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starlightazriel · 5 months ago

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glass heart

desc: fem reader mated to azriel short one shot/drabble based on this request

warnings: ANGST, death of a child/stillbirth, time jumps

a/n: i received this request last night and my fingers were ITCHING to get it out omg i hope you enjoy the angst as much as me ! masterlist

wc: 1.5k

Drowning in the dry air.

Like all of the breath had been completely sucked from your lungs.

There was no sound, you couldn't hear anything, despite the cries and screams coming from your mouth you couldn't hear it. You couldn't hear what Azriel was saying as he held your arms in place, they were all trying to, but you needed your babe. You needed your beautiful baby girl. She was blue, wrapped in linen, not a breath, not a cry... Nothing. It was as if she had taken everything out of the world with her, any bit of happiness and light that you'd ever felt, she put it out, with her blue little body. Born like that, not a coo nor a wail.

You had failed. You failed yourself, you failed Azriel, you failed the beautiful baby and the family you were supposed to have with your mate. Your ears rung, the sound from the room eventually dialing in, none of them mattered, because they weren't your babe crying.

"Baby look at me, look at me," Azriel begged, pleaded with you to do anything besides scream. Feyre was holding the babe still, looking frightened of you as she stared back at you clutching your cold baby to her chest. "Calm down," Azriel continued to beg, anger ripped through you. How dare they. You needed to say goodbye.

"Give me my baby girl," you shrieked, your voice echoing through the room, she slowly advanced, placing the babe in your arms. You stared down at her face, blue, never able to take her first breaths. Her tiny wings took your breath away, another sob broke through you. Everything hurt, there was so much blood everywhere due to the complications, but no amount of physical pain you were feeling could compare with the hole that was now in your chest, marked onto you for life, never to be filled. You were lucky to even be alive, but you wished to be dead, how could you live with yourself anymore? Another sob ripped through your chest as you rocked and rocked, holding her to your chest.

"Y/n," Azriel pleaded with you desperately, his eyes were clouded, but his tears didn't fall. You ignored him, nothing mattered, you couldn't breathe, your heart was shattered... Gone.

"I'm sorry, Im sorry, I'm sorry," you sobbed over and over again, kissing the babes head, your little daughter, gone before you could even have her

You shook softly as Azriel poured the water over your head, washing away the soap he had put in your hair. He hadn't left your side for even a second, he hated how you were blaming yourself, how you refused to accept any other reality besides the one that involved you completely destroying yourself. Azriel carefully lifted you from the tub, setting you down on the small bench and carefully drying your body. He knew your knees would give out the moment he tried to make you stand. He pulled your nightgown over your head and scooped you up in his arms again before he carefully laid you back on your bed.

Sobs racked through your body, you rocked and rocked, Azriels shadows held you, caressed you. He sat in the chair by the fireplace in your shared room, a blank expression on his face as he watched you. He felt so numb. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't save you, he couldn't take your pain away. He didnt dare speak, he didnt dare approach you, or try to touch you again. Beyond bathing and clothing you wouldn't let him touch you.

Last night, he had tried, and you threw a vase of flowers at him that Mor had dropped off to signify her condolences. He couldn't talk to you, no one could, you refused to talk to anyone. It had been a whole week and you hadn't touched any food. He was desperate for you to say anything to him, to let him know you were okay, even though he knew you weren't.

"I love you," he tried, but you only cried harder, he winced, rising to his feet. You didnt ask where he was going, didnt even bother to look when he exited the room. He crossed the hall and went out the door to the balcony, shooting himself into the rain filled sky.

"Please come out of the room tonight," his tone was soft, so soft. It was the only way he had talked to you for eight months. You were starting to get sick of it, it was starting to build rage deep inside you. You knew it was eating him up inside to watch you wither away, but you didnt need his pity, this was your fault, you couldn't birth your baby. Frustration coursed through you because no one understood, not even Azriel. "It's winter solstice," he tries again when you don't respond, still in that same soft pathetic tone like he just felt so bad for you. He had been waiting on you hand and foot, barely working because he refused to leave your side for more than a day, bringing endless trays of food up to your room even though you refused to eat, bathing you and washing your hair, dressing you, even though you wouldn't leave the room. He had been so patient, and it almost drove you more mad.

"You can stop talking to me like that, Im not as fragile as you might think," you bite back, venom in your words. He draws back, you feel him, you feel his shadows shy away from your aggression, from your anger.

"Im sorry," he retorts, a similar bite lacing his tone, "but what the fuck do you want from me y/n?!" he demands, you twist around in the blankets, surprise covering your face, you can't even remember the last time he'd used a tone like that with you. "Everyone has told me to give you time, I have given you time. It's been eight months, you've barely left this room, Ive never seen you this skinny, you don't eat, you barely drink unless it's wine, you don't talk to me, you don't kiss me, we haven't had sex in I don't even know how long. I don't even know you anymore! I want my mate back," he was frustrated, you knew him well, he was going crazy. He didnt know how to cope with this new version of you, this shell of yourself. "I lost our baby too you know!"

"I killed our fucking child Azriel, we were supposed to be parents, and youre worried that we haven't had sex?" you look at him, disgust and horror written on your face. It didnt matter how many times he told you that it wasnt your fault, that everything happened for a reason, that you would try again in a few years, none of it helped, none of it made it better. It only made you more angry. And he expected you to leave your room when you couldn't even stomach being around Feyre and Nyx, you knew it wasnt fair, but the jealousy ate you up any time they came to visit.

"Oh you know that's the least fucking important thing out of everything I just said," he furrowed his brows, rising to his feet to look down at you, his shadows swirled and licked around him angrily. "When are you going to stop blaming yourself? When are you going to let it go y/n? You can't spend the rest of our lives in this room," he was so frustrated, so exasperated, he didn't know how to help you, how to fix you.

"Let it go?" Each word was drawn out slowly, laced with so much venom that Azriel took a large step back. "Our babe is dead and you want me to let it go," your anger and hate and depression was like a dark heavy cloud hanging over the room, it had been there for months. "No Azriel, no I will not be leaving the room, and no I will not be letting anything go," you're seething, your body trembling as you stare back at him.

"You know I didnt mean it like that," he breathes, softening and hes about to reach for you but you turn your back on him, staring into the dark winter night out your window. He sighs and a few long moments of silence pass. "Happy solstice my love," he says before tossing a small wrapped box onto the bed beside you before leaving you alone in your depression den, sucking all the warmth from the air out the door with him. You hadn't wanted him to leave, to back down, you wished he had forced you to come with him.

Hesitantly, with shaking fingers you grab the box, carefully undoing the ribbon and opening the box inside. You suck in a small breath, tears welling up in your eyes again. It was a beautiful silvery chain with a glass heart hanging from it, encapsulated in the heart was a tiny fragment of your babes wing. You sobbed softly, clutching the pendant to your chest. Your eyes squeezed shut, your body shaking with each cry. Guilt washed over you, you shouldn't have treated Az like that. He didn't deserve any of it.

