidden.

“No. It’s a stupid toy.” Simon scoffs, moving on quickly from the stuffed animals. He only pauses in his pursuit of an exit when they reach the final section of the store, just before the warehouse. It’s crammed full of portraits and mirrors and candles, house plants and rugs to. His head is buzzing still with the hiss of a snake but it’s slowly being drowned out by the gentle humming of his mum, his feet carrying him naturally to the plant he recalled her tending to so often. It infuriated his old man of course. He’d tossed the thing out of the window after accusing her of nourishing it more than her family. Simon had been the only one to witness her despair that day. He ran his fingers gently along the big leaves covering the soil in the pot, the same way his mum had done once as she hummed.

If the plant happened to slip into Price’s trolley then, well, neither of them needed to acknowledge it, did they?

Price let him be once he’d helped him put all the new things they’d bought into his room. Simon couldn’t bear to unwrap or move anything, suffocating in the weight of his own feelings of unworthiness for a while before he finally sucked it up and began to move the new belongings into place. He hurriedly threw the absorbent pad on the mattress atop a waterproof sheet, shame clouding his every thought as he prepares his bed and prays those tablets the doctor prescribed him would work so he wouldn’t have to make his bed like that ever again. Simon sets his plant up next, takes his time with it, ensures it’s in the best spot on his desk where the sunlight can hit it just right. He waters it, adds a little bit of plant food he’d insisted was necessary to buy and sets an alarm on his phone to remind himself to water it some more in a few days time.

He sits back on his bed and glances about the pristine quarters he’s been given in the palace, imagines them green and orange like the paint waiting to be used in the shed, and for the first time in weeks Simon feels a little of the weight ease from his shoulders. Maybe this place could be home; with a splash of orange there to reflect the sunsets and, oh maybe he could go half and half and…Tommy would likely never see it. Simon’s expression sours, bitter rage welling in his chest again until all he can do is bring his fist down on the pillow again and again and again and its never enough to close that raw, throbbing wound in his chest. Panting hard, he squeezes his eyes closed, but nothing helps to quell the rage.

Oh? You do have some balls on you after all!

Simon’s left helpless in the maelstrom of his life once more.

[bella-rose29]

Not Your Lover - Chapter 5

I made some stuff up to do with Nik's scars bc it felt right to describe them the way I did, but he'll still have the original wound caused by the nichevo'ya.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: swearing, the mother is still a bitch, davor is still stalking people, mentions of scarring, they almost kiss and it's frustrating (I'm well aware that I am the author and can change that but the tension needs to be built), I don't think there's anything else?

Tag list: @a-candle-maker, @bubybubsters, @el-de-phi, @hauntedenthusiasttragedy, @iambored24601, @itsyoboo-jassy, @karensirkobabes, @kentucky-criedfricken, @little8sun, @mrsklockwood, @mvidaaaa, @nalie-98, @naushtheaspiringauthor, @notoakay, @pietromaximoffsbae, @simbaaas-stuff

(not my gif <3)

Nikolai woke up the morning after Y/n visited him to find the pillow wall completely decimated and his fake girlfriend using his body as a replacement mattress.

She was still asleep from what he could tell, and at some point in the night the thin duvet had been kicked off and was on the floor. Y/n had wrapped one arm around his waist and one of her legs was tangled in with his, which he had grabbed a hold of by her thigh in the night. Nikolai's other arm was holding her closer by hugging around her middle. His immediate response to waking up in this position was to blush furiously. His second was to panic at his third more... physical response. His fourth was to panic about the demon, since he couldn't hear it laughing at him for the position, but Nikolai was reluctant to move Y/n since she looked so peaceful in her current state. A quiet patter of talons on the floorboards by the fireplace made Nikolai lift his head, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his demon curled up in the duvet, gnawing on something dead. He needed to figure something out before Y/n woke up, because if she saw his other half then she would most definitely never let him anywhere near her again, just when he felt he was making progress.

She stirred then, and Nikolai closed his eyes, pretending he hadn't been awake for a good few minutes.

~~~

The early morning sunlight coming in through the worn out curtains woke Y/n up, and as she blinked herself awake she wondered why the hell the mattress suddenly felt much better. Grunting softly, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and pushed herself up slightly, then promptly threw herself off of the bed.

She'd been lying on Nik.

She had been lying on Nik.

He moved then, apparently waking up at the thud of her body on the floor, and when he saw her he cursed and hurried to offer a hand.

"You alright?"

Y/n ignored his hand and stood, refusing to acknowledge the blush that had lit her face on fire at the knowledge that she had cuddled up to him in the night.

"Fine," she declared, wincing when her voice was an octave higher than normal. For some reason her thigh felt warm, and all of a sudden the memory of Nik's hand holding it came back to her. He'd been stroking it softly with his thumb when she woke up.

He was still sat on the bed, looking sinfully innocent as he watched her, but something that looked weirdly like fear was in his gaze. "You?" Saints, this was awkward. Where did they even go from here? They weren't actually together (although Y/n was thinking about what he'd be like as a lover more often as time went on), but they acted more like a couple than Y/n would ever admit. She'd visited him late at night to talk after arguing with her mother, for Saints' sake, and then slept in a bed with him!

"I'm alright," he said, laughter evident in his tone. "You should probably go open the shop, yeah? I'll head over to the mansion. Anything in particular you want me to work on?" He'd started moving, getting out of bed to stretch his arms over his head, and Y/n had to turn her head away when she realised she was staring at the strip of skin it revealed from pulling his shirt up.

"Uh, n-no, not really, just uh, try and secure the door of the room we were gonna start working on yesterday?"

"Sure, I'll try the tap again too. You want me to drop you off at work?" She was fully panicking now, because he'd taken his shirt off to change it, and even though he'd turned around she couldn't help but stare at the muscles of his back. Y/n frowned after a moment, seeing twin scars on his shoulder blades, slightly long and relatively new. There were others, decorating his back like medals, but the two on his shoulder blades were slightly black in colour. She felt a pang in her heart knowing he'd suffered so much, but before she could ask if they were related to his fight with the Darkling he'd shoved the clean shirt on and was pulling on his boots and a jacket, and asking her if she wanted to change.

"Oh, uh... I probably shouldn't wear this again. It's kinda gross from working in the sun yesterday. Do you mind dropping me at home first?"

"Of course not. What time do you need to be at the shop for?" Y/n was about to answer when the bell tower in the square sounded seven bells, making her eyes widen.

"Like, now. Shit, I don't have enough time to go home, do I?"

Nik hesitated, looking like he was wrestling with himself, then spoke up.

"You could borrow some of my clothes if you like?"

"Um... okay. If you're sure?"

"As long as I get them back, then yeah." He scratched the back of his neck, looking awkward. Y/n found it incredibly endearing that he was so nervous about it, especially since Davor had never- no. She needed to stop comparing them.

But Nik wasn't Davor.

A few minutes later, Y/n had changed into a spare shirt of Nik's (her trousers were fine, she'd changed into them after getting home the night before to rid herself of her skirt), and she definitely didn't revel in the way it felt like he was hugging her. He waited a moment before coming out and closing the door of his room, looking like he was carrying a heavy weight. Y/n had waited outside while he did what he needed, and when he appeared he seemed more tired.

True to his word, he walked her to the bakery, and she pulled the keys out of her coat pocket to unlock the door.

"I'll try and come over at some point to see how you're doing, okay?"

"Okay. I am a grown man though, you know that, right?"

"Sure you are. See you later, Nik." She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and headed inside.

~~~

Nikolai had been working on the first room for almost two hours, and he felt like he wasn't getting anywhere.

It was his own fault, really, since he'd been more occupied thinking about domestic life with Y/n and the way she'd kissed his cheek that morning, but he still should have cleared out more than he had.

Taking a break, he looked around the room. The windows were boarded up, light filtering in through the gaps in the wood, and the chandelier on the ceiling only had one bulb working. The floorboards were rotten and needed replacing, and the furniture just needed to be chucked. Oh, and everything was covered in weeds, dust, and rubbish. Whoever had previously owned the building clearly hadn't lived in it, and had used it as some sort of storage space for the things they didn't want.

Nikolai sighed, wiping his forehead. At least he was out the sun, and he'd managed to fix the doorframe and get the tap to work and the fountain going. He paused, considering his options as he looked around, then let the demon out.

"You're helping, alright?" he pointed a finger at it. "No going off anywhere. You need to stay here, and you need to help, because otherwise I'm not taking you fishing tonight." The demon huffed, and sat back on its haunches, stubbornly refusing to move. "Or I can take you back in and you can stay locked up in my head, whichever you prefer. But it's that or being out for a good few hours." The demon perked up at the prospect of having control over itself for little while, and started rummaging in the piles of rubbish. "Oi, not there. Over here, come on."

Work went much faster after that, the demon using its strength to help Nikolai move some of the heavier items like the sofas once the two of them had cleared the crap on top. An hour later, they had almost cleared the whole room, and the demon was wrestling with a rat it had found holed up under a floorboard. All of a sudden it stopped moving from its place on the ground, and sprung up to hide in the rafters. Nikolai didn't turn around, knowing exactly who was behind him.

"Oh wow, how have you managed all of this?"

"I told you, I'm a grown man." Y/n stepped into his view, smile on her face and a box in her hands.

"Lunch. Figured you won't have eaten yet. It'll keep if you're not hungry yet, I realise it's mid-morning and not actual lunchtime, but I got a chance to come over so I did."

"Thanks," he grinned up at her, taking the box. "You know, I don't think you hate me anymore. You haven't glared at me for a while, I'm starting to miss it."

Y/n glared then, but there wasn't anything menacing behind it. "Sure. Whatever makes you happy. What do you think? About the floor?" She toed a loose plank where it stuck up from the rest, warped from heat and water.

"It's going to have to be ripped up. The whole lot. I've had a good look and I don't think any part of it is actually salvageable. Shame, really, because this would have been quality wood when it first got laid."

She snorted at him as he went on. "Yeah, okay, wood nerd. That's gonna be an extra cost, isn't it? Shit, alright. Well look, I've gotta get back. Don't rip it up yet, just focus on getting the rest of this stuff cleared and maybe make a start on the room through the door at the back?"

"Of course. Thanks for lunch," he lifted the box up with a smile.

"Oh, that's purely so I don't have to deal with the paperwork of you dying of starvation on my property. Seriously, there's way too much of it." She paused for a moment, half-turned to leave. "Thank you, Nik. This... you've done a lot already. Thank you."

He nodded. "That's what fake-boyfriends are for, right?" Something about his words made his heart clench, and he thought he saw a flicker of something like pain on Y/n's face before she smiled.

"Yep. Free manual labour. See you later."

"See you later," he replied, but she'd already left.

~~~

Y/n was having a very long day, and her mother appearing didn't make it better whatsoever.

"What do you want?"

"Where did you go last night?"

"Away from you. Did you want to buy anything?"

"Er, no, thank you. Where away from me?"

"If you're not going to buy anything, then I'm afraid I need to ask you to leave. It's a national holiday and as I'm sure you can see I'm very busy. Good day. Who's next, please?" Her mother hadn't been impressed, and had left the bakery in a huff, but Y/n couldn't find it in her to care. She'd been a complete shit last night, and if she wasn't going to apologise or buy anything then she could bloody well get out Y/n's shop.

"Hello, love. One of those, please."

"Sure thing, Dad. Just that one?"

"Yeah, thanks." Her father studied her for a moment, worry lacing his features. "How're you doing?"

Y/n shrugged, bagging up the pastry. "I'm okay. Has Mum said anything about last night?"

He scoffed. "Nothing about apologising. Well, not from her, anyway. She thinks you need to for walking out and saying you're gonna keep working on the mansion. I've tried- thanks, love. I've tried talking to her about how you might be feeling, but- how much? Right. But she's adamant that she's right and you're wrong. How's Nik? Haven't seen him for a while." He passed over the money, taking the pastry.

"Nik's good, he's working at the moment, over at the mansion."

Her father smiled softly. "You know, maybe I could go and help? Haven't been out the house for a while, and I'd love to see what you've done with the place."

"Is that code for 'I want to interrogate your boyfriend'?"

"Well, I'm not saying it's not," he laughed. "But really, I'd love to help you, Y/n/n."

"Thanks, Dad. I'm sure Nik'll tell you what needs doing, and try and ignore the overwhelming stench of mould." He nodded, leaving to go help Nik with her project. As she served the next customer she couldn't help but worry. Her father hadn't worked for years, instead choosing to stay at home to look after their children due to his wife's demanding work schedule. He'd practically raised Y/n and her younger siblings on his own, and she loved him all the more for it. But if he wanted to leave the house, that meant that he was arguing with her mother.

She just hoped he didn't feel the need to leave, or grill Nik too much. At least his previous experience of working in Gregor's garage would help with the mansion.

~~~

"And where did you live before you came here?"

"The capital, although I spent most of my time in the First Army before the end of the civil war. After that I left, honourable discharge after being wounded in battle. Had a place in the centre of the city."

Nikolai hoped that Y/f/n would be done with his questions soon, because he'd only been here thirty minutes and already Nikolai was exhausted. He'd immediately decided that he preferred Y/n's father to her mother; the man had been a tradesman before the birth of his eldest daughter, and he appreciated good craft. It made working with him easier, since Nikolai could talk as in detail as he liked about the woodwork or the electrics and Y/f/n would understand immediately what he was going on about. Why they hadn't spent more time together, Nikolai wasn't sure, but he knew he'd be inviting the older man to have tea sometime soon.

"And-"

"Dad, Saints, what did I say?"

"Oh, hi love," he planted a kiss on Y/n's cheek, smiling at his daughter. She came over to where Nikolai was, pressing her lips to his in a small peck.

"What are you doing here? Got another break?" Nikolai asked, pushing back the blush that rose on his cheeks at kissing her in front of her father.

"Yeah. Things have quietened down a bit, so I left the bakery with the other staff members for a bit. I told them I was gonna be here for a while, and if they need me they should send Danny."

"Is that the paper boy?"

"Yeah, he does the odd message run for people, good sprinter."

Y/n hadn't left Nikolai's side, her arm wrapped around his waist as they stood together conversing with her father. The demon was still in the rafters, having not had enough time to go back in Nikolai's body before Y/f/n came in.

Hopefully he'd killed the rat and put it out of its misery.

"You two been getting on then?"

"Yeah, oh yeah. He's a good lad, Y/n/n. Knows a thing or two about carpentry and mechanics, too," her father smiled at Nikolai, and he felt his chest swell with pride at his words.

"At least one of you is supportive," Y/n mumbled to herself, but Nikolai heard her anyway. "Oh, Dad, do you wanna grab tea or coffee with us tomorrow? Maybe after Nik gets off work? I'm closing normal time tomorrow so I'll come over here, but we could have a proper chat?" She looked so genuinely hopeful that Nikolai found himself waiting just as expectantly as her for Y/f/n's answer, and his heart leapt when the man nodded.

"I think I can fit you in. Might need to get the drinks to go, I'll have to bring the rascals, so we could sit in the square and let them run around, release some energy."

"Yeah, okay. Nik? Is that alright with you?"

"Course it is, darling."