Tomorrow you told yourself. Tomorrow you would leave your room.

a/n: sobbing

#acotar #acotar smut #azriel fic #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #azriel smut #azriel fluff #azriel fan fiction #azriel x reader #azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar

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dixons-sunshine · 1 month ago

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Was It The Boogeyman? | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Soon upon your group’s arrival to Alexandria, a masked killer begun running loose. Having no idea who they could be, Rick started an investigation, one that lead you to realize that you could not always trust everyone, especially not people who seemed to be unsuspecting at first.

Genre: Halloween, Slasher themes.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, death, near-death, others I can’t think of right now.

Word count: 5.9k

A/N: For @ghostboneswrites2’s Halloween challenge! To be honest, I feel like this is not the best, and I feel like the plot is all over the place, but I hope you like it nonetheless!

A bloodcurdling scream rang through the air. Rushing towards the source of the chilling sound, you, Daryl and Rick came face to face with a woman named Sarah, who had rushed out of the pantry. The woman looked as pale as a ghost, her hands shaking as she clutched onto the notebook in her hands.

“They got her! The killer got Olivia!”

You pushed past the woman, and walked into the garage that doubled as both the pantry and the armoury. There, laying in a big puddle of her own crimson blood, was Olivia, the former caretaker of the weaponry in the armoury. Her glasses were shattered on the ground a few feet away from her body, and a chunk of her brunette hair laid next to the spectacles, drenched in the woman’s blood.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, taking a tentative step towards the body. However, before you could take another step, you were gently pulled back, the familiar cerulean eyes of your partner coming into view when you turned your head. “What’s wrong?” you inquired, your eyebrows furrowed together.

“We dun’ know how long she’s been dead,” he began, his eyes darting over to the lifeless corpse of the woman. “She can reanimate at any minute.”

That fact you knew. A lifeless corpse reanimating had been what had alerted you all to the murders that had been happening around the alleged ‘safe zone’ in the first place. Deanna’s husband, Reg, had been murdered in cold blood a few weeks prior, and his reanimated corpse had caused quite the uproar amongst the other inhabitants. Thankfully, there had been no casualties; that is, if you didn’t include the community’s leader’s broken heart.

Deanna Monroe had been absolutely crushed by the death of her husband. She had been the one to put him down after encountering his undead self, and your heart went out for the woman. She had been nothing but kind to your group since you all had set foot through the gates, and she didn’t deserve to suffer from such pain.

You were drawn from your thoughts by the sight of Daryl crouched over Olivia’s body, his knife disappearing into her skull, before being retracted once more. The metal of the deadly weapon sported a red colour as the crimson liquid dripped from the object down onto the floor below. However, the knife was soon cleaned off with Daryl’s trusty red rag, returning the weapon to its former state of cleanliness.

The sound of heavy footsteps walking into the garage got your attention. You turned around and saw Rick approach the part of the room that held the bloody, gruesome scene. Your leader’s blue eyes flickered between the corpse and the blood that surrounded it, before he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger.

“This is death number three,” he said, frustration lacing his tone of voice. “Three deaths in two weeks.”

The Grimes man’s words rung true. Olivia’s unfortunate demise chalked up the death toll since the murderer made their debut to ‘three’. Reg had been killed first. Then a few days later, Pete Anderson’s life had been taken as well, his body being found near the infirmary. And now Olivia had joined them in the afterlife, too.

The killer’s pattern made no sense to you whatsoever. What did Reg, Pete and Olivia have in common for them to be murdered? How were they connected? What had they done to deserve a fate so cruel? Well, you knew what Pete Anderson had done to deserve it, but Reg and Olivia? It did not make a lick of sense to you.

With a deep sigh, you trudged forward and crouched down next to Olivia’s lifeless body, taking Daryl’s place as he stood up. Scanning over her body, you could quickly determine the method that had been used to kill her; strangulation, and then an odd looking stab wound through her chest. She had not been stabbed with a regular knife. Of that much you were completely certain. However, you could not decipher the weapon that had been used to pierce through the woman’s chest.

You glanced up at the two men. “She was strangled. And stabbed. There’s not really any telling which one got the job done, but the killer made sure to be thorough. They didn’t want her to survive this.”

“Christ,” Daryl muttered, shaking his head. “This killer’s sure got quite the way’a makin’ a lastin’ impression.”

“I just wish they’d choose something else to do it,” you mused aloud, your lips tugging into a grimace when your fingers traced over the clear-as-day blueish purple bruises that clearly depicted a handprint around the woman’s neck. Then, you stood up, crossing your arms over your chest. “This shit’s just inhumane.”

With a weary sigh, Rick shook his head and turned around, making his way out of the garage. You and Daryl shared a look, before the both of you simultaneously followed behind your leader, needing to know his thoughts on the matter. He had been your leader since the early days at the quarry, and even though Deanna Monroe still claimed official leadership over the Alexandrian safe zone, Rick had essentially taken over, and you would not have it any other way.

“Rick?” the archer’s voice rung out once the two of you had caught up with the Grimes man, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “What now?”

Another sigh left Rick’s mouth. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows furrowed together as he gathered his thoughts. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his blue eyes flitting between you and Daryl.

“No luck on the investigation?” you questioned him.

Shortly after the death of Reg, and then Pete, Rick had implemented an investigation, one which only he and Michonne were a part of, to avoid drawing any suspicions towards what they were doing. More people being let in on the investigation could potentially spill the secret as to who exactly was actively looking for the murderer, therefore the investigators would be the murderer’s next targets, and nobody wanted that. The murderer certainly knew that people were looking for them, but they did not know who.

Rick shook his head in acknowledgement to your words. “Nothin’. This killer’s smart. I haven’t found anythin’,” he admitted without hesitation. “Michonne and I have been turnin’ this place upside down lookin’ for clues, but it’s like this killer doesn’t even exist afterwards. It’s like they just vanish into thin air.”

Taking Rick’s admission into consideration, Daryl slowly nodded. “Ya think it could be someone from the outside? Someone who could be sneakin’ in to do this?”

“It’s a possibility,” Rick agreed, “but probably unlikely. We have people keepin’ watch all hours of the day. It doesn’t seem likely that someone would manage to sneak in.”

“So basically, we’re still nowhere near finding out who the murderer is,” you concluded, a heavy sigh leaving your body. “Three casualties and still nothing. Not even a meaningless clue that could lead us in the right direction.”

Daryl placed a hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against your clothed skin soothingly. He knew how stressed you were, and for good reason. Who’s to say that the murderer’s next victim wasn’t someone you cared for? Who’s to say the murderer’s next victim was not you? The archer did not even want to consider that last possibility.

Rick sent you a look of sympathy, understanding your frustrations towards the entire ordeal. However, he did not know how to ease your worries when he was unable to quench his own worries. You had every right to worry about this murderer. He certainly did not blame you in the slightest.

Suddenly, realization dawned on Rick, and he cleared his throat. “Actually, we did find somethin’,” he began, effectively recapturing both yours and Daryl’s attention. “There was a witness in Pete’s murder. They said that they saw someone walk away, and that the person was wearin’ a mask.”

“Well, that’s just great,” you voiced with a heavy sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

“So what, this killer s’like some sort’a Boogeyman or somethin’?” Daryl inquired with a scoff. The whole situation had been weighing heavily on the archer’s shoulders since the first body had dropped a few weeks prior. It was only a matter of time until the unknown killer attacked once more, maybe even taking the life of somebody he truly cared for. He needed to find this vicious murderer, and fast.

“I mean, technically speaking, the killer’s kinda more like Ghostface,” you corrected him, your arms crossed over your chest.

“Ghostface?” Daryl echoed in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing. “What’s that?”

Your eyes flitted over to your partner. “Those killers from the Scream franchise?” When recognition did not dawn on the archer, you furthered your explanation. “You know, the movies with that terrifying white ghost-like mask? The Ghostface mask? The mask that the two killers wear in all the movies?” A few beats of silence passed. Sensing that nobody in the small group knew what you were talking about, you shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. Boogeyman is as good of a code name as any.”

Rick cleared his throat, diverting the attention back to the more important matter at hand. “So, this Boogeyman, they clearly only strike once they’re absolutely sure nobody else is around. Until we can come up with a concrete way to catch them once and for all, I think it’s best if nobody is alone. Perhaps groupin’ people together in houses could help.”

“Ain’t too sure folks ‘round here are gon’ take too kindly to that idea,” Daryl voiced, his eyes flickering between you and Rick.

Rick shrugged and looked at his found brother. “If they wanna stay safe, they’re gonna have to go with it, whether they like it or not.”

“You want me to ask Deanna to call a meeting so we can spread the word?” you asked, your eyes locking with those of your leader.

Rick shook his head. “No. Deanna’s not in the best mindset at the moment. She can’t make important calls like this right now. I’ll call it. In the meantime, you and Daryl clean up the body. No need to have people causin’ an uproar.”

“What do we tell people when they come lookin’ for her?” Daryl questioned gruffly.

Rick hesitated for a moment. “We don’t have anythin’ to hide. Tell them the truth.”

With that, Rick turned around and left, leaving you and Daryl alone in front of the garage. You exchanged a look with your partner, your eyes conveying more about how you felt than words could in that moment. However, you pushed your emotions aside for the time being. You had a job to do.

With a sigh, you turned around and stalked into the pantry, your sense of smell instantly being overpowered by the overwhelming stench of death that lingered in the air. You had to stop and close your eyes momentarily, both in an attempt to gather your thoughts and to not accidentally vomit at the gruesome sight in front of you. I’ve seen worse, you attempted to remind yourself. However, that did not seem to help at all.

The feeling of someone’s hand on your shoulder snapped you from your trance. Opening your eyes, you looked over your shoulder and locked eyes with your partner. He sent you a small, albeit strained smile, and you had to commend him for his efforts to calm you down.

“Ya dun’ gotta do this,” Daryl began, his tone of voice surprisingly soft and gentle. “I can handle it. Ya can go home.”

Almost instantly, you shook your head, before turning your head back to peer at Olivia’s lifeless corpse. “No, it’s okay. I wanna help.” You sighed and placed one of your hands over his larger one that still remained firmly on your shoulder. “I just wish we didn’t have to do this at all.”

Daryl leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head. “I know,” he murmured into your hair. “It sucks, that’s for damn sure, but it won’t last forever. We’ll find the bastard that did this and take care’a ‘em. I promise ya that.”

You could not help the small smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. “Wow. That was a surprisingly positive outlook for a ‘glass half empty’ kinda person. Being the optimist is usually my approach. Who are you and what did you do to the Daryl Dixon I know and love?”

Daryl scoffed and rolled his eyes, but made no effort to move away just yet. “Yeah, yeah. Can’t always be the pessimist, can I? M’one negative outlook on somethin’ away from turnin’ into a professional grump.” When your giggle reached his ears, he smiled to himself. “Ya feel better?”

You turned around and looked at him. “About all of this?” For added emphasis, you motioned towards the body on the ground. “No. But I don’t feel like I’m gonna break down anymore, so I guess there’s that.”

“Ya can go if ya really need to. I seriously dun’ mind doin’ this myself.”

“No. I’m fine, I promise,” you reassured him. You took a few steps towards the lifeless Olivia, your expression turning grim once more. “I have to do this.”

Cleverly sensing that there was no point in arguing, Daryl nodded. “Alright. Let’s do this, then.”

“I’m telling you, I’m not gonna share my house with him! No way in hell!”

“Linda, I understand your frustrations, but—”

“You don’t understand a thing, lady!” Linda—an older lady you estimated to be in her sixties—cut you off abruptly, her dark brown eyes glaring daggers at you. “He’s the community slob! A miscreant! I’m not gonna allow a man like that in my home. Over my dead body.”

You let out a wary sigh at her declaration. Opting to not take the argument any further, for the sake of your slowly increasing anger, you simply sent a nod in her direction and walked off. Your fists were clenched at your sides, your lips pursed as you attempted to keep your raising frustrations at bay. Linda was not the first person to be frustrated at the new living arrangements being implemented around the Alexandrian safe zone, and you highly doubted that she would be the last. You just hoped you would be able to keep your cool.

It had been a week since the unfortunate death of Olivia. A town meeting had been called in Gabriel’s church a few hours after the discovery of her body, and the fear amongst the people had spiked once Rick had made it known that the community was unsafe at that moment in time, and to not wander around without someone at their sides. However, like Daryl had predicted, people did not like the idea of grouping together in houses, and it had not been instituted until somebody had been attacked by the mysterious masked killer—the Boogeyman—when they were alone in their own home.

Thankfully, the person had survived the ordeal. They did suffer from a stab wound and a broken leg, but they were relatively okay, and they had managed to provide your group with more information, meaning you all were one step closer to solving the case.

You walked down the street and met up with Daryl, who had just finished helping Tobin settle in with Aaron and Eric. He only had to take one look at you to realize that you were not having a good day.

“Bad day?” he asked rhetorically. He knew damn well how bad of a day you were having. The look you sent his way had him chuckling and raising his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Dumb question.” When you simply sent him a strained smile, his eyebrows furrowed. He gently grabbed your hand and held it in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “What’s wrong, Sweetheart?”

“Everything.” Whether you were being dramatic or not, you did not know, nor did you care. “From having to convince people to group up with people they’re not particularly fond of, to having to make sure that people actually listen and don’t try to sneak off back into their own homes, and having to look over my shoulder every few seconds because I’m terrified of the Boogeyman taking me next? Yeah, I am not having a good time.”

Daryl gave your hand another squeeze, a sympathetic look on his features. “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. I wish ya didn’t have to do none of it.” He took a deep breath, before continuing. “And the Boogeyman ain’t gon’ get their hands on ya. M’not gon’ let ‘em. I promise.”