"Great! Perfect, okay." Her smile was so wide, and Nikolai was unable to stop his own smile forming on his face at her happiness.

~~~

The next day went just as Y/n had hoped.

Although she'd had to go back home for fresh clothes (she kept Nik's shirt though, under the pretence she needed to wash it), she barely saw her mother, having eaten dinner with Nik before getting in. They'd sat in the hotel restaurant and talked for hours after leaving the mansion, and she'd enjoyed herself a lot more than she'd wanted to. She left early in the morning, too, giving her dad a kiss on the head and grabbing a bite to eat before rushing out the door just as her mother came downstairs to have breakfast.

She'd pretended she couldn't see or hear her mother the rest of the day, and by just after five bells she was sat in the square with a cup of tea, watching her younger brother and sister run around. Nik wasn't here yet, so Y/n and her father were sat on one of the benches waiting for him to arrive.

"Dad? Tell me honestly, what do you think of him?"

"Who, Nik?" She nodded. He thought for a moment, sipping his tea. "I think he's good for you. You lost yourself after Davor who, by the way, I never approved of. I feel like I'm getting my girl back. You smile more, you're a lot more motivated now- don't start, you weren't motivated because of your dream, you were motivated out of spite, love. I think Nik has helped you find the dream again, and I think he's helped you find you again."

Y/n stared at her father, taken aback by his words.

"Sorry I'm late, Gregor needed me for something else at the shop. Hello, darling, Y/f/n." Nik smiled widely as he sat down, ordering a tea and greeting Y/n and her father. "You alright?" he murmured in her ear, a slight frown on his face.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm alright. How was work?"

"Ugh, it was alright, just warm. Ravka's never this warm in the summer, this is ridiculous. Not even a nice warm, either, it's sticky."

"I can tell you're warm, sweetheart, your hair's limp."

Nik let an expression of utter horror come onto his face, and reached up to touch his hair. "This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. What will I do? How can I live with limp hair?" he exclaimed, making Y/n giggle.

"I'm sure you'll manage. You've got other defining features."

"Oh really," he quirked a brow. "And what, pray tell, might they be?"

"Shut up," she muttered, face going red as she made the list in her head.

The three of them spent an hour on the bench, with Y/n's siblings occasionally coming over to ask Nik a question or Y/f/n for food (he refused at first, but when they pouted Y/n could practically see her father's heart melt and give in), and Nik and her father getting on wonderfully. She could almost forget that they weren't actually together, and sat back, enjoying the moment.

~~~

Y/n's father was amazing, Nikolai had decided.

He wished that he'd had a father figure in his life like Y/f/n, because he could see how much the man cared about his children. His stepfather had never shown love, or affection of any kind, to Nikolai, giving it all to Vasily (and even then it was a dark, twisted thing). He'd felt more at home speaking to his biological father in those brief minutes before he'd disappeared off the face of the earth than he ever had talking to the man married to his mother, but Nikolai couldn't hope to find Magnus Opjer now. The best he could do was spend more time with Y/f/n, which was becoming increasingly more likely as the days went on.

The three of them, Nikolai, Y/n and Y/n's father, had eaten lunch together the day before last, having agreed after that initial meeting drinking tea in the square that they should do it again soon after. They'd also spent a lot of time working on the mansion together, sometimes with the smaller L/n's running around; other times they were with their mother, or at school.

Currently Nikolai was in his room, watching his demon try to catch its tail.

It was like having a murderous puppy really; the demon needed exercising everyday or it got antsy and scratched the walls, Nikolai quite often had to take it for walks in the middle of the night to play catch because it got lonely and needed somebody to play with, and it ate non-stop. Generally, Nikolai managed to get all three of those things done in one go by taking a midnight walk down to the docks and playing catch with dead fish, and then the demon could run, play and eat all at once. He hadn't been able to tonight, due to the fact that Davor was stood on the opposite side of the road staring at Nikolai's window. He'd been lurking in an alleyway, practically invisible to everybody, but Nikolai had the demon's enhanced senses to help pick out the man's body shape in the dark. He'd brought his dinner up to his room, and had thrown the demon the bits he didn't like, and now they were both finished eating Nikolai's other half was proving its incredible intelligence by looking completely stupid trying to catch its tail.

"You know that if you-" he was cut off by a growl, and held his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, if you say so. As you were." He shook his head at the demon's antics, picking up his book.

They might have had a horrible beginning, but Nikolai was starting to quite like the bastard. They had that in common, at least, both being bastards. He knew he needed to tell Y/n at some point, but he supposed it could wait until after her deadline. After that, she wouldn't need him anymore, and if she wanted to hate him for not telling the whole truth, then she could go right ahead.

Nikolai frowned at the thought of not being a part of her life anymore, and resisted the urge to chuck his book at the demon when it laughed at him. That was something Nikolai didn't enjoy, the shared emotions between them. He just got bullied by the demon most of the time.

An hour or so later, Nikolai turned out the light and went to sleep, trying to not think too hard about the man outside his window.

~~~

"Where the hell have you been?! I've been waiting for ages for you!"

"Don't care, Mother. I need to go, so I can't stay long." Y/n headed upstairs, internally groaning at the sound of her mother following her. She pushed open the door to her bedroom, grabbing a bag and shoving some clothes and other necessities inside.

"What are you doing? Are you leaving? You can't leave, we need to talk about you and Nik!"

"I DON'T CARE! Saints! I'm not gonna listen to you until you fucking apologise, Mother!" She vaguely registered the sound of her brother crying downstairs from the shouting, but paid no attention, instead collecting more of her belongings and heading back outside. She passed her father on the way, shooting him a quick smile and knowing that he'd be around to talk if she needed him, and pressed kisses to her siblings' foreheads. "I'll see you around, yeah? Try and be trouble for me," she told them, smiling when they nodded eagerly. "If you need me, Dad, you know where I am, yeah?"

"I know, love. Same here. Say hi for me."

"I will. See you later," she waved, stepping out the front door. Davor was across the street, watching her, but she was too exhausted to care. Y/n headed for the mansion, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

~~~

"Oh, hi! Did you get the things you needed?" Nik was blissfully unaware of her state, having popped up from behind a chair to greet her. She tried desperately to not make too much of a noise and just reply to him, but when a sort of strangled sound came out instead of "hello" his smile immediately changed into a frown, and he stood up and came over to where she had paused, bag dropped on the floor. "Y/n? What happened? Was it Davor? Because I can go and punch him if I need to." He had placed his hands on her arms, rubbing gently to soothe her, and Y/n collapsed into him, clutching at the front of his shirt as she sobbed into his chest.

"I don't get it, Nik. I don't get why she doesn't understand," she cried, and his hands changed position, one around her back and the other in her hair, both still rubbing patterns to comfort her. Y/n wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, stood in the hallway while she cried and he hugged her, but when she finally stopped and pulled away, a few sniffles still escaping, she felt completely worn out.

"Come here," he said, voice quiet so as not to disturb the calm they'd created. He led her over to one of the new sofas they'd procured (somebody rich had been just giving the set away, so Nik had snapped them up) and sat her down, pulling her into his side. "I'm assuming you mean your mother?" he asked, and Y/n nodded.

"She didn't even apologise when I went over just now, she just asked loads of questions about 'where have you been?' and 'what are you doing?' and I'm just so sick of her behaviour. It's been a week since that dinner and she can't fucking apologise?"

"I don't..." Nik sighed. "I don't think she ever will, darling. Not in the way that you want her to. She's clearly too focused on her own life to see how her words and actions are affecting you, and I don't think that's ever going to change. All you can do is what you are doing."

"What, crying into my fake boyfriend's chest?"