You knew Daryl could not promise you that. Despite all the precautions that were being taken, despite every safety measure that was being implemented to up the difficulty for the killer to strike again, you knew deep down that it would not be enough. Murderers always found a way to work around any obstacle in their paths. If they wanted something, they would stop at nothing to get it. And this killer in particular was extremely careful and smart, so you knew it was only a matter of time until they struck once more.

“I know, but—”

Your words got cut off by a deafening scream. Both you and Daryl whipped around and scanned the area to locate the source of the chilling sound. It did not take long to do so. Another scream sounded through the air, and you could instantly locate where it was coming from—Gabriel’s church.

You took off in a dead sprint, Daryl following closely behind you, his crossbow loaded and ready to be fired at a moment’s notice. Whilst running, you met up with Michonne, Rick and Glenn. Without exchanging so much as a single word, you all burst into the church, weapons raised and pointed in front of you.

That moment was the first moment you saw the Boogeyman face-to-face. The mask the killer was wearing appeared to be a mix between the Ghostface mask and the Jason mask from Friday the 13th. They had blood splattered all over their mask and clothes, and Spencer’s lifeless body laid behind the killer. The murderer was stalking towards Jessie Anderson who was on the ground in front of them, the woman in question backing up fearfully, tears streaming from her eyes.

“No, please!” Jessie pleaded, sobs tearing through her body. “Please!”

A gunshot echoed through the air, just narrowly missing the Boogeyman’s body. That made the killer turn around, their body tensing up as they regarded your group that stood in front of them. Cleverly sensing that they were severly outnumbered, with nothing to defend themselves other than an odd looking knife, they made a run for the back door.

“Go! I’ll take care of Jessie. I’ll get her home. You all take care of the Boogeyman.”

With parting nods, Daryl, Rick, Glenn and Michonne instantly sprung into action, following behind the murderer. However, the killer pushed a bunch of furniture and objects as they ran, effectively slowing them down, but that did not stop the people in your group from bounding out the back door, in search of the long sought-after Boogeyman.

With the immediate threat out of the way for the time being, you rushed forward towards Jessie. You helped her up from the ground and onto one of the seats in the church. Taking a seat next to the clearly traumatized woman, you placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Jessie?” you began softly. However, the woman did not acknowledge you. It was as if your voice had not even reached her ears. The poor woman had seriously gone through it. “Jessie, you’re okay. They’re gone. They’re not gonna hurt you anymore.”

The Anderson woman closed her eyes and shook her head. “Spencer…” she started, her voice trembling as she spoke. “He—he’s dead. The Boogeyman killed him and… and…”

The woman could not even finish her sentence. She broke down into sobs and threw her arms around you unexpectedly. You tensed up momentarily, not expecting her to seek comfort in you. You and Jessie were not exactly close. In fact, Jessie Anderson was probably one of the few Alexandrians you had not been able to develop a big liking for. It was nothing personal towards the woman. You just were not particularly fond of her.

Snapping yourself from your thoughts, you slowly wrapped your arms around Jessie, rubbing her back soothingly. Despite your indifference towards the woman, you could not turn her away in a time of need. What had happened to her was beyond terrible, and it clearly had taken its toll on her.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Jessie,” you whispered to her. “You didn’t deserve to experience that.”

Jessie sniffled and pulled away from your embrace. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry, too. You don’t deserve this either.”

Her words confused you. Your eyebrows furrowed together, but before you could say anything, Jessie lunged forward. The two of you tumbled to the ground, and the Anderson woman placed one of her hands over your mouth to muffle out any noises you made. She hastily reached forward and pulled a cloth from under one of the aisle seats, and brought it up to cover your nose and mouth.

A strange, foul-smelling stench filled your senses. You fought back against her hold, but Jessie had the clear upper hand. Your resistance against her hold grew weaker as the seconds ticked by on the metaphorical clock, until you felt too weak to fight back at all. Your arms fell limp at your sides and your eyes began to fall closed.

The last thing you saw before the darkness took over was the face of the blonde woman, her expression cold and filled with no remorse. And then…

Nothing.

You awoke to the smell of something completely foul under your nose. You shot awake with a loud gasp, your eyes being blinded by the harsh light of what appeared to be that of a… spotlight? Once your eyes had adjusted, and your mind had managed to catch up with you somewhat, you attempted to push yourself up, only to find that you could not do so. The same thing occurred with your legs. You were left completely immobile, except for your head.

“Well, well. Look who’s awake. Welcome back to the land of the living… Well, and the dead.”

The sound of a woman’s voice reached your ears. You snapped your head back up, and locked eyes with those of your captor; Jessie Anderson. If looks could kill, the woman would be long dead, for the glare you sent her way would be enough to incinerate her in seconds. However, looks did not possess the power to end one’s mortality, so you were completely powerless to do anything at that particular moment.

Jessie laughed at the glare on your face, the sound positively wicked. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Y/N. You should be glad it was me that got to you. If it was her, she would have killed you instantly. She doesn’t really like you all that much.”

Jessie motioned to something on her left, and you followed her gaze. At first, you could not make out a thing, but once the person stepped into the light, you could not help the gasp that escaped your chest. There, standing right in front of you with the very weapon that had been used to kill all those people, was none other than the supposed leader of the community, Deanna Monroe.

“Deanna,” you muttered in surprise, your eyes widened as the older woman stepped forward, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face.

Deanna shrugged and stepped up next to Jessie. “Hello, Y/N.” When you did not dare say anything to her greeting, she chuckled. “This is the part where you say, ‘hi, Deanna’.”

“You…” You trailed off, your eyes flickering between Deanna and Jessie. “You both… You’re—”

“The Boogeyman?” Jessie cut you off, sharing a smile with Deanna, one that had shivers sprinting over your spine. “Yeah, we are. Well, technically speaking, we’re the Boogeymen. Or Boogeywomen. Whatever floats your boat, really.”

“You two killed all those people,” you voiced in a tone that spoke of disbelief.

Jessie chuckled wickedly. “Ding, ding, ding! You really are smart, huh?” she asked rhetorically, her tone mocking.

“But Pete, and Reg—Spencer…Why?”

The Anderson woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Pete? Believe me, that’s not really any love lost. But hey, it was fun to play the helpless woman for a while, I’ll tell you that. As for Reg, that was my mistake. I thought he was Eugene. Believe me, Deanna still hasn’t forgiven me for that.”

“And I won’t,” Deanna said firmly. “But we have a common goal. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as they say.”

“And your son?” you inquired. Although you were interested to get some insight as to why these two seemingly harmless, friendly women would resort to cold-hearted killing, you were more so attempting to distract them by getting them monologuing, and it appeared to be working. If they were distracted, you would be able to free your hands from the duct tape securing it with the sharp edge of the bracelet, a gift from Carol, specifically gifted should you ever end up in a situation where you needed an inconspicuous sharp object. You truly treasured that woman, now more than ever.