"Well, not exactly what I meant, but if it helps, then yes. What I meant was working on your dream. Because it is your dream, and I might only have known you for just over two weeks, but by the Saints when you want something, you grab it with both hands and you take it, and you don't let go, because it means something to you. And if it means something to you, you're going to hold on to it, no matter what life throws at you. That's what you're doing, Y/n, and honestly I think you are incredible for it."

She sat up, wiping the last of her tears from her eyes, and Nik replaced her hands with his own, thumbs gently caressing her cheeks. His eyes were unfocused, and their faces closer than they had been for a while now, and Y/n felt herself leaning in.

A crash from the next room made them break apart, jumping to opposite ends of the sofa as they stuttered out apologies to each other.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

She'd been so close to kissing him without an audience, and then what? They weren't actually dating, so what did it mean if they kissed because they wanted to? Nik looked panicked, and he practically launched himself off of the sofa to search the other room for the source of the crash. Y/n sat in a daze, with a vague thought that she should follow him, but when he returned a few seconds later there wasn't much point.

"What was it?" she heard herself ask.

"Just something falling off of a pile. You good to go?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sure." She was staying in the hotel with him, risky given they apparently hugged in their sleep, but it was better than living with her mother. At least Nik hugged her. They hadn't shared a bed since that first night, and given they had just almost kissed, Y/n was starting to feel nervous about the night ahead.

I'm sure it'll all be fine, she thought, picking up her bag. Totally fine.

What was the worst that could happen?

[swiftsaltsweet]

The Hunt for Kyoshi: Chapter 1- The Ruse

Characters: Rangi and Kyoshi (plus whoever appears in Rok)

Pairing: Rangshi

Summary:  

“What are we going to do?” She asked steely, still not looking up from the ground. She was ready to uphold her duty, or at least, what remained of it. “We need you to capture Kyoshi,” Jianzhu instructed. “Capture?” “Yes, we need to set an example of an Avatar murderer,” Jianzhu responded, oh so matter of factly again.

(Canon Divergent AU- "What if Rangi wasn't there when Kyoshi ran away, and Rangi had to hunt her down?)

Other Sites: AO3 and Fanfic.net

Rangi paced and paced and paced and paced. A groove was forming in the guest room floorboards.

She’d been pacing for an hour. It'd been exactly one hour since she and her mother, Hei-Ran, had landed back in Yokoya; after shadowing her mother at a Fire Navy delegation meeting. Exactly one hour since her mother and Master Jianzhu had shoved her into this guest room, so that they could speak amongst themselves in private.

Exactly one hour since the pit in her stomach was formed.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Rangi stopped pacing right in front of the window, unable to take her eyes off a persistent drip that hung off a stray bamboo shoot. Something about it just felt louder than the rest of the storm outside.

It had been over a day since she had last seen Avatar Yu-.... since she had last seen Yun….or Kyoshi. They’d gone on some trip with Master Jianzhu, but despite Jianzhu being here, she'd yet to see her two best friends.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Her anxiety started to overflood, and she began pacing again. 

I should’ve-I knew I should’ve stayed. She gnawed at the inside of her cheek to the point it started secreting a metallic taste.

Her gut had screamed at her to stay and not go with her mother. But she didn’t listen. She thought the delegation would give her a chance to clear her mind. She didn’t want a repeat of what happened in the infirmary. 

She stopped pacing, focusing all her energy in clenching her fists. Stabbing her own palms with her fingernails, hoping to draw blood. She deserved it, she deserved it and worse for what she did back then.

In a fit of fury, she’d lost control. While she was jabbing her finger at Kyoshi, trying to extract answers, she had ended up burning her. She had assaulted the possible Avatar. Her friend. Her…..her Kyoshi. 

Rangi started taking sharp breaths, repressing her sobs, trying to keep herself from crumbling on the floor into a weeping mess. Or setting the room on fire. Or both. 

She hadn’t been able to control herself then, but she needed to now. 

She needed to gather herself, so when she could finally leave this accursed room she could be there for them. For Yun, for Kyoshi. She could get on her hands and knees and apologize for what she did. Hopefully she’d be forgiven. 

The door behind her opened.

“Finally, can I leave, I need to talk to Kyo-” Rangi finally finished turning and saw the state of Jianzhu and her mother.

Jianzhu looked like he had battled a mountain, and her mother…. Well, her mother’s eyes looked heavy with regret, a look Rangi knew all too well. She’d seen it many times, in regards to certain familial relations. “Rangi…..”

Rangi instinctively took a step back, trying to brace herself for the bad news that was about to follow. No, she would go on the offensive, even if the offensive meant just running right past the problem. She needed to talk to Kyoshi and Yun before her will faltered anymore. 

She attempted to move past her Hei-Ran and Jianzhu.

“Mother, please, let me go talk to Kyoshi and Yun, then you can-”

A strong, motherly hand clasped around Rangi’s bicep. “I’m afraid that will not be possible.”

There was a weight in her voice, as if there was a meteor hammer in her throat. It wrapped around Rangi, and started pulling her down into her own ocean of despair.

Hei-Ran’s face contorted into a pain that Rangi had only seen once before, when she had to break the news to Rangi about her father. Hei-Ran just looked at Rangi, unable to speak. She couldn’t. She didn’t need to. Rangi understood.

“Kelsang is dead,” Jianzhu stated with softness in his voice, breaking the delicate silence the mother and daughter were sharing. 

Rangi looked at him, shaking. Her thoughts flitted to Kyoshi, wondering if she was alright, if she’d be able to handle this loss. She’d known how much Kelsang meant to her. 

“Avatar Yun is dead.” Jianzhu continued as if reading off the world’s most ghastly checklist, but his voice was more hardened this time. This blow hit Rangi square in the stomach. She fought with gravity to stay up right, every part of her felt like lead. The air thinned, and her vision began to blur.

Jianzhu inhaled, as if preparing to deliver the final blow. “Kyoshi….” Rangi shut her eyes, wishing she could do the same with her ears, bracing for what she knew he’d say. “Killed him.”

Those weren’t the words Rangi expected to hear, but it tore through like an animal all the same. Rangi lost her battle, and fell to the ground. 

Rangi was vaguely aware of her mother trying to keep her upright, but it wasn’t long until her forehead collided with the floorboards. She pushed her forehead harder and deeper into the floor, trying to ground herself even though she still felt like she was falling.

Kyoshi….murdered Yun? Rangi reeled. Kyoshi? Her Kyoshi? A murderer? An assassin? No, it didn’t make sense. Kyoshi couldn’t even stand up for herself in the village, let alone kill anyone. 

Her vision blurred, and she began to see things that weren’t there. Oh. Right, a mirage. Her breath must be overheating and out of control. 

She took sharp breaths and then lifted her head up, ignoring the water dripping from her eyes.

“Him?” She gasped. “Not them?”

Jianzhu’s jaw flexed, “Yes. Kyoshi only killed Yun.”

“Bu-....but what about Master Kelsang?” 

Jianzhu looked away, pained. “He…was in cahoots with Kyoshi. He died by my hand in the crossfire, while I was trying to save Yun.” 

Rangi ran a shaky hand through her hair, hyperventilating. “Th-this doesn’t make any sense. I mean, it’s Kyoshi. She can’t even protect herself from her bullies! She can’t even bend a pebble! She-”

“Rangi!” Hei-Ran yelled, grabbing her daughter’s shoulders, shaking her. “Rangi! It was a ruse! A ruse!”

Rangi’s eyes were swimming, she couldn’t look at her mother despite her being right in front of her face.

A ruse? But- Rangi put her face in her hands, drawing shaky breaths. Memories of all the time they spent together flooded her mind. And then slowly distorted, mangled beyond repair. Their laughter, their tender moments, were now all ravaged and desecrated. All that was a lie?!

In her despair, Rangi saw a light. One last bastion of hope, and she greedily grabbed it. 