A flash of remorse, of heartbreak, appeared in Deanna’s eyes, before she expertly schooled it with a blank, indifferent expression. “I didn’t want to do it. A mother never wants to do harm to her child in any way. But he saw Jessie place one of our weapons in Gabriel’s church to frame him for the killings, and he was already calling for Rick. I could not have him blow my partner’s cover, so I did what needed to be done.”

“But he was your son! How—how could you? How could you be so heartless?”

“Heartless?!” Deanna bellowed, her tone a stark difference from the usual kindness you had falsely grown to associate her with. “Do you wanna know what’s heartless? Having to hear that your youngest son’s life got cut short because of the people you brought in, people you thought could help change things for the better! Or having to live with the fact that even your own husband was beginning to trust your judgement! That he blamed you for everything that was going wrong! I was heartless by letting you people in! I was heartless because I wasn’t thinking about the people who had been under my care for years!”

Come on, you thought to yourself as you continued cutting away at the duct tape. Only a few more inches. “Oh, so we’re to blame? For everything? Even for your deranged, psychopath of a partner? Why did you have to offer up so much but all she did was kill her asshole husband?”

Jessie, suddenly being brought back into the spotlight, practically snarled at you. “You bitch—”

Snap! Your hands got freed from the harsh tightness of the duct tape. Without a moment of hesitation, you lunged towards Jessie, the sudden momentum miraculously snapping the duct tape securing your legs together. With your limbs freed and your mind on only one thing—to escape and find Daryl—you began to execute your plan. Take out Jessie, the one that was the main killer in all of this, and then Deanna, the brains behind the entire operation. Or at least, that’s what you suspected, anyway.

Due to having the element of surprise on your side this time, Jessie was relatively easy to take care of. You did not want to do it, only resorting to killing when absolutely necessary, not to mention the fact that Jessie had two boys as well, but you had to do it. You pushed the knife you had managed to swipe from her holster deep into her chest, watching the woman choke as she fell limp. She did not die, not instantly, but her wound rendered her unable to do anything. She was out of your way.

Pushing yourself off of the Anderson woman, you spun around to take care of Deanna. However, she was nowhere to be found. The only thing you could see was a door that was opened to the left. She must have fled, which proved your theory to be correct. She may have been the brains behind everything, but she could not do the killing herself. She needed somebody to do the dirty part for her, which meant that she would be easier to take care of.

Making sure to grasp the knife firmly, you rushed up the stairs and out of the building you were in, which you soon realized was the vacant building which doubled as a cell when needed. Clever, you thought as you looked around, hoping to spot the Monroe woman. You soon did, seeing her running down the street, back towards Gabriel’s church.

You took off in a dead sprint, your youth compared to Deanna’s granting you an advantage. You managed to catch up to her, tackling her to the ground right before she could reach the building. However, she let out a deafening scream, alerting everyone in the church to what was going on outside.

In an instant, everyone that had been partaking in, what you assumed to be, the meeting inside rushed out to see what the commotion was about. You winced as everyone’s eyes fell on you, and you knew that you were not in a particularly good spot at that moment. From their perspective, they could see their well loved and respected leader on the ground, screaming bloody murder, with one of the new and slightly feared members of the community on top of her, blood splattered all over her body whilst she had a knife against Deanna’s back.

Yeah, things were definitely not looking good for you.

“Help me!” Deanna yelled desperately, tears streaming from her eyes. “She’s gonna kill me! She’s the Boogeyman!”

You got off of the woman, raising your hands in surrender, although you still clutched the knife in your hand. You had seen your fair share of horror movies before. You would not be the person that dropped the knife to plead their innocence, only to get stabbed in the back by the actual bad guy. You definitely were not stupid enough for that.

Your breath got knocked out of your chest when your found family pushed towards the front of the crowd, their weapons raised and trained in front of them—at you. They did not truly believe Deanna’s claims, did they? Did they seriously have such little faith in your loyalty, in your beliefs to only kill when it was an absolute necessity? Did they truly not trust you?

“I’m not the killer,” you spoke carefully and slowly, your eyes locking with the familiar cerulean-coloured ones of your partner. He had his crossbow aimed at you, and it made your heart sink. “I’m not. Deanna is. And Jessie. They kidnapped me and revealed the whole thing.”

“That’s a lie!” Deanna cried out desperately. “She’s a liar! A murderer! She attacked Jessie and then chased after me when I walked in on her doing it! She’s a psychopath!”

“I’m not,” you insisted, attempting to keep your voice calm and even. It would not do you any good to fall to your knees and plead with them to believe you. “Jessie attacked me in the church after you all ran after the Boogeyman, after Deanna, and she dragged me down to that empty basement where you were kept, Rick.”

“She’s lying!” It was Deanna’s turn to insist. “She killed them all! Pete and Reg, and then she killed Olivia that day in the garage! She’s a cold-hearted murderer!”

Rick hummed and stepped forward. He slowly trailed his gun away from you, instead aiming it at the ground. “And Spencer? Who killed him, if she killed them all?”

Deanna hesitated for a moment, before she mustered up a reply. “She—she must be working with someone! With Daryl, maybe! You’ve all seen how close they are.”

“Daryl was there with us when we found the Boogeyman in the church. And so was she,” Rick voiced, motioning towards you. “And we never said where we found Olivia’s body, just that we found her dead.” That was the final nail in the coffin. Rick raised his gun and aimed it at Deanna, and you could see the blood drain from her face. Rick cocked his gun and stepped forward, his eyes cold as he regarded the supposed kind-hearted leader of the safe zone. “Don’t try to fight or run. If you do, we will kill you.”

Everything was a blur after that. Rick and Michonne somehow managed to secure handcuffs and ‘arrested’ Deanna, taking her back to the basement she had run from in the first place. They had told you to go see Denise, and that they would take care of Jessie’s body, should she be dead. Heeding their advice, you let Daryl escort you to the infirmary, and waited for Denise to finish up with another patient before she could attend to you.

“Ya alright?” Daryl asked you, finally speaking up after everything that had hone down.

You shrugged. “I’m as okay as can be expected, I guess.” Then, needing to get the question out of the way, you spoke up again. “Did you really believe that what Deanna said was true? That I killed all those people.”

Daryl instantly shook his head. “Nah. I knew from the get go that ya were innocent.”

You frowned slightly at his words. “How?”

“‘Cause Ron came clean to me ‘bout it right before Deanna made that whole spectacle. Said he heard his mom and Deanna talk ‘bout killin’ Olivia right before we found the body. Was gon’ tell everyone, but I got cut short.”

“Then why did you point your crossbow at me?”

“To get yer attention. To get ya to see the code I was sendin’ ya, but ya wouldn’t look down at my hand,” he told you with a small smile. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Ya had other things on yer mind.”

You sighed in relief. “Thank god you believed me. I thought Deanna was gonna get away with it.”