“Bu-but Master Kelsang, he was a monk!” She yelled at the adults. “How could he plan something like this? To murder the Avatar. To…. To….” None of it made sense. It went against everything that the Air Nation stood for.

“Rangi,” Jianzhu’s voice was very even and matter of fact. “He’s been disgraced by his own people.”

Rangi tensed up, she’d remembered what Takaga said back on the iceberg. She was more concerned with how…..Kyoshi would react to hearing about her mother’s own sordid past. But she remembered the accusations of devastation and death that Kelsang also brought about. And how much he lost favor with his own people. 

It didn’t paint him in a credible image.

“To be honest,” Jianzhu continued, “this isn’t the first time I’ve heard an Air Nomad has gone rogue, or committed acts unbefitting of the Air Nation. I mean, it’s not often this happens. But there’s precedent. Some people just aren’t very good monks.” 

Rangi didn’t want to let that last bit of light go, she was going to fight her reality to the bitter end. “But why?! What was their reason?!”

“Chaos!” Jianzhu yelled, causing Rangi to flinch. “They wanted to descend the world into chaos! To stall the Avatar from being able to perform their duties! Is that not reason enough for these madmen?!” 

Jianzhu put his hand out, more like a metaphorical life line than to actually help Rangi stand up. “Rangi, they’ve attacked our honor! Everyone’s honor! Their livelihood! They care only about their own personal gain! Nothing about the long term nor benefit for the greater good!”

Rangi felt the weight of Jianzhu’s words crushing her resolve piece by piece, and trying to coax her honor out for strength.

Rangi looked at her mother for confirmation, a childish hope in her eyes. “Is it true?”

Hei-Ran closed her eyes and looked away, but the pain was evident on her face. “I’m sorry, Rangi. I’m so sorry.”

Rangi looked at the floor, defeated. So what they had been saying was true. Everything she knew was a lie. Everything she and Avatar Yun had known was a lie. An assassin had snuck into the house, under her own nose, and destroyed her purpose. Everything she’d known and held dear. 

She curled her fists, this time hard enough droplets of blood spilled from the cracks, and stood up.

“What are we going to do?” She asked steely, still not looking up from the ground. She was ready to uphold her duty, or at least, what remained of it.

“We need you to capture Kyoshi,” Jianzhu instructed.

“Capture?” 

“Yes, we need to set an example of an Avatar murder,” Jianzhu responded, oh so matter of factly again.

I suppose that makes sense. Rangi thought. It also eased a big burden off her mind. Even she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to kill someone she once called a friend.

“You’re mother mentioned you’re an expert in escape and evasion,” Jianzhu began to pace around Rangi, sizing her up. “I’m hoping that’ll come in handy, when you track Kyoshi down.”

He clasped his hand on her shoulder, “She has Kelsang’s bison, it’d be best if you move out soon. We’ll send shirshus to aid you if this takes too long.” And then he left, leaving the mother and daughter to their own devices.

“Rangi….” Hei-Ran reached out to her daughter, to comfort her. Rangi backed away before she could, and finally picked her head up.

Hei-Ran flinched away when she saw Rangi’s face. Rangi wasn’t sure what expression she was making, the only thing she could feel was the tears drying on her face. There were no more tears left to cry.

“I need to get ready, I’m late for my mission.” Rangi turned and stormed out of the room, not wasting time to see her mother’s reaction.

Rangi took off like a spirit in flight to her room and grabbed a rucksack. She put two change of clothes, and money inside. The whole process took less than a minute. Her next order of business was Kyoshi’s room.

As she trudged through the once familiar hallways she could hear the staff's whispers. Rangi took her time, hoping to get whatever information she needed. She heard things like “rampaging axe-wielding teenager” and “deranged.” Bile rose in Rangi’s mouth as the picture of this new Kyoshi became more clear. She finally found the small crevice that Kyoshi would call a room, and walked through it. 

It looked like it had been picked clean, the only thing left behind was a stray shoe, a gold-dye tassel, a few beads, and a coin. Rangi picked up the shoe and threw it into her rucksack. Then after a small deliberation, she grabbed the tassel. 

She rolled it in her hand, looking at it from every angle, and then curled her fingers around it. She closed her eyes, focusing on not burning the item, but also trying to stave off the once sweet memory it conjured up for her. She threw it into the rut sack along with the shoe. 

Her next order of business was following the rumors the servants were spinning, the chest. She’d noticed that Kyoshi’s chest was no longer in her room, and made her way to where it may have been moved to. But when she arrived, she realized two things. One, the rain had stopped, and two, the chest was empty and promptly left.

The last order of business, before gathering the prepackaged supplies and an ostrich horse, was to see if she could find something of Kelsang’s flying bison, Pengpeng. If she was going to have shirshus help her, having Pengpeng’s scent along with Kyoshi’s would be helpful. The more options the better.

She found a mass where it had rested, the animal’s giant footprints stamped into the ground, along with stray tufts of wet hair. Rangi picked up the mass and was about to head to the stables, when her foot hit something.

On the ground was a leather bound book and recognition dawned inside Rangi, she’d seen this book in Kyoshi’s possession in the past. It was something she’d usually hide away and would not let anyone see.

Rangi bent down and picked up the tomb, and unfurled it with shaking hands.

As she read the contents, her nails carved at the leather bindings, trying and failing to stop the feral scream that broke from her lips.

______________________

A/N: Gonna be honest, enemies to lovers? Not really my wheelhouse so we’re gonna see how this goes. TT0TT I just really wanted to explore the “what if Rangi actually had to chase Kyoshi down.” 

[petertingle-yipyip]

MAD AT GOD - MATT MURDOCK

season 2b epilogue - sad, beautiful, tragic

tags: @americaarse @dusstory @ironprincessstranger @mayasaurus--rex @astrobees @johnmurphys-sass // six // masterlist // season 3

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (past) / Billy Russo x Reader

Word Count: 3,854

Summary: Time drags on without Matt Murdock, though he still lingers in everything around her. Attempting to move forward, Y/N is pushed over an edge. (warning: short attempted drowning scene. written in red so it can be skipped)

Being back in the apartment after the police finally released you, it felt empty. Almost as empty as you did. Matt’s clothes were still laid about the floor, all over the bedroom and even the living room. The place still smelled like him, like his scent was soaked into the floorboards. You kicked the clothes into the closet, unable to bring yourself to touch them, worried they would disappear if you grabbed them.

The bed was too big without him, uncomfortable to be alone in. His side was too cold as you tried sitting on the floor with your back against it, your side was too warm when you did the same thing. You shoved yourself away quickly and felt your heart begin to race.

There were memories covering every inch of space that began closing in. Painted on the walls, sewn into the sofa, carved into the floorboards. Pinned to the fridge, tucked into books, saved in picture frames, hidden in every nook and cranny. Everywhere you turned, you could hear his voice as you were bombarded with instances that had made you happy. Now, you wanted to forget you ever loved him, made you want to burn the apartment down. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so bad if everything was gone.

Suddenly, it didn’t feel like that apartment was home.

You didn’t belong there.

It was supposed to be a home. A place born out of love and full of warmth, with a hopeful outlook for your future together. It was a place where two people tried to beat the odds and have a normal life. The lawyer- turned vigilante -turned lawyer again and the assassin- turned law student- turned vigilante- turned lawyer - turned security detail. It was supposed to be a home, where strength and tragic pasts met the idea of hope and redemption. Maybe not with a family made up of mini Y/Ns and mini Matts, but with the family you two found along the way.

But you felt like a stranger in your own place. You didn’t belong in Y/N’s home. That place was reserved for Y/N and Matt. Not whatever you were left with since a huge piece of you went down with Matt at Midland Circle just hours before.

You felt more like Exodus than you ever did before, angry and alone.

Maybe you deserved all of that. The agony. The loneliness. The guilt. The regret. The despair. The gnawing pang in the center of your chest that threatened to engulf you with every swelling breath.

Just days before, you were enjoying the balance you managed to find. You had someone to keep you in check, to force you to take a step back and realize what was going on around you. But now… Now you were left with nothing.

Now you were nothing.

How were you supposed to live like that? With that pain. With that crushing weight of knowing you didn’t save him. You didn’t save the man you loved. The man who loved you for you, who knew you long before you really knew yourself.

You went into your bathroom and left your mask, Bites, and belt on the counter. You started the water and pulled the tie from your hair. You didn’t care to fight your boots off so you stepped in with them on, seeing the water stain red with blood and the floor black with the grime of your boot soles. You sank to the floor and let the water soak your suit, hoping it could rinse the lonely feeling off your skin.

It didn’t.

You let yourself slide down until your were laying flat, water bouncing off your chest as your eyes closed. The moments replayed as soon as you did. Your foot knocked the lever to cover the drain and you felt the water pooling beneath you.

You knew you should get up. You had a life to get back to. If you fell apart after Daredevil died and Matt would coincidentally disappear around the same time, it wouldn’t be long before people put two and two together. That would connect you to Exodus. Everything you worked to keep secret would be brought to light and all hell would break loose without either of you there to serve as floodgates to take the brunt of the beatings.

But if Daredevil was dead and Exodus was dead… It wouldn’t matter if Y/N and Matt went missing or if people found out. There’d be no one to attack.

Those thoughts ran rampant as the water level rose, now enough to cover your arms.

Maybe the Bulletin would run a story that someone drowned you. Followed you home and snuck in, caught you by surprise as you were defenseless and getting ready for a shower. That’s why the boots were on but the accessories were off.

Now the water started covering your chest.

Hopefully Karen would write the story. You trusted her to create something that didn’t criminalize you or Matt.

You figured the water would eventually soak the floorboards and bother your downstairs neighbors. They’d call the landlord, who’d come in and find your body. Karen or Foggy would have to ID you.

Karen or Foggy would have to ID you.

The water had reached your chin when you realized that. You remembered what it was like when your office had to ID Elena’s body, how heartbroken Karen was. You remembered what Foggy felt when he realized one of his best friends weren’t coming back. Could you really do that to him?

The water was creeping up your nose when you made a decision.

You shot up so quickly that the water sloshed over the side of the tub and soaked your mat. You turned the water off and cleared the drain, sitting in the draining water while you coughed violently to clear the water from your airways.

You decided quickly that you wouldn’t tell anyone about that.

As days passed and there was no news on any bodies beneath the rubble, you truly gave up hope. You had lost everything. And everytime you woke up in that bed, the bed that would always smell like him, you were slapped in the face with that reminder. Every morning it made you scream.

One morning a few weeks of nothing, you thought there was somewhere you could go yet again. You knew it would be the same, that being there would change nothing. But still, your heart forced some hope into your thoughts.You told yourself that you could find comfort in this place, like you did before, because it was somewhere so dear to him. Somewhere maybe you could relish in his memory rather than be suffocated by it. Wearing one of Matt’s old college sweaters, one that still smelled like his cologne, you walked the familiar path to the church.

You sat alone on the bench outside, though if someone had asked you what was special about the church, you wouldn’t have had an answer for them. The building didn’t pulse with devotion anymore, despite patrons walking in and out. It didn’t feel warm or smell like cinnamon. Instead it was like abandoned ruins, like the fire inside was snuffed out after being used to tear it down. You turned to face the church and leaned against the rod iron fence, resting your chin against the hands you had folded over the metal.

“Little lonely out here, isn’t it?” Father Lantom asked as he came and motioned to the space beside you. “And cold.”

You scooted to make a bit more room but said nothing.

“Y/N, right?”

“Mhmm.” You hummed.

“You know, it’s much warmer inside. And my offer for a latte still stands, or just a conversation.”

You offered a weak, polite smile. “I actually think it’d be colder.” You said honestly. “I just…”

“Seal of confession applies to this bench.” He offered genuinely. “If you need it.”

You were quiet for a moment as you thought about it. You knew how Matt trusted Father Lantom, how he knew he would get honest advice from him. And if Matt trusted him, that still meant something. You let your head fall to the side and looked at the older man beside you, feeling like a lost child looking for someone to help.

“I miss him… Everyday I wake up alone. Every night I sit on my rooftop and wait for that damned suit. But I know it’ll never come. Then it hits me and everything is fresh again and I feel like I can’t breathe anymore. He’s gone… He’s gone but I’m still here.”

“And you blame yourself?”

“I couldn’t stop him…”

“I see… And you joined him in this other life?”

“I did..” You smiled softly, thinking of nights you and Matt spent running around Hell’s Kitchen in your vigilante suits. “And when we were out there, all night… It was like we were unstoppable. We had each other’s backs.”

“That’s why you feel you should’ve saved him?”

“C’mon, Father. You knew him.. He was a better person than me. Why did he deserve to die?”

“Y/N, no one deserves to die… When Matthew was young and struggling with his new life, I once explained to him that God’s plan is like a beautiful woven tapestry. But only He can see the true beauty of it. We see the frayed strings and messy stitches, and even that is just a fragment of the picture, so it doesn’t make sense. But what is planned for each and every one of us is truly remarkable.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” You sighed. “I know bringing in your big guy upstairs is the whole point of this place, but I didn’t come here to find religion. To be honest, God and I are never gonna be on the same page. That’s why I gave up on religion.. There’s not a single one that can save me.”

“Then what did you come to find?”

“A memory of Matt that didn’t make me feel like I was drowning.”

“Thought I’d find you here.” A familiar voice announced from behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Billy. “You doin’ okay?”

“No different than yesterday.” You shrugged and got to your feet. “Thanks for the chat, Father.”

“You’re welcome here anytime, Y/N. Whatever the reason.”

That was part of your new routine for the next few days. You would wake up, go sit on your worn spot outside the church until Billy or Curtis found you. Sometimes they’d bring coffee or breakfast. You went to work and took it out on the new recruits. You went home and felt everything drain out of you, except on nights where you went to Curtis’ support group for veterans or beat the shit out of a punching bag at Fogwell’s. But most nights, you laid on your rooftop when the sun went down until the air grew cold and damp enough to make your nose runny. Then you’d climb into your far too big bed, sleeping on Matt’s side to make sure no one else dared to touch it, and fight through the night to sleep just to wake up in a daze.

You woke up confused why you were on the wrong side and reached over to find yourself alone. Then you remembered he was gone and you started the cycle all over again.

You started inviting Billy over after work instead of your rooftop isolation after about a week of waking up screaming for Matt and getting no response.

“Finally bringing me home to meet the mister?” He teased the first time you had him in your cold, lonely apartment.

“Nah, you wish… He’s gone, actually.” You said simply, trying to keep any type of emotion out of your voice. “Drink?”

“If it’ll get you to tell me what’s really goin’ on with you lately..”

“Since when are you so interested in my personal life, Mr. Russo?” You tried to joke as you sat beside him and handed him a beer.

The same beer Matt always kept on hand. It was cheap and tasted like it. You didn’t even like it that much but… Matt.

“Since the guys have been complaining about ‘the chick who takes her job way too seriously’. All of a sudden you invite me over while your guy’s away… Somethin’ isn’t adding up here, Y/N.”

“He’s not away, Billy. He’s dead… He’s been dead for a little while.”

“So that’s what happened…”

“Yeah.. I thought I’d be okay but it just hurts. And I’m tired of being alone…”

That was when you started sleeping with Billy.