“Nah,” Daryl began. “Pretty sure none’a us believed her. We know ya wouldn’t do that. Hell, ya hesitate killin’ a rabbit. Yer too good for somethin’ as terrible as blatant murder.”

You smiled at him and leaned your head on his shoulder, sighing in contentment, being able to relax for the first time in weeks. The killers were caught, and you and your family were safe. You could sleep a little easier that night.

“We did it,” you mumbled, the exhaustion clear in your voice.

“Yeah,” Daryl voiced, pressing a soft kiss on top of your head. “Told ya we would.”

“Yeah, you did. Guess I should learn to listen to you more, huh?”

“It would pro’lly be for the best, yeah,” Daryl joked, chuckling when you punched his shoulder. “M’real glad yer safe, Sweetheart.”

“Me too,” you voiced. “Believe me, me too.” You nuzzled your face into Daryl’s shoulder. “I love you.”

A few beats of silence passed. “Love ya too, sweet girl. More than you’ll ever know.”

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luveline · 9 months ago

Note

what abouttttt

zombie!steve and reader (at any point tho i feel like this would make sense after the college got attacked) are like scavenging in a pharmacy and steve wanting to make his girl laugh puts on the stupidest prescription glasses that he found near the front desk but then? reader comes over and hes like have you always had that mole? and he refuses to take them off even tho theyre far sighted which makes the trek back to camp slightly unsafe but he cant stop staring at readers face because hes never seen it so clear

thank you for your request<3

“I really need some chocolate,” you lament, pulling at his hand as you drift together down the aisle toward the snack section. “If they don’t have any, I’m going to kill myself.”

“You better kill me first.” Steve pulls you back. “Seriously. Have the decency.”

“Find me some candy and I won’t have to.”

“Find yourself some candy, loser. I need some painkillers. I’m sick of dealing with you.”

You push at his arm. He resists the urge to yank you in for a kiss, letting your hand drop to part ways at the top of the aisle. He makes for the back of the store where the in-store pharmacy signs hangs half off of the wall, green glass shattered like coarse sugar grains underfoot. Steve cringes, clearing a path to the desk with the side of his shoe.

“You okay?” you call from a few feet away, unseen but close enough to be heard clearly.

“Fine! Signs of candy?”

“No,” you say dejectedly. He nearly misses it.

Steve’ll find you some chocolate if it’s the last thing he does, but first, he needs painkillers. His knee aches like he’s been beaten, a funny burning string of pain lining the underside of his leg every other step. Ideally he’d like some codeine, but more realistically he wants advil. He doesn’t know where to start, never does, but if you come over he’ll pretend he understands what things go where.

He’s lucky. He bends down and finds a bottle of motrin on the floor, looking up to find a shelf teeming with it. “Yes,” he says, ecstatic. Things rarely ever go so obviously his way. “Fucking yes.”

He shoves as many bottles of tylenol in his various pockets as he can. Then he looks around for anything interesting. He’s sure there’s a ton of things you could benefit from. He’s been wondering about epi-pens and emergency precautions, because god forbid something happen to you he couldn’t correct. Love makes him worry. You’re worrisome, you’re so sad lately, he knows you’re a few days from another burnout. He can’t handle it —he’ll take care of you, but seeing you down for the count hurts every single time.

He leans heavily on the counter and lets himself think. Absent-minded, he reaches out to spin the intact rungs of a glasses stand, prescription lenses shining against the glare of the sun seeping in from the store’s caved metal roof. “Plus two,” he says to himself, “plus three, what?” He grabs an obscene pair and shoves it up his nose, blinking in surprise at the way his vision blurs.

He turns the display to the mirrored back and grins.

“Hey, loser? You okay?” he calls.

You don’t answer.

“Babe?” he says sharply.

“Oh, you’re talking to me?”

“That’s not funny.”

You appear at the end of the aisle with an arm full of chips, less blurry the closer you get. “Sorry. Don’t call me loser then. Oh, gosh, what are you wearing?”

“Gosh,” he mimics with a laugh. “I’ve no idea.”

His poor attempt at a southern accent makes you laugh too. “Nice glasses, Harrington. I didn’t know you needed them.” Steve crossed his arms in front of him. You drop the chips beside his sleeve and station yourself as he had, a mirror, your smile charmed as you push the glasses up his nose. “You look ridiculous. Here,” —you take a nicer pair from the rack and open the legs— “swap them.”

He would, but he’s looking at you, and he’s thinking, What?

You move your head away from him instinctively, but ultimately let him hold your face, his thumb on the hill of your chin, fingers curled over your cheek. He can see the little silver scars of a cruel hand around your mouth, and the cut on your cheek from a surprising wooden beam, but what he’s never noticed is the pigmentation under your mouth. The little wrinkles by your eyes. Hell, he’s never realised your eyelashes looked quite like that until now.

“Hey–” he starts, though you’re already ducking your chin. “Wait–”

“Stop, you’re staring.”

“Yeah, I’m staring. You always had that freckle?”

“Long as I can remember.”

“Wait,” he pleads, trying to grab your chin as you step away.

“I need chocolate, Steve, I’m not kidding. You can do whatever you want to me if you help me find some.”

“You will come to love that decision very soon.”

You giggle like crazy. Steve swaps the less attractive glasses for the ones you’ve recommended and follows you down the aisle to help you look for your sugar fix. He nearly trips over a split can of condensed milk, and you might act like you don’t like him, but you catch him by the arm and allow him to hold on.

He isn’t great at helping you look, but he finds a couple of bars of cooking chocolate in the baking essentials aisle and decides it’s good enough to head home with. You eat lines of it as you walk, your fingers pressed between Steve’s, a little dab of chocolate he wouldn’t have noticed otherwise in the corner of your lips.

“You sure you don’t want some?” you ask between bites.

He’s gonna watch you eat the whole thing. “No thanks. I’m saving room for Robin’s artichoke heart and refried bean combo.”

“Would you take those off?” Your cheek twitches as you smile. Your eyes glow with affection. “You can barely walk.”

“You don’t like them?”

“They really, really suit you, actually. I love them,” you say, to his secret delight.

“So what’s the problem?”

He trips over his own feet and has to grab your arm to stop from falling. “That’s the problem,” you say, in love enough to smile even when the world has gone to shit for you a thousand times. Your eyes follow down his nose to his lips.

Steve grins and ducks forward for a kiss. “Oh, sorry,” he says when the glasses bump your nose.

You laugh and touch under his chin to help him out. You taste like chocolate still as he kisses against the seam of your lips, a quick but blissfully deep kiss, a handful of seconds where Steve feels like you’re one in the same before he pulls away, just enough to see both of your eyes.

“What’re you looking at?” you ask.

“You have chocolate on your nose,” he lies. “Want me to get it?”

“Yes,” you say bashfully.