It was a distraction. And it worked for a week, maybe two. When you woke up with Billy in your bed - on your side of course, you’d never let anyone else sleep on Matt’s side - you didn’t feel so empty. Until you realized you weren’t acknowledging it was Billy until you woke up fully. You went to bed and in those first few moments in the morning when you were still groggy and unsure, in your mind it was Matt.

The day you realized was the same night Foggy came over with something to say.

“It’s about time we finally talked.” You ushered him inside. “You’ve hardly said anything to me since you found out about Ex.”

“Can you blame me for needing some time?” He asked with a weak shrug.

“Couple days, sure. It’s been- What, almost two months?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come by sooner.”

You shrugged. “Why are you here now? Wanna hear my tragic backstory or rationale for being a murderer?”

“No one said you’re a murderer.” He sighed.

“Y’know, Karen once told me what you said to her. I think it was about Fisk… You said ‘You can’t just run around killing people and call yourself a human being.’ So what, Fog? Am I not a human being anymore?”

“Y/N… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Just say what you want.” You said flatly. “What did you come here to tell me?”

“That I’m worried about you.” He said softly. “I’ve never seen you shut down like this.”

“Yeah, well, Matt’s never died before. Has he?” You laughed bitterly. “Honestly, Foggy, I feel absolutely shitty every day that I wake up. I’ve never felt this horrible. I don’t even want to get up and go to work. I wake up and I remember that I was too weak to beat him. He kissed me and suddenly, that’s all I could think about. Next thing I realized, he uses my own discs against me and I’m being pulled to the elevator.”

“I will never understand what it feels like.” Foggy said softly, carefully stepping closer to you. “I wasn’t there. But Y/N, shutting down isn’t gonna help you process this grief. You need us around.”

“I don’t know how to grieve!” You shouted suddenly. You caught the small movement out the corner of your eye and you quickly realized what it was. “Did you just flinch?”

Silence.

“Foggy.. Are you afraid of me?” You asked carefully.

He sighed instead of answering.

You swallowed the lump building in your throat and nodded slightly. “Yeah, of course you are.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He tried quickly. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“C’mon.” You scoffed. “It’s practically dripping off you.”

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” He insisted. “We’re just worried about you, Y/N/N. I know losing Matt was hard for you.”

“Of course it was. It hurt like nothing in the world. If anyone gets that, it should be you.”

“I do, but we don’t think that this is the best thing for you to be doing.”

“And what exactly do you think I’m doing?”

“C’mon.” He scoffed slightly but you stared expectantly instead of answering. “Billy Russo?”

“What does it matter who I sleep with? It’s not like I’m cheating on anyone.”

“So it doesn’t bother you to bring guys into Matt’s apartment?”

“My apartment.”

“Into Matt’s bed?”

“My bed.”

“Either way. Sleeping with your boss-“

“He’s not my boss anymore.” You cut in. “I’m leaving Anvil. I have to report to Quantico for training next week.”

“Really?”

You nodded. “Dex called a few days ago.”

“That’s great.” He gave a small smile. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“When was I supposed to?” You have a small shrug.

“Do you think this is gonna help you feel better?”

“I don’t want to feel better..” You shook your head and laughed bitterly as you spoke a truth you hadn’t even admitted to yourself . “Because no one is ever gonna love me like that again! I don’t want to get over it! I want to sit with him in bed and I know it’s really fucking selfish but I’m so fucking lost without him. Someone loved me, Foggy. Someone actually loved me and I loved him, too! And goddamnit, I was worth something to him!”

“That’s what this about?” He pressed. “You want someone to tell you you’re worth something?”

“I earned something with Matt. Despite every odd being against us and everything that tried to kill us, we made it because we fought for it.” You said as you stared at the countertop, a cold sadness creeping into your chest that you tried to push away. “He showed me that I had the right to die, right to live. Just a right to choose, yknow? Me and him, we were both a trainwreck but also somehow making it. And I would do it all again.”

“You guys had something special.” He nodded. “I’d never seen him as happy as he was when you were around.”

“All my miserable life, I loved someone I barely knew.. I remember figuring out he was Daredevil and I felt absolutely gutted. It was like… Who was he? How had I not known sooner?”

“None of us knew, Y/N. He thought he was protecting us.”

“Yeah, you’re preaching to the choir here.” You rolled your eyes. “My point is that now he’s down there-“ You made a vague gesture towards Midland Circle. “-and I’m still here. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Not shut us out. Y/N, we love you! We’re here for you but you won’t talk to us!”

“Cause I don’t want to feel better! What part of that isn’t getting through? I want to rip the skies apart and fight God! I want to make a deal with any religion that’ll bring him back!”

“I want him back, too.” He tried, stepping to the opposite side of the counter.

“But it wasn’t your fault, was it?”

“I’m the one who brought him the suit! I brought yours! It’s my fault just as much as yours!”

“The difference is that we were going in there whether you brought the suits or we had to get them ourselves! He’s dead because I couldn’t stop him!”

“No one blames you!”

“I do! I wake up every day and when I wake up without him, I know it was because I failed him. I loved him so goddamn much and…”

“Y/N..” He said softly, reaching for the hand closest to him. Looking down at your palms that rested on the countertop, you noticed they were shaking. “You don’t have to put yourself through this alone… We all get it.”

“Then why is everybody not angry? Crying out? Screaming and cursing and acknowledging he’s gone?” You looked up to meet his worried eyes. “Why is everybody so happy in the sun like nothing happened at all? Jessica. Luke. God, Luke. He could’ve tried to stay. You don’t think the unbreakable man wouldn’t have had better luck surviving a falling building than a blind man in a devil costume?!”

He didn’t have an answer.

“But the same goes for Danny. Or Claire. Nobody has talked about it. You wanna know who actually called? Colleen. And I hardly talked to her! Everyone else shrugged it off that Matt Murdock is dead. He died for this city that he loved so much and this city doesn’t even know it!”

“Me. You. Karen. We all have matching wounds from what happened.”

“Do we?” You laughed bitterly and stood tall, pulling your hand away. “Matching wounds? Cause it seems like mine is still black and bruised and hurting, but you guys are perfectly fine.”

“Y’know what.” He sighed and stood a step back with hands up in surrender. “If you don’t want us around, you want to do the same bullshit lone soldier routine Matt did, go ahead. But if you get yourself killed, that would be your fault.”

He left after that and slammed the door behind him.

You stood in the kitchen for a moment, quiet as you processed what happened. Then you screamed in frustration and slammed your hand against the countertop. You winced and peaked down to see the split skin at the base of your pinky’s knuckle where it hit the handle of the fork you had left out from the morning. You groaned in annoyance before rinsing it in the sink as three quick taps sounded on your door before it opened.

“Hey. Saw your friend in the hall.” He announced his arrival.

“Yeah..” You said absently.

“You alright? What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s not your problem to worry about, Billy.” You sighed and lifted your eyes to look at him. “That’s not the kinda thing we have going here.”

He offered a slightly amused but challenging raise of his brows as he came around to your side of the counter. He put his hands on the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in as he leaned closer. You huffed quietly and hopped up to sit on the cool marble.

“Y’know you’re burning up?” He tried with a smirk.

“Yeah, tends to happen when I’m pissed off.”

“So what do you say…” His hands slid up the side of your legs and under your shirt, fingers dancing against your lower back. “… we burn off a little steam?”

The next day, you stared in your bathroom mirror after you woke up and left Billy in the bed. Your conversation with Foggy bounced around your skull all night but you kept coming back to one solid thing.

Everyone else was fine. They were done grieving and had accepted his death. You had to do the same.

You let your mind drift to Midland Circle, to the crushing memory of watching the collapsing building swallow the man you loved.

You watched the blue cloudiness fan across your eyes and you let yourself feel frozen until suddenly, your vision cleared and you felt nothing as you flicked away the single tear.

You weren’t happy. You weren’t sad. You weren’t grieving or angry or alone.

You were absolutely empty.

Maybe that’d be a better way to start this new chapter of your life. A few months away from the Kitchen, away from your grief and any sort of feeling might be what you need to find some semblance of who you used to be.

Or you’ll find someone new to be.

[liminal-storage]

#8: Glass Dust (Shed)

Prompt: Shed  Characters: Kuni Content Warning: Very minor mentions of blood.

-----------------

Thin slivers of glass glimmered like stars upon the floor. There had to be thousands of them, scattered all the way from where the flower vase had slipped out of her hands to spots underneath the bar. Kuni found herself feeling thankful for her abode's lack of carpeting, save for a few rugs in spaces here and there. Cleaning glass fragments out of carpet would be a nightmare, and she already had plenty of those.

Sweeping everything thoroughly away took a while, but even with as thorough as she was, she wouldn't be at all surprised if she found glass dust somewhere later on. That shit persisted like glitter. And like her tendency towards picking up problems.

A bare foot came down on a stealthy, missed shard and she hissed in pain. A few minutes of awkward hobbling and propping herself against the wall later, and she got an eye on her now-pierced heel. Fingers grasped the offending object and pulled, a few drops of blood shedding upon the floorboards.

If only her current problem could be shed so easily, she thought. One good poke and then it'd pour out of its own accord.

If only, if only.

It'd been easy enough to play off, keep under wraps, keep under a tentative sort of control so far. Perhaps she should be grateful to Actaeon for his own time in her head, as she couldn't imagine handling her current situation so well were it not for the previous experience. But then she scoffed.

Grateful?

No. She could never be grateful to any entity or person who only wanted to use her.

Besides, she wouldn't be able to keep this semblance of control over it forever. Already, there were nights she could feel what it felt. There was a hunger to it, something she'd known all too well a few times in her life. That gnawing, empty ache of starvation that came from long periods without regular meals when times were more slim. It was a constant with this entity, a threat to gorge itself on everything it could manage to get its hands, her hands on if she slipped up.

Beneath the hunger there dwelled a strange sense of yearning, searching, as though the entity was merely waiting to arrive somewhere. A passenger hitchhiking within an unwilling carriage. Kuni wasn't sure she wanted to see what its destination was.

As it was, she was going to have to stop putting off asking for help, even though Priarch and her friends already had a myriad of problems. Then again, when didn't they? If she waited for the table to be completely clear of issues so she could present her own, she'd be waiting a long time indeed.

If only she could bleed it all out.

[containatrocity]

Chokepoint

Cyan is starting to get really tired of enduring 'once in a lifetime' trauma over and over again.

TW for Descriptions of Gore, Vomit

It should have just been a normal work day. He should have just gone to the computer classroom, but oh, no, bleeding heart fool he's become- he can't help but investigate.

It's odd. intuition was not his strong-suit, being observant, in fact, had always been something he was relatively terrible at, compared to many of his other more present and polished skills- it had taken him months to figure out that Sissy liked him- and it had taken until it was too late to realize that Gia had too. His hand finds the hanging thumb drive among the other jewelry around his neck, still present even dressed more 'academically'- it was a comfort, 'the more things changed the more they might stay the same' the saying goes, and maybe that's the only reason he notices something off, today.

His fondness for routine, yes- that had to be the reason he was observant enough to catch the way the gym seemed. Different. There was usually at least one door open, right? A light on, certainly. It was part of the routine, to cut through the gym for a shortcut to his classroom, the doors in the back closer than weaving hallways, the acoustics nice enough without anyone else present that he could practice some of the melodies the band had been working on.

It's pitch black when he nudges the door to the gym open, though- even the scant emergency lights that he knew should be on turned off- something that was only done on purpose, flipping all the switches off instead of the few the faculty tended to. Then he's met with the smell.

He's more familiar with it now- Rusty's been teaching him to hunt, Sissy's been trying to walk him through prepping meat for meals and storage- through preserving pelts to turn into leather, blankets, clothes- The bitter, coppery smell of blood is something he's able to recognize easily, now- it still makes his stomach turn. "What, some kids break in and play Carrie last night? Jesus." He mutters to himself, using the thin light filtering in from the hallway through the now open gym doors to find his way to the light switches. He makes a distasteful sound, as his foot squelches in something as he's making the short trek, pulling his radio from his belt and flicking to the ranger line.

"Hey, Uncle Rusty? You around?"

"About t' hang it up for the morning and head to Jack's to get a little sleep in, what's up, kid?"

"I'm just wondering if Duck's said anything about any animals at the high school? Something that likes gnawing on wires or something? It's dark in the gym, smells like a slaughterhouse and I think I just stepped in shit." There's a laugh, on the other end of the line, and Cyan's not sure if that's Rusty or another night ranger. He rolls his eyes- finally settling his hand on the light switches and throwing them back on. "yeah, yeah, yuck it up, I'm gonna have to wash my shoe, I've only got the one nice pair and-"

The crumpled body of someone lies on the floor nearby as he turns around, a sticky river of sanguine streaking polished floorboards. He can't recognize who it is- if that's because he didn't know the guy, or because where his head probably should be is now a fleshy amalgam of blood, bone and hair, Silas isn't sure. He does know one thing, suddenly the smell makes sense, and the visual- paired with the realization that what his foot had flattened was a smear of gray-matter now clinging to the toe of his shoe- is enough to send him doubling, his coffee, toast and eggs of the morning coming back up in one sudden blow- his walkie clattering to the floor nearby in the blood.

"...Mallard hasn't said anything about anything getting into the school, but he and Hobbes don't really deal with anything much smaller than a squirrel when it comes down to it, could be mice- Cy? Silas? Kid? you still there? Somethin' pluck ya off the face 'a the earth?" The walkie chatters away at his feet- Cyan's breathing quickens, and panic sets in. His fist balls, striking at his upper chest and shoulder roughly, the stim doing little to help him catch his breath, as he staggers backwards- reaching his unoccupied hand to the mess to retrieve his walkie.

Cold blood sticks to his fingers, stains his palm, as he weakly presses the button. "Still here. Hold on." He turns the knob at the top, the oddly cheery robotic voice listing off the numbers of the walkie channels until he stops on the one for the Police Station.

"Um. This is." between his stomach struggling to empty itself again, and the blooming pain from a desperate, last ditch attempt to self-soothe- it's hard to speak. "This is Cyan Chiyoda- I'm at- I'm at the high school for- for the start of my shift- I- I was cutting through the gym like I always do and- f-fuck they bashed his fucking brains in what the fuck?" There's confusion, on the other side of the line.

"Just- send somebody! Fuck! Anybody who's not me to fucking deal with this and don't let any of the fucking kids leave for school today, alright?"

"Cyan, are you saying there's an attack victim in the gym?"

"No. I'm saying there's a fucking murderer on the loose, and they just knocked off somebody else! Fucking send somebody to do their job what the fuck do they pay you for to ask stupid questions?!" Cyan sighs, realizes, after a moment of pause, that nobody at the station speaks 'frantic, panicked japanese' as a second language. "Someone was killed. it wasn't the ghosts. I know it wasn't."

"... Alright, Cyan, just, sit tight, alright?"

"I'm not staying in here with the body." I'll stand outside the gym- make sure none of the other teachers or s-staff stumble in if they don't catch... whatever announcement." He releases his finger from the radio button- stomach turning, as he notices clinging red against pale skin. he isn't sure if they'll count this as evidence, and so, carefully, he places his walkie, and toes out of his brain-slicked shoe just off to the side of the scene. One he's stumbled into.

He's really getting tired of being a potential suspect at these things.