He kisses the tip of your nose, then the corner of your lip.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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transingthoseformers · 5 months ago

Text

Aaaand now I'm thinking evil thoughts about SG Rung again

#maccadam #transformers #sg rung #transformers idw #transformers mtmte #transformers shattered glass

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robolvrr · 3 days ago

Text

forged to please. ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

some mild suggestive headcanons. unhealthy dynamics.

sentinel prime x cybertronian secretary

airachnid plucked you from your filing job with unsettling familiarity. you quickly learned after the debrief that her optics, touch and croons were simply an extension of your shared's prime.

his very attention is shattering.

sentinel has no need for actual assistants. your first few cycles don't end up at his doorstep, so in your confusion of servitude you busy with the boring.

analytics. cancelling meetings as he's constant on the surface, rescheduling abandoned polls. when the lights flick you remain obedient at your desk, digits skimming through glass pads.

you do have a cog. however, you still pale in comparison to your coworkers and do not speak out of turn. you're not a miner nor are you cogless — but there are levels to status and you're still at the first couple of rungs on the metaphorical golden ladder.

little did you know, you're being watched. approvingly, even when your helm dares to dip back when your processors prompt recharge.

everyday, you arrive early. place your holopads in neat piles. slip an energon cube from your stack past your cushy, gray dermas and sit straight in your assigned seat.

frame flawless, as expected by a cog. since you don't race or proctor, you're more on the winsome side.

"them? really?"

"yeah. crazy right?" sentinel lazily watches the filmy recording, nestled camera aimed right in the corner. he can see your chassis. your cog and the ridges between your plating. clean. no mining dust. no scratches.

"look at 'em go. do they know that half what i give them is just.. nothing? they're so... so diligent. it's cute, no?"

airachnid shares a sideways glance.

slowly, your office grows more lavish. you notice changes to your desk arrangement. a golden twist of flora at your desktop. new chair, with cushion - a rarity and a treat. a fresh mug of engex earlier than you arrive.

and even slower, your coworkers start to distance farther than even you pushed them. you're being moved around cycles later, to higher floors. the work is a constant buzz that requires the utmost care and attention to detail.

you once question airachnid as she glides by silently just what you're doing here. you ex-vent when she leans forward, pursing her intake at you.

"don't ask questions you don't want answers to. you do good for him, you'll do good for a lifetime."

straightening, you're left unfortunately with more than before and you nervously return to your desk, with a beautiful view of iacon and an inkling that perhaps your constant promotions weren't as perfect as you previously assumed.

[ quota — increased. overtime required. ]

frustration bites as your digits flutter across keys. the office space, grand and empty and dark fills you with impatience. not that you'd dare show it, on the clock.

you guess that overtime still counts, though you prudently knock over data as you arise before you can coach yourself to calmness. you practically live here. serving, serving, all the blasted time. had you not proved your loyalty?

a watchful gaze peers at your aft when you saunter to the lounge, fed up for the day.

the smile directed your way isn't promising.

oh. so you can misbehave.

you practically live at work now. what started as a few assignments seemed to increase tenfold.

you're working overtime but know you're much too high the chain (and for such pointless, needless tasks) to back out.

you have no friends. no coworkers. the pretty knickknacks and golden pens and job security start closing in more like a gilded cage.

when the comm is received, you're almost weak at the joints. you reset your sight system several times at first because you assume it's a prank.

[ your prime requests your presence over the latest report. arrive promptly. ]

you're stumbling towards the elevator like a cyber mouse.

sentinel shouldn't enjoy the way you lose your professionalism. taking peeks in the slivers of mirror and spark no doubt rattling in that little chest of yours.

he shouldn't, in fact, hired you at all. you were a face along with many admirers. and primus, did iacon adore their prime.

he shouldn't have been seeing how much it took to break your mentality, either. a cruel experiment from a bored god of sorts.

and the recordings. airachnid made it clear her opinions of his.... enjoyment while you worked in element.

sometime in the toying, he's scrutinizing your frame. you barely make it up to his knee. your alt-mode upon a curious search isn't particularly flashy.

is that why he's so drawn to you? because you wallflower yourself, determined to hide despite the haven he's forced you in?

perhaps. or, he just hasn't had his fix yet.

the racers are always fun to play with. they lick, bite and rev when he chuckles his praise.

he's never been in a position of power like this though and taken that step over the line and suddenly, he rubs the kibble on his chin imagining you staring back at him, bent over, servos tied at the back of your waist.

his processor wanders. you, with flushed cheek plates. you, calling him boss. prime. whatever he fancied more. crawling towards him, balancing a glass of sweet, high-grade on your aft while he chats it away.

"my prime?"

sentinel does not turn to you, at first. you can see his wings, large and flawless. when he turns in his seat, you think perhaps the rumors of primes and their bright, piercing neons were true.

he grins. grandeur rolls off his glossa and you're shocked he knows your designation. as if he senses your shock he reassures he knows because he's kept close to your progress.

"you look tired. what good are you if not rested?"

sheepishly, your helm tilts away, tries to avoid the observation by curling into yourself. it's the funniest and most pathetic thing he's seen in awhile.

he leans forward, but not down to you. sentinel just invades your space because it's his.

you're his.

cutting off your stammers because he'd rather hear them in a more fitting context - fit, he wouldn't - his gesture tempts you closer. there is no need for collar and leash, not when this whole city dances at his every word.

you miss how his stare bores into you. peels back metal, cord and wire.

"listen. i couldn't bear my best struggling. but i also have to be firm. this great city, all of your fellow cybertronians, play a part in something bigger. which means... that work can't be unfinished."

he does not miss how you flinch. where are those kliks of rebellion? those whispered utterances of his name and hoping he'd be knocked down a peg?

"it can't slow down. in order to keep the spark of this very place alive, we all keep it turning."

he can sense your guilt. recall all the times you've actually cursed quietly, kicked at your desk, cried in the refreshers. cute.

"so i do have to ask. because if you can't handle it, i would rather you tell me right here, right now. no hard feelings."

the hopeful look almost makes him break out into laughter. and just like you're programmed, you look at him only when he nods, trying to find out what he wants.

"no. no, i can. i want to do more. want to be more." for you.

"then show me."

as much as he wanted to crack you open right then and there, he was curious how you would take his offer.

would you scorn him out like those endless nights? step back and make excuses? or would you surprise him?

his weight slides in the crushed velvet of his towering throne, watching as you bend.

your head meets the floor. his optic ridge ticks towards the sky.

"tell me what to do and your will is mine."

the prime hums.

well, now you're just making this too easy.

robolvrr 2024.

#transformers one #tf one #sentinel prime #tfone sentinel #sentinel prime x reader #headcanons #suggestive text #maccadam #transformers x reader #rewatched secretary today. woof.#keeping it yearning and saucy for now #give me that mean blue bot NOW 🙏🏿🙏🏿

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the-griffons-saddlebag · 6 months ago

Photo

💎 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Clear Bell Wondrous item, uncommon ___ When you use an action to ring this all-glass handbell, the sound rings out with perfect clarity. Any creature within 30 feet of the bell that can hear it can immediately make a saving throw to end any one effect on it that’s causing it to be charmed or frightened. The saving throw DC is the same as the original effect’s. Once the bell has been rung in this way, it shouldn’t be rung again until the next dawn. Each time it’s used again before then, it has a cumulative 20 percent chance of not working and shattering into a fine, nonmagical powder. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

#illustration #digital art #dungeons and dragons #dnd #d&d

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whoopsyeahokay · 8 months ago

Text

October Sun

summary: Wally might've been preoccupied with Field Day but that hadn't meant he didn't plan on getting answers. Thankfully, the universe was on his side because there you were, right where he wanted you.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

as promised, here's PART SIX, no wait necessary! 🫶😅

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.6

Wally grinned from ear to ear, eager for Maddie to accept the gesture Mr. Martin offered in the length and shape of a golf club. He'd spent a great deal of the morning figuring out how to coax Maddie to join in their shenanigans, proud Field Day enthusiast that he was, and was pleased as punch that she seemed to be getting into it.

He'd been there, filled with pent-up aggression and bitterness, and grief for a life that had been snatched away from him before he'd understood what it meant to live.

Contrary to what Maddie thought of him, Wally hadn't always been an upbeat, ultra-positive member of the afterlife. In fact, he'd wallowed a whole decade away, trudging the tiers of the stadium seats, seeking answers or forgiveness or enlightenment; something that would help put his world back to rights.

It never happened. He'd simply moved on. Matured, maybe. Ajay and Bernie—the autoshop pancake and gym rope-climbing tragedy, respectively—had encouraged him to open himself up to Mr. Martin's brand of therapy, and then, slowly, he'd started to relax into his place in the metaphysical world.

He hoped he could be there for Maddie the way they'd been there for him.

Which is why he hadn't made an excuse to slip away and find you. Oh, he'd tried to catch you at your locker before your first class, waited for twenty minutes after the bell had rung, but you hadn't shown up. So, he'd gone to Group in a funk that had lingered until Mr. Martin had announced his decision to proceed with Field Day.

Yet, as joyful as Wally had been to partake, something inside him had ached. The strong, honeymelt tug of the connection between you extended outward from his chest as if reaching for you through the ether. Demanded he ignore everything in the interest of finding you, took your head in his hands and made you look him in the eye—he longed so badly for you to see him.

The feeling hadn't subsided. Rather, it had burrowed deeper into his brain and challenged his thoughts, the feeling like he had somewhere he needed to be but couldn't recall the address. And it only seemed to worsen the further away he got from the main school building.

The sound of exploding glass forced Wally back to the present. Maddie swung the golf club again, shattering another window, which Wally applauded with exuberance and congratulated Maddie on another impressive attack.

"Told you you're a natural!" Wally encouraged, beaming a supernova smile that Maddie couldn't resist returning.

Charley hummed thoughtfully from his perch on the picnic table behind them and slanted a conspiratorial grin at Wally, "A real natural." He commented, "Totally sane."

"The sanest." Wally agreed and turned back to watch Maddie as she trudged around the corner of the equipment shed, gearing up to unleash her violence on the vending machines.

And then, like lightning on the breeze, Wally sensed it. You. Static down his spine, heartbeat ratcheting up, cinnamon spice on his tongue. Automatically, his gaze shifted from Maddie to a figure in the distance, clad exclusively in black, head down, features obscured by the shadow of a hood.

Wally sucked in a deep breath as subtly as he could, tasting the crispness on the air and dull notes of burnt vanilla. He could hear every step you took, the rustle of fabric as you fished your phone from your back pocket. He felt your desperation as if it was his own, how you needed to find someone right fucking now, where had he gone?

Glass erupted, sprayed the ground at Maddie's feet, crunched under her boots as she moved onto the final vending machine. Wally wasn't going to waste an opportunity when it presented itself perfectly.

"Ooh-hoh! Yes! That was—" He smacked a kiss to his fingertips, "—beautiful!" He turned to Charley, praying he wasn't demonstrating too much gusto that it raised questions. "I'm going to find more shit for us to break. Best Field Day ever!"

He took off, sprinting up the slight hill and onto the path that circled the field. Once he felt he was a safe enough distance away, he twirled on his heel to check that Charley and Maddie weren't watching. Maddie had joined Charley at the table, both now engrossed in a conversation, paying no mind to Wally.

Good.

He didn't need to seek you out, his gaze finding you easily as you marched across the grass toward the front of the school, staring at your phone like it held the secrets of the universe. Maybe it did, Wally had no idea, too intimidated to try using one of those things.

"Hey." He called once he was close enough, trailing you as you made your way into the parking lot. That feeling that had been with him all day intensified as the proximity between you lessened, white-hot and smoldering beneath his flesh.

Although you didn't answer, your back stiffened, almost imperceptible if Wally hadn't been paying such close attention, and your stride shortened marginally.

"I missed you." He confessed, breathing heavy from exertion, "Didn't see you this morning. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to avoid me." He glanced at you cheekily, settling into step beside you.

You ignored him, focus fixed on your phone, though the screen was blank.

"I had things to do, anyway." Wally said, shrugging it off. "You know how it is; a lot to keep a guy busy in the afterlife."

He noticed you'd changed direction, leading you both out of the parking lot and onto the walkway that looped around to the side of the school where the bus stop stood. Part of him buzzed at the thought that you'd done it on purpose. To avoid crossing the invisible barrier that would catapult Wally straight to the 5-yard line.

Wally licked his lips, leaned into your space so his arm pressed against yours as you walked. Pinkies brushed, skin on skin, sparking electricity up his arm that burst in his chest.

He pressed on despite your resilience, "It's Field Day today. Or, Destroy the Field Day, really." He snickered at his own joke, figured he'd do it for you. "It's fun. You should try it sometime. You know, when you stop pretending you can't see me." He spun around to walk backwards, preferred to see your face even if you refused to look at him. "I could show you the ropes like I did for Maddie. I'm sure Mr. M wouldn't—"

Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks, chin lifting, eyes spiking up from your phone as you pulled down your hood in one motion. Wally froze. His pulse hammered a chorus in his ears—boom clap, boom clap—wind knocked from his lungs as slowly, so so slowly, your eyes glided to meet his.

The intensity in them pinned Wally in place. Time receded. The noise of afternoon activity dimmed. You saw. him. This was more than acknowledgment, this was proof. Proof that he took up space in your world as you did in his. He was witnessed, real, a l i v e.

Wally uttered so quietly, terrified to break the spell that bore you both in its palms, a soft and reverent, "Hey..," the weight of it catching in his throat.

As if fighting against yourself, you brought your phone to your ear in small, measured increments, gaze unwavering. Wally was enraptured by the marbling colors in its depths and couldn't help but wonder if your eyes did that whenever you peeked through the veil, or if it was a reaction unique to him.

And then that didn't matter because, for the first time, unmistakably and with intention, you spoke to him.

"What did you just say?"

💀___________________________

PART FIVE - PART SEVEN

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #October Sun

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